Book
II
.
Ode
XII
.
Translated
.
THE
wars
of
Numantia
and
Hannibal
dire
,
On
land
,
or
on
ocean
the
fighting
,
Maecenas
,
ne'er
suited
my
peaceable
lyre
,
In
subjects
much
softer
delighting
.
You
love
not
of
centaurs
embattled
to
hear
,
Nor
of
giants
,
a
tale
of
such
wonder
,
Who
shook
all
the
skies
,
made
Jupiter
fear
,
'Till
drove
by
Alcides
and
thunder
.
In
prose
,
my
good
patron
,
more
nobly
you
write
,
As
your
topic
than
these
is
much
better
,
How
Caesar
with
glory
can
govern
and
fight
,
And
lead
haughty
kings
in
his
fetter
.
Alone
my
gay
Muse
of
Licinnia
would
sing
,
The
constant
,
good-natur'd
,
and
pretty
,
So
graceful
to
dance
with
the
maids
in
a
ring
,
So
sparkling
,
so
merry
,
and
witty
.
While
you
play
with
her
hair
that
is
carelessly
curl'd
,
While
this
way
,
now
that
way
she
twitches
,
Of
your
teazing
so
kindly
complaining
,
no
world
Could
bribe
for
one
lock
with
its
riches
.
Thus
blest
with
the
nymph
,
how
transporting
the
joy
!
Who
whimsical
,
wanton
,
amuses
;
Who
pleasingly
forward
,
or
prettily
coy
,
Oft
snatches
the
kiss
she
refuses
.