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;
No queenlier aspect Juno ever wore,

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
The shepherd saw in robeless loveliness;

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
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 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,
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.