A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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Epode XIII. To a Friend.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Epode XIII. To a Friend.
See what horrid Tempests rise,
And contract the clouded Skies;
Snows and Showers fill the Air,
And bring down the Atmosphere.
Hark! what Tempests sweep the Floods!
How they shake the ratling Woods!
And contract the clouded Skies;
Snows and Showers fill the Air,
And bring down the Atmosphere.
Hark! what Tempests sweep the Floods!
How they shake the ratling Woods!
Let us, while it's in our Power,
Let us seize the fleeting Hour;
While our Cheeks are fresh and gay,
Let us drive old Age away,
Let us smooth its gather'd Brows,
Youth its Hour of Mirth allows.
Let us seize the fleeting Hour;
While our Cheeks are fresh and gay,
Let us drive old Age away,
Let us smooth its gather'd Brows,
Youth its Hour of Mirth allows.
Bring us down the mellow'd Wine,
Rich in Years, that equal mine;
Prithee talk no more of Sorrow,
To the Gods belong to-morrow,
And, perhaps, with gracious Power,
They may change the gloomy Hour.
Let the richest Essence shed
Eastern Odours on your Head,
While the soft Cyllenian Lyre
Shall your labouring Breast inspire.
Rich in Years, that equal mine;
463
To the Gods belong to-morrow,
And, perhaps, with gracious Power,
They may change the gloomy Hour.
Let the richest Essence shed
Eastern Odours on your Head,
While the soft Cyllenian Lyre
Shall your labouring Breast inspire.
To his Pupil, brave and young,
Thus the noble Centaur sung;
Matchless Mortal! though 'tis thine,
Proud to boast a Birth divine,
Yet the Banks, with cooling Waves
Which the smooth Scamander laves;
And where Simoïs with Pride
Rougher rolls his rapid Tide,
Destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall the Sea-born Hero wait.
There the Sisters, fated Boy,
Shall thy Thread of Life destroy,
Nor shall azure Thetis more
Waft Thee to thy natal Shore;
Then let Joy and Mirth be thine,
Mirthful Songs, and joyous Wine,
And with Converse blithe and gay,
Drive all gloomy Cares away.
Thus the noble Centaur sung;
Matchless Mortal! though 'tis thine,
Proud to boast a Birth divine,
Yet the Banks, with cooling Waves
Which the smooth Scamander laves;
And where Simoïs with Pride
Rougher rolls his rapid Tide,
Destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall the Sea-born Hero wait.
There the Sisters, fated Boy,
Shall thy Thread of Life destroy,
Nor shall azure Thetis more
Waft Thee to thy natal Shore;
Then let Joy and Mirth be thine,
Mirthful Songs, and joyous Wine,
And with Converse blithe and gay,
Drive all gloomy Cares away.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |