Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil, Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumor lies, 80 Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. O fountain Arethufe, and thou honor'd flood, 85 Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And liftens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; 90 He afk'd the waves, and ask'd the fellon winds, And fage Hippotades their answer brings, 95 100 Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 Like to that fanguin flow'r inscrib'd with woe. Ah! Who hath reft (quoth he) my deareft pledge? Laft came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake, Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron fhuts amain) 110 He shook his miter'd locks, and ftern befpake, How well could I have spar'd for thee young fwain, Enow of fuch as for their bellies fake Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 115 Of other care they little reck'ning make, (hold 121 Than how to fcramble at the fhearers feast, 125 130 And 135 And call the vales, and bid them hither caft The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, 145 150 Let our frail thoughts dally with falfe furmise. 160 Where the great vifion of the guarded mount Looks Looks tow'ard Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth: And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 166 171 Weep no more, woeful Shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your forrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watry floor; So finks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves, Where other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpreffive nuptial fong, In the bleft kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In folemn troops, and fweet focieties, 175 That fing, and finging in their glory move, 180 185 Thus fang the uncouth fwain to th' oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with fandals gray, He touch'd the tender ftops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : And And now the fun had stretch'd out all the hills, 190 At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue: XVIII. The Fifth ODE of Horace, Lib. I. Quis multa gracilis te puer in rofa, rendred almost word for word without rime, according to the Latin meafure, as near as the language will permit. HAT flender youth bedew'd with liquid odors WHAT Courts thee on roses in fome pleasant cave, Pyrrah? for whom bind'ft thou In wreaths thy golden hair, Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he On faith and changed Gods complain, and feas Rough with black winds and ftorms Unwonted shall admire! Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold, Who always vacant always amiable Hopes thee, of flattering gales Unmindful. Hapless they 5 10 Towhom thou untry'd seem'ft fair. Me in my vow'd Picture the facred wall declares t' have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the ftern God of fea. 15 Ad |