Ode I, 5: To Pyrrha

What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odors,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,

             Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou

             In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he

Of faith and changed gods complain, and seas

             Rough with black winds, and storms

             Unwonted shall admire!

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,

Who, always vacant, always amiable

             Hopes thee, of flattering gales

             Unmindful. Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem’st fair. Me, in my vow’d

Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung

             My dank and dropping weeds

             To the stern god of sea.