XI.

TO CYNTHIA.

Quid fles abducta gravius Briseide? quid fles?

WHY weep more sadly than Briseïs borne from friends afar? Or woe-begone Andromache, led captive erst in war?

Why weary out the gods, mad girl, about my wrongs alway? And why complain our olden faith but blossomed to decay?

Not so the mournful Attic bird outpours her bitter wail,
When 'neath Cecropia's sylvan shades she tells her dismal tale;
Nor, at the tombs of children twelve, incessant tear-drops
thus*

Doth overweening Niobe rain from sad Sipylus.

Although with chains of beaten brass my arms should bounden be,

Though iron walls confined my limbs like prisoned Danaë, Yet should I break for thy sweet sake, my soul, the bars of brass,

And quickly from the iron keep of prisoned Danaë pass.

Whate'er of thee is told to me shall fall on heedless ears,
Provided only ne'er of me thou cherish needless fears.

*Nec tantum Niobe bis sex ad busta superba
Sollicito lacrimas depluit a Sipylo.-(Scaliger.)

F

Oh, by my sire's and mother's bones! I swear I'll keep thy

trust,

And if I lie, then heavily upon me press their dust.

I still shall be, my life, to thee, true till death's shadows come; Away one troth shall bear us both-one day behold our doom: But if nor name nor beauty of thine should keep me leal to thee,

Yet would thine easy thrall be aye a gentle bond for me.

'Tis seven full moons since all the town has rung about us twain ;

Oft was thy door unbarred to me-oft entrance did I gain : Yet never bribe by me was given to buy a kiss of thine; Whate'er I was I was to thee-myself thy chosen shrine.

Whilst many mine;

woo'd thee, me alone thou woo'dst, sweet love of

If I forget-me Furies rack, me Aeacus consign,
At the infernal bar, to feed, like Tityos, vultures fell,
And roll the rock like Sisyphus aloft the hills of hell.

No further then assail me, sweet, with suppliant letters now; True as of old, so to the last aye true shall be my vow: This my perpetual privilege, that soon I should not tire, Alone of lovers all, of love, nor rashly catch its fire.

XII.

TO CYNTHIA.

Ah quantum de me Panthi tibi pagina finxit.

As far as Panthus e'er made free
In page of his to slander me,
So hard to him may Venus be,
And plague his life.

Now seem I not a truer seer

Than famed Dodona? Well, my dear,
Your handsome lover's off, I hear,
And ta'en a wife.

Just so much time quite lost! O fie!
List how he's singing while you lie,
The victim of credulity,

In lonely woe.

In you the pair their gossip find;

And he, grown vain, declared you pined, And stayed at home against his mind. That may be so,

But may I die if he'd in view

Aught save to triumph over you.

He's wed, and has his triumph too,
While you must smart.

Her guest Iason thus betrayed
In days of yore the Colchian maid;
He left her, and Creusa swayed
His home and heart.

So the Dulichian hero sped
Away from fond Calypso's bed-
She saw her faithless lover spread
His swelling sails.

Maids, prone to trust whate'er you hear, When ye are left in sorrow drear,

Oh do not rashly lend an ear

To tempter's tales!

Long, long has Cynthia sought the track Of one she hopes may yet come back. Poor foolish girl, what does, alack ! Experience say?

Whate'er the place on earth you fill,
Whate'er the time, alike I'm still
Yours whether you are well or ill.
Yes yours for aye.

XIII α.

TO DEMOPHOÖN.

Scis here mi multas pariter placuisse puellas.

DEMOPHOÖN, it was but yesterday

Full many a maiden pleased me well, you know; And now, from scenes where all was glad and gay, To me arises many a weary woe.

Now every street is filled with fatal charms;

O theatres, too sure to ruin me,

If Beauty spread her fair, voluptuous arms,
Or trill the changing notes of melody!

If lovely maiden sit with bosom bare,

Or o'er her brow of snowy whiteness play The truant ringlets of her gem-bound hair, Mine eyes invite the shaft too sure to slay.

And if she e'er had chanced to disallow,

By one forbidding look, my cherished dream, Soul-freezing sweats would gather on my brow, And trickle down my cheeks in chilling stream.

Why do I melt at every maiden's charms?

Why ask me ? Such a "Why" love never knew. Why with the knife does votary gash his arms, And to the frantic notes his members hew?