Mentiri noctem, promissis ducere amantem.
THE stains of blood are on her hands who makes
A tryst with lover and her promise breaks.
Such death I dread, when, left in lonesome plight,
I toss from side to side the livelong night.
You pity Tantalus, who never sips
The wave escaping from his thirsty lips;
Gape o'er the toils of Sisyphus, who still
His weary burden rolls up all the hill:
But nought on earth exceeds a lover's woe-
Nought, if you're wise, you'll covet less to know.
I, late so blest-even envy stared, I trow-
Am scarce admitted once in ten days now.
False girl, I'd hurl me sheer from yonder height,
Or drain the poisoned chalice with delight,
Since 'neath the waning moon abroad no more
I now may sleep or whisper through her door.
Yet be it so; I'll never change my love :
She'll weep to see my faith unfaltering prove.
Assiduae multis odium peperere querellae.
WITH many, constant plaints engender hate;
Oft a quiet husband breaks a stubborn mate.
If aught thou'st seen, the fact at once deny;
If grieved, thy sorrow let thy tongue belie.
What if with age my locks were silver-gray,
And languid wrinkles ploughed my cheeks to-day?
Aurora did not old Tithonus scorn,
And leave him lonely in the halls of Morn;
But in her arms she clasped him ere she drave
Her harnessed coursers briskly through the wave ;
And when on neighbouring Ind love-locked she lay,
She sorrowed o'er the fast-returning day;
Called the gods cruel as she clomb her car,
Performed her debt to earth and pined afar,
More glad while old Tithonus still drew breath
Than grieved for Memnon's all too early death.
She never blushed, though rosy-cheeked and fair,
To sleep with him and kiss his silver hair;
But thou, false maiden, scorn'st me in my prime,
Though age shall bow thee at no distant time.
In this, moreover, I some solace find;
Love's often cruel where he once was kind.
Nunc etiam infectos demens imitare Britannos.
FOOL! now a woad-stained Briton, too, thou'dst seem,
And frisk, thy hair with foreign nard a-gleam.
The form that Nature fashioned lacks no grace,
But Belgian paint deforms a Roman face.
Full many pains let girls in Hades bear
Who dye their own or wear another's hair.
Think'st thou if maiden dyed her temples blue,
Her face would therefore have a charming hue?
Fair in mine eyes thou'lt surely ever shine;
Yes, fair enough, if only thou art mine.
Darling, thou hast no brother and no son;
Let me be son and brother both in one.
Thy guardian be thy bed, and do not care
For sitting with elaborated hair.
Do nought to make me trust what gossips say :
O'er earth and ocean scandal speeds its way.
Etsi, me invito, discedis, Cynthia, Roma.
THOUGH 'gainst my will thou'rt leaving Rome, 'tis sweet
To think thou'lt rove the lonely fields the while;
In those pure haunts no tempter thou shalt meet,
To lure, with honeyed words, thy soul to guile.
Before thy windows never brawl by night,
Nor serenade, shall mar thy gentle sleep; Alone thou'lt gaze upon the lonely height,
The humble peasants' fields and wandering sheep.
No sports shall e'er corrupt thee there; nor fanes-
Fell source of wellnigh every fault of thine:
Thou'lt view the toiling oxen plough the plains,
And the deft pruner lop the leafy vine.
Scant incense in rude cell thou'lt burn, and see
A kid before the rural altar fall;
With naked ankle trip it on the lea,
Safe from the strange and prying eyes of all.
I'll seek the chase; my eager soul delights
To enter on Diana's service now:
A while I must abandon Venus' rites,
And pay to Artemis the bounden vow.
I'll track the deer, aloft on pine-tree boughs
The antlers hang, and urge the daring hound ;
Yet no huge lion in his lair I'll rouse,
Nor 'gainst the boar with rapid onset bound.
My prowess be to trap the timid hare,
And with the wingèd arrow pierce the bird, Where sweet Clitumnus hides its waters fair
'Neath mantling shades, and laves the snow-white herd.
My life, remember thou in all thy schemes
I'll come to thee ere many days are o'er ;
But neither shall the lonely woods and streams,
That down the mossy crags meandering pour,
Have power to charm away the jealous pain
That makes my restless tongue for ever run 'Tween thy sweet name and this love-bitter strain:
"None but would wish to harm the absent one."
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