LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES
LONDON : PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODH AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES
BY
F. H. HUMMEL, B.A.
LATE SCHOLAR OF WORCESTER COLLEGE
and
A. A. BRODRIBB, B.A.
OF EXETER COLLEGE
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN,
1876
Ail rights reserved
AND CO.
Pagina ne nimio crescat damnosa papyro
Omittam potius Militât omnis amans.
Not grandly as the theme requires
We echo lays from Latin lyres,
Scarce venturing in the modem vein
To imitate the classic strain;
But half in earnest, half in fun,
We sketch a task that might be done.
If only some superior poet
Would lend his mighty genius to iL
CONTENTS.
CATULLUS.
PAGE
2. To his Lady's Sparrow {H) .... 3
3. Death of his Lady's Sparrow (B) . . .4
4. Parody (B) S
5. Carpe Diem (B) 7
7. A Moderate Request (B) . . . . 8
26. The Tempest (AT) 9
26. The Tempest {B) . , 9
27. To his Slave (B) 10
34. virelay to Diana {//) 10
51. Rondeau to Lesbia {/L) . . . . 12
60. La belle Dame sans Merci (JL) ... 13
70.- The Worth of Words {B) . . . .13
76. The Consolations of Philosophy {//). . 14
84. De Arrio (B) . . ... 15
85. A Contradiction {B) . . . 16
viii
CONTENTS.
VIRGIL.
PAGK
Ecl. 4. pollio {H) 19
Copa. The Dancing Girl {H) . . 23
Catal. 7. Going Down (H) . . . ■ 25
TIBULLUS. .
I- 3-
On the Sick List (H)
29
IV. 2.
sulpicia (H) ....
3'
IV. II.
The Patient (H)
. 33
IV. 13.
To his Bride (H) .
33
PROPERTIUS.
II. I.
The Tenth Muse (H)
• 39
II. 13-, l. 7-
The Poet's Funeral {H)
4«
II. 27.
Lovers' Augurv (H)
. 42
III. 4..
The Triumph (5) .
43
III. 23.
The Tablets {ß) ...
• 45
OVID.
AM. I. I.
The Poet's Master (H)
51
Am. I. 2.
The Triumph of Cupid {H)
. 52
Am. I. 3.
The Wooing 0' it ß) .
54
Am. I. 9.
The Camp of Cupid ß) .
55
CONTENTS.
¡X
tAGK
Am. I. 12.
The Tablets (E) . ...
57
Am. II. 15.
The Ring (E) .
■ 59
Am. II. 16.
In Absence (N) . , . .
60
Met. I. 533.
Daphne (E) ....
HORACE.
CO
q
0
To his Servant (E) . . .
65
Od. II. 4.
A Mésalliance (.5)
• 65
Od. III. 9.
Reconciliation (E)
67
Od. III. 20.
The Lover-Stealer (H\ .
• f'9
Od. III. 21.
Good Wine {E) . . . .
70
Od. III. 30.
The Poet's Immortality (B)
• 72
Od. IV. 7.
The Return of Spring (H) .
73
MARTIAL.
I. 20.
Better than Cure (E)
• 77
I. 48.
No Difference (E)
77
I. 90.
Private and Confidential (E)
78
III. 14.
A Disappointment (E)
78
III. 33-
a pis-aller (.5) . . .
• 79
III. 56, 57.
Water-rates (A7) ^
79
IV. 32.
A Sepulchre [E)
. So
IV. 47.
PlIAiiTHON (E) . . . .
So
a
x
CONTENTS,
PACE
IV.
91-
On his Book (E)
. 81
VI.
4-
Flattery {E) ...
82
VI.
17-
Change of Name (jV)
82
VI.
52-
The easy Shaver {E) .
. 83
VI.
53-
A Coroner's Verdict (B)
83
VI.
(so.
Conditions of Success (//) .
84
VI.
69.
Bass's Entire (B)
. 84
VI.
78.
Dearer than Eyesight {//)
• 85
VII.
83-
The Barber {B) ...
85
VIII.
6.
Sir Désiré. Potts {!/) .
86
VIII.
