Horace, Book I, Ode 5 (translation)

What gentle youth, my lovely fair one, say,
With sweets perfumed, now courts thee to the bower,
Where glows with lustre red the rose of
To form thy couch in love's enchanting hour?

By zephyrs waved, why does thy loose hair sweep
In simple curls around thy polished brow?
The wretch that loves thee now too soon shall weep
Thy faithless beauty and thy broken vow.

Though soft the beams of thy delusive eyes
As the smooth surface of th' untroubled stream;
Yet, ah! too soon th' ecstatic vision flies —
Flies like the fairy paintings of a dream.

Unhappy youth, oh, shun the warm embrace,
Nor trust too much affection's flattering smile;
Dark poison lurks beneath that charming face,
Those melting eyes but languish to beguile.

Thank heaven, I've broke the sweet but galling chain,
Worse than the horrors of the stormy main!