XXXVI,

THE RETURN OF NUMIDA.

Incense and music we'll prepare,
A victim too we'll kill,

In honour of the gods whose care
Saved Numida from ill.

Safe he returns from distant Spain,
And all his friends rejoice;

But nought will greet his ears again
So dear as Lamia's voice.

He'll mind how both one master bred,

How both the toga wore;

So ere this joyful day be sped,
A white mark will we score.

We'll have a drinking bout nor miss
To dance than Salii quicker ;
Don't let that toper Damalis
Beat Bassus at his liquor.

Roses and parsley our repast,
And lilies too, shall grace;
And all their wanton gaze shall cast

On Damalis's face.

While she won't quit her paramour,

But to his neck will cling;

Like ivy hanging round a tower,

With care as fostering.

XXXVII.

THE FALL OF CLEOPATRA.

Now drink and freely strike the ground,
O friends, with bounding feet;
Feasts on their couches spread around,
As for the gods is meet.

Till now to mirth we dared not turn;
The Queen forbade, whose doing
Threatened the Capitol to burn,
The empire too to ruin.

She and her shameful crew, who raged

Slaughter on all to bring;

Drunk with good fortune, nought assuaged Their wild imagining.

But ah! how sank her fury when
Her ships save one were fired,
And Cæsar with true terrors then
Her frenzied soul inspired!

Fast as she fled upon her track,
His rowers followed there;
So cruel hawks soft doves attack,
So sportsmen hunt the hare.

But she, who felt no woman's fear
Of death or hostile brands,
She rather chose a glorious bier,

Than life in distant lands.

She saw her palace ruin-struck,
And brave serenely stood;
She fondled asps and dared to suck
Their poison in her blood.

Such suicide her courage showed—
No triumphs proud brooked she,
Whose soul with grand ambition glowed,
And scorned captivity.

XXXVIII.

TO HIS CUP-BEARER.

All your fashions of Persia I thoroughly hate,
And of philyra-wreaths your bestowing;
I don't care a farthing to know where so late
The last rose of summer is growing.

Don't worry yourself to plain myrtle to add,
For myrtle is pleasant to twine;

And becomes you a servant, and me, my good lad,
As I sit and drink under my vine.

39

BOOK II.

I.

TO ASINIUS POLLIO.

Pollio, in courts so eloquent,
So sage our senators to aid,
Since on your last campaign you went,
Your laurel crown will never fade.

Of civic broils and war you write,
Its errors, origin and guise;
How Fortune loves to sport and spite,

And chiefs form friendships with allies.

Of blood still unavenged you talk,

A dangerous argument and rash;

And so o'er hidden fires you walk

That smoulder 'neath the treacherous ash.

Meanwhile let all our theatres

From tragedy austere abstain,

And when you've done with great affairs,
Write dramas for the stage again.

But now our ears your clarions fright,
And threatening trumpets loudly blown;
No steed can brook your armour bright,
Nor face your rider's dreadful frown.

Now too, methinks great chieftains soiled With no inglorious dust I see ;

And the whole world subdued and foiled, And only Cato's spirit free.

Juno left unrevenged the coast,
With her fled Afric's gods away;
But soon, to appease Jugurtha's ghost,
They came the victor's sons to slay.

What soil made fertile by our gore
Attests not where our soldiers die?
To distant Mede our impious war
Proclaims the fall of Italy.

Where roll they, river, stream or flood, That ne'er saw battle lost or gained? What shore is free from Roman blood? What sea has not our slaughter stained?

But leave not, Muse, thy mirthful strain, Nor take to moaning dirges grave;

In some cool grotto turn again,

And try and raise a lighter stave.

II.

TO SALLUSTIUS CRISPUS.

O Sallust! foe to treasured gold,

In all the wealth earth's caverns hold

No lustre lies-'tis only bright

When temperance uses it aright.