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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 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
36
ODE XIII. To a Friend.
See! gathering Clouds obscure the Sky,
The Air seems melting from on high
In fleecy Snow, or Showers of Rain!
What howling Tempests sweep the Main,
And shake the Woods! While in our Power,
My Friend, we'll seize the present Hour,
While Youth yet revels in our Veins,
And unimpair'd our Strength remains.
The Cares of Age to Age resign;
But hither bring the generous Wine,
Laid up in my Torquatus' Year,
When first I drew the vital Air.
No more of adverse Fate complain;
Perhaps the God may smile again:
Let Achæmenian Essence shed
Its spicy Odours round your Head,
And the Cyllenian Lyre compose,
With soft melodious Strains, your Woes.
The Air seems melting from on high
In fleecy Snow, or Showers of Rain!
What howling Tempests sweep the Main,
And shake the Woods! While in our Power,
My Friend, we'll seize the present Hour,
While Youth yet revels in our Veins,
And unimpair'd our Strength remains.
The Cares of Age to Age resign;
But hither bring the generous Wine,
37
When first I drew the vital Air.
No more of adverse Fate complain;
Perhaps the God may smile again:
Let Achæmenian Essence shed
Its spicy Odours round your Head,
And the Cyllenian Lyre compose,
With soft melodious Strains, your Woes.
Thus Chiron to his Pupil sung;
‘Great Hero! from a Goddess sprung,
‘Fame calls thee to the Trojan Plain,
‘To old Assaracus's Reign;
‘Where small Scamander slowly glides,
‘And Simoïs rolls his rapid Tides.
‘There must thou fall by Fate's Decree,
‘Nor shall thy Mother of the Sea
‘Her short-liv'd Son again receive;
‘Then every anxious Thought relieve
‘By Wine or Music's Charms, for they
‘Can best the Cares of Life allay.’
‘Great Hero! from a Goddess sprung,
‘Fame calls thee to the Trojan Plain,
‘To old Assaracus's Reign;
‘Where small Scamander slowly glides,
‘And Simoïs rolls his rapid Tides.
‘There must thou fall by Fate's Decree,
‘Nor shall thy Mother of the Sea
‘Her short-liv'd Son again receive;
‘Then every anxious Thought relieve
‘By Wine or Music's Charms, for they
‘Can best the Cares of Life allay.’
| The Works of Horace In English Verse | |