Book First, Ode Ninth.
See’st thou, my friend, how white with snow,1
Towers in mid air Soracte’s brow ;2
How with their load the forests bend,3
And frost the torrent’s force has chain’d !4
The season’s chilling cold to chase,5
Bid on thy hearth huge faggots blaze ;6
And from the twin-ear’d pitcher pour7
Thy inmost bin’s time-mellow’d store.8
Leave to the Gods all cares beside :9
Soon as their voice has quell’d the pride10
Of storms wild-raving o’er the sea,11
Stirs not a breath the aspen-tree.12
To trace to-morrow’s doom forego,13
And count as gain each granted Now ;14
Nor then the joys of love’s young morn,15
Or dance of sprightly damsels scorn,16
While still with gray unstain’d thine hair.17
Now to the public mall repair,18
Assiduous ; in the appointed bower—19
Now breathe thy tale at eve’s soft hour—20
Dear now the titter arch which tells21
What nook the ambush’d maid conceals,22
Sweet from the struggling yielding fair23
The ring or bracelet-pledge to bear.24