But he who'll cure this pain of mine is certain of succeeding In giving Tantalus the fruit that cheats his eager palm : Yea, he the piercèd pails may fill, and heavy burden lighten, The slender Danaïds endure, with ceaseless toil opprest; From the bleak cliff of Caucasus unchain the fettered Titan, And scare away the bird of prey that tears his mangled breast. When, therefore, Fate shall come and place the dreary bourne between us, And on a little marble slab thou'lt read my humble name, O thou! the hope and envy of our chivalry, Maecenas, Whose friendship sheds around my life and death the light of fame If thou shouldst chance to pass the grave where I am quietly sleeping, Rein in thy British car, a-gleam with richly-graven gear, And breathe these words of sorrow, o'er my silent ashes weeping, "A cruel maiden was the death of him who's mouldering here." II. CYNTHIA'S PRAISE. Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto. FREE-I designed my bed with none to share ; I made a truce with Love: ""Tis null," he cries. Why lingers here on earth a form so fair? Jove, I ignore thine ancient gallantries. Flaxen her hair, hands slender, matchless all; Or Pallas in Dulichian temple-hall, Her breast with Gorgon's snake-hair mantled o'er. Fair as Ischomache, the heroine bride Deflowered by lustful Centaurs mad with wine; As Brimo by Boebeis' hallowed tide, On Hermes lavishing her charms divine. Yield, goddesses! whom erst on Ida's height May time on her fair face no wrinkle write, Though hers the years of Cumae's prophetess ! III. CYNTHIA'S CHARMS. Qui nullam tibi dicebas jam posse nocere. THOU who declar'dst no shaft could wound thy breast I sought if fishes on dry sands might dwell, '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 choral revels of the Bacchic crew; Or wakes the lute-strings, with Aeolian quill, 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 aye with me an earthly home thou❜lt share- 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- D As bull that spurns the plough, when once subdued, Base chains the seer Melampus bore awhile For robbing Iphiclus' much-envied stalls, Not lured by gain, but fair-cheeked Pero's smileA bride foredoomed in Amythaon's halls. IV. TO A LOVER. Multa prius dominae delicta queraris oportet. OF many a weary wrong thou must complain, In vain were unguents lavished on my head, For when we know not how our ills arise, Nor whence they come, our way in darkness lies. |