In vats the heavenly load they lay,
And swift the damfels trip away:
The youths alone the wine-prefs tread,
For wine 's by fkilful drunkards made:
Mean time the mirthful fong they raise,
Io! Bacchus, to thy praise!

And, eying the bleft juice, in thought
Quaff an imaginary draught.

Gaily, through wine, the old advance,
And doubly tremble in the dance:
In fancy'd youth they chant and play,
Forgetful that their locks are grey.

Through wine, the youth completes his loves;
He haunts the filence of the groves:
Where, ftretch'd beneath th' embowering shade,
He spies fome love-inspiring maid:

On beds of rofy fweets fhe lies,
Inviting fleep to close her eyes:

Faft by her fide his limbs he throws,
Her hand he preffes-breathes his vows;
And cries, My love, my foul, comply
This inftant, or, alas! I die.

In vain the youth perfuafion tries!
In vain!-her tongue at least denies :
Then fcorning death through dull defpair,
He ftorms th' unwilling willing fair;
Bleffing the grapes that could dispense
The happy, happy impudence.

ODE

ODE LIII. The RoSE.

COME

OME, lyrift, tune thy harp, and play
Responsive to my vocal lay:

Gently touch it, while I fing

The Rofe, the glory of the fpring.

To heaven the Rofe in fragrance flies,
The sweetest incenfe of the skies.
Thee, joy of earth, when vernal hours
Pour forth a blooming waste of flowers,
The gaily-fmiling Graces wear
A trophy in their flowing hair.

Thee Venus queen of beauty loves,

And, crown'd with thee, more graceful moves.
In fabled fong, and tuneful lays,
Their favourite Rose the Muses praise :
To pluck the Rofe, the virgin-train
With blood their pretty fingers ftain,
Nor dread the pointed terrors round,
That threaten, and inflict a wound:
See! how they wave the charming toy,
Now kifs, now fnuff the fragrant joy!

The Rofe the poets strive to praise,
And for it would exchange their bays;
O! ever to the sprightly feast
Admitted, welcome, pleafing guest!
But chiefly when the goblet flows,
And Rofy wreaths adorn our brows!
Lovely smiling Rose, how sweet
The object where thy beauties meet!

Aurora

Aurora with a blushing ray,

And Rofy fingers, spreads the day:
The Graces more enchanting show
When Rofy blushes paint their fnow;
And every pleas'd beholder feeks
The Rofe in Cytherea's cheeks.

When pain afflicts, or fickness grieves,
Its juice the drooping heart relieves;
And, after death, its odours fhed
A pleafing fragrance o'er the dead;
And when its withering charms decay,
And finking, fading, die away,
Triumphant o'er the rage of time,
It keeps the fragrance of its prime.
Come, lyrift, join to fing the birth
Of this fweet offspring of the earth!

When Venus from the ocean's bed
Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head;
When warlike Pallas fprung from Jove,
Tremendous to the powers above;
To grace the world, the teeming earth
Gave the fragrant infant birth,

AndThis,' fhe cry'd, I this ordain

My favourite, queen of flowers to reign!'
But first th' affembled gods debate

The future wonder to create:

Agreed at length, from heaven they threw
A drop of rich, nectareous dew;

A bramble-stem the drop receives,
And ftrait the Rofe adorns the leaves.

The

The gods to Bacchus gave the flower, Το grace him in the genial hour.

ODE LIV. Grown YouNG.

WHEN

THEN fprightly youths my eyes furvey,
I too am young, and I am gay;

In dance my active body swims,
And sudden pinions lift my limbs.
Hafte, crown, Cybaba, crown my brows
With garlands of the fragrant rofe!
Hence, hoary age!-I now am strong,
And dance, a youth among the young.
Come then, my friends, the goblet drain!
Bleft juice!-I feel thee in each vein!
See! how with active bounds I spring!
How strong, and yet how fweet, I fing!
How bleft am I! who thus excell
In pleasing arts of trifling well!

ODE LV. The MARK.

HE ftately fteed expreffive bears

TH

A mark imprinted on his hairs:
The turban that adorns the brows
Of Afia's fons, the Parthian fhows:
And marks betray the lover's heart,
Deeply engrav'd by Cupid's dart:
I plainly read them in his eyes,
That look too foolish, or too wife.

4

ODE

A1

ODE LVI.

LAS! the powers of life decay!

My hairs are fall'n, or chang'd to grey !
The fmiling bloom, and youthful grace,
Is banish'd from my faded face!
Thus man beholds, with weeping eyes,
Himfelf half-dead before he dies.

For this, and for the grave, I fear,
And pour the never-ceafing tear!
A dreadful profpect ftrikes my eye;
1 foon must ficken, foon muft die.
For this the mournful groan I shed;
I dread-alas! the hour I dread!
What eye can ftedfastly survey
Death, and its dark tremendous way?
For foon as fate has clos'd our eyes,
Man dies for ever, ever dies!
All pale, all fenfeless in the urn!
Never, ah! never to return.

O

O DE LXIV. To APOLLO.

NCE more, not uninfpir'd, the ftring
I waken, and fpontaneous fing:

No Pythic laurel-wreath I claim,
That lifts ambition into fame :
My voice unbidden tunes the lay:
Some god impells, and I obey.

Liften