This “Sabine farm” was at once Horace’s joy and pride. Between Rome and Tibur, therefore, he made frequent journeys, and the simple country-folk, won by his affability, hailed with delight the occasions when, tired of city excitements, he sought relaxation among them. Beset by the throng of gossips and favor-seekers who haunted his footsteps as the friend of Mæcenas, Horace in his Sixth Satire breaks out into enthusiastic praises of his rural home, with its simple fare and freedom from annoyances:— “This fortune’s favorite son (’tis cried) Is ever by Mæcenas’ side, Companion wheresoe’er he goes, In rural sports or festal shows. Should any rumor, without head Or tail, about the streets be spread, Whoever meets me gravely nods, And says,‘As you approach the gods, It is no mystery to you; What do the Dacians mean to do?’ ‘Indeed I know not.’—’How you joke, And love to sneer at simple folk.’ ‘Then, pr’ythee, where are Cæsar’s bands Allotted their long-promised lands?’ Although I swear I know no more Of that than what was asked before, They stand amazed, and think me then The most reserved of mortal men. Bewildered thus amidst a maze, I lose the sunshine of my days, And often wish: Oh! when again Shall I behold the rural plain? And when with books of sages deep Sequestered ease and gentle sleep, In sweet oblivion, blissful balm! The busy cares of life becalm. Oh! when shall Pythagoric beans With wholesome juice enrich my veins? And bacon, ham, and savory pottage, Be served within my simple cottage? O nights that furnish such a feast As even gods themselves might taste!” FRANCIS. The loss of his friend Virgil cast a shadow over Horace’s latter years. His own death was sudden. A short month before, Mæcenas had breathed his last; and thus the promise of the poet not to survive his patron was almost literally fulfilled. In an ode to Mæcenas, Horace had sung, “Should you, alas! be snatched away, Wherefore, ah! wherefore should I stay, My value lost, no longer whole, And but possessing half my soul? One day (believe the sacred oath) Shall lead the funeral pomp of both; With thee to Pluto’s dark abode, With thee I’ll tread the dreary road.” The remains of the poet were laid by the side of his friend; and thus, devoted to each other in life, they slept together in the grave. (_Read Milman’s “Life of Horace.”_)