ious
South, in the time of autumn. The black Cocytus wandering with languid
current, and the infamous race of Danaus, and Sisyphus, the son of the
Aeolus, doomed to eternal toil, must be visited; your land and house and
pleasing wife must be left, nor shall any of those trees, which you are
nursing, follow you, their master for a brief space, except the hated
cypresses; a worthier heir shall consume your Caecuban wines now guarded
with a hundred keys, and shall wet the pavement with the haughty wine,
more exquisite than what graces pontifical entertainment.

* * * * *

ODE XV.

AGAINST THE LUXURY OF THE ROMANS.

The palace-like edifices will in a short time leave but a few acres for
the plough; ponds of wider extent than the Lucrine lake will be every
where to be seen; and the barren plane-tree will supplant the elms. Then
banks of violets, and myrtle groves, and all the tribe of nosegays shall
diffuse their odors in the olive plantations, which were fruitful to
their preceding master. Then the laurel with dense boughs shall exclude
the burning beams. It was not so prescribed by the institutes of
Romulus, and the unshaven Cato, and ancient custom. Their private income
was contracted, while that of the community was great. No private men
were then possessed of galleries measured by ten-feet rules, which
collected the shady northern breezes; nor did the laws permit them to
reject the casual turf [for their own huts], though at the same time
they obliged them to ornament in the most sumptuous manner, with new
stone, the buildings of the public, and the temples of the gods, at a
common expense.

* * * * *

ODE XVI.

TO GROSPHUS.

O Grosphus, he that is caught in the wide Aegean Sea; when a black
tempest has obscured the moon, and not a star appears with steady light
for the mariners, supplicates the gods for repose: for repose, Thrace
furious in war; the quiver-graced Medes, for repose neither purchasable
by jewels, nor by purple, nor by gold. For neither regal treasures nor
the consul's officer can remove the wretched tumults of the mind, nor
the cares that hover about splendid ceilings. That man lives happily on
a little, who can view with pleasure the old-fashioned family
salt-cellar on his frugal board; neither anxiety nor sordid avarice robs
him of gentle sleep. Why do we, brave for a short season, aim at many
things? Why do we change