XVI. THE POWER OF GOLD. Fair Danae once lofty walls, Strong doors and watchful hounds, Had guarded, and to midnight calls From lovers bold set bounds. But Jove and Venus did not fear They laughed and knew the way was clear, Gold through the midst of guards will go, And rocks to pieces break Easier than even lightning's blow— 'Twas all for lucre's sake The Argive augur's palace fell; So Philip towns o'erthrew; His bribes o'ercame great kings as well; Stern captains bribes subdue. With money cares increase; we sigh To lift my humble head. The less we seek, the more we'll take And thus I live a richer lord, Than if within my door Apulia's fertile grain were stored, Pure streams and modest woods I own, And crops that never fail; Not he who shines on Afric's throne Calabrian bees may not be mine, With mellow wine; no pastures fine But still from poverty I'm free, Would you refuse to give it me; By limiting my small demands, I joined the wealth of Phrygian lands The greedy never gain their ends, But blest is he to whom heaven sends XVII. TO ELIUS LAMIA. O spring from Lamus, chief of fame, (So annalists agree The Lamian race derived their name, Ælius, your origin he gave Who first of yore, they say, O'er Formia's walls and streams that lave To-morrow storms will burst and pour That croaks of rain; so, while you may, And on a porker dine. XVIII. TO FAUNUS. O lover of the Nymphs that fly, From all the young they've bred. So shall a tender kid be thine, And cups, by Venus loved, of wine, Soon as returns thy day, the flocks In grassy meadows play; And keeps a holiday. The wolf strays 'mid the fearless sheep, XIX. TO TELEPHUS. You tell us how Codrus the patriot can trace You tell us long stories of Æacus' race And the wars sacred Troy underwent. But as to the price of a cask of good wine, Or how we its strength can allay, When this cold will depart, at whose house we shall dine— On these topics you've nothing to say. Then fill up, my boy, to the Moon new and bright, To Midnight we'll wet, too, our throttles, And Augur Muræna; so mix, as is right, For the bard who devotes to nine Muses his life, The Graces, aye fearful of quarrels and strife, I'm all for a revel; my breast to inspire, Its strains so delightful, and why is the lyre I hate all your niggardly handfuls—so, boys, Let old Lycus, the envious, list to our noise, O Telephus, famed for thick locks on your brow, And fair as the even star shining, You're wooed by ripe Chloe, while I alas! now For Glycera's beauty am pining. XX. TO PYRRHUS. Pyrrhus, how rash a deed you dare! To storm a lioness's lair! You'll soon seek safety from the fight, A timorous ravisher in flight. When, though a crowd of youths oppose, The girl to meet her darling goes, The favour of that lucky swain. |