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.