Be wise-rack off your wines, while yet you can, Restraining hope to life's contracted span.

Even now what speed the envious seasons borrow! nor trust the uncertain morrow.

Seize on to-day;

ODE XII.

TO AUGUSTUS.

WHAT man, what hero shall thy lyre,

-What god?-thy piercing flute inspire?

Say, Clio, whose immortal name

Shall Echo

-viewless nymph - proclaim

On Helicon's umbrageous hill,

On Pindus, or on Hamus chill?

Whence woods and groves to Orpheus' song

Hurried promiscuously along;

Who, by maternal art, confin'd

The rapid streams, and winged wind;

Skilful the listening oaks to bring
Attendant on his tuneful string.

What theme shall claim the poet's lays
Before our Sire's accustom'd praise?
Who governs with omniscient ken
Immortal gods, and mortal men;
And sheds o'er sea, and land, and sky
The seasons' sweet variety.

From him no power superior flows,

Nor equal he no second knows ;

Whom naught created can excel;
Himself his only parallel.

Still next in honor's glorious band See Pallas-wisdom's goddess-stand; Nor pass we Bacchus, bold in mien, Nor thee the virgin huntress-queen ; Nor Phoebus, thee, of deathless fame, Fear'd for thy dart's unerring aim.

Alcides, hail!-hail, Leda's boys!
The one equestrian fame enjoys,
This boasts a wrestler's fierce renown;
Whose star benign—to sailors shown
Draws from the rocks the troubled tide;
Hush'd are the winds, the storms subside;
The radiant twins their beams disclose,
And lull the billows to repose.

Shall Romulus next inspire my strain,
Or Numa's calm and peaceful reign?
Tarquin's proud fasces shall I tell,
Or how stern Cato nobly fell?

My grateful Muse, on choicest string,
The fate of Regulus shall sing;

And how, 'mid Canna's fatal strife,
Brave Paulus scorn'd his glorious life.

Nor let my lyre refuse to trace

The honours of the Scaurian race.

Fabricius, with his taintless name,

Camillus, of immortal fame,

And Curius, with neglected hair,

-Rome's honour'd heroes!-scantiest fare,

In cottage on paternal soil,

Fitted for warfare's noblest toil.

And as the tree - unnoted grows,

As bursts

E'en so Marcellus' glories rise,

And sudden tower into the skies:

While high the Julian star aspires,

- A moon among the lesser fires!

Thou guardian Sire of earth and heaven, Saturnian Jove! -to whom is given

The care of mighty Cæsar's throne,

Be still his glory next thy own;
Whether triumphant o'er the host

Of Parthians, threatening Latium's coast,

Or Seres, or the Indians far

He quells

subdu'd in Eastern war!

To him let nations bend the knee,

In justice like, though less than thee; Whilst thou, in thine avenging car,

Shalt shake Olympus from afar,

And hurl thy angry bolt sublime

O'er sacred groves profan'd by crime.

ODE XIII.

TO LYDIA.

Whene'er of Telephus the charms,
The rosy neck - the waxen arms
My Lydia's amorous raptures praise,
The rising bile my rage betrays;
My senses reel-my color flies -
And furtive tears suffuse mine eyes;

Proving how inwardly I glow,

Consum'd by tortures fierce but slow.