Life's bitters are by smiles suppress'd,
Since nothing is completely blest.

Death tam'd Achilles' youthful rage
Decrepid Tithon bent with age·
And time, perchance, to me supplies
The blessings it to thee denies.

A hundred flocks adorn thy ground,
Sicilian heifers low around;

Thy neighing mare in chariot flies;
Thy vesture gleams with Afric's dyes;
While upon me unerring Fate
Has but bestow'd a small estate,

A spirit slight of Grecian song,

Which spurns the base malignant throng.

H

If thee

- my soul's most cherish'd part

Death first should strike, with earlier dart,

Why linger I?. - divided soul!

Not dear as once, nor longer whole!

One day shall ruin bring to both

I have not sworn a faithless oath;

Yes, yes, together let us die,

And our last path

-

as comrades- - try.

Me nor Chimæra's fiery breath,

Nor Gyges' hundred hands, in death Shall from thy kindred spirit tear,

So Justice so the Fates declare:

For whether Scorpio's dreaded power, Or Libra rul'd my natal hour,

Or Capricorn its influence gave,

The tyrant of the western wave

Our stars in wondrous concord move; Since thee the radiant power of Jove Rescued from impious Saturn's hate, And stay'd the rapid wings of Fate;

When, through the theatre, the crowd Thrice shouted joyfully and loud; And me a trunk had nearly slain,

Falling, in ruin, on my brain;

But Faunus' hand preserv'd me then,

The guardian kind of learned men ;

Thou victims bring the votive shrine

The offering of a lamb be mine!

ODE XVIII.

NOR ivory shall my roof behold,
Nor arch bedizen'd o'er with gold;
Nor there Hymettian rafters stand
On columns, carv'd from Afric's land;
Nor have I seiz'd an heir unknown

Of Attalus the palace-throne;
Nor do I Spartan purple wear,
Which clients' gentle hands prepare.

But wit and honour still are mine,

And with the rich – though poor

I dine.

For nought beyond to heaven I send

Long, wearying prayers;-nor powerful friend

Do my enlarg'd requests alarm,

Quite blest enough with Sabine farm.

Day treads on day, and each new moon
But hastens on to perish soon;
While you with sculptur'd marble pave
The pathway leading to the grave,

And mansions rising in their pride

Contrive the neighbouring tomb to hide.
You move e'en Baia's storm-beat shore,

Scarce rich, till banks restrain no more.
What though you change, with greedy hand,
The boundaries of your neighbour's land?
Or past your client's limits stray?

The wife and husband, driven away,
Their gods, and squalid infant care,

Wrapt in their bosoms, onwards bear: