Woe's me! they hold some miser's bills at last,
And doubtless lie 'neath heartless ledgers cast;
Who brings them back to me, my gold shall gain :
Who would for gold poor boxwood slips retain ?
Boy, on some pillar fix this bill of mine,
With the address, "Propertius,-Esquiline."

XXIV.

CYNTHIA'S PRIDE.

Falsa est ista tuae, mulier, fiducia formae.

TRUST to thy beauty! woman, 'tis a dream;
My once-fond eyes have puffed thy pride, 'twould seem;
Blinded by love I gave thee wondrous praise-

I'm now ashamed I shrined thee in my lays.

In thee I lauded every varied grace,

Though thine was ne'er, Love knows, a pretty face;
Compared thy colour to the rosy morn,

While pigments did thy hueless cheek adorn,—
Lured on by spell no friends of mine could stay,
Or Thessal witch with ocean wash away.
This tale from me nor fire nor torture drew;
Wrecked in the Aegean, I confessed 'twas true.*

* Naufragus Aegaea vera fatebar aqua.

-This is the reading adopted by most editors; Paley, with the Cdd., reads fatebor.

Of Love's fell furnace then I felt the pains,

And had my hands behind me bound with chains ;
But my wreathed ship has reached the port at last—
I've cleared the Syrtes now and anchor cast.
Tired of the raging sea, I'm getting sane,
And my old scars are quite skin-whole again.
O Reason! if thou art a Power divine,
I dedicate myself before thy shrine;

For all the prayers I breathed to Heaven above
Unheeded fell on the deaf ear of Jove.

XXV.

FAREWELL.

Risus eram positis inter convivia mensis.

CYNTHIA, at banquets people laughed at me;
I was the butt of all their gibes and jeers.
For five whole years I have been true to thee:

Now thou shalt bite thy nails and shed sad tears.

Hence with thy tears! they've tricked me oft before;
I guess some heartless fraud whene'er they flow.
I'l weep to say farewell for evermore,

But my deep wrong shall stem the stream of woe.

Our yoke was light, but thou wouldst not be true.
Adieu, O threshold! where I used to stand
And plead till thou wouldst weep; O door! adieu,
By me ne'er shivered with an angry hand.

Hide as thou wilt thy years, be thine dark cares !
Deep wrinkles all thy loveliness efface!

Then wish to pluck each silver tress, while stares
The chiding mirror in thy furrowed face!

In turn, an outcast, suffer proud disdain,
And mourn in age the errors of the past.
I've sung these fateful curses in my strain;

Dread then thy beauty's doom—thy lot at last.

BOOK V.