Odes 2.18 (Martin): Non Ebur

Within my dwelling you behold
Nor ivory, nor roof of gold;
There no Hymettian rafters weigh
On columns from far Africa;
Nor Attalus' imperial chair
Have I usurp'd, a spurious heir,
Nor client dames of hio-h degree
Laconian purples spin for me;
But a true heart and genial vein
Of wit are mine, and great men deign
To court my company, though poor,
For naught beyond do I implore
The gods, nor crave my potent friend
A larger bounty to extend,
With what he gave completely blest,
My happy little Sabine nest.

Day treads down day, and sinks amain,
And new moons only wax to wane,
Yet you, upon death's very brink,
Of piling marbles only think,
That yet are in the quarry's womb,
And all unmindful of the tomb,
Rear gorgeous mansions everywhere:
Nay, as though earth too bounded were,
With bulwarks huge thrust back the sea,
That chafes and breaks on Baiae.

What though you move the ancient bound
That marks your humble neighbour's ground,
And avariciously o'erleap
The limits right should bid you keep?
"Where lies your gain, that driven from home
Both wife and husband forth must roam,
Bearing their household gods close press'd
With squalid babes upon their breast?
Still for the man of wealth, 'mid all
His pomp and pride of place, the hall
Of sure-devouring Orcus waits
With its inevitable gates.

Then why this ceaseless, vain unrest?
Earth opens her impartial breast
To prince and beggar both; nor might
Gold e'er tempt Hell's grim satellite
To waft astute Prometheus o'er
From yonder ghastly Stygian shore.
Proud Tantalus and all his race
He curbs within that rueful place;
The toil worn wretch, who cries for ease,
Invoked or not, he hears and frees.