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COLOUR London, England March 1915 (PAGE 57)
“Cypresses Near Salo, Lago Di Garda,” By M. McCrossan.
HORACE
Book I I I. Ode xvi.
THE GLINT OF GOLD.
Thick oaken doors, a brazen tower, With watch-dogs’ trustful baying, Were forces of an ample power To keep from midnight preying Adulterous gallants; but they laughed, Venus and Jove: they sent a shaft That no known walls resist: god-sure Were they! Acrisius might immure, All anxious, Danaë: she fell Under a golden spell!
Gold loves to pierce the serried squares Of arms; more forceful far Than thunderbolts, no stone wall bears Against her weight! Her star Rose on the Grecian augur’s fate: His house fell. State and city-gate The Macedonian cleft by gifts. A bribe—The swart sea-captain shifts His boats. A heartier hunger-health Follows the wax of wealth.
Maecenas, noblest Roman knight, Thus have I feared to flaunt Too bright a front. Denial’s might Makes generous Gods! I haunt, In poverty, Content’s calm fold, And quit the wealthy world; more bold In humble fame, than if I held All that in labour is compelled By Apulian husbandry, that stays Poor among golden ways.
A happy streamlet, running clear; A little narrow wood; Foreknowledge of fair crops this year; These are my only good. Rich Afric’s shining Consul knows No blessing half so blessed as those. I smile; though the Calabrian hive Be honeyless, though no wine thrive In Formian casks; though no rich fleece In Gallic fields increase.
Yet is sad Poverty not mine; Far-dwelling still she stays. No wish I made would you decline, O patron of my days! Oh, better will my wealth in-flow If my desires more modest grow, Than if I joined the Phrygian plains To Lydia! More desired remains The more is given. Well he fares To whom Jove gives and spares.
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