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Samuel Johnson - Horace: Book II. Ode 9
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Clouds do not always veil the skies,
Nor showers immerse the verdant plain;
Nor do the billows always rise,
Or storms afflict the ruffled main.

Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores
Do the chain`d waters always freeze;
Not always furious Boreas roars,
Or bends with violent force the trees.

But you are ever drown`d in tears,
For Mystes dead you ever mourn;
No setting Sol can ease your cares,
But find you sad at his return.

The wise experienced Grecian sage
Mourn`d not Antilochus so long;
Nor did King Priam`s hoary age
So much lament his slaughter`d son.

Leave off, at length, these woman`s sighs,
Augustus` number`d trophies sing,
To whom all nations tribute bring.

Niphates rolls an humbler wave,
At length th` undaunted Scythian yields,
Content to live the Roman slave,
And scarce forsakes his native fields.
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