divided from us by the interposed Adriatic, is meditating;
neither be fearfully solicitous for the necessaries of a life, which
requires but a few things. Youth and beauty fly swift away, while
sapless old age expels the wanton loves and gentle sleep. The same glory
does not always remain to the vernal flowers, nor does the ruddy moon
shine with one continued aspect; why, therefore, do you fatigue you
mind, unequal to eternal projects? Why do we not rather (while it is in
our power) thus carelessly reclining under a lofty plane-tree, or this
pine, with our hoary locks made fragrant by roses, and anointed with
Syrian perfume, indulge ourselves with generous wine? Bacchus dissipates
preying cares. What slave is here, instantly to cool some cups of ardent
Falernian in the passing stream? Who will tempt the vagrant wanton Lyde
from her house? See that you bid her hasten with her ivory lyre,
collecting her hair into a graceful knot, after the fashion of a Spartan
maid.

* * * * *

ODE XII.

TO MAECENAS.

Do not insist that the long wars of fierce Numantia, or the formidable
Annibal, or the Sicilian Sea impurpled with Carthaginian blood, should
be adapted to the tender lays of the lyre: nor the cruel Lapithae, nor
Hylaeus excessive in wine and the earth born youths, subdued by
Herculean force, from whom the splendid habitation of old Saturn dreaded
danger. And you yourself, Maecenas, with more propriety shall recount
the battles of Caesar, and the necks of haughty kings led in triumph
through the streets in historical prose. It was the muse's will that I
should celebrate the sweet strains of my mistress Lycimnia, that I
should celebrate her bright darting eyes, and her breast laudably
faithful to mutual love: who can with a grace introduce her foot into
the dance, or, sporting, contend in raillery, or join arms with the
bright virgins on the celebrated Diana's festival. Would you,
[Maecenas,] change one of Lycimnia's tresses for all the rich Achaemenes
possessed, or the Mygdonian wealth of fertile Phrygia, or all the
dwellings of the Arabians replete with treasures? Especially when she
turns her neck to meet your burning kisses, or with a gentle cruelty
denies, what she would more delight to have ravished than the
petitioner--or sometimes eagerly anticipates to snatch them her self.

* * * * *

ODE XIII.

TO A TREE.

O tree, he planted thee o