He expects glory neither on the field nor in the course, but
looks to song for his triumphs. To Apollo,
"L_ord of the enchanting shell_,
P_arent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs_,"
who can give power of song even unto the mute, he owes all his power and
all his fame. It is the gift of Heaven that he is pointed out by the
finger of the passer-by as the minstrel of the Roman lyre, that he
breathes the divine fire and pleases men. But he is as perfectly
appreciative of the fact that poets are born and also made, and condemns
the folly of depending upon inspiration unsupported by effort. He calls
himself the bee of Matinum, industriously flitting with honeyed thigh
about the banks of humid Tibur. What nature begins, cultivation must
develop. Neither training without the rich vein of native endowment, nor
natural talent without cultivation, will suffice; both must be friendly
conspirators in the process of forming the poet. Wisdom is the beginning
and source of writing well. He who would run with success the race that
is set before him must endure from boyhood the hardships of heat and
cold, and abstain from women and wine.
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