Page:Odes and Carmen Saeculare.djvu/86



HE silver, Sallust, shows not fair While buried in the greedy mine: You love it not till moderate wear Have given it shine. Honour to Proculeius! he To brethren play'd a father's part; Fame shall embalm through years to be That noble heart. Who curbs a greedy soul may boast More power than if his broad-based throne Bridged Libya's sea, and either coast Were all his own. Indulgence bids the dropsy grow; Who fain would quench the palate's flame Must rescue from the watery foe The pale weak frame. Phraates, throned where Cyrus sate, May count for blest with vulgar herds, But not with Virtue; soon or late From lying words She weans men's lips; for him she keeps The crown, the purple, and the bays, Who dares to look on treasure-heaps With unblench'd gaze.