THE

NINTH ODE of the FIRST BOOK

H ORA

B

OF

I.

EHOLD yon mountain's hoary height

Made higher with new mounts of snow;

Again behold the winter's weight

Oppress the lab'ring woods below : And streams, with icy fetters bound, Benumb'd and crampt to folid ground.

II.

With well-heap'd logs diffolve the cold,
And feed the genial hearth with fires;
Produce the wine, that makes us bold,
And fprightly wit and love inspires :
For what hereafter shall betide,
God, if'tis worth his care, provide.

III.

Let him alone, with what he made,
To toss and turn the world below;
At his command the storms invade;
The winds by his commission blow;
Till with a nod he bids 'em cease,
And then the calm returns, and all is peace.

:

IV.

To-morrow and her works defy,

Lay hold upon the present hour, And fnatch the pleasures passing by, To put them out of fortune's pow'r: Nor love, nor love's delights disdain; Whate'er thou get'st to-day, is gain.

That youth unfour'd with forrow bears,
Ere with'ring time the taste destroys,
With fickness and unweildy years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest,
This is the time to be poffeft;
The best is but in season beft.

VI.

Th' appointed hour of promis'd bliss,
The pleasing whisper in the dark,

The half unwilling willing kiss,

The laugh that guides thee to the mark,

When the kind nymph would coyness feign,
And hides but to be found again;

These, these are joys the Gods for youth ordain.

}

}

Paraphras'd in Pindaric verse, and inscribed to the

Right Hon. Laurence Earl of Rochester.

I.

ESCENDED of an ancient line,

D

That long the Tuscan sceptre sway'd,

Make haste to meet the generous wine,

Whose piercing is for thee delay'd:

The rosy wreath is ready made;

And artful hands prepare

The fragrant Syrian oil, that shall perfume thy hair.

When the wine sparkles from afar,

And the well-natur'd friend cries, Come away; Make haste, and leave thy business and thy care: No mortal int'rest can be worth thy stay.

III.

Leave for a while thy costly country feat;
And, to be great indeed, forget

The nauseous pleasures of the great:
Make haste and come:

Come, and forsake thy cloying store;

Thy turret that surveys, from high,
The smoke, and wealth, and noise of Rome;
And all the busy pageantry

That wife men scorn, and fools adore :

Come, give thy foul a loose, and taste the pleasures of the poor.

IV.

Sometimes 'tis grateful to the rich to try
A short viciffitude, and fit of poverty:
A favory dish, a homely treat,
Where all is plain, where all is neat,
Without the stately spacious room,
The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom,
Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the great.

V.

The fun is in the lion mounted high;
The Syrian star,

Barks from afar,

And with his sultry breath infects the sky; The ground below is parch'd, the Heav'ns above

us fry.

The shepherd drives his fainting flock
Beneath the covert of a rock,

And seeks refreshing rivulets nigh:

1

The Sylvans to their shades retire,

Those very shades and streams new shades and

streams require,

[raging fire.

And want a cooling breeze of wind to fan the

VI.

Thou, what befits the new Lord Mayor,
And what the city factions dare,
And what the Gallic arms will do,
And what the quiver-bearing foe,
Art anxiously inquifitive to know:
But God has, wisely, hid from human fight
The dark decrees of future fate,

And fown their feeds in depth of night;

He laughs at all the giddy turns of state; When mortals search too foon, and fear too late.

VII.

Enjoy the present smiling hour;

1

And put it out of fortune's pow'r:

The tide of business, like the running stream,
Is sometimes high, and sometimes low,

A quiet ebb, or a tempestuous flow,
And always in extreme.
Now with a noiseless gentle course

It keeps within the middle bed;

Anon it lifts aloft the head,

[force:

And bears down all before it with impetuous