The closing stanza
A good groom trains a colt, teaches it obedience,
Before its neck grows too strong; a hunting hound
Works in the woods from the day it finds a deerskin
In the yard, and barks at it. You’re still a boy: drink
My words with a boy’s pure heart, trust in men who know.
The first scent you pour in a jar stays there
For years. God as fast as you like, go as slow:
My pace is my own, now, indifferent to the world around me.
(I don't see why Lollius should take Horace's advice, since I'm not sure Horace is indeed one of the "men who know"; his "My pace is my own, now, indifferent to the world around me" sounds smug to me.) Still, the "first scent" image is lovely. It reminds me of a saying of the Buddha that I vaguely remember (and now can't track down; perhaps in the Dhammapada?) to the effect that grass wrapping something smelly (fish?) takes on its aroma; it's a metaphor for bad friends.
