ODE XI.

TO LEUCONOE.


Inquire not, Leuconoe (it is not fitting you should know), how long a
term of life the gods have granted to you or to me: neither consult the
Chaldean calculations. How much better is it to bear with patience
whatever shall happen! Whether Jupiter have granted us more winters, or
[this as] the last, which now breaks the Etrurian waves against the
opposing rocks. Be wise; rack off your wines, and abridge your hopes [in
proportion] to the shortness of your life. While we are conversing,
envious age has been flying; seize the present day, not giving the least
credit to the succeeding one.

* * * * *



ODE XII.

TO AUGUSTUS.


What man, what hero, O Clio, do you undertake to celebrate on the harp,
or the shrill pipe? What god? Whose name shall the sportive echo
resound, either in the shady borders of Helicon, or on the top of
Pindus, or on cold Haemus? Whence the woods followed promiscuously the
tuneful Orpheus, who by his maternal art retarded the rapid courses of
rivers, and the fleet winds; and was so sweetly persuasive, that he drew