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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13885-0.txt b/13885-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b5f0c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/13885-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2436 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13885 *** + +The Writings in Prose and Verse of Eugene Field + +ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM + +by + +ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD AND EUGENE FIELD + +1899 + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +One Sunday evening in the winter of 1890 Eugene Field and the writer +were walking in Lake View, Chicago, on their way to visit the library of +a common friend, when the subject of publishing a book for Field came up +for discussion. + +The Little Book of Western Verse and The Little Book of Profitable Tales +had been privately printed the year before at Chicago, and Field had +been frequently reminded that the writer was ready and willing to stand +sponsor for any new volume he, Field, might desire to bring out. + +"The only thing I have on hand that might make a book," said Field, "are +some few paraphrases of the Odes of Horace which my brother, 'Rose,' and +I have been fooling over, and which, truth to tell, are certainly freely +rendered. There are not enough of them, but we'll do some more, and I'll +add a brief Life of Horace as a preface or introduction." + +It is to be regretted that Field never carried out his intention with +respect to this last, for he had given much thought and study to the +great Roman satirist, and what Eugene Field could have said upon the +subject must have been of interest. It is my belief that as he thought +upon the matter it grew too great for him to handle within the space he +had at first determined, and that tucked away within the recesses of his +literary intentions was the determination, nullified by his early death, +to write, _con amore_, a life of Quintus Horatius Flaccus. + +This determination to write separately an extended account of Horace +greatly reduced the bulk of the material intended for the Sabine Echoes, +and it was with respect to this that Field apologetically and, as was +his wont, humorously wrote: + +"The volume may be rather thin _in corpore_, but think how hefty it will +be intellectually." + +When it came to the discussion of how many copies should be printed it +was suggested that the edition be an exceedingly limited one, in order +to cause as much scrambling and heartburning as possible among our +bibliophilic brethren. And never shall I forget the seriousness of the +man's face, nor the roars of laughter that followed, when he suggested +that fifty copies only should be made, and that we should reserve one +each and burn the other forty-eight! + +It was a biting cold night and we had been loitering by the way, +stopping to debate each point as it arose--but now we plunged on with +excess of motion to keep ourselves warm, breaking out with occasional +peals of laughter as we thought of our plan to make the publication what +the booksellers call "excessively rare." + +Field, elsewhere, has said he did not know why the original intention as +to the destruction of the forty-eight copies was not carried out, but +the answer is not far away. As the time for publication approached it +was found impossible that such and such a friend should be forgotten in +the matter of a copy, and so it went on until it was deemed prudent to +add fifty to the number originally intended to be issued, and that +decision, in the light of what followed, proved to be an eminently wise +one. More than once some to me unknown friend of Field would write a +pleasant lie as a reason to gain possession of the book, and up in a +corner of the letter would be found an endorsement of the request after +this fashion: + + What's writ below + I'd have you know + Nor falsehood nor romance is; + It's solemn truth, + So grant the youth + The boon he seeks, dear Francis. + + EUGENE FIELD. + +It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, however flimsy the pretext upon +which the request for a copy was made, it never failed of its object if +it brought with it Field's endorsement. Among many pleasant utterances +on this subject Field has said that but for the writer the Horatian +verses would not have been given to the world--and this has been taken +to mean more than was intended, and much unearned praise has been +bestowed. But, in allusion to the original issue of the Odes, Field +added, "in this charming guise," which places quite another construction +upon the matter. + +It may be that the enthusiasm displayed not only pleased Field, and +incited him and his brother Roswell to perform that which, otherwise, +might have been indefinitely deferred, but there is no question but that +they intended to publish the Horatian odes at some time or another. +Field was greatly delighted with the reception of this work, and I once +heard him say it would outlive all his other books. He came naturally by +his love of the classics. His father was a splendid scholar who obliged +his sons to correspond with him in Latin. Field's favorite ode was the +Bandusian Spring, the paraphrasing of which in the styles of the various +writers of different periods gave him genuine joy and is perhaps the +choice bit of the collection. The Echoes from the Sabine Farm was the +most ambitious work Field had attempted up to the time of its issue. He +was not at all sure that the public for whom he wrote, what following he +then felt was his own, would accept his efforts in this direction with +any sort of acclaim. Unquestionably, Field, at all times, believed in +himself and in his power ultimately to make a name, as every man must +who achieves success, but he was as far from believing that the public +would accept him as an interpreter of Horatian odes as was Edward +Fitzgerald with respect to Omar Khayyám. In short, he looked upon his +work in the original publication of Echoes from the Sabine Farm as a +labor of love--an effort from which some reputation might come, but +certainly no monetary remuneration. It was because he so regarded it +that he permitted the work to be first issued under the bolstering +influence of a patron. It was, so he thought, an excellent opportunity +to show his friends and acquaintances that his Pegasus was capable of +soaring to classic heights, and he little dreamed that the paraphrasing +of the Odes of Horace over which "Rose and I have been fooling" would be +required for a _popular_ edition. With the announcement of the Scribner +edition of The Sabine Echoes came also the intelligence of Field's +death. + +I have found people who were somewhat puzzled as to the exact intentions +of the Fields with respect to these translations and paraphrases. +However, there can be no chance for mistake even to the veriest +embryonic reader of Horace, if he will but remember that, while some of +these transcriptions are indeed very faithful reproductions or +adaptations of the original, others again are to be accepted as the very +riot of burlesque verse-making. + +The last stanza in the epilogue of this book reads: + + Or if we part to meet no more +This side the misty Stygian river, + Be sure of this: On yonder shore +Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we-- + A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend-- +And fellowship that knows no end. + +FRANCIS WILSON. + +January 22, 1896. + + + + +TO M.L. GRAY. + +Come, dear old friend, and with us twain + To calm Digentian groves repair; +The turtle coos his sweet refrain + And posies are a-blooming there; +And there the romping Sabine girls +Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls. + +I know a certain ilex-tree + Whence leaps a fountain cool and clear. +Its voices summon you and me; + Come, let us haste to share its cheer! +Methinks the rapturous song it sings +Should woo our thoughts from mortal things. + +But, good old friend, I charge thee well, + Watch thou my brother all the while, +Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell + Round him unschooled in female guile. +Those damsels have no charms for me; +Guard thou that brother,--I'll guard thee! + +And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup, + Round which the garlands intertwine; +With Massic it is foaming up, + And we would drink to thee and thine. +And of the draught thou shalt partake, +Who lov'st us for our father's sake. + +Hark you! from yonder Sabine farm + Echo the songs of long ago, +With power to soothe and grace to charm + What ills humanity may know; +With that sweet music in the air, +'T is Love and Summer everywhere. + +So, though no grief consumes our lot + (Since all our lives have been discreet), +Come, in this consecrated spot, + Let's see if pagan cheer be sweet. +Now, then, the songs; but, first, more wine. +The gods be with you, friends of mine! + +E.F. + + + + +The Contents of this Book + +WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD + +TO M.L. GRAY E.F. +AN INVITATION TO MÆCENAS. Odes, III. 29 E.F. +CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED. Odes, III. 15 R.M.F. +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. Odes, III. 13 E.F. +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. R.M.F. +THE PREFERENCE DECLARED. Odes, I. 38 E.F. +A TARDY APOLOGY. I. Epode XIV R.M.F. +A TARDY APOLOGY. II. E.F. +TO THE SHIP OF STATE. Odes, I. 14 R.M.F. +QUITTING AGAIN. Odes, III. 26 E.F. +SAILOR AND SHADE. Odes, I. 28 E.F. +LET US HAVE PEACE. Odes, I. 27 E.F. +TO QUINTUS DELLIUS. Odes, II. 3 E.F. +POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS. Odes, II. 4 R.M.F. +TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS. Odes, I. 22 E.F. +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS. I. Odes, I. 33 E.F. +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS. II. R.M.F. +To MÆCENAS. Odes, I. 1 R.M.F. +TO HIS BOOK. Epistle XX R.M.F. +FAME _vs._ RICHES. Ars Poetica, line 323 E.F. +THE LYRIC MUSE. Ars Poetica, line 301 E.F. +A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC. Epode III. R.M.F. +AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE. Odes, II. 5 R.M.F. +AN APPEAL TO LYCE. Odes, IV. 13 R.M.F. +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE I. Odes, I. 9 E.F. +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE II. R.M.F. +TO DIANA. Odes, III. 22 R.M.F. +TO HIS LUTE. Odes, I. 32 E.F. +TO LEUCONÖE I. Odes, I. 11 R.M.F. +TO LEUCONÖE II. E.F. +TO LIGURINUS I. Odes, IV. 10 R.M.F. +TO LIGURINUS II. E.F. +THE HAPPY ISLES. Epode XIV. line 41 E.F. +CONSISTENCY. Ars Poetica E.F. +TO POSTUMUS. Odes, II. 14 R.M.F. +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA I. Odes, I. 5 E.F. +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA II. R.M.F. +TO MELPOMENE. Odes, III. 30 E.F. +TO PHYLLIS I. Odes, IV. 11. E.F. +TO PHYLLIS II. R.M.F. +TO CHLOE I. Odes, I. 23 R.M.F. +TO CHLOE II. E.F. + A PARAPHRASE. E.F. + ANOTHER PARAPHRASE. E.F. + A THIRD PARAPHRASE. E.F. + A FOURTH PARAPHRASE. E.F. +TO MÆCENAS. Odes, I. 20 E.F. +TO BARINE. Odes, II. 8 R.M.F. +THE RECONCILIATION. I. Odes, III. 9 E.F. +THE RECONCILIATION. II. R.M.F. +THE ROASTING OF LYDIA. Odes, I. 25 R.M.F. +TO GLYCERA. Odes, I. 19 R.M.F. +TO LYDIA. I. Odes, I. 13 E.F. +TO LYDIA. II. R.M.F. +TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS. Odes, II. 11 E.F. +WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG. Odes, I. 18 E.F. +AN ODE TO FORTUNE. Odes, I. 35 E.F. +TO A JAR OF WINE. Odes, III. 21 E.F. +TO POMPEIUS VARUS. Odes, II. 1 E.F. +THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS. Odes, II. 20 E.F. +TO VENUS. Odes, I. 30 E.F. +IN THE SPRINGTIME. I. Odes, I. 4 E.F. +IN THE SPRINGTIME. II. R.M.F. +TO A BULLY. Epode VI. E.F. +TO MOTHER VENUS. +TO LYDIA. Odes, I. 8 E.F. +TO NEOBULE. Odes, III. 12 R.M.F. +AT THE BALL GAME. Odes, V. 17. R.M.F. +EPILOGUE. E.F. + + + + + +AN INVITATION TO MÆCENAS + +Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask + Of wine solicits your attention; +And roses fair, to deck your hair, + And things too numerous to mention. +So tear yourself awhile away + From urban turmoil, pride, and splendor, +And deign to share what humble fare + And sumptuous fellowship I tender. +The sweet content retirement brings +Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings. + +The evil planets have combined + To make the weather hot and hotter; +By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams + Vainly of ice-cream soda-water. +And meanwhile you, defying heat, + With patriotic ardor ponder +On what old Rome essays at home, + And what her heathen do out yonder. +Mæcenas, no such vain alarm +Disturbs the quiet of this farm! + +God in His providence obscures + The goal beyond this vale of sorrow, +And smiles at men in pity when + They seek to penetrate the morrow. +With faith that all is for the best, + Let's bear what burdens are presented, +That we shall say, let come what may, + "We die, as we have lived, contented! +Ours is to-day; God's is the rest,-- +He doth ordain who knoweth best." + +Dame Fortune plays me many a prank. + When she is kind, oh, how I go it! +But if again she's harsh,--why, then + I am a very proper poet! +When favoring gales bring in my ships, + I hie to Rome and live in clover; +Elsewise I steer my skiff out here, + And anchor till the storm blows over. +Compulsory virtue is the charm +Of life upon the Sabine farm! + + + + +CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED + +Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear; +The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more _savoir faire_. +A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door, +Should not play with the girly girls, and think she's _en rapport_. + +What's good enough for Pholoe you cannot well essay; +Your daughter very properly courts _the jeunesse dorée_,-- +A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot her joy restrain, +But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles _à l'Américaine_. + +'T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature old and poor, +To sit and spin than to engage in an _affaire d'amour_. +The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained deep are not for you; +Remember what the poet says: _Ce monde est plein de fous!_ + + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + +O fountain of Bandusia! + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia! + The Dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings into the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plow, + The roving cattle here +Hasten in quest of certain rest, + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia! + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree. +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go. + + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + +O fountain of Bandusia! more glittering than glass, +And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts that freely pass; +More worthy of the flowers with which thou modestly art hid, +To-morrow willing hands shall sacrifice to thee a kid. + +In vain the glory of the brow where proudly swell above +The growing horns, significant of battle and of love; +For in thy honor he shall die,--the offspring of the herd,-- +And with his crimson life-blood thy cold waters shall be stirred. + +The Dog-star's cruel season, with its fierce and blazing heat, +Has never sent its scorching rays into thy glad retreat; +The oxen, wearied with the plow, the herd which wanders near, +Have found a grateful respite and delicious coolness here. + +When of the graceful ilex on the hollow rocks I sing, +Thou shalt become illustrious, O sweet Bandusian spring! +Among the noble fountains which have been enshrined in fame, +Thy dancing, babbling waters shall in song our homage claim. + + + + +THE PREFERENCE DECLARED + +Boy, I detest the Persian pomp; + I hate those linden-bark devices; +And as for roses, holy Moses! + They can't be got at living prices! +Myrtle is good enough for us,-- + For _you_, as bearer of my flagon; +For _me_, supine beneath this vine, + Doing my best to get a jag on! + + + + +A TARDY APOLOGY + +I + +Mæcenas, you will be my death,--though friendly you profess yourself,-- +If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself: +"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us? +Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?" + +A god, Mæcenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of me! +If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me; +Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology, +And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology. + +Now, you yourself, Mæcenas, are enjoying this beatitude; +If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for gratitude. +A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous; +This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous! + + + + +A TARDY APOLOGY + +II + + You ask me, friend, + Why I don't send +The long since due-and-paid-for numbers; + Why, songless, I + As drunken lie +Abandoned to Lethean slumbers. + + Long time ago + (As well you know) +I started in upon that carmen; + My work was vain,-- + But why complain? +When gods forbid, how helpless are men! + + Some ages back, + The sage Anack +Courted a frisky Samian body, + Singing her praise + In metered phrase +As flowing as his bowls of toddy. + + Till I was hoarse + Might I discourse +Upon the cruelties of Venus; + 'T were waste of time + As well of rhyme, +For you've been there yourself, Mæcenas! + + Perfect your bliss + If some fair miss +Love you yourself and _not_ your minæ; + I, fortune's sport, + All vainly court +The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne! + + + + +TO THE SHIP OF STATE + + O ship of state +Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea? +What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee + Ere 't is too late! + + Do you bemoan +Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast? +Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast; + The sailyards groan. + + Of cables bare, +Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave. +Your sails are rent; you have no gods to save, + Or answer pray'r. + + Though Pontic pine, +The noble daughter of a far-famed wood, +You boast your lineage and title good,-- + A useless line! + + The sailor there +In painted sterns no reassurance finds; +Unless you owe derision to the winds, + Beware--beware! + + My grief erewhile, +But now my care--my longing! shun the seas +That flow between the gleaming Cyclades, + Each shining isle. + + + + +QUITTING AGAIN + + The hero of + Affairs of love +By far too numerous to be mentioned, + And scarred as I'm, + It seemeth time +That I were mustered out and pensioned. + + So on this wall + My lute and all +I hang, and dedicate to Venus; + And I implore + But one thing more +Ere all is at an end between us. + + O goddess fair + Who reignest where +The weather's seldom bleak and snowy, + This boon I urge: + In anger scourge +My old cantankerous sweetheart, Chloe! + + + + +SAILOR AND SHADE + +SAILOR + +You, who have compassed land and sea, + Now all unburied lie; +All vain your store of human lore, + For you were doomed to die. +The sire of Pelops likewise fell,-- + Jove's honored mortal guest; +So king and sage of every age + At last lie down to rest. +Plutonian shades enfold the ghost + Of that majestic one +Who taught as truth that he, forsooth, + Had once been Pentheus' son; +Believe who may, he's passed away, + And what he did is done. +A last night comes alike to all; + One path we all must tread, +Through sore disease or stormy seas + Or fields with corpses red. +Whate'er our deeds, that pathway leads + To regions of the dead. + + +SHADE + +The fickle twin Illyrian gales + Overwhelmed me on the wave; +But you that live, I pray you give + My bleaching bones a grave! +Oh, then when cruel tempests rage + You all unharmed shall be; +Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land + And Neptune's on the sea. +Perchance you fear to do what may + Bring evil to your race? +Oh, rather fear that like me here + You'll lack a burial place. +So, though you be in proper haste, + Bide long enough, I pray, +To give me, friend, what boon shall send + My soul upon its way! + + + + +LET US HAVE PEACE + +In maudlin spite let Thracians fight + Above their bowls of liquor; +But such as we, when on a spree, + Should never brawl and bicker! + +These angry words and clashing swords + Are quite _de trop_, I'm thinking; +Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise, + And drown your wrath in drinking. + +Aha, 't is fine,--this mellow wine + With which our host would dope us! +Now let us hear what pretty dear + Entangles him of Opus. + +I see you blush,--nay, comrades, hush! + Come, friend, though they despise you, +Tell me the name of that fair dame,-- + Perchance I may advise you. + +O wretched youth! and is it truth + You love that fickle lady? +I, doting dunce, courted her once; + Since when, she's reckoned shady! + + + + +TO QUINTUS DELLIUS + +Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; +For though you pine your life away + With dull complaining breath, +Or speed with song and wine each day, + Still, still your doom is death. + +Where the white poplar and the pine +In glorious arching shade combine, + And the brook singing goes, +Bid them bring store of nard and wine + And garlands of the rose. + +Let's live while chance and youth obtain; +Soon shall you quit this fair domain + Kissed by the Tiber's gold, +And all your earthly pride and gain + Some heedless heir shall hold. + +One ghostly boat shall some time bear +From scenes of mirthfulness or care + Each fated human soul,-- +Shall waft and leave its burden where + The waves of Lethe roll. + +_So come, I prithee, Dellius mine; +Let's sing our songs and drink our wine + In that sequestered nook +Where the white poplar and the pine + Stand listening to the brook_. + + + + +POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS + +Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame. + Don't apologize, Xanthias, pray; +Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame + For Brissy, his slave, as they say. +Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved + By the captive Tecmessa's ripe charms; +And Atrides, suspending the feast, it behooved + To gather a girl to his arms. + +Now, how do you know that this yellow-haired maid + (This Phyllis you fain would enjoy) +Hasn't parents whose wealth would cast you in the shade,-- + Who would ornament you, Xan, my boy? +Very likely the poor chick sheds copious tears, + And is bitterly thinking the while +Of the royal good times of her earlier years, + When her folks regulated the style! + +It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe + That she of whose charms you are proud +Is beautiful only as means to deceive,-- + Merely one of the horrible crowd. +So constant a sweetheart, so loving a wife, + So averse to all notions of greed +Was surely not born of a mother whose life + Is a chapter you'd better not read. + +As an unbiased party I feel it my place + (For I don't like to do things by halves) +To compliment Phyllis,--her arms and her face + And (excuse me!) her delicate calves. +Tut, tut! don't get angry, my boy, or suspect + You have any occasion to fear +A man whose deportment is always correct, + And is now in his forty-first year! + + + + +TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS + +Fuscus, whoso to good inclines, + And is a faultless liver, +Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear, + Nor poison-arrowed quiver. + +Ay, though through desert wastes he roam, + Or scale the rugged mountains, +Or rest beside the murmuring tide + Of weird Hydaspan fountains! + +Lo, on a time, I gayly paced + The Sabine confines shady, +And sung in glee of Lalage, + My own and dearest lady; + +And as I sung, a monster wolf + Slunk through the thicket from me; +But for that song, as I strolled along, + He would have overcome me! + +Set me amid those poison mists + Which no fair gale dispelleth, +Or in the plains where silence reigns, + And no thing human dwelleth,-- + +Still shall I love my Lalage, + Still sing her tender graces; +And while I sing, my theme shall bring + Heaven to those desert places! + + + + +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS + +I + +Not to lament that rival flame + Wherewith the heartless Glycera scorns you, +Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme, + How many a modern instance warns you! + +Fair-browed Lycoris pines away + Because her Cyrus loves another; +The ruthless churl informs the girl + He loves her only as a brother! + +For he, in turn, courts Pholoe,-- + A maid unscotched of love's fierce virus; +Why, goats will mate with wolves they hate + Ere Pholoe will mate with Cyrus! + +Ah, weak and hapless human hearts, + By cruel Mother Venus fated +To spend this life in hopeless strife, + Because incongruously mated! + +Such torture, Albius, is my lot; + For, though a better mistress wooed me, +My Myrtale has captured me, + And with her cruelties subdued me! + + + + +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS + +II + +Grieve not, my Albius, if thoughts of Glycera may haunt you, + Nor chant your mournful elegies because she faithless proves; + If now a younger man than you this cruel charmer loves, +Let not the kindly favors of the past rise up to taunt you. + +Lycoris of the little brow for Cyrus feels a passion, + And Cyrus, on the other hand, toward Pholoe inclines; + But ere this crafty Cyrus can accomplish his designs +She-goats will wed Apulian wolves in deference to fashion. + +Such is the will, the cruel will, of love-inciting Venus, + Who takes delight in wanton sport and ill-considered jokes, + And brings ridiculous misfits beneath her brazen yokes,-- +A very infelicitous proceeding, just between us. + +As for myself, young Myrtale, slave-born and lacking graces, + And wilder than the Adrian tides which form Calabrian bays, + Entangled me in pleasing chains and compromising ways, +When--just my luck--a better girl was courting my embraces. + + + + +TO MÆCENAS + +Mæcenas, thou of royalty's descent, +Both my protector and dear ornament, +Among humanity's conditions are +Those who take pleasure in the flying car, +Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll, +And shunning with the glowing wheel the goal; +While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth, +Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth. + +Here one is happy if the fickle crowd +His name the threefold honor has allowed; +And there another, if into his stores +Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing-floors. +He who delights to till his father's lands, +And grasps the delving-hoe with willing hands, +Can never to Attalic offers hark, +Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark. +The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze, +When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas +Praises the restful quiet of his home, +Nor wishes from the peaceful fields to roam; +Ah, speedily his shattered ships he mends,-- +To poverty his lesson ne'er extends. + +One there may be who never scorns to fill +His cups with mellow draughts from Massic's hill, +Nor from the busy day an hour to wean, +Now stretched at length beneath the arbute green, +Now at the softly whispering spring, to dream +Of the fair nymphs who haunt the sacred stream. +For camp and trump and clarion some have zest,-- +The cruel wars the mothers so detest. +'Neath the cold sky the hunter spends his life, +Unmindful of his home and tender wife, +Whether the doe is seen by faithful hounds +Or Marsian boar through the fine meshes bounds. + +But as for me, the ivy-wreaths, the prize +Of learned brows, exalt me to the skies; +The shady grove, the nymphs and satyrs there, +Draw me away from people everywhere; +If it may be, Euterpe's flute inspires, +Or Polyhymnia strikes the Lesbian lyres; +And if you place me where no bard debars, +With head exalted I shall strike the stars! + + + + +TO HIS BOOK + + You vain, self-conscious little book, +Companion of my happy days, + How eagerly you seem to look +For wider fields to spread your lays; + My desk and locks cannot contain you, + Nor blush of modesty restrain you. + + Well, then, begone, fool that thou art! +But do not come to me and cry, + When critics strike you to the heart: +"Oh, wretched little book am I!" + You know I tried to educate you + To shun the fate that must await you. + + In youth you may encounter friends +(Pray this prediction be not wrong), + But wait until old age descends +And thumbs have smeared your gentlest song; + Then will the moths connive to eat you + And rural libraries secrete you. + + However, should a friend some word +Of my obscure career request, + Tell him how deeply I was stirred +To spread my wings beyond the nest; + Take from my years, which are before you, + To boom my merits, I implore you. + + Tell him that I am short and fat, +Quick in my temper, soon appeased, + With locks of gray,--but what of that? +Loving the sun, with nature pleased. + I'm more than four and forty, hark you,-- + But ready for a night off, mark you! + + + + +FAME _vs._ RICHES + +The Greeks had genius,--'t was a gift + The Muse vouchsafed in glorious measure; +The boon of Fame they made their aim + And prized above all worldly treasure. + +But _we_,--how do we train _our_ youth? + _Not_ in the arts that are immortal, +But in the greed for gains that speed + From him who stands at Death's dark portal. + +Ah, when this slavish love of gold + Once binds the soul in greasy fetters, +How prostrate lies,--how droops and dies + The great, the noble cause of letters! + + + + +THE LYRIC MUSE + + I love the lyric muse! +For when mankind ran wild in grooves + Came holy Orpheus with his songs +And turned men's hearts from bestial loves, + From brutal force and savage wrongs; +Amphion, too, and on his lyre + Made such sweet music all the day +That rocks, instinct with warm desire, + Pursued him in his glorious way. + + I love the lyric muse! +Hers was the wisdom that of yore + Taught man the rights of fellow man, +Taught him to worship God the more, + And to revere love's holy ban. +Hers was the hand that jotted down + The laws correcting divers wrongs; +And so came honor and renown + To bards and to their noble songs. + + I love the lyric muse! +Old Homer sung unto the lyre; + Tyrtæus, too, in ancient days; +Still warmed by their immortal fire, + How doth our patriot spirit blaze! +The oracle, when questioned, sings; + So our first steps in life are taught. +In verse we soothe the pride of kings, + In verse the drama has been wrought. + + I love the lyric muse! +Be not ashamed, O noble friend, + In honest gratitude to pay +Thy homage to the gods that send + This boon to charm all ill away. +With solemn tenderness revere + This voiceful glory as a shrine +Wherein the quickened heart may hear + The counsels of a voice divine! + + + + +A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC + +May the man who has cruelly murdered his sire-- + A crime to be punished with death-- +Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire + Of his own foul and venomous breath! +What stomachs these rustics must have who can eat + This dish that Canidia made, +Which imparts to my colon a torturous heat, + And a poisonous look, I'm afraid! + +They say that ere Jason attempted to yoke + The fire-breathing bulls to the plow +He smeared his whole body with garlic,--a joke + Which I fully appreciate now. +When Medea gave Glauce her beautiful dress, + In which garlic was scattered about, +It was cruel and rather low-down, I confess, + But it settled the point beyond doubt. + +On thirsty Apulia ne'er has the sun + Inflicted such terrible heat; +As for Hercules' robe, although poisoned, 't was fun + When compared with this garlic we eat! +Mæcenas, if ever on garbage like this + You express a desire to be fed, +May Mrs. Mæcenas object to your kiss, + And lie at the foot of the bed! + + + + +AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE + +To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is bent, +To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent; +Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go, +Now with the calves disporting where the pussy-willows grow. + +Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, trust me, you shall learn +How quickly in the autumn time to purple they will turn. +Soon she will follow you, for age steals swiftly on the maid; +And all the precious years that you have lost she will have paid. + +Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, the coy, +Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, girlish boy, +Whom, if you placed among the girls, and loosed his flowing locks, +The wondering guests could not decide which one decorum shocks. + + + + +AN APPEAL TO LYCE + +Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, as gods will hear the dutiful, +And brought old age upon you, though you still affect the beautiful. +You sport among the boys, and drink and chatter on quite aimlessly; +And in your cups with quavering voice you torment Cupid shamelessly. + +For blooming Chia, Cupid has a feeling more than brotherly; +He knows a handsaw from a hawk whenever winds are southerly. +He pats her pretty cheeks, but looks on you as a monstrosity; +Your wrinkles and your yellow teeth excite his animosity. + +For jewels bright and purple Coan robes you are not dressable; +Unhappily for you, the public records are accessible. +Where is your charm, and where your bloom and gait so firm and sensible, +That drew my love from Cinara,--a lapse most indefensible? + +To my poor Cinara in youth Death came with great celerity; +Egad, that never can be said of you with any verity! +The old crow that you are, the teasing boys will jeer, compelling you +To roost at home. Reflect, all this is straight that I am telling you. + + + + +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE + +I + +See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow, + Soracte mocks the sullen sky; +How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed, + And chained with frost the rivers lie. + +Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth; + We'll melt away the envious cold: +And, better yet, sweet friend, we'll wet + Our whistles with some four-year-old. + +Commit all else unto the gods, + Who, when it pleaseth them, shall bring +To fretful deeps and wooded steeps + The mild, persuasive grace of Spring. + +Let not To-morrow, but To-day, + Your ever active thoughts engage; +Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling, + Unharmed, unawed of crabbed Age. + +Let's steal content from Winter's wrath, + And glory in the artful theft, +That years from now folks shall allow + 'T was cold indeed when we got left. + +So where the whisperings and the mirth + Of girls invite a sportive chap, +Let's fare awhile,--aha, you smile; + You guess my meaning,--_verbum sap_. + + + + +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE + +II + +Now stands Soracte white with snow, now bend the laboring trees, +And with the sharpness of the frost the stagnant rivers freeze. +Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer cheer incline, +And draw, my Thaliarchus, from the Sabine jar the wine. + +The rest leave to the gods, who still the fiercely warring wind, +And to the morrow's store of good or evil give no mind. +Whatever day your fortune grants, that day mark up for gain; +And in your youthful bloom do not the sweet amours disdain. + +Now on the Campus and the squares, when evening shades descend, +Soft whisperings again are heard, and loving voices blend; +And now the low delightful laugh betrays the lurking maid, +While from her slowly yielding arms the forfeiture is paid. + + + + +TO DIANA + +O virgin, tri-formed goddess fair, + The guardian of the groves and hills, +Who hears the girls in their despair + Cry out in childbirth's cruel ills, + And saves them from the Stygian flow! +Let the pine-tree my cottage near + Be sacred to thee evermore, +That I may give to it each year + With joy the life-blood of the boar, + Now thinking of the sidelong blow. + + + + +TO HIS LUTE + +If ever in the sylvan shade +A song immortal we have made, +Come now, O lute, I prithee come, +Inspire a song of Latium! + +A Lesbian first thy glories proved; +In arms and in repose he loved +To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise +His voice in Love's and Liber's praise. +The Muses, too, and him who clings +To Mother Venus' apron-strings, +And Lycus beautiful, he sung +In those old days when you were young. + +O shell, that art the ornament +Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content +To Jove, and soothing troubles all,-- +Come and requite me, when I call! + + + + +TO LEUCONÖE + +I + +What end the gods may have ordained for me, +And what for thee, + Seek not to learn, Leuconöe; we may not know. +Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest. +'T is for the best + To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe. + +If for more winters our poor lot is cast, +Or this the last, + Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas, +Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best. +Take hope with zest, + And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch To-day for ease! + + + + +TO LEUCONÖE + +II + +Seek not, Leuconöe, to know how long you're going to live yet, +What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to give yet; +For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we worry,-- +Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry. +The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem +Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am. +And while we sport I'll reel you off such odes as shall surprise ye; +To-morrow, when the headache comes,--well, then I'll satirize ye! + + + + +TO LIGURINUS + +I + +Though mighty in Love's favor still, + Though cruel yet, my boy, +When the unwelcome dawn shall chill + Your pride and youthful joy, +The hair which round your shoulder grows + Is rudely cut away, +Your color, redder than the rose, + Is changed by youth's decay,-- + +Then, Ligurinus, in the glass + Another you will spy. +And as the shaggy face, alas! + You see, your grief will cry: +"Why in my youth could I not learn + The wisdom men enjoy? +Or why to men cannot return + The smooth cheeks of the boy?" + + + + +TO LIGURINUS + +II + + O Cruel fair, + Whose flowing hair + The envy and the pride of all is, + As onward roll + The years, that poll + Will get as bald as a billiard ball is; +Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply, +Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply! + + When you behold + Yourself grown old, + These words shall speak your spirits moody: + "Unhappy one! + What heaps of fun + I've missed by being goody-goody! +Oh, that I might have felt the hunger +Of loveless age when I was younger!" + + + + +THE HAPPY ISLES + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices, +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall suffer no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Never thereto shall prowling bear + Or serpent come to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drought distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hordes that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +CONSISTENCY + +Should painter attach to a fair human head + The thick, turgid neck of a stallion, +Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a bass, + I am sure you would guy the rapscallion. + +Believe me, dear Pisos, that just such a freak + Is the crude and preposterous poem +Which merely abounds in a torrent of sounds, + With no depth of reason below 'em. + +'T is all very well to give license to art,-- + The wisdom of license defend I; +But the line should be drawn at the fripperish spawn + Of a mere _cacoethes scribendi_. + +It is too much the fashion to strain at effects,-- + Yes, that's what's the matter with Hannah! +Our popular taste, by the tyros debased, + Paints each barnyard a grove of Diana! + +Should a patron require you to paint a marine, + Would you work in some trees with their barks on? +When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar, + Would you give him a pitcher like Clarkson? + +Now, this is my moral: Compose what you may, + And Fame will be ever far distant +Unless you combine with a simple design + A treatment in toto consistent. + + + + +TO POSTUMUS + +O Postumus, my Postumus, the years are gliding past, +And piety will never check the wrinkles coming fast, +The ravages of time old age's swift advance has made, +And death, which unimpeded comes to bear us to the shade. + +Old friend, although the tearless Pluto you may strive to please, +And seek each year with thrice one hundred bullocks to appease, +Who keeps the thrice-huge Geryon and Tityus his slaves, +Imprisoned fast forevermore with cold and sombre waves, + +Yet must that flood so terrible be sailed by mortals all; +Whether perchance we may be kings and live in royal hall, +Or lowly peasants struggling long with poverty and dearth, +Still must we cross who live upon the favors of the earth. + +And all in vain from bloody war and contest we are free, +And from the waves that hoarsely break upon the Adrian Sea; +For our frail bodies all in vain our helpless terror grows +In gloomy autumn seasons, when the baneful south wind blows. + +Alas! the black Cocytus, wandering to the world below, +That languid river to behold we of this earth must go; +To see the grim Danaides, that miserable race, +And Sisyphus of Æolus, condemned to endless chase. + +Behind you must you leave your home and land and wife so dear, +And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, you rear, +And which around the funeral piles as signs of mourning grow, +Not one will follow you, their short-lived master, there below. + +Your worthier heir the precious Cæcuban shall drink galore, +Now with a hundred keys preserved and guarded in your store, +And stain the pavements, pouring out in waste the nectar proud, +Better than that with which the pontiffs' feasts have been endowed. + + + + +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA + +I + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly, +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious,-- + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA + +II + +What dainty boy with sweet perfumes bedewed +Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave? +For whom amid the roses, many-hued, +Do you bind back your tresses' yellow wave? + +How oft will he deplore your fickle whim, +And wonder at the storm and roughening deeps, +Who now enjoys you, all in all to him, +And dreams of you, whose only thoughts he keeps. + +Wretched are they to whom you seem so fair;-- +That I escaped the storms, the gods be praised! +My dripping garments, offered with a prayer, +Stand as a tablet to the sea-god raised. + + + + +TO MELPOMENE + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared: + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die: by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +TO PHYLLIS + +I + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile; + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare, + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air, + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'T is April 13, as you know, + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend, Mæcenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus; + Your friends agree he doesn't love you. +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you. + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had,-- + I say he _had_, before he shook him! + +_Hoc docet_ (as you must agree) + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me, + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten, +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +TO PHYLLIS + +II + +Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine, +The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine, +And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair, +And ivy in profusion to bind up your shining hair. + +Now smiles the house with silver; the altar, laurel-bound, +Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to drip around; +The company is hurrying, boys and maidens with the rest; +The flames are flickering as they whirl the dark smoke on their crest. + +Yet you must know the joys to which you have been summoned here +To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born Venus dear,-- +Ah, festal day more sacred than my own fair day of birth, +Since from its dawn my loved Mæcenas counts his years of earth. + +A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited to her mind, +The Telephus whom you desire,--a youth not of your kind. +She holds him bound with pleasing chains, the fetters of her charms,-- +Remember how scorched Phaëthon ambitious hopes alarms. + +The winged Pegasus the rash Bellerophon has chafed, +To you a grave example for reflection has vouchsafed,-- +Always to follow what is meet, and never try to catch +That which is not allowed to you, an inappropriate match. + +Come now, sweet Phyllis, of my loves the last, and hence the best +(For nevermore shall other girls inflame this manly breast); +Learn loving measures to rehearse as we may stroll along, +And dismal cares shall fly away and vanish at your song. + + + + +TO CHLOE + +I + +Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, + That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, +Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn, + And on the pathless mountain tops has stood? + +Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites, + Her sinking knees with nameless terrors shake,-- +Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights, + Or the green lizards stir the slumbering brake. + +I do not follow with a tigerish thought, + Or with the fierce Gætulian lion's quest; +So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought, + Full ripe to nestle on a husband's breast. + + + + +TO CHLOE + +II + +Chloe, you shun me like a hind + That, seeking vainly for her mother, +Hears danger in each breath of wind, + And wildly darts this way and t' other; + +Whether the breezes sway the wood + Or lizards scuttle through the brambles, +She starts, and off, as though pursued, + The foolish, frightened creature scrambles. + +But, Chloe, you're no infant thing + That should esteem a man an ogre; +Let go your mother's apron-string, + And pin your faith upon a toga! + + + + +III + +A PARAPHRASE + +How happens it, my cruel miss, + You're always giving me the mitten? +You seem to have forgotten this: + That you no longer are a kitten! + +A woman that has reached the years + Of that which people call discretion +Should put aside all childish fears + And see in courtship no transgression. + +A mother's solace may be sweet, + But Hymen's tenderness is sweeter; +And though all virile love be meet, + You'll find the poet's love is metre. + + + + +IV + +A PARAPHRASE, CIRCA 1715 + +Since Chloe is so monstrous fair, +With such an eye and such an air, +What wonder that the world complains +When she each am'rous suit disdains? + +Close to her mother's side she clings, +And mocks the death her folly brings +To gentle swains that feel the smarts +Her eyes inflict upon their hearts. + +Whilst thus the years of youth go by, +Shall Colin languish, Strephon die? +Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate, +And choose him ere it be too late! + + + + +V + +A PARAPHRASE, BY DR. I.W. + + +Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bother + With prattlings and with vain ado +Your worthy and industrious mother, + Eschewing them that come to woo? + +Oh, that the awful truth might quicken + This stern conviction to your breast: +You are no longer now a chicken + Too young to quit the parent nest. + +So put aside your froward carriage, + And fix your thoughts, whilst yet there's time, +Upon the righteousness of marriage + With some such godly man as I'm. + + + + +VI + +A PARAPHRASE, BY CHAUCER + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding. +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quicklye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +TO MÆCENAS + +Than you, O valued friend of mine, + A better patron _non est_! +Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,-- + You'll find it poor but honest. + +I put it up that famous day + You patronized the ballet, +And the public cheered you such a way + As shook your native valley. + +Cæcuban and the Calean brand + May elsewhere claim attention; +But _I_ have none of these on hand,-- + For reasons I'll not mention. + + + + +ENVOY + +So, come! though favors I bestow + Cannot be called extensive, +Who better than my friend should know + That they're at least expensive? + + + + +TO BARINE + +If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken, +A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you; +If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger +Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you. + +But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is, +Your head with the vows of untruth, +Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming, +You come forth beloved of our youth. + +It is advantageous, but no less outrageous, +Your poor mother's ashes to cheat; +While the gods of creation and each constellation +You seem to regard as your meat. + +Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it; +The good-natured nymphs merely smile; +And Cupid is merry,--'t is humorous, very,-- +And sharpens his arrows the while. + +Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking, +A new band is joined to the old; +While the horrified matrons your juvenile patrons +In vain would bring back to the fold. + +The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mellows +Confess to a dread of your house; +But a more pressing duty, in view of your beauty, +Is the young wife's concern for her spouse. + + + + +THE RECONCILIATION + +I + +HE + +When you were mine, in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, +I'll not deny, fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a heathen mogul. + +SHE + +Before _she_ came, that rival flame + (Had ever mater saucier filia?), +In those good times, bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia. + +HE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die, if only I + Could live forever to enjoy her! + +SHE + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods, I love him madly! +That I might save him from the grave, + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HE + +What if _ma belle_ from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her; +Would Lydia then come back again, + And to her quondam love betake her? + +SHE + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; +For no one slings such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +THE RECONCILIATION + +II + +HORACE + +While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing + Around thy snowy neck his folding arms was wont to fling; +As long as I remained your love, acceptable and pleasing, + I lived a life of happiness beyond the Persian king. + +LYDIA + +While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unreserved opinion, + And for no other cherished thou a brighter, livelier flame, +I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole dominion, + Surpassed the Roman Ilia in eminence of fame. + +HORACE + +'T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accomplishments inthrall me,-- + So sweet in modulations, such a mistress of the lyre. +In truth the fates, however terrible, could not appall me; + If they would spare her, sweet my soul, I gladly would expire. + +LYDIA + +And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, inflames me + With mutual, restless passion and an all-consuming fire; +And if the fates, however dread, would spare the youth who claims me, + Not only once would I face death, but gladly twice expire. + +HORACE + +What if our early love returns to prove we were mistaken + And bind with brazen yoke the twain, to part, ah! nevermore? +What if the charming Chloe of the golden locks be shaken + And slighted Lydia again glide through the open door? + +LYDIA + +Though he is fairer than the star that shines so far above you, + Thou lighter than a cork, more stormy than the Adrian Sea, +Still should I long to live with you, to live for you and love you, + And cheerfully see death's approach if thou wert near to me. + + + + +THE ROASTING OF LYDIA + +No more your needed rest at night + By ribald youth is troubled; +No more your windows, fastened tight, + Yield to their knocks redoubled. + +No longer you may hear them cry, + "Why art thou, Lydia, lying +In heavy sleep till morn is nigh, + While I, your love, am dying?" + +Grown old and faded, you bewail + The rake's insulting sally, +While round your home the Thracian gale + Storms through the lonely alley. + +What furious thoughts will fill your breast, + What passions, fierce and tinglish +(Cannot be properly expressed + In calm, reposeful English). + +Learn this, and hold your carping tongue: + Youth will be found rejoicing +In ivy green and myrtle young, + The praise of fresh life voicing; + +And not content to dedicate, + With much protesting shiver, +The sapless leaves to winter's mate, + Hebrus, the cold dark river. + + + + +TO GLYCERA + +The cruel mother of the Loves, + And other Powers offended, +Have stirred my heart, where newly roves + The passion that was ended. + +'T is Glycera, to boldness prone, + Whose radiant beauty fires me; +While fairer than the Parian stone + Her dazzling face inspires me. + +And on from Cyprus Venus speeds, + Forbidding--ah! the pity-- +The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds, + And such irrelevant ditty. + +Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too; + Have bowls of wine adjacent; +And ere our sacrifice is through + She may be more complaisant. + + + + +TO LYDIA + +I + +When, Lydia, you (once fond and true, + But now grown cold and supercilious) +Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms-- + Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious! + +Then with despite my cheeks wax white, + My doddering brain gets weak and giddy, +My eyes o'erflow with tears which show + That passion melts my vitals, Liddy! + +Deny, false jade, your escapade, + And, lo! your wounded shoulders show it! +No manly spark left such a mark-- + Leastwise he surely was no poet! + +With savage buss did Telephus + Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow; +As you would save what Venus gave, + I charge you shun that awkward fellow! + +And now I say thrice happy they + That call on Hymen to requite 'em; +For, though love cools, the wedded fools + Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em. + + + + +TO LYDIA + +II + +When praising Telephus you sing +His rosy neck and waxen arms, +Forgetful of the pangs that wring +This heart for my neglected charms, + +Soft down my cheek the tear-drop flows, +My color comes and goes the while, +And my rebellious liver glows, +And fiercely swells with laboring bile. + +Perchance yon silly, passionate youth, +Distempered by the fumes of wine, +Has marred your shoulder with his tooth, +Or scarred those rosy lips of thine. + +Be warned; he cannot faithful prove, +Who, with the cruel kiss you prize, +Has hurt the little mouth I love, +Where Venus's own nectar lies. + +Whom golden links unbroken bind, +Thrice happy--more than thrice are they; +And constant, both in heart and mind, +In love await the final day. + + + + +TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS + +To Scythian and Cantabrian plots, + Pay them no heed, O Quintius! + So long as we + From care are free, + Vexations cannot cinch us. + +Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth, + Speed hand in hand together; + The songs we sing + In time of spring + Are hushed in wintry weather. + +Why, even flow'rs change with the hours, + And the moon has divers phases; + And shall the mind + Be racked to find + A clew to Fortune's mazes? + +Nay; 'neath this tree let you and me + Woo Bacchus to caress us; + We're old, 't is true, + But still we two + Are thoroughbreds, God bless us! + +While the wine gets cool in yonder pool, + Let's spruce up nice and tidy; + Who knows, old boy, + But we may decoy + The fair but furtive Lyde? + +She can execute on her ivory lute + Sonatas full of passion, + And she bangs her hair + (Which is passing fair) + In the good old Spartan fashion. + + + + +WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG + + Ovarus mine, + Plant thou the vine +Within this kindly soil of Tibur; + Nor temporal woes, + Nor spiritual, knows +The man who's a discreet imbiber. + For who doth croak + Of being broke, +Or who of warfare, after drinking? + With bowl atween us, + Of smiling Venus +And Bacchus shall we sing, I'm thinking. + + Of symptoms fell + Which brawls impel, +Historic data give us warning; + The wretch who fights + When full, of nights, +Is bound to have a head next morning. + I do not scorn + A friendly horn, +But noisy toots, I can't abide 'em! + Your howling bat + Is stale and flat +To one who knows, because he's tried 'em! + + The secrets of + The life I love +(Companionship with girls and toddy) + I would not drag + With drunken brag +Into the ken of everybody; + But in the shade + Let some coy maid +With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle, + Then all day long, + With mirth and song, +Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle! + + + + +AN ODE TO FORTUNE + + O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I call, +Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown +The veriest clod with riches and renown, + And change a triumph to a funeral +The tillers of the soil and they that vex the seas, +Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees + Invoke thee, all. + + Of Dacian tribes, of roving Scythian bands, +Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red +With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting