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ODE XI.

To Leuconoe.

Inquire not, Leuconoe (it is not fitting you should know), how long a term of life the gods have granted to you or to me:  neither consult the Chaldean calculations.  How much better is it to bear with patience whatever shall happen!  Whether Jupiter have granted us more winters, or [this as] the last, which now breaks the Etrurian waves against the opposing rocks.  Be wise; rack off your wines, and abridge your hopes [in proportion] to the shortness of your life.  While we are conversing, envious age has been flying; seize the present day, not giving the least credit to the succeeding one.

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ODE XII.

To Augustus.

What man, what hero, O Clio, do you undertake to celebrate on the harp, or the shrill pipe?  What god?  Whose name shall the sportive echo resound, either in the shady borders of Helicon, or on the top of Pindus, or on cold Haemus?  Whence the woods followed promiscuously the tuneful Orpheus, who by his maternal art retarded the rapid courses of rivers, and the fleet winds; and was so sweetly persuasive, that he drew along the listening oaks with his harmonious strings.  But what can I sing prior to the usual praises of the Sire, who governs the affairs of men and gods; who [governs] the sea, the earth, and the whole world with the vicissitudes of seasons?  Whence nothing is produced greater than him; nothing springs either like him, or even in a second degree to him:  nevertheless, Pallas has acquired these honors, which are next after him.

Neither will I pass thee by in silence, O Bacchus, bold in combat; nor thee, O Virgin, who art an enemy to the savage beasts; nor thee, O Phoebus, formidable for thy unerring dart.

I will sing also of Hercules, and the sons of Leda, the one illustrious for his achievements on horseback, the other on foot; whose clear-shining constellation as soon as it has shone forth to the sailors, the troubled surge falls down from the rocks, the winds cease, the clouds vanish, and the threatening waves subside in the sea—­because it was their will.  After these, I am in doubt whom I shall first commemorate, whether Romulus, or the peaceful reign of Numa, or the splendid ensigns of Tarquinius, or the glorious death of Cato.  I will celebrate, out of gratitude, with the choicest verses, Regulus, and the Scauri, and Paulus, prodigal of his mighty soul, when Carthage conquered, and Fabricius.