Classic Poem

Etruscan scion of a royal line,
Long while, Maecenas, ready here I keep
A jar, untilted yet, of mellow wine,
Roses, and balm pressed from the nut to steep

Your locks. Come, tear yourself away, nor still
Gazing for ever on wet Tibur bide,
And Aefula's hanging cornland, and the hill
Where dwelt Telegonus the parricide.

The stored abundance that with surfeit cloys
Quit, and the cloud-capt palace pile, your home:
Admire no more the smoke, the wealth, the noise,
That make the vaunted happiness of Rome.

Changed ways of living oft the rich allure,
And, without purple rugs and awnings rare,
Meals neatly served in dwellings of the poor
Have smoothed ere now a forehead lined with care.

Andromeda's father brightly lo! displays
His fire erst hidden from us, Procyon
And the mad Lion in full fury blaze,
And days of drought again the sun brings on.

To rest his weary limbs the shepherd hies
With fainting flock to brooks and shady trees,
And rough Sylvanus' thickets. Quiet lies
The river bank deserted by its breeze.

Laws that may best the commonwealth uphold
You plan, and watch with anxious fear intent
The aims of Bactra, Cyrus' realm of old,
Seres, and Tanais by dissension rent.

God providently shrouds in gloomy night
Events to come, and laughs in scornful jest,
If mortal frets himself more than is right
Over life's troubles. Calmly for the best

Order the present. On the future sweeps,
Like river, that now in mid channel shrunk
To Tuscan sea a peaceful current creeps;
Anon whirls wave-worn boulders, many a trunk

Uprooted, herds, and homesteads, while around
With echoes of the roaring torrent all
The mountains and the neighbouring woods resound,
When comes wild flood in frenzy forth to call

The quiet streams. He his soul's captain proud
Will be, and happy, who from day to day
Can say: ‘I have lived. Let Jove or with black cloud
Fill the whole sky to-morrow, or with ray

‘Of sunlight clear; yet will he not undo
What lies behind me in the past, nor aught
To nullity reduce, or shape anew,
That once time's flight has to fulfilment brought.’

Fortune, that plies her cruel trade with glee,
And arrogant sport pursues with temper stern,
Shifts to and fro her honours, now to me,
Now to another bountiful in turn.

I praise her while she stays: if she but shake
Her wings for flight, her gifts I willingly
Resign, my virtue round me wrap, and take
The dowerless hand of honest poverty.

'Tis not my way, if groans, by Afric's gale
Attacked, my mast, to bow in abject prayers
My head, and, bargaining with vows, prevail
To save my Cyprian and Tyrian wares

From adding riches to the greedy main.
Nay, then in shelter of a pair-oared boat,
Wind and twin Pollux aiding shore to gain,
Safe through the Aegean tempest will I float.