HORACE. BOOK II. ODE X. RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach; He that holds fast the golden mean, The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbittering all his state. The tallest pines feel most the power And spread the ruin round. The well inform'd philosopher Soon the sweet Spring comes daucing forth, What if thine heaven be overcast ? The God that strings the silver bow, If hinderances obstruct thy way, And let thy strength be seen; A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE. AND is this all? Can Reason do no more Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore? And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. THE ROSE. THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet; To weep for the buds it had left with regret I hastily seized it, unfit as it was And such,' I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart "This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile, And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd, perhaps, by a smile.' THE WINTER NOSEGAY. WHAT Nature, alas! has denied And Winter is deck'd with a smile. From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where the flowers have the charms of the spring, Though abroad they are frozen and dead." 'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets, Where Flora is still in her prime; A fortress, to which she retreats From the cruel assaults of the clime. While Earth wears a mantle of snow, These pinks are as fresh and as gay As the fairest and sweetest that blow On the beautiful bosom of May. See how they have safely survived The truth of a friend such as you. TO THE NIGHTINGALE, WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1792. WHENCE is it, that amazed I hear And why, since thousands would be proud To witness it alone? Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, For that I also long Have practised in the groves like thee, Or sing'st thou rather under force Thrice welcome then! for many a long But thee no wintry skies can harm, To make ev'n January charm, |