Nor of his sin be loose-tongued scandal mute,
Nor maid to him at night her lattice ope,
Or give him, though he weep, one ray of hope :
Still
may he love and never taste love's fruit!

XXI.

TO CYNTHIA.

Magnum iter ad doctas proficisci cogor Athenas.

AFAR to learnèd Athens I must fare,
To lose on that long way my load of care,
That grows from constant sight of Cynthia here,
Where Love still fattens on most ample cheer.
To scare him from me every means I've tried,
But still he presses me on every side.

I call-don't see her; if I do, 'twill be
To find her coldly shrink away from me.

One hope is left love shall 'neath other skies
Be far from me as Cynthia from mine eyes.

*

Now, comrades, push our vessel off from shore,
Draw for your turn in couples at the oar;
Now haul mast-high the lint-white canvas there,
And cleave the billow while the breeze is fair.

* Remorumque pares ducite sorte vices,

should perhaps be rendered

And pull with steady stroke the balanced oar.

Adieu, Rome's towers and friends I cherished here!
And thou, be what thou wilt, maid once so dear!
For now rude Adria's billows' guest I'll ride,
And sue the gods that thunder in the tide,
Till on Lechaeum's placid waters' breast,
The Ionian crost, my weary bark shall rest.
My feet! speed through the toils that yet remain,
Where Corinth's isthmus severs oceans twain;
Then, reached the shores that line Piraeus' bay,
I'll climb the slopes of Theseus' weary way.

There with Platonic lore I'll purge my soul;
Sage Epicurus, in thy gardens stroll;
O'er grand Demosthenes enraptured sit;
And, smart Menander, sip thy sparkling wit :
Some picture find that may enchant mine eye,
Or chiselled work in bronze or ivory ;

Or lapse of years, or else the severing brine,

In some calm nook will heal these wounds of mine ; . Or I shall die, by no base love laid low,

And, biding Nature's time, with honour go.

XXII.

TO TULLUS.

Frigida tam multos placuit tibi Cyzicus annos.

So long hath frozen Cyzicus, my Tullus, pleased thee well, Where 'neath the narrow Isthmus wild Propontis' billows

swell!

Have Dindymus, and Cybele carved from the sacred vine,* The path the steeds of Pluto took with lovely Proserpine, And Athamantic Helle's cities, then, such charms for thee? And, Tullus, dost thou never feel one fond regret for me?

Though now Heaven-bearing Atlas were by thee with pleasure scanned,

And the all-dread Medusa's head cut off by Perseus' hand, And Geryon's stalls, and, in the dust, the marks of Hercules With huge Antaeus wrestling; and the whole Hesperides; And though thou wert to cleave the Colchian Phasis with thy crew,

And track the course of that fair ship that once on Pelion grew,

When hewn into a boat-like shape the erst-untravelled pine, Led on by Argonautic dove, sailed up the cliff-locked brine; Though thou shouldst to Ortygia sail, and seek Cäyster's shore,+ And where Nile's waters to the sea in seven vast channels pour,

* Dindymus et sacra fabricata e vite Cybebe.-(Haupt.)

Et sis, qua Ortygia et visenda est ora Cäystri.—(Mueller.)

Not all the wonders of the world can mate the Roman land, Where Nature all her choicest charms has strown with lavish hand.

Land fitter far for deeds of war than prone to acts of bale,

The cheek of Fame will never blush, O Rome to tell thy

tale;

For ever strong in clemency, as brave in arms, we stand,
Nor in the hour of victory doth fury guide our hand.

Here doth Tiburtine Anio flow; here sweet Clitumnus' river

From Umbrian hill; here Marcius' rill-a work will last for

ever;

The Alban lake and Nemorensian fed by kindred wave;

And the salubrious stream that drink to Pollux' charger

gave.

Here crawl no hornèd serpents, underneath with scales agleam Nor with unheard-of monsters do Italia's waters teem;

Here for a mother's sin no clanking chains our maidens

dread,

Nor from Ausonian feasts doth Phoebus, shuddering, hide his head;

Here never fateful fires have blazed to slay the absent one,
As once a mother compassed fell destruction for her son;
Here savage Bacchants never hunt a Pentheus on a tree,
Nor stag for maiden slaughtered speeds our navies o'er the
sea;

Here Juno ne'er with crooked horns hath marred a rival's

brow,

Or, torn by fearful jealousy, transformed her to a cow;

No torture-trees of Sinis here, nor Sciron's rocks of gloom, Nor yielding branches earthward bent to work the bender's

doom.

L

Here, Tullus, is thy Hill of Home-thy passing fair abode; Here, suited to thy rank, thou still mayst walk in honour's road; Here will thy speeches charm, and Rome will give a wife to thee,

And ample hope that thou mayst yet thy children's children

see.

XXIII.

THE LOST TABLETS.

Ergo tam doctae nobis periere tabellae.

My clever little tablets then are gone,

And with them all the good things writ thereon;
My hands with constant use had worn them so,
Good was their credit whether sealed or no.
Without my presence they could soothe the fair;
And whisper tender tales, were I not there.
No costly golden hinge adorned their backs—
Common the boxwood was, and poor the wax.
Such as they were, they ever leal remained,
And aye for me auspicious issues gained.
Perhaps they bore this message: "Laggard, hey!
I'm wroth with you for yesterday's delay.
Has some more beauteous girl enchanted thee?
Hast thou been busy spreading lies of me?"

Or this: "To-day together we shall dine,

The night we'll spend, and Love shall crown the wine;"

And every joke a lively girl can find,

When for an hour's sweet talk she feels inclined.