7-
Silence is golden {//}
. 87
VIII.
21.
The Return of Caesar {E) .
. 87
VIII.
35-
Compatibility of Temper (iV)
• 89
VIII.
43-
Matrimonial News {B)
. 89
VIII.
69.
The Price of Fame {E) .
■ 90
VIII.
81.
The Pearl-worshipper (//) .
90
IX.
I.
Trifles {B) ...
91
IX.
6.
Mutual Affection {E) .
91
IX.
16.
Chloe's Seven Husbands {E) .
■ 92
IX.
31-
Nigrina (E) ....
92
X.
i.
An Apology {B)
■ 93
X.
8.
Old Gammer {E) .
93
X.
23-
M. Antonius {B)
■ 94
X.
97-
A Disappointment (B) .
94
CONTËNTS.
xi
rafik
xi.
59-
the man with many rings (//)
- 95
xi.
59-
genteel poverty (B) .
96
xi. ;
100.
the golden mean (H)
- 96
xii.
Si¬
the garden (H) .
97
STA TIUS.
sylv. v. 4.
how h.ave i frighted thee? (H)
. ici
AUSONIUS.
epigr.
ll.
echo to the fainter
ics
epigr.
12.
opportunity and afterthought (B) 106
epigr.
19-
the uncertai.nty of life (H)
107
epigr.
75-
the quack doctor (H) .
loS
epigr.
144.
on one by name bright {^H)
109
epigr.
145-
a maxui of menander (H)
109
epit.
SO¬
dido (H)
109
epit.
bó.
epitaph (,B)
. 110
CLAUDIAN.
idvll.
i.
the phœnix (B) .
I IS
epigr.
2.
dulce domum {B)
118
epigr.
5-
serena's goblet (H)
119
epigr.
SO-
granny and bizzy (//)
. 120
CATULLUS
2
TO HIS LADY'S SPARROW.
Bird that my darling loves to play with,
Loves to nurse on her bosom white,
Loves to tease thee, loves to give thee her
Delicate finger-tip to bite ;
When she is sighing in my absence
Thou canst comfort her, playing near ;
Till love's fever abate and leave her,
Thou art by her to make her cheer.
How I long for thee in my loneliness !
Yea, I yearn, as the fleet princess
Yearned for the golden fruit that fated her.
Scornful maid, to a bridal dress.
II 2
+
LAYS FROM LATIM LYRES.
3
DEATH OF HIS LADY'S SPARROW.
Weep, ye Loves, and every Grace,
Weep, each fairest mortal face :
Lesbia's darling bird is dead j
The happy bird caressed and fed
By Lesbia's hands, and dearly cherished
More than her own sweet self, has perished.
It loved her even as children love
Their mothers, always loth to move
From Lesbia's side : supremely blest
If but permitted there to rest ;
Nor wandered, whUe its sweetest tone
Made music for herself alone.
Alas ! it flits along the way
Whence nothing can return, they say.
Thou cruel Orcus, dreary gloom.
Of all things beautiful the tomb.
CATULLUS.
S
Dost know thy latest victim's worth,
The dearest bird on all this earth,
And that my Lesbia's eyes of late
Too oft have mourned her favourite's fate ?
4
PARODY.
This ship you see by Salter's raft
Boasts that she was the fleetest craft
That ever Isis knew;
For three years in the summer race
First on the stream she kept her place.
So unapproachable her pace.
So lusty were her crew.
What vanquished rival can deny
Her prowess, or presume to vie
With laurels such as these ?
Can Christchurch proud such honour claim.
Or Brasenose of boating fame,
6
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Or Exeter with crimson oar,
Or Balliol men from Scotia's shore ?—
There, 'midst a clump of trees,
A noble pine of haughty birth
Disdained to speak with Mother Earth,
But whispered to the breeze :
This was my heroine, foully slain,
Brought from the mountain to the main,
Whence, many a storm and peril past.
She reached the quiet Thames at last.
And, deftly shaped and set afloat,
Became an outrigged racing boat.
Strange history ! now her life is done.
Her very occupation gone,
And laid aside, she feels no more
The throbbing pulses of the oar.
