X. TO LIGURINA. O Ligurina, cruel still but strong in beauty's sway ! Your colour, too, the rose's hue surpassing far, must go. O that in youth I'd known the truth as surely as to-day, Or to my altered mood could bring back glowing cheeks and gay!' XI. TO PHYLLIS. I've got a cask of Alban wine, I've parsley fit in wreaths to twine, To deck your locks my Phyllis fair; All hands are busy-boy and girl Each at their labour vie ; My kitchen's bright with flames that curl Their grimy smoke on high. The secret of this great ado, Is that the Ides are here; No holier festival Jove sends, Another love, both rich and gay, How vain is glory Phaethon, Hurled from his chariot, showed ; And Pegasus, who bore upon His back an earthly load, A warning to our race was sent; Don't hope too much, but be content, Last of my loves (for never more Learn numbers sweetly forth to pour, Sweet songs will cares disarm. XII. TO VIRGIL. · Now gales from Thrace, Spring's harbingers, Now builds the bird who Itys' name The shepherds pipe amid the rills, And watch their fat flocks feeding nigh; And charm the god who loves the hills 'Tis thirsty weather, Virgil, now; Would'st taste the grapes of Cales' vine? Client of noble patrons thou, Exchange thy nard for wine. A little nard from thee will bring From out my vaults a vintage rare ; "Twill o'er thy hopes a glamour fling, And loose thy soul from care. Wouldst share these joys? then quickly haste, And bring thy wares at once to me ; My cups I vow thou shalt not taste, As though I rich were,-free. Think not of gain, nor long delay; Let folly sometimes temper reason; XIII. TO LYCE. Lyce, the gods have heard my prayer, With quavering voice a tipsy chant But he lies basking far away In some fair Chian's cheek, whose lay And lyre resound his praise. Past withered oaks the restless god And shuns what's hateful to him now, Your blackened tooth, your wrinkled brow, And locks of ashy white. Vain is your purple garb to bring Old days, your jewels vain, Those days that sped so swiftly by, And buried in Time's annals lie, Ne'er to return again. K Where is your beauty fled? No more Whose every breath was love? Since Cinara charmed my careless youth, Whose looks more pleasing art betrayed? Fate, that will Lyce long preserve That youths may laughing look upon XIV. TO AUGUSTUS. O how shall Romans praise his name, And Cæsar crown with glory's prize? How can they spread his virtue's fame, And all his deeds immortalise? Greatest of princes thou, where'er On subject tribes suns rise and set; Whose prowess wild barbarians fear, Though free from Roman yoke as yet! |