Odes 1.5 (Martin): Quis Multa Gracilis

Say, Pyrrha, say, what slender boy,
With locks all dropping balm, on roses laid,
Doth now with thee in pleasant grotto toy?
For whom dost thou thine amber tresses braid,

Array'd with simple elegance?
Alas! alas! How oft shall he deplore
The alter'd gods, and thy perfidious glance,
And, new to danger, shrink, when sea waves roar,

Chafed by the surly winds, who now
Enjoyeth thee, all golden as thou art;
And hopes, fond fool! through every change, that thou
Wilt welcome him as fondly to thy heart!

Nor doth not know, how shift the while
The fairest gales beneath the sunniest skies;
Unhappy he, who, weeting not thy guile,
Basks in the sunshine of thy flattering eyes!

My votive tablet, duly set
Against the temple's wall, doth witness keep,
That I, whilere, my vestments dank and wet
Hung at the shrine of Him that rules the deep.