With fiercer blasts the pine's dim heightIs rock'd; proud towers with heavier fallCrash to the ground; and thunders smiteThe mountains tall.In sadness hope, in gladness fear'Gainst coming change will fortifyYour breast. The storms that JupiterSweeps o'er the skyHe chases. Why should rain todayBring rain tomorrow? Python's foeIs pleased sometimes his lyre to play,Nor bends his bow.Be brave in trouble; meet distressWith dauntless front; but when the galeToo prosperous blows, be wise no less,And shorten sail.O ask not what those sons of war,Cantabrian, Scythian, each intend,Disjoin'd from us by Hadria's bar,Nor puzzle, Quintius, how to spend