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Harsh one! wilt sail the Phrygian billows o'er,
And seek the Caspian's hoarse-resounding shore? *
The common gods with blood alternate soil,
And homeward bear with thee the baleful spoil?

What? blush to live content with one fair friend?
If sin there be, 'tis Love's, and there's an end.
Hence, churls! If thou with me, sweet Cynthia, still
Wilt share some dewy grot on mossy hill,
There to the rocks thou'lt see the Sisters cling,
And ancient Jove's delightful love-raids sing,—
How he consumed in Semele's fond arms;
How pined away for Io's maiden charms;
How, too, in fine, on wanton wings of joy,
He fluttered bird-like to the walls of Troy.

If all resist the wingèd god in vain,

And all transgress, why me alone arraign?
Nor wilt thou make the Virgins blush for shame—
They, too, have felt the soul-consuming flame,
If haply 'mid Bistonian rocks of yore

One nymph Oeagrus' warm caresses bore.

Here, when they'll make thee leader in the dance,
And Bacchus midst us deftly whirls his lance,

I'll wear the sacred ivy wreath for thee-
My fount of song! my dream of poesy!

* Et petere Hyrcani litora rauca maris.—(Munro.)

XXIII.

TO CYNTHIA.

Quaeris, cur veniam tibi tardior? Aurea Phoebi.

I've seen-hence, love, I come so late to thee-
Great Caesar open Phoebus' golden shrine,
Adorned with Punic columns fair to see,

And Danaids 'twixt them all along the line.

Here shone in marble, than himself more fair,
Phoebus with silent lyre, outpouring strains;
And round the altar stood four oxen rare,

Carved to the life-the fruit of Myron's pains.

Rose in the midst the polished marble shrine,
More, than Ortygia, dear to Phoebus' heart.
Swept o'er the roof the car of Sol divine;
While ivory folding-doors-a gem of art-

Showed, this, the Gauls sheer from Parnassus flung; That, Niobe's slain children's woeful plight;

Last, 'tween his mother and his sister, sung

The Pythian god, in trailing garment dight.

XXIV.

TO CYNTHIA.

Qui videt, is peccat: qui te non viderit ergo.

WHO sees thee, sins; who sees thee not, is free
From all temptation: keep our eyes from thee.*
Cynthia, why seek Praeneste's doubtful lore?
Or Telegonian Tusculum ?-nay, more,
Why to Herculean Tibur ride, I pray?

Why pace so oft the ancient Appian way?†

Would, when at leisure, thou wouldst walk with me!

For people bid me doubt thee when they see
Thee, votaress, with kindled torches rove,
And bear the holy lights to Trivia's grove.

Ha! Pompey's portico now palls for thee,
With pillared shade and purple tapestry—
Our closely-planted planes in even row,
The streams that from a sleeping Maro flow,
And showers by Tritons poured the city round,
With sudden spurts and gently-gurgling sound.

Poor dupe thy secret's out; such journeys cry-
'Tis not the city but my sight thou'dst fly.
Vain all thine efforts-vain thy schemings fell;
The bootless toils thou spread'st I know too well.

* Or-'Tis, therefore, with our eyes the guilt must be.
+ Appia cur totiens te via ducit anus?

As for myself, 'tis nought; but thy fair fame
Will suffer in proportion to thy blame.

Of late my ears an odious rumour stung-
Through all the town the shameful story rung.
"A wicked tongue thou'lt surely ne'er believe;
For fee the fair did scandal aye receive."
With mixing poison charged thou'st never been;
Phoebus, thou'lt witness be those hands are clean!
One frolic-night or two I'd not reprove ;
Such trifling errors ne'er mine anger move.

Helen left home to feed a stranger's flame,

Yet back was brought, and lived absolved from blame.
Venus, though once to Mars she gave her love,
Was ne'er less honoured in the realms above.
No, not though Ida tells she loved of old,
And lay with shepherd Paris 'mid his fold.
The Hamadryads did their dalliance view,
The old Sileni, sire Silenus too,

With whom, O Paris! in the Idaean grot
You gathered apples, taking oft, I wot,
The gifts your hand from fair Oenone got.

}

In such a hive of harlots, asks one why
This girl's so rich ?-whose? whence the vast supply?
O Rome! in this our time, of bliss how full !
If but one girl transgress the golden rule!
Who Tatian worth and virtuous Sabine home
Seeks here, has but of late set foot in Rome.
Thou'lt sooner drain the sea that laps the land,
And pluck the stars on high with mortal hand,
Than make our maids their love of sin restrain-
A custom that obtained in Saturn's reign,

And when Deucalion's flood the world flowed round, And since Deucalion's flood of old renowned.

Where is the bed that aye unstained was known?
What goddess ever loved one god alone?
The wife of mighty Minos e'en, they say,
The grim bull's milk-white form once led astray.
And Danaë, too, with brazen wall encased,
Could not deny great Jove, though erewhile chaste.

If Greek and Latin queans thy patterns be,
I'll judge thee not; live as thou wilt for me.

XXV.

TO CYNTHIA.

Tristia jam redeunt iterum solennia nobis.

THOSE drear solemnities draw round once more,

And Cynthia now has vowed ten penance-nights; Ah! perish Io, who from Nile's warm shore To our Ausonian matrons sent her rites!

She who so oft has severed love from love
Was ever loathsome-be she who she may.

Thou, Io, erst in secret loved of Jove,

Didst surely feel the toils of many a way,

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