Escapes the grasp of our rapacious heir;-
Pile then the steaming board, and quaff the rosy wine!

Illustrious HAYLEY!—in that cruel hour,
When o'er thee Fate the sable flag shall wave,
Not thy keen wit, thy fancy's splendid power,
Knowledge, or worth, shall snatch thee from the grave.

Not to his MASON's grief, from Death's dim plains
Was honour'd GRAY's departed form resign'd;
No tears dissolve the cold Lethean chains,
That, far from busy life, the mortal semblance bind.

Then, for the bright creations of the brain,
O! do not thou from health's gay leisure turn,
Lest we, like tuneful MASON, sigh in vain,
And grasp a timeless, tho' a Laurel'd Urn!

ΤΟ

LIGURI A.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE TENTH.

THOU! exulting in the charms,

Nature, with lavish bounty, showers,

When youth no more thy spirit warms,
And stealing age thy pride alarms,

For fleeting graces, and for waning powers;

When all the shining locks, that now
Adown those ivory shoulders bound,
With deaden'd colour shade thy brow,

And fall as from th' autumnal bough

Leaves, that rude winds have scatter'd on the ground;

And on that cheek the tints, that shame

May's orient light and Summer's rose,

Dim as yon taper's sullen flame,
Shall, in a dusky red, proclaim

That not one hue in wonted lustre glows;

When wrinkles o'er LIGURIA's face

Their daily strengthening furrows lead; When faithful mirrors cease to place

In her charm'd sight each blooming grace,

And will no more her heart's proud triumph feed;

Then the chang'd maid, with secret shame,

Shall thus the past, and present chide;

O! why, amid the loud acclaim,

That gave my rising charms to fame,

Swell'd this coy bosom with disdainful pride?

Or why, since now the wish to yield

Steals pensive thro' each melting vein, The ice dissolv'd, that scorn congeal'd, And every tender thought reveal'd,

Why, vanish'd Beauty, com'st not thou again?

TO

PHYLLIS.

INVITING HER TO CELEBRATE THE BIRTH-DAY OF

MECENAS.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE ELEVENTH.

SWEET PHYLLIS, leave thy quiet home,

For lo! the ides of April come!
Then hasten to my bower;

A cask of rich Albanian wine,
In nine years mellowness, is mine,
To glad the festal hour.

My garden-herbs, in fragrance warm,
Our various chaplets wait to form;
My tender ivies grow,

That, twining in thy amber hair,
Add jocund spirit to thine air,

And whiteness to thy brow.

My walls with silver vessels shine;
Chaste vervin decks the modest shrine,
That longs with crimson stains

To see its foliage sprinkled o'er,
When the devoted lamb shall pour
The treasure of his veins.

The household girls, and menial boy,
From room to room assiduous fly,
And busy hands extend;

Our numerous fires are quivering bright,
And, rolling from their pointed height,
The dusky wreaths ascend.

Convivial rites, in mystic state,

Thou, lovely nymph, shalt celebrate,
And give the day to mirth

That this love-chosen month divides;
Since honour'd rose its blooming ides
By dear MACENAS' birth.

1. 12. Dusky wreaths ascend-The Romans made fires in the middle of their rooms, with a hole in the ceiling, to let out the smoke, which is described as rolling to the top of the house.

1. 16 Love-chosen month-The feast of Venus was held by the Romans in April.

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