dread; + Within thy path no human valor stands, +And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown +The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely down + From kingly hands. + + Necessity precedes thee in thy way; +Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is seen +Dancing attendance with obsequious mien; + But with what coward and abject dismay +The faithless crowd and treacherous wantons fly +When once their jars of luscious wine run dry,-- + Such ingrates they! + + Fortune, I call on thee to bless +Our king,--our Cæsar girt for foreign wars! +Help him to heal these fratricidal scars + That speak degenerate shame and wickedness; +And forge anew our impious spears and swords, +Wherewith we may against barbarian hordes + Our Past redress! + + + + +TO A JAR OF WINE + +O gracious jar,--my friend, my twin, + Born at the time when I was born,-- +Whether tomfoolery you inspire +Or animate with love's desire, + Or flame the soul with bitter scorn, +Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine! + Come from your place this festal day; + Corvinus hither wends his way, +And there's demand for wine! + +Corvinus is the sort of man + Who dotes on tedious argument. +An advocate, his ponderous pate + Is full of Blackstone and of Kent; +Yet not insensible is he, +O genial Massic flood! to thee. +Why, even Cato used to take + A modest, surreptitious nip +At meal-times for his stomach's sake, + Or to forefend la grippe. + +How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts, + And bare the cruel knave's design; +How through thy fascinating arts + We discount Hope, O gracious wine! +And passing rich the poor man feels +As through his veins thy affluence steals. + +Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing, + And plot full many a naughty plot +With damsels fair--nor shall we care + Whether school keeps or not! +And whilst thy charms hold out to burn + We shall not deign to go to bed, + But we shall paint creation red; +So, fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,-- + My lawyer friend, as aforesaid. + + + + +TO POMPEIUS VARUS + +Pompey, what fortune gives you back + To the friends and the gods who love you? +Once more you stand in your native land, + With your native sky above you. +Ah, side by side, in years agone, + We've faced tempestuous weather, + And often quaffed + The genial draught + From the same canteen together. + +When honor at Philippi fell + A prey to brutal passion, +I regret to say that my feet ran away + In swift Iambic fashion. +You were no poet; soldier born, + You stayed, nor did you wince then. + Mercury came + To my help, which same + Has frequently saved me since then. + +But now you're back, let's celebrate + In the good old way and classic; +Come, let us lard our skins with nard, + And bedew our souls with Massic! +With fillets of green parsley leaves + Our foreheads shall be done up; + And with song shall we + Protract our spree + Until the morrow's sun-up. + + + + +THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS + +Mæcenas, I propose to fly + To realms beyond these human portals; +No common things shall be my wings, + But such as sprout upon immortals. + +Of lowly birth, once shed of earth, + Your Horace, precious (so you've told him), +Shall soar away; no tomb of clay + Nor Stygian prison-house shall hold him. + +Upon my skin feathers begin + To warn the songster of his fleeting; +But never mind, I leave behind + Songs all the world shall keep repeating. + +Lo! Boston girls, with corkscrew curls, + And husky westerns, wild and woolly, +And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes, + And all profess to know me fully. + +Methinks the West shall know me best, + And therefore hold my memory dearer; +For by that lake a bard shall make + My subtle, hidden meanings clearer. + +So cherished, I shall never die; + Pray, therefore, spare your dolesome praises, +Your elegies, and plaintive cries, + For I shall fertilize no daisies! + + + + +TO VENUS + +Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen! + Desert that Cyprus way off yonder, +And fare you hence, where with incense + My Glycera would have you fonder; +And to your joy bring hence your boy, + The Graces with unbelted laughter, +The Nymphs, and Youth,--then, then, in sooth, + Should Mercury come tagging after. + + + + +IN THE SPRINGTIME + +I + +'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea; + The breezes, loitering kindly over +The fields, again bring herds and men + The grateful cheer of honeyed clover. + +Now Venus hither leads her train; + The Nymphs and Graces join in orgies; +The moon is bright, and by her light + Old Vulcan kindles up his forges. + +Bind myrtle now about your brow, + And weave fair flowers in maiden tresses; +Appease god Pan, who, kind to man, + Our fleeting life with affluence blesses; + +But let the changing seasons mind us, + That Death's the certain doom of mortals,-- +Grim Death, who waits at humble gates, + And likewise stalks through kingly portals. + +Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades + Enfold you with their hideous seemings; +Then love and mirth and joys of earth + Shall fade away like fevered dreamings. + + + + +IN THE SPRINGTIME + +II + +The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the bay, +And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away. +No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight; +No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white. + +Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead the dance, +While from above the kindly moon gives an approving glance; +The Nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir, +And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire. + +Now it is time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate, +And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate; +To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we rely, +A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify. + +Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike; +The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike. +O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond the common run, +Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun. + +The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon the grip. +Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor taste the wine you sip; +Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty you commend, +To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend. + + + + +TO A BULLY + +You, blatant coward that you are, + Upon the helpless vent your spite. +Suppose you ply your trade on me; +Come, monkey with this bard, and see + How I'll repay your bark with bite! + +Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute! + And I shall hound you far and wide, +As fiercely as through drifted snow +The shepherd dog pursues what foe + Skulks on the Spartan mountain-side. + +The chip is on my shoulder--see? + But touch it and I'll raise your fur; +I'm full of business, so beware! +For, though I'm loaded up for bear, + I'm quite as like to kill a cur! + + + + +TO MOTHER VENUS + +O mother Venus, quit, I pray, + Your violent assailing! +The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth + At last are unavailing; +My blood runs cold, I'm getting old, + And all my powers are failing. + +Speed thou upon thy white swans' wings, + And elsewhere deign to mellow +With thy soft arts the anguished hearts + Of swains that writhe and bellow; +And right away seek out, I pray, + Young Paullus,--he's your fellow! + +You'll find young Paullus passing fair, + Modest, refined, and tony; +Go, now, incite the favored wight! + With Venus for a crony +He'll outshine all at feast and ball + And conversazione! + +Then shall that godlike nose of thine + With perfumes be requited, +And then shall prance in Salian dance + The girls and boys delighted, +And while the lute blends with the flute + Shall tender loves be plighted. + +But as for me, as you can see, + I'm getting old and spiteful. +I have no mind to female kind, + That once I deemed delightful; +No more brim up the festive cup + That sent me home at night full. + +Why do I falter in my speech, + O cruel Ligurine? +Why do I chase from place to place + In weather wet and shiny? +Why down my nose forever flows + The tear that's cold and briny? + + + + +TO LYDIA + +Tell me, Lydia, tell me why, + By the gods that dwell above, +Sybaris makes haste to die + Through your cruel, fatal love. + +Now he hates the sunny plain; + Once he loved its dust and heat. +Now no more he leads the train + Of his peers on coursers fleet. + +Now he dreads the Tiber's touch, + And avoids the wrestling-rings,-- +He who formerly was such + An expert with quoits and things. + +Come, now, Mistress Lydia, say + Why your Sybaris lies hid, +Why he shuns the martial play, + As we're told Achilles did. + + + + +TO NEOBULE + +A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing, +Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors showing, +For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing! + +Sweet Cytherea's winged boy deprives you of your spinning, +And Hebrus, Neobule, his sad havoc is beginning, +Just as Minerva thriftily gets ready for an inning. + +Who could resist this gallant youth, as Tiber's waves he breasted, +Or when the palm of riding from Bellerophon he wrested, +Or when with fists and feet the sluggers easily he bested? + +He shot the fleeing stags with regularity surprising; +The way he intercepted boars was quite beyond surmising,-- +No wonder that your thoughts this youth has been monopolizing! + +So I repeat that with these maids fate is unkindly dealing, +Who never can in love's affair give license to their feeling, +Or share those sweet emotions when a gentle jag is stealing. + + + + +AT THE BALL GAME + +What gods or heroes, whose brave deeds none can dispute, +Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and flute? +What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant a place +On Pindus' crown or Helicon's cool, shadowy space? + +Sing not, my Orpheus, sweeping oft the tuneful strings, +Of gliding streams and nimble winds and such poor things; +But lend your measures to a theme of noble thought, +And crown with laurel these great heroes, as you ought. + +Now steps Ryanus forth at call of furious Mars, +And from his oaken staff the sphere speeds to the stars; +And now he gains the tertiary goal, and turns, +While whiskered balls play round the timid staff of Burns. + +Lo! from the tribunes on the bleachers comes a shout, +Beseeching bold Ansonius to line 'em out; +And as Apollo's flying chariot cleaves the sky, +So stanch Ansonius lifts the frightened ball on high. + +Like roar of ocean beating on the Cretan cliff, +The strong Komiske gives the panting sphere a biff; +And from the tribunes rise loud murmurs everywhere, +When twice and thrice Mikellius beats the mocking air. + +And as Achilles' fleet the Trojan waters sweeps, +So horror sways the throng,--Pfefferius sleeps! +And stalwart Konnor, though by Mercury inspired, +The Equus Carolus defies, and is retired. + +So waxes fierce the strife between these godlike men; +And as the hero's fame grows by Virgilian pen, +So let Clarksonius Maximus be raised to heights +As far above the moon as moon o'er lesser lights. + +But as for me, the ivy leaf is my reward, +If you a place among the lyric bards accord; +With crest exalted, and O "People," with delight, +I'll proudly strike the stars, and so be out of sight. + + + + +EPILOGUE + +The day is done; and, lo! the shades + Melt 'neath Diana's mellow grace. +Hark, how those deep, designing maids + Feign terror in this sylvan place! +Come, friends, it's time that we should go; +We're honest married folk, you know. + +Was not the wine delicious cool + Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile enhanced? +And by that clear Bandusian pool + How gayly Chloe sung and danced! +And Lydia Die,--aha, methinks +You'll not forget the saucy minx! + +But, oh, the echoes of those songs + That soothed our cares and lulled our hearts! +Not to that age nor this belongs + The glory of what heaven-born arts +Speak with the old distinctive charm +From yonder humble Sabine farm! + +The day is done. Now off to bed, + Lest by some rural ruse surprised, +And by those artful girls misled, + You two be sadly compromised. +_You_ go; perhaps _I_'d better stay +To shoo the giddy things away! + +But sometime we shall meet again + Beside Digentia, cool and clear,-- +You and we twain, old friend; and then + We'll have our fill of pagan cheer. +Then, could old Horace join us three, +How proud and happy he would be! + +Or if we part to meet no more + This side the misty Stygian Sea, +Be sure of this: on yonder shore + Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we; +A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,-- +The fellowship that knows no end! + +E.F. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13885 *** diff --git a/13885-h/13885-h.htm b/13885-h/13885-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b40b580 --- /dev/null +++ b/13885-h/13885-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3931 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Echoes from the Sabine Farm, by Roswell Martin Field and Eugene Field</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + hr.full { width: 100%; + height: 5px; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size: 9pt;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13885 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Echoes from the Sabine Farm, by Roswell +Martin Field and Eugene Field</h1> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<center><img src="images/image01.jpg" width="224" height="354" alt= +"Echose of the Sabine Farm" border="0"></center> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h3>THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD</h3> + +<h1>ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM</h1> + +<h4>by</h4> + +<h3>Roswell Martin Field and Eugene Field</h3> + +<h4>1899</h4> +<br> +<br> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='INTRODUCTION'></a> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>One Sunday evening in the winter of 1890 Eugene Field and the +writer were walking in Lake View, Chicago, on their way to visit +the library of a common friend, when the subject of publishing a +book for Field came up for discussion.</p> + +<p>The Little Book of Western Verse and The Little Book of +Profitable Tales had been privately printed the year before at +Chicago, and Field had been frequently reminded that the writer was +ready and willing to stand sponsor for any new volume he, Field, +might desire to bring out.</p> + +<p>"The only thing I have on hand that might make a book," said +Field, "are some few paraphrases of the Odes of Horace which my +brother, 'Rose,' and I have been fooling over, and which, truth to +tell, are certainly freely rendered. There are not enough of them, +but we'll do some more, and I'll add a brief Life of Horace as a +preface or introduction."</p> + +<p>It is to be regretted that Field never carried out his intention +with respect to this last, for he had given much thought and study +to the great Roman satirist, and what Eugene Field could have said +upon the subject must have been of interest. It is my belief that +as he thought upon the matter it grew too great for him to handle +within the space he had at first determined, and that tucked away +within the recesses of his literary intentions was the +determination, nullified by his early death, to write, <i>con +amore</i>, a life of Quintus Horatius Flaccus.</p> + +<p>This determination to write separately an extended account of +Horace greatly reduced the bulk of the material intended for the +Sabine Echoes, and it was with respect to this that Field +apologetically and, as was his wont, humorously wrote:</p> + +<p>"The volume may be rather thin <i>in corpore</i>, but think how +hefty it will be intellectually."</p> + +<p>When it came to the discussion of how many copies should be +printed it was suggested that the edition be an exceedingly limited +one, in order to cause as much scrambling and heartburning as +possible among our bibliophilic brethren. And never shall I forget +the seriousness of the man's face, nor the roars of laughter that +followed, when he suggested that fifty copies only should be made, +and that we should reserve one each and burn the other +forty-eight!</p> + +<p>It was a biting cold night and we had been loitering by the way, +stopping to debate each point as it arose—but now we plunged +on with excess of motion to keep ourselves warm, breaking out with +occasional peals of laughter as we thought of our plan to make the +publication what the booksellers call "excessively rare."</p> + +<p>Field, elsewhere, has said he did not know why the original +intention as to the destruction of the forty-eight copies was not +carried out, but the answer is not far away. As the time for +publication approached it was found impossible that such and such a +friend should be forgotten in the matter of a copy, and so it went +on until it was deemed prudent to add fifty to the number +originally intended to be issued, and that decision, in the light +of what followed, proved to be an eminently wise one. More than +once some to me unknown friend of Field would write a pleasant lie +as a reason to gain possession of the book, and up in a corner of +the letter would be found an endorsement of the request after this +fashion:</p> + +<center> +<table summary="poem"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 3em;'>What's writ below</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>I'd have you know</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor falsehood nor romance +is;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>It's solemn truth,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>So grant the youth</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The boon he seeks, dear +Francis.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>EUGENE FIELD.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, however flimsy the +pretext upon which the request for a copy was made, it never failed +of its object if it brought with it Field's endorsement. Among many +pleasant utterances on this subject Field has said that but for the +writer the Horatian verses would not have been given to the +world—and this has been taken to mean more than was intended, +and much unearned praise has been bestowed. But, in allusion to the +original issue of the Odes, Field added, "in this charming guise," +which places quite another construction upon the matter.</p> + +<p>It may be that the enthusiasm displayed not only pleased Field, +and incited him and his brother Roswell to perform that which, +otherwise, might have been indefinitely deferred, but there is no +question but that they intended to publish the Horatian odes at +some time or another. Field was greatly delighted with the +reception of this work, and I once heard him say it would outlive +all his other books. He came naturally by his love of the classics. +His father was a splendid scholar who obliged his sons to +correspond with him in Latin. Field's favorite ode was the +Bandusian Spring, the paraphrasing of which in the styles of the +various writers of different periods gave him genuine joy and is +perhaps the choice bit of the collection. The Echoes from the +Sabine Farm was the most ambitious work Field had attempted up to +the time of its issue. He was not at all sure that the public for +whom he wrote, what following he then felt was his own, would +accept his efforts in this direction with any sort of acclaim. +Unquestionably, Field, at all times, believed in himself and in his +power ultimately to make a name, as every man must who achieves +success, but he was as far from believing that the public would +accept him as an interpreter of Horatian odes as was Edward +Fitzgerald with respect to Omar Khayyám. In short, he looked +upon his work in the original publication of Echoes from the Sabine +Farm as a labor of love—an effort from which some reputation +might come, but certainly no monetary remuneration. It was because +he so regarded it that he permitted the work to be first issued +under the bolstering influence of a patron. It was, so he thought, +an excellent opportunity to show his friends and acquaintances that +his Pegasus was capable of soaring to classic heights, and he +little dreamed that the paraphrasing of the Odes of Horace over +which "Rose and I have been fooling" would be required for a +<i>popular</i> edition. With the announcement of the Scribner +edition of The Sabine Echoes came also the intelligence of Field's +death.</p> + +<p>I have found people who were somewhat puzzled as to the exact +intentions of the Fields with respect to these translations and +paraphrases. However, there can be no chance for mistake even to +the veriest embryonic reader of Horace, if he will but remember +that, while some of these transcriptions are indeed very faithful +reproductions or adaptations of the original, others again are to +be accepted as the very riot of burlesque verse-making.</p> + +<p>The last stanza in the epilogue of this book reads:</p> + +<center> +<table summary="poem"> +<tr> +<td> +<p><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or if we part to meet no +more</span><br> +This side the misty Stygian river,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Be sure of this: On yonder +shore</span><br> +Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A Sabine pagan's heaven, O +friend—</span><br> +And fellowship that knows no end.</p> + +<p>FRANCIS WILSON.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>January 22, 1896.</p> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ML_GRAY'></a> +<h2>TO M.L. GRAY.</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="TO M.L. GRAY"> +<tr> +<td>Come, dear old friend, and with us twain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To calm Digentian groves +repair;</span><br> +The turtle coos his sweet refrain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And posies are a-blooming +there;</span><br> +And there the romping Sabine girls<br> +Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls.<br> +I know a certain ilex-tree<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whence leaps a fountain cool and +clear.</span><br> +Its voices summon you and me;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come, let us haste to share its +cheer!</span><br> +Methinks the rapturous song it sings<br> +Should woo our thoughts from mortal things.<br> +But, good old friend, I charge thee well,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Watch thou my brother all the +while,</span><br> +Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Round him unschooled in female +guile.</span><br> +Those damsels have no charms for me;<br> +Guard thou that brother,—I'll guard thee!<br> +And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Round which the garlands +intertwine;</span><br> +With Massic it is foaming up,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And we would drink to thee and +thine.</span><br> +And of the draught thou shalt partake,<br> +Who lov'st us for our father's sake.<br> +Hark you! from yonder Sabine farm<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Echo the songs of long +ago,</span><br> +With power to soothe and grace to charm<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>What ills humanity may +know;</span><br> +With that sweet music in the air,<br> +'T is Love and Summer everywhere.<br> +So, though no grief consumes our lot<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(Since all our lives have been +discreet),</span><br> +Come, in this consecrated spot,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Let's see if pagan cheer be +sweet.</span><br> +Now, then, the songs; but, first, more wine.<br> +The gods be with you, friends of mine!<br> +<p>E.F.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='The_Contents_of_this_Book'></a> +<h2><b>The Contents of this Book</b></h2> + +<h3>WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD</h3> + +<center> +<table frame="VOID" cellspacing="0" rules="GROUPS" border= +"1" summary="Table of Contents"> +<colgroup> +<col width="253"> +<col width="138"> +<col width="53"></colgroup> + +<tbody> +<tr> +<td width="253" height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ML_GRAY">TO +M.L. GRAY</a></td> +<td width="138" align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td width="53" align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#AN_INVITATION_TO_MAECENAS">AN INVITATION TO +MÆCENAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 29</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#CHLORIS_PROPERLY_REBUKED">CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 15</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA">TO THE FOUNTAIN OF +BANDUSIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 13</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA2">TO THE FOUNTAIN OF +BANDUSIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_PREFERENCE_DECLARED">THE +PREFERENCE DECLARED.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 38</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_TARDY_APOLOGY_I">A TARDY +APOLOGY. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode XIV</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_TARDY_APOLOGY_II">A TARDY +APOLOGY. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_THE_SHIP_OF_STATE">TO THE +SHIP OF STATE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 14</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#QUITTING_AGAIN">QUITTING +AGAIN.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 26</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#SAILOR_AND_SHADE">SAILOR AND +SHADE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 28</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#LET_US_HAVE_PEACE">LET US +HAVE PEACE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 27</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_QUINTUS_DELLIUS">TO +QUINTUS DELLIUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 3</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#POKING_FUN_AT_XANTHIAS">POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 4</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ARISTIUS_FUSCUS">TO +ARISTIUS FUSCUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 22</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_I">TO +ALBIUS TIBULLUS. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 33</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_II">TO +ALBIUS TIBULLUS. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MAECENAS">To +MÆCENAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 1</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_HIS_BOOK">TO HIS +BOOK.</a> </td> +<td align="LEFT">Epistle XX</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#FAME_vs_RICHES">FAME +<i>vs.</i> RICHES.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Ars Poetica, line 323</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_LYRIC_MUSE">THE LYRIC +MUSE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Ars Poetica, line 301</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#A_COUNTERBLAST_AGAINST_GARLIC">A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST +GARLIC.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode III.</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AN_EXCUSE_FOR_LALAGE">AN +EXCUSE FOR LALAGE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 5</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AN_APPEAL_TO_LYCE">AN APPEAL +TO LYCE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, IV. 13</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_I">A +ROMAN WINTER-PIECE I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 9</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_II">A +ROMAN WINTER-PIECE II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_DIANA">TO DIANA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 22</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_HIS_LUTE">TO HIS +LUTE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 32</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LEUCONOE_I">TO +LEUCONÖE I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 11</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LEUCONOE_II">TO +LEUCONÖE II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LIGURINUS_I">TO LIGURINUS +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, IV. 10</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LIGURINUS_II">TO +LIGURINUS II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_HAPPY_ISLES">THE HAPPY +ISLES.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode XIV. line 41</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#CONSISTENCY">CONSISTENCY.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Ars Poetica</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_POSTUMUS">TO +POSTUMUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 14</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_I">TO +MISTRESS PYRRHA I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 5</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_II">TO +MISTRESS PYRRHA II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MELPOMENE">TO +MELPOMENE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 30</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_PHYLLIS_I">TO PHYLLIS +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, IV. 11.</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_PHYLLIS_II">TO PHYLLIS +II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_CHLOE_I">TO CHLOE +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 23</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_CHLOE_II">TO CHLOE +II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#A_PARAPHRASE">A PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#ANOTHER_PARAPHRASE">ANOTHER PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#A_THIRD_PARAPHRASE">A THIRD PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#A_FOURTH_PARAPHRASE">A FOURTH PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MAECENAS_II">TO +MÆCENAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 20</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_BARINE">TO +BARINE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 8</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_RECONCILIATION_I">THE +RECONCILIATION. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 9</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_RECONCILIATION_II">THE +RECONCILIATION. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_ROASTING_OF_LYDIA">THE +ROASTING OF LYDIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 25</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_GLYCERA">TO +GLYCERA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 19</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LYDIA_I">TO LYDIA. +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 13</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LYDIA_II">TO LYDIA. +II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_QUINTIUS_HIRPINUS">TO +QUINTIUS HIRPINUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 11</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#WINE_WOMEN_AND_SONG">WINE, +WOMEN, AND SONG.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 18</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AN_ODE_TO_FORTUNE">AN ODE TO +FORTUNE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 35</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_A_JAR_OF_WINE">TO A JAR +OF WINE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 21</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_POMPEIUS_VARUS">TO +POMPEIUS VARUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 1</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_POETS_METAMORPHOSIS">THE +POET'S METAMORPHOSIS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 20</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_VENUS">TO VENUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 30</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_I">IN THE +SPRINGTIME. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 4</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_II">IN THE +SPRINGTIME. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_A_BULLY">TO A +BULLY.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode VI.</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MOTHER_VENUS">TO MOTHER +VENUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LYDIA_III">TO +LYDIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 8</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_NEOBULE">TO +NEOBULE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 12</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AT_THE_BALL_GAME">AT THE +BALL GAME.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, V. 17.</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='Echoes_from_the_Sabine_Farm'></a> +<h1><b>Echoes from the Sabine Farm</b></h1> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_INVITATION_TO_MAECENAS'></a> +<h2>AN INVITATION TO MÆCENAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Invitation to Maecenas"> +<tr> +<td>Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of wine solicits your +attention;</span><br> +And roses fair, to deck your hair,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And things too numerous to +mention.</span><br> +So tear yourself awhile away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From urban turmoil, pride, and +splendor,</span><br> +And deign to share what humble fare<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And sumptuous fellowship I +tender.</span><br> +The sweet content retirement brings<br> +Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings.<br> +<br> +The evil planets have combined<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To make the weather hot and +hotter;</span><br> +By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Vainly of ice-cream +soda-water.</span><br> +And meanwhile you, defying heat,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With patriotic ardor +ponder</span><br> +On what old Rome essays at home,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And what her heathen do out +yonder.</span><br> +Mæcenas, no such vain alarm<br> +Disturbs the quiet of this farm!<br> +<br> +God in His providence obscures<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The goal beyond this vale of +sorrow,</span><br> +And smiles at men in pity when<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>They seek to penetrate the +morrow.</span><br> +With faith that all is for the best,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Let's bear what burdens are +presented,</span><br> +That we shall say, let come what may,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>"We die, as we have lived, +contented!</span><br> +Ours is to-day; God's is the rest,—<br> +He doth ordain who knoweth best."<br> +<br> +Dame Fortune plays me many a prank.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When she is kind, oh, how I go +it!</span><br> +But if again she's harsh,—why, then<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I am a very proper poet!</span><br> +When favoring gales bring in my ships,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I hie to Rome and live in +clover;</span><br> +Elsewise I steer my skiff out here,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And anchor till the storm blows +over.</span><br> +Compulsory virtue is the charm<br> +Of life upon the Sabine farm!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='CHLORIS_PROPERLY_REBUKED'></a> +<h2>CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Chloris Properly Rebuked"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear;<br> +The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more <i>savoir +faire</i>.<br> +A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door,<br> +Should not play with the girly girls, and think she's <i>en +rapport</i>.</p> + +<br> +<p>What's good enough for Pholoe you cannot well essay;<br> +Your daughter very properly courts <i>the jeunesse +dorée</i>,—<br> +A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot her joy restrain,<br> +But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles <i>à +l'Américaine</i>.</p> + +<br> +<p>'T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature old and poor,<br> +To sit and spin than to engage in an <i>affaire d'amour</i>.<br> +The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained deep are not for +you;<br> +Remember what the poet says: <i>Ce monde est plein de fous!</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA'></a> +<h2>TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To the Fountain of Bandusia"> +<tr> +<td>O fountain of Bandusia!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whence crystal waters +flow,</span><br> +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The sacrifice I owe;</span><br> +A sportive kid with budding horns<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I have, whose crimson +blood</span><br> +Anon shall dye and sanctify<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Thy cool and babbling +flood.</span><br> +<br> +O fountain of Bandusia!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Dog-star's hateful +spell</span><br> +No evil brings into the springs<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That from thy bosom +well;</span><br> +Here oxen, wearied by the plow,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The roving cattle here</span><br> +Hasten in quest of certain rest,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And quaff thy gracious +cheer.</span><br> +<br> +O fountain of Bandusia!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Ennobled shalt thou be,</span><br> +For I shall sing the joys that spring<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Beneath yon ilex-tree.</span><br> +Yes, fountain of Bandusia,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Posterity shall know</span><br> +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Singing and dancing go.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA2'></a> +<h2>TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To the Fountain of Bandusia II"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>O fountain of Bandusia! more glittering than glass,<br> +And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts that freely pass;<br> +More worthy of the flowers with which thou modestly art hid,<br> +To-morrow willing hands shall sacrifice to thee a kid.</p> + +<br> +<p>In vain the glory of the brow where proudly swell above<br> +The growing horns, significant of battle and of love;<br> +For in thy honor he shall die,—the offspring of the +herd,—<br> +And with his crimson life-blood thy cold waters shall be +stirred.</p> + +<br> +<p>The Dog-star's cruel season, with its fierce and blazing +heat,<br> +Has never sent its scorching rays into thy glad retreat;<br> +The oxen, wearied with the plow, the herd which wanders near,<br> +Have found a grateful respite and delicious coolness here.</p> + +<br> +<p>When of the graceful ilex on the hollow rocks I sing,<br> +Thou shalt become illustrious, O sweet Bandusian spring!<br> +Among the noble fountains which have been enshrined in fame,<br> +Thy dancing, babbling waters shall in song our homage claim.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_PREFERENCE_DECLARED'></a> +<h2>THE PREFERENCE DECLARED</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Preference Declared"> +<tr> +<td>Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I hate those linden-bark +devices;</span><br> +And as for roses, holy Moses!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>They can't be got at living +prices!</span><br> +Myrtle is good enough for us,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For <i>you</i>, as bearer of my +flagon;</span><br> +For <i>me</i>, supine beneath this vine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Doing my best to get a jag +on!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_TARDY_APOLOGY_I'></a> +<h2>A TARDY APOLOGY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Tardy Apology I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h3>I</h3> + +<br> +<p>Mæcenas, you will be my death,—though friendly you +profess yourself,—<br> +If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself:<br> +"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us?<br> +Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?"</p> + +<br> +<p>A god, Mæcenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of +me!<br> +If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me;<br> +Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology,<br> +And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology.</p> + +<br> +<p>Now, you yourself, Mæcenas, are enjoying this +beatitude;<br> +If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for +gratitude.<br> +A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous;<br> +This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_TARDY_APOLOGY_II'></a> +<h2>A TARDY APOLOGY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Tardy Apology II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h3>II</h3> + +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>You ask me, friend,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Why I don't send</span><br> +The long since due-and-paid-for numbers;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Why, songless, I</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>As drunken lie</span><br> +Abandoned to Lethean slumbers.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Long time ago</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>(As well you know)</span><br> +I started in upon that carmen;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>My work was vain,—</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>But why complain?</span><br> +When gods forbid, how helpless are men!<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Some ages back,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>The sage Anack</span><br> +Courted a frisky Samian body,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Singing her praise</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>In metered phrase</span><br> +As flowing as his bowls of toddy.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Till I was hoarse</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Might I discourse</span><br> +Upon the cruelties of Venus;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>'T were waste of time</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>As well of rhyme,</span><br> +For you've been there yourself, Mæcenas!<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Perfect your bliss</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>If some fair miss</span><br> +Love you yourself and <i>not</i> your minæ;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>I, fortune's sport,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>All vainly court</span><br> +The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_THE_SHIP_OF_STATE'></a> +<h2>TO THE SHIP OF STATE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To the Ship of State"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 5em;'>O ship of state</span><br> +Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea?<br> +What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Ere 't is too late!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Do you bemoan</span><br> +Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast?<br> +Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>The sailyards groan.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Of cables bare,</span><br> +Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave.<br> +Your sails are rent; you have no gods to save,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Or answer pray'r.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Though Pontic pine,</span><br> +The noble daughter of a far-famed wood,<br> +You boast your lineage and title good,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>A useless line!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>The sailor there</span><br> +In painted sterns no reassurance finds;<br> +Unless you owe derision to the winds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Beware—beware!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>My grief erewhile,</span><br> +But now my care—my longing! shun the seas<br> +That flow between the gleaming Cyclades,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Each shining isle.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='QUITTING_AGAIN'></a> +<h2>QUITTING AGAIN</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Quitting Again"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 4em;'>The hero of</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>Affairs of love</span><br> +By far too numerous to be mentioned,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>And scarred as I'm,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>It seemeth time</span><br> +That I were mustered out and pensioned.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>So on this wall</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>My lute and all</span><br> +I hang, and dedicate to Venus;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>And I implore</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>But one thing more</span><br> +Ere all is at an end between us.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>O goddess fair</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>Who reignest where</span><br> +The weather's seldom bleak and snowy,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>This boon I urge:</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>In anger scourge</span><br> +My old cantankerous sweetheart, Chloe!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='SAILOR_AND_SHADE'></a> +<h2>SAILOR AND SHADE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Sailor and Shade"> +<tr> +<td> +<h5>SAILOR</h5> + +You, who have compassed land and sea,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Now all unburied lie;</span><br> +All vain your store of human lore,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For you were doomed to +die.</span><br> +The sire of Pelops likewise fell,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Jove's honored mortal +guest;</span><br> +So king and sage of every age<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>At last lie down to +rest.</span><br> +Plutonian shades enfold the ghost<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of that majestic one</span><br> +Who taught as truth that he, forsooth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Had once been Pentheus' +son;</span><br> +Believe who may, he's passed away,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And what he did is done.</span><br> +A last night comes alike to all;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>One path we all must +tread,</span><br> +Through sore disease or stormy seas<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or fields with corpses +red.</span><br> +Whate'er our deeds, that pathway leads<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To regions of the dead.</span><br> +<br> + + +<h5>SHADE</h5> + +The fickle twin Illyrian gales<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Overwhelmed me on the +wave;</span><br> +But you that live, I pray you give<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My bleaching bones a +grave!</span><br> +Oh, then when cruel tempests rage<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You all unharmed shall +be;</span><br> +Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And Neptune's on the +sea.</span><br> +Perchance you fear to do what may<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Bring evil to your race?</span><br> +Oh, rather fear that like me here<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You'll lack a burial +place.</span><br> +So, though you be in proper haste,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Bide long enough, I +pray,</span><br> +To give me, friend, what boon shall send<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My soul upon its way!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='LET_US_HAVE_PEACE'></a> +<h2>LET US HAVE PEACE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Let Us Have Peace"> +<tr> +<td>In maudlin spite let Thracians fight<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Above their bowls of +liquor;</span><br> +But such as we, when on a spree,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Should never brawl and +bicker!</span><br> +<br> +These angry words and clashing swords<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Are quite <i>de trop</i>, I'm +thinking;</span><br> +Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And drown your wrath in +drinking.</span><br> +<br> +Aha, 't is fine,—this mellow wine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With which our host would dope +us!</span><br> +Now let us hear what pretty dear<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Entangles him of Opus.</span><br> +<br> +I see you blush,—nay, comrades, hush!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come, friend, though they despise +you,</span><br> +Tell me the name of that fair dame,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Perchance I may advise +you.</span><br> +<br> +O wretched youth! and is it truth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You love that fickle +lady?</span><br> +I, doting dunce, courted her once;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Since when, she's reckoned +shady!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_QUINTUS_DELLIUS'></a> +<h2>TO QUINTUS DELLIUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Quintus Dellius"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray;<br> +For though you pine your life away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With dull complaining +breath,</span><br> +Or speed with song and wine each day,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Still, still your doom is +death.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>Where the white poplar and the pine<br> +In glorious arching shade combine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the brook singing +goes,</span><br> +Bid them bring store of nard and wine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And garlands of the +rose.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>Let's live while chance and youth obtain;<br> +Soon shall you quit this fair domain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Kissed by the Tiber's +gold,</span><br> +And all your earthly pride and gain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Some heedless heir shall +hold.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>One ghostly boat shall some time bear<br> +From scenes of mirthfulness or care<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Each fated human +soul,—</span><br> +Shall waft and leave its burden where<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The waves of Lethe roll.</span><br> +</p> + +<p><i>So come, I prithee, Dellius mine;<br> +Let's sing our songs and drink our wine<br> +</i> <span style='margin-left: 1em;'><i>In that sequestered +nook</i></span><br> +<i>Where the white poplar and the pine<br> +</i> <span style='margin-left: 1em;'><i>Stand listening to the +brook</i>.</span><br> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='POKING_FUN_AT_XANTHIAS'></a> +<h2>POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Poking Fun at Xanthias"> +<tr> +<td>Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Don't apologize, Xanthias, +pray;</span><br> +Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For Brissy, his slave, as they +say.</span><br> +Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By the captive Tecmessa's ripe +charms;</span><br> +And Atrides, suspending the feast, it behooved<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To gather a girl to his +arms.</span><br> +<br> +Now, how do you know that this yellow-haired maid<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(This Phyllis you fain would +enjoy)</span><br> +Hasn't parents whose wealth would cast you in the shade,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who would ornament you, Xan, my +boy?</span><br> +Very likely the poor chick sheds copious tears,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And is bitterly thinking the +while</span><br> +Of the royal good times of her earlier years,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When her folks regulated the +style!</span><br> +<br> +It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That she of whose charms you are +proud</span><br> +Is beautiful only as means to deceive,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Merely one of the horrible +crowd.</span><br> +So constant a sweetheart, so loving a wife,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>So averse to all notions of +greed</span><br> +Was surely not born of a mother whose life<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is a chapter you'd better not +read.</span><br> +<br> +As an unbiased party I feel it my place<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(For I don't like to do things by +halves)</span><br> +To compliment Phyllis,—her arms and her face<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And (excuse me!) her delicate +calves.</span><br> +Tut, tut! don't get angry, my boy, or suspect<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You have any occasion to +fear</span><br> +A man whose deportment is always correct,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And is now in his forty-first +year!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ARISTIUS_FUSCUS'></a> +<h2>TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Aristius Fuscus"> +<tr> +<td>Fuscus, whoso to good inclines,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And is a faultless +liver,</span><br> +Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor poison-arrowed +quiver.</span><br> +<br> +Ay, though through desert wastes he roam,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or scale the rugged +mountains,</span><br> +Or rest beside the murmuring tide<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of weird Hydaspan +fountains!</span><br> +<br> +Lo, on a time, I gayly paced<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Sabine confines +shady,</span><br> +And sung in glee of Lalage,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My own and dearest lady;</span><br> +<br> +And as I sung, a monster wolf<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Slunk through the thicket from +me;</span><br> +But for that song, as I strolled along,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>He would have overcome +me!</span><br> +<br> +Set me amid those poison mists<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Which no fair gale +dispelleth,</span><br> +Or in the plains where silence reigns,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And no thing human +dwelleth,—</span><br> +<br> +Still shall I love my Lalage,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Still sing her tender +graces;</span><br> +And while I sing, my theme shall bring<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Heaven to those desert +places!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_I'></a> +<h2>TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Albius Tibullus I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Not to lament that rival flame<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Wherewith the heartless Glycera +scorns you,</span><br> +Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How many a modern instance warns +you!</span><br> +<br> +Fair-browed Lycoris pines away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Because her Cyrus loves +another;</span><br> +The ruthless churl informs the girl<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>He loves her only as a +brother!</span><br> +<br> +For he, in turn, courts Pholoe,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A maid unscotched of love's fierce +virus;</span><br> +Why, goats will mate with wolves they hate<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Ere Pholoe will mate with +Cyrus!</span><br> +<br> +Ah, weak and hapless human hearts,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By cruel Mother Venus +fated</span><br> +To spend this life in hopeless strife,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Because incongruously +mated!</span><br> +<br> +Such torture, Albius, is my lot;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For, though a better mistress wooed +me,</span><br> +My Myrtale has captured me,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And with her cruelties subdued +me!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_II'></a> +<h2>TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Albius Tibullus II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +Grieve not, my Albius, if thoughts of Glycera may haunt you,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor chant your mournful elegies +because she faithless proves;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>If now a younger man than you this +cruel charmer loves,</span><br> +Let not the kindly favors of the past rise up to taunt you.<br> +<br> +Lycoris of the little brow for Cyrus feels a passion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And Cyrus, on the other hand, +toward Pholoe inclines;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But ere this crafty Cyrus can +accomplish his designs</span><br> +She-goats will wed Apulian wolves in deference to fashion.<br> +<br> +Such is the will, the cruel will, of love-inciting Venus,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who takes delight in wanton sport +and ill-considered jokes,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And brings ridiculous misfits +beneath her brazen yokes,—</span><br> +A very infelicitous proceeding, just between us.<br> +<br> +As for myself, young Myrtale, slave-born and lacking graces,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And wilder than the Adrian tides +which form Calabrian bays,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Entangled me in pleasing chains and +compromising ways,</span><br> +When—just my luck—a better girl was courting my +embraces.</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MAECENAS'></a> +<h2>TO MÆCENAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Maecenas"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Mæcenas, thou of royalty's descent,<br> +Both my protector and dear ornament,<br> +Among humanity's conditions are<br> +Those who take pleasure in the flying car,<br> +Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll,<br> +And shunning with the glowing wheel the goal;<br> +While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth,<br> +Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth.</p> + +<p>Here one is happy if the fickle crowd<br> +His name the threefold honor has allowed;<br> +And there another, if into his stores<br> +Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing-floors.<br> +He who delights to till his father's lands,<br> +And grasps the delving-hoe with willing hands,<br> +Can never to Attalic offers hark,<br> +Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark.<br> +The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze,<br> +When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas<br> +Praises the restful quiet of his home,<br> +Nor wishes from the peaceful fields to roam;<br> +Ah, speedily his shattered ships he mends,—<br> +To poverty his lesson ne'er extends.</p> + +<p>One there may be who never scorns to fill<br> +His cups with mellow draughts from Massic's hill,<br> +Nor from the busy day an hour to wean,<br> +Now stretched at length beneath the arbute green,<br> +Now at the softly whispering spring, to dream<br> +Of the fair nymphs who haunt the sacred stream.<br> +For camp and trump and clarion some have zest,—<br> +The cruel wars the mothers so detest.<br> +'Neath the cold sky the hunter spends his life,<br> +Unmindful of his home and tender wife,<br> +Whether the doe is seen by faithful hounds<br> +Or Marsian boar through the fine meshes bounds.</p> + +<p>But as for me, the ivy-wreaths, the prize<br> +Of learned brows, exalt me to the skies;<br> +The shady grove, the nymphs and satyrs there,<br> +Draw me away from people everywhere;<br> +If it may be, Euterpe's flute inspires,<br> +Or Polyhymnia strikes the Lesbian lyres;<br> +And if you place me where no bard debars,<br> +With head exalted I shall strike the stars!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_HIS_BOOK'></a> +<h2>TO HIS BOOK</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To His Book"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You vain, self-conscious little +book,</span><br> +Companion of my happy days,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How eagerly you seem to +look</span><br> +For wider fields to spread your lays;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My desk and locks cannot contain +you,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor blush of modesty restrain +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Well, then, begone, fool that thou +art!</span><br> +But do not come to me and cry,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When critics strike you to the +heart:</span><br> +"Oh, wretched little book am I!"<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You know I tried to educate +you</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To shun the fate that must await +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In youth you may encounter +friends</span><br> +(Pray this prediction be not wrong),<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But wait until old age +descends</span><br> +And thumbs have smeared your gentlest song;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Then will the moths connive to eat +you</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And rural libraries secrete +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>However, should a friend some +word</span><br> +Of my obscure career request,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Tell him how deeply I was +stirred</span><br> +To spread my wings beyond the nest;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Take from my years, which are +before you,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To boom my merits, I implore +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Tell him that I am short and +fat,</span><br> +Quick in my temper, soon appeased,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With locks of gray,—but what +of that?</span><br> +Loving the sun, with nature pleased.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'm more than four and forty, hark +you,—</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But ready for a night off, mark +you!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='FAME_vs_RICHES'></a> +<h2>FAME <i>vs.</i> RICHES</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Fame vs. Riches"> +<tr> +<td>The Greeks had genius,—'t was a gift<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Muse vouchsafed in glorious +measure;</span><br> +The boon of Fame they made their aim<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And prized above all worldly +treasure.</span><br> +<br> +But <i>we</i>,—how do we train <i>our</i> youth?<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'><i>Not</i> in the arts that are +immortal,</span><br> +But in the greed for gains that speed<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From him who stands at Death's dark +portal.</span><br> +<br> +Ah, when this slavish love of gold<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Once binds the soul in greasy +fetters,</span><br> +How prostrate lies,—how droops and dies<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The great, the noble cause of +letters!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_LYRIC_MUSE'></a> +<h2>THE LYRIC MUSE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Lyric Muse"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric +muse!</span><br> +For when mankind ran wild in grooves<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Came holy Orpheus with his +songs</span><br> +And turned men's hearts from bestial loves,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From brutal force and savage +wrongs;</span><br> +Amphion, too, and on his lyre<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Made such sweet music all the +day</span><br> +That rocks, instinct with warm desire,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Pursued him in his glorious +way.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric muse!</span><br> +Hers was the wisdom that of yore<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Taught man the rights of fellow +man,</span><br> +Taught him to worship God the more,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And to revere love's holy +ban.</span><br> +Hers was the hand that jotted down<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The laws correcting divers +wrongs;</span><br> +And so came honor and renown<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To bards and to their noble +songs.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric muse!</span><br> +Old Homer sung unto the lyre;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Tyrtæus, too, in ancient +days;</span><br> +Still warmed by their immortal fire,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How doth our patriot spirit +blaze!</span><br> +The oracle, when questioned, sings;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>So our first steps in life are +taught.</span><br> +In verse we soothe the pride of kings,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In verse the drama has been +wrought.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric muse!</span><br> +Be not ashamed, O noble friend,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In honest gratitude to +pay</span><br> +Thy homage to the gods that send<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This boon to charm all ill +away.</span><br> +With solemn tenderness revere<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This voiceful glory as a +shrine</span><br> +Wherein the quickened heart may hear<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The counsels of a voice +divine!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_COUNTERBLAST_AGAINST_GARLIC'></a> +<h2>A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Counterblast Against Garlic"> +<tr> +<td>May the man who has cruelly murdered his sire—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A crime to be punished with +death—</span><br> +Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of his own foul and venomous +breath!</span><br> +What stomachs these rustics must have who can eat<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This dish that Canidia +made,</span><br> +Which imparts to my colon a torturous heat,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And a poisonous look, I'm +afraid!</span><br> +<br> +They say that ere Jason attempted to yoke<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The fire-breathing bulls to the +plow</span><br> +He smeared his whole body with garlic,—a joke<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Which I fully appreciate +now.</span><br> +When Medea gave Glauce her beautiful dress,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In which garlic was scattered +about,</span><br> +It was cruel and rather low-down, I confess,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But it settled the point beyond +doubt.</span><br> +<br> +On thirsty Apulia ne'er has the sun<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Inflicted such terrible +heat;</span><br> +As for Hercules' robe, although poisoned, 't was fun<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When compared with this garlic we +eat!</span><br> +Mæcenas, if ever on garbage like this<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You express a desire to be +fed,</span><br> +May Mrs. Mæcenas object to your kiss,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And lie at the foot of the +bed!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_EXCUSE_FOR_LALAGE'></a> +<h2>AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Excuse for Lalage"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is +bent,<br> +To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent;<br> +Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go,<br> +Now with the calves disporting where the pussy-willows grow.</p> + +<p>Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, trust me, you shall +learn<br> +How quickly in the autumn time to purple they will turn.<br> +Soon she will follow you, for age steals swiftly on the maid;<br> +And all the precious years that you have lost she will have +paid.</p> + +<p>Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, the coy,<br> +Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, girlish boy,<br> +Whom, if you placed among the girls, and loosed his flowing +locks,<br> +The wondering guests could not decide which one decorum shocks.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_APPEAL_TO_LYCE'></a> +<h2>AN APPEAL TO LYCE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Appeal to Lyce"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, as gods will hear the +dutiful,<br> +And brought old age upon you, though you still affect the +beautiful.<br> +You sport among the boys, and drink and chatter on quite +aimlessly;<br> +And in your cups with quavering voice you torment Cupid +shamelessly.</p> + +<p>For blooming Chia, Cupid has a feeling more than brotherly;<br> +He knows a handsaw from a hawk whenever winds are southerly.<br> +He pats her pretty cheeks, but looks on you as a monstrosity;<br> +Your wrinkles and your yellow teeth excite his animosity.</p> + +<p>For jewels bright and purple Coan robes you are not +dressable;<br> +Unhappily for you, the public records are accessible.<br> +Where is your charm, and where your bloom and gait so firm and +sensible,<br> +That drew my love from Cinara,—a lapse most indefensible?</p> + +<p>To my poor Cinara in youth Death came with great celerity;<br> +Egad, that never can be said of you with any verity!<br> +The old crow that you are, the teasing boys will jeer, compelling +you<br> +To roost at home. Reflect, all this is straight that I am telling +you.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_I'></a> +<h2>A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Roman Winter-Piece I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Soracte mocks the sullen +sky;</span><br> +How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And chained with frost the rivers +lie.</span><br> +<br> +Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We'll melt away the envious +cold:</span><br> +And, better yet, sweet friend, we'll wet<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our whistles with some +four-year-old.</span><br> +<br> +Commit all else unto the gods,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who, when it pleaseth them, shall +bring</span><br> +To fretful deeps and wooded steeps<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The mild, persuasive grace of +Spring.</span><br> +<br> +Let not To-morrow, but To-day,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your ever active thoughts +engage;</span><br> +Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Unharmed, unawed of crabbed +Age.</span><br> +<br> +Let's steal content from Winter's wrath,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And glory in the artful +theft,</span><br> +That years from now folks shall allow<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>'T was cold indeed when we got +left.</span><br> +<br> +So where the whisperings and the mirth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of girls invite a sportive +chap,</span><br> +Let's fare awhile,—aha, you smile;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You guess my +meaning,—<i>verbum sap</i>.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_II'></a> +<h2>A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Roman Winter-Piece II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Now stands Soracte white with snow, now bend the laboring +trees,<br> +And with the sharpness of the frost the stagnant rivers freeze.<br> +Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer cheer incline,<br> +And draw, my Thaliarchus, from the Sabine jar the wine.</p> + +<p>The rest leave to the gods, who still the fiercely warring +wind,<br> +And to the morrow's store of good or evil give no mind.<br> +Whatever day your fortune grants, that day mark up for gain;<br> +And in your youthful bloom do not the sweet amours disdain.</p> + +<p>Now on the Campus and the squares, when evening shades +descend,<br> +Soft whisperings again are heard, and loving voices blend;<br> +And now the low delightful laugh betrays the lurking maid,<br> +While from her slowly yielding arms the forfeiture is paid.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_DIANA'></a> +<h2>TO DIANA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Diana"> +<tr> +<td>O virgin, tri-formed goddess fair,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The guardian of the groves and +hills,</span><br> +Who hears the girls in their despair<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Cry out in childbirth's cruel +ills,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And saves them from the Stygian +flow!</span><br> +Let the pine-tree my cottage near<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Be sacred to thee +evermore,</span><br> +That I may give to it each year<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With joy the life-blood of the +boar,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Now thinking of the sidelong +blow.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_HIS_LUTE'></a> +<h2>TO HIS LUTE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To His Lute"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>If ever in the sylvan shade<br> +A song immortal we have made,<br> +Come now, O lute, I prithee come,<br> +Inspire a song of Latium!</p> + +<p>A Lesbian first thy glories proved;<br> +In arms and in repose he loved<br> +To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise<br> +His voice in Love's and Liber's praise.<br> +The Muses, too, and him who clings<br> +To Mother Venus' apron-strings,<br> +And Lycus beautiful, he sung<br> +In those old days when you were young.</p> + +<p>O shell, that art the ornament<br> +Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content<br> +To Jove, and soothing troubles all,—<br> +Come and requite me, when I call!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LEUCONOE_I'></a> +<h2>TO LEUCONÖE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Leuconoe I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>What end the gods may have ordained for me,<br> +And what for thee,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Seek not to learn, Leuconöe; +we may not know.</span><br> +Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest.<br> +'T is for the best<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To bear in patience what may come, +or weal or woe.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>If for more winters our poor lot is cast,<br> +Or this the last,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Which on the crumbling rocks has +dashed Etruscan seas,</span><br> +Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best.<br> +Take hope with zest,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch +To-day for ease!</span><br> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LEUCONOE_II'></a> +<h2>TO LEUCONÖE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Leuconoe II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Seek not, Leuconöe, to know how long you're going to live +yet,<br> +What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to +give yet;<br> +For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we +worry,—<br> +Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry.<br> +The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem<br> +Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am.<br> +And while we sport I'll reel you off such odes as shall surprise +ye;<br> +To-morrow, when the headache comes,—well, then I'll satirize +ye!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LIGURINUS_I'></a> +<h2>TO LIGURINUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Ligurinus I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Though mighty in Love's favor still,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Though cruel yet, my +boy,</span><br> +When the unwelcome dawn shall chill<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your pride and youthful +joy,</span><br> +The hair which round your shoulder grows<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is rudely cut away,</span><br> +Your color, redder than the rose,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is changed by youth's +decay,—</span><br> +<br> +Then, Ligurinus, in the glass<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Another you will spy.</span><br> +And as the shaggy face, alas!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You see, your grief will +cry:</span><br> +"Why in my youth could I not learn<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The wisdom men enjoy?</span><br> +Or why to men cannot return<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The smooth cheeks of the +boy?"</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LIGURINUS_II'></a> +<h2>TO LIGURINUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Ligurinus II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p><span style='margin-left: 3em;'>O Cruel fair,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Whose flowing hair</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The envy and the pride of all +is,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>As onward roll</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>The years, that poll</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Will get as bald as a billiard ball +is;</span><br> +Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply,<br> +Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply!</p> + +<p><span style='margin-left: 3em;'>When you behold</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Yourself grown old,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>These words shall speak your +spirits moody:</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>"Unhappy one!</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>What heaps of fun</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I've missed by being +goody-goody!</span><br> +Oh, that I might have felt the hunger<br> +Of loveless age when I was younger!"</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_HAPPY_ISLES'></a> +<h2>THE HAPPY ISLES</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Happy Isles"> +<tr> +<td>Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the golden haze off +yonder,</span><br> +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the ocean loves to +wander.</span><br> +<br> +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Proudly the fig +rejoices,</span><br> +Merrily dance the virgin rills,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Blending their myriad +voices.</span><br> +<br> +Our herds shall suffer no evil there,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But peacefully feed and rest +them;</span><br> +Never thereto shall prowling bear<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or serpent come to molest +them.</span><br> +<br> +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor feverish drought distress +us,</span><br> +But he that compasseth heat and cold<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall temper them both to bless +us.</span><br> +<br> +There no vandal foot has trod,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the pirate hordes that +wander</span><br> +Shall never profane the sacred sod<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of those beautiful isles out +yonder.</span><br> +<br> +Never a spell shall blight our vines,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor Sirius blaze above +us,</span><br> +But you and I shall drink our wines<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And sing to the loved that love +us.</span><br> +<br> +So come with me where Fortune smiles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the gods invite +devotion,—</span><br> +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the haze of that far-off +ocean!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='CONSISTENCY'></a> +<h2>CONSISTENCY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Consistency"> +<tr> +<td>Should painter attach to a fair human head<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The thick, turgid neck of a +stallion,</span><br> +Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a bass,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I am sure you would guy the +rapscallion.</span><br> +<br> +Believe me, dear Pisos, that just such a freak<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is the crude and preposterous +poem</span><br> +Which merely abounds in a torrent of sounds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With no depth of reason below +'em.</span><br> +<br> +'T is all very well to give license to art,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The wisdom of license defend +I;</span><br> +But the line should be drawn at the fripperish spawn<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of a mere <i>cacoethes +scribendi</i>.</span><br> +<br> +It is too much the fashion to strain at effects,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Yes, that's what's the matter with +Hannah!</span><br> +Our popular taste, by the tyros debased,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Paints each barnyard a grove of +Diana!</span><br> +<br> +Should a patron require you to paint a marine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Would you work in some trees with +their barks on?</span><br> +When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Would you give him a pitcher like +Clarkson?</span><br> +<br> +Now, this is my moral: Compose what you may,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And Fame will be ever far +distant</span><br> +Unless you combine with a simple design<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A treatment in toto +consistent.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_POSTUMUS'></a> +<h2>TO POSTUMUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Postumus"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>O Postumus, my Postumus, the years are gliding past,<br> +And piety will never check the wrinkles coming fast,<br> +The ravages of time old age's swift advance has made,<br> +And death, which unimpeded comes to bear us to the shade.</p> + +<p>Old friend, although the tearless Pluto you may strive to +please,<br> +And seek each year with thrice one hundred bullocks to appease,<br> +Who keeps the thrice-huge Geryon and Tityus his slaves,<br> +Imprisoned fast forevermore with cold and sombre waves,</p> + +<p>Yet must that flood so terrible be sailed by mortals all;<br> +Whether perchance we may be kings and live in royal hall,<br> +Or lowly peasants struggling long with poverty and dearth,<br> +Still must we cross who live upon the favors of the earth.</p> + +<p>And all in vain from bloody war and contest we are free,<br> +And from the waves that hoarsely break upon the Adrian Sea;<br> +For our frail bodies all in vain our helpless terror grows<br> +In gloomy autumn seasons, when the baneful south wind blows.</p> + +<p>Alas! the black Cocytus, wandering to the world below,<br> +That languid river to behold we of this earth must go;<br> +To see the grim Danaides, that miserable race,<br> +And Sisyphus of Æolus, condemned to endless chase.</p> + +<p>Behind you must you leave your home and land and wife so +dear,<br> +And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, you rear,<br> +And which around the funeral piles as signs of mourning grow,<br> +Not one will follow you, their short-lived master, there below.</p> + +<p>Your worthier heir the precious Cæcuban shall drink +galore,<br> +Now with a hundred keys preserved and guarded in your store,<br> +And stain the pavements, pouring out in waste the nectar proud,<br> +Better than that with which the pontiffs' feasts have been +endowed.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_I'></a> +<h2>TO MISTRESS PYRRHA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Mistress Pyrrha I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With smiles for diet,</span><br> +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>On the quiet?</span><br> +For whom do you bind up your tresses,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>As spun-gold +yellow,—</span><br> +Meshes that go with your caresses,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>To snare a fellow?</span><br> +<br> +How will he rail at fate capricious,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And curse you duly,</span><br> +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'><i>You</i> perfect, +truly!</span><br> +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>He'll soon fall in +there!</span><br> +Then shall I gloat on his commotion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>For <i>I</i> have been +there!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_II'></a> +<h2>TO MISTRESS PYRRHA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Mistress Pyrrha II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>What dainty boy with sweet perfumes bedewed<br> +Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave?<br> +For whom amid the roses, many-hued,<br> +Do you bind back your tresses' yellow wave?</p> + +<p>How oft will he deplore your fickle whim,<br> +And wonder at the storm and roughening deeps,<br> +Who now enjoys you, all in all to him,<br> +And dreams of you, whose only thoughts he keeps.</p> + +<p>Wretched are they to whom you seem so fair;—<br> +That I escaped the storms, the gods be praised!<br> +My dripping garments, offered with a prayer,<br> +Stand as a tablet to the sea-god raised.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MELPOMENE'></a> +<h2>TO MELPOMENE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Melpomene"> +<tr> +<td>Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared:<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come, tempests, with your +bitterness assailing;</span><br> +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal +feared,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Thy buffets and thy rage are +unavailing!</span><br> +<br> +I shall not altogether die: by far my greater part<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall mock man's common fate in +realms infernal;</span><br> +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My works shall be my monument +eternal!</span><br> +<br> +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our +fanes,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Mankind with grateful hearts shall +tell the story</span><br> +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>First raised the native lyric muse +to glory.</span><br> +<br> +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And, with thine own dear hand the +meed supplying,</span><br> +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame +undying!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_PHYLLIS_I'></a> +<h2>TO PHYLLIS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Phyllis I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That fairly reeks with precious +juices,</span><br> +And in your tresses you shall twine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The loveliest flowers this vale +produces.</span><br> + <br> +My cottage wears a gracious smile;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The altar, decked in floral +glory,</span><br> +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As though it pined for honors +gory.</span><br> + <br> +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The boys agog, the maidens +snickering;</span><br> +And savory smells possess the air,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As skyward kitchen flames are +flickering.</span><br> + <br> +You ask what means this grand display,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This festive throng and goodly +diet?</span><br> +Well, since you're bound to have your way,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I don't mind telling, on the +quiet.</span><br> + <br> +'T is April 13, as you know,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A day and month devote to +Venus,</span><br> +Whereon was born, some years ago,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My very worthy friend, +Mæcenas.</span><br> + <br> +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your friends agree he doesn't love +you.</span><br> +The way he flirts convinces us<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>He really is not worthy of +you.</span><br> + <br> +Aurora's son, unhappy lad!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You know the fate that overtook +him?</span><br> +And Pegasus a rider had,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I say he <i>had</i>, before he +shook him!</span><br> + <br> +<i>Hoc docet</i> (as you must agree)<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>'T is meet that Phyllis should +discover</span><br> +A wisdom in preferring me,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And mittening every other +lover.</span><br> + <br> +So come, O Phyllis, last and best<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of loves with which this heart's +been smitten,</span><br> +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And let your songs be those +<i>I've</i> written.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_PHYLLIS_II'></a> +<h2>TO PHYLLIS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Phyllis II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine,<br> +The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine,<br> +And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair,<br> +And ivy in profusion to bind up your shining hair.</p> + +<p>Now smiles the house with silver; the altar, laurel-bound,<br> +Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to drip around;<br> +The company is hurrying, boys and maidens with the rest;<br> +The flames are flickering as they whirl the dark smoke on their +crest.</p> + +<p>Yet you must know the joys to which you have been summoned +here<br> +To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born Venus dear,—<br> +Ah, festal day more sacred than my own fair day of birth,<br> +Since from its dawn my loved Mæcenas counts his years of +earth.</p> + +<p>A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited to her mind,<br> +The Telephus whom you desire,—a youth not of your kind.<br> +She holds him bound with pleasing chains, the fetters of her +charms,—<br> +Remember how scorched Phaëthon ambitious hopes alarms.</p> + +<p>The winged Pegasus the rash Bellerophon has chafed,<br> +To you a grave example for reflection has vouchsafed,—<br> +Always to follow what is meet, and never try to catch<br> +That which is not allowed to you, an inappropriate match.</p> + +<p>Come now, sweet Phyllis, of my loves the last, and hence the +best<br> +(For nevermore shall other girls inflame this manly breast);<br> +Learn loving measures to rehearse as we may stroll along,<br> +And dismal cares shall fly away and vanish at your song.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_CHLOE_I'></a> +<h2>TO CHLOE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Chloe I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That, fearful of the breezes and +the wood,</span><br> +Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And on the pathless mountain tops +has stood?</span><br> +<br> +Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Her sinking knees with nameless +terrors shake,—</span><br> +Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or the green lizards stir the +slumbering brake.</span><br> +<br> +I do not follow with a tigerish thought,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or with the fierce Gætulian +lion's quest;</span><br> +So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Full ripe to nestle on a husband's +breast.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_CHLOE_II'></a> +<h2>TO CHLOE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Chloe II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +Chloe, you shun me like a hind<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That, seeking vainly for her +mother,</span><br> +Hears danger in each breath of wind,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And wildly darts this way and t' +other;</span><br> +<br> +Whether the breezes sway the wood<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or lizards scuttle through the +brambles,</span><br> +She starts, and off, as though pursued,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The foolish, frightened creature +scrambles.</span><br> +<br> +But, Chloe, you're no infant thing<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That should esteem a man an +ogre;</span><br> +Let go your mother's apron-string,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And pin your faith upon a +toga!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name="A_PARAPHRASE"></a> +<h4>III</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="A Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td>How happens it, my cruel miss,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You're always giving me the +mitten?</span><br> +You seem to have forgotten this:<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That you no longer are a +kitten!</span><br> +<br> +A woman that has reached the years<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of that which people call +discretion</span><br> +Should put aside all childish fears<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And see in courtship no +transgression.</span><br> +<br> +A mother's solace may be sweet,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But Hymen's tenderness is +sweeter;</span><br> +And though all virile love be meet,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You'll find the poet's love is +metre.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='ANOTHER_PARAPHRASE'></a> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE, CIRCA 1715</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="Another Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Since Chloe is so monstrous fair,<br> +With such an eye and such an air,<br> +What wonder that the world complains<br> +When she each am'rous suit disdains?</p> + +<p>Close to her mother's side she clings,<br> +And mocks the death her folly brings<br> +To gentle swains that feel the smarts<br> +Her eyes inflict upon their hearts.</p> + +<p>Whilst thus the years of youth go by,<br> +Shall Colin languish, Strephon die?<br> +Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate,<br> +And choose him ere it be too late!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_THIRD_PARAPHRASE'></a> +<h4>V</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE, BY DR. I.W.</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="A Third Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td>Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bother<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With prattlings and with vain +ado</span><br> +Your worthy and industrious mother,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Eschewing them that come to +woo?</span><br> +<br> +Oh, that the awful truth might quicken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This stern conviction to your +breast:</span><br> +You are no longer now a chicken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Too young to quit the parent +nest.</span><br> +<br> +So put aside your froward carriage,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And fix your thoughts, whilst yet +there's time,</span><br> +Upon the righteousness of marriage<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With some such godly man as +I'm.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_FOURTH_PARAPHRASE'></a> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE, BY CHAUCER</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="A Fourth Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken,<br> +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken;<br> +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding<br> +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding.<br> +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder<br> +For to beare swete company with some oder;<br> +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth,<br> +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth;<br> +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes<br> +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys;<br> +But all that do with gode men wed full quicklye<br> +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MAECENAS_II'></a> +<h2>TO MÆCENAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Maecenas"> +<tr> +<td>Than you, O valued friend of mine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A better patron <i>non +est</i>!</span><br> +Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You'll find it poor but +honest.</span><br> +<br> +I put it up that famous day<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You patronized the +ballet,</span><br> +And the public cheered you such a way<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As shook your native +valley.</span><br> +<br> +Cæcuban and the Calean brand<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>May elsewhere claim +attention;</span><br> +But <i>I</i> have none of these on hand,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For reasons I'll not +mention.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='ENVOY'></a> +<h2>ENVOY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Envoy"> +<tr> +<td>So, come! though favors I bestow<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Cannot be called +extensive,</span><br> +Who better than my friend should know<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That they're at least +expensive?</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_BARINE'></a> +<h2>TO BARINE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Barine"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken,<br> +A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you;<br> +If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger<br> +Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you.</p> + +<p>But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is,<br> +Your head with the vows of untruth,<br> +Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming,<br> +You come forth beloved of our youth.</p> + +<p>It is advantageous, but no less outrageous,<br> +Your poor mother's ashes to cheat;<br> +While the gods of creation and each constellation<br> +You seem to regard as your meat.</p> + +<p>Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it;<br> +The good-natured nymphs merely smile;<br> +And Cupid is merry,—'t is humorous, very,—<br> +And sharpens his arrows the while.</p> + +<p>Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking,<br> +A new band is joined to the old;<br> +While the horrified matrons your juvenile patrons<br> +In vain would bring back to the fold.</p> + +<p>The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mellows<br> +Confess to a dread of your house;<br> +But a more pressing duty, in view of your beauty,<br> +Is the young wife's concern for her spouse.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_RECONCILIATION_I'></a> +<h2>THE RECONCILIATION</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="The Reconciliation I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h5>HE</h5> + +When you were mine, in auld lang syne,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And when none else your charms +might ogle,</span><br> +I'll not deny, fair nymph, that I<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Was happier than a heathen +mogul.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>SHE</h5> + +Before <i>she</i> came, that rival flame<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(Had ever mater saucier +filia?),</span><br> +In those good times, bepraised in rhymes,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I was more famed than Mother +Ilia.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HE</h5> + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Does she at song or harp employ +her!</span><br> +I'd gladly die, if only I<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Could live forever to enjoy +her!</span><br> +<br> +<h5>SHE</h5> + +My Sybaris so noble is<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That, by the gods, I love him +madly!</span><br> +That I might save him from the grave,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'd give my life, and give it +gladly!</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HE</h5> + +What if <i>ma belle</i> from favor fell,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And I made up my mind to shake +her;</span><br> +Would Lydia then come back again,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And to her quondam love betake +her?</span><br> +<br> +<h5>SHE</h5> + +My other beau should surely go,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And you alone should find me +gracious;</span><br> +For no one slings such odes and things<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As does the lauriger +Horatius!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_RECONCILIATION_II'></a> +<h2>THE RECONCILIATION</h2> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="The Reconciliation II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h5>HORACE</h5> + +While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Around thy snowy neck his folding +arms was wont to fling;</span><br> +As long as I remained your love, acceptable and pleasing,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I lived a life of happiness beyond +the Persian king.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>LYDIA</h5> + +While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unreserved opinion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And for no other cherished thou a +brighter, livelier flame,</span><br> +I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole dominion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Surpassed the Roman Ilia in +eminence of fame.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HORACE</h5> + +'T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accomplishments inthrall +me,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>So sweet in modulations, such a +mistress of the lyre.</span><br> +In truth the fates, however terrible, could not appall me;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>If they would spare her, sweet my +soul, I gladly would expire.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>LYDIA</h5> + +And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, inflames me<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With mutual, restless passion and +an all-consuming fire;</span><br> +And if the fates, however dread, would spare the youth who claims +me,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Not only once would I face death, +but gladly twice expire.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HORACE</h5> + +What if our early love returns to prove we were mistaken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And bind with brazen yoke the +twain, to part, ah! nevermore?</span><br> +What if the charming Chloe of the golden locks be shaken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And slighted Lydia again glide +through the open door?</span><br> +<br> +<h5>LYDIA</h5> + +Though he is fairer than the star that shines so far above you,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Thou lighter than a cork, more +stormy than the Adrian Sea,</span><br> +Still should I long to live with you, to live for you and love +you,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And cheerfully see death's approach +if thou wert near to me.</span><br> + </td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_ROASTING_OF_LYDIA'></a> +<h2>THE ROASTING OF LYDIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Roasting of Lydia"> +<tr> +<td>No more your needed rest at night<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By ribald youth is +troubled;</span><br> +No more your windows, fastened tight,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Yield to their knocks +redoubled.</span><br> +<br> +No longer you may hear them cry,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>"Why art thou, Lydia, +lying</span><br> +In heavy sleep till morn is nigh,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>While I, your love, am +dying?"</span><br> +<br> +Grown old and faded, you bewail<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The rake's insulting +sally,</span><br> +While round your home the Thracian gale<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Storms through the lonely +alley.</span><br> +<br> +What furious thoughts will fill your breast,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>What passions, fierce and +tinglish</span><br> +(Cannot be properly expressed<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In calm, reposeful +English).</span><br> +<br> +Learn this, and hold your carping tongue:<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Youth will be found +rejoicing</span><br> +In ivy green and myrtle young,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The praise of fresh life +voicing;</span><br> +<br> +And not content to dedicate,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With much protesting +shiver,</span><br> +The sapless leaves to winter's mate,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Hebrus, the cold dark +river.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_GLYCERA'></a> +<h2>TO GLYCERA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Glycera"> +<tr> +<td>The cruel mother of the Loves,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And other Powers +offended,</span><br> +Have stirred my heart, where newly roves<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The passion that was +ended.</span><br> +<br> +'T is Glycera, to boldness prone,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whose radiant beauty fires +me;</span><br> +While fairer than the Parian stone<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Her dazzling face inspires +me.</span><br> +<br> +And on from Cyprus Venus speeds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Forbidding—ah! the +pity—</span><br> +The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And such irrelevant +ditty.</span><br> +<br> +Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Have bowls of wine +adjacent;</span><br> +And ere our sacrifice is through<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>She may be more +complaisant.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LYDIA_I'></a> +<h2>TO LYDIA</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="To Lydia I"> +<tr> +<td>When, Lydia, you (once fond and true,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But now grown cold and +supercilious)</span><br> +Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Well, by the dog! it makes me +bilious!</span><br> +<br> +Then with despite my cheeks wax white,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My doddering brain gets weak and +giddy,</span><br> +My eyes o'erflow with tears which show<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That passion melts my vitals, +Liddy!</span><br> +<br> +Deny, false jade, your escapade,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And, lo! your wounded shoulders +show it!</span><br> +No manly spark left such a mark—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Leastwise he surely was no +poet!</span><br> +<br> +With savage buss did Telephus<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Abraid your lips, so plump and +mellow;</span><br> +As you would save what Venus gave,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I charge you shun that awkward +fellow!</span><br> +<br> +And now I say thrice happy they<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That call on Hymen to requite +'em;</span><br> +For, though love cools, the wedded fools<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Must cleave till death doth +disunite 'em.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LYDIA_II'></a> +<h2>TO LYDIA</h2> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="To Lydia II"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>When praising Telephus you sing<br> +His rosy neck and waxen arms,<br> +Forgetful of the pangs that wring<br> +This heart for my neglected charms,</p> + +<p>Soft down my cheek the tear-drop flows,<br> +My color comes and goes the while,<br> +And my rebellious liver glows,<br> +And fiercely swells with laboring bile.</p> + +<p>Perchance yon silly, passionate youth,<br> +Distempered by the fumes of wine,<br> +Has marred your shoulder with his tooth,<br> +Or scarred those rosy lips of thine.</p> + +<p>Be warned; he cannot faithful prove,<br> +Who, with the cruel kiss you prize,<br> +Has hurt the little mouth I love,<br> +Where Venus's own nectar lies.</p> + +<p>Whom golden links unbroken bind,<br> +Thrice happy—more than thrice are they;<br> +And constant, both in heart and mind,<br> +In love await the final day.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_QUINTIUS_HIRPINUS'></a> +<h2>TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Quintius Hirpinus"> +<tr> +<td>To Scythian and Cantabrian plots,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Pay them no heed, O +Quintius!</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>So long as we</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>From care are free,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Vexations cannot cinch +us.</span><br> +<br> +Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Speed hand in hand +together;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The songs we sing</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>In time of spring</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Are hushed in wintry +weather.</span><br> +<br> +Why, even flow'rs change with the hours,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the moon has divers +phases;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And shall the mind</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Be racked to find</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A clew to Fortune's +mazes?</span><br> +<br> +Nay; 'neath this tree let you and me<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Woo Bacchus to caress +us;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>We're old, 't is true,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>But still we two</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Are thoroughbreds, God bless +us!</span><br> +<br> +While the wine gets cool in yonder pool,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Let's spruce up nice and +tidy;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Who knows, old boy,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>But we may decoy</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The fair but furtive +Lyde?</span><br> +<br> +She can execute on her ivory lute<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Sonatas full of passion,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And she bangs her hair</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>(Which is passing fair)</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the good old Spartan +fashion.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='WINE_WOMEN_AND_SONG'></a> +<h2>WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Wine, Women, and Song"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Ovarus mine,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Plant thou the vine</span><br> +Within this kindly soil of Tibur;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Nor temporal woes,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Nor spiritual, knows</span><br> +The man who's a discreet imbiber.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>For who doth croak</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Of being broke,</span><br> +Or who of warfare, after drinking?<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With bowl atween us,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Of smiling Venus</span><br> +And Bacchus shall we sing, I'm thinking.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Of symptoms fell</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Which brawls impel,</span><br> +Historic data give us warning;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The wretch who fights</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>When full, of nights,</span><br> +Is bound to have a head next morning.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>I do not scorn</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>A friendly horn,</span><br> +But noisy toots, I can't abide 'em!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Your howling bat</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Is stale and flat</span><br> +To one who knows, because he's tried 'em!<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The secrets of</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The life I love</span><br> +(Companionship with girls and toddy)<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>I would not drag</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With drunken brag</span><br> +Into the ken of everybody;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>But in the shade</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Let some coy maid</span><br> +With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Then all day long,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With mirth and song,</span><br> +Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_ODE_TO_FORTUNE'></a> +<h2>AN ODE TO FORTUNE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Ode to Fortune"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I +call,</span><br> +Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown<br> +The veriest clod with riches and renown,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And change a triumph to a +funeral</span><br> +The tillers of the soil and they that vex the seas,<br> +Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Invoke thee, all.