TO TYNDARIS.
Horace
The nimble Faunus often exchanges the Lycaean mountain for the pleasant
Lucretilis, and always defends my she-goats from the scorching summer,
and the rainy winds. The wandering wives of the unsavory husband seek
the hidden strawberry-trees and thyme with security through the safe
grove: nor do the kids dread the green lizards, or the wolves sacred to
Mars; whenever, my Tyndaris, the vales and the smooth rocks of the
sloping Ustica have resounded with his melodious pipe. The gods are my
protectors. My piety and my muse are agreeable to the gods. Here plenty,
rich with rural honors, shall flow to you, with her generous horn filled
to the brim. Here, in a sequestered vale, you shall avoid the heat of
the dog-star; and, on your Anacreontic harp, sing of Penelope and the
frail Circe striving for one lover; here you shall quaff, under the
shade, cups of unintoxicating Lesbian. Nor shall the raging son of
Semele enter the combat with Mars; and unsuspected you shall not fear
the insolent Cyrus, lest he should savagely lay his intemperate hands on
you, who are by no means a match for him; and should rend the chaplet
that is platted in your hair, and your inoffensive garment.
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