The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| The Works of Horace In English Verse | ||
149
ODE III. To Dellius.
If Fortune smile, or prove unkind,
Learn to preserve a steady Mind.
Lest Pride and Pleasure swell too high;
Remember, Dellius, You were born to die;
Learn to preserve a steady Mind.
Lest Pride and Pleasure swell too high;
Remember, Dellius, You were born to die;
150
Whether your Life You waste away
In Grief; or, on a festal Day,
Reclin'd in yon sequester'd Vale,
With rich Falernian Wine your Taste regale,
In Grief; or, on a festal Day,
Reclin'd in yon sequester'd Vale,
With rich Falernian Wine your Taste regale,
Where the tall Poplar, and the Pine,
Their hospitable Branches twine;
And the clear Stream, with gurgling Train,
Obliquely labours thro' the smiling Plain.
Their hospitable Branches twine;
And the clear Stream, with gurgling Train,
Obliquely labours thro' the smiling Plain.
Here Wine, and Oyl, and Roses, bring,
Too short-liv'd Daughters of the Spring!
While Fortune, Health, and Youth, allow,
Ere with the Weight of feeble Age You bow.
Too short-liv'd Daughters of the Spring!
While Fortune, Health, and Youth, allow,
Ere with the Weight of feeble Age You bow.
From your Town-house, your purchas'd Grove,
And rural Seat, you must remove,
Which Tyber laves: Your joyful Heir
Shall your large Pile of hoarded Treasure share.
And rural Seat, you must remove,
Which Tyber laves: Your joyful Heir
Shall your large Pile of hoarded Treasure share.
If wealthy, and of ancient Race;
Or poor; so meanly born and base,
To find no Covering but the Sky,
It nought avails; for All alike must die!
Or poor; so meanly born and base,
To find no Covering but the Sky,
It nought avails; for All alike must die!
151
To the same Port we all are bound;
In the same Urn are rolling round
Our Lots; which drawn, or soon or late,
Convey us all to our eternal State!
In the same Urn are rolling round
Our Lots; which drawn, or soon or late,
Convey us all to our eternal State!
| The Works of Horace In English Verse | ||