masks its fear
       Of Marsic steel, shall I be known,
     And furthest Scythian:  Spain shall hear
       My warbling, and the banks of Rhone. 
     No dirges for my fancied death;
       No weak lament, no mournful stave;
     All clamorous grief were waste of breath,
       And vain the tribute of o grave.

BOOK III.

I.

ODI PROFANUM.

     I bid the unhallow’d crowd avaunt! 
       Keep holy silence; strains unknown
     Till now, the Muses’ hierophant,
       I sing to youths and maids alone. 
     Kings o’er their flocks the sceptre wield;
       E’en kings beneath Jove’s sceptre bow: 
     Victor in giant battle-field,
       He moves all nature with his brow. 
     This man his planted walks extends
       Beyond his peers; an older name
     One to the people’s choice commends;
       One boasts a more unsullied fame;
     One plumes him on a larger crowd
       Of clients.  What are great or small? 
     Death takes the mean man with the proud;
       The fatal urn has room for all. 
     When guilty Pomp the drawn sword sees
       Hung o’er her, richest feasts in vain
     Strain their sweet juice her taste to please;
       No lutes, no singing birds again
     Will bring her sleep.  Sleep knows no pride;
       It scorns not cots of village hinds,
     Nor shadow-trembling river-side,
       Nor Tempe, stirr’d by western winds. 
     Who, having competence, has all,
       The tumult of the sea defies,
     Nor fears Arcturus’ angry fall,
       Nor fears the Kid-star’s sullen rise,
     Though hail-storms on the vineyard beat,
       Though crops deceive, though trees complain. 
     One while of showers, one while of heat,
       One while of winter’s barbarous reign. 
     Fish feel the narrowing of the main
       From sunken piles, while on the strand
     Contractors with their busy train
       Let down huge stones, and lords of land
     Affect the sea:  but fierce Alarm
       Can clamber to the master’s side: 
     Black Cares can up the galley swarm,
       And close behind the horseman ride. 
     If Phrygian marbles soothe not pain,
       Nor star-bright purple’s costliest wear,
     Nor vines of true Falernian strain,
       Nor Achaemenian spices rare,
     Why with rich gate and pillar’d range
       Upbuild new mansions, twice as high,
     Or why my Sabine vale exchange
       For more laborious luxury?

II.

ANGUSTAM amice.