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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace

With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition
  

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Ode XI. To Quintius Hirpinus.

Be not anxious, Friend, to know
What the fierce Cantabrian Foe,
What intends the Scythian's Pride,
Far from Us whom Seas divide.

167

Tremble not with vain Desires,
Few the Things which Life requires.
Youth with rapid Swiftness flies,
Beauty's Lustre quickly dies,
Wither'd Age drives far away
Gentle Sleep and amorous Play.
When in vernal Bloom they glow
Flowers their gayest Honours show;
Nor the Moon with equal Grace
Always lifts her ruddy Face.
Thus while Nature's Works decay,
Busy mortal, prithee say,
Why do you fatigue the Mind,
Not for endless Schemes design'd?
Thus beneath this lofty Shade,
Thus in careless Freedom laid,
While Assyrian Essence sheds
Liquid Fragrance on our Heads,
While we lie with Roses crown'd,
Let the chearful Bowl go round:
Bacchus can our Cares controul,
Cares that prey upon the Soul.

169

Who shall from the passing Stream
Quench our Wine's Falernian Flame;
Who the vagrant Wanton bring,
Mistress of the Lyric String,
With her flowing Tresses tied,
Careless like a Spartan Bride.