When Horace says in this Ode, “How pleasing is it to see the well-fed sheep hastening home,” the observation is not _picturesque_, and therefore does not strongly impress the Imagination; but when he adds--“to see the _weary Oxen dragging, with languid neck, the inverted Ploughshare_,” he gives perhaps the most poetic feature in this Ode. Had he only said, “to see the Oxen returning from their labor,” his Oxen had been as much without character as his Sheep, and the sentence must have passed unimpressive over the mind of the Reader. It is the words--_dragging, with languid_ neck, the inverted ploughshare, that makes the sentence _Poetry_, and empowers it to arrest and charm the fancy. Had Horace always written thus, undeviating fidelity had been the best aim of his Translator, and the sure way of rendering him delightful in every Language. 2: Dacier observes that Vines supported on the _highest_ Trees produce Wines of the most exquisite flavor. 3: The feast of Terminus, one of the rural Gods, was held on the first of February, at which time, in those warm climates, the spring is very forward. 4: The Romans fancied that the struggle and terror of a kid on being seized by the Wolf, made its flesh more tender. 5: _Ides_, the middle of a month. 6: _Calends_, the beginning of the next month. TO NEAĒRA. BOOK THE FIFTH, EPODE THE FIFTEENTH. 'T was night--the moon, upon her sapphire throne, High o'er the waning stars serenely shone, When thou, false Nymph, determin'd to prophane Them, and each Power that rules the earth, and main, As thy soft, snowy arms about me twin'd, Close as round oaks the clasping ivies wind, Swore, while the gaunt wolf shall infest the lea, And red Orion vex the wintry sea, While gales shall fan Apollo's floating locks, That shed their golden light o'er hills and rocks, So long thy breast should burn with purest fires, With mutual hopes, and with unchang'd desires. Perjur'd Neaēra! thou shalt one day prove The worth, the vengeance of my slighted love; For O! if Manhood steels, if Honor warms, Horace shall fly, shall scorn thy faithless charms; Seek some bright Maid, whose soul for him shall glow, Nor art, nor pride, nor wandering wishes know. Then should'st thou languish, sigh, and weep once more, And with new vows his injur'd heart implore, Nor sighs, nor vows, nor tears shall he regard Cold as the snow and as the marble hard. And THOU, triumphant Youth, so gay, so vain, Proud of my fate, exulting in my pain, Tho' on thy hills the plenteous Herd should feed, And rich Pactolus roll along thy mead; For thee tho' Science ope the varied store, And Beauty on thy form its graces pour, Ere long shalt thou, while wrongs like these degrade, Droop with my woes, and with my rage upbraid; See on a Rival's brow thy garlands worn, And, with her falsehood, bear my jocund scorn. TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE, ON THEIR RENEWING THE CIVIL WARS.