 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
164
The Nineteenth Ode of the Third Book of Horace,
addressed to a Friend.
The great exploits of princes you can sing,
From Julius Cæsar down to Britain's king;
Of gasping heroes welt'ring in their blood,
Who nobly perish'd for their country's good;
How Churchill tam'd the bold aspiring Gaul,
Whose very name made trembling armies fall;
Of gallant deeds by sea, by land, perform'd,
Of Spanish navies sunk, Gibraltar storm'd.
From Julius Cæsar down to Britain's king;
Of gasping heroes welt'ring in their blood,
Who nobly perish'd for their country's good;
How Churchill tam'd the bold aspiring Gaul,
Whose very name made trembling armies fall;
Of gallant deeds by sea, by land, perform'd,
Of Spanish navies sunk, Gibraltar storm'd.
165
To gain this point, you midnight vigils keep,
And search the learned dead, while others sleep;
Neglect the sprightly joys of blooming youth
To find some dark unprofitable truth.
And search the learned dead, while others sleep;
Neglect the sprightly joys of blooming youth
To find some dark unprofitable truth.
Your noble taste's above such trifling cares,
To know what price, this vintage, claret bears;
At whose expence to-morrow we shall dine,
And bathe, before we drink the sparkling wine;
To raise the spirits, and revive the heart,
And drive the chilling cold from every part.
Leave musty books! exhaust the flowing bowl
To some fair virgin, idol of your soul:
Fill up!—another glass to recommend
Fair Cowper's health, or some deserving friend:
Three bumpers to the graces sacrifice,
But for a poet three will scarce suffice!
To know what price, this vintage, claret bears;
At whose expence to-morrow we shall dine,
And bathe, before we drink the sparkling wine;
166
And drive the chilling cold from every part.
Leave musty books! exhaust the flowing bowl
To some fair virgin, idol of your soul:
Fill up!—another glass to recommend
Fair Cowper's health, or some deserving friend:
Three bumpers to the graces sacrifice,
But for a poet three will scarce suffice!
167
If panting after fame your bosom glows
With thoughts aspiring above vulgar prose,
In equal numbers drink the sacred nine,
Till your rich face shall like your genius shine!
The jovial madness pleases,—boys begin
To strike with skilful touch the sounding string!
Then strow fresh roses at your lord's command:
I hate the niggard miser's sparing hand.
With thoughts aspiring above vulgar prose,
In equal numbers drink the sacred nine,
Till your rich face shall like your genius shine!
The jovial madness pleases,—boys begin
To strike with skilful touch the sounding string!
168
I hate the niggard miser's sparing hand.
Let Lycus burst with envy at the noise,
And lovely Lyco fit for other joys,
Than to lie bury'd in a husband's arms,
Whose frozen age doats on her blooming charms;
Whatever nymph indulgent nature gave
Beauty sufficient to make you her slave,
May she this evening bless your ravish'd sight,
And make you with like Jove a longer night:
In vain the sex superior merit boast,
Fair Dashwood triumphs still a reigning toast.
And lovely Lyco fit for other joys,
Than to lie bury'd in a husband's arms,
Whose frozen age doats on her blooming charms;
Whatever nymph indulgent nature gave
Beauty sufficient to make you her slave,
169
And make you with like Jove a longer night:
In vain the sex superior merit boast,
Fair Dashwood triumphs still a reigning toast.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |