The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
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| XI. | ODE XI. To Phyllis.
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 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
ODE XI. To Phyllis.
Of
Alban Wine, full nine Years old,
My Vault is proud a Cask to hold:
To weave a Chaplet for your Head,
My Garden is with Parsley spread,
And Ivy, in a Knot behind,
The Tresses of my Fair to bind.
My Altar, crown'd with vervain Bands,
The Lamb's devoted Blood demands.
With shining Plate my Side-board's grac'd;
My Boys and Girls, with busy Haste,
Run to and fro—From trembling Fires
The Smoke in dusky Clouds aspires.
If You should now enquire, what Feast
Demands the Presence of my Guest;
Know that this Day the Month divides,
O'er which the Queen of Love presides;
And first the Light this happy Day
Did to Mæcenas' Eyes display,
Ev'n than my own almost more dear:
This Day, thro' each revolving Year,
I'll grateful every God implore,
On him their choicest Gifts to pour.
My Vault is proud a Cask to hold:
To weave a Chaplet for your Head,
My Garden is with Parsley spread,
And Ivy, in a Knot behind,
The Tresses of my Fair to bind.
My Altar, crown'd with vervain Bands,
The Lamb's devoted Blood demands.
With shining Plate my Side-board's grac'd;
My Boys and Girls, with busy Haste,
Run to and fro—From trembling Fires
The Smoke in dusky Clouds aspires.
477
Demands the Presence of my Guest;
Know that this Day the Month divides,
O'er which the Queen of Love presides;
And first the Light this happy Day
Did to Mæcenas' Eyes display,
Ev'n than my own almost more dear:
This Day, thro' each revolving Year,
I'll grateful every God implore,
On him their choicest Gifts to pour.
Fair Telephus, on whom you doat,
(That noble Youth above your Lot)
A rich and wanton Nymph detains,
And holds fast bound in pleasing Chains.
Proud Phaëton, from highest Heaven
By angry Jove with Lightning driven,
And Pegasus, who scorn'd to bear
His mortal Rider thro' the Air,
But headlong threw; this Lesson teach,
Not to aspire above our Reach.
Come then, the last whom I shall love,
(No future Nymph my Heart can move)
And with your tuneful Voice prepare,
To sing some soft and soothing Air.
Music and Poësy compose
The troubled Breast, and lull our Woes.
(That noble Youth above your Lot)
A rich and wanton Nymph detains,
And holds fast bound in pleasing Chains.
Proud Phaëton, from highest Heaven
By angry Jove with Lightning driven,
And Pegasus, who scorn'd to bear
His mortal Rider thro' the Air,
But headlong threw; this Lesson teach,
Not to aspire above our Reach.
Come then, the last whom I shall love,
(No future Nymph my Heart can move)
478
To sing some soft and soothing Air.
Music and Poësy compose
The troubled Breast, and lull our Woes.
| The Works of Horace In English Verse | |