Horrendum ridens, lucemque miserrimus odit: Informem famulus laqueum pendentiaque ossa Mane videt, refugitque feri meminisse magistri. Di nobis meliora! Modum re servat in omni Qui sapit: haud ilium semper recubare sub umbra, Haud semper madidis juvat impallescere chartis. Nos numerus sumus, et libros consumere nati; Sed requies sit rebus; amant alterna Camenæ. Nocte dieque legas, cum tertius advenit annus: Tum libros cape; claude fores, et prandia defer. Quartus venit: ini, {150b} rebus jam rite paratis, Exultans, et coge gradum conferre magistros. His animadversis, fugies immane Barathrum. His, operose puer, si qua fata aspera rumpas, Tu rixator eris. Saltem non crebra revises Ad stabulum, {151a} et tota moerens carpere juventa; Classe nec amisso nil profectura dolentem Tradet ludibriis te plena leporis HIRUDO. {151b} TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. TO A SHIP. OD. i. 14. YET on fresh billows seaward wilt thou ride, O ship? What dost thou? Seek a hav’n, and there Rest thee: for lo! thy side Is oarless all and bare, And the swift south-west wind hath maimed thy mast, And thy yards creak, and, every cable lost, Yield must thy keel at last On pitiless sea-waves tossed Too rudely. Goodly canvas is not thine, Nor gods, to hear thee now, when need is sorest:— Though thou—a Pontic pine, Child of a stately forest,— Boastest high name and empty pedigree, Pale seamen little trust the gaudy sail: Stay, unless doomed to be The plaything of the gale. Flee—what of late sore burden was to me, Now a sad memory and a bitter pain,— Those shining Cyclads flee That stud the far-off main. TO VIRGIL. OD. i. 24. UNSHAMED, unchecked, for one so dear We sorrow. Lead the mournful choir, Melpomene, to whom thy sire Gave harp, and song-notes liquid-clear! Sleeps He the sleep that knows no morn? Oh Honour, oh twin-born with Right, Pure Faith, and Truth that loves the light, When shall again his like be born? Many a kind heart for Him makes moan; Thine, Virgil, first. But ah! in vain Thy love bids heaven restore again That which it took not as a loan: Were sweeter lute than Orpheus given To thee, did trees thy voice obey; The blood revisits not the clay Which He, with lifted wand, hath driven Into his dark assemblage, who Unlocks not fate to mortal’s prayer. Hard lot! Yet light their griefs who BEAR The ills which they may not undo. TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. OD. iii. 13. BANDUSIA, stainless mirror of the sky! Thine is the flower-crown’d bowl, for thee shall die, When dawns again yon sun, the kid; Whose budding horns, half-seen, half-hid,