nvy of men. The pinions that bear him aloft through the clear ether
will be of no usual or flagging sort. For him there shall be no death,
no Stygian wave across which none returns:

F_orego the dirge; let no one raise the cry_,
O_r make unseemly show of grief and gloom_,
N_or think o'er me, who shall not really die_,
T_o rear the empty honor of the tomb_.

His real self will remain among men, ever springing afresh in their
words of praise:

N_ot lasting bronze nor pyramid upreared_
B_y princes shall outlive my powerful rhyme_.
T_he monument I build, to men endeared_,
N_ot biting rain, nor raging wind, nor time_,
E_ndlessly flowing through the countless years_,
S_hall e'er destroy. I shall not wholly die_;
T_he grave shall have of me but what appears_;
F_or me fresh praise shall ever multiply_.
A_s long as priest and silent Vestal wind_
T_he Capitolian steep, tongues shall tell o'er_
H_ow humble Horace rose above his kind_
W_here Aufidus's rushing waters roar_
I_n the parched land where rustic Daunus reigned_,
A_nd first taught Grecian numbers how to run_
I_n Latin measure. Muse! the honor gained_
I_s thine, for I am thine till time is done_.
G_racious Melpomene, O hear me now_,
A_nd with the Delphic bay gird round my brow_.

Yet Horace does not always refer to his poetry in this serious vein; if
indeed we are to call serious a manner of literary prophecy which has
always been more or less conventional. His frequent disclaimers of the
higher inspiration are well known. The Muse forbids him to attempt the
epic strain or the praise of Augustus and Agrippa. In the face of grand
themes like these, his genius is slight. He will not essay even the
strain of Simonides in the lament for an Empire stained by land and sea
with the blood of fratricidal war. His themes shall be rather the feast
and the mimic battles of revelling youths and maidens, the making of
love in the grots of Venus. His lyre shall be jocose, his plectrum of
the lighter sort.

He not only half-humorously disclaims the capacity for lofty themes,
but, especially as he grows older and more philosophic, and perhaps less
lyric, half-seriously attributes whatever he does to persevering effort.
He has

"N_or the pride nor ample pinion_
T_hat the Theban eagle bear_,
S_ailing with supreme dominion_
T_hrough the azure deep of air_;"

he is the bee, with infinite industry flitting from flower to