But ages in serener state.
To the Twin Brethren consecrate.
CATULLUS.
5
CARPE DIEM.
Live and love, my Lesbia,
And then the cynic sneer
That bitter age delights in
Shall never cost us dear.
Suns rise and set for ever ;
But when our light has died
All that is left, my darling.
Is slumber side by side.
So grant a thousand kisses.
And add ten thousand more.
And thousands heaped on thousands
Like those that went before.
And when the tale's completed.
Lest envy learn our bliss.
We'll mix them all together,
Nor count a single kiss.
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
7
A MODERATE REQUEST.
If thou should'st ask me, Lesbia,
How many kisses pressed
By thy sweet lips on my lips
Would make thy lover blest,
Go straight to fair Cyrene,
By Jove's warm temple stand,
And thence to Battus' sepulchre
Count every grain of sand ;
Or scan the stars at midnight
That look on love and bliss,
And deem me well-contented
Were every star a kiss.
That so my Lady's kisses
May ne'er be numbered right.
For envious eyes to count them.
Or evil tongues to blight.
CATULLUS.
9
26
THE TEMPEST.
Around my peaceful cottage door
Nor boisterous south nor west winds roar ;
Alas ! it feels a fiercer blow,
Mortgaged for all the sums I owe.
another version.
From north, south, east, and west, no gale
Can penetrate my bricks and mortar ;
But what precautions can avail
To shield me from the Jewish quarter?
lo
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
27
TO HIS SLAVE.
Come, fill up my glass with Falernian, my boy,
And the older the better, the old is my joy ;
For the queen of the banquet commands us to drink.
And ne'er from the cup does Postumia shrink :
Get thee hence, sober water, the ruin of wine,
Let teetotallers drink thee, pure Bacchus be mine.
34
VIRELA Y TO DIANA.
For Dian's ruth
In faith and truth
Both maid and youth
Sing virelay.
CATULLUS.
Il
Great Jove-bom maid,
Whom L,aton laid
In olive shade
On thy birth day ;
Of hills the queen,
And shaws so sheen.
And deep glades green
And sounding streams;
Lucina, nigh
When mothers cry ;
Bright moon on high
With borrowed gleams ;
Dread three-formed maid.
By tides obeyed.
Who bams dost lade
With plenteous food ;
Whatever name
Thy power doth claim ;
Be aye the same.
To do us good.
12 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
SI
RONDEAU TO LESBIA.
Alas ! the bliss is all as high
As bliss of gods above the sky,
(Nay more, if earth such bliss could bear,)
To look upon thee, sitting near.
And watch thee smiling pleasantly.
I look, I burn ; the sight doth tie
My tongue, and make my sense to die.
That nothing can I see or hear ;
Alas, the bliss !
Too much, I trow, too much have I
Of ease, and mirth, and jollity.
That many men have bought full dear
With many a grief and bitter tear ;
And all too dear my bliss I buyj
Alas, the bliss !
CA razz us.
13
60
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI.
Wast thou bom of a lioness ranging
In Libyan mountains wild,
Or did Scylla's form, horribly changing,
Bear thee her bitterest child.
That thou wilt not list to my heart's sad cry,
O merciless one, ere I die ?
70
THE WORTH OF WORDS.
She says she loves nobody better than me.
No, not even though Jupiter sought her;
But the vows of a wife to a husband should be
Written down on the wind or the water.
H
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
76
THE CONSOLATIONS OF PHILOSOPHY.
Sweet, folks say, are recollections
Of the goodness of one's youth.
Of the gush of kind affections.
And of strict unswerving truth.
What a source of joy to me.
Then, this jilting ought to be,!
Did I not surpass civility.
Prove both generous and kind.
Lavish gold and affability.
All on an ungrateful mind ?
Then, of course, I should be glad ;
Spite of Fate, I won't be sad.
Hard it may be to forget her ;
I must do it none the less ;
All my hope of getting better
Lies in my forgetfulness.
CATULLUS.
>5
Pity me, ye gods above.
Help me to forget my love.
No, I ask not to recover
Love that brought me all my woe.
