But ye who love, and love, and love again,
How salt the tears that from your eyes must rain!
Ye've seen the tender maiden lily-white,
Ye've seen the dusky girl; both tints delight.
Ye've seen the nymph of Grecian mould, and there
The Roman maid; and both were passing fair.
In russet robe or purple raiment drest,
Alike each charmer wounds the lover's breast:
Since one can steal the slumber from thine eyes,
One maid to one may well for woe suffice.
DREAM OF CYNTHIA'S SHIPWRECK.
Vidi te in somnis fracta, mea vita, carina.
LIGHT of my life! I saw thee in my sleep,
Wrecked on the storm-yvext Ionian deep;
Thy vessel's shivered timbers round thee strown,
Thy weary hands for succour upward thrown,
Confessing all the falsehoods thou hadst told,
While o'er thy matted hair the waters rolled-
Like Helle wave-tost on the purple deep,
Borne on the downy back of golden sheep.
Oh how I feared that on the "Cynthian sea"
Sailors should tell thy tale and weep for thee!
What vows to Neptune and the Twins I made,
And to divine Leucothoë, for aid!
While thou-thy hands scarce raised above the wave-Didst often call me from the yawning grave.
Had thy bright eyes by Glaucus then been seen,
The Ionian sea had hailed another queen,
And jealous Nereids would be chiding thee,
Nisaea fair, and green Cymothoë.
But to thine aid I saw the dolphin scud
That bore, methinks, Arion o'er the flood.
Down from a rock I tried to plunge ahead,
When fear awoke me, and the vision fled.
Now let men marvel maid so fair's mine own
And that through all the town my bliss is blown.
Although for her Pactolus' streams should glide,
She would not say, "Poor poet, leave my side."
My lays she sings, and scorns the rich man's lure :
No maiden courts the Muse with zeal so pure.
Much, faith in love, much, constancy can do:
Who many gifts can give may many woo.
Should Cynthia wish o'er ocean wide to fare,
I'll go one breeze will waft the faithful pair,
One shore our couch when sleep our eyelids fill,
One sheltering tree our roof, our cup one rill,
One plank for both will ample bedroom be;
Afore, abaft, 'tis all the same to me—
All toils I'll bear: let savage Eurus rave,
Or freezing Auster whirl us o'er the wave,
And all ye winds that poor Ulysses tost,
And drave the Greeks along Euboea's coast,
That moved two strands when forth the dove had flown,
To lead rude Argo on through seas unknown.
If only from my eyes she never turn,
Jove with his blazing bolt our ship may burn;
Naked, we'll toss upon the self-same shore :
The wave may waft me if thou'rt covered o'er.
Not harsh is Neptune to so leal a love,
For Neptune mates in love his brother Jove.
Ah! Argive Amymonë with her pail,
And Lerna, trident-smit, can tell the tale,
How erst he wooed and won, and in return
With god-sent waters filled her golden urn;
And ravished Orithyia says the Wind
Who rules the earth and sea is not unkind.
Believe me, Scylla's mouths will cease to rave, Nor vast Charybdis whelm us with its wave; The very stars will shine, by clouds unhid; Clear shall Orion gleam and clear the Kid: But should my life be lost in saving thine, Then surely no inglorious fate is mine.
Al vos incertam, mortales, funeris horam.
MORTALS, ye seek with anxious soul
To know death's hour uncertain,
And from the darkly-mantled goal
To lift the awful curtain;
Anon the cloudless sky ye scan,
And lore Phoenician borrow,
To read what stars bring weal to man, And what is fraught with sorrow.
We track the Parthian o'er the plain,
O'er ocean seek the stranger,
Yet every path o'er earth and main
Is filled with hidden danger;
Again ye rue the roaring din,
The rushing and the rattle, When troop on troop comes pouring in To join in doubtful battle.
Ye fear lest fire your homes assail,
And ruin's mad commotion;
Ye dread the cup ye quaff, and quail
Lest death lurk in the potion;
But how he'll die, and when his hour,
The lover's ne'er in error-
Nor Boreas' blasts nor arms have power
To smite his soul with terror.
Though now he ply the oar, afloat
On Styx's reedy river,
And see above the infernal boat
The gloomy canvas quiver;
Let but his darling sigh-the clay
Will life, sweet life recover,
And back the unpermitted way
Will speed the joyful lover.
TO JUPITER, ON CYNTHIA'S SICKNESS.
Jupiter! affectae tandem miserere puellae.
PITY my stricken love, O Jove! the blame
Will all be thine if she should die-so fair;
For now the sky with fire is all a-flame,
And earth is burning 'neath the dog-star's glare.
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