LIB. IV. ODE VII. TRANSLATED.
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he snow, dissolved, no more is seen,The fields and woods, behold! are green.The changing year renews the plain,The rivers know their banks again;The sprightly Nymph and naked GraceThe mazy dance together trace;The changing year's successive planProclaims mortality to man.Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way,Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray; 10Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign,And Winter chills the world again:Her losses soon the moon supplies,But wretched man, when once he liesWhere Priam and his sons are laid,Is nought but ashes, and a shade.Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,Will toss us in a morning more?What with your friend you nobly share,At least you rescue from your heir. 20Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome,When Minos once has fix'd your doom,Or eloquence, or splendid birth,Or virtue, shall restore to earth.Hippolytus, unjustly slain,Diana calls to life in vain;Nor can the might of Theseus rendThe chains of Hell that hold his friend. * * * * *
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