s so redouble their strokes on the sharp-sounding
cymbals, as direful anger; which neither the Noric sword can deter, nor
the shipwrecking sea, nor dreadful fire, not Jupiter himself rushing
down with awful crash. It is reported that Prometheus was obliged to add
to that original clay [with which he formed mankind], some ingredient
taken from every animal, and that he applied the vehemence of the raging
lion to the human breast. It was rage that destroyed Thyestes with
horrible perdition; and has been the final cause that lofty cities have
been entirely demolished, and that an insolent army has driven the
hostile plowshare over their walls. Compose your mind. An ardor of soul
attacked me also in blooming youth, and drove me in a rage to the
writing of swift-footed iambics. Now I am desirous of exchanging
severity for good nature, provided that you will become my friend, after
my having recanted my abuse, and restore me your affections.

* * * * *

ODE XVII.

TO TYNDARIS.

The nimble Faunus often exchanges the Lycaean mountain for the pleasant
Lucretilis, and always defends my she-goats from the scorching summer,
and the rainy winds. The wandering wives of the unsavory husband seek
the hidden strawberry-trees and thyme with security through the safe
grove: nor do the kids dread the green lizards, or the wolves sacred to
Mars; whenever, my Tyndaris, the vales and the smooth rocks of the
sloping Ustica have resounded with his melodious pipe. The gods are my
protectors. My piety and my muse are agreeable to the gods. Here plenty,
rich with rural honors, shall flow to you, with her generous horn filled
to the brim. Here, in a sequestered vale, you shall avoid the heat of
the dog-star; and, on your Anacreontic harp, sing of Penelope and the
frail Circe striving for one lover; here you shall quaff, under the
shade, cups of unintoxicating Lesbian. Nor shall the raging son of
Semele enter the combat with Mars; and unsuspected you shall not fear
the insolent Cyrus, lest he should savagely lay his intemperate hands on
you, who are by no means a match for him; and should rend the chaplet
that is platted in your hair, and your inoffensive garment.

* * * * *

ODE XVIII.

TO VARUS.

O Varus, you can plant no tree preferable to the sacred vine, about the
mellow soil of Tibur, and the walls of Catilus. For God hath rendered
every thing cross to the sobe