Part 11 (1/2)

The bright Sun darting through th'enlightned Ayre His beames, doth guild the Moutaines cleare, The houres drive on heav'ns torch, that s.h.i.+ne so bright, And _Phbus_ father of the light-- With a peculiar influence bedewes The Hills all o're, when night ensues.

The warme _Favonian_ winds with whistling gale Doe merrily the boughs a.s.saile, And with their temperate breath, and gentle noise, Sweet pleasing slumbers softly raise.

At non loquaces interim nidi tacent, Matresque nidorum vagae.

Sed aut maritis turtur in ramis gemit, Et saxa rumpit questibus, Aut laeta late cantibus mulcet loca Famosa pellex Thraciae.

Silvisq; coram plorat, & crudelibus Accusat agris Terea: Quaec.u.mque msta vocibus dic.u.n.t aves, Respondet argutum nemus, Affatur alnum quercus, ornum populus, Affatur ilex ilicem, Et se vicissim collocuta redditis Arbusta solantur sonis.

The prateling Nests meane while no silence keep, Their wandring guests ne're sleep.

To's mate, the Turtle 'mong'st the branches grones, And with complaints breakes hardest stones, The Nightingale, the pleasant Groves about Refresheth, with her warbling note, Bewayles her losse to th'woods, i'th' cruell fields 'Gainst _Tereus_ her cryes shee yeilds: And what the mournfull birds doe so complaine, The shrill woods answer back againe.

The Oke, the Alder tells; the Poplar tree The Ash; and that, the Elme stands by.

The Groves rejoyce with th'Eccho they afford And tell them backe--ev'n word for word.

Huc o Quiritum ductor, huc Oenotriae O magne regnator plagae _Jordane_, tandem plenus urbis & fori, Rerumque magnarum satur, Sepone curis temet, & domesticis Furare pectus otiis.

Hic vel tuarum lene tranabis vadum Opacus umbris arborum, Tuosque colleis inter, & tuas procul Perambulabis ilices:

_Jorda.n.u.s_ here, hither thy selfe command, Great Ruler of th'_Oenotrian_ land.

Withdraw thy selfe from cares, from all resort So cloy'd with' Citie, and with Court, So full of great affaires, at length thy breast Convey to thy domestick rest.

Here thou may'st pa.s.se thy Foord, in gloomy shade, On each side, by thine owne trees made, And here between thy Mounts, with tall Okes set, A large walke thou shalt get:

Vel c.u.m Decembri campus, & prima nive Vicina canescent juga; Nunc impeditas mollibus plagis feras, Silvamq; praecinges metu: Nunc incitato capream rumpes equo, Teloque deprendes aprum; Jactoq; cervos collocabis spiculo, Furesq; terrebis lupos.

Quid si Latinae laus _Alexander_ plagae, Sacraeque sidus purpurae, Tec.u.m paterno feriabitur solo, Seseq; curis eximet; Tuique cives, hospitesq; civium Toto fruemur gaudio.

Or in _December_, when the fields looke white, And th'Hills, with the earlyest snow doth light; Sometime th'entangled game, with twining nett I'th' wood, with feare thou shalt besett: Sometimes with courser fleet, pursue full sore, The Buck thou mayst, sometimes the Bore; With thy thrown dart the red Deer thou shalt stick.

And th'frighted ravenous Wolves shalt strick, And if that Starre o'th' sacred dignity The glory of all _Italy_, Will also from his cares, himselfe make free, And keepe his Festivals with thee; Each Citizen of thine, and every guest With the compleatest joy is blest.

_Ad fontem Sonam._

In patrio fundo, dum Roma rediisset.

Ode 2. Lib. Epod.

Fons innocenti lucidus magis vitro Puraque purior nive, Pagi voluptas, una Nympharum sitis, Ocelle natalis soli.

Longis viarum languidus laboribus Et mole curarum gravis Thuscis ab usque gentibus redux, tibi Accline prosterno latus: Permitte siccus, qua potes, premi; cava Permitte libari manu.

Sic te quietum nulla perturbet pecus, Ramusve lapsus arbore: Sic dum loquaci prata garritu secas, Et laetus audiri salis; a.s.sibilantes populetorum comae Ingrata ponant murmura Tibi, lyraeq; Vatis: haud frustra sacer Nam si quid _Urba.n.u.s_ probat, Olim fluenti leue Blandusiae nihil Aut Sirmioni debeas.

To the Fountaine Sona,

_When hee returned._

_Ode 2. Lib. Epod._

O Fount more cleare then spotlesse gla.s.se, More pure, then purest snow e're was, The Nymphs desire, and Countries grace, Thou joy of this my Native place.

Tyr'd with a tedious journey, I, And press'd with cares that grievous lye, From the farre _Tuscan_ Land made free Thus low I bow my selfe to thee: Oh, if thou canst, vouchsafe to bee Press'd, and with hollow palme drawne dry.

So let thy peace no wandring beast Disturb, no broken bough, thy rest: So when thou cutt'st with prattling noise The Meads, and leap'st, men heare thy voice; May th'whistling leaves of Poplar trees With their unwelcome murmurs cease-- To thee, and thy Priests Lute: if nought _Urban_ approves, in vaine is thought T'_Blandusia_ thou canst nothing owe; Nor to milde flowing _Sirmio_.

Palinodia Ad secundam libri Epodon Odam _Q. Horatii Flacci_.