Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • What slender youth, besprinkled with perfume,
  • Courts you on roses in some grotto's shade?
  • Fair Pyrrha, say, for whom
  • Your yellow hair you braid,
  • So trim, so simple! Ah! how oft shall he
  • Lament that faith can fail, that gods can change,
  • Viewing the rough black sea
  • With eyes to tempests strange,
  • Who now is basking in your golden smile,
  • And dreams of you still fancy-free, still kind,
  • Poor fool, nor knows the guile
  • Of the deceitful wind!
  • Woe to the eyes you dazzle without cloud
  • Untried! For me, they show in yonder fane
  • My dripping garments, vow'd
  • To Him who curbs the main.