EPODES.

OF thou in thy Liburnians go

Amid the bulwark'd galleys of the foe,
Resolved, my friend Mæcenas, there

All Cæsar's dangers as thine own to share,
What shall we do, whose life is gay
Whilst thou art here, but sad with thee away?
Obedient to thy will, shall we

Seek ease, not sweet, unless 'tis shared by thee?
Or shall we with such spirit share

Thy toils, as men of gallant heart should bear?
Bear them we will; and Alpine peak

Scale by thy side, or Caucasus the bleak;
Or follow thee with dauntless breast

Into the farthest ocean of the West.

And shouldst thou ask, how I could aid
Thy task, unwarlike I, and feebly made?
Near thee my fears, I answer, would
Be less, than did I absent o'er them brood;
As of her young, if they were left,

The bird more dreads by snakes to be bereft,

Than if she brooded on her nest,

Although she could not thus their doom arrest.
Gladly, in hopes your grace to gain,
I'll share in this or any fresh campaign!
Not, trust me, that more oxen may,
Yoked in my ploughshares, turn the yielding clay,
Nor that, to 'scape midsummer's heat,
My herds may to Leucanian pastures sweet
From my Calabrian meadows change;
Nor I erect upon the sunny range

Of Tusculum, by Circe's walls,
A gorgeous villa's far-seen marble halls !
Enough and more thy bounty has
Bestow'd on me; I care not to amass

Wealth either, like old Chremes in the play,

To hide in earth; or fool, like spendthrift heir, away!

EPODE II.

ALPHIUS.

APPY the man, in busy schemes unskill'd, Who, living simply, like our sires of old, Tills the few acres, which his father till'd, Vex'd by no thoughts of usury or gold;

The shrilling clarion ne'er his slumber mars,
Nor quails he at the howl of angry seas;
He shuns the forum, with its wordy jars,
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 fragrant jars with liquid honey fills,
Or shears his silly sheep in sunny shine;

Or when Autumnus o'er the smiling land
Lifts up his head with rosy apples crown'd,
Joyful he plucks the pears, which erst his hand

Graff'd on the stem, they're weighing to the ground;