Nor that her more favoured lover
May in turn be jilted so -,
Only, gods, as I deserve.
Give me back my strength and nerve.
84
DE ARRIO.
Whenever 'Arry tried to sound
An H, his care was unavailing ;
He always spoke of'orse and 'ound.
And all his kinsfolk had that failing.
Peace to our ears. He went from home :
But tidings came that grieved us bitterly.
That 'Arry, while he stayed at Rome,
Enjoyed his 'oliday in Hitaly.
i6
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
85
A CONTRADICTION.
I HATE and I love her ; I cannot explain,
But I know that she causes me infinite pain.
VIRGIL
Ecl. IV.
POLLIO.
It is come, the final hour
That the Sibyl's verse foretold,
And the heavens bring back creation's morn.
Renewed in their second birth ;
And the Maid resumes her power.
And restores the Age of Gold ;
For the Man-child long desired is'borfl.
Heaven's messenger to earth.
The life of the gods immortal
Shall beat in his breast and brain ;
He shall see through the cloud-veiled portal
The gods and their hero train ;
And heroes and gods shall gaze,
As he rules o'er a world at peace.
Till fades the remembrance of evil days.
And the terrors of nations cease.
c 2
20
LAYS FROM LAT/N LYRES.
Unasked round his cradle the glad earth shall pour,
All verdant and golden, her flowery store ;
Unasked, to gladden the heaven-sent child.
From swollen udders the milk shall flow;
And the lion's roar shall be feared no more ;
They shall perish, shall perish, the noisome snake.
And the painted poisons of mead and brake ;
But in every land, all common and wUd,
Shall the rarest of Arab/s spices grow.
Then, soon as his opening years
Shall quicken with boyhood's fires.
And his heart beat high as he hears
Of the deeds of his warrior sires ;
Then uneared shall field after field
Gleam with the golden corn ;
And dropping honey the oak shall yield.
And purple clusters the thorn.
Yet still unhealed shall there be
Some scars of the ancient blight.
The frail plank daring the changeful sea.
And the coulter wounding the bounteous lea,
And the engines of deathful fight.
VIRGIL.
21
One more ship o'er the sounding main,
Manned by a hero crew, shall sail j
One more host on an Asian plain.
And a champion Youth in his heavenly mail.
His majesty of manhood shall smile on a world at
rest ;
No scudding of perilled shipmen o'er the ocean's
heaving breast ;
No goods o'er the treacherous water shall the trader's
bottoms bear.
For every beauty of every clime shall flourish every¬
where.
And the husbandman's toil shall be ended, and the
vinedresser's knife be still.
And in native purple the radiant flocks shall pasture
on every hill.
The awful Sisters sang as they spun.
And to heaven's flrm will consents their song ;
Thèy have bidden their fateful spindles run
With joys like these whole centuries long.
Come, loved of heaven ! thy glorious hour
Is now at the doors ; assume thy power.
ZA YS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Lo, how the joy of the day that shall come
Sways all the depths of the vast world's dome ;
The fathomless heaven, and the earth, and the sea,
Rejoice in the glory that is to be.
Oh, may but my life stretch out to the time, and
my voice have strength for the lays.
That shall tell thy glory in ringing rhyme, and the acts
of thy happy days !
Not even the bards of old days divine, though their
parent gods should inspire them,
Shall rival the lays that shall then be mine, with such
deeds as thine to fire them.
Yea, vainly the tuneful Pan contends, though his own
Arcadians hear ;
The god and his own Arcadian friends shall yield to
a theme so dear.
Appear, little Babe, for thy parents' blessing,
And answer with gladness thy mother's smile ;
Appear, little Babe ; for thy dear caressing
She has waited in longing a weary while.
And thy parents' blessing shall find thee grace
Among the high gods in a happy place.
VIRGIL.
23
Copa.
THE DANCING GIRL.
How nimbly she moves to the Castanet's clatter,
As the rattling reeds to her elbow are hurled !
On the tavern bench let us lie looking at her ;
I would not have missed such a sight for the world.
