HORACE, ODE III. BOOK IV.

To MELPOMENE.

I.

E, on whose Birth the Lyric Queen

HE

Of Numbers fmil'd, fhall never grace

The Ifthmian Gauntlet, nor be seen

First in the fam'd Olympic Race.

II.

He shall not, after Toils of War

And humbling haughty Monarchs' Pride,

With laurel'd Brows, confpicuous far,
To Jove's Tarpeian Temple ride.

III.

But Him the Streams that warbling flow

Rich Tibur's flow'ry Meads along,

And shady Groves (his Haunts) fhall know,

The Master of Eolian Song.

IV.

The Sons of Rome, Majestic Rome!
Have fixt me in the Poet's Quire:
And Envy now, or dead, or dumb,

Forbears to blame what they admire.

V.

Goddess of the fweet founding Lute,

Which thy harmonious Touch obeys; Who can't the finny Race, tho' mute, To dying Cygnets' Accents raise!

VI.

Thy Gift it is, that All, with Eafe,
My new unrival'd Honours own;
That still I live, and living please,
O Goddess, is thy Gift alone.

Translation

A

Tranflation from the Antient British.

I.

WAY; let nought to Love difpleafing My Winifreda, move your Care; Let nought delay the Heav'nly Bleffing,

Nor fqueamish Pride, nor gloomy Fear.

II.

What tho' no Grants of Royal Donors

With pompous Titles grace our Blood? We'll fhine in more fubftantial Honours, And, to be Noble, we'll be Good.

III.

Our Name, while Virtue thus we tender,
Will fweetly found where-e'er 'tis spoke:
And all the Great ones, They fhall wonder,
How they respect fuch little Folk,

IV.

What tho', from Fortune's lavish Bounty,

No mighty Treasures we poffefs?

We'll find, within our Pittance, Plenty,
And be content without Excess.

V.

Still fhall each kind returning Season
Sufficient for our Wishes give:

For we will live a Life of Reason,

And that's the only Life to live.

VI.

Through Youth and Age, in Love excelling,
We'll Hand in Hand together tread;
Sweet-fmiling Peace fhall crown our Dwelling,
And Babes, sweet-fmiling Babes, our Bed.

VII.

How fhould I love the pretty Creatures,
While round my Knees they fondly clung,

To

To see them look their Mother's Features,

To hear them lifp their Mother's Tongue!

VIII.

And, when with Envy Time transported
Shall think to rob us of our Joys;

You'll, in your Girls, again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my Boys.

On two Twin Sifters who died at the fame Time, and were buried in one Grave.

Air Marble, tell to future Days,

FA

That here two Virgin Sifters lie;

Whofe Life employ'd each Tongue in Praise;
Whofe Death gave Tears to every Eye.

In Stature, Beauty, Years, and Fame,

Together as they grew, They fhone;

So much alike, fo much the fame,

That Death mistook them Both for One.