Latona's son invoke with song, And her whose light is waxing new, So brides in after years shall say, A strain the gods approved.' VII. TO TORQUATUS. The snow is gone, and grass again is seen, And leaves the trees adorn; The season's changed, the shrunken streams between Their banks are smoothly borne. Now Grace and Nymph, unrobed, the dance prepare; The year that flies so fast, And passing hour all warn us not to dare To think that ought will last. Soft Zephyrs temper cold; Spring yields to Summer, Which in its turn will go, When Autumn bears its fruit; and then the comer Will be old Winter slow. What though the waning moon's renewed again, When once our way is made, Where Tullus, Ancus, and Æneas reign, We're nought but dust and shade. Who knows if to the total of your days The gods will add to-morrow? Your gifts to friends and all your wasteful ways Will bring your heir to sorrow. When once you're dead, and Minos has assigned Your last most awful doom, Nor birth, nor worth, nor eloquence you'll find Can raise you from the tomb. Not e'en Diana could from hell regain Hippolytus once more. And Theseus laboured hard, but all in vain, VIII. TO CENSORINUS. Goblets and cups of bronze, you know, Gifts should be yours, were I possest 'Tis verse you love, and verses I By busts and legends carved in stone. You'll never reap your fitting meed . And throned in islands of the Blest. And vine-crowned Bacchus suppliants hears And brings to happy end their prayers. IX. TO LOLLIUS. Think not these words are doomed to die, Which by no common arts allied, To music I am singing, I Born by far Aufidus' loud tide. Though Homer's muse be first in rank, Old are Anacreon's playful strains, But time has failed to spoil their charm ; And still the Æolian lyre retains The fires which Sappho's numbers warm. Was Helen, pray, the only maid Who found in lover's locks a snare? Whom greed of gold and dress betrayed, And tinsel and companions fair? Was Teucer first to draw a bow, Troy stormed but once with fire and sword: Was Sthenelus the sole brave foe Whose prowess Muses will record? Others before fierce Hector came, And ere Deiphobus arose, Have fought to save their wives from shame, Their children from insulting foes. Brave men have lived in times of old, Ere Agamemnon first drew breath; But ah! no bard their praises told, And all are lost in nameless death. Virtues that never meet the light, In noble verse, my Lollius, loth To see such works as yours decay, The same in Fortune's smile or frown. The greed of fraud you hate, and shun As judge you loved your truth to show, And bore a victor's front through foes. Not him whose riches make his fame More justly he deserves the name Who learns to use Heaven's gifts aright; Who calmly bears reverse of fate, And dreads disgrace far more than death, 'Tis he will never hesitate For hearth and home to yield his breath. |