Odes 3.16 (Martin): Inclusam Danaen

Well the tower of brass, the massive doors, the watch-dogs' dismal bay
Had from midnight wooers guarded Danae, where immured she lay;
There she might have pined a virgin, prison'd by the timorous craft
Of her fated sire Acrisius, had not Jove and Venus laugh'd
At his terrors; for no sooner changed the god to gold, than he
Instantly unto the maiden access found secure and free.

Through close lines on lines of sentries gold to cleave its way delights,
Stronger than the crashing? lightning through opposing rocks it smites;
'Twas through vile desire of lucre, as the storied legends tell,
That the house of Argos' augur whelm'd in death and ruin fell;
'Twas by bribes the Macedonian city's gates could open fling,
'Twas by bribes that he subverted many a dreaded rival king;
Nay, there lies such fascination in the gleam of gold to some,
That our bluffest navy-captains to its witchery succumb.

But as wealth into our coffers flows in still increasing store,
So, too, still our care increases, and the hunger still for more,
therefore, O Maecenas, glory of the knights, with righteous dread,
Have I ever shrunk from lifting too conspicuously my head.
Yes, the more a man, believe me, shall unto himself deny,
So to him shall the Immortals bounteously the more supply.
From the ranks of wealth deserting, I, of all their trappings bare,
To the camp of those who covet naught that pelf can bring repair.
More illustrious as the master of my poor despised hoard.
Than if I should be reputed in my garners to have stored
All the fruits of all the labours of the stout Apulian boor,
Lord belike of wealth unbounded, yet as veriest beggar poor.

In my crystal stream, my woodland, though its acres are but few,
And the trust that I shall gather home my crops in season due,
Lies a joy, which he may never grasp, who rules in gorgeous state
Fertile Africa's dominions. Happier, happier far my fate!

Though for me no bees Calabrian store their honey, nor doth wine
Sickening in the Laestrygonian amphora for me refine;
Though for me no flocks unnumber'd, browsing Gallia's pastures fair,
Pant beneath their swelling fleeces, I at least am free from care;
Haggard want with direful clamour ravins never at my door,
Nor wouldst thou, if more I wanted, O my friend, deny me more.
Appetites subdued will make me richer with my scanty gains.
Than the realms of Alyattes wedded to Mygdonia's plains.
Much will evermore be wanting unto those who much demand;
Blest, whom Jove with what sufficeth dowers, but dowers with sparing hand.