BOOK III.

ODE 1.

I SCORN and shun the rabble's noise.
Abstain from idle talk. A thing

That ear hath not yet heard, I sing,
The Muses' priest, to maids and boys.
To Jove the flocks which great kings sway,
To Jove great kings allegiance owe.
Praise him he laid the giants low:
All things that are, his nod obey.

This man may plant in broader lines
His fruit-trees that, the pride of race
Enlists a candidate for place:
In worth, in fame, a third outshines

His mates; or, thronged with clients, claims
Precedence. Even-handed Fate

Hath but one law for small and great:

That ample urn holds all men's names.

He o'er whose doomed neck hangs the sword

Unsheathed, the dainties of the South

Shall lack their sweetness in his mouth : No note of bird or harpsichord

Shall bring him Sleep. Yet Sleep is kind, Nor scorns the huts of labouring men; The bank where shadows play, the glen Of Tempe dancing in the wind.

He, who but asks 'Enough,' defies

Wild waves to rob him of his ease;

He fears no rude shocks, when he sees Arcturus set or Hædus rise:

When hailstones lash his vines, or fails
His farm its promise, now of rains
And now of stars that parch the plains
Complaining, or unkindly gales.

-In straitened seas the fish are pent;
For dams are sunk into the deep:

Pile upon pile the builders heap,

And he, whom earth could not content,

The Master. Yet shall Fear and Hate

Climb where the Master climbs: nor e'er

From the armed trireme parts black Care; He sits behind, the horseman's mate.

And if red marble shall not ease

The heartache; nor the shell that shines
Star-bright; nor all Falernum's vines,

All scents that charmed Achæmenes:

Why should I rear me halls of rare

Design, on proud shafts mounting high? Why bid my Sabine vale goodbye For doubled wealth and doubled care?

ODE 2.

FRIEND! with a poor man's straits to fight Let warfare teach thy stalwart boy:

Let him the Parthian's front annoy With lance in rest, a dreaded knight:

Live in the field, inure his eye

To danger. From the foeman's wall May the armed tyrant's dame, with all Her damsels, gaze on him, and sigh,

"Dare not, in war unschooled, to rouse Yon Lion-whom to touch is death,

To whom red Anger ever saith, 'Slay and slay on'-O prince, my spouse!"

-Honoured and blest the patriot dies.

From death the recreant may not flee:

Death shall not spare the faltering knee And coward back of him that flies.

Valour-unbeat, unsullied still

Shines with pure lustre: all too great

To seize or drop the sword of state, Swayed by a people's veering will.

Valour-to souls too great for death

Heav'n op'ning-treads the untrodden way: And this dull world, this damp cold clay, On wings of scorn, abandoneth.

-Let too the sealed lip honoured be.
The babbler, who'd the secrets tell

Of holy Ceres, shall not dwell
Where I dwell; shall not launch with me

A shallop. Heaven full many a time

Hath with the unclean slain the just:
And halting-footed Vengeance must

O'ertake at last the steps of crime.