Odes 2.17 (Martin): Cur Me Querelis

Why wilt thou kill me with thy boding fears?
Why, O Maecenas, why?
Before thee lies a train of happy years;
Yes, nor the gods nor I
Could brook that thou shouldst first be laid in dust,
That art my stay, my glory, and my trust!

Ah, if untimely Fate should snatch thee hence,
Thee, of my soul a part,
Why should I linger on, with deaden'd sense,
And ever-aching heart,
A worthless fragment of a fallen shrine?
No, no, one day shall see thy death and mine!

Think not, that I have sworn a bootless oath;
Yes, we shall go, shall go.
Hand link'd in hand, whene'er thou leadest both
The last sad road below!
Me nor the fell Chimaera's breath of fire,
Nor hundred-handed Gyges, through in ire

He rises against me, from thy side shall sever;
For in such sort it hath
Pleased the dread Fates, and Justice potent ever,
To interweave our path.
Beneath whatever aspect thou wert born,
Libra, or Scorpion fierce, or Capricorn,

The blustering tyrant of the western deep,
This well I know, my friend,
Our stars in wondrous wise one orbit keep,
And in one radiance blend.
From thee were Saturn's baleful rays afar
Averted by great Jove's refulgent star,

And His hand stay'd Fate's downward-swooping wing,
When thrice with glad acclaim
The teeming; theatre was heard to ring,
And thine the honour'd name:
So had the falling timber laid me low.
But Pan in mercy warded off the blow.

Pan who keeps watch o'er easy souls like mine.
Remember, then, to rear
In gratitude to Jove a votive shrine,
And slaughter many a steer,
Whilst I, as fits, an humbler tribute pay,
And a meek lamb upon his altar lay.