The Tenth Ode of the Second Book of Horace, Imitated

DEAR Friend, thy steddy Life must happiest prove,
If thou nor rashly tempt the angry Main;
Nor, when embark'd, each rising Gale can move
Thy purpos'd Soul to make the Port again.

Whoe'er the golden Medium wisely keeps,
And timely flies Ambition's giddy State;
Exempt from sordid Want securely sleeps,
Exempt from envy'd Trappings of the Great.

The Cloud-capt Tow'rs a wider Ruin spread,
The Pine full oft the Tempest's Rage endures;
And dreadful Lightnings blast the Hill's high Head,
From which, Humility the Vale secures.

When fickle Fortune smiles, the steady Mind
Still fears each Hour an adverse Stroke may bring;
Hopes, when she frowns, some happier Lot behind,
The Pow'r, who sends the Winter, sends the Spring.

Tho' ruthless Fate reject our present Pray'rs,
It's stern Decrees in Time may milder grow—
Phoebus oft joins the Muses' sprightly Airs,
Nor always bends his pestilential Bow.

Boldly do thou, my Friend, with Heart prepar'd,
Stem the strong Current of Adversity:
But, when Prosperity's full Gales blow hard,
Reef, Reef betimes—nor trust the Fallacy.