ODE XI.

1 No, foolish youth—to virtuous fame If now thy early hopes be vow'd, If true ambition's nobler flame Command thy footsteps from the crowd, Lean not to Love's enchanting snare; His songs, his words, his looks beware, Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.

2 By thought, by dangers, and by toils, The wreath of just renown is worn; Nor will ambition's awful spoils The flowery pomp of ease adorn; But Love unbends the force of thought; By Love unmanly fears are taught; And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought.

3 Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays, And heard from many a zealous breast, The pleasing tale of beauty's praise In wisdom's lofty language dress'd; Of beauty powerful to impart Each finer sense, each comelier art, And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart.

4 If then, from Love's deceit secure, Thus far alone thy wishes tend, Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour On Delia's vernal walk descend: Go, while the golden light serene, The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene Becomes the presence of the rural queen.

5 Attend, while that harmonious tongue Each bosom, each desire commands: Apollo's lute by Hermes strung, And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands, Attend. I feel a force divine, O Delia, win my thoughts to thine; That half the colour of thy life is mine.

6 Yet conscious of the dangerous charm, Soon would I turn my steps away; Nor oft provoke the lovely harm, Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. But thou, my friend—I hear thy sighs: Alas, I read thy downcast eyes; And thy tongue falters, and thy colour flies.

7 So soon again to meet the fair? So pensive all this absent hour?— O yet, unlucky youth, beware, While yet to think is in thy power. In vain with friendship's flattering name Thy passion veils its inward shame; Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame!

8 Once, I remember, new to Love, And dreading his tyrannic chain, I sought a gentle maid to prove What peaceful joys in friendship reign: Whence we forsooth might safely stand, And pitying view the love-sick band, And mock the wingèd boy's malicious hand.

9 Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day, To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd; While I exulted to survey One generous woman's real mind: Till friendship soon my languid breast Each night with unknown cares possess'd, Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd.

10 Fool that I was—And now, even now While thus I preach the Stoic strain, Unless I shun Olympia's view, An hour unsays it all again. O friend!—when Love directs her eyes To pierce where every passion lies, Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise?