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To C. Martius Censorinus.

“Donarem pateras grataque commodus...”

FREELY to my companions would I give

Beautiful bronzes, Censorinus, bowls

And tripods, once a guerdon to the souls

Of hardy Greeks; nor should’st thou bear away

The meanest of my gifts, could I but live

Possessed of arts like those Parrhasius plied,

Or Skopas, now depicting human clay

And now a god, in liquid colors one

In solid stone the other. But denied

To me are equal powers; need hast thou none

In mind or state for treasures like to these.

Thou dost delight in songs, and such are mine

To give, and fix a value to each song.

Not marbles carved with public elegies,

Whence to illustrious leaders still belong

In dreamless death their praises half divine,

Not the precipitate flights of Hannibal

Nor those retorted threats that wrought him shame,

Not impious Carthage and her flaming fall

More highly show, than the Calabrian Muse,

Glories of him who, having gained a name

From prostrate conquered Africa, returned.

Neither if writings should perchance refuse

To herald forth what thou so well hast earned

Wouldst thou have fitting praise. What were the son

Of Mars and Ilia, if in jealousy

Silence had drowned those lofty merits won

By Romulus? Through eloquence, through strength

And favor of all poets loved of fame,

Aeacus hallowed is, from Stygian floods,

To the fair Islands of the Blest at length.

The Muse forbids the worthy man to die;

She blesseth him with Heaven. Thus Hercules,

Untiring victor, finds a place on high

At Jove’s desired feasts. Tyndareus’ sons,

Clear-shining stars, thus from the deepest seas

Rescue the shattered ships. Thus Bacchus fair,

Twining his temples with fresh vine-leaves green,

To fruitful issue brings the votaries’ prayer.