A Handbook for Latin Clubs Part 23

Horace. Book II, Ode 10

Receive, dear friends, the truths I teach, So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse Fortune's power; Not always tempt the distant deep, Nor always timorously creep Along the treacherous sh.o.r.e.

He that holds fast the golden mean And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbittering all his state.

The tallest pines feel most the power Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower Comes heaviest to the ground; The bolts that spare the mountain's side His cloud-capt eminence divide, And spread the ruin round.

The well-informed philosopher Rejoices with a wholesome fear, And hopes in spite of pain; If winter bellow from the north, Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, And nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast?

The dark appearance will not last; Expect a brighter sky.

The G.o.d that strings a silver bow Awakes sometimes the Muses too, And lays his arrows by.

If hindrances obstruct thy way, Thy magnanimity display, And let thy strength be seen: But O! if Fortune fill thy sail With more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvas in.

--William Cowper

TO THE READER

Martial

He unto whom thou art so partial, O reader, is the well-known Martial, The Epigrammatist: while living, Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving So shall he hear, and feel, and know it: Post-obits rarely reach a poet.

--Lord Byron

ON PORTIA

Martial. Book I, xlii

When the sad tale, how Brutus fell, was brought, And slaves refused the weapon Portia sought; "Know ye not yet," she said, with towering pride, "Death is a boon that cannot be denied?

I thought my father amply had imprest This simple truth upon each Roman breast."

Dauntless she gulph'd the embers as they flamed And, while their heat within her raged, exclaim'd "Now, troublous guardians of a life abhorr'd, Still urge your caution, and refuse the sword."

--George Lamb

TO POt.i.tUS

Martial. Book X, lxx

That scarce a piece I publish in a year, Idle perhaps to you I may appear.

But rather, that I write at all, admire, When I am often robbed of days entire.

Now with my friends the evening I must spend: To those preferred my compliments must send.

Now at the witnessing a will make one: Hurried from this to that, my morning's gone.

Some office must attend; or else some ball; Or else my lawyer's summons to the hall.

Now a rehearsal, now a concert hear; And now a Latin play at Westminster.

Home after ten return, quite tir'd and dos'd.

When is the piece, you want, to be compos'd?

--John Hay

WHAT IS GIVEN TO FRIENDS IS NOT LOST

Martial

Your slave will with your gold abscond, The fire your home lay low, Your debtor will disown his bond Your farm no crops bestow; Your steward a mistress frail shall cheat; Your freighted s.h.i.+p the storms will beat; That only from mischance you'll save, Which to your friends is given; The only wealth you'll always have Is that you've lent to heaven.

--_English Journal of Education_, _Jan., 1856_

TO COTILUS

Martial

They tell me, Cotilus, that you're a beau: What this is, Cotilus, I wish to know.

"A beau is one who, with the nicest care, In parted locks divides his curling hair; One who with balm and cinnamon smells sweet, Whose humming lips some Spanish air repeat; Whose naked arms are smoothed with pumice-stone, And tossed about with graces all his own: A beau is one who takes his constant seat From morn till evening, where the ladies meet; And ever, on some sofa hovering near, Whispers some nothing in some fair one's ear; Who scribbles thousand billets-doux a day; Still reads and scribbles, reads, and sends away; A beau is one who shrinks, if nearly pressed By the coa.r.s.e garment of a neighbor guest; Who knows who flirts with whom, and still is found At each good table in successive round: A beau is one--none better knows than he A race-horse, and his n.o.ble pedigree"-- Indeed? Why Cotilus, if this be so, What teasing trifling thing is called a beau!

--Elton

THE HAPPY LIFE

Martial

_To Julius Martialis_

The things that make a life to please, (Sweetest Martial), they are these: Estate inherited, not got: A thankful field, hearth always hot: City seldom, law-suits never: Equal friends, agreeing forever: Health of body, peace of mind: Sleeps that till the morning bind: Wise simplicity, plain fare: Not drunken nights, yet loos'd from care: A sober, not a sullen spouse: Clean strength, not such as his that plows; Wish only what thou art, to be; Death neither wish, nor fear to see.

--Sir Richard Fanshawe

TO A SCHOOLMASTER

Martial. Book X, lxii

Thou monarch of eight parts of speech, Who sweep'st with birch a youngster's breech, Oh! now awhile withhold your hand!

So may the trembling crop-hair'd band Around your desk attentive hear, And pay you love instead of fear; So may yours ever be as full, As writing or as dancing school.

The scorching dog-day is begun; The harvest roasting in the sun; Each Bridewell keeper, though requir'd To use the lash, is too much tir'd.

Let ferula and rod together Lie dormant, till the frosty weather.

Boys do improve enough in reason, Who miss a fever in this season.

--John Hay

EPITAPH ON EROTION