The shrilling clarion ne'er his slumber mars, Nor at a great man's door consents to freeze. The tender vine-shoots, budding into life, He with the stately poplar-tree doth wed, Lopping the fruitless branches with his knife, And grafting shoots of promise in their stead; Or in some valley, up among the hills, Watches his wandering herds of lowing kine, Or when Autumnus o'er the smiling land Lifts up his head with rosy apples crowned, Joyful he plucks the pears, which erst his hand Graffed on the stem they're weighing to the ground; Plucks grapes in noble clusters purple-dyed, A gift for thee, Priapus, and for thee, Now he may stretch his careless limbs to rest, And streams the while glide on with murmurs low, But when grim winter comes, and o'er his grounds Scatters its biting snows with angry roar, He takes the field, and with a cry of hounds Or seeks the thrush, poor starveling, to ensnare, Who amid joys like these would not forget And all the heart's lamentings and despairs? But if a chaste and blooming wife, beside, His cheerful home with sweet young blossoms fills, Like some stout Sabine, or the sunburnt bride Of the lithe peasant of the Apulian hills, Who piles the hearth with logs well dried and old And, when at eve the cattle seek the fold, And bringing forth from her well-tended store Or the rich turbot, or the dainty char, The Afric hen or the Ionic snipe, Than olives newly gathered from the tree, That hangs abroad its clusters rich and ripe, Or sorrel, that doth love the pleasant lea, Or mallows wholesome for the body's need, Or kidling which the wolf hath marked for prey. What joy, amidst such feasts, to see the sheep, Full of the pasture, hurrying homewards come, To see the wearied oxen, as they creep, Dragging the upturned ploughshare slowly home! Or, ranged around the bright and blazing hearth, Thus spake the miser Alphius; and, bent The money he at usury had lent ; But ere the month was out, 'twas lent again. EPODE III. TO MÆCENAS. F his old father's throat any impious sinner IF Has cut with unnatural hand to the bone, Give him garlic, more noxious than hemlock, at dinner; Ye gods! The strong stomachs that reapers must own! With what poison is this that my vitals are heated? When Medea was smit by the handsome sea-rover, And so tamed the fire-breathing bulls to his hand. With this her fell presents she dyed and infected, Never star on Apulia, the thirsty and arid, Should you e'er long again for such relish as this is, With her hand that your mistress arrest all your kisses, EPODE IV. TO MENAS. UCH hate as nature meant to be SU 'Twixt lamb and wolf feel I for thee, Whose hide by Spanish scourge is tanned, And legs still bear the fetter's brand! Though of your gold you strut so vain, Wealth cannot change the knave in grain. How! See you not, when striding down The Via Sacra in your gown Good six ells wide, the passers there Wears out the Appian highway's flags; Is in the foremost rank to lead?" |