Odes 3.1 (Gladstone): Odi Profanum

Begone, vile mob, I bar my door,
Silence! the Muses' priest, I bring
My gift; my strains, unheard before,
To virgins and to youths I sing.

Kings firmly rule their subject realms,
But over kings Jove holds the rod;
The Giant brood he overwhelms,
And moves all Nature with his nod.

One rears more plants, in wider space;
One pleads his lineage, votes to gain
One vaunts his morals for a place,
And one his clients' longer train.

Necessity's impartial law
For every rank is still the same,
One lot for high and low to draw:
The urn hath room for every name.

The sword hangs bare o'er impious wrong;
For it, Sicilian cates will lack
Their dainty flavour, nor shall song
Of bird or lyre bring slumber back.

The gentle sleep, that rustics know,
By choice frequents the humble cot;
Sweet Tempe's vale, where Zephyrs blow,
And shaded banks disdaining not.

Tempestuous seas need not appal
The measured craving of the wise;
Arcturus verging to his fall,
Or Kid-star at his gloomy rise.

The vineyards by the hailstorm caught,
The blasted crop, the trees that swim
In floods, the scorching stars, are nought,
Or winters pitiless, to him.

Their realm is less, the fishes think,
When buildings in the sea they spy,
Contractors' gangs their concrete sink,
The landlord keenly watching by.

But Fears and Threats can clamber fast
As lords of land: in wealth's despite
On beaked yacht sits Care aghast,
And rides behind the mounted knight.

If Phrygian gem no pain can cure,
Nor purple robe of boundless price,
Nor wine of stock Falernian pure,
Nor choicest Achaemenian spice;

Why doors that might make Envy pale?
Why build strange halls of height sublime?
Or why exchange my Sabine dale
For wealth that taxes toil and time?