 | Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose |  |
Horace, Book II. Ode 9. Imitated.
Non semper imbres, &c.
Tho' tempests long may toss the sea,
And winter make Armenia mourn;
Yet all its snow will melt away,
When Zephir's genial gales return;
When birds and flow'rs the sullen year restore;
It sighs in winds, and weeps in rain, no more.
And winter make Armenia mourn;
Yet all its snow will melt away,
When Zephir's genial gales return;
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It sighs in winds, and weeps in rain, no more.
But you, eternal mourner, you,
Amintor gone where all must go,
With ever-streaming eyes pursue,
Dwell on his grave, and doat on wo;
Amintor is by day the darling theme;
And dear Amintor still the nightly dream.
Amintor gone where all must go,
With ever-streaming eyes pursue,
Dwell on his grave, and doat on wo;
Amintor is by day the darling theme;
And dear Amintor still the nightly dream.
Yet Mordant dries his tears at last,
Tho' robb'd of all his soul's desire,
Ere twelve revolving moons were past,
The Husband once, and twice the Sire:
His fam'd Valentia's doom in his we trace,
A stroke as signal in as short a space.
Tho' robb'd of all his soul's desire,
Ere twelve revolving moons were past,
The Husband once, and twice the Sire:
His fam'd Valentia's doom in his we trace,
A stroke as signal in as short a space.
Of matchless Blandford's early fate
The Parents now no more complain;
The Sisters, sunk beneath the weight
Of pious sorrow, shine again,
Bright as the moon reflected by the tide,
Or you, Clemene, ere your Brother dy'd.
The Parents now no more complain;
The Sisters, sunk beneath the weight
Of pious sorrow, shine again,
Bright as the moon reflected by the tide,
Or you, Clemene, ere your Brother dy'd.
Then mourn no longer, heav'nly Maid,
Amyntor snatch'd in nature's prime;
Must Beauty too, by grief decay'd,
Be lost, like him, before the time?
Think on those eyes, and then their tears refrain;
Or must Philander always sue in vain?
Amyntor snatch'd in nature's prime;
Must Beauty too, by grief decay'd,
Be lost, like him, before the time?
Think on those eyes, and then their tears refrain;
Or must Philander always sue in vain?
| Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose | |