TO ANTONIUS IULUS.


Whoever endeavors, O Iulus, to rival Pindar, makes an effort on wings
fastened with wax by art Daedalean, about to communicate his name to the
glassy sea. Like a river pouring down from a mountain, which sudden
rains have increased beyond its accustomed banks, such the deep-mouthed
Pindar rages and rushes on immeasurable, sure to merit Apollo's laurel,
whether he rolls down new-formed phrases through the daring dithyrambic,
and is borne on in numbers exempt from rule: whether he sings the gods,
and kings, the offspring of the gods, by whom the Centaurs perished with
a just destruction, [by whom] was quenched the flame of the dreadful
Chimaera; or celebrates those whom the palm, [in the Olympic games] at
Elis, brings home exalted to the skies, wrestler or steed, and presents
them with a gift preferable to a hundred statues: or deplores some
youth, snatched [by death] from his mournful bride--he elevates both his
strength, and courage, and golden morals to the stars, and rescues him
from the murky grave. A copious gale elevates the Dircean swan, O
Antonius, as often as he soars into the lofty regions of the clouds: but
I, after the custom and manner of the Macinian bee, that laboriously
gathers the grateful thyme, I, a diminutive creature, compose elaborate
verses about the grove and the banks of the watery Tiber. You, a poet of
sublimer style, shall sing of Caesar, whenever, graceful in his
well-earned laurel, he shall drag the fierce Sygambri along the sacred
hill; Caesar, than whom nothing greater or better the fates and
indulgent gods ever bestowed on the earth, nor will bestow, though the
times should return to their primitive gold. You shall sing both the
festal days, and the public rejoicings on account of the prayed-for
return of the brave Augustus, and the forum free from law-suits. Then