Clouds do not always veil the skies, <br />Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; <br />Nor do the billows always rise, <br />Or storms afflict the ruffled main. <br /> <br />Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores <br />Do the chain'd waters always freeze; <br />Not always furious Boreas roars, <br />Or bends with violent force the trees. <br /> <br />But you are ever drown'd in tears, <br />For Mystes dead you ever mourn; <br />No setting Sol can ease your cares, <br />But find you sad at his return. <br /> <br />The wise experienced Grecian sage <br />Mourn'd not Antilochus so long; <br />Nor did King Priam's hoary age <br />So much lament his slaughter'd son. <br /> <br />Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs, <br />Augustus' number'd trophies sing, <br />To whom all nations tribute bring. <br /> <br />Niphates rolls an humbler wave, <br />At length th' undaunted Scythian yields, <br />Content to live the Roman slave, <br />And scarce forsakes his native fields.<br /><br />Samuel Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/horace-book-ii-ode-9/
