Amatory Odes: Ode IV. To Lesbia's Lute

e trembling strings, from whose vibration flows Joy's thrilling tide and sadly pleasing woe: Soothing the sense, yet to the soul's repose Destructive as the Nerve of Cupid's Bow!

With gentlest melody in Lesbia's ear (If any mortal sounds have pow'r to tell) Whisper how much I hope—how much I fear— The pity I implore—the pains I feel.

When her fleet touch calls forth th' enlivening strain Bid rapture float upon the charmed air: Tell her, when sad th' expressive notes complain: "So breathes thy bard the sigh of deep despair."

Of yore such sounds, as thrill th' enamour'd breast When Lesbia's hands the silver chords embrace, Could lull th' embattled elements to rest, Bend knotted oaks, and tame a ruthless race;

Yet, Lesbia! like thy lute tho' Orpheus strung His lyre to strains divine, its amorous lord For Thee had left Euridice unsung, And Pluto's gloomy confines unexplor'd.