Horace

I A Tower of Brass, one would have said, And Locks, and Bolts, and Iron Bars, Might have preserv’d one innocent Maiden-head. The jealous Father thought he well might spare All further jealous Care. And, as he walk’d, t’himself alone he smiled, To think how Venus’ Arts he had beguil’d; And when he slept, his Rest was deep: But Venus laugh’d, to see and hear him sleep: She taught the am’rous Jove A magical Receipt in Love, Which arm’d him stronger, and which help’d him more, Than all his Thunder did, and his Almightyship before. II She taught him Love’s Elixir, by which Art His Godhead into Gold he did convert; No Guards did then his Passage stay, He pass’d with Ease, Gold was the Word; Subtle as Light’ning, bright, and quick, and fierce, Gold thro’ Doors and Walls did pierce; And as that works sometimes upon the Sword, Melted the Maidenhead away, Ev’n in the secret Scabbard where it lay. The prudent Macedonian King, To blow up Towns a Golden Mine did spring; He broke thro’ Gates with this Petarr, ’Tis the great Art of Peace, the Engine ’tis of War; And Fleets and Armies follow it afar; The Ensign ’tis at Land: and ’tis the Seaman’s Star.

What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odors, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou In wreaths thy golden hair, Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he Of faith and changed gods complain, and seas Rough with black winds, and storms Unwonted shall admire! Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold, Who, always vacant, always amiable Hopes thee, of flattering gales Unmindful. Hapless they To whom thou untried seem’st fair. Me, in my vow’d Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the stern god of sea.

Leucon, no one’s allowed to know his fate, Not you, not me: don’t ask, don’t hunt for answers In tea leaves or palms. Be patient with whatever comes. This could be our last winter, it could be many More, pounding the Tuscan Sea on these rocks: Do what you must, be wise, cut your vines And forget about hope. Time goes running, even As we talk. Take the present, the future’s no one’s affair.