TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA.
Od. iii. 13.
Bandusia, stainless mirror of the sky!
Thine is the flower-crown’d bowl, for thee shall die,
When dawns again yon sun, the kid;
Whose budding horns, half-seen, half-hid,
Challenge to dalliance or to strife—in vain!
Soon must the hope of the wild herd be slain,
And those cold springs of thine
With blood incarnadine.
Fierce glows the Dog-star, but his fiery beam
Toucheth not thee: still grateful thy cool stream
To labour-wearied ox,
Or wanderer from the flocks:
And henceforth thou shalt be a royal fountain:
My harp shall tell how from yon cavernous mountain,
Topt by the brown oak-tree,
Thou breakest babblingly.
TO IBYCUS’S WIFE.
Od. ii. 15.
Spouse of penniless Ibycus,
Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies,
All thy studious infamy:—
Nearing swiftly the grave—(that not an early one)—
Cease girls’ sport to participate,
Blurring stars which were else cloudlessly brilliant.
What suits her who is beautiful
Suits not equally thee: rightly devastates
Thy fair daughter the homes of men,
Wild as Thyad, who wakes stirred by the kettle-drums.
Nothus’ beauty constraining her,
Like some kid at his play, holds she her revelry:
Thy years stately Luceria’s
Wools more fitly become—not din of harpsichords,
Not pink-petallèd roseblossoms,
Not casks drained by an old lip to the sediment.
SORACTE.
Od. i. 9.
One dazzling mass of solid snow
Soracte stands; the bent woods fret
Beneath their load; and, sharpest-set
With frost, the streams have ceased to flow.
Pile on great faggots and break up
The ice: let influence more benign
Enter with four-years-treasured wine,
Fetched in the ponderous Sabine cup: