Hope to the anxious you restore, And when they taste your charms, Kings have no terrors for the poor, And soldiers no alarms. Bacchus, and Venus, if she'll heed, XXII. TO DIANA. O Virgin, guard of mount and cave O three-formed goddess dear! The pine that overhangs my door And gladly every year, before XXIII. TO PHIDYLE If when the moon is young you pray, And to your gods due offerings pay, Your vines no pestilence shall know, 'Mid Algidus's oaks of holm The Pontiff's victims feed, 'Tis not for you, who deck your gods When guiltless hands approach the shrine, Though no rich gifts they bring, They please as much the powers divine As costly offering. H XXIV. ON THE DEPRAVITY OF THE AGE. Though wealthier far than Araby, You build your halls by every sea, Has hammered in your roof, For one year and no more they please To cultivate the mead; And him who fairly earns his ease Fresh hands in turn succeed. There matrons with a mother's love The helpless orphan rear; There wives though jointured faithful prove, And still their lords revere. No dower so prized as virtuous kin, And firm-pledged chastity; There laws command you not to sin, Or, if you do, to die. O! where is he will free the town From civil strife and hate, And stand one day in sculptured stone, 'The Saviour of the State'? Let such our license check, and gain The praise of after years, For virtue safe we aye disdain, But mourn her loss with tears. While crowds applaud, and there, And gold, whence all our sorrows date; If true repentance fire, Our breast, 'tis right to extirpate The source of vain desire. More manly toils soft minds must train, And weakling spirits brace ; Youths nobly born can't scour the plain, And fear to join the chase; More skilled are they with hoop at play, Or dice to gain their ends; Their sires meanwhile their guests betray, And cheat their dearest friends. And so for worthless heirs they haste But though their wealth increases fast, XXV. TO BACCHUS. Where, Bacchus, dost hurry me full of thy might ? To what groves or what caves am I driven? Where now shall I think on great Cæsar aright, And be heard to exalt him to heaven? Something noble and new, yet unsung will I say: As priestesses rave in unrest, When Hebrus and snow-begirt Thrace they survey, And Rhodope's barbarous crest, So it joys me to wander the desert rocks through, O Lord of the Naiads and Bacchanals too, Nought lowly nor mortal shall breathe in my strain ; What peril is sweeter than mine, O Bacchus, to follow the god in his train, Who garlands his brow with the vine? |