III.

JIV 24

CYNTHIA'S CHARMS.

Qui nullam tibi dicebas jam posse nocere.

THOU who declar'dst no shaft could wound thy breast
Art pierced; thy haughty spirit cowers: O shame!
Scarcely for one brief month thy soul can rest,
And now another love-book brands thy name.

I sought if fishes on dry sands might dwell,
And savage boars frequent the unwonted sea;
If close and earnest toil might love dispel :

Deferred love may, dispelled it cannot, be.

'Twas not her face, though fair, so smote my eye (Less fair the lily than my love: as snows

Of Scythia with Iberian vermil vie ;

As float in milk the petals of the rose);

Nor locks that down her neck of ivory stream,

Nor eyes-my stars-twin lamps with love a-glow; Nor if in silk of Araby she gleam

(I prize not baubles) does she thrill me so

As when she leaves the mantling cup to thread
The mazy dance, and moves before my view,
Graceful as blooming Ariadne led

The choral revels of the Bacchic crew;

Or wakes the lute-strings, with Aeolian quill,
To music worthy of the immortal Nine,
And challenges renowned Corinna's skill,
And rates her own above Erinne's line.

My life! oh tell me, at thy natal hour

Did radiant Love a ringing omen sneeze?

Such charms as thine were heaven's all-priceless dowerThink not thy mother gave thee gifts like these.

For they, I ween, are not of mortal birth,

Nor ten brief moons thy robe of beauty wove;
Thou cam'st a glory to the Roman earth—
First Roman girl to win the heart of Jove.

Nor aye with me an earthly home thou'lt share-
Earth sees in thee a second Helen bloom.
Is't strange our youth should burn? for one so fair,
Ilium, thy sun had set in grander gloom.

I marvelled that to Troy a woman's eyes

Drew Europe's might and Asia's martial pride : Thou, Paris; Meneläus, thou wert wise,

Thou, quick to claim—thou, loath to lose thy bride.

For one so fair Achilles well might die ;

For her even Priam must have sanctioned arms :

But he who'd all of pictured Eld outvie,

Should paint my darling in her native charms.

To West, to East, her likeness let him show—
Of East and West she'll fire the ravished eyes :
With Her love end for me! What death-dire woe
Were mine should e'er a second love arise!

D

As bull that spurns the plough, when once subdued,
Endures the yoke and meekly seeks the field;
So curbless hearts that chafe in youth's wild mood
Soon to Love's sweet and bitter bondage yield.

Base chains the seer Melampus bore awhile

For robbing Iphiclus' much-envied stalls,
Not lured by gain, but fair-cheeked Pero's smile-
A bride foredoomed in Amythaon's halls.

IV.

TO A LOVER.

Multa prius dominae delicta queraris oportet.

Of many a weary wrong thou must complain,
For many a favour plead, but plead in vain,
Gnaw with thy teeth thine unoffending nails,
And stamp with rage when doubt thy soul assails.

In vain were unguents lavished on my head,
In vain I walked with slow and measured tread-
No herb avails, or witch, from Colchis' strand,
Or juice distilled by Perimede's hand;

For when we know not how our ills arise,
Nor whence they come, our way in darkness lies.
This patient needs no downy bed-no pill;
'Tis nothing in the weather makes him ill;
He walks about-drops dead—relations stare :
This thing called love quite baffles human care.

Where's the false sorcerer I have not fee'd?

Or witch who has not tried my dreams to read? 'Neath Cupid's banner let my foes enlist,

Be every friend a sworn misogynist.

Safe glides the pinnace down the tranquil stream;
Why on its tiny shore of danger dream?

Light by thyself will be thy load of care:
Thy heart's blood hardly will appease the fair.

V.

TO CYNTHIA.

Hoc verumst, tota te ferri, Cynthia, Roma.

THE talk of Rome! O Cynthia ! is it true?
And dost thou then the tongue of scandal court?
Was this deserved? False one, thy course thou'lt rue!
The wind shall waft me to another port.* .

I'll surely find one in the fickle throng

Who'll prize her poet's tuneful wreath of fame-
Who will not mock his love with bitter wrong,
But hold thy heartless conduct up to shame.

Alas! long loved-too late thou'lt weep at last.
'Tis time to say adieu, while fresh mine ire;
Full well I know, when once my grief is past,
Love will return with all its olden fire.

* Et nobis aliquo, Cynthia, ventus erit.--(Lachmann.)

Not so, when raves the northern tempest loud,
Carpathian billows ever-varying range;

Nor veering south wind turns the blackening cloud,
As love's capricious mind is prone to change.

Propertius! nerve thy spirit for the fight,

And from the galling yoke thy neck remove; Thou❜lt grieve, 'tis true, but only for a night : Be firm, and light are all the ills of love.

But thou, by Juno's hallowed name, I pray,
Harm not thyself, nor give thy fury rein;
Not the horned bull alone doth seek the fray—
The gentle sheep, if injured, turns again.

From thy false breast I'll not the raiment tear,
Nor shiver in my wrath thy bolted door,
Nor use my hands, nor rend thy braided hair—
Thus clowns may war whose brows ne'er ivy wore.

But what I write shall cleave unto thy name:
"The lovely Cynthia, Cynthia false and frail."
Scorn as thou wilt the idle tales of fame,

This verse will make thy rosy colour pale.