Sol 5.6

  1. Prince of high glory, may you never cease to be a refuge for every hopeful soul,

    and a calamity crouched with all its weight upon your enemies.

  2. I reproach Fate for your sake, now that its folly stands revealed;

    were it not for you, I would never address reproach to a fool.

  3. Fate aimed its arrows at you, fairest of ornaments;

    had they not flown wide, it would have shown us a cheek stripped bare.

  4. Though the pains of a fall have occupied your left hand,

    they have not kept your right from pouring forth its gifts.

  5. No blame befalls the sleek, high-bred steeds when they stumble,

    for in bearing you they have borne mountains of virtue.

  6. May you forever dwell beneath a trailing veil of good fortune,

    spread over you, and within security’s all-embracing shade.

  7. If I have not drawn out my praise—how many a marksman

    has lodged his short arrow in the most hidden vital spot!

  8. And many an indiscriminate poetaster—a night wood-gatherer in verse—I have rebuked,

    and addressed him with words of counsel, sincere yet tactful:

  9. If the full moon is not won from the depths of a swelling sea

    by your two hands, let them pay no heed to pebbles on the shore.

  10. For I hold poetry a disgrace in a young man

    when its beauty fails to surpass the blossoms of leafy bowers.

Sol 5.6