If hindrances obstruct thy way, And let thy strength be seen. XI. TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS. Don't worry yourself about public affairs, Youth flies like a dream, and all beauty must fade; The passions that once our breast wantonly swayed, And the slumbers that once were so light. The pride of spring flowers is not always the same, And Luna's face changes its hue : Then why ever schemes and fresh plans do you And matters too weighty pursue? frame? Come, let us recline 'neath the plane or the pine, A draught of good liquor all cares will dry up. To temper our glowing Falernian a cup Who'll tempt wanton Lyde, too, out of her cot Go tell her to come with her lyre, And her hair all uncombed, but tied up in a knot As fashions of Sparta require. XII. TO MECENAS. Bid me not raise a warlike strain And Lapitha and youths o'ercome Do you, Mæcenas, rather write In prose of Cæsar's long campaigns, The Muse has bidden me extol; And ever faithful soul. There's nought your charmer may not dare— Or wrestle with her comrades fair On great Diana's day. Would you exchange for all the gold That rich Achæmenes possesses, And Phrygia and Arabia hold, One of Licymnia's tresses? For kisses sweet she now appeals, And now denies-the cruel elfWhat ravished she'd prefer ; she steals At times a kiss herself. XIII. TO A TREE. Woe worth the day he planted you, I'd soon believe that such a pest No crime could frighten him, I say, What all would shun, they still forget He recks not of the rest. Our soldiers Parthian arrows dread, The Roman fetters Parthians scare, But sudden death with stealthy tread Comes on us unaware. How nearly did I visit then Hell's gloomy Queen and nether gods, And all the blest abodes : And Sappho with her mournful lyre, Of seas, and flight, and war. The Shades their tuneful strains revere, What wonder! for their songs enthral The hundred-headed guard of hell; Orion stays his hunter's ire And leaves the chase awhile. XIV. THE COMMON LOT. Ah, Posthumus, old friend, the years are flying fast away, No piety can death, or age, or wrinkled brows delay; Dread Pluto's heart we can't cajole-no sacrifice will save Dread Pluto who his victims guards with Lethe's triple wave; Whoe'er we are, whate'er we do, 'tis there the last scene laid is, And king or commoner alike, we all are bound for Hades; 'Tis vain to hold yourself aloof from war and risk of death, 'Tis vain to flee the treacherous sea and autumn's sickly breath; Still flows the gloomy river on, and all must see its shore, Where wander by the tortured ghosts of those who went before. Yes, you must leave your house and lands, and her, your darling wife, The trees you've planted with your hands will have a longer life; And when their short-lived master's gone, they still will gaily wave; The cypress bough alone shall weep, companion of your grave; Your heir will quaff your Cæcuban, preserved with so much care, And stain the floor with better wine than even pontiffs share. XV. THE LUXURY OF THE AGE. Vast buildings grow apace and take Instead of elms bare planes will grow, And flowers of every hue Their sweets on olive groves bestow, |