FROM HORACE'S ODES. BOOK I. ODE 9. To THALIARCHUS ONE dazzling mass of solid snow Soracte stands; the bent woods fret Beneath their load; and, sharpest-set With frost, the streams have ceased to flow. Pile on great faggots and break up Leave to the gods all else. When they Ask not what future suns shall bring. Count to-day gain, whate'er it chance To be: nor, young man, scorn the dance, Nor deem sweet Love an idle thing, Ere Time thy April youth hath changed Hear now the pretty laugh that tells From wrist or hand that scarce rebels. ODE 11. TO LEUCONÖE. SEEK not, for thou shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall be; Ask not of Chaldæa's science what God wills, Leuconöe: Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry blast Waits thee still; and this, it may be, Jove ordains to be thy last, Which flings now the flagging sea-wave on the obstinate sandstone-reef. Be thou wise: fill up the wine-cup; shortening, since the time is brief, Hopes that reach into the future. While I speak, hath stol'n away Jealous Time. Mistrust To-morrow, catch the blos som of To-day. ODE 14. TO A SHIP. YET on fresh billows seaward wilt thou ride, O ship? What dost thou? Seek a hav'n, and there Rest thee for lo! thy side Is oarless all and bare, And the swift south-west wind hath maimed thy mast, And thy yards creak, and, every cable lost, Yield must thy keel at last On tyrannous sea-waves tossed Too rudely. Goodly canvass is not thine, Nor gods, to hear thee when thy need is sorest True, thou-a Pontic pine, Child of a stately forest Boast'st rank and empty name: but little trust The frightened seamen in a painted stern. Stay or be mocked thou must By every wind in turn, : |