the consul's officer can remove the wretched tumults of the mind, nor
the cares that hover about splendid ceilings. That man lives happily on
a little, who can view with pleasure the old-fashioned family
salt-cellar on his frugal board; neither anxiety nor sordid avarice robs
him of gentle sleep. Why do we, brave for a short season, aim at many
things? Why do we change our own for climates heated by another sun?
Whoever, by becoming an exile from his country, escaped likewise from
himself? Consuming care boards even brazen-beaked ships: nor does it
quit the troops of horsemen, for it is more fleet than the stags, more
fleet than the storm-driving east wind. A mind that is cheerful in its
present state, will disdain to be solicitous any further, and can
correct the bitters of life with a placid smile. Nothing is on all hands
completely blessed. A premature death carried off the celebrated
Achilles; a protracted old age wore down Tithonus; and time perhaps may
extend to me, what it shall deny to you. Around you a hundred flocks
bleat, and Sicilian heifers low; for your use the mare, fit for the
harness, neighs; wool doubly dipped in the African purple-dye, clothes
you: on me undeceitful fate has bestowed a small country estate, and the
slight inspiration of the Grecian muse, and a contempt for the malignity
of the vulgar.

* * * * *



ODE XVII.

TO MAECENAS.