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of Dacian tribes, of roving +Scythian bands,</span><br> +Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red<br> +With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting dread;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Within thy path no human valor +stands,</span><br> +And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown<br> +The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely down<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From kingly hands.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Necessity precedes thee in thy +way;</span><br> +Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is seen<br> +Dancing attendance with obsequious mien;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But with what coward and abject +dismay</span><br> +The faithless crowd and treacherous wantons fly<br> +When once their jars of luscious wine run dry,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Such ingrates they!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Fortune, I call on thee to +bless</span><br> +Our king,—our Cæsar girt for foreign wars!<br> +Help him to heal these fratricidal scars<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That speak degenerate shame and +wickedness;</span><br> +And forge anew our impious spears and swords,<br> +Wherewith we may against barbarian hordes<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our Past redress!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_A_JAR_OF_WINE'></a> +<h2>TO A JAR OF WINE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To a Jar of Wine"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>O gracious jar,—my friend, my twin,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Born at the time when I was +born,—</span><br> +Whether tomfoolery you inspire<br> +Or animate with love's desire,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or flame the soul with bitter +scorn,</span><br> +Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come from your place this festal +day;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Corvinus hither wends his +way,</span><br> +And there's demand for wine!</p> + +<p>Corvinus is the sort of man<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who dotes on tedious +argument.</span><br> +An advocate, his ponderous pate<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is full of Blackstone and of +Kent;</span><br> +Yet not insensible is he,<br> +O genial Massic flood! to thee.<br> +Why, even Cato used to take<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A modest, surreptitious +nip</span><br> +At meal-times for his stomach's sake,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or to forefend la +grippe.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And bare the cruel knave's +design;</span><br> +How through thy fascinating arts<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We discount Hope, O gracious +wine!</span><br> +And passing rich the poor man feels<br> +As through his veins thy affluence steals.</p> + +<p>Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And plot full many a naughty +plot</span><br> +With damsels fair—nor shall we care<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whether school keeps or +not!</span><br> +And whilst thy charms hold out to burn<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We shall not deign to go to +bed,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But we shall paint creation +red;</span><br> +So, fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My lawyer friend, as +aforesaid.</span><br> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_POMPEIUS_VARUS'></a> +<h2>TO POMPEIUS VARUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Pompeius Varus"> +<tr> +<td>Pompey, what fortune gives you back<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To the friends and the gods who +love you?</span><br> +Once more you stand in your native land,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With your native sky above +you.</span><br> +Ah, side by side, in years agone,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We've faced tempestuous +weather,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>And often quaffed</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>The genial draught</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From the same canteen +together.</span><br> +<br> +When honor at Philippi fell<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A prey to brutal +passion,</span><br> +I regret to say that my feet ran away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In swift Iambic fashion.</span><br> +You were no poet; soldier born,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You stayed, nor did you wince +then.</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Mercury came</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>To my help, which same</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Has frequently saved me since +then.</span><br> +<br> +But now you're back, let's celebrate<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the good old way and +classic;</span><br> +Come, let us lard our skins with nard,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And bedew our souls with +Massic!</span><br> +With fillets of green parsley leaves<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our foreheads shall be done +up;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>And with song shall we</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Protract our spree</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Until the morrow's +sun-up.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_POETS_METAMORPHOSIS'></a> +<h2>THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Poet's Metamorphosis"> +<tr> +<td>Mæcenas, I propose to fly<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To realms beyond these human +portals;</span><br> +No common things shall be my wings,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But such as sprout upon +immortals.</span><br> +<br> +Of lowly birth, once shed of earth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your Horace, precious (so you've +told him),</span><br> +Shall soar away; no tomb of clay<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor Stygian prison-house shall hold +him.</span><br> +<br> +Upon my skin feathers begin<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To warn the songster of his +fleeting;</span><br> +But never mind, I leave behind<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Songs all the world shall keep +repeating.</span><br> +<br> +Lo! Boston girls, with corkscrew curls,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And husky westerns, wild and +woolly,</span><br> +And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And all profess to know me +fully.</span><br> +<br> +Methinks the West shall know me best,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And therefore hold my memory +dearer;</span><br> +For by that lake a bard shall make<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My subtle, hidden meanings +clearer.</span><br> +<br> +So cherished, I shall never die;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Pray, therefore, spare your +dolesome praises,</span><br> +Your elegies, and plaintive cries,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For I shall fertilize no +daisies!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_VENUS'></a> +<h2>TO VENUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Venus"> +<tr> +<td>Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Desert that Cyprus way off +yonder,</span><br> +And fare you hence, where with incense<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My Glycera would have you +fonder;</span><br> +And to your joy bring hence your boy,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Graces with unbelted +laughter,</span><br> +The Nymphs, and Youth,—then, then, in sooth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Should Mercury come tagging +after.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_I'></a> +<h2>IN THE SPRINGTIME</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="In the Springtime I"> +<tr> +<td>'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The breezes, loitering kindly +over</span><br> +The fields, again bring herds and men<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The grateful cheer of honeyed +clover.</span><br> +<br> +Now Venus hither leads her train;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Nymphs and Graces join in +orgies;</span><br> +The moon is bright, and by her light<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Old Vulcan kindles up his +forges.</span><br> +<br> +Bind myrtle now about your brow,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And weave fair flowers in maiden +tresses;</span><br> +Appease god Pan, who, kind to man,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our fleeting life with affluence +blesses;</span><br> +<br> +But let the changing seasons mind us,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That Death's the certain doom of +mortals,—</span><br> +Grim Death, who waits at humble gates,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And likewise stalks through kingly +portals.</span><br> +<br> +Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Enfold you with their hideous +seemings;</span><br> +Then love and mirth and joys of earth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall fade away like fevered +dreamings.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_II'></a> +<h2>IN THE SPRINGTIME</h2> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="In the Springtime II"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the +bay,<br> +And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away.<br> +No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight;<br> +No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white.</p> + +<p>Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead the dance,<br> +While from above the kindly moon gives an approving glance;<br> +The Nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir,<br> +And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire.</p> + +<p>Now it is time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate,<br> +And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate;<br> +To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we rely,<br> +A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify.</p> + +<p>Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike;<br> +The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike.<br> +O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond the common run,<br> +Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun.</p> + +<p>The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon the grip.<br> +Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor taste the wine you +sip;<br> +Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty you commend,<br> +To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_A_BULLY'></a> +<h2>TO A BULLY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To a Bully"> +<tr> +<td>You, blatant coward that you are,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Upon the helpless vent your +spite.</span><br> +Suppose you ply your trade on me;<br> +Come, monkey with this bard, and see<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How I'll repay your bark with +bite!</span><br> +<br> +Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And I shall hound you far and +wide,</span><br> +As fiercely as through drifted snow<br> +The shepherd dog pursues what foe<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Skulks on the Spartan +mountain-side.</span><br> +<br> +The chip is on my shoulder—see?<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But touch it and I'll raise your +fur;</span><br> +I'm full of business, so beware!<br> +For, though I'm loaded up for bear,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'm quite as like to kill a +cur!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MOTHER_VENUS'></a> +<h2>TO MOTHER VENUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Mother Venus"> +<tr> +<td>O mother Venus, quit, I pray,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your violent assailing!</span><br> +The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>At last are unavailing;</span><br> +My blood runs cold, I'm getting old,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And all my powers are +failing.</span><br> +<br> +Speed thou upon thy white swans' wings,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And elsewhere deign to +mellow</span><br> +With thy soft arts the anguished hearts<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of swains that writhe and +bellow;</span><br> +And right away seek out, I pray,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Young Paullus,—he's your +fellow!</span><br> +<br> +You'll find young Paullus passing fair,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Modest, refined, and +tony;</span><br> +Go, now, incite the favored wight!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With Venus for a crony</span><br> +He'll outshine all at feast and ball<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And conversazione!</span><br> +<br> +Then shall that godlike nose of thine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With perfumes be +requited,</span><br> +And then shall prance in Salian dance<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The girls and boys +delighted,</span><br> +And while the lute blends with the flute<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall tender loves be +plighted.</span><br> +<br> +But as for me, as you can see,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'm getting old and +spiteful.</span><br> +I have no mind to female kind,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That once I deemed +delightful;</span><br> +No more brim up the festive cup<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That sent me home at night +full.</span><br> +<br> +Why do I falter in my speech,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>O cruel Ligurine?</span><br> +Why do I chase from place to place<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In weather wet and +shiny?</span><br> +Why down my nose forever flows<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The tear that's cold and +briny?</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LYDIA_III'></a> +<h2>TO LYDIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Lydia"> +<tr> +<td>Tell me, Lydia, tell me why,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By the gods that dwell +above,</span><br> +Sybaris makes haste to die<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Through your cruel, fatal +love.</span><br> +<br> +Now he hates the sunny plain;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Once he loved its dust and +heat.</span><br> +Now no more he leads the train<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of his peers on coursers +fleet.</span><br> +<br> +Now he dreads the Tiber's touch,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And avoids the +wrestling-rings,—</span><br> +He who formerly was such<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>An expert with quoits and +things.</span><br> +<br> +Come, now, Mistress Lydia, say<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Why your Sybaris lies +hid,</span><br> +Why he shuns the martial play,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As we're told Achilles +did.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_NEOBULE'></a> +<h2>TO NEOBULE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Neobule"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing,<br> +Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors +showing,<br> +For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing!</p> + +<p>Sweet Cytherea's winged boy deprives you of your spinning,<br> +And Hebrus, Neobule, his sad havoc is beginning,<br> +Just as Minerva thriftily gets ready for an inning.</p> + +<p>Who could resist this gallant youth, as Tiber's waves he +breasted,<br> +Or when the palm of riding from Bellerophon he wrested,<br> +Or when with fists and feet the sluggers easily he bested?</p> + +<p>He shot the fleeing stags with regularity surprising;<br> +The way he intercepted boars was quite beyond surmising,—<br> +No wonder that your thoughts this youth has been monopolizing!</p> + +<p>So I repeat that with these maids fate is unkindly dealing,<br> +Who never can in love's affair give license to their feeling,<br> +Or share those sweet emotions when a gentle jag is stealing.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AT_THE_BALL_GAME'></a> +<h2>AT THE BALL GAME</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="At the Ball Game"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>What gods or heroes, whose brave deeds none can dispute,<br> +Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and flute?<br> +What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant a place<br> +On Pindus' crown or Helicon's cool, shadowy space?</p> + +<p>Sing not, my Orpheus, sweeping oft the tuneful strings,<br> +Of gliding streams and nimble winds and such poor things;<br> +But lend your measures to a theme of noble thought,<br> +And crown with laurel these great heroes, as you ought.</p> + +<p>Now steps Ryanus forth at call of furious Mars,<br> +And from his oaken staff the sphere speeds to the stars;<br> +And now he gains the tertiary goal, and turns,<br> +While whiskered balls play round the timid staff of Burns.</p> + +<p>Lo! from the tribunes on the bleachers comes a shout,<br> +Beseeching bold Ansonius to line 'em out;<br> +And as Apollo's flying chariot cleaves the sky,<br> +So stanch Ansonius lifts the frightened ball on high.</p> + +<p>Like roar of ocean beating on the Cretan cliff,<br> +The strong Komiske gives the panting sphere a biff;<br> +And from the tribunes rise loud murmurs everywhere,<br> +When twice and thrice Mikellius beats the mocking air.</p> + +<p>And as Achilles' fleet the Trojan waters sweeps,<br> +So horror sways the throng,—Pfefferius sleeps!<br> +And stalwart Konnor, though by Mercury inspired,<br> +The Equus Carolus defies, and is retired.</p> + +<p>So waxes fierce the strife between these godlike men;<br> +And as the hero's fame grows by Virgilian pen,<br> +So let Clarksonius Maximus be raised to heights<br> +As far above the moon as moon o'er lesser lights.</p> + +<p>But as for me, the ivy leaf is my reward,<br> +If you a place among the lyric bards accord;<br> +With crest exalted, and O "People," with delight,<br> +I'll proudly strike the stars, and so be out of sight.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='EPILOGUE'></a> +<h2>EPILOGUE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Epilogue"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>The day is done; and, lo! the shades<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Melt 'neath Diana's mellow +grace.</span><br> +Hark, how those deep, designing maids<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Feign terror in this sylvan +place!</span><br> +Come, friends, it's time that we should go;<br> +We're honest married folk, you know.</p> + +<p>Was not the wine delicious cool<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile +enhanced?</span><br> +And by that clear Bandusian pool<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How gayly Chloe sung and +danced!</span><br> +And Lydia Die,—aha, methinks<br> +You'll not forget the saucy minx!</p> + +<p>But, oh, the echoes of those songs<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That soothed our cares and lulled +our hearts!</span><br> +Not to that age nor this belongs<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The glory of what heaven-born +arts</span><br> +Speak with the old distinctive charm<br> +From yonder humble Sabine farm!</p> + +<p>The day is done. Now off to bed,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Lest by some rural ruse +surprised,</span><br> +And by those artful girls misled,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You two be sadly +compromised.</span><br> +<i>You</i> go; perhaps <i>I</i>'d better stay<br> +To shoo the giddy things away!</p> + +<p>But sometime we shall meet again<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Beside Digentia, cool and +clear,—</span><br> +You and we twain, old friend; and then<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We'll have our fill of pagan +cheer.</span><br> +Then, could old Horace join us three,<br> +How proud and happy he would be!</p> + +<p>Or if we part to meet no more<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This side the misty Stygian +Sea,</span><br> +Be sure of this: on yonder shore<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Sweet cheer awaiteth such as +we;</span><br> +A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,—<br> +The fellowship that knows no end!</p> + +<p>E.F.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13885 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/13885-h/images/image01.jpg b/13885-h/images/image01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f0a618 --- /dev/null +++ b/13885-h/images/image01.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e8b428 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13885 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13885) diff --git a/old/13885-8.txt b/old/13885-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..49ff0f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13885-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2827 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Echoes from the Sabine Farm, by Roswell +Martin Field and Eugene Field + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Echoes from the Sabine Farm + +Author: Roswell Martin Field and Eugene Field + +Release Date: October 27, 2004 [eBook #13885] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi, Leah Moser, and +the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +The Writings in Prose and Verse of Eugene Field + +ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM + +by + +ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD AND EUGENE FIELD + +1899 + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +One Sunday evening in the winter of 1890 Eugene Field and the writer +were walking in Lake View, Chicago, on their way to visit the library of +a common friend, when the subject of publishing a book for Field came up +for discussion. + +The Little Book of Western Verse and The Little Book of Profitable Tales +had been privately printed the year before at Chicago, and Field had +been frequently reminded that the writer was ready and willing to stand +sponsor for any new volume he, Field, might desire to bring out. + +"The only thing I have on hand that might make a book," said Field, "are +some few paraphrases of the Odes of Horace which my brother, 'Rose,' and +I have been fooling over, and which, truth to tell, are certainly freely +rendered. There are not enough of them, but we'll do some more, and I'll +add a brief Life of Horace as a preface or introduction." + +It is to be regretted that Field never carried out his intention with +respect to this last, for he had given much thought and study to the +great Roman satirist, and what Eugene Field could have said upon the +subject must have been of interest. It is my belief that as he thought +upon the matter it grew too great for him to handle within the space he +had at first determined, and that tucked away within the recesses of his +literary intentions was the determination, nullified by his early death, +to write, _con amore_, a life of Quintus Horatius Flaccus. + +This determination to write separately an extended account of Horace +greatly reduced the bulk of the material intended for the Sabine Echoes, +and it was with respect to this that Field apologetically and, as was +his wont, humorously wrote: + +"The volume may be rather thin _in corpore_, but think how hefty it will +be intellectually." + +When it came to the discussion of how many copies should be printed it +was suggested that the edition be an exceedingly limited one, in order +to cause as much scrambling and heartburning as possible among our +bibliophilic brethren. And never shall I forget the seriousness of the +man's face, nor the roars of laughter that followed, when he suggested +that fifty copies only should be made, and that we should reserve one +each and burn the other forty-eight! + +It was a biting cold night and we had been loitering by the way, +stopping to debate each point as it arose--but now we plunged on with +excess of motion to keep ourselves warm, breaking out with occasional +peals of laughter as we thought of our plan to make the publication what +the booksellers call "excessively rare." + +Field, elsewhere, has said he did not know why the original intention as +to the destruction of the forty-eight copies was not carried out, but +the answer is not far away. As the time for publication approached it +was found impossible that such and such a friend should be forgotten in +the matter of a copy, and so it went on until it was deemed prudent to +add fifty to the number originally intended to be issued, and that +decision, in the light of what followed, proved to be an eminently wise +one. More than once some to me unknown friend of Field would write a +pleasant lie as a reason to gain possession of the book, and up in a +corner of the letter would be found an endorsement of the request after +this fashion: + + What's writ below + I'd have you know + Nor falsehood nor romance is; + It's solemn truth, + So grant the youth + The boon he seeks, dear Francis. + + EUGENE FIELD. + +It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, however flimsy the pretext upon +which the request for a copy was made, it never failed of its object if +it brought with it Field's endorsement. Among many pleasant utterances +on this subject Field has said that but for the writer the Horatian +verses would not have been given to the world--and this has been taken +to mean more than was intended, and much unearned praise has been +bestowed. But, in allusion to the original issue of the Odes, Field +added, "in this charming guise," which places quite another construction +upon the matter. + +It may be that the enthusiasm displayed not only pleased Field, and +incited him and his brother Roswell to perform that which, otherwise, +might have been indefinitely deferred, but there is no question but that +they intended to publish the Horatian odes at some time or another. +Field was greatly delighted with the reception of this work, and I once +heard him say it would outlive all his other books. He came naturally by +his love of the classics. His father was a splendid scholar who obliged +his sons to correspond with him in Latin. Field's favorite ode was the +Bandusian Spring, the paraphrasing of which in the styles of the various +writers of different periods gave him genuine joy and is perhaps the +choice bit of the collection. The Echoes from the Sabine Farm was the +most ambitious work Field had attempted up to the time of its issue. He +was not at all sure that the public for whom he wrote, what following he +then felt was his own, would accept his efforts in this direction with +any sort of acclaim. Unquestionably, Field, at all times, believed in +himself and in his power ultimately to make a name, as every man must +who achieves success, but he was as far from believing that the public +would accept him as an interpreter of Horatian odes as was Edward +Fitzgerald with respect to Omar Khayyám. In short, he looked upon his +work in the original publication of Echoes from the Sabine Farm as a +labor of love--an effort from which some reputation might come, but +certainly no monetary remuneration. It was because he so regarded it +that he permitted the work to be first issued under the bolstering +influence of a patron. It was, so he thought, an excellent opportunity +to show his friends and acquaintances that his Pegasus was capable of +soaring to classic heights, and he little dreamed that the paraphrasing +of the Odes of Horace over which "Rose and I have been fooling" would be +required for a _popular_ edition. With the announcement of the Scribner +edition of The Sabine Echoes came also the intelligence of Field's +death. + +I have found people who were somewhat puzzled as to the exact intentions +of the Fields with respect to these translations and paraphrases. +However, there can be no chance for mistake even to the veriest +embryonic reader of Horace, if he will but remember that, while some of +these transcriptions are indeed very faithful reproductions or +adaptations of the original, others again are to be accepted as the very +riot of burlesque verse-making. + +The last stanza in the epilogue of this book reads: + + Or if we part to meet no more +This side the misty Stygian river, + Be sure of this: On yonder shore +Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we-- + A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend-- +And fellowship that knows no end. + +FRANCIS WILSON. + +January 22, 1896. + + + + +TO M.L. GRAY. + +Come, dear old friend, and with us twain + To calm Digentian groves repair; +The turtle coos his sweet refrain + And posies are a-blooming there; +And there the romping Sabine girls +Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls. + +I know a certain ilex-tree + Whence leaps a fountain cool and clear. +Its voices summon you and me; + Come, let us haste to share its cheer! +Methinks the rapturous song it sings +Should woo our thoughts from mortal things. + +But, good old friend, I charge thee well, + Watch thou my brother all the while, +Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell + Round him unschooled in female guile. +Those damsels have no charms for me; +Guard thou that brother,--I'll guard thee! + +And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup, + Round which the garlands intertwine; +With Massic it is foaming up, + And we would drink to thee and thine. +And of the draught thou shalt partake, +Who lov'st us for our father's sake. + +Hark you! from yonder Sabine farm + Echo the songs of long ago, +With power to soothe and grace to charm + What ills humanity may know; +With that sweet music in the air, +'T is Love and Summer everywhere. + +So, though no grief consumes our lot + (Since all our lives have been discreet), +Come, in this consecrated spot, + Let's see if pagan cheer be sweet. +Now, then, the songs; but, first, more wine. +The gods be with you, friends of mine! + +E.F. + + + + +The Contents of this Book + +WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD + +TO M.L. GRAY E.F. +AN INVITATION TO MÆCENAS. Odes, III. 29 E.F. +CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED. Odes, III. 15 R.M.F. +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. Odes, III. 13 E.F. +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. R.M.F. +THE PREFERENCE DECLARED. Odes, I. 38 E.F. +A TARDY APOLOGY. I. Epode XIV R.M.F. +A TARDY APOLOGY. II. E.F. +TO THE SHIP OF STATE. Odes, I. 14 R.M.F. +QUITTING AGAIN. Odes, III. 26 E.F. +SAILOR AND SHADE. Odes, I. 28 E.F. +LET US HAVE PEACE. Odes, I. 27 E.F. +TO QUINTUS DELLIUS. Odes, II. 3 E.F. +POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS. Odes, II. 4 R.M.F. +TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS. Odes, I. 22 E.F. +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS. I. Odes, I. 33 E.F. +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS. II. R.M.F. +To MÆCENAS. Odes, I. 1 R.M.F. +TO HIS BOOK. Epistle XX R.M.F. +FAME _vs._ RICHES. Ars Poetica, line 323 E.F. +THE LYRIC MUSE. Ars Poetica, line 301 E.F. +A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC. Epode III. R.M.F. +AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE. Odes, II. 5 R.M.F. +AN APPEAL TO LYCE. Odes, IV. 13 R.M.F. +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE I. Odes, I. 9 E.F. +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE II. R.M.F. +TO DIANA. Odes, III. 22 R.M.F. +TO HIS LUTE. Odes, I. 32 E.F. +TO LEUCONÖE I. Odes, I. 11 R.M.F. +TO LEUCONÖE II. E.F. +TO LIGURINUS I. Odes, IV. 10 R.M.F. +TO LIGURINUS II. E.F. +THE HAPPY ISLES. Epode XIV. line 41 E.F. +CONSISTENCY. Ars Poetica E.F. +TO POSTUMUS. Odes, II. 14 R.M.F. +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA I. Odes, I. 5 E.F. +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA II. R.M.F. +TO MELPOMENE. Odes, III. 30 E.F. +TO PHYLLIS I. Odes, IV. 11. E.F. +TO PHYLLIS II. R.M.F. +TO CHLOE I. Odes, I. 23 R.M.F. +TO CHLOE II. E.F. + A PARAPHRASE. E.F. + ANOTHER PARAPHRASE. E.F. + A THIRD PARAPHRASE. E.F. + A FOURTH PARAPHRASE. E.F. +TO MÆCENAS. Odes, I. 20 E.F. +TO BARINE. Odes, II. 8 R.M.F. +THE RECONCILIATION. I. Odes, III. 9 E.F. +THE RECONCILIATION. II. R.M.F. +THE ROASTING OF LYDIA. Odes, I. 25 R.M.F. +TO GLYCERA. Odes, I. 19 R.M.F. +TO LYDIA. I. Odes, I. 13 E.F. +TO LYDIA. II. R.M.F. +TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS. Odes, II. 11 E.F. +WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG. Odes, I. 18 E.F. +AN ODE TO FORTUNE. Odes, I. 35 E.F. +TO A JAR OF WINE. Odes, III. 21 E.F. +TO POMPEIUS VARUS. Odes, II. 1 E.F. +THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS. Odes, II. 20 E.F. +TO VENUS. Odes, I. 30 E.F. +IN THE SPRINGTIME. I. Odes, I. 4 E.F. +IN THE SPRINGTIME. II. R.M.F. +TO A BULLY. Epode VI. E.F. +TO MOTHER VENUS. +TO LYDIA. Odes, I. 8 E.F. +TO NEOBULE. Odes, III. 12 R.M.F. +AT THE BALL GAME. Odes, V. 17. R.M.F. +EPILOGUE. E.F. + + + + + +AN INVITATION TO MÆCENAS + +Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask + Of wine solicits your attention; +And roses fair, to deck your hair, + And things too numerous to mention. +So tear yourself awhile away + From urban turmoil, pride, and splendor, +And deign to share what humble fare + And sumptuous fellowship I tender. +The sweet content retirement brings +Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings. + +The evil planets have combined + To make the weather hot and hotter; +By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams + Vainly of ice-cream soda-water. +And meanwhile you, defying heat, + With patriotic ardor ponder +On what old Rome essays at home, + And what her heathen do out yonder. +Mæcenas, no such vain alarm +Disturbs the quiet of this farm! + +God in His providence obscures + The goal beyond this vale of sorrow, +And smiles at men in pity when + They seek to penetrate the morrow. +With faith that all is for the best, + Let's bear what burdens are presented, +That we shall say, let come what may, + "We die, as we have lived, contented! +Ours is to-day; God's is the rest,-- +He doth ordain who knoweth best." + +Dame Fortune plays me many a prank. + When she is kind, oh, how I go it! +But if again she's harsh,--why, then + I am a very proper poet! +When favoring gales bring in my ships, + I hie to Rome and live in clover; +Elsewise I steer my skiff out here, + And anchor till the storm blows over. +Compulsory virtue is the charm +Of life upon the Sabine farm! + + + + +CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED + +Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear; +The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more _savoir faire_. +A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door, +Should not play with the girly girls, and think she's _en rapport_. + +What's good enough for Pholoe you cannot well essay; +Your daughter very properly courts _the jeunesse dorée_,-- +A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot her joy restrain, +But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles _à l'Américaine_. + +'T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature old and poor, +To sit and spin than to engage in an _affaire d'amour_. +The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained deep are not for you; +Remember what the poet says: _Ce monde est plein de fous!_ + + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + +O fountain of Bandusia! + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia! + The Dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings into the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plow, + The roving cattle here +Hasten in quest of certain rest, + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia! + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree. +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go. + + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + +O fountain of Bandusia! more glittering than glass, +And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts that freely pass; +More worthy of the flowers with which thou modestly art hid, +To-morrow willing hands shall sacrifice to thee a kid. + +In vain the glory of the brow where proudly swell above +The growing horns, significant of battle and of love; +For in thy honor he shall die,--the offspring of the herd,-- +And with his crimson life-blood thy cold waters shall be stirred. + +The Dog-star's cruel season, with its fierce and blazing heat, +Has never sent its scorching rays into thy glad retreat; +The oxen, wearied with the plow, the herd which wanders near, +Have found a grateful respite and delicious coolness here. + +When of the graceful ilex on the hollow rocks I sing, +Thou shalt become illustrious, O sweet Bandusian spring! +Among the noble fountains which have been enshrined in fame, +Thy dancing, babbling waters shall in song our homage claim. + + + + +THE PREFERENCE DECLARED + +Boy, I detest the Persian pomp; + I hate those linden-bark devices; +And as for roses, holy Moses! + They can't be got at living prices! +Myrtle is good enough for us,-- + For _you_, as bearer of my flagon; +For _me_, supine beneath this vine, + Doing my best to get a jag on! + + + + +A TARDY APOLOGY + +I + +Mæcenas, you will be my death,--though friendly you profess yourself,-- +If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself: +"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us? +Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?" + +A god, Mæcenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of me! +If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me; +Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology, +And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology. + +Now, you yourself, Mæcenas, are enjoying this beatitude; +If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for gratitude. +A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous; +This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous! + + + + +A TARDY APOLOGY + +II + + You ask me, friend, + Why I don't send +The long since due-and-paid-for numbers; + Why, songless, I + As drunken lie +Abandoned to Lethean slumbers. + + Long time ago + (As well you know) +I started in upon that carmen; + My work was vain,-- + But why complain? +When gods forbid, how helpless are men! + + Some ages back, + The sage Anack +Courted a frisky Samian body, + Singing her praise + In metered phrase +As flowing as his bowls of toddy. + + Till I was hoarse + Might I discourse +Upon the cruelties of Venus; + 'T were waste of time + As well of rhyme, +For you've been there yourself, Mæcenas! + + Perfect your bliss + If some fair miss +Love you yourself and _not_ your minæ; + I, fortune's sport, + All vainly court +The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne! + + + + +TO THE SHIP OF STATE + + O ship of state +Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea? +What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee + Ere 't is too late! + + Do you bemoan +Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast? +Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast; + The sailyards groan. + + Of cables bare, +Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave. +Your sails are rent; you have no gods to save, + Or answer pray'r. + + Though Pontic pine, +The noble daughter of a far-famed wood, +You boast your lineage and title good,-- + A useless line! + + The sailor there +In painted sterns no reassurance finds; +Unless you owe derision to the winds, + Beware--beware! + + My grief erewhile, +But now my care--my longing! shun the seas +That flow between the gleaming Cyclades, + Each shining isle. + + + + +QUITTING AGAIN + + The hero of + Affairs of love +By far too numerous to be mentioned, + And scarred as I'm, + It seemeth time +That I were mustered out and pensioned. + + So on this wall + My lute and all +I hang, and dedicate to Venus; + And I implore + But one thing more +Ere all is at an end between us. + + O goddess fair + Who reignest where +The weather's seldom bleak and snowy, + This boon I urge: + In anger scourge +My old cantankerous sweetheart, Chloe! + + + + +SAILOR AND SHADE + +SAILOR + +You, who have compassed land and sea, + Now all unburied lie; +All vain your store of human lore, + For you were doomed to die. +The sire of Pelops likewise fell,-- + Jove's honored mortal guest; +So king and sage of every age + At last lie down to rest. +Plutonian shades enfold the ghost + Of that majestic one +Who taught as truth that he, forsooth, + Had once been Pentheus' son; +Believe who may, he's passed away, + And what he did is done. +A last night comes alike to all; + One path we all must tread, +Through sore disease or stormy seas + Or fields with corpses red. +Whate'er our deeds, that pathway leads + To regions of the dead. + + +SHADE + +The fickle twin Illyrian gales + Overwhelmed me on the wave; +But you that live, I pray you give + My bleaching bones a grave! +Oh, then when cruel tempests rage + You all unharmed shall be; +Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land + And Neptune's on the sea. +Perchance you fear to do what may + Bring evil to your race? +Oh, rather fear that like me here + You'll lack a burial place. +So, though you be in proper haste, + Bide long enough, I pray, +To give me, friend, what boon shall send + My soul upon its way! + + + + +LET US HAVE PEACE + +In maudlin spite let Thracians fight + Above their bowls of liquor; +But such as we, when on a spree, + Should never brawl and bicker! + +These angry words and clashing swords + Are quite _de trop_, I'm thinking; +Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise, + And drown your wrath in drinking. + +Aha, 't is fine,--this mellow wine + With which our host would dope us! +Now let us hear what pretty dear + Entangles him of Opus. + +I see you blush,--nay, comrades, hush! + Come, friend, though they despise you, +Tell me the name of that fair dame,-- + Perchance I may advise you. + +O wretched youth! and is it truth + You love that fickle lady? +I, doting dunce, courted her once; + Since when, she's reckoned shady! + + + + +TO QUINTUS DELLIUS + +Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; +For though you pine your life away + With dull complaining breath, +Or speed with song and wine each day, + Still, still your doom is death. + +Where the white poplar and the pine +In glorious arching shade combine, + And the brook singing goes, +Bid them bring store of nard and wine + And garlands of the rose. + +Let's live while chance and youth obtain; +Soon shall you quit this fair domain + Kissed by the Tiber's gold, +And all your earthly pride and gain + Some heedless heir shall hold. + +One ghostly boat shall some time bear +From scenes of mirthfulness or care + Each fated human soul,-- +Shall waft and leave its burden where + The waves of Lethe roll. + +_So come, I prithee, Dellius mine; +Let's sing our songs and drink our wine + In that sequestered nook +Where the white poplar and the pine + Stand listening to the brook_. + + + + +POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS + +Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame. + Don't apologize, Xanthias, pray; +Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame + For Brissy, his slave, as they say. +Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved + By the captive Tecmessa's ripe charms; +And Atrides, suspending the feast, it behooved + To gather a girl to his arms. + +Now, how do you know that this yellow-haired maid + (This Phyllis you fain would enjoy) +Hasn't parents whose wealth would cast you in the shade,-- + Who would ornament you, Xan, my boy? +Very likely the poor chick sheds copious tears, + And is bitterly thinking the while +Of the royal good times of her earlier years, + When her folks regulated the style! + +It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe + That she of whose charms you are proud +Is beautiful only as means to deceive,-- + Merely one of the horrible crowd. +So constant a sweetheart, so loving a wife, + So averse to all notions of greed +Was surely not born of a mother whose life + Is a chapter you'd better not read. + +As an unbiased party I feel it my place + (For I don't like to do things by halves) +To compliment Phyllis,--her arms and her face + And (excuse me!) her delicate calves. +Tut, tut! don't get angry, my boy, or suspect + You have any occasion to fear +A man whose deportment is always correct, + And is now in his forty-first year! + + + + +TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS + +Fuscus, whoso to good inclines, + And is a faultless liver, +Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear, + Nor poison-arrowed quiver. + +Ay, though through desert wastes he roam, + Or scale the rugged mountains, +Or rest beside the murmuring tide + Of weird Hydaspan fountains! + +Lo, on a time, I gayly paced + The Sabine confines shady, +And sung in glee of Lalage, + My own and dearest lady; + +And as I sung, a monster wolf + Slunk through the thicket from me; +But for that song, as I strolled along, + He would have overcome me! + +Set me amid those poison mists + Which no fair gale dispelleth, +Or in the plains where silence reigns, + And no thing human dwelleth,-- + +Still shall I love my Lalage, + Still sing her tender graces; +And while I sing, my theme shall bring + Heaven to those desert places! + + + + +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS + +I + +Not to lament that rival flame + Wherewith the heartless Glycera scorns you, +Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme, + How many a modern instance warns you! + +Fair-browed Lycoris pines away + Because her Cyrus loves another; +The ruthless churl informs the girl + He loves her only as a brother! + +For he, in turn, courts Pholoe,-- + A maid unscotched of love's fierce virus; +Why, goats will mate with wolves they hate + Ere Pholoe will mate with Cyrus! + +Ah, weak and hapless human hearts, + By cruel Mother Venus fated +To spend this life in hopeless strife, + Because incongruously mated! + +Such torture, Albius, is my lot; + For, though a better mistress wooed me, +My Myrtale has captured me, + And with her cruelties subdued me! + + + + +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS + +II + +Grieve not, my Albius, if thoughts of Glycera may haunt you, + Nor chant your mournful elegies because she faithless proves; + If now a younger man than you this cruel charmer loves, +Let not the kindly favors of the past rise up to taunt you. + +Lycoris of the little brow for Cyrus feels a passion, + And Cyrus, on the other hand, toward Pholoe inclines; + But ere this crafty Cyrus can accomplish his designs +She-goats will wed Apulian wolves in deference to fashion. + +Such is the will, the cruel will, of love-inciting Venus, + Who takes delight in wanton sport and ill-considered jokes, + And brings ridiculous misfits beneath her brazen yokes,-- +A very infelicitous proceeding, just between us. + +As for myself, young Myrtale, slave-born and lacking graces, + And wilder than the Adrian tides which form Calabrian bays, + Entangled me in pleasing chains and compromising ways, +When--just my luck--a better girl was courting my embraces. + + + + +TO MÆCENAS + +Mæcenas, thou of royalty's descent, +Both my protector and dear ornament, +Among humanity's conditions are +Those who take pleasure in the flying car, +Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll, +And shunning with the glowing wheel the goal; +While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth, +Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth. + +Here one is happy if the fickle crowd +His name the threefold honor has allowed; +And there another, if into his stores +Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing-floors. +He who delights to till his father's lands, +And grasps the delving-hoe with willing hands, +Can never to Attalic offers hark, +Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark. +The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze, +When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas +Praises the restful quiet of his home, +Nor wishes from the peaceful fields to roam; +Ah, speedily his shattered ships he mends,-- +To poverty his lesson ne'er extends. + +One there may be who never scorns to fill +His cups with mellow draughts from Massic's hill, +Nor from the busy day an hour to wean, +Now stretched at length beneath the arbute green, +Now at the softly whispering spring, to dream +Of the fair nymphs who haunt the sacred stream. +For camp and trump and clarion some have zest,-- +The cruel wars the mothers so detest. +'Neath the cold sky the hunter spends his life, +Unmindful of his home and tender wife, +Whether the doe is seen by faithful hounds +Or Marsian boar through the fine meshes bounds. + +But as for me, the ivy-wreaths, the prize +Of learned brows, exalt me to the skies; +The shady grove, the nymphs and satyrs there, +Draw me away from people everywhere; +If it may be, Euterpe's flute inspires, +Or Polyhymnia strikes the Lesbian lyres; +And if you place me where no bard debars, +With head exalted I shall strike the stars! + + + + +TO HIS BOOK + + You vain, self-conscious little book, +Companion of my happy days, + How eagerly you seem to look +For wider fields to spread your lays; + My desk and locks cannot contain you, + Nor blush of modesty restrain you. + + Well, then, begone, fool that thou art! +But do not come to me and cry, + When critics strike you to the heart: +"Oh, wretched little book am I!" + You know I tried to educate you + To shun the fate that must await you. + + In youth you may encounter friends +(Pray this prediction be not wrong), + But wait until old age descends +And thumbs have smeared your gentlest song; + Then will the moths connive to eat you + And rural libraries secrete you. + + However, should a friend some word +Of my obscure career request, + Tell him how deeply I was stirred +To spread my wings beyond the nest; + Take from my years, which are before you, + To boom my merits, I implore you. + + Tell him that I am short and fat, +Quick in my temper, soon appeased, + With locks of gray,--but what of that? +Loving the sun, with nature pleased. + I'm more than four and forty, hark you,-- + But ready for a night off, mark you! + + + + +FAME _vs._ RICHES + +The Greeks had genius,--'t was a gift + The Muse vouchsafed in glorious measure; +The boon of Fame they made their aim + And prized above all worldly treasure. + +But _we_,--how do we train _our_ youth? + _Not_ in the arts that are immortal, +But in the greed for gains that speed + From him who stands at Death's dark portal. + +Ah, when this slavish love of gold + Once binds the soul in greasy fetters, +How prostrate lies,--how droops and dies + The great, the noble cause of letters! + + + + +THE LYRIC MUSE + + I love the lyric muse! +For when mankind ran wild in grooves + Came holy Orpheus with his songs +And turned men's hearts from bestial loves, + From brutal force and savage wrongs; +Amphion, too, and on his lyre + Made such sweet music all the day +That rocks, instinct with warm desire, + Pursued him in his glorious way. + + I love the lyric muse! +Hers was the wisdom that of yore + Taught man the rights of fellow man, +Taught him to worship God the more, + And to revere love's holy ban. +Hers was the hand that jotted down + The laws correcting divers wrongs; +And so came honor and renown + To bards and to their noble songs. + + I love the lyric muse! +Old Homer sung unto the lyre; + Tyrtæus, too, in ancient days; +Still warmed by their immortal fire, + How doth our patriot spirit blaze! +The oracle, when questioned, sings; + So our first steps in life are taught. +In verse we soothe the pride of kings, + In verse the drama has been wrought. + + I love the lyric muse! +Be not ashamed, O noble friend, + In honest gratitude to pay +Thy homage to the gods that send + This boon to charm all ill away. +With solemn tenderness revere + This voiceful glory as a shrine +Wherein the quickened heart may hear + The counsels of a voice divine! + + + + +A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC + +May the man who has cruelly murdered his sire-- + A crime to be punished with death-- +Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire + Of his own foul and venomous breath! +What stomachs these rustics must have who can eat + This dish that Canidia made, +Which imparts to my colon a torturous heat, + And a poisonous look, I'm afraid! + +They say that ere Jason attempted to yoke + The fire-breathing bulls to the plow +He smeared his whole body with garlic,--a joke + Which I fully appreciate now. +When Medea gave Glauce her beautiful dress, + In which garlic was scattered about, +It was cruel and rather low-down, I confess, + But it settled the point beyond doubt. + +On thirsty Apulia ne'er has the sun + Inflicted such terrible heat; +As for Hercules' robe, although poisoned, 't was fun + When compared with this garlic we eat! +Mæcenas, if ever on garbage like this + You express a desire to be fed, +May Mrs. Mæcenas object to your kiss, + And lie at the foot of the bed! + + + + +AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE + +To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is bent, +To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent; +Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go, +Now with the calves disporting where the pussy-willows grow. + +Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, trust me, you shall learn +How quickly in the autumn time to purple they will turn. +Soon she will follow you, for age steals swiftly on the maid; +And all the precious years that you have lost she will have paid. + +Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, the coy, +Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, girlish boy, +Whom, if you placed among the girls, and loosed his flowing locks, +The wondering guests could not decide which one decorum shocks. + + + + +AN APPEAL TO LYCE + +Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, as gods will hear the dutiful, +And brought old age upon you, though you still affect the beautiful. +You sport among the boys, and drink and chatter on quite aimlessly; +And in your cups with quavering voice you torment Cupid shamelessly. + +For blooming Chia, Cupid has a feeling more than brotherly; +He knows a handsaw from a hawk whenever winds are southerly. +He pats her pretty cheeks, but looks on you as a monstrosity; +Your wrinkles and your yellow teeth excite his animosity. + +For jewels bright and purple Coan robes you are not dressable; +Unhappily for you, the public records are accessible. +Where is your charm, and where your bloom and gait so firm and sensible, +That drew my love from Cinara,--a lapse most indefensible? + +To my poor Cinara in youth Death came with great celerity; +Egad, that never can be said of you with any verity! +The old crow that you are, the teasing boys will jeer, compelling you +To roost at home. Reflect, all this is straight that I am telling you. + + + + +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE + +I + +See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow, + Soracte mocks the sullen sky; +How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed, + And chained with frost the rivers lie. + +Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth; + We'll melt away the envious cold: +And, better yet, sweet friend, we'll wet + Our whistles with some four-year-old. + +Commit all else unto the gods, + Who, when it pleaseth them, shall bring +To fretful deeps and wooded steeps + The mild, persuasive grace of Spring. + +Let not To-morrow, but To-day, + Your ever active thoughts engage; +Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling, + Unharmed, unawed of crabbed Age. + +Let's steal content from Winter's wrath, + And glory in the artful theft, +That years from now folks shall allow + 'T was cold indeed when we got left. + +So where the whisperings and the mirth + Of girls invite a sportive chap, +Let's fare awhile,--aha, you smile; + You guess my meaning,--_verbum sap_. + + + + +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE + +II + +Now stands Soracte white with snow, now bend the laboring trees, +And with the sharpness of the frost the stagnant rivers freeze. +Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer cheer incline, +And draw, my Thaliarchus, from the Sabine jar the wine. + +The rest leave to the gods, who still the fiercely warring wind, +And to the morrow's store of good or evil give no mind. +Whatever day your fortune grants, that day mark up for gain; +And in your youthful bloom do not the sweet amours disdain. + +Now on the Campus and the squares, when evening shades descend, +Soft whisperings again are heard, and loving voices blend; +And now the low delightful laugh betrays the lurking maid, +While from her slowly yielding arms the forfeiture is paid. + + + + +TO DIANA + +O virgin, tri-formed goddess fair, + The guardian of the groves and hills, +Who hears the girls in their despair + Cry out in childbirth's cruel ills, + And saves them from the Stygian