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What form of Death could him affright,
Secure those golden early joys, Who unconcerned, with stedfast sight,
That youth unsour'd with sorrow bears, Could view the surges mounting steep,
Ere withering Time the taste destroys, And monsters rolling in the deep!
With sickness and unwieldly years. Could through the ranks of ruin go,
For active sports, for pleasing rest, With storins above, and rocks below!
This is the time to be possest;
The best is but in season best.
Th' appointed hour of promis'd bliss, larade th' inviolable maiu;
* The pleasing whisper in the dark, Th' eternal fences over-leap,
The half unwilling willing kiss, And pass at will the boundless deep.
The laugh that guides thee to the mark, No toil , no bardship, can restrain
When the kind nymph would coyness feign, Ambitious man inur'd to pain ;
And hides but to be found again; The more confin'd, the more he tries,
These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.
THE TWENTY-NINTH ODE
Paraphras'd in Pindaric verse, and inscribed to Comes up to shorten half our date.
the Right Hon. Laurence earl of Rochester,
DESCENDED of an ancient line,
Make haste to meet the generous wine,
Whose piercing is for thee delay'd; We reach at Jove's imperial crown,
The rosy wreath is ready made; And pull th' unwilling thunder down.
And artful hands prepare
[hair. The fragrant Syrian oil, that shall perfume thy
OF THE THIRD BOOK OP
Those very shades and streams new shades and In my small pinnace I can sail, streams require,
[raging fire. Contemning all the blustering roar; And want a cooling breeze of wind to fan the And, ruming with a merry gale,
With friendly stars my safety seek
Within some little winding creek :
And see the storm ashore.
THE SECOND EPODE
How happy in his low degree,
Who leads a quiet country life;
Discharg'd of business, void of strife,
And from the griping scrivener free!
Thus, ere the seeds of vice were sown,
Liv'd men in better ages born,
Who plow'd with oxen of their own
Their small paternal field of corn.
Nor trumpets summon him to war,
Nor drums disturb his morning sleep,
Nor knows he merchants' gainful care,
Nor fears the dangers of the deep.
And court, and state, he wisely shuns,
To servile salutations runs;
Does the supporting poplar wed,
Unbearing branches from their head,
And grafts more happy in their stead.
Or, climbing to a hilly steep,
He views his herds in vales afar,
Or mead for cooling drink prepares,
Of virgin honey in the jars.
Or in the now-declining year,
When bounteous autumn rears his head, But what has been, has been, and I have had my He joys to pull the ripen'd pear, hour.
And clustering grapes with purple spread.
Tbe fairest of his fruit he serves,
Priapus, thy rewards:
Sylvanus too his part deserves,
Whose care the fences guards,
Sometimes beneath an ancient oak,
Or on the matted grass, he lies;
No god of sleep he need invoke ;
The stream that o'er the pebbles flies
With gentle slumber crowns his eyes.
The wind that whistles through the sprays But when she dances in the wind,
Maintains the concert of the song;
The golden sleep prolong.
And hoary frost inverts the year,
And seeks the tusky boar to rear,
With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed spear!
Or spreads his subtle nets from sight
With twinkling glasses, to betray
Or makes the fearful bare his prey.
Amidst his harmless easy joys
No anxious care invades his health,
Nor wicked avarice of wealth.
But if a chaste and pleasing wife,
To ease the business of his life,
Divides with him his household care,
Than shards or mallows for the pot, Such as the Sabine matrons were,
That keep the loosen'd body sound, Such as the swift Apulian's bride,
Or than the lamb, that falls by lot
To the just guardian of my ground. Will fire for winter-nights provide,
Amidst these feasts of happy swains,
The jolly shepherd smiles to see
His flock returning from the plains;
The farmer is as pleas'd as he Sweaty and overlabour'd, home;
To view his oxen sweating smoke,
Bear on their necks the loosen'd yoke:
To look upon bis menial crew,
That sit around his cheerful hearth, And yubought dainties of the poor ;
And bodies spent in toil renew Not oysters of the Lucrine lake
With wholesome food and country mirth.
This Morecraft said within himself,
Resolv'd to leave the wicked town:
And live retir'd upon his own,
He call'd his money in;
But the prevailing love of pelf,
Soon split him on the former shelf,
He put it out again.