Hic in reductâ valle, caniculæ

Vitabis æftus: & fide Teïâ

Dices laborantes in uno

Penelopen vitreamque Circen.

Hic innocentis pocula Lesbii
Duces fub umbra: nec Semeleius

Cum Marte confundet Thyoneus
Prælia: nec metues protervum
Sufpecta Cyrum, ne malè dispari
Incontinentes injiciat manus:

Et fcindat hærentem coronam
Crinibus, immeritamque veftem.

PROSE INTERPRETATION.

valley you fhall escape the dog-ftar's heat; and on your Teian lyre you fhall recite Penelope and the frail Circe, contending for one lover, Ulyffes. Here beneath a bower you shall exhauft cups of inoffenfive Lesbian. Nor shall the enthusiastic son of

Semele

Here in a valley's close retreat

You fhall avoid the dog ftar's heat,

And here fhall harp upon the Teian string,
Penelope and Circe vying for the king.
Here shaded, innocent and light,

You shall partake the Lesbian white,
Nor to your bow'r fhall Mars himself betake,
Nor Semele's Thyoneus his difturbance make.
And, though fufpected to be here,
You shall not ruffian Cyrus fear,

Left his rude hands should not your sex forbear, But pull your chaplet off, and the poor night-gown tear.

PROSE INTERPRETATION.

Semele make confufion in his broils with Mars; nor suspected fhall you dread the rude Cyrus, left he should lay his incontinent hands upon you, by no means a match for him; and fhould cut the chaplet that fticks to your hair, and your harmless veftment.

ODE

O DE XVIII.

AD QUINTILIUM VARUM. Vinum moderate fumptum exhilarat animum, at hauftum immoderate furorem concitat.

NULLUM, Vare, facra vite prius feveris arborem

Circa mite folum Tiburis, & moenia Catili.
Siccis omnia nam dura Deus propofuit: neque
Mordaces aliter diffugiunt follicitudines.

Quis poft vina gravem militiam aut pauperiem crepat?
Quis non te potius, Bacche pater, teque decens Venus?
At ne quis modici tranfiliat munera Liberi,
Centaurea monet cum Lapithis rixa fuper mero

PROSE INTERPRETATION.

O Varus, you can plant no tree preferable to the vine about the the kindly foil of Tiber, and the walls of Catilus. For the Gods have proposed all things difficult for the abftemious; nor do corroding cares flee away any otherwise than by wine. Who, after wine, makes a rout about the severities of war or indigence? Who does not rather commemorate thee, O father Bacchus, and thee, O comely Venus? But left any one should tranfgrefs the temperate use of the gifts of Bacchus, the battles of the Centaurs with the Lapithans, fought out in their drink, give warning, and Bacchus himself gives us

warning

TO QUINTILIUS VARU S.*

Wine moderately taken, makes the heart glad, but drank to excefs, creates madness.

+ VARUS, you shou'd no tree prefer

Before the facred vine,

If you to plant the kindly foil

Of Catilus defign.

For to the droughty all things hard

Has Heav'n and nature made;

Nor can we rankling care escape
Without the bottle's aid.
Who make a racket in their cups,
Of want or war's distress,
Nor rather Bachus, fire of joy,
And graceful Venus blefs?
But left we shou'd tranfgrefs and take
More liquor than we ought,
The Centaurean battles warn
O'er fuch caroufing fought.

* Quintilius Varus having enjoyed great pofts, and even the conJulfbip itself at Rome, was at laft overthrown in Germany with a very great flaughter, called the Varian defeat, and esteemed moft deplorable in the judgment of Auguftus.

This defeat happened shortly after the death of Horace, which (I fuppofe) makes Rodellius doubt whether this Quintilius Varus, to whom this ode is addreffed, be the jame.

The English metre is the fame as in ode the eleventh.

Debellata: monet Sithoniis non levis Euius:

Quum fas

atque nefas exiguo fine libidinum
Discernunt avidi non ego te candide Baffareu
Invitum quatiam; nec variis obfita frondibus
Sub divum rapiam, fæva tene cum Berecynthio
Cornu tympana, quæ fubfequitur cæcus amor fui,
Et tollens vacuum plus nimio gloria verticem
Arcanique fides prodiga, perlucidior vitro.

PROSE INTERPRETATION.

warning by no means merciful to the Thracians, when in their eagerness to fatisfy their brutality, they make little difference between right and wrong. O candid Baffareus, I will not shake thee against thy will, nor fhall I give air to what is concealed with various leaves. Stop your horrid drums, together with your Berecynthian horn, whom follow blind felf-lover and vain glory, bearing up her empty head too high, and that sort of faith that is prodigal of fecrets, easier to be feen through than glass.

7

ODE