Blest in the present, look not forthOn ills beyond, but soothe each bitterWith slow, calm smile. No suns on earthUnclouded glitter.Achilles' light was quench'd at noon;A long decay Tithonus minish'd;My hours, it may be, yet will runWhen yours are flnish'd.For you Sicilian heifers low,Bleat countless flocks; for you are neighingProud coursers; Afric purples glowFor your arrayingWith double dyes; a small domain,The soul that breathed in Grecian harping,My portion these; and high disdainOf ribald carping.Why rend my heart with that sad sigh?It cannot please the gods or meThat you, Maecenas, first should die,My pillar of prosperity.