Odes From Horace. - To Pyrrha. Book The First, Ode The Fifth.

A poem by Anna Seward

Where roses flaunt beneath some pleasant cave,
Too charming Pyrrha, what enamour'd Boy,
Whose shining locks the breathing odors lave,
Woos thee, exulting in a transient joy?
For whom the simple band dost thou prepare,
That lightly fastens back thy golden hair?

Alas! how soon shall this devoted Youth
Love's tyrant sway, and thy chang'd eyes deplore,
Indignant curse thy violated truth,
And count each broken promise o'er and o'er,
Who hopes to meet, unconscious of thy wiles,
Looks ever vacant, ever facile smiles!

He, inexperienc'd Mariner! shall gaze
In wild amazement on the stormy deep,
Recall the flattery of those sunny days,
That lull'd each ruder wind to calmest sleep.
'T was then, with jocund hope, he spread the sail,
In rash dependence on the faithless gale.

Ah Wretch! to whom untried thou seemest fair!
By me, who late thy halcyon surface sung,
[1]The walls of Neptune's fane inscrib'd, declare
That I have dank and dropping garments hung,
Devoted to the GOD, whose kind decree
Snatch'd me to shore, from an o'erwhelming sea.

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