flow! +Let the pine-tree my cottage near + Be sacred to thee evermore, +That I may give to it each year + With joy the life-blood of the boar, + Now thinking of the sidelong blow. + + + + +TO HIS LUTE + +If ever in the sylvan shade +A song immortal we have made, +Come now, O lute, I prithee come, +Inspire a song of Latium! + +A Lesbian first thy glories proved; +In arms and in repose he loved +To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise +His voice in Love's and Liber's praise. +The Muses, too, and him who clings +To Mother Venus' apron-strings, +And Lycus beautiful, he sung +In those old days when you were young. + +O shell, that art the ornament +Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content +To Jove, and soothing troubles all,-- +Come and requite me, when I call! + + + + +TO LEUCONÖE + +I + +What end the gods may have ordained for me, +And what for thee, + Seek not to learn, Leuconöe; we may not know. +Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest. +'T is for the best + To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe. + +If for more winters our poor lot is cast, +Or this the last, + Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas, +Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best. +Take hope with zest, + And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch To-day for ease! + + + + +TO LEUCONÖE + +II + +Seek not, Leuconöe, to know how long you're going to live yet, +What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to give yet; +For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we worry,-- +Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry. +The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem +Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am. +And while we sport I'll reel you off such odes as shall surprise ye; +To-morrow, when the headache comes,--well, then I'll satirize ye! + + + + +TO LIGURINUS + +I + +Though mighty in Love's favor still, + Though cruel yet, my boy, +When the unwelcome dawn shall chill + Your pride and youthful joy, +The hair which round your shoulder grows + Is rudely cut away, +Your color, redder than the rose, + Is changed by youth's decay,-- + +Then, Ligurinus, in the glass + Another you will spy. +And as the shaggy face, alas! + You see, your grief will cry: +"Why in my youth could I not learn + The wisdom men enjoy? +Or why to men cannot return + The smooth cheeks of the boy?" + + + + +TO LIGURINUS + +II + + O Cruel fair, + Whose flowing hair + The envy and the pride of all is, + As onward roll + The years, that poll + Will get as bald as a billiard ball is; +Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply, +Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply! + + When you behold + Yourself grown old, + These words shall speak your spirits moody: + "Unhappy one! + What heaps of fun + I've missed by being goody-goody! +Oh, that I might have felt the hunger +Of loveless age when I was younger!" + + + + +THE HAPPY ISLES + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices, +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall suffer no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Never thereto shall prowling bear + Or serpent come to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drought distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hordes that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +CONSISTENCY + +Should painter attach to a fair human head + The thick, turgid neck of a stallion, +Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a bass, + I am sure you would guy the rapscallion. + +Believe me, dear Pisos, that just such a freak + Is the crude and preposterous poem +Which merely abounds in a torrent of sounds, + With no depth of reason below 'em. + +'T is all very well to give license to art,-- + The wisdom of license defend I; +But the line should be drawn at the fripperish spawn + Of a mere _cacoethes scribendi_. + +It is too much the fashion to strain at effects,-- + Yes, that's what's the matter with Hannah! +Our popular taste, by the tyros debased, + Paints each barnyard a grove of Diana! + +Should a patron require you to paint a marine, + Would you work in some trees with their barks on? +When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar, + Would you give him a pitcher like Clarkson? + +Now, this is my moral: Compose what you may, + And Fame will be ever far distant +Unless you combine with a simple design + A treatment in toto consistent. + + + + +TO POSTUMUS + +O Postumus, my Postumus, the years are gliding past, +And piety will never check the wrinkles coming fast, +The ravages of time old age's swift advance has made, +And death, which unimpeded comes to bear us to the shade. + +Old friend, although the tearless Pluto you may strive to please, +And seek each year with thrice one hundred bullocks to appease, +Who keeps the thrice-huge Geryon and Tityus his slaves, +Imprisoned fast forevermore with cold and sombre waves, + +Yet must that flood so terrible be sailed by mortals all; +Whether perchance we may be kings and live in royal hall, +Or lowly peasants struggling long with poverty and dearth, +Still must we cross who live upon the favors of the earth. + +And all in vain from bloody war and contest we are free, +And from the waves that hoarsely break upon the Adrian Sea; +For our frail bodies all in vain our helpless terror grows +In gloomy autumn seasons, when the baneful south wind blows. + +Alas! the black Cocytus, wandering to the world below, +That languid river to behold we of this earth must go; +To see the grim Danaides, that miserable race, +And Sisyphus of Æolus, condemned to endless chase. + +Behind you must you leave your home and land and wife so dear, +And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, you rear, +And which around the funeral piles as signs of mourning grow, +Not one will follow you, their short-lived master, there below. + +Your worthier heir the precious Cæcuban shall drink galore, +Now with a hundred keys preserved and guarded in your store, +And stain the pavements, pouring out in waste the nectar proud, +Better than that with which the pontiffs' feasts have been endowed. + + + + +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA + +I + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly, +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious,-- + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA + +II + +What dainty boy with sweet perfumes bedewed +Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave? +For whom amid the roses, many-hued, +Do you bind back your tresses' yellow wave? + +How oft will he deplore your fickle whim, +And wonder at the storm and roughening deeps, +Who now enjoys you, all in all to him, +And dreams of you, whose only thoughts he keeps. + +Wretched are they to whom you seem so fair;-- +That I escaped the storms, the gods be praised! +My dripping garments, offered with a prayer, +Stand as a tablet to the sea-god raised. + + + + +TO MELPOMENE + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared: + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die: by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +TO PHYLLIS + +I + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile; + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare, + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air, + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'T is April 13, as you know, + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend, Mæcenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus; + Your friends agree he doesn't love you. +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you. + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had,-- + I say he _had_, before he shook him! + +_Hoc docet_ (as you must agree) + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me, + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten, +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +TO PHYLLIS + +II + +Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine, +The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine, +And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair, +And ivy in profusion to bind up your shining hair. + +Now smiles the house with silver; the altar, laurel-bound, +Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to drip around; +The company is hurrying, boys and maidens with the rest; +The flames are flickering as they whirl the dark smoke on their crest. + +Yet you must know the joys to which you have been summoned here +To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born Venus dear,-- +Ah, festal day more sacred than my own fair day of birth, +Since from its dawn my loved Mæcenas counts his years of earth. + +A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited to her mind, +The Telephus whom you desire,--a youth not of your kind. +She holds him bound with pleasing chains, the fetters of her charms,-- +Remember how scorched Phaëthon ambitious hopes alarms. + +The winged Pegasus the rash Bellerophon has chafed, +To you a grave example for reflection has vouchsafed,-- +Always to follow what is meet, and never try to catch +That which is not allowed to you, an inappropriate match. + +Come now, sweet Phyllis, of my loves the last, and hence the best +(For nevermore shall other girls inflame this manly breast); +Learn loving measures to rehearse as we may stroll along, +And dismal cares shall fly away and vanish at your song. + + + + +TO CHLOE + +I + +Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, + That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, +Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn, + And on the pathless mountain tops has stood? + +Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites, + Her sinking knees with nameless terrors shake,-- +Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights, + Or the green lizards stir the slumbering brake. + +I do not follow with a tigerish thought, + Or with the fierce Gætulian lion's quest; +So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought, + Full ripe to nestle on a husband's breast. + + + + +TO CHLOE + +II + +Chloe, you shun me like a hind + That, seeking vainly for her mother, +Hears danger in each breath of wind, + And wildly darts this way and t' other; + +Whether the breezes sway the wood + Or lizards scuttle through the brambles, +She starts, and off, as though pursued, + The foolish, frightened creature scrambles. + +But, Chloe, you're no infant thing + That should esteem a man an ogre; +Let go your mother's apron-string, + And pin your faith upon a toga! + + + + +III + +A PARAPHRASE + +How happens it, my cruel miss, + You're always giving me the mitten? +You seem to have forgotten this: + That you no longer are a kitten! + +A woman that has reached the years + Of that which people call discretion +Should put aside all childish fears + And see in courtship no transgression. + +A mother's solace may be sweet, + But Hymen's tenderness is sweeter; +And though all virile love be meet, + You'll find the poet's love is metre. + + + + +IV + +A PARAPHRASE, CIRCA 1715 + +Since Chloe is so monstrous fair, +With such an eye and such an air, +What wonder that the world complains +When she each am'rous suit disdains? + +Close to her mother's side she clings, +And mocks the death her folly brings +To gentle swains that feel the smarts +Her eyes inflict upon their hearts. + +Whilst thus the years of youth go by, +Shall Colin languish, Strephon die? +Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate, +And choose him ere it be too late! + + + + +V + +A PARAPHRASE, BY DR. I.W. + + +Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bother + With prattlings and with vain ado +Your worthy and industrious mother, + Eschewing them that come to woo? + +Oh, that the awful truth might quicken + This stern conviction to your breast: +You are no longer now a chicken + Too young to quit the parent nest. + +So put aside your froward carriage, + And fix your thoughts, whilst yet there's time, +Upon the righteousness of marriage + With some such godly man as I'm. + + + + +VI + +A PARAPHRASE, BY CHAUCER + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding. +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quicklye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +TO MÆCENAS + +Than you, O valued friend of mine, + A better patron _non est_! +Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,-- + You'll find it poor but honest. + +I put it up that famous day + You patronized the ballet, +And the public cheered you such a way + As shook your native valley. + +Cæcuban and the Calean brand + May elsewhere claim attention; +But _I_ have none of these on hand,-- + For reasons I'll not mention. + + + + +ENVOY + +So, come! though favors I bestow + Cannot be called extensive, +Who better than my friend should know + That they're at least expensive? + + + + +TO BARINE + +If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken, +A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you; +If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger +Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you. + +But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is, +Your head with the vows of untruth, +Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming, +You come forth beloved of our youth. + +It is advantageous, but no less outrageous, +Your poor mother's ashes to cheat; +While the gods of creation and each constellation +You seem to regard as your meat. + +Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it; +The good-natured nymphs merely smile; +And Cupid is merry,--'t is humorous, very,-- +And sharpens his arrows the while. + +Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking, +A new band is joined to the old; +While the horrified matrons your juvenile patrons +In vain would bring back to the fold. + +The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mellows +Confess to a dread of your house; +But a more pressing duty, in view of your beauty, +Is the young wife's concern for her spouse. + + + + +THE RECONCILIATION + +I + +HE + +When you were mine, in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, +I'll not deny, fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a heathen mogul. + +SHE + +Before _she_ came, that rival flame + (Had ever mater saucier filia?), +In those good times, bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia. + +HE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die, if only I + Could live forever to enjoy her! + +SHE + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods, I love him madly! +That I might save him from the grave, + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HE + +What if _ma belle_ from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her; +Would Lydia then come back again, + And to her quondam love betake her? + +SHE + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; +For no one slings such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +THE RECONCILIATION + +II + +HORACE + +While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing + Around thy snowy neck his folding arms was wont to fling; +As long as I remained your love, acceptable and pleasing, + I lived a life of happiness beyond the Persian king. + +LYDIA + +While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unreserved opinion, + And for no other cherished thou a brighter, livelier flame, +I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole dominion, + Surpassed the Roman Ilia in eminence of fame. + +HORACE + +'T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accomplishments inthrall me,-- + So sweet in modulations, such a mistress of the lyre. +In truth the fates, however terrible, could not appall me; + If they would spare her, sweet my soul, I gladly would expire. + +LYDIA + +And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, inflames me + With mutual, restless passion and an all-consuming fire; +And if the fates, however dread, would spare the youth who claims me, + Not only once would I face death, but gladly twice expire. + +HORACE + +What if our early love returns to prove we were mistaken + And bind with brazen yoke the twain, to part, ah! nevermore? +What if the charming Chloe of the golden locks be shaken + And slighted Lydia again glide through the open door? + +LYDIA + +Though he is fairer than the star that shines so far above you, + Thou lighter than a cork, more stormy than the Adrian Sea, +Still should I long to live with you, to live for you and love you, + And cheerfully see death's approach if thou wert near to me. + + + + +THE ROASTING OF LYDIA + +No more your needed rest at night + By ribald youth is troubled; +No more your windows, fastened tight, + Yield to their knocks redoubled. + +No longer you may hear them cry, + "Why art thou, Lydia, lying +In heavy sleep till morn is nigh, + While I, your love, am dying?" + +Grown old and faded, you bewail + The rake's insulting sally, +While round your home the Thracian gale + Storms through the lonely alley. + +What furious thoughts will fill your breast, + What passions, fierce and tinglish +(Cannot be properly expressed + In calm, reposeful English). + +Learn this, and hold your carping tongue: + Youth will be found rejoicing +In ivy green and myrtle young, + The praise of fresh life voicing; + +And not content to dedicate, + With much protesting shiver, +The sapless leaves to winter's mate, + Hebrus, the cold dark river. + + + + +TO GLYCERA + +The cruel mother of the Loves, + And other Powers offended, +Have stirred my heart, where newly roves + The passion that was ended. + +'T is Glycera, to boldness prone, + Whose radiant beauty fires me; +While fairer than the Parian stone + Her dazzling face inspires me. + +And on from Cyprus Venus speeds, + Forbidding--ah! the pity-- +The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds, + And such irrelevant ditty. + +Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too; + Have bowls of wine adjacent; +And ere our sacrifice is through + She may be more complaisant. + + + + +TO LYDIA + +I + +When, Lydia, you (once fond and true, + But now grown cold and supercilious) +Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms-- + Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious! + +Then with despite my cheeks wax white, + My doddering brain gets weak and giddy, +My eyes o'erflow with tears which show + That passion melts my vitals, Liddy! + +Deny, false jade, your escapade, + And, lo! your wounded shoulders show it! +No manly spark left such a mark-- + Leastwise he surely was no poet! + +With savage buss did Telephus + Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow; +As you would save what Venus gave, + I charge you shun that awkward fellow! + +And now I say thrice happy they + That call on Hymen to requite 'em; +For, though love cools, the wedded fools + Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em. + + + + +TO LYDIA + +II + +When praising Telephus you sing +His rosy neck and waxen arms, +Forgetful of the pangs that wring +This heart for my neglected charms, + +Soft down my cheek the tear-drop flows, +My color comes and goes the while, +And my rebellious liver glows, +And fiercely swells with laboring bile. + +Perchance yon silly, passionate youth, +Distempered by the fumes of wine, +Has marred your shoulder with his tooth, +Or scarred those rosy lips of thine. + +Be warned; he cannot faithful prove, +Who, with the cruel kiss you prize, +Has hurt the little mouth I love, +Where Venus's own nectar lies. + +Whom golden links unbroken bind, +Thrice happy--more than thrice are they; +And constant, both in heart and mind, +In love await the final day. + + + + +TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS + +To Scythian and Cantabrian plots, + Pay them no heed, O Quintius! + So long as we + From care are free, + Vexations cannot cinch us. + +Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth, + Speed hand in hand together; + The songs we sing + In time of spring + Are hushed in wintry weather. + +Why, even flow'rs change with the hours, + And the moon has divers phases; + And shall the mind + Be racked to find + A clew to Fortune's mazes? + +Nay; 'neath this tree let you and me + Woo Bacchus to caress us; + We're old, 't is true, + But still we two + Are thoroughbreds, God bless us! + +While the wine gets cool in yonder pool, + Let's spruce up nice and tidy; + Who knows, old boy, + But we may decoy + The fair but furtive Lyde? + +She can execute on her ivory lute + Sonatas full of passion, + And she bangs her hair + (Which is passing fair) + In the good old Spartan fashion. + + + + +WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG + + Ovarus mine, + Plant thou the vine +Within this kindly soil of Tibur; + Nor temporal woes, + Nor spiritual, knows +The man who's a discreet imbiber. + For who doth croak + Of being broke, +Or who of warfare, after drinking? + With bowl atween us, + Of smiling Venus +And Bacchus shall we sing, I'm thinking. + + Of symptoms fell + Which brawls impel, +Historic data give us warning; + The wretch who fights + When full, of nights, +Is bound to have a head next morning. + I do not scorn + A friendly horn, +But noisy toots, I can't abide 'em! + Your howling bat + Is stale and flat +To one who knows, because he's tried 'em! + + The secrets of + The life I love +(Companionship with girls and toddy) + I would not drag + With drunken brag +Into the ken of everybody; + But in the shade + Let some coy maid +With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle, + Then all day long, + With mirth and song, +Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle! + + + + +AN ODE TO FORTUNE + + O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I call, +Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown +The veriest clod with riches and renown, + And change a triumph to a funeral +The tillers of the soil and they that vex the seas, +Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees + Invoke thee, all. + + Of Dacian tribes, of roving Scythian bands, +Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red +With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting dread; + Within thy path no human valor stands, +And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown +The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely down + From kingly hands. + + Necessity precedes thee in thy way; +Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is seen +Dancing attendance with obsequious mien; + But with what coward and abject dismay +The faithless crowd and treacherous wantons fly +When once their jars of luscious wine run dry,-- + Such ingrates they! + + Fortune, I call on thee to bless +Our king,--our Cæsar girt for foreign wars! +Help him to heal these fratricidal scars + That speak degenerate shame and wickedness; +And forge anew our impious spears and swords, +Wherewith we may against barbarian hordes + Our Past redress! + + + + +TO A JAR OF WINE + +O gracious jar,--my friend, my twin, + Born at the time when I was born,-- +Whether tomfoolery you inspire +Or animate with love's desire, + Or flame the soul with bitter scorn, +Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine! + Come from your place this festal day; + Corvinus hither wends his way, +And there's demand for wine! + +Corvinus is the sort of man + Who dotes on tedious argument. +An advocate, his ponderous pate + Is full of Blackstone and of Kent; +Yet not insensible is he, +O genial Massic flood! to thee. +Why, even Cato used to take + A modest, surreptitious nip +At meal-times for his stomach's sake, + Or to forefend la grippe. + +How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts, + And bare the cruel knave's design; +How through thy fascinating arts + We discount Hope, O gracious wine! +And passing rich the poor man feels +As through his veins thy affluence steals. + +Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing, + And plot full many a naughty plot +With damsels fair--nor shall we care + Whether school keeps or not! +And whilst thy charms hold out to burn + We shall not deign to go to bed, + But we shall paint creation red; +So, fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,-- + My lawyer friend, as aforesaid. + + + + +TO POMPEIUS VARUS + +Pompey, what fortune gives you back + To the friends and the gods who love you? +Once more you stand in your native land, + With your native sky above you. +Ah, side by side, in years agone, + We've faced tempestuous weather, + And often quaffed + The genial draught + From the same canteen together. + +When honor at Philippi fell + A prey to brutal passion, +I regret to say that my feet ran away + In swift Iambic fashion. +You were no poet; soldier born, + You stayed, nor did you wince then. + Mercury came + To my help, which same + Has frequently saved me since then. + +But now you're back, let's celebrate + In the good old way and classic; +Come, let us lard our skins with nard, + And bedew our souls with Massic! +With fillets of green parsley leaves + Our foreheads shall be done up; + And with song shall we + Protract our spree + Until the morrow's sun-up. + + + + +THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS + +Mæcenas, I propose to fly + To realms beyond these human portals; +No common things shall be my wings, + But such as sprout upon immortals. + +Of lowly birth, once shed of earth, + Your Horace, precious (so you've told him), +Shall soar away; no tomb of clay + Nor Stygian prison-house shall hold him. + +Upon my skin feathers begin + To warn the songster of his fleeting; +But never mind, I leave behind + Songs all the world shall keep repeating. + +Lo! Boston girls, with corkscrew curls, + And husky westerns, wild and woolly, +And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes, + And all profess to know me fully. + +Methinks the West shall know me best, + And therefore hold my memory dearer; +For by that lake a bard shall make + My subtle, hidden meanings clearer. + +So cherished, I shall never die; + Pray, therefore, spare your dolesome praises, +Your elegies, and plaintive cries, + For I shall fertilize no daisies! + + + + +TO VENUS + +Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen! + Desert that Cyprus way off yonder, +And fare you hence, where with incense + My Glycera would have you fonder; +And to your joy bring hence your boy, + The Graces with unbelted laughter, +The Nymphs, and Youth,--then, then, in sooth, + Should Mercury come tagging after. + + + + +IN THE SPRINGTIME + +I + +'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea; + The breezes, loitering kindly over +The fields, again bring herds and men + The grateful cheer of honeyed clover. + +Now Venus hither leads her train; + The Nymphs and Graces join in orgies; +The moon is bright, and by her light + Old Vulcan kindles up his forges. + +Bind myrtle now about your brow, + And weave fair flowers in maiden tresses; +Appease god Pan, who, kind to man, + Our fleeting life with affluence blesses; + +But let the changing seasons mind us, + That Death's the certain doom of mortals,-- +Grim Death, who waits at humble gates, + And likewise stalks through kingly portals. + +Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades + Enfold you with their hideous seemings; +Then love and mirth and joys of earth + Shall fade away like fevered dreamings. + + + + +IN THE SPRINGTIME + +II + +The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the bay, +And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away. +No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight; +No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white. + +Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead the dance, +While from above the kindly moon gives an approving glance; +The Nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir, +And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire. + +Now it is time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate, +And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate; +To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we rely, +A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify. + +Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike; +The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike. +O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond the common run, +Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun. + +The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon the grip. +Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor taste the wine you sip; +Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty you commend, +To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend. + + + + +TO A BULLY + +You, blatant coward that you are, + Upon the helpless vent your spite. +Suppose you ply your trade on me; +Come, monkey with this bard, and see + How I'll repay your bark with bite! + +Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute! + And I shall hound you far and wide, +As fiercely as through drifted snow +The shepherd dog pursues what foe + Skulks on the Spartan mountain-side. + +The chip is on my shoulder--see? + But touch it and I'll raise your fur; +I'm full of business, so beware! +For, though I'm loaded up for bear, + I'm quite as like to kill a cur! + + + + +TO MOTHER VENUS + +O mother Venus, quit, I pray, + Your violent assailing! +The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth + At last are unavailing; +My blood runs cold, I'm getting old, + And all my powers are failing. + +Speed thou upon thy white swans' wings, + And elsewhere deign to mellow +With thy soft arts the anguished hearts + Of swains that writhe and bellow; +And right away seek out, I pray, + Young Paullus,--he's your fellow! + +You'll find young Paullus passing fair, + Modest, refined, and tony; +Go, now, incite the favored wight! + With Venus for a crony +He'll outshine all at feast and ball + And conversazione! + +Then shall that godlike nose of thine + With perfumes be requited, +And then shall prance in Salian dance + The girls and boys delighted, +And while the lute blends with the flute + Shall tender loves be plighted. + +But as for me, as you can see, + I'm getting old and spiteful. +I have no mind to female kind, + That once I deemed delightful; +No more brim up the festive cup + That sent me home at night full. + +Why do I falter in my speech, + O cruel Ligurine? +Why do I chase from place to place + In weather wet and shiny? +Why down my nose forever flows + The tear that's cold and briny? + + + + +TO LYDIA + +Tell me, Lydia, tell me why, + By the gods that dwell above, +Sybaris makes haste to die + Through your cruel, fatal love. + +Now he hates the sunny plain; + Once he loved its dust and heat. +Now no more he leads the train + Of his peers on coursers fleet. + +Now he dreads the Tiber's touch, + And avoids the wrestling-rings,-- +He who formerly was such + An expert with quoits and things. + +Come, now, Mistress Lydia, say + Why your Sybaris lies hid, +Why he shuns the martial play, + As we're told Achilles did. + + + + +TO NEOBULE + +A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing, +Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors showing, +For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing! + +Sweet Cytherea's winged boy deprives you of your spinning, +And Hebrus, Neobule, his sad havoc is beginning, +Just as Minerva thriftily gets ready for an inning. + +Who could resist this gallant youth, as Tiber's waves he breasted, +Or when the palm of riding from Bellerophon he wrested, +Or when with fists and feet the sluggers easily he bested? + +He shot the fleeing stags with regularity surprising; +The way he intercepted boars was quite beyond surmising,-- +No wonder that your thoughts this youth has been monopolizing! + +So I repeat that with these maids fate is unkindly dealing, +Who never can in love's affair give license to their feeling, +Or share those sweet emotions when a gentle jag is stealing. + + + + +AT THE BALL GAME + +What gods or heroes, whose brave deeds none can dispute, +Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and flute? +What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant a place +On Pindus' crown or Helicon's cool, shadowy space? + +Sing not, my Orpheus, sweeping oft the tuneful strings, +Of gliding streams and nimble winds and such poor things; +But lend your measures to a theme of noble thought, +And crown with laurel these great heroes, as you ought. + +Now steps Ryanus forth at call of furious Mars, +And from his oaken staff the sphere speeds to the stars; +And now he gains the tertiary goal, and turns, +While whiskered balls play round the timid staff of Burns. + +Lo! from the tribunes on the bleachers comes a shout, +Beseeching bold Ansonius to line 'em out; +And as Apollo's flying chariot cleaves the sky, +So stanch Ansonius lifts the frightened ball on high. + +Like roar of ocean beating on the Cretan cliff, +The strong Komiske gives the panting sphere a biff; +And from the tribunes rise loud murmurs everywhere, +When twice and thrice Mikellius beats the mocking air. + +And as Achilles' fleet the Trojan waters sweeps, +So horror sways the throng,--Pfefferius sleeps! +And stalwart Konnor, though by Mercury inspired, +The Equus Carolus defies, and is retired. + +So waxes fierce the strife between these godlike men; +And as the hero's fame grows by Virgilian pen, +So let Clarksonius Maximus be raised to heights +As far above the moon as moon o'er lesser lights. + +But as for me, the ivy leaf is my reward, +If you a place among the lyric bards accord; +With crest exalted, and O "People," with delight, +I'll proudly strike the stars, and so be out of sight. + + + + +EPILOGUE + +The day is done; and, lo! the shades + Melt 'neath Diana's mellow grace. +Hark, how those deep, designing maids + Feign terror in this sylvan place! +Come, friends, it's time that we should go; +We're honest married folk, you know. + +Was not the wine delicious cool + Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile enhanced? +And by that clear Bandusian pool + How gayly Chloe sung and danced! +And Lydia Die,--aha, methinks +You'll not forget the saucy minx! + +But, oh, the echoes of those songs + That soothed our cares and lulled our hearts! +Not to that age nor this belongs + The glory of what heaven-born arts +Speak with the old distinctive charm +From yonder humble Sabine farm! + +The day is done. Now off to bed, + Lest by some rural ruse surprised, +And by those artful girls misled, + You two be sadly compromised. +_You_ go; perhaps _I_'d better stay +To shoo the giddy things away! + +But sometime we shall meet again + Beside Digentia, cool and clear,-- +You and we twain, old friend; and then + We'll have our fill of pagan cheer. +Then, could old Horace join us three, +How proud and happy he would be! + +Or if we part to meet no more + This side the misty Stygian Sea, +Be sure of this: on yonder shore + Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we; +A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,-- +The fellowship that knows no end! + +E.F. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM*** + + +******* This file should be named 13885-8.txt or 13885-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/8/13885 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Echoes from the Sabine Farm</p> +<p>Author: Roswell Martin Field and Eugene Field</p> +<p>Release Date: October 27, 2004 [eBook #13885]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM***</p> +<br><br><h3>E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi, Leah Moser,<br> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h3><br><br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<center><img src="images/image01.jpg" width="224" height="354" alt= +"Echose of the Sabine Farm" border="0"></center> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h3>THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD</h3> + +<h1>ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM</h1> + +<h4>by</h4> + +<h3>Roswell Martin Field and Eugene Field</h3> + +<h4>1899</h4> +<br> +<br> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='INTRODUCTION'></a> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>One Sunday evening in the winter of 1890 Eugene Field and the +writer were walking in Lake View, Chicago, on their way to visit +the library of a common friend, when the subject of publishing a +book for Field came up for discussion.</p> + +<p>The Little Book of Western Verse and The Little Book of +Profitable Tales had been privately printed the year before at +Chicago, and Field had been frequently reminded that the writer was +ready and willing to stand sponsor for any new volume he, Field, +might desire to bring out.</p> + +<p>"The only thing I have on hand that might make a book," said +Field, "are some few paraphrases of the Odes of Horace which my +brother, 'Rose,' and I have been fooling over, and which, truth to +tell, are certainly freely rendered. There are not enough of them, +but we'll do some more, and I'll add a brief Life of Horace as a +preface or introduction."</p> + +<p>It is to be regretted that Field never carried out his intention +with respect to this last, for he had given much thought and study +to the great Roman satirist, and what Eugene Field could have said +upon the subject must have been of interest. It is my belief that +as he thought upon the matter it grew too great for him to handle +within the space he had at first determined, and that tucked away +within the recesses of his literary intentions was the +determination, nullified by his early death, to write, <i>con +amore</i>, a life of Quintus Horatius Flaccus.</p> + +<p>This determination to write separately an extended account of +Horace greatly reduced the bulk of the material intended for the +Sabine Echoes, and it was with respect to this that Field +apologetically and, as was his wont, humorously wrote:</p> + +<p>"The volume may be rather thin <i>in corpore</i>, but think how +hefty it will be intellectually."</p> + +<p>When it came to the discussion of how many copies should be +printed it was suggested that the edition be an exceedingly limited +one, in order to cause as much scrambling and heartburning as +possible among our bibliophilic brethren. And never shall I forget +the seriousness of the man's face, nor the roars of laughter that +followed, when he suggested that fifty copies only should be made, +and that we should reserve one each and burn the other +forty-eight!</p> + +<p>It was a biting cold night and we had been loitering by the way, +stopping to debate each point as it arose—but now we plunged +on with excess of motion to keep ourselves warm, breaking out with +occasional peals of laughter as we thought of our plan to make the +publication what the booksellers call "excessively rare."</p> + +<p>Field, elsewhere, has said he did not know why the original +intention as to the destruction of the forty-eight copies was not +carried out, but the answer is not far away. As the time for +publication approached it was found impossible that such and such a +friend should be forgotten in the matter of a copy, and so it went +on until it was deemed prudent to add fifty to the number +originally intended to be issued, and that decision, in the light +of what followed, proved to be an eminently wise one. More than +once some to me unknown friend of Field would write a pleasant lie +as a reason to gain possession of the book, and up in a corner of +the letter would be found an endorsement of the request after this +fashion:</p> + +<center> +<table summary="poem"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 3em;'>What's writ below</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>I'd have you know</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor falsehood nor romance +is;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>It's solemn truth,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>So grant the youth</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The boon he seeks, dear +Francis.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>EUGENE FIELD.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, however flimsy the +pretext upon which the request for a copy was made, it never failed +of its object if it brought with it Field's endorsement. Among many +pleasant utterances on this subject Field has said that but for the +writer the Horatian verses would not have been given to the +world—and this has been taken to mean more than was intended, +and much unearned praise has been bestowed. But, in allusion to the +original issue of the Odes, Field added, "in this charming guise," +which places quite another construction upon the matter.</p> + +<p>It may be that the enthusiasm displayed not only pleased Field, +and incited him and his brother Roswell to perform that which, +otherwise, might have been indefinitely deferred, but there is no +question but that they intended to publish the Horatian odes at +some time or another. Field was greatly delighted with the +reception of this work, and I once heard him say it would outlive +all his other books. He came naturally by his love of the classics. +His father was a splendid scholar who obliged his sons to +correspond with him in Latin. Field's favorite ode was the +Bandusian Spring, the paraphrasing of which in the styles of the +various writers of different periods gave him genuine joy and is +perhaps the choice bit of the collection. The Echoes from the +Sabine Farm was the most ambitious work Field had attempted up to +the time of its issue. He was not at all sure that the public for +whom he wrote, what following he then felt was his own, would +accept his efforts in this direction with any sort of acclaim. +Unquestionably, Field, at all times, believed in himself and in his +power ultimately to make a name, as every man must who achieves +success, but he was as far from believing that the public would +accept him as an interpreter of Horatian odes as was Edward +Fitzgerald with respect to Omar Khayyám. In short, he looked +upon his work in the original publication of Echoes from the Sabine +Farm as a labor of love—an effort from which some reputation +might come, but certainly no monetary remuneration. It was because +he so regarded it that he permitted the work to be first issued +under the bolstering influence of a patron. It was, so he thought, +an excellent opportunity to show his friends and acquaintances that +his Pegasus was capable of soaring to classic heights, and he +little dreamed that the paraphrasing of the Odes of Horace over +which "Rose and I have been fooling" would be required for a +<i>popular</i> edition. With the announcement of the Scribner +edition of The Sabine Echoes came also the intelligence of Field's +death.</p> + +<p>I have found people who were somewhat puzzled as to the exact +intentions of the Fields with respect to these translations and +paraphrases. However, there can be no chance for mistake even to +the veriest embryonic reader of Horace, if he will but remember +that, while some of these transcriptions are indeed very faithful +reproductions or adaptations of the original, others again are to +be accepted as the very riot of burlesque verse-making.</p> + +<p>The last stanza in the epilogue of this book reads:</p> + +<center> +<table summary="poem"> +<tr> +<td> +<p><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or if we part to meet no +more</span><br> +This side the misty Stygian river,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Be sure of this: On yonder +shore</span><br> +Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A Sabine pagan's heaven, O +friend—</span><br> +And fellowship that knows no end.</p> + +<p>FRANCIS WILSON.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>January 22, 1896.</p> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ML_GRAY'></a> +<h2>TO M.L. GRAY.</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="TO M.L. GRAY"> +<tr> +<td>Come, dear old friend, and with us twain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To calm Digentian groves +repair;</span><br> +The turtle coos his sweet refrain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And posies are a-blooming +there;</span><br> +And there the romping Sabine girls<br> +Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls.<br> +I know a certain ilex-tree<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whence leaps a fountain cool and +clear.</span><br> +Its voices summon you and me;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come, let us haste to share its +cheer!</span><br> +Methinks the rapturous song it sings<br> +Should woo our thoughts from mortal things.<br> +But, good old friend, I charge thee well,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Watch thou my brother all the +while,</span><br> +Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Round him unschooled in female +guile.</span><br> +Those damsels have no charms for me;<br> +Guard thou that brother,—I'll guard thee!<br> +And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Round which the garlands +intertwine;</span><br> +With Massic it is foaming up,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And we would drink to thee and +thine.</span><br> +And of the draught thou shalt partake,<br> +Who lov'st us for our father's sake.<br> +Hark you! from yonder Sabine farm<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Echo the songs of long +ago,</span><br> +With power to soothe and grace to charm<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>What ills humanity may +know;</span><br> +With that sweet music in the air,<br> +'T is Love and Summer everywhere.<br> +So, though no grief consumes our lot<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(Since all our lives have been +discreet),</span><br> +Come, in this consecrated spot,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Let's see if pagan cheer be +sweet.</span><br> +Now, then, the songs; but, first, more wine.<br> +The gods be with you, friends of mine!<br> +<p>E.F.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='The_Contents_of_this_Book'></a> +<h2><b>The Contents of this Book</b></h2> + +<h3>WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD</h3> + +<center> +<table frame="VOID" cellspacing="0" rules="GROUPS" border= +"1" summary="Table of Contents"> +<colgroup> +<col width="253"> +<col width="138"> +<col width="53"></colgroup> + +<tbody> +<tr> +<td width="253" height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ML_GRAY">TO +M.L. GRAY</a></td> +<td width="138" align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td width="53" align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#AN_INVITATION_TO_MAECENAS">AN INVITATION TO +MÆCENAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 29</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#CHLORIS_PROPERLY_REBUKED">CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 15</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA">TO THE FOUNTAIN OF +BANDUSIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 13</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA2">TO THE FOUNTAIN OF +BANDUSIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_PREFERENCE_DECLARED">THE +PREFERENCE DECLARED.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 38</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_TARDY_APOLOGY_I">A TARDY +APOLOGY. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode XIV</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_TARDY_APOLOGY_II">A TARDY +APOLOGY. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_THE_SHIP_OF_STATE">TO THE +SHIP OF STATE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 14</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#QUITTING_AGAIN">QUITTING +AGAIN.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 26</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#SAILOR_AND_SHADE">SAILOR AND +SHADE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 28</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#LET_US_HAVE_PEACE">LET US +HAVE PEACE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 27</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_QUINTUS_DELLIUS">TO +QUINTUS DELLIUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 3</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#POKING_FUN_AT_XANTHIAS">POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 4</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ARISTIUS_FUSCUS">TO +ARISTIUS FUSCUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 22</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_I">TO +ALBIUS TIBULLUS. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 33</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_II">TO +ALBIUS TIBULLUS. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MAECENAS">To +MÆCENAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 1</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_HIS_BOOK">TO HIS +BOOK.</a> </td> +<td align="LEFT">Epistle XX</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#FAME_vs_RICHES">FAME +<i>vs.</i> RICHES.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Ars Poetica, line 323</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_LYRIC_MUSE">THE LYRIC +MUSE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Ars Poetica, line 301</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#A_COUNTERBLAST_AGAINST_GARLIC">A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST +GARLIC.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode III.</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AN_EXCUSE_FOR_LALAGE">AN +EXCUSE FOR LALAGE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 5</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AN_APPEAL_TO_LYCE">AN APPEAL +TO LYCE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, IV. 13</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_I">A +ROMAN WINTER-PIECE I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 9</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_II">A +ROMAN WINTER-PIECE II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_DIANA">TO DIANA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 22</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_HIS_LUTE">TO HIS +LUTE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 32</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LEUCONOE_I">TO +LEUCONÖE I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 11</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LEUCONOE_II">TO +LEUCONÖE II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LIGURINUS_I">TO LIGURINUS +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, IV. 10</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LIGURINUS_II">TO +LIGURINUS II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_HAPPY_ISLES">THE HAPPY +ISLES.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode XIV. line 41</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href= +"#CONSISTENCY">CONSISTENCY.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Ars Poetica</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_POSTUMUS">TO +POSTUMUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 14</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_I">TO +MISTRESS PYRRHA I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 5</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_II">TO +MISTRESS PYRRHA II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MELPOMENE">TO +MELPOMENE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 30</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_PHYLLIS_I">TO PHYLLIS +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, IV. 11.</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_PHYLLIS_II">TO PHYLLIS +II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_CHLOE_I">TO CHLOE +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 23</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_CHLOE_II">TO CHLOE +II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#A_PARAPHRASE">A PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#ANOTHER_PARAPHRASE">ANOTHER PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#A_THIRD_PARAPHRASE">A THIRD PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"> <a href= +"#A_FOURTH_PARAPHRASE">A FOURTH PARAPHRASE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MAECENAS_II">TO +MÆCENAS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 20</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_BARINE">TO +BARINE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 8</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_RECONCILIATION_I">THE +RECONCILIATION. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 9</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_RECONCILIATION_II">THE +RECONCILIATION. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_ROASTING_OF_LYDIA">THE +ROASTING OF LYDIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 25</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_GLYCERA">TO +GLYCERA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 19</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LYDIA_I">TO LYDIA. +I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 13</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LYDIA_II">TO LYDIA. +II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_QUINTIUS_HIRPINUS">TO +QUINTIUS HIRPINUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 11</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#WINE_WOMEN_AND_SONG">WINE, +WOMEN, AND SONG.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 18</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AN_ODE_TO_FORTUNE">AN ODE TO +FORTUNE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 35</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_A_JAR_OF_WINE">TO A JAR +OF WINE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 21</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_POMPEIUS_VARUS">TO +POMPEIUS VARUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 1</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#THE_POETS_METAMORPHOSIS">THE +POET'S METAMORPHOSIS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, II. 20</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_VENUS">TO VENUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 30</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_I">IN THE +SPRINGTIME. I.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 4</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_II">IN THE +SPRINGTIME. II.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_A_BULLY">TO A +BULLY.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Epode VI.</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_MOTHER_VENUS">TO MOTHER +VENUS.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_LYDIA_III">TO +LYDIA.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, I. 8</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#TO_NEOBULE">TO +NEOBULE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, III. 12</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#AT_THE_BALL_GAME">AT THE +BALL GAME.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT">Odes, V. 17.</td> +<td align="LEFT">R.M.F.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td height="17" align="LEFT"><a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE.</a></td> +<td align="LEFT"><br> +</td> +<td align="LEFT">E.F.</td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='Echoes_from_the_Sabine_Farm'></a> +<h1><b>Echoes from the Sabine Farm</b></h1> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_INVITATION_TO_MAECENAS'></a> +<h2>AN INVITATION TO MÆCENAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Invitation to Maecenas"> +<tr> +<td>Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of wine solicits your +attention;</span><br> +And roses fair, to deck your hair,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And things too numerous to +mention.</span><br> +So tear yourself awhile away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From urban turmoil, pride, and +splendor,</span><br> +And deign to share what humble fare<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And sumptuous fellowship I +tender.</span><br> +The sweet content retirement brings<br> +Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings.<br> +<br> +The evil planets have combined<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To make the weather hot and +hotter;</span><br> +By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Vainly of ice-cream +soda-water.</span><br> +And meanwhile you, defying heat,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With patriotic ardor +ponder</span><br> +On what old Rome essays at home,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And what her heathen do out +yonder.</span><br> +Mæcenas, no such vain alarm<br> +Disturbs the quiet of this farm!<br> +<br> +God in His providence obscures<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The goal beyond this vale of +sorrow,</span><br> +And smiles at men in pity when<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>They seek to penetrate the +morrow.</span><br> +With faith that all is for the best,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Let's bear what burdens are +presented,</span><br> +That we shall say, let come what may,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>"We die, as we have lived, +contented!</span><br> +Ours is to-day; God's is the rest,—<br> +He doth ordain who knoweth best."<br> +<br> +Dame Fortune plays me many a prank.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When she is kind, oh, how I go +it!</span><br> +But if again she's harsh,—why, then<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I am a very proper poet!</span><br> +When favoring gales bring in my ships,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I hie to Rome and live in +clover;</span><br> +Elsewise I steer my skiff out here,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And anchor till the storm blows +over.</span><br> +Compulsory virtue is the charm<br> +Of life upon the Sabine farm!