HORACE I. 22.

WHO is free from life's contagion

Never, Fuscus, need he fear

Poisoned arrow, clever archer,

Never dread the Maurian spear;

If he roam through shifting Syrtes,

Caucasus' unfriendly shores,

Or where India's affluent river

Gold in every torrent pours.

I was humming "My Lelage,"

Straying on without a care,

In my Sabine wood I wandered,

When a wolf sprang from its lair.

But he fled, and such an omen

Heaven-sent must be, I know:

Mauritania, Greece, Numidia, -

I am safe where'er I go.

Yes, place me where in early spring

No trees can bud, deserted climes,

Where heaven is freezing overhead,

And all the law in bondage binds,

Or where man has never lived,

Parched realms that know not shade, -

I will sing my precious darling,

Lelage, my precious maid.