And o'er the goal could cast the quoit
Or else the javelin.
Hides he like Thetis' son from fear
Of warfare, should he brave appear?
You see Soracte's white with snow,
Woods groan beneath their weight;
The running streams no longer flow,
For frost has changed their state.
Let's drive away the cold and heap
The blazing hearth with wood,
And broach, my friend, the wine you keep
In Sabine jars so good.
Leave to the gods the rest-'tis they
Who calm the raging blast,
The rustling of the leaves allay,
And still the trees at last.
Ask not your future fate-enjoy
Each day as so much gain,
And don't despise the girls, my boy,
Nor think the dance is vain.
Now ere the frost has nipped your bower
Frequent both grove and park,
How sweet at the appointed hour,
A whisper after dark!
Now, too, the maiden's laughter charms,
Betraying where she's hidden;
Go snatch some token from her arms
Or hand-you'll scarce be chidden.
O Mercury, Atlas's eloquent child,
Who softened men's manners of old,
And made them thro' harmony gentle and mild,
And by exercise graceful and bold.
I'll sing you, inventor of harps, and of Jove
And of all the gods messenger chief;
So cunning whatever you please to remove,
By sportively playing the thief.
When he threatened your youth as he found out
His oxen all gone by your arts,
Apollo himself at fresh treachery laughed
When he saw you had stolen his darts.
So Priam from Troy with his treasures you led
Without the Atridæ alarming,
Thro' Thessaly's watchfires in safety he sped,
And the camps that with perils were swarming.
'Tis your duty to guide pious souls to abodes
Of the blest, and with golden wand show
The way to the shadowy crowds, dear to gods
That rule both above and below.
Seek not to know, Leuconoe,
The death that waits both you and me—
The gods forbid such quest;
Don't go and talk with gipsies old,
And try to get your fortune told ;
Let's take things for the best.
Perchance we long shall feel the blast,
Perchance this wintry gale's our last ;
Be wise, and drink-don't bother;
E'en as we prate Time's flying on,
So seize the moment ere 'tis gone ;
We may not have another.
THE PRAISE OF GODS AND HEROES.
What man, what hero's glorious fate
Will Clio choose to celebrate?
What god? whose name shall Echo sound
Where Helicon's deep shades abound?
Or where tall Pindus rises high,
Or snowy Hamus mounts the sky?
There grew the woods that moved along
Whenever Orpheus raised his song.
His mother taught him how to stay
Winds in their flight, streams on their way'
He charmed the oak who bowed his head,
And followed wheresoe'er he led.
But who or what can be my theme
Before I've praised our Sire supreme,
Who gods and men, and sea and lands,
And changing seasons all commands?
Of no one greater can I tell
Than Him-He has no parallel,
Nor second either; still, in fame
The next place must Minerva claim.
I will not leave thy name untold,
Bacchus, once proved in battle bold :
Nor hers of savage beasts the foe;
Nor his, the god with dreaded bow.
I'll sing of Hercules's might,
And Leda's twins-one famed in fight,
And one for chariot skill-bright signs:
Soon as their light on seamen shines,
Down from the rocks the waters glide,
The clouds disperse, the winds subside,
The threatening waves at their behest
Calmly recline on Ocean's breast.
Next shall I tell in tuneful strain
Of Romulus or Numa's reign?
Of Tarquin's axes and his pride,
Or Cato's noble suicide?
I'll praise the Scauri in my verse,
And Regulus's fame rehearse,
And Paulus, prodigal of life,
When Carthage conquered in the strife.
Fabricius, Curius, strong in war,
With shaggy locks that streamed afar; Camillus, too-from humble farms And poverty they came to arms.
As trees shoot upward silently,
So mounts Marcellus' fame on high;
The Julian star the rest outshines,
As Luna dims the lesser signs.
O Sire and Shield of all our line,
From ancient Saturn sprung, 'tis thine
To watch o'er Cæsar-after thee
Cæsar's the second place shall be.
Whether a victory he gains
O'er Medes who threaten Latian plains, Or in the East he brings to bay
The arms of India and Cathay,
He'll rule the world, both near and far,
Subject to thee; thy awful car
Shall shake Olympus-thou shalt cast
At groves profane thy lightning's blast.
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