CELSO GAUDERE.

Health to friend Celsus--so, good Muse, report-- Who holds the pen in Nero's little court!

If asked about me, say, I plan and plan, Yet live a useless and unhappy man: Sunstrokes have spared my olives, hail my vines; No herd of mine in far-off pasture pines: Yet ne'ertheless I suffer; hourly teased Less by a body than a mind diseased, No ear have I to hear, no heart to heed The words of wisdom that might serve my need, Frown on my doctors, with the friends am wroth Who fain would rouse me from my fatal sloth, Seek what has harmed me, shun what looks of use, Town-bird at Tibur, and at Rome recluse.

Then ask him how his health is, how he fares, How prospers with the prince and his confreres.

If he says Well, first tell him you rejoice, Then add one little hint (but drop your voice), "As Celsus bears his fortune well or ill, So bear with Celsus his acquaintance will."

IX. TO TIBERIUS CLAUDIUS NERO.

SEPTIMIUS, CLAUDI.

Septimius, Nero, seems to comprehend, As none else does, how you esteem your friend: For when he begs, nay, forces me, good man, To move you in his favour, if I can, As not unfit the heart and home to share Of Claudius, who selects his staff with care, Bidding me act as though I filled the place Of one you honour with your special grace, He sees and knows what I may safely try By way of influence better e'en than I.

Believe me, many were the pleas I used In the vain hope to get myself excused: But then there came a natural fear, you know, Lest I should seem to rate my powers too low, To make a snug peculium of my own, And keep my influence for myself alone: So, fearing to incur more serious blame, I bronze my front, step down, and play my game.

If then you praise the sacrifice I make In waiving modesty for friendship's sake, Admit him to your circle, when you've read These lines, and trust me for his heart and head.

X. TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.

URBIS AMATOREM.

To Fuscus, lover of the city, I Who love the country, wish prosperity: In this one thing unlike, in all beside We might be twins, so nearly we're allied; Sharing each other's hates, each other's loves, We bill and coo, like two familiar doves.

You keep the nest: I love the rural scene, Fresh runnels, moss-grown rocks, and woodland green.

What would you more? once let me leave the things You praise so much, my life is like a king's: Like the priest's runaway, I cannot eat Your cakes, but pine for bread of wholesome wheat.

Now say that it behoves us to adjust Our lives to nature (wisdom says we must): You want a site for building: can you find A place that's like the country to your mind?

Where have you milder winters? where are airs That breathe more grateful when the Dogstar glares, Or when the Lion feels in every vein The sun's sharp thrill, and maddens with the pain?

Is there a spot where care contrives to keep At further distance from the couch of sleep?

Is springing gra.s.s less sweet to nose or eyes Than Libyan marble's tesselated dyes?

Does purer water strain your pipes of lead Than that which ripples down the brooklet's bed?

Why, 'mid your Parian columns trees you train, And praise the house that fronts a wide domain.

Drive Nature forth by force, she'll turn and rout The false refinements that would keep her out.

The luckless wight who can't tell side by side A Tyrian fleece from one Aquinum-dyed, Is not more surely, keenly, made to smart Than he who knows not truth and lies apart.

Take too much pleasure in good things, you'll feel The shock of adverse fortune makes you reel.

Regard a thing with wonder, with a wrench You'll give it up when bidden to retrench.

Keep clear of courts: a homely life transcends The vaunted bliss of monarchs and their friends.

The stag was wont to quarrel with the steed, Nor let him graze in common on the mead: The steed, who got the worst in each attack, Asked help from man, and took him on his back: But when his foe was quelled, he ne'er got rid Of his new friend, still bridled and bestrid.

So he who, fearing penury, loses hold Of independence, better far than gold, Will toil, a hopeless drudge, till life is spent, Because he'll never, never learn content.

Means should, like shoes, be neither large nor small; Too wide, they trip us up, too strait, they gall.

