HORACE AND LYDIA. III-9
"One time when I was pleasing to you, Lydia,
And when no other youth, preferred to me,
Your snowy neck could with his arms encircle,
Then happier I than Persia's King may be."
"When of another you were less enamored,
Nor ranked me after Chloe in your love,
Then I, your Lydia, of wide reputation,
Than Roman Ilia more renowned could prove."
"Now Thracian Chloe, skilled in mellow measures,
And expert on the harp, holds me her slave,
To die for her would never cause me terror,
If her—my soul—the Fates alive would save."
"'Tis Calais, Ornytus' son, the Thurian,
Who now consumes me with a mutual fire,
Ah! death for him twice over would I suffer,
Would but the Fates not let the boy expire."
"What if our former love to us returning,
Us in a stronger yoke should join again!
Should I unbar the door to cast-off Lydia,
And give up fair-haired Chloe, ah, what then?"
"Though he be lovelier than a constellation,
Though lighter than a cork, my dear, are you,
Than stormy Adriatic more uncertain,
With you I'd love to live, die gladly, too."
TO CENSORINUS. IV-8
With kindly thought I'd give, Oh Censorinus,
Bowls and bronze vases pleasing to each friend;
Tripods I'd offer, prizes of brave Grecians,
And not the worst of gifts to you I'd send
Were I, forsooth, rich in such artist's treasure
As Scopas and Parrhasius could convey,
This one in stone, and that in liquid color,
Skilled here a man,—a god there to portray.
But mine no power like this, nor does your spirit
Or your affairs need luxuries so choice.
Songs we can give, and on the gift set value,
Songs we can give, and you in songs rejoice.
Not marble carved with popular inscriptions
Whereby the spirit and the life return
After their death unto our upright leaders,
Nor Hannibal's swift flight, nor threatenings stern
Thrown back on him, nor flames from impious Carthage,
Ever more clearly pointed out the praise
Of him who, after Africa was conquered,
Acquired a name, than did the Calabrian lays.
And you would lose, if writings should be silent,
The price of all that you so well have done.
And Romulus,—his fame had envy silenced—
Where had he been—great Mars and Ilia's son?
Æacus, rescued from the Stygian waters,
The genius, the favor, and the tongue
Of mighty bards sent to the blessed islands,
He cannot die, whose praise the Muse has sung.
The Muse can deify. So tireless Hercules
In Jove's desired banquets has a share.
And the Tyndaridæ's clear constellation
Of ships wrecked in the lowest depths takes care,
Liber, his brows adorned with living vine-leaf,
Brings to good issue every honest prayer.
TO THALIARCHUS. I-9