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, Nor if I wanted aid 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, 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 Marica's banks held sway. To-morrow storms will burst and pour Upon the ground the leaves, 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; The peasant idles with the ox, The wolf strays 'mid the fearless sheep, The ditcher joys to dance and leap XIX. TO TELEPHUS. You tell us how Codrus the patriot can trace You tell us long stories of Æacus' race 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 dineOn 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, How great the struggle which shall gain The favour of that lucky swain. Whilst you your pointed darts prepare, She whets her dreadful teeth with care ; But he, the umpire, crushed beneath His naked foot the victor's wreath, And fanned instead with gentle air XXI. TO A WINE-JAR. Dear jar, whose liquor dates, as I, Whate'er your age, you're worth approach Come forth, Corvinus bids me broach He likes you, though a worshipper E'en Cato stern, or histories err, Oft warmed himself with wine. To stubborn souls your strength supplies A force they lightly feel; The cares and secrets of the wise With Bacchus you reveal. |