not stomaching the earth-born rider Bellerophon, affords a terrible example, that you ought always to pursue things that are suitable to you, and that you should avoid a disproportioned match, by thinking it a crime to entertain a hope beyond what is allowable.  Come then, thou last of my loves (for hereafter I shall burn for no other woman), learn with me such measures, as thou mayest recite with thy lovely voice:  our gloomy cares shall be mitigated with an ode.

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ODE XII.

To Virgil.

The Thracian breezes, attendants on the spring, which moderate the deep, now fill the sails; now neither are the meadows stiff [with frost], nor roar the rivers swollen with winter’s snow.  The unhappy bird, that piteotisly bemoans Itys, and is the eternal disgrace of the house of Cecrops (because she wickedly revenged the brutal lusts of kings), now builds her nest.  The keepers of the sheep play tunes upon the pipe amid the tendar herbage, and delight that god, whom flocks and the shady hills of Arcadia delight.  The time of year, O Virgil, has brought on a drought:  but if you desire to quaff wine from the Calenian press, you, that are a constant companion of young noblemen, must earn your liquor by [bringing some] spikenard:  a small box of spikenard shall draw out a cask, which now lies in the Sulpician store-house, bounteous in the indulgence of fresh hopes and efficacious in washing away the bitterness of cares.  To which joys if you hasten, come instantly with your merchandize:  I do not intend to dip you in my cups scot-free, like a man of wealth, in a house abounding with plenty.  But lay aside delay, and the desire of gain; and, mindful of the gloomy [funeral] flames, intermix, while you may, your grave studies with a little light gayety:  it is delightful to give a loose on a proper occasion.

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ODE XIII.

To Lyce.

The gods have heard my prayers, O Lyce; Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, you are become an old woman, and yet you would fain seem a beauty; and you wanton and drink in an audacious manner; and when drunk, solicit tardy Cupid, with a quivering voice.  He basks in the charming cheeks of the blooming Chia, who is a proficient on the lyre.  The teasing urchin flies over blasted oaks, and starts back at the sight of you, because foul teeth, because wrinkles and snowy hair render you odious.  Now neither Coan purples nor sparkling jewels restore those years, which winged time has inserted in the public annals.  Whither is your beauty gone?  Alas! or whither your bloom?  Whither your graceful deportment?  What have you [remaining] of her, of her, who breathed loves, and ravished me from myself?  Happy next to Cynara, and distinguished for an aspect of graceful ways:  but the fates granted a few years only to Cynara, intending to preserve for a long time Lyce, to rival in years the aged raven:  that the fervid young fellows might see, not without excessive laughter, that torch, [which once so brightly scorched,] reduced to ashes.