Poetical Works: Horace, Lib. iv. Ode vii. Translated

Horace, Lib. iv. Ode vii. Translated

  The snow, dissolved, no more is seen,
  The fields and woods, behold! are green.
  The changing year renews the plain,
  The rivers know their banks again;
  The sprightly Nymph and naked Grace
  The mazy dance together trace;
  The changing year's successive plan
  Proclaims mortality to man.
  Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way,
  Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray;                    10
  Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign,
  And Winter chills the world again:
  Her losses soon the moon supplies,
  But wretched man, when once he lies
  Where Priam and his sons are laid,
  Is nought but ashes, and a shade.
  Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
  Will toss us in a morning more?
  What with your friend you nobly share,
  At least you rescue from your heir.                         20
  Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
  When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
  Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
  Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
  Hippolytus, unjustly slain,
  Diana calls to life in vain;
  Nor can the might of Theseus rend
  The chains of Hell that hold his friend.

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