Odes 1.1 (Creech): Maecenas Atavis

MECAENAS born of Royal Blood,
My joy, my guard, and sweetest good;
Some love with rapid wheels to raise
Olympian dust, and gather praise;
Where Races won, and Palms bestow'd,
Do lift a King into a God:
And some in high Commands are proud,
That great preferment of the Crowd;
Blown by their breath the Bubble flies
Gaz'd at a while; then breaks and dies:
Another ploughs his Fathers Fields,
His Barn holds all that Lybia yields;
And hopes of Wealth and Worlds of Gain,
Shall never tempt him from the Plain;
Or draw his fearful Soul to ride
In feeble Ships, and stem the Tide:
The Merchants tost in angry Seas,
That praise their fields, and quiet ease,
Yet rigg their tatter'd Ships once more,
Untaught, unable to be poor:
Some underneath a Myrtle shade,
Or by smooth Springs supinely laid,
With Mirth, and Wine, and wanton Play,
Contract the business of the Day:
Shrill Trumpet's sounds and noisy Wars,
That Mothers hate, please other Ears:
The Hunter doth his ease forgoe,
He lies abroad in Frost, in Snow;
He soon forgets his pleasing Wife,
And all the soft delights of Life,
Whilst faithful Hounds a Deer pursue,
Or have a raging Bore in view:
The purling streams and shady grove
The Nymphs and Satyrs dance, and Love,
Green Ivy Crowns that only spread
Fresh Honors round a learned head,
Shall raise my Name above the Crowd,
And lift me up into a God;
If Muses kind shall string my Lyre,
Or Tune my Pipe, and heats inspire:
If You, my Lord, approve my vein,
And count me 'mongst the Lyrick train,
Secure from Death I'le proudly rise
And hide my head in lofty Skies.