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ODE XXIX.

To Iccius.

O Iccius, you now covet the opulent treasures of the Arabians, and are preparing vigorous for a war against the kings of Saba, hitherto unconquered, and are forming chains for the formidable Mede.  What barbarian virgin shall be your slave, after you have killed her betrothed husband?  What boy from the court shall be made your cup-bearer, with his perfumed locks, skilled to direct the Seric arrows with his father’s bow?  Who will now deny that it is probable for precipitate rivers to flow back again to the high mountains, and for Tiber to change his course, since you are about to exchange the noble works of Panaetius, collected from all parts, together with the whole Socratic family, for Iberian armor, after you had promised better things?

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ODE XXX.

To Venus.

O Venus, queen of Gnidus and Paphos, neglect your favorite Cyprus, and transport yourself into the beautiful temple of Glycera, who is invoking you with abundance of frankincense.  Let your glowing son hasten along with you, and the Graces with their zones loosed, and the Nymphs, and Youth possessed of little charm without you and Mercury.

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ODE XXXI.

To Apollo.

What does the poet beg from Phoebus on the dedication of his temple?  What does he pray for, while he pours from the flagon the first libation?  Not the rich crops of fertile Sardinia:  not the goodly flocks of scorched Calabria:  not gold, or Indian ivory:  not those countries, which the still river Liris eats away with its silent streams.  Let those to whom fortune has given the Calenian vineyards, prune them with a hooked knife; and let the wealthy merchant drink out of golden cups the wines procured by his Syrian merchandize, favored by the gods themselves, inasmuch as without loss he visits three or four times a year the Atlantic Sea.  Me olives support, me succories and soft mallows.  O thou son of Latona, grant me to enjoy my acquisitions, and to possess my health, together with an unimpaired understanding, I beseech thee; and that I may not lead a dishonorable old age, nor one bereft of the lyre.

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ODE XXXII.

To his lyre.

We are called upon.  If ever, O lyre, in idle amusement in the shade with thee, we have played anything that may live for this year and many, come on, be responsive to a Latin ode, my dear lyre—­first tuned by a Lesbian citizen, who, fierce in war, yet amid arms, or if he had made fast to the watery shore his tossed vessel, sung Bacchus, and the Muses, and Venus, and the boy, her ever-close attendant, and Lycus, lovely for his black eyes and jetty locks.  O thou ornament of Apollo, charming shell, agreeable even at the banquets of supreme Jove!  O thou sweet alleviator of anxious toils, be propitious to me, whenever duly invoking thee!