Friend of my heart--and none of all the band Has to that name older or better right: Julius, thy sixtieth winter is at hand, Far-spent is now life's day and near the night. Delay not what thou would'st recall too late; That which is past, that only call thine own: Cares without end and tribulations wait, Joy tarrieth not, but scarcely come, is flown. Then grasp it quickly firmly to thy heart,-- Though firmly grasped, too oft it slips away;-- To talk of living is not wisdom's part: To-morrow is too late: live thou to-day! PROFESSOR GOLDWIN SMITH Best of all is the retrospect of the long friendship which has united him to Julius. It is as frank as it is touching: triginta mihi quattuorque messes tecum, si memini, fuere, Iuli. quarum dulcia mixta sunt amaris sed iucunda tamen fuere plura; et si calculus omnis huc et illuc diversus bicolorque digeratur, vincet candida turba nigriorem. si vitare voles acerba quaedam et tristes animi cavere morsus, nulli te facias nimis sodalem: gaudebis minus et minus dolebis (xii. 34).[662] My friend, since thou and I first met, This is the thirty-fourth December; Some things there are we'd fain forget, More that 'tis pleasant to remember. Let for each pain a black ball stand, For every pleasure past a white one, And thou wilt find, when all are scanned, The major part will be the bright one. He who would heartache never know, He who serene composure treasures, Must friendship's chequered bliss forego; Who has no pain hath fewer pleasures. PROFESSOR GOLDWIN SMITH He does not pour the treasure of his heart at his friend's feet, as Persius does in his burning tribute to Cornutus. He has no treasure of great price to pour. But it is only natural that in the poems addressed to his friends we should find the statement of his ideals of life: vitam quae faciunt beatiorem, iucundissime Martialis, haec sunt: res non parta labore sed relicta; non ingratus ager, focus perennis; lis numquam, toga rara, mens quieta; vires ingenuae, salubre corpus; prudens simplicitas, pares amici, convictus facilis, sine arte mensa; nox non ebria sed soluta curis. non tristis torus et tamen pudicus; somnus qui faciat breves tenebras: quod sis esse velis nihilque malis; summum nec metuas diem nee optes (x. 47).