Horace, Ode IV. Book I. Imitated

Now ice-forming winter is melted away, And gentle Favonius refreshes the day; Spring sweetly in dimples now smiles on the streams, And wherries sail light on the bosom of Thames: No longer the cattle warm cover require, The lubber no longer hangs over the fire; No longer in snow the green meadows are lost, And the fields are disarm'd of their breast-plate of frost. At noon the gay ladies, like so many graces, In the Park, if the sun shines, display their fair faces; But so languid a lustre the sun now supplies, 'Tis excell'd, far excell'd, by the ladies bright eyes. With wreaths of fresh flowers let us cover our heads, Crocus, snow-drop, and primrose, that grow in the meads; But if in the meadows fresh flowerets are rare, Our soldiers have plenty of laurels to spare: St. Valentine bids us be jovial and gay, And finish with wine, love, and friendship, the day; Fill, fill the large bowl, and let enmity cease; Let us drink the king's health, who has crown'd us with peace. Life is short, and grim death alike knocks at the door Of the monarch's proud dome, and the cot of the poor: Let us live then, nor longer procrastinate bliss, When we're dead we shall drink no such liquor as this.