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And that he had ta'en up his latest inn,
XII. Another on the same.
Here lieth one, who did most truly prove
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
XIII. Ad Pyrrham. Ode V.
Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio
enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat esse miseros.
Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?
Cui flavam religas' comam Simplex munditiis ? heu quoties fidem Mutatosque deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris aequora ventis
Emirabitur insolens !
Qui semper vacuam semper amabilem
Sperat, nescius auræ
Fallacis? Miseri quibus
XIII. The fifth Ode of Horace, Lib. I.
Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa, rendered almost
word for word without rhime, according to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit.
What slender youth bedew'd with liquid odors Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? for whom bind’sy thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire !
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
(vow'd To whom thou untry'd seem'st fair. Picture the sacred wall declares t' have hung
My dank and dropping weeds
Me in my XIV.
On the new forcers of conscience under the Long
you have thrown off your Prelate lord, And with stiff vows renounc'd his liturgy,
To seize the widow'd whore Plurality
ye for this adjure the civil sword
And ride us with a classic hierarchy,
Men whose life, learning, faith and pure intent Would have been held in high esteem with Paul,
Must now be nam’d and printed Heretics
tricks, Your plots and packing worse than those of
And succour our just fears,
1. To the Nightingale.
NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh ; As thou from
hast For my relief, yet hadst no reason why :
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
sung too late
leggiadra il cui bel nome honora
De sui atti soavi giamai parco,
E i don', che son d’amor saette ed arco, La onde l' alta tua virtu s'infiora.
Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti