Classic Poem

BOOK I. ODE XI .

TO MISS ERSKINE .

Enquire not E — — — fair, what end
The gods for thee or me intend;
How vain the search, that but bestows
The knowledge of our future woes!
Far happier they, who ne'er repine
To draw the lots their fates assign;
Then be advis'd, and try not thou
What spells and cunning men can do.
In mirth thy present years employ,
And consecrate thy charms to joy;
Whether the fates to thy old score
Propitious add a winter more;
Or this shall lay thee cold in earth,
Now raging o'er Edina's frith.
Let youth, while yet it blooms, excite
To mirth, and wit, and gay delight;
Nor thou refuse the voice that calls
To visits and to sprightly balls.
For Time rides ever on the post,
Ev'n while we speak the moment's lost.
Then call each joy into this day,
And spend them now while now you may;
Have every pleasure at command;
Fools let them lie in Fortune's hand.