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ODE 18.

To A Faun.

WOOER of young Nymphs who fly thee,

Lightly o'er my sunlit lawn, Trip, and go, nor injured by thee

Be my weanling herds, O Faun:

If the kid his doomed head bows, and

Brims with wine the loving cup, When the year is full; and thousand

Scents from altars boar go up.

Each flock in the rich grass gambols

When the month comes which is thine ; And the happy village rambles

Fieldward with the idle kine:

Lambs play on, the wolf their neighbour :

Wild woods deck thee with their spoil; And with glee the sons of labour

Stamp upon their foe the soil.

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LYCE, the gods have listened to my prayer:
The gods bave listened, Lyce. Thou art grey,

And still would'st thou seem fair ;

Still unshamed drink, and play,

And, wine-flushed, woo slow-answering Love with

weak Shrill pipings. With young Chia He doth dwell,

Queen of the harp; her cheek

Is his sweet citadel :

He marked the withered oak, and on he flew Intolerant; shrank from Lyce grim and wrinkled,

Whose teeth are ghastly-blue,

Whose temples snow-besprinkled :

Not purple, not the brightest gem that glows, Brings back to her the years which, fleeting fast,

Time hath once shut in those

Dark annals of the Past.

Oh, where is all thy loveliness ? soft hue
And motions soft? Oh, what of Her doth rest,

Her, who breathed love, who drew

My heart out of my breast ?

Fair, and far-famed, and subtly sweet, thy face Ranked next to Cinara's. But to Cinara fate Gave but a few years' grace;

And lets live, all too late,

Lyce, the rival of the beldam crow:
That fiery youth may see with scornful brow

The torch that long ago

Beamed bright, a cinder now.

EPODE 2.

“ HAPPY—who far from turmoil, like the men

That lived in days gone by,
With his own oxen ploughs his native glen,

Nor dreams of usury! .
Him the fierce clarion summons not to war;

He dreads not angry seas :
The courts the stately citizens' proud door-

He gets him far from these.
His maiden-vines it is his gentle craft

With poplars tall to wed:
Or the rank outgrowth lopping off, ingraft

Fair branches in its stead;.
To watch his kine, that wander, lowing, far

Into the valley deep:
Store the prest honey in the taintless jar,

Or shear his tender sheep.
And soon as Autumn, with fair fruitage tricked,

Peeps o'er the fallows bare; Then with what glee his purpling grape is picked,

And newly-grafted pear,

For you, Priapus and Silvanus strict

Guard of his land—to share. -Now ’neath an ancient oak, entangled now

In green grass, will he lie;
Where streams go by bank-hidden; from the bough

Is heard the wood-birds cry;
And brawls the clear brook, as if seeking how

To sing him lullaby. -But when the wintry skies Jove's thunder rives,

And down the snow-storms pour;
Towards the set pit-fall, doubling oft, he drives

The hound-encompassed boar :
Or with smooth rods his web of nets prepares,

The fat thrush to surprise ;
Or nooses stranger cranes, or frightened hares-

Either a glorious prize!
Who, with such pleasures round him, for the cares

That fret a lover sighs ?

“Does a pure wife his household cares divide,

Watch his sweet little ones ;(The Sabine's thus and swift Apulian's bride

Toiled 'neath Apulia's suns ;)

N

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