POETRY.
HORACE.—BOOK I., ODE I.
212ECENAS ATAVIS.
MAscENAs, friend, my stay, my glory, Scion of Kings renowned in story ! Some o'er th' Olympic plain delight To guide the chariots' headlong flight, Thro' whirling clouds of dust to roll, With glowing axle graze the goal, And seize the palm, the meed of worth, That lifts to Heaven the Lords of earth.
How proud the favourite of the hour Whom fickle Rome exalts to power ! How glad the man whose garner stores The wealth of Libyan threshing-floors !
Contented, happy, spade in hand, The peasant digs his father's land : Not Attains could tempt that swain Trembling to cleave th' 2Egfean main With Cyprian prow ; For rural joys The merchant, tempest-wearied, sighs, A modest homestead near the town, Repose, not riches or renown : But soon, indocile to endure Privations of the frugal poor, Refits his shattered bark, and braves Once more the vexed Icarian waves.
Some scorn not from the busy day To steal one hour of rest away, Quaffing old Massie, idly laid Beneath the Arbutus' green shade, Where from the bubbling fountain-head, The soft and sacred waters spread.
For others, manlier joys !—the sight Of tented camps, the storm of fight, The clarion shrill, and trumpet blare Blending discordant in the air ; The wars that weeping mothers hate. The Hunter leaves his tender mate, Nor heeds the storm, when, sore beset, The Marsian boar bursts thro' the net, Or when his hounds, keen-eyed and true, Thro' field and flood the stag pursue.
A nobler aim, my friend, is mine: Those ivy-leaves my brow entwine That rank the Bards with Gods. Green lawns, Cool groves remote, where Nymphs and Fauns Weave the light dance, awake in me A truer life, apart and free ; For me Euterpe breathes her flute, For me Polymnia tunes the lute : Place me amid the Lyric Choir ! I rise Sublime, enraptured, to the starry skies.
STEPHEN E. DE 'PERE.
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