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='CHLORIS_PROPERLY_REBUKED'></a> +<h2>CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Chloris Properly Rebuked"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear;<br> +The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more <i>savoir +faire</i>.<br> +A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door,<br> +Should not play with the girly girls, and think she's <i>en +rapport</i>.</p> + +<br> +<p>What's good enough for Pholoe you cannot well essay;<br> +Your daughter very properly courts <i>the jeunesse +dorée</i>,—<br> +A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot her joy restrain,<br> +But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles <i>à +l'Américaine</i>.</p> + +<br> +<p>'T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature old and poor,<br> +To sit and spin than to engage in an <i>affaire d'amour</i>.<br> +The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained deep are not for +you;<br> +Remember what the poet says: <i>Ce monde est plein de fous!</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA'></a> +<h2>TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To the Fountain of Bandusia"> +<tr> +<td>O fountain of Bandusia!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whence crystal waters +flow,</span><br> +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The sacrifice I owe;</span><br> +A sportive kid with budding horns<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I have, whose crimson +blood</span><br> +Anon shall dye and sanctify<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Thy cool and babbling +flood.</span><br> +<br> +O fountain of Bandusia!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Dog-star's hateful +spell</span><br> +No evil brings into the springs<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That from thy bosom +well;</span><br> +Here oxen, wearied by the plow,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The roving cattle here</span><br> +Hasten in quest of certain rest,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And quaff thy gracious +cheer.</span><br> +<br> +O fountain of Bandusia!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Ennobled shalt thou be,</span><br> +For I shall sing the joys that spring<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Beneath yon ilex-tree.</span><br> +Yes, fountain of Bandusia,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Posterity shall know</span><br> +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Singing and dancing go.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_THE_FOUNTAIN_OF_BANDUSIA2'></a> +<h2>TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To the Fountain of Bandusia II"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>O fountain of Bandusia! more glittering than glass,<br> +And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts that freely pass;<br> +More worthy of the flowers with which thou modestly art hid,<br> +To-morrow willing hands shall sacrifice to thee a kid.</p> + +<br> +<p>In vain the glory of the brow where proudly swell above<br> +The growing horns, significant of battle and of love;<br> +For in thy honor he shall die,—the offspring of the +herd,—<br> +And with his crimson life-blood thy cold waters shall be +stirred.</p> + +<br> +<p>The Dog-star's cruel season, with its fierce and blazing +heat,<br> +Has never sent its scorching rays into thy glad retreat;<br> +The oxen, wearied with the plow, the herd which wanders near,<br> +Have found a grateful respite and delicious coolness here.</p> + +<br> +<p>When of the graceful ilex on the hollow rocks I sing,<br> +Thou shalt become illustrious, O sweet Bandusian spring!<br> +Among the noble fountains which have been enshrined in fame,<br> +Thy dancing, babbling waters shall in song our homage claim.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_PREFERENCE_DECLARED'></a> +<h2>THE PREFERENCE DECLARED</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Preference Declared"> +<tr> +<td>Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I hate those linden-bark +devices;</span><br> +And as for roses, holy Moses!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>They can't be got at living +prices!</span><br> +Myrtle is good enough for us,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For <i>you</i>, as bearer of my +flagon;</span><br> +For <i>me</i>, supine beneath this vine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Doing my best to get a jag +on!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_TARDY_APOLOGY_I'></a> +<h2>A TARDY APOLOGY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Tardy Apology I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h3>I</h3> + +<br> +<p>Mæcenas, you will be my death,—though friendly you +profess yourself,—<br> +If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself:<br> +"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us?<br> +Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?"</p> + +<br> +<p>A god, Mæcenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of +me!<br> +If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me;<br> +Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology,<br> +And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology.</p> + +<br> +<p>Now, you yourself, Mæcenas, are enjoying this +beatitude;<br> +If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for +gratitude.<br> +A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous;<br> +This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_TARDY_APOLOGY_II'></a> +<h2>A TARDY APOLOGY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Tardy Apology II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h3>II</h3> + +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>You ask me, friend,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Why I don't send</span><br> +The long since due-and-paid-for numbers;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Why, songless, I</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>As drunken lie</span><br> +Abandoned to Lethean slumbers.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Long time ago</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>(As well you know)</span><br> +I started in upon that carmen;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>My work was vain,—</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>But why complain?</span><br> +When gods forbid, how helpless are men!<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Some ages back,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>The sage Anack</span><br> +Courted a frisky Samian body,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Singing her praise</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>In metered phrase</span><br> +As flowing as his bowls of toddy.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Till I was hoarse</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Might I discourse</span><br> +Upon the cruelties of Venus;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>'T were waste of time</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>As well of rhyme,</span><br> +For you've been there yourself, Mæcenas!<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Perfect your bliss</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>If some fair miss</span><br> +Love you yourself and <i>not</i> your minæ;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>I, fortune's sport,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>All vainly court</span><br> +The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_THE_SHIP_OF_STATE'></a> +<h2>TO THE SHIP OF STATE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To the Ship of State"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 5em;'>O ship of state</span><br> +Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea?<br> +What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Ere 't is too late!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Do you bemoan</span><br> +Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast?<br> +Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>The sailyards groan.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Of cables bare,</span><br> +Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave.<br> +Your sails are rent; you have no gods to save,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Or answer pray'r.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Though Pontic pine,</span><br> +The noble daughter of a far-famed wood,<br> +You boast your lineage and title good,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>A useless line!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>The sailor there</span><br> +In painted sterns no reassurance finds;<br> +Unless you owe derision to the winds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Beware—beware!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>My grief erewhile,</span><br> +But now my care—my longing! shun the seas<br> +That flow between the gleaming Cyclades,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 5em;'>Each shining isle.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='QUITTING_AGAIN'></a> +<h2>QUITTING AGAIN</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Quitting Again"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 4em;'>The hero of</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>Affairs of love</span><br> +By far too numerous to be mentioned,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>And scarred as I'm,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>It seemeth time</span><br> +That I were mustered out and pensioned.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>So on this wall</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>My lute and all</span><br> +I hang, and dedicate to Venus;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>And I implore</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>But one thing more</span><br> +Ere all is at an end between us.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>O goddess fair</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>Who reignest where</span><br> +The weather's seldom bleak and snowy,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>This boon I urge:</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 4em;'>In anger scourge</span><br> +My old cantankerous sweetheart, Chloe!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='SAILOR_AND_SHADE'></a> +<h2>SAILOR AND SHADE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Sailor and Shade"> +<tr> +<td> +<h5>SAILOR</h5> + +You, who have compassed land and sea,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Now all unburied lie;</span><br> +All vain your store of human lore,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For you were doomed to +die.</span><br> +The sire of Pelops likewise fell,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Jove's honored mortal +guest;</span><br> +So king and sage of every age<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>At last lie down to +rest.</span><br> +Plutonian shades enfold the ghost<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of that majestic one</span><br> +Who taught as truth that he, forsooth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Had once been Pentheus' +son;</span><br> +Believe who may, he's passed away,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And what he did is done.</span><br> +A last night comes alike to all;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>One path we all must +tread,</span><br> +Through sore disease or stormy seas<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or fields with corpses +red.</span><br> +Whate'er our deeds, that pathway leads<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To regions of the dead.</span><br> +<br> + + +<h5>SHADE</h5> + +The fickle twin Illyrian gales<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Overwhelmed me on the +wave;</span><br> +But you that live, I pray you give<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My bleaching bones a +grave!</span><br> +Oh, then when cruel tempests rage<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You all unharmed shall +be;</span><br> +Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And Neptune's on the +sea.</span><br> +Perchance you fear to do what may<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Bring evil to your race?</span><br> +Oh, rather fear that like me here<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You'll lack a burial +place.</span><br> +So, though you be in proper haste,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Bide long enough, I +pray,</span><br> +To give me, friend, what boon shall send<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My soul upon its way!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='LET_US_HAVE_PEACE'></a> +<h2>LET US HAVE PEACE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Let Us Have Peace"> +<tr> +<td>In maudlin spite let Thracians fight<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Above their bowls of +liquor;</span><br> +But such as we, when on a spree,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Should never brawl and +bicker!</span><br> +<br> +These angry words and clashing swords<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Are quite <i>de trop</i>, I'm +thinking;</span><br> +Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And drown your wrath in +drinking.</span><br> +<br> +Aha, 't is fine,—this mellow wine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With which our host would dope +us!</span><br> +Now let us hear what pretty dear<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Entangles him of Opus.</span><br> +<br> +I see you blush,—nay, comrades, hush!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come, friend, though they despise +you,</span><br> +Tell me the name of that fair dame,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Perchance I may advise +you.</span><br> +<br> +O wretched youth! and is it truth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You love that fickle +lady?</span><br> +I, doting dunce, courted her once;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Since when, she's reckoned +shady!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_QUINTUS_DELLIUS'></a> +<h2>TO QUINTUS DELLIUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Quintus Dellius"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray;<br> +For though you pine your life away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With dull complaining +breath,</span><br> +Or speed with song and wine each day,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Still, still your doom is +death.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>Where the white poplar and the pine<br> +In glorious arching shade combine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the brook singing +goes,</span><br> +Bid them bring store of nard and wine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And garlands of the +rose.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>Let's live while chance and youth obtain;<br> +Soon shall you quit this fair domain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Kissed by the Tiber's +gold,</span><br> +And all your earthly pride and gain<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Some heedless heir shall +hold.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>One ghostly boat shall some time bear<br> +From scenes of mirthfulness or care<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Each fated human +soul,—</span><br> +Shall waft and leave its burden where<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The waves of Lethe roll.</span><br> +</p> + +<p><i>So come, I prithee, Dellius mine;<br> +Let's sing our songs and drink our wine<br> +</i> <span style='margin-left: 1em;'><i>In that sequestered +nook</i></span><br> +<i>Where the white poplar and the pine<br> +</i> <span style='margin-left: 1em;'><i>Stand listening to the +brook</i>.</span><br> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='POKING_FUN_AT_XANTHIAS'></a> +<h2>POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Poking Fun at Xanthias"> +<tr> +<td>Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Don't apologize, Xanthias, +pray;</span><br> +Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For Brissy, his slave, as they +say.</span><br> +Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By the captive Tecmessa's ripe +charms;</span><br> +And Atrides, suspending the feast, it behooved<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To gather a girl to his +arms.</span><br> +<br> +Now, how do you know that this yellow-haired maid<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(This Phyllis you fain would +enjoy)</span><br> +Hasn't parents whose wealth would cast you in the shade,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who would ornament you, Xan, my +boy?</span><br> +Very likely the poor chick sheds copious tears,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And is bitterly thinking the +while</span><br> +Of the royal good times of her earlier years,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When her folks regulated the +style!</span><br> +<br> +It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That she of whose charms you are +proud</span><br> +Is beautiful only as means to deceive,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Merely one of the horrible +crowd.</span><br> +So constant a sweetheart, so loving a wife,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>So averse to all notions of +greed</span><br> +Was surely not born of a mother whose life<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is a chapter you'd better not +read.</span><br> +<br> +As an unbiased party I feel it my place<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(For I don't like to do things by +halves)</span><br> +To compliment Phyllis,—her arms and her face<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And (excuse me!) her delicate +calves.</span><br> +Tut, tut! don't get angry, my boy, or suspect<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You have any occasion to +fear</span><br> +A man whose deportment is always correct,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And is now in his forty-first +year!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ARISTIUS_FUSCUS'></a> +<h2>TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Aristius Fuscus"> +<tr> +<td>Fuscus, whoso to good inclines,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And is a faultless +liver,</span><br> +Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor poison-arrowed +quiver.</span><br> +<br> +Ay, though through desert wastes he roam,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or scale the rugged +mountains,</span><br> +Or rest beside the murmuring tide<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of weird Hydaspan +fountains!</span><br> +<br> +Lo, on a time, I gayly paced<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Sabine confines +shady,</span><br> +And sung in glee of Lalage,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My own and dearest lady;</span><br> +<br> +And as I sung, a monster wolf<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Slunk through the thicket from +me;</span><br> +But for that song, as I strolled along,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>He would have overcome +me!</span><br> +<br> +Set me amid those poison mists<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Which no fair gale +dispelleth,</span><br> +Or in the plains where silence reigns,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And no thing human +dwelleth,—</span><br> +<br> +Still shall I love my Lalage,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Still sing her tender +graces;</span><br> +And while I sing, my theme shall bring<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Heaven to those desert +places!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_I'></a> +<h2>TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Albius Tibullus I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Not to lament that rival flame<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Wherewith the heartless Glycera +scorns you,</span><br> +Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How many a modern instance warns +you!</span><br> +<br> +Fair-browed Lycoris pines away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Because her Cyrus loves +another;</span><br> +The ruthless churl informs the girl<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>He loves her only as a +brother!</span><br> +<br> +For he, in turn, courts Pholoe,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A maid unscotched of love's fierce +virus;</span><br> +Why, goats will mate with wolves they hate<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Ere Pholoe will mate with +Cyrus!</span><br> +<br> +Ah, weak and hapless human hearts,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By cruel Mother Venus +fated</span><br> +To spend this life in hopeless strife,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Because incongruously +mated!</span><br> +<br> +Such torture, Albius, is my lot;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For, though a better mistress wooed +me,</span><br> +My Myrtale has captured me,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And with her cruelties subdued +me!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_ALBIUS_TIBULLUS_II'></a> +<h2>TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Albius Tibullus II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +Grieve not, my Albius, if thoughts of Glycera may haunt you,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor chant your mournful elegies +because she faithless proves;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>If now a younger man than you this +cruel charmer loves,</span><br> +Let not the kindly favors of the past rise up to taunt you.<br> +<br> +Lycoris of the little brow for Cyrus feels a passion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And Cyrus, on the other hand, +toward Pholoe inclines;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But ere this crafty Cyrus can +accomplish his designs</span><br> +She-goats will wed Apulian wolves in deference to fashion.<br> +<br> +Such is the will, the cruel will, of love-inciting Venus,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who takes delight in wanton sport +and ill-considered jokes,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And brings ridiculous misfits +beneath her brazen yokes,—</span><br> +A very infelicitous proceeding, just between us.<br> +<br> +As for myself, young Myrtale, slave-born and lacking graces,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And wilder than the Adrian tides +which form Calabrian bays,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Entangled me in pleasing chains and +compromising ways,</span><br> +When—just my luck—a better girl was courting my +embraces.</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MAECENAS'></a> +<h2>TO MÆCENAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Maecenas"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Mæcenas, thou of royalty's descent,<br> +Both my protector and dear ornament,<br> +Among humanity's conditions are<br> +Those who take pleasure in the flying car,<br> +Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll,<br> +And shunning with the glowing wheel the goal;<br> +While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth,<br> +Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth.</p> + +<p>Here one is happy if the fickle crowd<br> +His name the threefold honor has allowed;<br> +And there another, if into his stores<br> +Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing-floors.<br> +He who delights to till his father's lands,<br> +And grasps the delving-hoe with willing hands,<br> +Can never to Attalic offers hark,<br> +Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark.<br> +The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze,<br> +When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas<br> +Praises the restful quiet of his home,<br> +Nor wishes from the peaceful fields to roam;<br> +Ah, speedily his shattered ships he mends,—<br> +To poverty his lesson ne'er extends.</p> + +<p>One there may be who never scorns to fill<br> +His cups with mellow draughts from Massic's hill,<br> +Nor from the busy day an hour to wean,<br> +Now stretched at length beneath the arbute green,<br> +Now at the softly whispering spring, to dream<br> +Of the fair nymphs who haunt the sacred stream.<br> +For camp and trump and clarion some have zest,—<br> +The cruel wars the mothers so detest.<br> +'Neath the cold sky the hunter spends his life,<br> +Unmindful of his home and tender wife,<br> +Whether the doe is seen by faithful hounds<br> +Or Marsian boar through the fine meshes bounds.</p> + +<p>But as for me, the ivy-wreaths, the prize<br> +Of learned brows, exalt me to the skies;<br> +The shady grove, the nymphs and satyrs there,<br> +Draw me away from people everywhere;<br> +If it may be, Euterpe's flute inspires,<br> +Or Polyhymnia strikes the Lesbian lyres;<br> +And if you place me where no bard debars,<br> +With head exalted I shall strike the stars!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_HIS_BOOK'></a> +<h2>TO HIS BOOK</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To His Book"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You vain, self-conscious little +book,</span><br> +Companion of my happy days,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How eagerly you seem to +look</span><br> +For wider fields to spread your lays;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My desk and locks cannot contain +you,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor blush of modesty restrain +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Well, then, begone, fool that thou +art!</span><br> +But do not come to me and cry,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When critics strike you to the +heart:</span><br> +"Oh, wretched little book am I!"<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You know I tried to educate +you</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To shun the fate that must await +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In youth you may encounter +friends</span><br> +(Pray this prediction be not wrong),<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But wait until old age +descends</span><br> +And thumbs have smeared your gentlest song;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Then will the moths connive to eat +you</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And rural libraries secrete +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>However, should a friend some +word</span><br> +Of my obscure career request,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Tell him how deeply I was +stirred</span><br> +To spread my wings beyond the nest;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Take from my years, which are +before you,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To boom my merits, I implore +you.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Tell him that I am short and +fat,</span><br> +Quick in my temper, soon appeased,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With locks of gray,—but what +of that?</span><br> +Loving the sun, with nature pleased.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'm more than four and forty, hark +you,—</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But ready for a night off, mark +you!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='FAME_vs_RICHES'></a> +<h2>FAME <i>vs.</i> RICHES</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Fame vs. Riches"> +<tr> +<td>The Greeks had genius,—'t was a gift<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Muse vouchsafed in glorious +measure;</span><br> +The boon of Fame they made their aim<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And prized above all worldly +treasure.</span><br> +<br> +But <i>we</i>,—how do we train <i>our</i> youth?<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'><i>Not</i> in the arts that are +immortal,</span><br> +But in the greed for gains that speed<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From him who stands at Death's dark +portal.</span><br> +<br> +Ah, when this slavish love of gold<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Once binds the soul in greasy +fetters,</span><br> +How prostrate lies,—how droops and dies<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The great, the noble cause of +letters!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_LYRIC_MUSE'></a> +<h2>THE LYRIC MUSE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Lyric Muse"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric +muse!</span><br> +For when mankind ran wild in grooves<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Came holy Orpheus with his +songs</span><br> +And turned men's hearts from bestial loves,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From brutal force and savage +wrongs;</span><br> +Amphion, too, and on his lyre<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Made such sweet music all the +day</span><br> +That rocks, instinct with warm desire,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Pursued him in his glorious +way.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric muse!</span><br> +Hers was the wisdom that of yore<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Taught man the rights of fellow +man,</span><br> +Taught him to worship God the more,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And to revere love's holy +ban.</span><br> +Hers was the hand that jotted down<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The laws correcting divers +wrongs;</span><br> +And so came honor and renown<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To bards and to their noble +songs.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric muse!</span><br> +Old Homer sung unto the lyre;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Tyrtæus, too, in ancient +days;</span><br> +Still warmed by their immortal fire,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How doth our patriot spirit +blaze!</span><br> +The oracle, when questioned, sings;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>So our first steps in life are +taught.</span><br> +In verse we soothe the pride of kings,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In verse the drama has been +wrought.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I love the lyric muse!</span><br> +Be not ashamed, O noble friend,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In honest gratitude to +pay</span><br> +Thy homage to the gods that send<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This boon to charm all ill +away.</span><br> +With solemn tenderness revere<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This voiceful glory as a +shrine</span><br> +Wherein the quickened heart may hear<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The counsels of a voice +divine!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_COUNTERBLAST_AGAINST_GARLIC'></a> +<h2>A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Counterblast Against Garlic"> +<tr> +<td>May the man who has cruelly murdered his sire—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A crime to be punished with +death—</span><br> +Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of his own foul and venomous +breath!</span><br> +What stomachs these rustics must have who can eat<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This dish that Canidia +made,</span><br> +Which imparts to my colon a torturous heat,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And a poisonous look, I'm +afraid!</span><br> +<br> +They say that ere Jason attempted to yoke<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The fire-breathing bulls to the +plow</span><br> +He smeared his whole body with garlic,—a joke<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Which I fully appreciate +now.</span><br> +When Medea gave Glauce her beautiful dress,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In which garlic was scattered +about,</span><br> +It was cruel and rather low-down, I confess,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But it settled the point beyond +doubt.</span><br> +<br> +On thirsty Apulia ne'er has the sun<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Inflicted such terrible +heat;</span><br> +As for Hercules' robe, although poisoned, 't was fun<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>When compared with this garlic we +eat!</span><br> +Mæcenas, if ever on garbage like this<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You express a desire to be +fed,</span><br> +May Mrs. Mæcenas object to your kiss,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And lie at the foot of the +bed!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_EXCUSE_FOR_LALAGE'></a> +<h2>AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Excuse for Lalage"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is +bent,<br> +To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent;<br> +Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go,<br> +Now with the calves disporting where the pussy-willows grow.</p> + +<p>Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, trust me, you shall +learn<br> +How quickly in the autumn time to purple they will turn.<br> +Soon she will follow you, for age steals swiftly on the maid;<br> +And all the precious years that you have lost she will have +paid.</p> + +<p>Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, the coy,<br> +Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, girlish boy,<br> +Whom, if you placed among the girls, and loosed his flowing +locks,<br> +The wondering guests could not decide which one decorum shocks.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_APPEAL_TO_LYCE'></a> +<h2>AN APPEAL TO LYCE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Appeal to Lyce"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, as gods will hear the +dutiful,<br> +And brought old age upon you, though you still affect the +beautiful.<br> +You sport among the boys, and drink and chatter on quite +aimlessly;<br> +And in your cups with quavering voice you torment Cupid +shamelessly.</p> + +<p>For blooming Chia, Cupid has a feeling more than brotherly;<br> +He knows a handsaw from a hawk whenever winds are southerly.<br> +He pats her pretty cheeks, but looks on you as a monstrosity;<br> +Your wrinkles and your yellow teeth excite his animosity.</p> + +<p>For jewels bright and purple Coan robes you are not +dressable;<br> +Unhappily for you, the public records are accessible.<br> +Where is your charm, and where your bloom and gait so firm and +sensible,<br> +That drew my love from Cinara,—a lapse most indefensible?</p> + +<p>To my poor Cinara in youth Death came with great celerity;<br> +Egad, that never can be said of you with any verity!<br> +The old crow that you are, the teasing boys will jeer, compelling +you<br> +To roost at home. Reflect, all this is straight that I am telling +you.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_I'></a> +<h2>A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Roman Winter-Piece I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Soracte mocks the sullen +sky;</span><br> +How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And chained with frost the rivers +lie.</span><br> +<br> +Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We'll melt away the envious +cold:</span><br> +And, better yet, sweet friend, we'll wet<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our whistles with some +four-year-old.</span><br> +<br> +Commit all else unto the gods,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who, when it pleaseth them, shall +bring</span><br> +To fretful deeps and wooded steeps<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The mild, persuasive grace of +Spring.</span><br> +<br> +Let not To-morrow, but To-day,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your ever active thoughts +engage;</span><br> +Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Unharmed, unawed of crabbed +Age.</span><br> +<br> +Let's steal content from Winter's wrath,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And glory in the artful +theft,</span><br> +That years from now folks shall allow<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>'T was cold indeed when we got +left.</span><br> +<br> +So where the whisperings and the mirth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of girls invite a sportive +chap,</span><br> +Let's fare awhile,—aha, you smile;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You guess my +meaning,—<i>verbum sap</i>.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_ROMAN_WINTER_PIECE_II'></a> +<h2>A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="A Roman Winter-Piece II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Now stands Soracte white with snow, now bend the laboring +trees,<br> +And with the sharpness of the frost the stagnant rivers freeze.<br> +Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer cheer incline,<br> +And draw, my Thaliarchus, from the Sabine jar the wine.</p> + +<p>The rest leave to the gods, who still the fiercely warring +wind,<br> +And to the morrow's store of good or evil give no mind.<br> +Whatever day your fortune grants, that day mark up for gain;<br> +And in your youthful bloom do not the sweet amours disdain.</p> + +<p>Now on the Campus and the squares, when evening shades +descend,<br> +Soft whisperings again are heard, and loving voices blend;<br> +And now the low delightful laugh betrays the lurking maid,<br> +While from her slowly yielding arms the forfeiture is paid.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_DIANA'></a> +<h2>TO DIANA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Diana"> +<tr> +<td>O virgin, tri-formed goddess fair,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The guardian of the groves and +hills,</span><br> +Who hears the girls in their despair<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Cry out in childbirth's cruel +ills,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And saves them from the Stygian +flow!</span><br> +Let the pine-tree my cottage near<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Be sacred to thee +evermore,</span><br> +That I may give to it each year<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With joy the life-blood of the +boar,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Now thinking of the sidelong +blow.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_HIS_LUTE'></a> +<h2>TO HIS LUTE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To His Lute"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>If ever in the sylvan shade<br> +A song immortal we have made,<br> +Come now, O lute, I prithee come,<br> +Inspire a song of Latium!</p> + +<p>A Lesbian first thy glories proved;<br> +In arms and in repose he loved<br> +To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise<br> +His voice in Love's and Liber's praise.<br> +The Muses, too, and him who clings<br> +To Mother Venus' apron-strings,<br> +And Lycus beautiful, he sung<br> +In those old days when you were young.</p> + +<p>O shell, that art the ornament<br> +Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content<br> +To Jove, and soothing troubles all,—<br> +Come and requite me, when I call!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LEUCONOE_I'></a> +<h2>TO LEUCONÖE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Leuconoe I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>What end the gods may have ordained for me,<br> +And what for thee,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Seek not to learn, Leuconöe; +we may not know.</span><br> +Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest.<br> +'T is for the best<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To bear in patience what may come, +or weal or woe.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>If for more winters our poor lot is cast,<br> +Or this the last,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Which on the crumbling rocks has +dashed Etruscan seas,</span><br> +Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best.<br> +Take hope with zest,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch +To-day for ease!</span><br> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LEUCONOE_II'></a> +<h2>TO LEUCONÖE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Leuconoe II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Seek not, Leuconöe, to know how long you're going to live +yet,<br> +What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to +give yet;<br> +For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we +worry,—<br> +Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry.<br> +The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem<br> +Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am.<br> +And while we sport I'll reel you off such odes as shall surprise +ye;<br> +To-morrow, when the headache comes,—well, then I'll satirize +ye!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LIGURINUS_I'></a> +<h2>TO LIGURINUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Ligurinus I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Though mighty in Love's favor still,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Though cruel yet, my +boy,</span><br> +When the unwelcome dawn shall chill<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your pride and youthful +joy,</span><br> +The hair which round your shoulder grows<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is rudely cut away,</span><br> +Your color, redder than the rose,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is changed by youth's +decay,—</span><br> +<br> +Then, Ligurinus, in the glass<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Another you will spy.</span><br> +And as the shaggy face, alas!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You see, your grief will +cry:</span><br> +"Why in my youth could I not learn<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The wisdom men enjoy?</span><br> +Or why to men cannot return<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The smooth cheeks of the +boy?"</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LIGURINUS_II'></a> +<h2>TO LIGURINUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Ligurinus II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p><span style='margin-left: 3em;'>O Cruel fair,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Whose flowing hair</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The envy and the pride of all +is,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>As onward roll</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>The years, that poll</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Will get as bald as a billiard ball +is;</span><br> +Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply,<br> +Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply!</p> + +<p><span style='margin-left: 3em;'>When you behold</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Yourself grown old,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>These words shall speak your +spirits moody:</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>"Unhappy one!</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>What heaps of fun</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I've missed by being +goody-goody!</span><br> +Oh, that I might have felt the hunger<br> +Of loveless age when I was younger!"</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_HAPPY_ISLES'></a> +<h2>THE HAPPY ISLES</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Happy Isles"> +<tr> +<td>Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the golden haze off +yonder,</span><br> +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the ocean loves to +wander.</span><br> +<br> +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Proudly the fig +rejoices,</span><br> +Merrily dance the virgin rills,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Blending their myriad +voices.</span><br> +<br> +Our herds shall suffer no evil there,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But peacefully feed and rest +them;</span><br> +Never thereto shall prowling bear<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or serpent come to molest +them.</span><br> +<br> +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor feverish drought distress +us,</span><br> +But he that compasseth heat and cold<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall temper them both to bless +us.</span><br> +<br> +There no vandal foot has trod,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the pirate hordes that +wander</span><br> +Shall never profane the sacred sod<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of those beautiful isles out +yonder.</span><br> +<br> +Never a spell shall blight our vines,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor Sirius blaze above +us,</span><br> +But you and I shall drink our wines<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And sing to the loved that love +us.</span><br> +<br> +So come with me where Fortune smiles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the gods invite +devotion,—</span><br> +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the haze of that far-off +ocean!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='CONSISTENCY'></a> +<h2>CONSISTENCY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Consistency"> +<tr> +<td>Should painter attach to a fair human head<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The thick, turgid neck of a +stallion,</span><br> +Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a bass,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I am sure you would guy the +rapscallion.</span><br> +<br> +Believe me, dear Pisos, that just such a freak<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is the crude and preposterous +poem</span><br> +Which merely abounds in a torrent of sounds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With no depth of reason below +'em.</span><br> +<br> +'T is all very well to give license to art,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The wisdom of license defend +I;</span><br> +But the line should be drawn at the fripperish spawn<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of a mere <i>cacoethes +scribendi</i>.</span><br> +<br> +It is too much the fashion to strain at effects,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Yes, that's what's the matter with +Hannah!</span><br> +Our popular taste, by the tyros debased,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Paints each barnyard a grove of +Diana!</span><br> +<br> +Should a patron require you to paint a marine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Would you work in some trees with +their barks on?</span><br> +When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Would you give him a pitcher like +Clarkson?</span><br> +<br> +Now, this is my moral: Compose what you may,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And Fame will be ever far +distant</span><br> +Unless you combine with a simple design<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A treatment in toto +consistent.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_POSTUMUS'></a> +<h2>TO POSTUMUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Postumus"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>O Postumus, my Postumus, the years are gliding past,<br> +And piety will never check the wrinkles coming fast,<br> +The ravages of time old age's swift advance has made,<br> +And death, which unimpeded comes to bear us to the shade.</p> + +<p>Old friend, although the tearless Pluto you may strive to +please,<br> +And seek each year with thrice one hundred bullocks to appease,<br> +Who keeps the thrice-huge Geryon and Tityus his slaves,<br> +Imprisoned fast forevermore with cold and sombre waves,</p> + +<p>Yet must that flood so terrible be sailed by mortals all;<br> +Whether perchance we may be kings and live in royal hall,<br> +Or lowly peasants struggling long with poverty and dearth,<br> +Still must we cross who live upon the favors of the earth.</p> + +<p>And all in vain from bloody war and contest we are free,<br> +And from the waves that hoarsely break upon the Adrian Sea;<br> +For our frail bodies all in vain our helpless terror grows<br> +In gloomy autumn seasons, when the baneful south wind blows.</p> + +<p>Alas! the black Cocytus, wandering to the world below,<br> +That languid river to behold we of this earth must go;<br> +To see the grim Danaides, that miserable race,<br> +And Sisyphus of Æolus, condemned to endless chase.</p> + +<p>Behind you must you leave your home and land and wife so +dear,<br> +And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, you rear,<br> +And which around the funeral piles as signs of mourning grow,<br> +Not one will follow you, their short-lived master, there below.</p> + +<p>Your worthier heir the precious Cæcuban shall drink +galore,<br> +Now with a hundred keys preserved and guarded in your store,<br> +And stain the pavements, pouring out in waste the nectar proud,<br> +Better than that with which the pontiffs' feasts have been +endowed.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_I'></a> +<h2>TO MISTRESS PYRRHA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Mistress Pyrrha I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With smiles for diet,</span><br> +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>On the quiet?</span><br> +For whom do you bind up your tresses,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>As spun-gold +yellow,—</span><br> +Meshes that go with your caresses,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>To snare a fellow?</span><br> +<br> +How will he rail at fate capricious,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And curse you duly,</span><br> +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'><i>You</i> perfect, +truly!</span><br> +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>He'll soon fall in +there!</span><br> +Then shall I gloat on his commotion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>For <i>I</i> have been +there!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MISTRESS_PYRRHA_II'></a> +<h2>TO MISTRESS PYRRHA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Mistress Pyrrha II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>What dainty boy with sweet perfumes bedewed<br> +Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave?<br> +For whom amid the roses, many-hued,<br> +Do you bind back your tresses' yellow wave?</p> + +<p>How oft will he deplore your fickle whim,<br> +And wonder at the storm and roughening deeps,<br> +Who now enjoys you, all in all to him,<br> +And dreams of you, whose only thoughts he keeps.</p> + +<p>Wretched are they to whom you seem so fair;—<br> +That I escaped the storms, the gods be praised!<br> +My dripping garments, offered with a prayer,<br> +Stand as a tablet to the sea-god raised.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MELPOMENE'></a> +<h2>TO MELPOMENE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Melpomene"> +<tr> +<td>Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared:<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come, tempests, with your +bitterness assailing;</span><br> +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal +feared,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Thy buffets and thy rage are +unavailing!</span><br> +<br> +I shall not altogether die: by far my greater part<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall mock man's common fate in +realms infernal;</span><br> +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My works shall be my monument +eternal!</span><br> +<br> +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our +fanes,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Mankind with grateful hearts shall +tell the story</span><br> +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>First raised the native lyric muse +to glory.</span><br> +<br> +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And, with thine own dear hand the +meed supplying,</span><br> +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame +undying!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_PHYLLIS_I'></a> +<h2>TO PHYLLIS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Phyllis I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That fairly reeks with precious +juices,</span><br> +And in your tresses you shall twine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The loveliest flowers this vale +produces.</span><br> + <br> +My cottage wears a gracious smile;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The altar, decked in floral +glory,</span><br> +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As though it pined for honors +gory.</span><br> + <br> +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The boys agog, the maidens +snickering;</span><br> +And savory smells possess the air,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As skyward kitchen flames are +flickering.</span><br> + <br> +You ask what means this grand display,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This festive throng and goodly +diet?</span><br> +Well, since you're bound to have your way,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I don't mind telling, on the +quiet.</span><br> + <br> +'T is April 13, as you know,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A day and month devote to +Venus,</span><br> +Whereon was born, some years ago,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My very worthy friend, +Mæcenas.</span><br> + <br> +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your friends agree he doesn't love +you.</span><br> +The way he flirts convinces us<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>He really is not worthy of +you.</span><br> + <br> +Aurora's son, unhappy lad!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You know the fate that overtook +him?</span><br> +And Pegasus a rider had,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I say he <i>had</i>, before he +shook him!</span><br> + <br> +<i>Hoc docet</i> (as you must agree)<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>'T is meet that Phyllis should +discover</span><br> +A wisdom in preferring me,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And mittening every other +lover.</span><br> + <br> +So come, O Phyllis, last and best<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of loves with which this heart's +been smitten,</span><br> +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And let your songs be those +<i>I've</i> written.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_PHYLLIS_II'></a> +<h2>TO PHYLLIS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Phyllis II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +<p>Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine,<br> +The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine,<br> +And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair,<br> +And ivy in profusion to bind up your shining hair.</p> + +<p>Now smiles the house with silver; the altar, laurel-bound,<br> +Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to drip around;<br> +The company is hurrying, boys and maidens with the rest;<br> +The flames are flickering as they whirl the dark smoke on their +crest.</p> + +<p>Yet you must know the joys to which you have been summoned +here<br> +To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born Venus dear,—<br> +Ah, festal day more sacred than my own fair day of birth,<br> +Since from its dawn my loved Mæcenas counts his years of +earth.</p> + +<p>A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited to her mind,<br> +The Telephus whom you desire,—a youth not of your kind.<br> +She holds him bound with pleasing chains, the fetters of her +charms,—<br> +Remember how scorched Phaëthon ambitious hopes alarms.</p> + +<p>The winged Pegasus the rash Bellerophon has chafed,<br> +To you a grave example for reflection has vouchsafed,—<br> +Always to follow what is meet, and never try to catch<br> +That which is not allowed to you, an inappropriate match.</p> + +<p>Come now, sweet Phyllis, of my loves the last, and hence the +best<br> +(For nevermore shall other girls inflame this manly breast);<br> +Learn loving measures to rehearse as we may stroll along,<br> +And dismal cares shall fly away and vanish at your song.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_CHLOE_I'></a> +<h2>TO CHLOE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Chloe I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>I</h4> + +Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That, fearful of the breezes and +the wood,</span><br> +Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And on the pathless mountain tops +has stood?</span><br> +<br> +Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Her sinking knees with nameless +terrors shake,—</span><br> +Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or the green lizards stir the +slumbering brake.</span><br> +<br> +I do not follow with a tigerish thought,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or with the fierce Gætulian +lion's quest;</span><br> +So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Full ripe to nestle on a husband's +breast.