Volume 3 — TO THALIARCHUS.[108] BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE NINTH.

In dazzling whiteness, lo! Soracte towers, As all the mountain were one heap of snow! Rush from the loaded woods the glittering showers; The frost-bound waters can no longer flow. Let plenteous billets, on the glowing hearth, Dissolve the ice-dart ere it reach thy veins; Bring mellow wines to prompt convivial mirth, Nor heed th’ arrested streams, or slippery plains. High Heaven, resistless in his varied sway, Speaks!—The wild elements contend no more; Nor then, from raging seas, the foamy spray Climbs the dark rocks, or curls upon the shore. And peaceful then yon aged ash shall stand; In breathless calm the dusky cypress rise; To-morrow’s destiny the Gods command, To-day is thine;—enjoy it, and be wise! Youth’s radiant tide too swiftly rolls away; Now, in its flow, let pleasures round thee bloom; Join the gay dance, awake the melting lay, Ere hoary tresses blossom for the tomb! Spears, and the steed, in busy camps impel; And, when the early darkness veils the groves, Amid the leafless boughs let whispers steal, While frolic Beauty seeks the near alcoves. Soft as thy tip-toe steps the mazes rove, A laugh, half-smother’d, thy pleas’d ear shall meet, And, sportive in the charming wiles of love, Betray the artifice of coy retreat; And then the ring, or, from her snowy arm, The promis’d bracelet may thy force employ; Her feign’d reluctance, height’ning every charm, Shall add new value to the ravish’d toy.