yellow Tiber? Why shuns he the oil of the ring more cautiously than
viper's blood? Why neither does he, who has often acquired reputation by
the quoit, often by the javelin having cleared the mark, any longer
appear with arms all black-and-blue by martial exercises? Why is he
concealed, as they say the son of the sea-goddess Thetis was, just
before the mournful funerals of Troy; lest a manly habit should hurry
him to slaughter, and the Lycian troops?

* * * * *



ODE IX.

TO THALIARCHUS.


You see how Soracte stands white with deep snow, nor can the laboring
woods any longer support the weight, and the rivers stagnate with the
sharpness of the frost. Dissolve the cold, liberally piling up billets
on the hearth; and bring out, O Thaliarchus, the more generous wine,
four years old, from the Sabine jar. Leave the rest to the gods, who
having once laid the winds warring with the fervid ocean, neither the
cypresses nor the aged ashes are moved. Avoid inquiring what may happen
tomorrow; and whatever day fortune shall bestow on you, score it up for
gain; nor disdain, being a young fellow, pleasant loves, nor dances, as
long as ill-natured hoariness keeps off from your blooming age. Now let
both the Campus Martius and the public walks, and soft whispers at the
approach of evening be repeated at the appointed hour: now, too, the
delightful laugh, the betrayer of the lurking damsel from some secret