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_CHLOE_II'></a> +<h2>TO CHLOE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Chloe II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h4>II</h4> + +Chloe, you shun me like a hind<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That, seeking vainly for her +mother,</span><br> +Hears danger in each breath of wind,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And wildly darts this way and t' +other;</span><br> +<br> +Whether the breezes sway the wood<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or lizards scuttle through the +brambles,</span><br> +She starts, and off, as though pursued,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The foolish, frightened creature +scrambles.</span><br> +<br> +But, Chloe, you're no infant thing<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That should esteem a man an +ogre;</span><br> +Let go your mother's apron-string,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And pin your faith upon a +toga!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name="A_PARAPHRASE"></a> +<h4>III</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="A Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td>How happens it, my cruel miss,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You're always giving me the +mitten?</span><br> +You seem to have forgotten this:<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That you no longer are a +kitten!</span><br> +<br> +A woman that has reached the years<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of that which people call +discretion</span><br> +Should put aside all childish fears<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And see in courtship no +transgression.</span><br> +<br> +A mother's solace may be sweet,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But Hymen's tenderness is +sweeter;</span><br> +And though all virile love be meet,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You'll find the poet's love is +metre.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='ANOTHER_PARAPHRASE'></a> +<h4>IV</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE, CIRCA 1715</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="Another Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Since Chloe is so monstrous fair,<br> +With such an eye and such an air,<br> +What wonder that the world complains<br> +When she each am'rous suit disdains?</p> + +<p>Close to her mother's side she clings,<br> +And mocks the death her folly brings<br> +To gentle swains that feel the smarts<br> +Her eyes inflict upon their hearts.</p> + +<p>Whilst thus the years of youth go by,<br> +Shall Colin languish, Strephon die?<br> +Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate,<br> +And choose him ere it be too late!</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_THIRD_PARAPHRASE'></a> +<h4>V</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE, BY DR. I.W.</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="A Third Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td>Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bother<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With prattlings and with vain +ado</span><br> +Your worthy and industrious mother,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Eschewing them that come to +woo?</span><br> +<br> +Oh, that the awful truth might quicken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This stern conviction to your +breast:</span><br> +You are no longer now a chicken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Too young to quit the parent +nest.</span><br> +<br> +So put aside your froward carriage,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And fix your thoughts, whilst yet +there's time,</span><br> +Upon the righteousness of marriage<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With some such godly man as +I'm.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='A_FOURTH_PARAPHRASE'></a> +<h4>VI</h4> + +<h4>A PARAPHRASE, BY CHAUCER</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="A Fourth Paraphrase"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken,<br> +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken;<br> +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding<br> +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding.<br> +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder<br> +For to beare swete company with some oder;<br> +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth,<br> +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth;<br> +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes<br> +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys;<br> +But all that do with gode men wed full quicklye<br> +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MAECENAS_II'></a> +<h2>TO MÆCENAS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Maecenas"> +<tr> +<td>Than you, O valued friend of mine,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A better patron <i>non +est</i>!</span><br> +Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You'll find it poor but +honest.</span><br> +<br> +I put it up that famous day<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You patronized the +ballet,</span><br> +And the public cheered you such a way<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As shook your native +valley.</span><br> +<br> +Cæcuban and the Calean brand<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>May elsewhere claim +attention;</span><br> +But <i>I</i> have none of these on hand,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For reasons I'll not +mention.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='ENVOY'></a> +<h2>ENVOY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Envoy"> +<tr> +<td>So, come! though favors I bestow<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Cannot be called +extensive,</span><br> +Who better than my friend should know<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That they're at least +expensive?</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_BARINE'></a> +<h2>TO BARINE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Barine"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken,<br> +A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you;<br> +If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger<br> +Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you.</p> + +<p>But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is,<br> +Your head with the vows of untruth,<br> +Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming,<br> +You come forth beloved of our youth.</p> + +<p>It is advantageous, but no less outrageous,<br> +Your poor mother's ashes to cheat;<br> +While the gods of creation and each constellation<br> +You seem to regard as your meat.</p> + +<p>Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it;<br> +The good-natured nymphs merely smile;<br> +And Cupid is merry,—'t is humorous, very,—<br> +And sharpens his arrows the while.</p> + +<p>Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking,<br> +A new band is joined to the old;<br> +While the horrified matrons your juvenile patrons<br> +In vain would bring back to the fold.</p> + +<p>The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mellows<br> +Confess to a dread of your house;<br> +But a more pressing duty, in view of your beauty,<br> +Is the young wife's concern for her spouse.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_RECONCILIATION_I'></a> +<h2>THE RECONCILIATION</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="The Reconciliation I"> +<tr> +<td> +<h5>HE</h5> + +When you were mine, in auld lang syne,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And when none else your charms +might ogle,</span><br> +I'll not deny, fair nymph, that I<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Was happier than a heathen +mogul.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>SHE</h5> + +Before <i>she</i> came, that rival flame<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>(Had ever mater saucier +filia?),</span><br> +In those good times, bepraised in rhymes,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I was more famed than Mother +Ilia.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HE</h5> + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Does she at song or harp employ +her!</span><br> +I'd gladly die, if only I<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Could live forever to enjoy +her!</span><br> +<br> +<h5>SHE</h5> + +My Sybaris so noble is<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That, by the gods, I love him +madly!</span><br> +That I might save him from the grave,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'd give my life, and give it +gladly!</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HE</h5> + +What if <i>ma belle</i> from favor fell,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And I made up my mind to shake +her;</span><br> +Would Lydia then come back again,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And to her quondam love betake +her?</span><br> +<br> +<h5>SHE</h5> + +My other beau should surely go,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And you alone should find me +gracious;</span><br> +For no one slings such odes and things<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As does the lauriger +Horatius!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_RECONCILIATION_II'></a> +<h2>THE RECONCILIATION</h2> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="The Reconciliation II"> +<tr> +<td> +<h5>HORACE</h5> + +While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Around thy snowy neck his folding +arms was wont to fling;</span><br> +As long as I remained your love, acceptable and pleasing,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I lived a life of happiness beyond +the Persian king.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>LYDIA</h5> + +While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unreserved opinion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And for no other cherished thou a +brighter, livelier flame,</span><br> +I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole dominion,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Surpassed the Roman Ilia in +eminence of fame.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HORACE</h5> + +'T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accomplishments inthrall +me,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>So sweet in modulations, such a +mistress of the lyre.</span><br> +In truth the fates, however terrible, could not appall me;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>If they would spare her, sweet my +soul, I gladly would expire.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>LYDIA</h5> + +And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, inflames me<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With mutual, restless passion and +an all-consuming fire;</span><br> +And if the fates, however dread, would spare the youth who claims +me,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Not only once would I face death, +but gladly twice expire.</span><br> +<br> +<h5>HORACE</h5> + +What if our early love returns to prove we were mistaken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And bind with brazen yoke the +twain, to part, ah! nevermore?</span><br> +What if the charming Chloe of the golden locks be shaken<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And slighted Lydia again glide +through the open door?</span><br> +<br> +<h5>LYDIA</h5> + +Though he is fairer than the star that shines so far above you,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Thou lighter than a cork, more +stormy than the Adrian Sea,</span><br> +Still should I long to live with you, to live for you and love +you,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And cheerfully see death's approach +if thou wert near to me.</span><br> + </td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_ROASTING_OF_LYDIA'></a> +<h2>THE ROASTING OF LYDIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Roasting of Lydia"> +<tr> +<td>No more your needed rest at night<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By ribald youth is +troubled;</span><br> +No more your windows, fastened tight,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Yield to their knocks +redoubled.</span><br> +<br> +No longer you may hear them cry,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>"Why art thou, Lydia, +lying</span><br> +In heavy sleep till morn is nigh,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>While I, your love, am +dying?"</span><br> +<br> +Grown old and faded, you bewail<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The rake's insulting +sally,</span><br> +While round your home the Thracian gale<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Storms through the lonely +alley.</span><br> +<br> +What furious thoughts will fill your breast,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>What passions, fierce and +tinglish</span><br> +(Cannot be properly expressed<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In calm, reposeful +English).</span><br> +<br> +Learn this, and hold your carping tongue:<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Youth will be found +rejoicing</span><br> +In ivy green and myrtle young,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The praise of fresh life +voicing;</span><br> +<br> +And not content to dedicate,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With much protesting +shiver,</span><br> +The sapless leaves to winter's mate,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Hebrus, the cold dark +river.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_GLYCERA'></a> +<h2>TO GLYCERA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Glycera"> +<tr> +<td>The cruel mother of the Loves,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And other Powers +offended,</span><br> +Have stirred my heart, where newly roves<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The passion that was +ended.</span><br> +<br> +'T is Glycera, to boldness prone,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whose radiant beauty fires +me;</span><br> +While fairer than the Parian stone<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Her dazzling face inspires +me.</span><br> +<br> +And on from Cyprus Venus speeds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Forbidding—ah! the +pity—</span><br> +The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And such irrelevant +ditty.</span><br> +<br> +Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Have bowls of wine +adjacent;</span><br> +And ere our sacrifice is through<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>She may be more +complaisant.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LYDIA_I'></a> +<h2>TO LYDIA</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="To Lydia I"> +<tr> +<td>When, Lydia, you (once fond and true,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But now grown cold and +supercilious)</span><br> +Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Well, by the dog! it makes me +bilious!</span><br> +<br> +Then with despite my cheeks wax white,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My doddering brain gets weak and +giddy,</span><br> +My eyes o'erflow with tears which show<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That passion melts my vitals, +Liddy!</span><br> +<br> +Deny, false jade, your escapade,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And, lo! your wounded shoulders +show it!</span><br> +No manly spark left such a mark—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Leastwise he surely was no +poet!</span><br> +<br> +With savage buss did Telephus<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Abraid your lips, so plump and +mellow;</span><br> +As you would save what Venus gave,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I charge you shun that awkward +fellow!</span><br> +<br> +And now I say thrice happy they<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That call on Hymen to requite +'em;</span><br> +For, though love cools, the wedded fools<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Must cleave till death doth +disunite 'em.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LYDIA_II'></a> +<h2>TO LYDIA</h2> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="To Lydia II"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>When praising Telephus you sing<br> +His rosy neck and waxen arms,<br> +Forgetful of the pangs that wring<br> +This heart for my neglected charms,</p> + +<p>Soft down my cheek the tear-drop flows,<br> +My color comes and goes the while,<br> +And my rebellious liver glows,<br> +And fiercely swells with laboring bile.</p> + +<p>Perchance yon silly, passionate youth,<br> +Distempered by the fumes of wine,<br> +Has marred your shoulder with his tooth,<br> +Or scarred those rosy lips of thine.</p> + +<p>Be warned; he cannot faithful prove,<br> +Who, with the cruel kiss you prize,<br> +Has hurt the little mouth I love,<br> +Where Venus's own nectar lies.</p> + +<p>Whom golden links unbroken bind,<br> +Thrice happy—more than thrice are they;<br> +And constant, both in heart and mind,<br> +In love await the final day.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_QUINTIUS_HIRPINUS'></a> +<h2>TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Quintius Hirpinus"> +<tr> +<td>To Scythian and Cantabrian plots,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Pay them no heed, O +Quintius!</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>So long as we</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>From care are free,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Vexations cannot cinch +us.</span><br> +<br> +Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Speed hand in hand +together;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The songs we sing</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>In time of spring</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Are hushed in wintry +weather.</span><br> +<br> +Why, even flow'rs change with the hours,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And the moon has divers +phases;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And shall the mind</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Be racked to find</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A clew to Fortune's +mazes?</span><br> +<br> +Nay; 'neath this tree let you and me<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Woo Bacchus to caress +us;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>We're old, 't is true,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>But still we two</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Are thoroughbreds, God bless +us!</span><br> +<br> +While the wine gets cool in yonder pool,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Let's spruce up nice and +tidy;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Who knows, old boy,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>But we may decoy</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The fair but furtive +Lyde?</span><br> +<br> +She can execute on her ivory lute<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Sonatas full of passion,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>And she bangs her hair</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>(Which is passing fair)</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the good old Spartan +fashion.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='WINE_WOMEN_AND_SONG'></a> +<h2>WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Wine, Women, and Song"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Ovarus mine,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Plant thou the vine</span><br> +Within this kindly soil of Tibur;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Nor temporal woes,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Nor spiritual, knows</span><br> +The man who's a discreet imbiber.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>For who doth croak</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Of being broke,</span><br> +Or who of warfare, after drinking?<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With bowl atween us,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Of smiling Venus</span><br> +And Bacchus shall we sing, I'm thinking.<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Of symptoms fell</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Which brawls impel,</span><br> +Historic data give us warning;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The wretch who fights</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>When full, of nights,</span><br> +Is bound to have a head next morning.<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>I do not scorn</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>A friendly horn,</span><br> +But noisy toots, I can't abide 'em!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Your howling bat</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Is stale and flat</span><br> +To one who knows, because he's tried 'em!<br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The secrets of</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>The life I love</span><br> +(Companionship with girls and toddy)<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>I would not drag</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With drunken brag</span><br> +Into the ken of everybody;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>But in the shade</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Let some coy maid</span><br> +With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Then all day long,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>With mirth and song,</span><br> +Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle!</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AN_ODE_TO_FORTUNE'></a> +<h2>AN ODE TO FORTUNE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="An Ode to Fortune"> +<tr> +<td><span style='margin-left: 1em;'>O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I +call,</span><br> +Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown<br> +The veriest clod with riches and renown,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And change a triumph to a +funeral</span><br> +The tillers of the soil and they that vex the seas,<br> +Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Invoke thee, all.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of Dacian tribes, of roving +Scythian bands,</span><br> +Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red<br> +With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting dread;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Within thy path no human valor +stands,</span><br> +And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown<br> +The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely down<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From kingly hands.</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Necessity precedes thee in thy +way;</span><br> +Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is seen<br> +Dancing attendance with obsequious mien;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But with what coward and abject +dismay</span><br> +The faithless crowd and treacherous wantons fly<br> +When once their jars of luscious wine run dry,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Such ingrates they!</span><br> +<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Fortune, I call on thee to +bless</span><br> +Our king,—our Cæsar girt for foreign wars!<br> +Help him to heal these fratricidal scars<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That speak degenerate shame and +wickedness;</span><br> +And forge anew our impious spears and swords,<br> +Wherewith we may against barbarian hordes<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our Past redress!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_A_JAR_OF_WINE'></a> +<h2>TO A JAR OF WINE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To a Jar of Wine"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>O gracious jar,—my friend, my twin,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Born at the time when I was +born,—</span><br> +Whether tomfoolery you inspire<br> +Or animate with love's desire,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or flame the soul with bitter +scorn,</span><br> +Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Come from your place this festal +day;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Corvinus hither wends his +way,</span><br> +And there's demand for wine!</p> + +<p>Corvinus is the sort of man<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Who dotes on tedious +argument.</span><br> +An advocate, his ponderous pate<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Is full of Blackstone and of +Kent;</span><br> +Yet not insensible is he,<br> +O genial Massic flood! to thee.<br> +Why, even Cato used to take<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A modest, surreptitious +nip</span><br> +At meal-times for his stomach's sake,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Or to forefend la +grippe.</span><br> +</p> + +<p>How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And bare the cruel knave's +design;</span><br> +How through thy fascinating arts<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We discount Hope, O gracious +wine!</span><br> +And passing rich the poor man feels<br> +As through his veins thy affluence steals.</p> + +<p>Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And plot full many a naughty +plot</span><br> +With damsels fair—nor shall we care<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whether school keeps or +not!</span><br> +And whilst thy charms hold out to burn<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We shall not deign to go to +bed,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But we shall paint creation +red;</span><br> +So, fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,—<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My lawyer friend, as +aforesaid.</span><br> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_POMPEIUS_VARUS'></a> +<h2>TO POMPEIUS VARUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Pompeius Varus"> +<tr> +<td>Pompey, what fortune gives you back<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To the friends and the gods who +love you?</span><br> +Once more you stand in your native land,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With your native sky above +you.</span><br> +Ah, side by side, in years agone,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We've faced tempestuous +weather,</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>And often quaffed</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>The genial draught</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>From the same canteen +together.</span><br> +<br> +When honor at Philippi fell<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>A prey to brutal +passion,</span><br> +I regret to say that my feet ran away<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In swift Iambic fashion.</span><br> +You were no poet; soldier born,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You stayed, nor did you wince +then.</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Mercury came</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>To my help, which same</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Has frequently saved me since +then.</span><br> +<br> +But now you're back, let's celebrate<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In the good old way and +classic;</span><br> +Come, let us lard our skins with nard,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And bedew our souls with +Massic!</span><br> +With fillets of green parsley leaves<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our foreheads shall be done +up;</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>And with song shall we</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Protract our spree</span><br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Until the morrow's +sun-up.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='THE_POETS_METAMORPHOSIS'></a> +<h2>THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="The Poet's Metamorphosis"> +<tr> +<td>Mæcenas, I propose to fly<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To realms beyond these human +portals;</span><br> +No common things shall be my wings,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But such as sprout upon +immortals.</span><br> +<br> +Of lowly birth, once shed of earth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your Horace, precious (so you've +told him),</span><br> +Shall soar away; no tomb of clay<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Nor Stygian prison-house shall hold +him.</span><br> +<br> +Upon my skin feathers begin<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>To warn the songster of his +fleeting;</span><br> +But never mind, I leave behind<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Songs all the world shall keep +repeating.</span><br> +<br> +Lo! Boston girls, with corkscrew curls,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And husky westerns, wild and +woolly,</span><br> +And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And all profess to know me +fully.</span><br> +<br> +Methinks the West shall know me best,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And therefore hold my memory +dearer;</span><br> +For by that lake a bard shall make<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My subtle, hidden meanings +clearer.</span><br> +<br> +So cherished, I shall never die;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Pray, therefore, spare your +dolesome praises,</span><br> +Your elegies, and plaintive cries,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>For I shall fertilize no +daisies!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_VENUS'></a> +<h2>TO VENUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Venus"> +<tr> +<td>Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Desert that Cyprus way off +yonder,</span><br> +And fare you hence, where with incense<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>My Glycera would have you +fonder;</span><br> +And to your joy bring hence your boy,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Graces with unbelted +laughter,</span><br> +The Nymphs, and Youth,—then, then, in sooth,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Should Mercury come tagging +after.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_I'></a> +<h2>IN THE SPRINGTIME</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="In the Springtime I"> +<tr> +<td>'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The breezes, loitering kindly +over</span><br> +The fields, again bring herds and men<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The grateful cheer of honeyed +clover.</span><br> +<br> +Now Venus hither leads her train;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The Nymphs and Graces join in +orgies;</span><br> +The moon is bright, and by her light<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Old Vulcan kindles up his +forges.</span><br> +<br> +Bind myrtle now about your brow,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And weave fair flowers in maiden +tresses;</span><br> +Appease god Pan, who, kind to man,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Our fleeting life with affluence +blesses;</span><br> +<br> +But let the changing seasons mind us,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That Death's the certain doom of +mortals,—</span><br> +Grim Death, who waits at humble gates,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And likewise stalks through kingly +portals.</span><br> +<br> +Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Enfold you with their hideous +seemings;</span><br> +Then love and mirth and joys of earth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall fade away like fevered +dreamings.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='IN_THE_SPRINGTIME_II'></a> +<h2>IN THE SPRINGTIME</h2> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<center> +<table summary="In the Springtime II"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the +bay,<br> +And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away.<br> +No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight;<br> +No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white.</p> + +<p>Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead the dance,<br> +While from above the kindly moon gives an approving glance;<br> +The Nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir,<br> +And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire.</p> + +<p>Now it is time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate,<br> +And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate;<br> +To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we rely,<br> +A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify.</p> + +<p>Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike;<br> +The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike.<br> +O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond the common run,<br> +Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun.</p> + +<p>The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon the grip.<br> +Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor taste the wine you +sip;<br> +Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty you commend,<br> +To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_A_BULLY'></a> +<h2>TO A BULLY</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To a Bully"> +<tr> +<td>You, blatant coward that you are,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Upon the helpless vent your +spite.</span><br> +Suppose you ply your trade on me;<br> +Come, monkey with this bard, and see<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How I'll repay your bark with +bite!</span><br> +<br> +Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And I shall hound you far and +wide,</span><br> +As fiercely as through drifted snow<br> +The shepherd dog pursues what foe<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Skulks on the Spartan +mountain-side.</span><br> +<br> +The chip is on my shoulder—see?<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>But touch it and I'll raise your +fur;</span><br> +I'm full of business, so beware!<br> +For, though I'm loaded up for bear,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'm quite as like to kill a +cur!</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_MOTHER_VENUS'></a> +<h2>TO MOTHER VENUS</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Mother Venus"> +<tr> +<td>O mother Venus, quit, I pray,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Your violent assailing!</span><br> +The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>At last are unavailing;</span><br> +My blood runs cold, I'm getting old,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And all my powers are +failing.</span><br> +<br> +Speed thou upon thy white swans' wings,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And elsewhere deign to +mellow</span><br> +With thy soft arts the anguished hearts<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of swains that writhe and +bellow;</span><br> +And right away seek out, I pray,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Young Paullus,—he's your +fellow!</span><br> +<br> +You'll find young Paullus passing fair,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Modest, refined, and +tony;</span><br> +Go, now, incite the favored wight!<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With Venus for a crony</span><br> +He'll outshine all at feast and ball<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And conversazione!</span><br> +<br> +Then shall that godlike nose of thine<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>With perfumes be +requited,</span><br> +And then shall prance in Salian dance<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The girls and boys +delighted,</span><br> +And while the lute blends with the flute<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Shall tender loves be +plighted.</span><br> +<br> +But as for me, as you can see,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>I'm getting old and +spiteful.</span><br> +I have no mind to female kind,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That once I deemed +delightful;</span><br> +No more brim up the festive cup<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That sent me home at night +full.</span><br> +<br> +Why do I falter in my speech,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>O cruel Ligurine?</span><br> +Why do I chase from place to place<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>In weather wet and +shiny?</span><br> +Why down my nose forever flows<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The tear that's cold and +briny?</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_LYDIA_III'></a> +<h2>TO LYDIA</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Lydia"> +<tr> +<td>Tell me, Lydia, tell me why,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>By the gods that dwell +above,</span><br> +Sybaris makes haste to die<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Through your cruel, fatal +love.</span><br> +<br> +Now he hates the sunny plain;<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Once he loved its dust and +heat.</span><br> +Now no more he leads the train<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Of his peers on coursers +fleet.</span><br> +<br> +Now he dreads the Tiber's touch,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>And avoids the +wrestling-rings,—</span><br> +He who formerly was such<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>An expert with quoits and +things.</span><br> +<br> +Come, now, Mistress Lydia, say<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Why your Sybaris lies +hid,</span><br> +Why he shuns the martial play,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>As we're told Achilles +did.</span><br> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='TO_NEOBULE'></a> +<h2>TO NEOBULE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="To Neobule"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing,<br> +Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors +showing,<br> +For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing!</p> + +<p>Sweet Cytherea's winged boy deprives you of your spinning,<br> +And Hebrus, Neobule, his sad havoc is beginning,<br> +Just as Minerva thriftily gets ready for an inning.</p> + +<p>Who could resist this gallant youth, as Tiber's waves he +breasted,<br> +Or when the palm of riding from Bellerophon he wrested,<br> +Or when with fists and feet the sluggers easily he bested?</p> + +<p>He shot the fleeing stags with regularity surprising;<br> +The way he intercepted boars was quite beyond surmising,—<br> +No wonder that your thoughts this youth has been monopolizing!</p> + +<p>So I repeat that with these maids fate is unkindly dealing,<br> +Who never can in love's affair give license to their feeling,<br> +Or share those sweet emotions when a gentle jag is stealing.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='AT_THE_BALL_GAME'></a> +<h2>AT THE BALL GAME</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="At the Ball Game"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>What gods or heroes, whose brave deeds none can dispute,<br> +Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and flute?<br> +What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant a place<br> +On Pindus' crown or Helicon's cool, shadowy space?</p> + +<p>Sing not, my Orpheus, sweeping oft the tuneful strings,<br> +Of gliding streams and nimble winds and such poor things;<br> +But lend your measures to a theme of noble thought,<br> +And crown with laurel these great heroes, as you ought.</p> + +<p>Now steps Ryanus forth at call of furious Mars,<br> +And from his oaken staff the sphere speeds to the stars;<br> +And now he gains the tertiary goal, and turns,<br> +While whiskered balls play round the timid staff of Burns.</p> + +<p>Lo! from the tribunes on the bleachers comes a shout,<br> +Beseeching bold Ansonius to line 'em out;<br> +And as Apollo's flying chariot cleaves the sky,<br> +So stanch Ansonius lifts the frightened ball on high.</p> + +<p>Like roar of ocean beating on the Cretan cliff,<br> +The strong Komiske gives the panting sphere a biff;<br> +And from the tribunes rise loud murmurs everywhere,<br> +When twice and thrice Mikellius beats the mocking air.</p> + +<p>And as Achilles' fleet the Trojan waters sweeps,<br> +So horror sways the throng,—Pfefferius sleeps!<br> +And stalwart Konnor, though by Mercury inspired,<br> +The Equus Carolus defies, and is retired.</p> + +<p>So waxes fierce the strife between these godlike men;<br> +And as the hero's fame grows by Virgilian pen,<br> +So let Clarksonius Maximus be raised to heights<br> +As far above the moon as moon o'er lesser lights.</p> + +<p>But as for me, the ivy leaf is my reward,<br> +If you a place among the lyric bards accord;<br> +With crest exalted, and O "People," with delight,<br> +I'll proudly strike the stars, and so be out of sight.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> + +<hr style='width: 65%;'> +<a name='EPILOGUE'></a> +<h2>EPILOGUE</h2> + +<center> +<table summary="Epilogue"> +<tr> +<td> +<p>The day is done; and, lo! the shades<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Melt 'neath Diana's mellow +grace.</span><br> +Hark, how those deep, designing maids<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Feign terror in this sylvan +place!</span><br> +Come, friends, it's time that we should go;<br> +We're honest married folk, you know.</p> + +<p>Was not the wine delicious cool<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile +enhanced?</span><br> +And by that clear Bandusian pool<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>How gayly Chloe sung and +danced!</span><br> +And Lydia Die,—aha, methinks<br> +You'll not forget the saucy minx!</p> + +<p>But, oh, the echoes of those songs<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>That soothed our cares and lulled +our hearts!</span><br> +Not to that age nor this belongs<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>The glory of what heaven-born +arts</span><br> +Speak with the old distinctive charm<br> +From yonder humble Sabine farm!</p> + +<p>The day is done. Now off to bed,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Lest by some rural ruse +surprised,</span><br> +And by those artful girls misled,<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>You two be sadly +compromised.</span><br> +<i>You</i> go; perhaps <i>I</i>'d better stay<br> +To shoo the giddy things away!</p> + +<p>But sometime we shall meet again<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Beside Digentia, cool and +clear,—</span><br> +You and we twain, old friend; and then<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>We'll have our fill of pagan +cheer.</span><br> +Then, could old Horace join us three,<br> +How proud and happy he would be!</p> + +<p>Or if we part to meet no more<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>This side the misty Stygian +Sea,</span><br> +Be sure of this: on yonder shore<br> +<span style='margin-left: 1em;'>Sweet cheer awaiteth such as +we;</span><br> +A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,—<br> +The fellowship that knows no end!</p> + +<p>E.F.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 13885-h.txt or 13885-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/8/13885">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/8/8/13885</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/13885-h/images/image01.jpg b/old/13885-h/images/image01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f0a618 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13885-h/images/image01.jpg diff --git a/old/13885.txt b/old/13885.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6411987 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13885.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2827 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Echoes from the Sabine Farm, by Roswell +Martin Field and Eugene Field + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Echoes from the Sabine Farm + +Author: Roswell Martin Field and Eugene Field + +Release Date: October 27, 2004 [eBook #13885] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM*** + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa Er-Raqabi, Leah Moser, and +the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +The Writings in Prose and Verse of Eugene Field + +ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM + +by + +ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD AND EUGENE FIELD + +1899 + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +One Sunday evening in the winter of 1890 Eugene Field and the writer +were walking in Lake View, Chicago, on their way to visit the library of +a common friend, when the subject of publishing a book for Field came up +for discussion. + +The Little Book of Western Verse and The Little Book of Profitable Tales +had been privately printed the year before at Chicago, and Field had +been frequently reminded that the writer was ready and willing to stand +sponsor for any new volume he, Field, might desire to bring out. + +"The only thing I have on hand that might make a book," said Field, "are +some few paraphrases of the Odes of Horace which my brother, 'Rose,' and +I have been fooling over, and which, truth to tell, are certainly freely +rendered. There are not enough of them, but we'll do some more, and I'll +add a brief Life of Horace as a preface or introduction." + +It is to be regretted that Field never carried out his intention with +respect to this last, for he had given much thought and study to the +great Roman satirist, and what Eugene Field could have said upon the +subject must have been of interest. It is my belief that as he thought +upon the matter it grew too great for him to handle within the space he +had at first determined, and that tucked away within the recesses of his +literary intentions was the determination, nullified by his early death, +to write, _con amore_, a life of Quintus Horatius Flaccus. + +This determination to write separately an extended account of Horace +greatly reduced the bulk of the material intended for the Sabine Echoes, +and it was with respect to this that Field apologetically and, as was +his wont, humorously wrote: + +"The volume may be rather thin _in corpore_, but think how hefty it will +be intellectually." + +When it came to the discussion of how many copies should be printed it +was suggested that the edition be an exceedingly limited one, in order +to cause as much scrambling and heartburning as possible among our +bibliophilic brethren. And never shall I forget the seriousness of the +man's face, nor the roars of laughter that followed, when he suggested +that fifty copies only should be made, and that we should reserve one +each and burn the other forty-eight! + +It was a biting cold night and we had been loitering by the way, +stopping to debate each point as it arose--but now we plunged on with +excess of motion to keep ourselves warm, breaking out with occasional +peals of laughter as we thought of our plan to make the publication what +the booksellers call "excessively rare." + +Field, elsewhere, has said he did not know why the original intention as +to the destruction of the forty-eight copies was not carried out, but +the answer is not far away. As the time for publication approached it +was found impossible that such and such a friend should be forgotten in +the matter of a copy, and so it went on until it was deemed prudent to +add fifty to the number originally intended to be issued, and that +decision, in the light of what followed, proved to be an eminently wise +one. More than once some to me unknown friend of Field would write a +pleasant lie as a reason to gain possession of the book, and up in a +corner of the letter would be found an endorsement of the request after +this fashion: + + What's writ below + I'd have you know + Nor falsehood nor romance is; + It's solemn truth, + So grant the youth + The boon he seeks, dear Francis. + + EUGENE FIELD. + +It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, however flimsy the pretext upon +which the request for a copy was made, it never failed of its object if +it brought with it Field's endorsement. Among many pleasant utterances +on this subject Field has said that but for the writer the Horatian +verses would not have been given to the world--and this has been taken +to mean more than was intended, and much unearned praise has been +bestowed. But, in allusion to the original issue of the Odes, Field +added, "in this charming guise," which places quite another construction +upon the matter. + +It may be that the enthusiasm displayed not only pleased Field, and +incited him and his brother Roswell to perform that which, otherwise, +might have been indefinitely deferred, but there is no question but that +they intended to publish the Horatian odes at some time or another. +Field was greatly delighted with the reception of this work, and I once +heard him say it would outlive all his other books. He came naturally by +his love of the classics. His father was a splendid scholar who obliged +his sons to correspond with him in Latin. Field's favorite ode was the +Bandusian Spring, the paraphrasing of which in the styles of the various +writers of different periods gave him genuine joy and is perhaps the +choice bit of the collection. The Echoes from the Sabine Farm was the +most ambitious work Field had attempted up to the time of its issue. He +was not at all sure that the public for whom he wrote, what following he +then felt was his own, would accept his efforts in this direction with +any sort of acclaim. Unquestionably, Field, at all times, believed in +himself and in his power ultimately to make a name, as every man must +who achieves success, but he was as far from believing that the public +would accept him as an interpreter of Horatian odes as was Edward +Fitzgerald with respect to Omar Khayyam. In short, he looked upon his +work in the original publication of Echoes from the Sabine Farm as a +labor of love--an effort from which some reputation might come, but +certainly no monetary remuneration. It was because he so regarded it +that he permitted the work to be first issued under the bolstering +influence of a patron. It was, so he thought, an excellent opportunity +to show his friends and acquaintances that his Pegasus was capable of +soaring to classic heights, and he little dreamed that the paraphrasing +of the Odes of Horace over which "Rose and I have been fooling" would be +required for a _popular_ edition. With the announcement of the Scribner +edition of The Sabine Echoes came also the intelligence of Field's +death. + +I have found people who were somewhat puzzled as to the exact intentions +of the Fields with respect to these translations and paraphrases. +However, there can be no chance for mistake even to the veriest +embryonic reader of Horace, if he will but remember that, while some of +these transcriptions are indeed very faithful reproductions or +adaptations of the original, others again are to be accepted as the very +riot of burlesque verse-making. + +The last stanza in the epilogue of this book reads: + + Or if we part to meet no more +This side the misty Stygian river, + Be sure of this: On yonder shore +Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we-- + A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend-- +And fellowship that knows no end. + +FRANCIS WILSON. + +January 22, 1896. + + + + +TO M.L. GRAY. + +Come, dear old friend, and with us twain + To calm Digentian groves repair; +The turtle coos his sweet refrain + And posies are a-blooming there; +And there the romping Sabine girls +Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls. + +I know a certain ilex-tree + Whence leaps a fountain cool and clear. +Its voices summon you and me; + Come, let us haste to share its cheer! +Methinks the rapturous song it sings +Should woo our thoughts from mortal things. + +But, good old friend, I charge thee well, + Watch thou my brother all the while, +Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell + Round him unschooled in female guile. +Those damsels have no charms for me; +Guard thou that brother,--I'll guard thee! + +And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup, + Round which the garlands intertwine; +With Massic it is foaming up, + And we would drink to thee and thine. +And of the draught thou shalt partake, +Who lov'st us for our father's sake. + +Hark you! from yonder Sabine farm + Echo the songs of long ago, +With power to soothe and grace to charm + What ills humanity may know; +With that sweet music in the air, +'T is Love and Summer everywhere. + +So, though no grief consumes our lot + (Since all our lives have been discreet), +Come, in this consecrated spot, + Let's see if pagan cheer be sweet. +Now, then, the songs; but, first, more wine. +The gods be with you, friends of mine! + +E.F. + + + + +The Contents of this Book + +WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD + +TO M.L. GRAY E.F. +AN INVITATION TO MAECENAS. Odes, III. 29 E.F. +CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED. Odes, III. 15 R.M.F. +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. Odes, III. 13 E.F. +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. R.M.F. +THE PREFERENCE DECLARED. Odes, I. 38 E.F. +A TARDY APOLOGY. I. Epode XIV R.M.F. +A TARDY APOLOGY. II. E.F. +TO THE SHIP OF STATE. Odes, I. 14 R.M.F. +QUITTING AGAIN. Odes, III. 26 E.F. +SAILOR AND SHADE. Odes, I. 28 E.F. +LET US HAVE PEACE. Odes, I. 27 E.F. +TO QUINTUS DELLIUS. Odes, II. 3 E.F. +POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS. Odes, II. 4 R.M.F. +TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS. Odes, I. 22 E.F. +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS. I. Odes, I. 33 E.F. +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS. II. R.M.F. +To MAECENAS. Odes, I. 1 R.M.F. +TO HIS BOOK. Epistle XX R.M.F. +FAME _vs._ RICHES. Ars Poetica, line 323 E.F. +THE LYRIC MUSE. Ars Poetica, line 301 E.F. +A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC. Epode III. R.M.F. +AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE. Odes, II. 5 R.M.F. +AN APPEAL TO LYCE. Odes, IV. 13 R.M.F. +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE I. Odes, I. 9 E.F. +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE II. R.M.F. +TO DIANA. Odes, III. 22 R.M.F. +TO HIS LUTE. Odes, I. 32 E.F. +TO LEUCONOeE I. Odes, I. 11 R.M.F. +TO LEUCONOeE II. E.F. +TO LIGURINUS I. Odes, IV. 10 R.M.F. +TO LIGURINUS II. E.F. +THE HAPPY ISLES. Epode XIV. line 41 E.F. +CONSISTENCY. Ars Poetica E.F. +TO POSTUMUS. Odes, II. 14 R.M.F. +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA I. Odes, I. 5 E.F. +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA II. R.M.F. +TO MELPOMENE. Odes, III. 30 E.F. +TO PHYLLIS I. Odes, IV. 11. E.F. +TO PHYLLIS II. R.M.F. +TO CHLOE I. Odes, I. 23 R.M.F. +TO CHLOE II. E.F. + A PARAPHRASE. E.F. + ANOTHER PARAPHRASE. E.F. + A THIRD PARAPHRASE. E.F. + A FOURTH PARAPHRASE. E.F. +TO MAECENAS. Odes, I. 20 E.F. +TO BARINE. Odes, II. 8 R.M.F. +THE RECONCILIATION. I. Odes, III. 9 E.F. +THE RECONCILIATION. II. R.M.F. +THE ROASTING OF LYDIA. Odes, I. 25 R.M.F. +TO GLYCERA. Odes, I. 19 R.M.F. +TO LYDIA. I. Odes, I. 13 E.F. +TO LYDIA. II. R.M.F. +TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS. Odes, II. 11 E.F. +WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG. Odes, I. 18 E.F. +AN ODE TO FORTUNE. Odes, I. 35 E.F. +TO A JAR OF WINE. Odes, III. 21 E.F. +TO POMPEIUS VARUS. Odes, II. 1 E.F. +THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS. Odes, II. 20 E.F. +TO VENUS. Odes, I. 30 E.F. +IN THE SPRINGTIME. I. Odes, I. 4 E.F. +IN THE SPRINGTIME. II. R.M.F. +TO A BULLY. Epode VI. E.F. +TO MOTHER VENUS. +TO LYDIA. Odes, I. 8 E.F. +TO NEOBULE. Odes, III. 12 R.M.F. +AT THE BALL GAME. Odes, V. 17. R.M.F. +EPILOGUE. E.F. + + + + + +AN INVITATION TO MAECENAS + +Dear, noble friend! a virgin cask + Of wine solicits your attention; +And roses fair, to deck your hair, + And things too numerous to mention. +So tear yourself awhile away + From urban turmoil, pride, and splendor, +And deign to share what humble fare + And sumptuous fellowship I tender. +The sweet content retirement brings +Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings. + +The evil planets have combined + To make the weather hot and hotter; +By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams + Vainly of ice-cream soda-water. +And meanwhile you, defying heat, + With patriotic ardor ponder +On what old Rome essays at home, + And what her heathen do out yonder. +Maecenas, no such vain alarm +Disturbs the quiet of this farm! + +God in His providence obscures + The goal beyond this vale of sorrow, +And smiles at men in pity when + They seek to penetrate the morrow. +With faith that all is for the best, + Let's bear what burdens are presented, +That we shall say, let come what may, + "We die, as we have lived, contented! +Ours is to-day; God's is the rest,-- +He doth ordain who knoweth best." + +Dame Fortune plays me many a prank. + When she is kind, oh, how I go it! +But if again she's harsh,--why, then + I am a very proper poet! +When favoring gales bring in my ships, + I hie to Rome and live in clover; +Elsewise I steer my skiff out here, + And anchor till the storm blows over. +Compulsory virtue is the charm +Of life upon the Sabine farm! + + + + +CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED + +Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear; +The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more _savoir faire_. +A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door, +Should not play with the girly girls, and think she's _en rapport_. + +What's good enough for Pholoe you cannot well essay; +Your daughter very properly courts _the jeunesse doree_,-- +A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot her joy restrain, +But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles _a l'Americaine_. + +'T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature old and poor, +To sit and spin than to engage in an _affaire d'amour_. +The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained deep are not for you; +Remember what the poet says: _Ce monde est plein de fous!_ + + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + +O fountain of Bandusia! + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia! + The Dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings into the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plow, + The roving cattle here +Hasten in quest of certain rest, + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia! + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree. +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go. + + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA + +O fountain of Bandusia! more glittering than glass, +And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts that freely pass; +More worthy of the flowers with which thou modestly art hid, +To-morrow willing hands shall sacrifice to thee a kid. + +In vain the glory of the brow where proudly swell above +The growing horns, significant of battle and of love; +For in thy honor he shall die,--the offspring of the herd,-- +And with his crimson life-blood thy cold waters shall be stirred. + +The Dog-star's cruel season, with its fierce and blazing heat, +Has never sent its scorching rays into thy glad retreat; +The oxen, wearied with the plow, the herd which wanders near, +Have found a grateful respite and delicious coolness here. + +When of the graceful ilex on the hollow rocks I sing, +Thou shalt become illustrious, O sweet Bandusian spring! +Among the noble fountains which have been enshrined in fame, +Thy dancing, babbling waters shall in song our homage claim. + + + + +THE PREFERENCE DECLARED + +Boy, I detest the Persian pomp; + I hate those linden-bark devices; +And as for roses, holy Moses! + They can't be got at living prices! +Myrtle is good enough for us,-- + For _you_, as bearer of my flagon; +For _me_, supine beneath this vine, + Doing my best to get a jag on! + + + + +A TARDY APOLOGY + +I + +Maecenas, you will be my death,--though friendly you profess yourself,-- +If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself: +"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us? +Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?" + +A god, Maecenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of me! +If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me; +Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology, +And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology. + +Now, you yourself, Maecenas, are enjoying this beatitude; +If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for gratitude. +A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous; +This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous! + + + + +A TARDY APOLOGY + +II + + You ask me, friend, + Why I don't send +The long since due-and-paid-for numbers; + Why, songless, I + As drunken lie +Abandoned to Lethean slumbers. + + Long time ago + (As well you know) +I started in upon that carmen; + My work was vain,-- + But why complain? +When gods forbid, how helpless are men! + + Some ages back, + The sage Anack +Courted a frisky Samian body, + Singing her praise + In metered phrase +As flowing as his bowls of toddy. + + Till I was hoarse + Might I discourse +Upon the cruelties of Venus; + 'T were waste of time + As well of rhyme, +For you've been there yourself, Maecenas! + + Perfect your bliss + If some fair miss +Love you yourself and _not_ your minae; + I, fortune's sport, + All vainly court +The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne! + + + + +TO THE SHIP OF STATE + + O ship of state +Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea? +What are you doing? Seek the harbor's lee + Ere 't is too late! + + Do you bemoan +Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast? +Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast; + The sailyards groan. + + Of cables bare, +Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave. +Your sails are rent; you have no gods to save, + Or answer pray'r. + + Though Pontic pine, +The noble daughter of a far-famed wood, +You boast your lineage and title good,-- + A useless line! + + The sailor there +In painted sterns no reassurance finds; +Unless you owe derision to the winds, + Beware--beware! + + My grief erewhile, +But now my care--my longing! shun the seas +That flow between the gleaming Cyclades, + Each shining isle. + + + + +QUITTING AGAIN + + The hero of + Affairs of love +By far too numerous to be mentioned, + And scarred as I'm, + It seemeth time +That I were mustered out and pensioned. + + So on this wall + My lute and all +I hang, and dedicate to Venus; + And I implore + But one thing more +Ere all is at an end between us. + + O goddess fair + Who reignest where +The weather's seldom bleak and snowy, + This boon I urge: + In anger scourge +My old cantankerous sweetheart, Chloe! + + + + +SAILOR AND SHADE + +SAILOR + +You, who have compassed land and sea, + Now all unburied lie; +All vain your store of human lore, + For you were doomed to die. +The sire of Pelops likewise fell,-- + Jove's honored mortal guest; +So king and sage of every age + At last lie down to rest. +Plutonian shades enfold the ghost + Of that majestic one +Who taught as truth that he, forsooth, + Had once been Pentheus' son; +Believe who may, he's passed away, + And what he did is done. +A last night comes alike to all; + One path we all must tread, +Through sore disease or stormy seas + Or fields with corpses red. +Whate'er our deeds, that pathway leads + To regions of the dead. + + +SHADE + +The fickle twin Illyrian gales + Overwhelmed me on the wave; +But you that live, I pray you give + My bleaching bones a grave! +Oh, then when cruel tempests rage + You all unharmed shall be; +Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land + And Neptune's on the sea. +Perchance you fear to do what may + Bring evil to your race? +Oh, rather fear that like me here + You'll lack a burial place. +So, though you be in proper haste, + Bide long enough, I pray, +To give me, friend, what boon shall send + My soul upon its way! + + + + +LET US HAVE PEACE + +In maudlin spite let Thracians fight + Above their bowls of liquor; +But such as we, when on a spree, + Should never brawl and bicker! + +These angry words and clashing swords + Are quite _de trop_, I'm thinking; +Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise, + And drown your wrath in drinking. + +Aha, 't is fine,--this mellow wine + With which our host would dope us! +Now let us hear what pretty dear + Entangles him of Opus. + +I see you blush,--nay, comrades, hush! + Come, friend, though they despise you, +Tell me the name of that fair dame,-- + Perchance I may advise you. + +O wretched youth! and is it truth + You love that fickle lady? +I, doting dunce, courted her once; + Since when, she's reckoned shady! + + + + +TO QUINTUS DELLIUS + +Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; +For though you pine your life away + With dull complaining breath, +Or speed with song and wine each day, + Still, still your doom is death. + +Where the white poplar and the pine +In glorious arching shade combine, + And the brook singing goes, +Bid them bring store of nard and wine + And garlands of the rose. + +Let's live while chance and youth obtain; +Soon shall you quit this fair domain + Kissed by the Tiber's gold, +And all your earthly pride and gain + Some heedless heir shall hold. + +One ghostly boat shall some time bear +From scenes of mirthfulness or care + Each fated human soul,-- +Shall waft and leave its burden where + The waves of Lethe roll. + +_So come, I prithee, Dellius mine; +Let's sing our songs and drink our wine + In that sequestered nook +Where the white poplar and the pine + Stand listening to the brook_. + + + + +POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS + +Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame. + Don't apologize, Xanthias, pray; +Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame + For Brissy, his slave, as they say. +Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved + By the captive Tecmessa's ripe charms; +And Atrides, suspending the feast, it behooved + To gather a girl to his arms. + +Now, how do you know that this yellow-haired maid + (This Phyllis you fain would enjoy) +Hasn't parents whose wealth would cast you in the shade,-- + Who would ornament you, Xan, my boy? +Very likely the poor chick sheds copious tears, + And is bitterly thinking the while +Of the royal good times of her earlier years, + When her folks regulated the style! + +It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe + That she of whose charms you are proud +Is beautiful only as means to deceive,-- + Merely one of the horrible crowd. +So constant a sweetheart, so loving a wife, + So averse to all notions of greed +Was surely not born of a mother whose life + Is a chapter you'd better not read. + +As an unbiased party I feel it my place + (For I don't like to do things by halves) +To compliment Phyllis,--her arms and her face + And (excuse me!) her delicate calves. +Tut, tut! don't get angry, my boy, or suspect + You have any occasion to fear +A man whose deportment is always correct, + And is now in his forty-first year! + + + + +TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS + +Fuscus, whoso to good inclines, + And is a faultless liver, +Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear, + Nor poison-arrowed quiver. + +Ay, though through desert wastes he roam, + Or scale the rugged mountains, +Or rest beside the murmuring tide + Of weird Hydaspan fountains! + +Lo, on a time, I gayly paced + The Sabine confines shady, +And sung in glee of Lalage, + My own and dearest lady; + +And as I sung, a monster wolf + Slunk through the thicket from me; +But for that song, as I strolled along, + He would have overcome me! + +Set me amid those poison mists + Which no fair gale dispelleth, +Or in the plains where silence reigns, + And no thing human dwelleth,-- + +Still shall I love my Lalage, + Still sing her tender graces; +And while I sing, my theme shall bring + Heaven to those desert places! + + + + +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS + +I + +Not to lament that rival flame + Wherewith the heartless Glycera scorns you, +Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme, + How many a modern instance warns you! + +Fair-browed Lycoris pines away + Because her Cyrus loves another; +The ruthless churl informs the girl + He loves her only as a brother! + +For he, in turn, courts Pholoe,-- + A maid unscotched of love's fierce virus; +Why, goats will mate with wolves they hate + Ere Pholoe will mate with Cyrus! + +Ah, weak and hapless human hearts, + By cruel Mother Venus fated +To spend this life in hopeless strife, + Because incongruously mated! + +Such torture, Albius, is my lot; + For, though a better mistress wooed me, +My Myrtale has captured me, + And with her cruelties subdued me! + + + + +TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS + +II + +Grieve not, my Albius, if thoughts of Glycera may haunt you, + Nor chant your mournful elegies because she faithless proves; + If now a younger man than you this cruel charmer loves, +Let not the kindly favors of the past rise up to taunt you. + +Lycoris of the little brow for Cyrus feels a passion, + And Cyrus, on the other hand, toward Pholoe inclines; + But ere this crafty Cyrus can accomplish his designs +She-goats will wed Apulian wolves in deference to fashion. + +Such is the will, the cruel will, of love-inciting Venus, + Who takes delight in wanton sport and ill-considered jokes, + And brings ridiculous misfits beneath her brazen yokes,-- +A very infelicitous proceeding, just between us. + +As for myself, young Myrtale, slave-born and lacking graces, + And wilder than the Adrian tides which form Calabrian bays, + Entangled me in pleasing chains and compromising ways, +When--just my luck--a better girl was courting my embraces. + + + + +TO MAECENAS + +Maecenas, thou of royalty's descent, +Both my protector and dear ornament, +Among humanity's conditions are +Those who take pleasure in the flying car, +Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll, +And shunning with the glowing wheel the goal; +While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth, +Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth. + +Here one is happy if the fickle crowd +His name the threefold honor has allowed; +And there another, if into his stores +Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing-floors. +He who delights to till his father's lands, +And grasps the delving-hoe with willing hands, +Can never to Attalic offers hark, +Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark. +The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze, +When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas +Praises the restful quiet of his home, +Nor wishes from the peaceful fields to roam; +Ah, speedily his shattered ships he mends,-- +To poverty his lesson ne'er extends. + +One there may be who never scorns to fill +His cups with mellow draughts from Massic's hill, +Nor from the busy day an hour to wean, +Now stretched at length beneath the arbute green, +Now at the softly whispering spring, to dream +Of the fair nymphs who haunt the sacred stream. +For camp and trump and clarion some have zest,-- +The cruel wars the mothers so detest. +'Neath the cold sky the hunter spends his life, +Unmindful of his home and tender wife, +Whether the doe is seen by faithful hounds +Or Marsian boar through the fine meshes bounds. + +But as for me, the ivy-wreaths, the prize +Of learned brows, exalt me to the skies; +The shady grove, the nymphs and satyrs there, +Draw me away from people everywhere; +If it may be, Euterpe's flute inspires, +Or Polyhymnia strikes the Lesbian lyres; +And if you place me where no bard debars, +With head exalted I shall strike the stars! + + + + +TO HIS BOOK + + You vain, self-conscious little book, +Companion of my happy days, + How eagerly you seem to look +For wider fields to spread your lays; + My desk and locks cannot contain you, + Nor blush of modesty restrain you. + + Well, then, begone, fool that thou art! +But do not come to me and cry, + When critics strike you to the heart: +"Oh, wretched little book am I!" + You know I tried to educate you + To shun the fate that must await you. + + In youth you may encounter friends +(Pray this prediction be not wrong), + But wait until old age descends +And thumbs have smeared your gentlest song; + Then will the moths connive to eat you + And rural libraries secrete you. + + However, should a friend some word +Of my obscure career request, + Tell him how deeply I was stirred +To spread my wings beyond the nest; + Take from my years, which are before you, + To boom my merits, I implore you. + + Tell him that I am short and fat, +Quick in my temper, soon appeased, + With locks of gray,--but what of that? +Loving the sun, with nature pleased. + I'm more than four and forty, hark you,-- + But ready for a night off, mark you! + + + + +FAME _vs._ RICHES + +The Greeks had genius,--'t was a gift + The Muse vouchsafed in glorious measure; +The boon of Fame they made their aim + And prized above all worldly treasure. + +But _we_,--how do we train _our_ youth? + _Not_ in the arts that are immortal, +But in the greed for gains that speed + From him who stands at Death's dark portal. + +Ah, when this slavish love of gold + Once binds the soul in greasy fetters, +How prostrate lies,--how droops and dies + The great, the noble cause of letters! + + + + +THE LYRIC MUSE + + I love the lyric muse! +For when mankind ran wild in grooves + Came holy Orpheus with his songs +And turned men's hearts from bestial loves, + From brutal force and savage wrongs; +Amphion, too, and on his lyre + Made such sweet music all the day +That rocks, instinct with warm desire, + Pursued him in his glorious way. + + I love the lyric muse! +Hers was the wisdom that of yore + Taught man the rights of fellow man, +Taught him to worship God the more, + And to revere love's holy ban. +Hers was the hand that jotted down + The laws correcting divers wrongs; +And so came honor and renown + To bards and to their noble songs. + + I love the lyric muse! +Old Homer sung unto the lyre; + Tyrtaeus, too, in ancient days; +Still warmed by their immortal fire, + How doth our patriot spirit blaze! +The oracle, when questioned, sings; + So our first steps in life are taught. +In verse we soothe the pride of kings, + In verse the drama has been wrought. + + I love the lyric muse! +Be not ashamed, O noble friend, + In honest gratitude to pay +Thy homage to the gods that send + This boon to charm all ill away. +With solemn tenderness revere + This voiceful glory as a shrine +Wherein the quickened heart may hear + The counsels of a voice divine! + + + + +A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC + +May the man who has cruelly murdered his sire-- + A crime to be punished with death-- +Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire + Of his own foul and venomous breath! +What stomachs these rustics must have who can eat + This dish that Canidia made, +Which imparts to my colon a torturous heat, + And a poisonous look, I'm afraid! + +They say that ere Jason attempted to yoke + The fire-breathing bulls to the plow +He smeared his whole body with garlic,--a joke + Which I fully appreciate now. +When Medea gave Glauce her beautiful dress, + In which garlic was scattered about, +It was cruel and rather low-down, I confess, + But it settled the point beyond doubt. + +On thirsty Apulia ne'er has the sun + Inflicted such terrible heat; +As for Hercules' robe, although poisoned, 't was fun + When compared with this garlic we eat! +Maecenas, if ever on garbage like this + You express a desire to be fed, +May Mrs. Maecenas object to your kiss, + And lie at the foot of the bed! + + + + +AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE + +To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is bent, +To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent; +Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go, +Now with the calves disporting where the pussy-willows grow. + +Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, trust me, you shall learn +How quickly in the autumn time to purple they will turn. +Soon she will follow you, for age steals swiftly on the maid; +And all the precious years that you have lost she will have paid. + +Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, the coy, +Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, girlish boy, +Whom, if you placed among the girls, and loosed his flowing locks, +The wondering guests could not decide which one decorum shocks. + + + + +AN APPEAL TO LYCE + +Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, as gods will hear the dutiful, +And brought old age upon you, though you still affect the beautiful. +You sport among the boys, and drink and chatter on quite aimlessly; +And in your cups with quavering voice you torment Cupid shamelessly. + +For blooming Chia, Cupid has a feeling more than brotherly; +He knows a handsaw from a hawk whenever winds are southerly. +He pats her pretty cheeks, but looks on you as a monstrosity; +Your wrinkles and your yellow teeth excite his animosity. + +For jewels bright and purple Coan robes you are not dressable; +Unhappily for you, the public records are accessible. +Where is your charm, and where your bloom and gait so firm and sensible, +That drew my love from Cinara,--a lapse most indefensible? + +To my poor Cinara in youth Death came with great celerity; +Egad, that never can be said of you with any verity! +The old crow that you are, the teasing boys will jeer, compelling you +To roost at home. Reflect, all this is straight that I am telling you. + + + + +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE + +I + +See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow, + Soracte mocks the sullen sky; +How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed, + And chained with frost the rivers lie. + +Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth; + We'll melt away the envious cold: +And, better yet, sweet friend, we'll wet + Our whistles with some four-year-old. + +Commit all else unto the gods, + Who, when it pleaseth them, shall bring +To fretful deeps and wooded steeps + The mild, persuasive grace of Spring. + +Let not To-morrow, but To-day, + Your ever active thoughts engage; +Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling, + Unharmed, unawed of crabbed Age. + +Let's steal content from Winter's wrath, + And glory in the artful theft, +That years from now folks shall allow + 'T was cold indeed when we got left. + +So where the whisperings and the mirth + Of girls invite a sportive chap, +Let's fare awhile,--aha, you smile; + You guess my meaning,--_verbum sap_. + + + + +A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE + +II + +Now stands Soracte white with snow, now bend the laboring trees, +And with the sharpness of the frost the stagnant rivers freeze. +Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer cheer incline, +And draw, my Thaliarchus, from the Sabine jar the wine. + +The rest leave to the gods, who still the fiercely warring wind, +And to the morrow's store of good or evil give no mind. +Whatever day your fortune grants, that day mark up for gain; +And in your youthful bloom do not the sweet amours disdain. + +Now on the Campus and the squares, when evening shades descend, +Soft whisperings again are heard, and loving voices blend; +And now the low delightful laugh betrays the lurking maid, +While from her slowly yielding arms the forfeiture is paid. + + + + +TO DIANA + +O virgin, tri-formed goddess fair, + The guardian of the groves and hills, +Who hears the girls in their despair + Cry out in childbirth's cruel ills, + And saves them from the Stygian flow! +Let the pine-tree my cottage near + Be sacred to thee evermore, +That I may give to it each year + With joy the life-blood of the boar, + Now thinking of the sidelong blow. + + + + +TO HIS LUTE + +If ever in the sylvan shade +A song immortal we have made, +Come now, O lute, I prithee come, +Inspire a song of Latium! + +A Lesbian first thy glories proved; +In arms and in repose he loved +To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise +His voice in Love's and Liber's praise. +The Muses, too, and him who clings +To Mother Venus' apron-strings, +And Lycus beautiful, he sung +In those old days when you were young. + +O shell, that art the ornament +Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content +To Jove, and soothing troubles all,-- +Come and requite me, when I call! + + + + +TO LEUCONOeE + +I + +What end the gods may have ordained for me, +And what for thee, + Seek not to learn, Leuconoee; we may not know. +Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest. +'T is for the best + To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe. + +If for more winters our poor lot is cast, +Or this the last, + Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas, +Strain clear the wine; this life is short, at best. +Take hope with zest, + And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch To-day for ease! + + + + +TO LEUCONOeE + +II + +Seek not, Leuconoee, to know how long you're going to live yet, +What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they're going to give yet; +For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we worry,-- +Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry. +The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem +Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am. +And while we sport I'll reel you off such odes as shall surprise ye; +To-morrow, when the headache comes,--well, then I'll satirize ye! + + + + +TO LIGURINUS + +I + +Though mighty in Love's favor still, + Though cruel yet, my boy, +When the unwelcome dawn shall chill + Your pride and youthful joy, +The hair which round your shoulder grows + Is rudely cut away, +Your color, redder than the rose, + Is changed by youth's decay,-- + +Then, Ligurinus, in the glass + Another you will spy. +And as the shaggy face, alas! + You see, your grief will cry: +"Why in my youth could I not learn + The wisdom men enjoy? +Or why to men cannot return + The smooth cheeks of the boy?" + + + + +TO LIGURINUS + +II + + O Cruel fair, + Whose flowing hair + The envy and the pride of all is, + As onward roll + The years, that poll + Will get as bald as a billiard ball is; +Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply, +Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply! + + When you behold + Yourself grown old, + These words shall speak your spirits moody: + "Unhappy one! + What heaps of fun + I've missed by being goody-goody! +Oh, that I might have felt the hunger +Of loveless age when I was younger!" + + + + +THE HAPPY ISLES + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices, +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall suffer no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Never thereto shall prowling bear + Or serpent come to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drought distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hordes that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +CONSISTENCY + +Should painter attach to a fair human head + The thick, turgid neck of a stallion, +Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a bass, + I am sure you would guy the rapscallion. + +Believe me, dear Pisos, that just such a freak + Is the crude and preposterous poem +Which merely abounds in a torrent of sounds, + With no depth of reason below 'em. + +'T is all very well to give license to art,-- + The wisdom of license defend I; +But the line should be drawn at the fripperish spawn + Of a mere _cacoethes scribendi_. + +It is too much the fashion to strain at effects,-- + Yes, that's what's the matter with Hannah! +Our popular taste, by the tyros debased, + Paints each barnyard a grove of Diana! + +Should a patron require you to paint a marine, + Would you work in some trees with their barks on? +When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar, + Would you give him a pitcher like Clarkson? + +Now, this is my moral: Compose what you may, + And Fame will be ever far distant +Unless you combine with a simple design + A treatment in toto consistent. + + + + +TO POSTUMUS + +O Postumus, my Postumus, the years are gliding past, +And piety will never check the wrinkles coming fast, +The ravages of time old age's swift advance has made, +And death, which unimpeded comes to bear us to the shade. + +Old friend, although the tearless Pluto you may strive to please, +And seek each year with thrice one hundred bullocks to appease, +Who keeps the thrice-huge Geryon and Tityus his slaves, +Imprisoned fast forevermore with cold and sombre waves, + +Yet must that flood so terrible be sailed by mortals all; +Whether perchance we may be kings and live in royal hall, +Or lowly peasants struggling long with poverty and dearth, +Still must we cross who live upon the favors of the earth. + +And all in vain from bloody war and contest we are free, +And from the waves that hoarsely break upon the Adrian Sea; +For our frail bodies all in vain our helpless terror grows +In gloomy autumn seasons, when the baneful south wind blows. + +Alas! the black Cocytus, wandering to the world below, +That languid river to behold we of this earth must go; +To see the grim Danaides, that miserable race, +And Sisyphus of AEolus, condemned to endless chase. + +Behind you must you leave your home and land and wife so dear, +And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, you rear, +And which around the funeral piles as signs of mourning grow, +Not one will follow you, their short-lived master, there below. + +Your worthier heir the precious Caecuban shall drink galore, +Now with a hundred keys preserved and guarded in your store, +And stain the pavements, pouring out in waste the nectar proud, +Better than that with which the pontiffs' feasts have been endowed. + + + + +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA + +I + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly, +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious,-- + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +TO MISTRESS PYRRHA + +II + +What dainty boy with sweet perfumes bedewed +Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave? +For whom amid the roses, many-hued, +Do you bind back your tresses' yellow wave? + +How oft will he deplore your fickle whim, +And wonder at the storm and roughening deeps, +Who now enjoys you, all in all to him, +And dreams of you, whose only thoughts he keeps. + +Wretched are they to whom you seem so fair;-- +That I escaped the storms, the gods be praised! +My dripping garments, offered with a prayer, +Stand as a tablet to the sea-god raised. + + + + +TO MELPOMENE + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared: + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die: by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +TO PHYLLIS + +I + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile; + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare, + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air, + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'T is April 13, as you know, + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend, Maecenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus; + Your friends agree he doesn't love you. +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you. + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had,-- + I say he _had_, before he shook him! + +_Hoc docet_ (as you must agree) + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me, + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten, +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +TO PHYLLIS + +II + +Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine, +The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine, +And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair, +And ivy in profusion to bind up your shining hair. + +Now smiles the house with silver; the altar, laurel-bound, +Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to drip around; +The company is hurrying, boys and maidens with the rest; +The flames are flickering as they whirl the dark smoke on their crest. + +Yet you must know the joys to which you have been summoned here +To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born Venus dear,-- +Ah, festal day more sacred than my own fair day of birth, +Since from its dawn my loved Maecenas counts his years of earth. + +A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited to her mind, +The Telephus whom you desire,--a youth not of your kind. +She holds him bound with pleasing chains, the fetters of her charms,-- +Remember how scorched Phaethon ambitious hopes alarms. + +The winged Pegasus the rash Bellerophon has chafed, +To you a grave example for reflection has vouchsafed,-- +Always to follow what is meet, and never try to catch +That which is not allowed to you, an inappropriate match. + +Come now, sweet Phyllis, of my loves the last, and hence the best +(For nevermore shall other girls inflame this manly breast); +Learn loving measures to rehearse as we may stroll along, +And dismal cares shall fly away and vanish at your song. + + + + +TO CHLOE + +I + +Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, + That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, +Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn, + And on the pathless mountain tops has stood? + +Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites, + Her sinking knees with nameless terrors shake,-- +Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights, + Or the green lizards stir the slumbering brake. + +I do not follow with a tigerish thought, + Or with the fierce Gaetulian lion's quest; +So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought, + Full ripe to nestle on a husband's breast. + + + + +TO CHLOE + +II + +Chloe, you shun me like a hind + That, seeking vainly for her mother, +Hears danger in each breath of wind, + And wildly darts this way and t' other; + +Whether the breezes sway the wood + Or lizards scuttle through the brambles, +She starts, and off, as though pursued, + The foolish, frightened creature scrambles. + +But, Chloe, you're no infant thing + That should esteem a man an ogre; +Let go your mother's apron-string, + And pin your faith upon a toga! + + + + +III + +A PARAPHRASE + +How happens it, my cruel miss, + You're always giving me the mitten? +You seem to have forgotten this: + That you no longer are a kitten! + +A woman that has reached the years + Of that which people call discretion +Should put aside all childish fears + And see in courtship no transgression. + +A mother's solace may be sweet, + But Hymen's tenderness is sweeter; +And though all virile love be meet, + You'll find the poet's love is metre. + + + + +IV + +A PARAPHRASE, CIRCA 1715 + +Since Chloe is so monstrous fair, +With such an eye and such an air, +What wonder that the world complains +When she each am'rous suit disdains? + +Close to her mother's side she clings, +And mocks the death her folly brings +To gentle swains that feel the smarts +Her eyes inflict upon their hearts. + +Whilst thus the years of youth go by, +Shall Colin languish, Strephon die? +Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate, +And choose him ere it be too late! + + + + +V + +A PARAPHRASE, BY DR. I.W. + + +Why, Mistress Chloe, do you bother + With prattlings and with vain ado +Your worthy and industrious mother, + Eschewing them that come to woo? + +Oh, that the awful truth might quicken + This stern conviction to your breast: +You are no longer now a chicken + Too young to quit the parent nest. + +So put aside your froward carriage, + And fix your thoughts, whilst yet there's time, +Upon the righteousness of marriage + With some such godly man as I'm. + + + + +VI + +A PARAPHRASE, BY CHAUCER + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding. +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quicklye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +TO MAECENAS + +Than you, O valued friend of mine, + A better patron _non est_! +Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,-- + You'll find it poor but honest. + +I put it up that famous day + You patronized the ballet, +And the public cheered you such a way + As shook your native valley. + +Caecuban and the Calean brand + May elsewhere claim attention; +But _I_ have none of these on hand,-- + For reasons I'll not mention. + + + + +ENVOY + +So, come! though favors I bestow + Cannot be called extensive, +Who better than my friend should know + That they're at least expensive? + + + + +TO BARINE + +If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken, +A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you; +If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger +Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you. + +But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is, +Your head with the vows of untruth, +Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming, +You come forth beloved of our youth. + +It is advantageous, but no less outrageous, +Your poor mother's ashes to cheat; +While the gods of creation and each constellation +You seem to regard as your meat. + +Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it; +The good-natured nymphs merely smile; +And Cupid is merry,--'t is humorous, very,-- +And sharpens his arrows the while. + +Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking, +A new band is joined to the old; +While the horrified matrons your juvenile patrons +In vain would bring back to the fold. + +The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mellows +Confess to a dread of your house; +But a more pressing duty, in view of your beauty, +Is the young wife's concern for her spouse. + + + + +THE RECONCILIATION + +I + +HE + +When you were mine, in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, +I'll not deny, fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a heathen mogul. + +SHE + +Before _she_ came, that rival flame + (Had ever mater saucier filia?), +In those good times, bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia. + +HE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die, if only I + Could live forever to enjoy her! + +SHE + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods, I love him madly! +That I might save him from the grave, + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HE + +What if _ma belle_ from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her; +Would Lydia then come back again, + And to her quondam love betake her? + +SHE + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; +For no one slings such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +THE RECONCILIATION + +II + +HORACE + +While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing + Around thy snowy neck his folding arms was wont to fling; +As long as I remained your love, acceptable and pleasing, + I lived a life of happiness beyond the Persian king. + +LYDIA + +While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unreserved opinion, + And for no other cherished thou a brighter, livelier flame, +I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole dominion, + Surpassed the Roman Ilia in eminence of fame. + +HORACE + +'T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accomplishments inthrall me,-- + So sweet in modulations, such a mistress of the lyre. +In truth the fates, however terrible, could not appall me; + If they would spare her, sweet my soul, I gladly would expire. + +LYDIA + +And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, inflames me + With mutual, restless passion and an all-consuming fire; +And if the fates, however dread, would spare the youth who claims me, + Not only once would I face death, but gladly twice expire. + +HORACE + +What if our early love returns to prove we were mistaken + And bind with brazen yoke the twain, to part, ah! nevermore? +What if the charming Chloe of the golden locks be shaken + And slighted Lydia again glide through the open door? + +LYDIA + +Though he is fairer than the star that shines so far above you, + Thou lighter than a cork, more stormy than the Adrian Sea, +Still should I long to live with you, to live for you and love you, + And cheerfully see death's approach if thou wert near to me. + + + + +THE ROASTING OF LYDIA + +No more your needed rest at night + By ribald youth is troubled; +No more your windows, fastened tight, + Yield to their knocks redoubled. + +No longer you may hear them cry, + "Why art thou, Lydia, lying +In heavy sleep till morn is nigh, + While I, your love, am dying?" + +Grown old and faded, you bewail + The rake's insulting sally, +While round your home the Thracian gale + Storms through the lonely alley. + +What furious thoughts will fill your breast, + What passions, fierce and tinglish +(Cannot be properly expressed + In calm, reposeful English). + +Learn this, and hold your carping tongue: + Youth will be found rejoicing +In ivy green and myrtle young, + The praise of fresh life voicing; + +And not content to dedicate, + With much protesting shiver, +The sapless leaves to winter's mate, + Hebrus, the cold dark river. + + + + +TO GLYCERA + +The cruel mother of the Loves, + And other Powers offended, +Have stirred my heart, where newly roves + The passion that was ended. + +'T is Glycera, to boldness prone, + Whose radiant beauty fires me; +While fairer than the Parian stone + Her dazzling face inspires me. + +And on from Cyprus Venus speeds, + Forbidding--ah! the pity-- +The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds, + And such irrelevant ditty. + +Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too; + Have bowls of wine adjacent; +And ere our sacrifice is through + She may be more complaisant. + + + + +TO LYDIA + +I + +When, Lydia, you (once fond and true, + But now grown cold and supercilious) +Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms-- + Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious! + +Then with despite my cheeks wax white, + My doddering brain gets weak and giddy, +My eyes o'erflow with tears which show + That passion melts my vitals, Liddy! + +Deny, false jade, your escapade, + And, lo! your wounded shoulders show it! +No manly spark left such a mark-- + Leastwise he surely was no poet! + +With savage buss did Telephus + Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow; +As you would save what Venus gave, + I charge you shun that awkward fellow! + +And now I say thrice happy they + That call on Hymen to requite 'em; +For, though love cools, the wedded fools + Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em. + + + + +TO LYDIA + +II + +When praising Telephus you sing +His rosy neck and waxen arms, +Forgetful of the pangs that wring +This heart for my neglected charms, + +Soft down my cheek the tear-drop flows, +My color comes and goes the while, +And my rebellious liver glows, +And fiercely swells with laboring bile. + +Perchance yon silly, passionate youth, +Distempered by the fumes of wine, +Has marred your shoulder with his tooth, +Or scarred those rosy lips of thine. + +Be warned; he cannot faithful prove, +Who, with the cruel kiss you prize, +Has hurt the little mouth I love, +Where Venus's own nectar lies. + +Whom golden links unbroken bind, +Thrice happy--more than thrice are they; +And constant, both in heart and mind, +In love await the final day. + + + + +TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS + +To Scythian and Cantabrian plots, + Pay them no heed, O Quintius! + So long as we + From care are free, + Vexations cannot cinch us. + +Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth, + Speed hand in hand together; + The songs we sing + In time of spring + Are hushed in wintry weather. + +Why, even flow'rs change with the hours, + And the moon has divers phases; + And shall the mind + Be racked to find + A clew to Fortune's mazes? + +Nay; 'neath this tree let you and me + Woo Bacchus to caress us; + We're old, 't is true, + But still we two + Are thoroughbreds, God bless us! + +While the wine gets cool in yonder pool, + Let's spruce up nice and tidy; + Who knows, old boy, + But we may decoy + The fair but furtive Lyde? + +She can execute on her ivory lute + Sonatas full of passion, + And she bangs her hair + (Which is passing fair) + In the good old Spartan fashion. + + + + +WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG + + Ovarus mine, + Plant thou the vine +Within this kindly soil of Tibur; + Nor temporal woes, + Nor spiritual, knows +The man who's a discreet imbiber. + For who doth croak + Of being broke, +Or who of warfare, after drinking? + With bowl atween us, + Of smiling Venus +And Bacchus shall we sing, I'm thinking. + + Of symptoms fell + Which brawls impel, +Historic data give us warning; + The wretch who fights + When full, of nights, +Is bound to have a head next morning. + I do not scorn + A friendly horn, +But noisy toots, I can't abide 'em! + Your howling bat + Is stale and flat +To one who knows, because he's tried 'em! + + The secrets of + The life I love +(Companionship with girls and toddy) + I would not drag + With drunken brag +Into the ken of everybody; + But in the shade + Let some coy maid +With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle, + Then all day long, + With mirth and song, +Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle! + + + + +AN ODE TO FORTUNE + + O Lady Fortune! 't is to thee I call, +Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to crown +The veriest clod with riches and renown, + And change a triumph to a funeral +The tillers of the soil and they that vex the seas, +Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees + Invoke thee, all. + + Of Dacian tribes, of roving Scythian bands, +Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red +With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting dread; + Within thy path no human valor stands, +And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown +The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely down + From kingly hands. + + Necessity precedes thee in thy way; +Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is seen +Dancing attendance with obsequious mien; + But with what coward and abject dismay +The faithless crowd and treacherous wantons fly +When once their jars of luscious wine run dry,-- + Such ingrates they! + + Fortune, I call on thee to bless +Our king,--our Caesar girt for foreign wars! +Help him to heal these fratricidal scars + That speak degenerate shame and wickedness; +And forge anew our impious spears and swords, +Wherewith we may against barbarian hordes + Our Past redress! + + + + +TO A JAR OF WINE + +O gracious jar,--my friend, my twin, + Born at the time when I was born,-- +Whether tomfoolery you inspire +Or animate with love's desire, + Or flame the soul with bitter scorn, +Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine! + Come from your place this festal day; + Corvinus hither wends his way, +And there's demand for wine! + +Corvinus is the sort of man + Who dotes on tedious argument. +An advocate, his ponderous pate + Is full of Blackstone and of Kent; +Yet not insensible is he, +O genial Massic flood! to thee. +Why, even Cato used to take + A modest, surreptitious nip +At meal-times for his stomach's sake, + Or to forefend la grippe. + +How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts, + And bare the cruel knave's design; +How through thy fascinating arts + We discount Hope, O gracious wine! +And passing rich the poor man feels +As through his veins thy affluence steals. + +Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing, + And plot full many a naughty plot +With damsels fair--nor shall we care + Whether school keeps or not! +And whilst thy charms hold out to burn + We shall not deign to go to bed, + But we shall paint creation red; +So, fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,-- + My lawyer friend, as aforesaid. + + + + +TO POMPEIUS VARUS + +Pompey, what fortune gives you back + To the friends and the gods who love you? +Once more you stand in your native land, + With your native sky above you. +Ah, side by side, in years agone, + We've faced tempestuous weather, + And often quaffed + The genial draught + From the same canteen together. + +When honor at Philippi fell + A prey to brutal passion, +I regret to say that my feet ran away + In swift Iambic fashion. +You were no poet; soldier born, + You stayed, nor did you wince then. + Mercury came + To my help, which same + Has frequently saved me since then. + +But now you're back, let's celebrate + In the good old way and classic; +Come, let us lard our skins with nard, + And bedew our souls with Massic! +With fillets of green parsley leaves + Our foreheads shall be done up; + And with song shall we + Protract our spree + Until the morrow's sun-up. + + + + +THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS + +Maecenas, I propose to fly + To realms beyond these human portals; +No common things shall be my wings, + But such as sprout upon immortals. + +Of lowly birth, once shed of earth, + Your Horace, precious (so you've told him), +Shall soar away; no tomb of clay + Nor Stygian prison-house shall hold him. + +Upon my skin feathers begin + To warn the songster of his fleeting; +But never mind, I leave behind + Songs all the world shall keep repeating. + +Lo! Boston girls, with corkscrew curls, + And husky westerns, wild and woolly, +And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes, + And all profess to know me fully. + +Methinks the West shall know me best, + And therefore hold my memory dearer; +For by that lake a bard shall make + My subtle, hidden meanings clearer. + +So cherished, I shall never die; + Pray, therefore, spare your dolesome praises, +Your elegies, and plaintive cries, + For I shall fertilize no daisies! + + + + +TO VENUS + +Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen! + Desert that Cyprus way off yonder, +And fare you hence, where with incense + My Glycera would have you fonder; +And to your joy bring hence your boy, + The Graces with unbelted laughter, +The Nymphs, and Youth,--then, then, in sooth, + Should Mercury come tagging after. + + + + +IN THE SPRINGTIME + +I + +'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea; + The breezes, loitering kindly over +The fields, again bring herds and men + The grateful cheer of honeyed clover. + +Now Venus hither leads her train; + The Nymphs and Graces join in orgies; +The moon is bright, and by her light + Old Vulcan kindles up his forges. + +Bind myrtle now about your brow, + And weave fair flowers in maiden tresses; +Appease god Pan, who, kind to man, + Our fleeting life with affluence blesses; + +But let the changing seasons mind us, + That Death's the certain doom of mortals,-- +Grim Death, who waits at humble gates, + And likewise stalks through kingly portals. + +Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades + Enfold you with their hideous seemings; +Then love and mirth and joys of earth + Shall fade away like fevered dreamings. + + + + +IN THE SPRINGTIME + +II + +The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the bay, +And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away. +No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight; +No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white. + +Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead the dance, +While from above the kindly moon gives an approving glance; +The Nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir, +And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire. + +Now it is time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate, +And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate; +To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we rely, +A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify. + +Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike; +The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike. +O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond the common run, +Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun. + +The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon the grip. +Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor taste the wine you sip; +Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty you commend, +To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend. + + + + +TO A BULLY + +You, blatant coward that you are, + Upon the helpless vent your spite. +Suppose you ply your trade on me; +Come, monkey with this bard, and see + How I'll repay your bark with bite! + +Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute! + And I shall hound you far and wide, +As fiercely as through drifted snow +The shepherd dog pursues what foe + Skulks on the Spartan mountain-side. + +The chip is on my shoulder--see? + But touch it and I'll raise your fur; +I'm full of business, so beware! +For, though I'm loaded up for bear, + I'm quite as like to kill a cur! + + + + +TO MOTHER VENUS + +O mother Venus, quit, I pray, + Your violent assailing! +The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth + At last are unavailing; +My blood runs cold, I'm getting old, + And all my powers are failing. + +Speed thou upon thy white swans' wings, + And elsewhere deign to mellow +With thy soft arts the anguished hearts + Of swains that writhe and bellow; +And right away seek out, I pray, + Young Paullus,--he's your fellow! + +You'll find young Paullus passing fair, + Modest, refined, and tony; +Go, now, incite the favored wight! + With Venus for a crony +He'll outshine all at feast and ball + And conversazione! + +Then shall that godlike nose of thine + With perfumes be requited, +And then shall prance in Salian dance + The girls and boys delighted, +And while the lute blends with the flute + Shall tender loves be plighted. + +But as for me, as you can see, + I'm getting old and spiteful. +I have no mind to female kind, + That once I deemed delightful; +No more brim up the festive cup + That sent me home at night full. + +Why do I falter in my speech, + O cruel Ligurine? +Why do I chase from place to place + In weather wet and shiny? +Why down my nose forever flows + The tear that's cold and briny? + + + + +TO LYDIA + +Tell me, Lydia, tell me why, + By the gods that dwell above, +Sybaris makes haste to die + Through your cruel, fatal love. + +Now he hates the sunny plain; + Once he loved its dust and heat. +Now no more he leads the train + Of his peers on coursers fleet. + +Now he dreads the Tiber's touch, + And avoids the wrestling-rings,-- +He who formerly was such + An expert with quoits and things. + +Come, now, Mistress Lydia, say + Why your Sybaris lies hid, +Why he shuns the martial play, + As we're told Achilles did. + + + + +TO NEOBULE + +A sorry life, forsooth, these wretched girls are undergoing, +Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, from loving favors showing, +For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will be bestowing! + +Sweet Cytherea's winged boy deprives you of your spinning, +And Hebrus, Neobule, his sad havoc is beginning, +Just as Minerva thriftily gets ready for an inning. + +Who could resist this gallant youth, as Tiber's waves he breasted, +Or when the palm of riding from Bellerophon he wrested, +Or when with fists and feet the sluggers easily he bested? + +He shot the fleeing stags with regularity surprising; +The way he intercepted boars was quite beyond surmising,-- +No wonder that your thoughts this youth has been monopolizing! + +So I repeat that with these maids fate is unkindly dealing, +Who never can in love's affair give license to their feeling, +Or share those sweet emotions when a gentle jag is stealing. + + + + +AT THE BALL GAME + +What gods or heroes, whose brave deeds none can dispute, +Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and flute? +What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant a place +On Pindus' crown or Helicon's cool, shadowy space? + +Sing not, my Orpheus, sweeping oft the tuneful strings, +Of gliding streams and nimble winds and such poor things; +But lend your measures to a theme of noble thought, +And crown with laurel these great heroes, as you ought. + +Now steps Ryanus forth at call of furious Mars, +And from his oaken staff the sphere speeds to the stars; +And now he gains the tertiary goal, and turns, +While whiskered balls play round the timid staff of Burns. + +Lo! from the tribunes on the bleachers comes a shout, +Beseeching bold Ansonius to line 'em out; +And as Apollo's flying chariot cleaves the sky, +So stanch Ansonius lifts the frightened ball on high. + +Like roar of ocean beating on the Cretan cliff, +The strong Komiske gives the panting sphere a biff; +And from the tribunes rise loud murmurs everywhere, +When twice and thrice Mikellius beats the mocking air. + +And as Achilles' fleet the Trojan waters sweeps, +So horror sways the throng,--Pfefferius sleeps! +And stalwart Konnor, though by Mercury inspired, +The Equus Carolus defies, and is retired. + +So waxes fierce the strife between these godlike men; +And as the hero's fame grows by Virgilian pen, +So let Clarksonius Maximus be raised to heights +As far above the moon as moon o'er lesser lights. + +But as for me, the ivy leaf is my reward, +If you a place among the lyric bards accord; +With crest exalted, and O "People," with delight, +I'll proudly strike the stars, and so be out of sight. + + + + +EPILOGUE + +The day is done; and, lo! the shades + Melt 'neath Diana's mellow grace. +Hark, how those deep, designing maids + Feign terror in this sylvan place! +Come, friends, it's time that we should go; +We're honest married folk, you know. + +Was not the wine delicious cool + Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile enhanced? +And by that clear Bandusian pool + How gayly Chloe sung and danced! +And Lydia Die,--aha, methinks +You'll not forget the saucy minx! + +But, oh, the echoes of those songs + That soothed our cares and lulled our hearts! +Not to that age nor this belongs + The glory of what heaven-born arts +Speak with the old distinctive charm +From yonder humble Sabine farm! + +The day is done. Now off to bed, + Lest by some rural ruse surprised, +And by those artful girls misled, + You two be sadly compromised. +_You_ go; perhaps _I_'d better stay +To shoo the giddy things away! + +But sometime we shall meet again + Beside Digentia, cool and clear,-- +You and we twain, old friend; and then + We'll have our fill of pagan cheer. +Then, could old Horace join us three, +How proud and happy he would be! + +Or if we part to meet no more + This side the misty Stygian Sea, +Be sure of this: on yonder shore + Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we; +A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,-- +The fellowship that knows no end! + +E.F. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM*** + + +******* This file should be named 13885.txt or 13885.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/8/13885 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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