Ode Iv.[1]

Vulcan! hear your glorious task; I did not from your labors ask In gorgeous panoply to shine, For war was ne'er a sport of mine. No--let me have a silver bowl, Where I may cradle all my soul; But mind that, o'er its simple frame No mimic constellations flame; Nor grave upon the swelling side, Orion, scowling o'er the tide.

I care not for the glittering wain, Nor yet the weeping sister train. But let the vine luxuriant roll Its blushing tendrils round the bowl, While many a rose-lipped bacchant maid Is culling clusters in their shade. Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, Wildly press the gushing grapes, And flights of Loves, in wanton play, Wing through the air their winding way; While Venus, from her arbor green, Looks laughing at the joyous scene, And young Lyaeus by her side Sits, worthy of so bright a bride.

This ode, Aulus Gellius tells us, was performed at an entertainment where he was present.

ODE V.

Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, Grave for me an ample bowl, Worthy to shine in hall or bower, When spring-time brings the reveller's hour. Grave it with themes of chaste design, Fit for a simple board like mine. Display not there the barbarous rites In which religious zeal delights; Nor any tale of tragic fate Which History shudders to relate. No--cull thy fancies from above, Themes of heaven and themes of love. Let Bacchus, Jove's ambrosial boy, Distil the grape in drops of joy, And while he smiles at every tear, Let warm-eyed Venus, dancing near, With spirits of the genial bed, The dewy herbage deftly tread. Let Love be there, without his arms, In timid nakedness of charms; And all the Graces, linked with Love, Stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove; While rosy boys disporting round, In circlets trip the velvet ground. But ah! if there Apollo toys, I tremble for the rosy boys.

An allusion to the fable that Apollo had killed his beloved boy Hyacinth, while playing with him at quoits. "This" (says M. La Fosse) "is assuredly the sense of the text, and it cannot admit of any other."