Odes From Horace. - To [1]Thaliarchus. Book The First, Ode The Ninth.

In dazzling whiteness, lo! Soracte towers,      As all the mountain were one heap of snow!      Rush from the loaded woods the glittering showers;      The frost-bound waters can no longer flow.      Let plenteous billets, on the glowing hearth,      Dissolve the ice-dart ere it reach thy veins;      Bring mellow wines to prompt convivial mirth,      Nor heed th' arrested streams, or slippery plains.      High Heaven, resistless in his varied sway,      Speaks! - The wild elements contend no more;      Nor then, from raging seas, the foamy spray      Climbs the dark rocks, or curls upon the shore.      And peaceful then yon aged ash shall stand;      In breathless calm the dusky cypress rise;      To-morrow's destiny the Gods command,      To-day is thine; - enjoy it, and be wise!      Youth's radiant tide too swiftly rolls away;      Now, in its flow, let pleasures round thee bloom;      Join the gay dance, awake the melting lay,      Ere hoary tresses blossom for the tomb!      Spears, and the Steed, in busy camps impel;      And, when the early darkness veils the groves,      Amid the leafless boughs let whispers steal,      While frolic Beauty seeks the near alcoves.      Soft as thy tip-toe steps the mazes rove,      A laugh, half-smother'd, thy pleas'd ear shall meet,      And, sportive in the charming wiles of love,      Betray the artifice of coy retreat;      And then the ring, or, from her snowy arm,      The promis'd bracelet may thy force employ;      Her feign'd reluctance, height'ning every charm,      Shall add new value to the ravish'd toy.