XIX. THE LOVER. At vos incertam, mortales, funeris horam. I. MORTALS, ye seek with anxious soul To read what stars bring weal to man, II. We track the Parthian o'er the plain, The rushing and the rattle, III. Ye fear lest fire your homes assail, And ruin's mad commotion; Nor Boreas' blasts nor arms have power IV. Though now he ply the oar, afloat And see above the infernal boat Will speed the joyful lover. XX. TO JUPITER, ON CYNTHIA'S SICKNESS. Jupiter! affectae tandem miserere puellae. PITY my stricken love, O Jove! the blame For now the sky with fire is all a-flame, And earth is burning 'neath the dog-star's glare. G Yet not so much to blame is heat or sky, As heaven's dread name long outraged day by day. This kills, and killed poor girls in days gone by: Their oaths the winds and waters waft away. Was Venus wroth thou didst her equal shine? Ah! maidens' tongues were heedless evermore : In youth the hornèd Io lowed; now changed, In youth the fair Andromeda was doomed A bear Callisto roamed Arcadia ; now, A radiant star, she guides the nightly sail : And if the Fates should speed thy rest, I trow Those Fates with bliss shall crown thy burial. Thou'lt talk to Semele of beauty's bane, Who, by experience taught, will trust thy tale; Queen crowned 'mid Homer's Heroines thou'lt reign, Nor one thy proud prerogative assail. Calmly, sick love, to fate the issue leave; Eternal Jove may smile, and light arise. Powerless the wheel by spells of magic driven, And the dark bird outpours its baleful cries. All that I loved, to the drear realms below O spare her, and in song thy praise I'll swell, Persephone, continued mercy show, And thou, her husband, be not more severe; Iope, fair Tyro, and Europa too,* Unchaste Pasiphaë, and the heroine-band Of Troy, Achaia, Thebes, now dwell with you, And all the bloom of Priam's ruined land. * Vobiscumst Iope, vobiscum candida Tyro, Vobiscum Europe nec proba Pasiphae, Et quot Troia tulit vetus et quot Achaia formas, Et Thebe et Priami diruta regna senis.—(Mueller.) Where are Rome's women of renown to-day? Death soon or late doth all that lives enthral. My love, relieved from grievous danger now, Be mine, for all my care, thy loving smile! XXI. TO CYNTHIA. Extrema, mea lux, cum potus nocte vagarer. My love, as I was roaming late at night, I dared not even count the impish crew- The whole were naked. One, more rude than all, Cried, "Seize him! well you know him! he's the dunce The angry woman hired us to bemaul." He spoke; a rope was round my neck at once. |