XXIII. TO CHLOE. You fly me, Chloe, like a fawn For whether Spring with gentle breeze But I'm no tiger to ill-treat you, XXIV. TO VIRGIL. Can any shame for sorrow bring relief For such a loss? What bounds shall hold our grief? Begin the dirge, Melpomene; for heaven Thee voice and lyre has given. And so Quintilius is at rest for ever. O Honour, Faith that was corrupted never, His death to many loving souls brought woe; No terms were made when he became thy care :— E'en could'st thou strike the lyre, the trees obeyed With more enchanting notes than Orpheus made, Its blood would never warm that empty ghost, Which to the gloomy host Stern Mercury, who ne'er reverses fate, XXVI. TO THE MUSE. I'll make all gloomy thought and fear Afar o'er Cretan seas to bear The Muse to me is kind. I care not now a straw to know Is feared, nor yet what causes woe Lover of founts that purely flow, Bright flowers together join, And for my dear friend Lamia's brow, What profits fame if thou art dumb, But Lamia's praise will well become XXVII. TO HIS COMRADES To brawl o'er wine's a great abuse- For cups were meant for peace. Keep modest Bacchus ever free From strife, nor stain with blood your glee. Sure torches bright and goblets gay With Persian javelin Agree but ill; so don't delay, But stop this horrid din, And quietly, my friends, recline, And on your couches quaff your wine. And must I also take a part? Then let Megilla's brother Confess to whom he lost his heart, Whatever love enthralls your mind Such frailties easy pardon find. Come, tell me what's her name? My tongue the secret won't reveal Ah! wretch, how much for you I feel! On what a stormy sea you rove, What charm can quell, what god remove XXVIII. ARCHYTAS. Thou, too, Archytas, who both sea and land What profits now to have ranged thro' realms on high And Minos died who knew Jove's secrets well, But not his soul and well thou know'st he was : No mean expositor of Nature's laws. Yes, all must feel alike the shrouding gloom, Old men and youths in crowds are snatched away, Me, too, the South wind, on Orion's sign May'st thou incur meet punishment, and bow So, then, whate'er thy haste, a moment stay, Thrice sprinkle me with dust-then go thy way. You XXIX. TO ICCIUS. envy the treasure of Araby's shore, And warfare prepare with all speed Against kings of Sabæa, unconquered before, And chains for the terrible Mede. What barbarous maid will you choose for a slave When her lover in battle is slain? What boy with his sweet-scented locks will you have The cups at your feast to sustain ? |