Soon as she touch'd the Cretan shore,
"My sire," she cries; "ah! mine no more;
For every pious tender name

Is madly lost in this destructive flame.

"Where am I, wretched and undone? And shall a single death atone

A virgin's crime? or do my fears

Deplore the guilty deed with waking tears?

"Or am I yet, ah! pure from shame, Mock'd by a vain, delusive dream? Could I my springing flow'rets leave

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To tempt through length of seas the faithless wave? "While thus with just revenge possess'd, 45 How could I tear that monstrous beast! How would I break, by rage inspired, Those horns, alas! too fondly once admired? "Shameless, my father's gods I fly; Shameless, and yet I fear to die.

Hear me, some gracious, heavenly power,
Let lions fell this naked corse devour.

"My cheeks ere hollow wrinkles seize;
Ere yet their rosy bloom decays;
While youth yet rolls its vital flood;
Let tigers fiercely riot in my blood.

"But hark! I hear my father cry,
'Make haste, unhappy maid, to die;
And if a pendent fate you choose,

Your faithful girdle gives the kindly noose;
"Or if you like a headlong death,
Behold the pointed rocks beneath;
Or plunge into the rapid wave,

Nor live on haughty tasks, a spinster-slave,

"Some rude barbarian's concubine,
Born as thou art of royal line.""
Here the perfidious-smiling dame,
And idle Cupid to the mourner came;

A while she rallied with the fair,
Then with a grave and serious air,

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"Indulge," she cries, "thy rage no more, This odious bull shall yield him to thy power.

"Yet sigh no more but think of love; For know thou art the wife of Jove: Then learn to bear thy future fame When earth's wide continent shall boast thy name."

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76 Horace follows the poetical tradition, for it is more probable that Europe took its name from a province of Northern Macedonia, called Europia. The ancients divided the whole earth into two parts, Europe and Asia.-San. Dac.

ODE XXVIII.-TO LYDE.

HORACE invites Lyde to his house to celebrate the feast of
Neptune.

SAY, what shall I do on the festival day

Of Neptune? Come, Lyde, without more delay,
And broach the good creature, invaulted that lies:
Cast off all reserve, and be merry and wise.
The evening approaches, you see, from yon hill; 5
And yet, as if Phoebus, though winged, stood still,
You dally to bring us a cup of the best,
Condemn'd, like its consul, ignobly to rest.
With voices alternate, the sea-potent king,
And the Nereids, with ringlets of azure, we'll

sing.

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From the sweet-sounding shell thy hand shall raise
Latona's, and swift-darting Cynthia's praise.
The gay-smiling goddess of love and delight,
Who rules over Cnidus, and Cyclades bright,
And guiding her swans with a soft silken rein,
Revisits her Paphos, shall crown the glad strain.
Then to the good night, while bumpers elate us.
We'll sing a farewell, and a decent quietus.

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ODE XXIX.-TO MÆCENAS.*

HORACE invites Mæcenas to a frugal entertainment, and admonishes him to lay aside all anxious cares about futurity.

DESCENDED from an ancient line,

That once the Tuscan sceptre sway'd,
Haste thee to meet the generous wine,
Whose piercing is for thee delay'd;
For thee the fragrant essence flows,

For thee, Mæcenas, breathes the blooming rose.

From the delights, oh! break away,
Which Tibur's marshy prospect yields,
Nor with unceasing joy survey
Fair Esula's declining fields;

No more the verdant hills admire
Of Telegon, who kill'd his aged sire.

Instant forsake the joyless feast,
Where appetite in surfeit dies,
And from the tower'd structure haste,
That proudly threatens to the skies;
From Rome and its tumultuous joys,
Its crowds, and smoke, and opulence, and noise.

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* We may say of the odes of Horace, what has been said of the orations of Demosthenes, the iambic poems of Archilochus, and the letters of Atticus, that the longest are not the least beautiful. To support one continued flight of poetry deserves its praise, but Horace in this ode rises without ceasing, until he has gained a point of elevation to which no other poet ever soared. Such is the judgment of Scaliger, who seldom praises without reason.-San.

8 Mæcenas could command the prospect of the three cities which Horace names, from his house on the Esquiline hill, where Nero afterward sat to behold the burning of Rome. The. fall of houses was so frequent, occasioned by their being built so high, that Augustus published a law which forbade them to be raised above seventy feet.

17 We may compute how great the noise of a city must have peen which reckoned three millions of inhabitants, whose cir

Where health-preserving plainness dwells,
Nor sleeps upon the Tyrian die,
To frugal treats, and humble cells,

With grateful change the wealthy fly. Such scenes have charm'd the pangs of care, And smooth'd the clouded forehead of despair.

Andromeda's conspicuous sire

Now darts his hidden beams from far;
The lion shows his madd'ning fire,

And barks fierce Procyon's raging star,
While Phoebus, with revolving ray,
Brings back the burnings of the thirsty day.

Fainting beneath the swelt'ring heat,

To cooling streams and breezy shades
The shepherd and his flocks retreat,

While rustic sylvans seek the glades,
Silent the brook its borders laves,

Nor curls one vagrant breath of wind the waves.

But you for Rome's imperial state,
Attend with ever-watchful care,
Or, for the world's uncertain fate

Alarm'd, with ceaseless terror fear;
Anxious what eastern wars impend,

Or what the Scythians in their pride intend.

But Jove, in goodness ever wise,

Hath hid, in clouds of depthless night

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cuit, according to Pliny, including the suburbs, was forty-eight miles; and where the houses might be raised seven stories, each of them ten feet high. Lampridius tells us that Heliogabalus collected ten thousand pounds weight of cobwebs in Rome.

37 This is a noble compliment, that while all nature is languishing in idleness and inactivity; while the gods themselves are as ep, yet Mæcenas is always vigilant; always anxious for the lety of Rome and of the empire. The gods may sleep, sinc Mecenas watches over the safety of the state

All that in future prospect lies

Beyond the ken of mortal sight,
And laughs to see vain man oppress'd

With idle fears, and more than man distress'd.

Then wisely form the present hour;
Enjoy the bliss that it bestows;
The rest is all beyond our power,

And like the changeful Tiber flows,
Who now beneath his banks subsides,
And peaceful to his native ocean glides;

But when descends a sudden shower,
And wild provokes his silent flood,
The mountains hear the torrent roar,

And echoes shake the neighbouring wood,
Then swoln with rage he sweeps away
Uprooted trees, herds, dwellings to the sea.

Happy the man, and he alone,

Who, master of himself, can say,
To-day at least hath been my own,
For I have clearly lived to-day:
Then let to-morrow's clouds arise,
Or purer suns o'erspread the cheerful skies.

Not Jove himself can now make void
The joy that wing'd the flying hour;
The certain blessing once enjoy'd,

Is safe beyond the godhead's power:
Nought can recall the acted scene,

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What hath been, spite of Jove himself, hath been.

But Fortune, ever-changing dame,
Indulges her malicious joy,

And constant plays her haughty game,
Proud of her office to destroy;

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52 This description of the Tiber is a perfect image of the vi cissitudes of human life, and the moral of it is animated with a poetical spirit, which gives it life and being