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Would that one sister of the fatal Three

Had bid me in my cradle breathe my last! Why nurse a life of such uncertainty ?

Nestor is dead—his three long ages past.

Had Phrygian spear, ere mighty Troy fell doomed, Hurled from her ramparts, sealed his lingering fate, He ne'er had seen Antilochus entombed,

Nor said in sorrow, "Death, why come so late?"

Thou, too, shalt weep when I have done with time-
The left may ever love the loved who die.
See fair Adonis, smitten in his prime

By savage boar on crest of Idaly !—

'Tis said that Venus roamed the fenny plains,* Called the fair youth, and her long tresses spread; But, Cynthia, thou shalt call my shade in vain,Mute are the mouldering ashes of the dead.

* Illis formosum vocitasse paludibus, illuc

Diceris effusa tu, Venus, isse coma.--(Mueller.)

V..

LOVE'S DREAM REALISED.

Non ita Dardanio gavisus Atrida triumphost.

Not in his Dardan triumph so rejoiced the great Atrides
When fell the mighty kingdom of Laomedon of yore;
Not so Ulysses when he moored his wave-worn raft beside his
Beloved Dulichian island-home-his weary wanderings o'er;

Not so Electra when she saw Orestes out of danger,

Whose simulated bones she'd held and watered with her

tears;

Nor burning Ariadne when she saw the fair-haired stranger Safe thread the Daedalean maze and dissipate her fears,—

As I, when last night's rosy joys I ruminated over :
To me another night like that were immortality!

Awhile before with downcast head I walked a pining loverMore useless I had grown, 'twas said, than water-tank run dry.

No more my darling passes me with silent recognition,
Nor can she sit unmoved while I outpour my tender vow.
I wish that I had sooner realised this blest condition;
'Tis pouring living water on a dead man's ashes now.

Before my feet my path was clear, but I was wholly blinded; And surely no one sees when love his senses steals away. But here's a cure I've found most sure—aye scorn the scornfulminded:

She who repulsed you yesternight will come to you to-day.

In vain did others seek my love, in vain they called upon her, She leaned her head upon my breast, was kind as girl could be.

Of conquered Parthians talk no more, I've gained a nobler

honour,

For she'll be spoils, and leaders, and triumphal car to me.

O Cytherea! I'll affix great presents to thy portal,

And underneath my name this little distich I will write : "Propertius lays upon thy fane these spoils, O Queen immortal!

Pray do not spurn this poor return for one immortal night."

Light of my life! say, shall my bark reach shore with gear befitting,

Or, dashed amid the breakers, with her cargo run aground? With thee it lies: but if, perchance, through fault of my com

mitting

Thou giv'st me o'er, before thy door let my cold corse be

found.

VI.

THE JOYS OF LOVE.

Ome felicem! o nox mihi candida! et o tu!

O BLISS! O charming night! O couch thrice dear, From love-delights that all past joys outshone! What charming prattle when the lamp burnt clear! What loving dalliance when the light was gone!

Now with bare breasts she strove, and now delayed
My eager efforts; then the sweet coquette
Oped with her lips my sleep-closed eyes and said:
"Sluggard, is this the way you treat your pet?"

How twined our arms our struggling waists around!
How lip on lip imprest the lingering kiss!
Why in the dark the joys of love confound?
The eyes are aye the pioneers of bliss!

Lo! Paris burned as Helen robeless came
From Menelaus' chamber; and they say
Robeless Endymion kindled Dian's flame,
And with the robeless virgin-goddess lay.

But if, persistently, your robe you don,

My hands will rend it to invade your charms; Nay, should unwonted passion urge me on,

You'll have to show your mother bruised arms.

Yours are no drooping breasts that you should claim To be from Love's delightful warfare barred; Leave it to her to wear the blush of shame

Whose handsome form has been by travail marred.

While fate allows, let love delight our eyne;
A long night comes and no returning day.
Oh, would that Love around us both might twine
A clasping chain that would endure for aye!

The amorous doves be pattern of our joy,

That each with each in fond affection vie;
He errs who would love's frenzied flame destroy:
True love can never know satiety.

Sooner the soil shall mock the toiling swain
With bastard produce-sooner shall the sun
Urge on his sable steeds with slackened rein,
And rivers backward to their fountains run—

Sooner shall fishes roam the arid shore,—

Than I to other maid transfer my love: All my life long my charmer I'll adore; To her in death itself I'll faithful prove.

If nights like this she grant me e'er again,
A single year will be an age to me;
If many such, I'll be immortal then ;
Even one gives mortal immortality.

Were Love and Wine life's work, we'd mourn nor steel,
War-ships nor bones on Actian billows tost;
Nor so would Rome, beset with triumphs, feel
Weary of her tresses streaming for the lost.

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