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.