BOOK II. ODE IX.
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Clouds do not always veil the skies,Nor showers immerse the verdant plain;Nor do the billows always rise,Or storms afflict the ruffled main. 2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shoresDo the chain'd waters always freeze;Not always furious Boreas roars,Or bends with violent force the trees. 3 But you are ever drown'd in tears,For Mystes dead you ever mourn;No setting Sol can ease your cares,But finds you sad at his return. 4 The wise, experienced Grecian sageMourn'd not Antilochus so long;Nor did King Priam's hoary ageSo much lament his slaughter'd son.5 Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs,Augustus' numerous trophies sing;Repeat that prince's victories,To whom all nations tribute bring. 6 Niphates rolls an humbler wave,At length the undaunted Scythian yields,Content to live the Romans' slave,And scarce forsakes his native fields. * * * * *
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