If o'er your paths clouds now should cast a gloom,
Soon will the scene in brighter prospects bloom:
Apollo does not always strike the lyre,
Nor bid the arrow from his bow aspire.

When raging grief and poverty appear, Strengthen thy sickening heart, and banish fear. When you are wafted by a prosperous gale, Learn wisely, to contract the swelling sail.

TRANSLATION

OF THE FIFTH ODE, FIRST BOOK OF HORACE

Addressed to the courtezan Pyrrha.

WHO, fair Pyrrha, wins thy graces?

What gay youth imprints a kiss?
Or in roseate groves embraces
Urging thee to amorous bliss?

To delude to your caresses

What young rake, or wanton blade,
Do you bind your golden tresses,
In plain elegance arrayed?

Soon the unhappy youth, deploring,
Shall lament thy proud disdain;
Thus, the winds, tempestuous roaring,
Rend the bosom of the main.

He, who's now thy beauty prizing,

In thy smiles supremely blest, Dreams not of the storm that's rising, To disturb his peaceful breast.

Misery's sharpest pang he suffers,
Who, secure from all alarms,
Like all thy deluded lovers,

Clasped a serpent in his arms.

Once, thy deep intrigues unknowing,
I embarked upon the deep;
Boisterous storms, dread horrors blowing,
Roused me from lethargick sleep.

Billows were around me roaring,

When great Neptune's friendly aid,

Me to Rome again restoring,

There my grateful vows I paid.

STANZAS

ON RECEIVING A FROWN FROM CYNTHIA.

A

GLOOMY cloud in heaven appears,

And shrouds the solar ray;

All Nature droops, and bursts in tears,

And mourns the loss of day.

What wrath has sent the tempest down

To gloom the azure sky?

Lo! Cynthia's mien assumes a frown,

And Colin heaves a sigh!

Yes, Cynthia frowns!-in mourning clad
Young Colin seeks the plain,

And there in silent sorrow sad,
Sighs, weeps, and sighs again.

Ah! luckless hour! the lover cries;
Vain Hope! no more beguile!
Ah! seek no more, in Cynthia's eyes
The sunbeam of her smile!

Once in the days of happier fate,
In smiles she tripped the lea;

But I, with fondest pride elate,
Thought all those smiles for me.

Where once benignant beams were shed,
Now sad displeasure lowers:

On Colin's fond, devoted head,
The storm, dark rolling, showers.

The fount of grief has now grown dry,
And tears no more can flow;

No more can trickle from the eye,
The streams of mental woe.

Cynthia, behold a captive heart;
Its real anguish see,

Transcending all descriptive art;

It bleeds alone by thee!

So deep a wound can never close,

The heart cannot endure,

You opened all its bleeding woes,
And you alone can cure.

Then deign a gentle smile of grace;

On Colin's bosom shine;

And, raptured at so fair a face,
Elysium will be mine!

TRANSLATION

OF THE NINTH ODE, THIRD BOOK, OF HORACE.

Dialogue between Horace and Lydia.

HORACE.

WHEN no fond rival's favoured arms

With rapture clasped thy snowy charms;
When but to me thy smile was given

It warmed me like the smile of heaven.

Thus blest, I envied not the state

Of Persia's monarch rich and great.

LYDIA.

When Lydia's smile allured thee more

Than Chloe's sweet seducing power,

Then did the cords of love unite

Our hearts in mutual delight;

Then so revered was Lydia's name,

I envied not great Ilia's fame!

HORACE.

The Cressian Chloe now detains
My soul in fascinating chains:

She tunes the harp's melodious strings,
But with much sweeter musick sings:
Could dying snatch my love from death,
How gladly would I yield my breath!

LYDIA.

Me, Calaïs, to love inspires;
Our bosoms glow with gentlest fires.
In him has every graced combined—
But, oh! what charms adorn his mind!
I twice the pangs of death would bear,
If Fate my Calaïs would spare!

HORACE.

Say, what if former love aspire,

And glow with an intenser fire?

Say, what if Chloe's charms I spurn

Will Lydia to my arms return,
And bid the Paphian queen again

Unite us with a stronger chain?

LYDIA.

Though light as cork, your passions reign,

And rougher than the raging main;

Though Calaïs by far outvies

The great enlightener of the skies;

Yet from his eager love I fly,

To live with you, with you to die!