When o'er the public walks the shade Of sober twilight sheds its power, An assignation whispering made

In silent evening's favouring hour, While age morose thy vigor spares, Be these thy pleasures, these thy cares.

The laugh, that from the corner flies, The sportive fair-one shall betray; Then boldly snatch the joyful prize; A ring or bracelet tear away, While she, not too severely coy, Struggling shall yield the willing toy.

ODE X.

HYMN TO MERCURY.

THOU god of wit (from Atlas sprung)
Who by persuasive power of tongue,
And graceful exercise refin'd

The savage race of human kind;
Hail, winged messenger of Jove,
And all th' immortal powers above,
Sweet parent of the bending lyre,
Thy praise shall all its sounds inspire.
Artful, and cunning to conceal

Whate'er in sportive theft you steal;
When from the god, who gilds the pole,
Ev'n yet a boy his herds you stole,
With angry voice the threat'ning power
Bade thee thy fraudful prey restore,
But of his quiver too beguil'd,
Pleas'd with the theft Apollo smil'd.
You were the wealthy Priam's guide
When safe from Agamemnon's pride,
Thro' hostile camps, which round him spread
Their watchful fires, his way he sped.
Unspotted spirits you cousign

To blissful seats and joys divine,
And powerful with thy golden wand
The light, unbodied crowd command;
Thus grateful does thy office prove
To gods below and gods above.

ODE XI.

TO LEUCONOE

STRIVE not, Leuconoë, to pry

Into the secret will of fate,

Nor impious magic vainly try,

To know our lives' uncertain date.

Whether th' indulgent power divine
Hath many seasons yet in store,
Or this the latest winter thine,

Which breaks its waves against the shore.

Thy life with wiser arts be crown'd,
Thy philter'd wines abundant pour;
The lengthen'd hope with prudence bound
Proportion'd to the flying hour:

Even while we talk in careless ease,
Our envious minutes wing their flight;

Instant the fleeting pleasure seize,

Nor trust to-morrow's doubtful light.

ODE XII.

HYMN TO JOVE.

WHAT man, what bero, on the tuneful lyre,

Or sharp-ton'd flute, will Clio chuse to raise Deathless to fame? What god? whose hallow'd name The sportive image of the voice

Shall thro' the shades of Helicon resound,
On Pindus, or on Hæmus ever cool,
From whence the forests in confusion wild
To vocal Orpheus urg'd their way;
Who by his mother's art, harmonious muse,
With soft delay could stop the falling streams,
And winged winds; with strings of concert sweet
Powerful the listening oaks to lead.

Claims not th' eternal Sire his wonted praise?
Awful who reigns o'er gods and men supreme,
Who sea and earth-this universal globe

With grateful change of seasons rules;
From whom no being of superior power,
Nothing of equal, second glory springs,
Yet first of all his progeny divine

Immortal honors Pallas claims:

God of the vine in deeds of valor bold,
Fair virgin-huntress of the savage race,
And Phoebus, dreadful with unerring dart,
Nor will I not your praise proclaim.
Alcides' labors, and fair Leda's twins

Fam'd for the rapid race, for wrestling fam'd,
Shall grace my song; soon as whose star benign
Thro' the fierce tempest shines serene,

Swift from the rocks down foams the broken surge,
Hush'd fall the winds, the driving clouds disperse,
And all the threatening waves, so will the gods,
Smooth sink upon the peaceful deep.

Here stops the song, doubtful whom next to praise,
Or Romulus, or Numa's peaceful reign,
The haughty ensigns of Tarquinius' throne,

Or Cato, glorious in his fall.

Grateful in higher tone the Muse shall sing

The fate of Regulus, the Scaurian race,
And Paulus, 'midst the waste of Canna's field
How greatly prodigal of life!

Form'd by the hand of penury severe

In dwellings suited to their small domain,
Fabricius, Curius, and Camillus rose;
To deeds of martial glory rose.

Marcellus, like a youthful tree of growth
Insensible, high shoots his spreading fame,
And like the moon, the feebler fires among,
Conspicuous shines the Julian star,
Saturnian Jove, parent and guardian god
Of human race, to thee the fates assign
The care of Cæsar's reign; to thine alone
Inferior let his empire rise;

Whether the Parthian's formidable powers,
Or farthest India's oriental sons,

With suppliant pride beneath his triumph fall,
Wide o'er a willing world shall he

Contented reign, and to thy throne shall bend
Submissive. Thou in thy tremendous car
Shalt shake Olympus' head, and at our groves
Polluted, hurl thy dreadful bolts.