eep,
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.

* * * * *

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.