Examen poeticum being the third part of miscellany poems containing variety of new translations of the ancient poets, together with many original copies by the most eminent hands.

An ODE, In imitation of HORACE, Ode IX. Lib. 1.

By Mr. CONGREVE.

Vides ut alta, &c.—

I.

BLess me, 'tis cold! how chill the Air! How naked does the World appear! But see (big with the Off-spring of the North) The teeming Clouds bring forth. A Show'r of soft and fleecy Rain, Falls, to new cloath the Earth again. Behold the Mountain-Tops, around, As if with Fur of Ermins crown'd: And lo! how by degrees The universal Mantle hides the Trees,

In hoary Flakes, which downward fly, As if it were the Autumn of the Sky, Whose Fall of Leaf would theirs supply: Trembling, the Groves sustain the Weight, and bow Like aged Limbs, which feebly go Beneath a venerable Head of Snow.

II.

Diffusive Cold does the whole Earth invade, Like a Disease, through all its Veins 'tis spread, And each late living Stream, is num'd and dead. Lets melt the frozen Hours, make warm the Air: Let cheerful Fires Sol's feeble Beams repair; Fill the large Bowl with sparkling Wine; Let's drink, till our own Faces shine, Till we like Suns appear, To light and warm the Hemisphere. Wine can dispence to all both Light and Heat,

They are with Wine ineorporate: That pow'rful Juice, with which no Cold dares mix, Which still is fluid, and no Frost can fix: Let that but in abundance flow, And let it storm and thunder, hail and snow, 'Tis Heav'ns Concern; and let it be The Care of Heaven still for me: These Winds, which rend the Oaks and plough the Seas; Great Jove can, if he please, With one commanding Nod appease.

III.

Seek not to know to Morrows Doom; That is not ours, which is to come. The present Moment's all our Store: The next, shou'd Heav'n allow, Then this will be no more: So all our Life is but one instant Now.

Look on each Day you've past To be a mighty Treasure won: And lay each Moment out in haste; We're sure to live too fast, And cannot live too soon. Youth does a thousand Pleasures bring, Which from decrepit Age will fly; Sweets that wanton i'th' Bosome of the Spring. In Winter's cold Embraces dye.

IV.

Now, Love, that everlasting Boy, invites To revel while you may, in soft Delights: Now, the kind Nymph yields all her Charms, Nor yields in vain to youthful Arms. Slowly she promises at Night to meet, But eagerly prevents the Hour with swifter Feet. To gloomy Groves and obscure Shades she flies,

There vails the bright Confession of her Eyes. Unwillingly she stays, Would more unwillingly depart, And in soft Sighs conveys The Whispers of her Heart. Still she invites and still denies, And vows she'll leave you if y'are rude; Then from her Ravisher she flies, But flies to be pursu'd: If from his Sight she does her self convey, With a feign'd Laugh she will her self betray, And cunningly instruct him in the way.