THE FIRST ODE OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF HORACE: Alexander Pope Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T5677 P896 K023139.000 Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744. Horace his ode to Venus. Lib. IV. Ode I. Imitated by Mr. Pope. London printed for J. Wright, and sold by J. Roberts 1737 pp. []-7. [2],7,[1]p. ; 2⁰.

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THE FIRST ODE OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF HORACE : TO VENUS . AGAIN ? new Tumults in my Breast ? Ah spare me , Venus ! let me , let me rest ! I am not now , alas ! the man As in the gentle Reign of My Queen Anne . Ah sound no more the soft alarms , Nor circle sober fifty with thy Charms . Mother too fierce of dear Desires ! Turn , turn to willing Hearts your wanton fires . To Number five direct your Doves , There spread round M**y all your blooming Loves ; Noble and young , who strikes the heart With every sprightly , every decent part ; Equal , the injur'd to defend , To charm the Mistress , or to fix the Friend . He , with a hundred Arts refin'd , Shall stretch thy Conquests over half the kind : To him each Rival shall submit , Make but his riches equal to his Wit . Then shall thy Form the Marble grace , ( Thy Graecian Form ) and Chloe lend the Face : His House , embosom'd in the Grove , Sacred to social Life and social Love , Shall glitter o'er the pendent green , Where Thames reflects the visionary Scene . Thither , the silver-sounding Lyres Shall call the smiling Loves , and young Desires ; There , every Grace and Muse shall throng , Exalt the Dance , or animate the Song ; There , Youths and Nymphs , in consort gay , Shall hail the rising , close the parting day . With me , alas ! those joys are o'er ; For me , the vernal Garlands bloom no more . Adieu ! fond hope of mutual fire , The still-believing , still-renew'd desire ; Adieu ! the heart-expanding bowl , And all the kind Deceivers of the soul ! — But why ? ah tell me , ah too dear ! Steals down my cheek th'involuntary Tear ? Why words so flowing , thoughts so free , Stop , or turn nonsense at one glance of Thee ? Thee , drest in Fancy's airy beam , Absent I follow thro' th'extended Dream , Now , now I seize , I clasp thy charms , And now you burst , ( ah cruel ! ) from my arms , And swiftly shoot along the Mall , Or softly glide by the Canal , Now shown by Cynthia's silver Ray , And now , on rolling Waters snatch'd away .