Then live contented, Fuscus, nor be slow To give a friendly rap to one you know, Whene'er you find me struggling to increase My neat sufficiency, and ne'er at peace.

Gold will be slave or master: 'tis more fit That it be led by us than we by it.

From tumble-down Vacuna's fane I write, Wanting but you to make me happy quite.

XI. TO BULLATIUS.

QUID TIBI VISA CHIOS?

How like you Chios, good Bullatius? what Think you of Lesbos, that world-famous spot?

What of the town of Samos, trim and neat, And what of Sardis, Croesus' royal seat?

Of Smyrna what and Colophon? are they Greater or less than travellers' stories say?

Do all look poor beside our scenes at home, The field of Mars, the river of old Rome?

Say, is your fancy fixed upon some town Which formed a gem in Attalus's crown?

Or would you turn to Lebedus for ease In mere disgust at weary roads and seas?

You know what Lebedus is like; so bare, With Gabii or Fidenae 'twould compare; Yet there, methinks, I would accept my lot, My friends forgetting, by my friends forgot, Stand on the cliff at distance, and survey The stormy sea-G.o.d's wild t.i.tanic play.

Yet he that comes from Capua, dashing in To Rome, all splashed and wetted to the skin, Though in a tavern glad one night to bide, Would not be pleased to live there till he died: If he gets cold, he lets his fancy rove In quest of bliss beyond a bath or stove: And you, though tossed just now by a stiff breeze, Don't therefore sell your vessel beyond seas.

But what are Rhodes and Lesbos, and the rest, E'en let a traveller rate them at their best?

No more the wants of healthy minds they meet Than does a jersey in a driving sleet, A cloak in summer, Tiber through the snow, A chafing-dish in August's midday glow.

So, while health lasts, and Fortune keeps her smiles, We'll pay our devoir to your Grecian isles, Praise them on this condition--that we stay In our own land, a thousand miles away.

Seize then each happy hour the G.o.ds dispense, Nor fix enjoyment for a twelvemonth hence.

So may you testify with truth, where'er You're quartered, 'tis a pleasure to be there: For if the cure of mental ills is due To sense and wisdom, not a fine sea-view, We come to this; when o'er the world we range 'Tis but our climate, not our mind we change.

What active inactivity is this, To go in ships and cars to search for bliss!

No; what you seek, at Ulubrae you'll find, If to the quest you bring a balanced mind.

XII. TO Iccitus.

FRUCTIBUS AGRIPPAE.

If, worthy Iccius, properly you use What you collect, Agrippa's revenues, You're well supplied: and Jove himself could tell No way to make you better off than well.

A truce to murmuring: with another's store To use at pleasure, who shall call you poor?

Sides, stomach, feet, if these are all in health, What more could man procure with princely wealth?

If, with a well-spread table, when you dine, To plain green food your eating you confine, Though some fine day a rich Pactolian rill Should flood your house, you'd munch your pot-herbs still, From habit or conviction, which o'er-ride The power of gold, and league on virtue's side.

No need to marvel at the stories told Of simple-sage Democritus of old, How, while his soul was soaring in the sky, The sheep got in and nibbled down his rye, When, spite of lucre's strong contagion, yet On lofty problems all your thoughts are set,-- What checks the sea, what heats and cools the year, If law or impulse guides the starry sphere, "What power presides o'er lunar wanderings, What means the jarring harmony of things, Which after all is wise, and which the fool, Empedooles or the Stertinian school.

But whether you're for taking fishes' life, Or against leeks and onions whet your knife, Let Grosphus be your friend, and should he plead For aught he wants, antic.i.p.ate his need: He'll never outstep reason; and you know, When good men lack, the price of friends is low.

But what of Rome? Agrippa has increased Her power in Spain, Tiberius in the East: Phraates, humbly bending on his knee, Submits himself to Csesar's sovereignty: While golden Plenty from her teeming horn Pours down on Italy abundant corn.