 | Poems by Three Friends |  |
119
HORACE, BOOK II. ODE III.
TO DELIUS.
Remember to preserve your mind
Unmoved, unshaken, and resign'd,
In dark adversity;
Nor suffer insolence and pride,
Triumphant in your breast to ride
Amidst prosperity.
Unmoved, unshaken, and resign'd,
In dark adversity;
Nor suffer insolence and pride,
Triumphant in your breast to ride
Amidst prosperity.
O Delius! know that we must die,
Whether we sadly sit and sigh,
And o'er our sorrows pine;
Or whether, every festive day
Stretched on the grass we pass away,
Blessed with Falernian wine:
Whether we sadly sit and sigh,
And o'er our sorrows pine;
Or whether, every festive day
Stretched on the grass we pass away,
Blessed with Falernian wine:
120
Where the tall poplar and the pine
Delight their branches to entwine,
And form a grateful shade;
Whilst, toiling with resistless force,
The streamlet winds its devious course,
In murmurs through the glade.
Delight their branches to entwine,
And form a grateful shade;
Whilst, toiling with resistless force,
The streamlet winds its devious course,
In murmurs through the glade.
Bring hither wines and sweet perfume,
And roses of too short a bloom,
With every fragrant flower;
Learn we, ere yet our glass is run,
Ere yet the fatal thread is spun,
To enjoy the fleeting hour.
And roses of too short a bloom,
With every fragrant flower;
Learn we, ere yet our glass is run,
Ere yet the fatal thread is spun,
To enjoy the fleeting hour.
For soon these scenes will fade away,
Long night succeed the cheerful day,
And death's terrific gloom!
Your villa then on Tiber's shores,
Your wide domains, your golden stores,
Shall heirs unknown consume.
Long night succeed the cheerful day,
And death's terrific gloom!
Your villa then on Tiber's shores,
Your wide domains, your golden stores,
Shall heirs unknown consume.
121
No matter whether rich or poor,
Each must alike his fate endure,
The monarch and the slave;
On an unfathomed, dread abyss,
We launch to endless woe or bliss,
In realms beyond the grave.
Each must alike his fate endure,
The monarch and the slave;
On an unfathomed, dread abyss,
We launch to endless woe or bliss,
In realms beyond the grave.
| Poems by Three Friends | |