Here are wine-jars and cups, here are music and
garlands,
And a loud rushing brook by the cool thatched cot.
And the shrill sounding fife, that to shepherds in far
lands
Makes music in many an Arcadian grot.
And here, amid violets, roses, and lilies.
Lie the rush-bedded cheeses, and all autumn's
sweets ;
And here Love is happy, for here, as his will is.
With Ceres and Bacchus in revel he meets.
24 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Come hither and rest through the heat of the noontide,
And loose from his burden the weary pet ass ;
And reclining, wash down the dust with the boon tide
Of liquor that foams in the clear bright glass.
Now in cool nooks the lizard reposes,
And the grasshoppers creak in the shrubbery's
shade ;
Let us lie 'neath the vine, our brows shaded with roses,
And gaze on the form of the fair dancing maid.
Who would save the bright wreaths for occasions of
sorrow.
To lay on the pall, or to garland the tomb?
Bring dice and strong wine, and perish To-morrow !
Death's self shall but warn us, ' Be gay till I come.'
VIRGIL.
25
Catal. VII.
GOING DOWN.
Hence, hence, ye troops of vapid dons.
With áll your Greek un-Grecian,
With all your notes and lexicons.
And lectures to repletion.
Hence Porson, Liddell, Scott, and Jelf,
Ye playthings for the youthful;
I'll make translations for myself.
Less learned, but more truthful.
And you, my much-loved college friends,
0 handsome, strong, and witty.
Here for a while our friendship ends ;
1 part from you with pity.
For I have reached that happy shore
Where care no longer carketh.
Where all his store of hard-crammed lore
The student disembarketh.
26
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
And you, ye Muses, with the rest
Out at my door I shove you ;
But yet the truth must be confessed,
I once did really love you.
Well, you may sometimes come again.
But do not come too often -,
I would not have you give me pain.
But just amuse and soften.
TIBULLUS
I- 3-
ON THE SICK LIST.
Colonel, good-bye ; good-bye, my comrades all ;
Remember, as you cross the Levant wave.
Your dying friend in Corfu's hospital.
Doomed to an early and unfriended grave.
O cruel Death, spare me a little while !
Might I but once more see my mother's face.
My grief be lightened by a sister's smile.
Or pain forgotten in my love's embrace !
My love, she never spoke of fear or doubt.
But smiled at parting, with forced words of cheer;
Yet mournfully she watched us marching out.
Nor all her hopes restrained one rising tear.
3°
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
I spoke of comfort, though my heart was sad ;
And oft I thought on some excuse to stay ;
Can parted hearts in Love's despite be glad,
Or duty cheer an absent lover's way ?
Even now she prays for me ; and faithful prayer.
As many a one can tell, has power to heal;
Even yet, perhaps, within the old church there.
Beside her at the altar I shall kneel.
Oh, would that war for evermore might cease.
Nor lust of gain lure trading men to roam ;
All nations rest in selLsuiScing peace.
Nor toil nor dangers fright the soldier's home !
But in your home be happy, loveliest.
Sitting with good old folks beside the blaze ;
And when the twilight bids your needle rest,
List to the quaint old tales of bygone days.
So let me find you, at that happy hour
When, unexpected, I shall come again ;
Heaven-sent, unlooked-for, I shall reach your bower,
And in your arms forget this deadly pain.
TIBULLUS.
31
IV. 2.
SULP ICI A.
Mighty Mars, on thy festal day
If thou lookest upon the earth,
Look on the happy rites we pay
In honour of sweet Sulpicia's worth.
Look, if thou hast or eye or heart ;—
Venus forgive thee ! shield and brand.
Hardened murderer though thou art.
Have almost dropped from thine awe-struck hand.
Look how Love at her sparkling eyes
Lights his torch that Olympus dreads ;
Look how the Graces in disguise
Deck her, attend her where'er she treads.
Sweet she seems when her hair flows down.
Sweet when she binds it smooth and tight ;
Sweet in her violet morning gown,
Sweet in her snowy silks at night.
32 ZA YS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Like the unfading heavenly Spring,
Changeful in loveliness ever new,
All variety can but bring
Fresh bright beauty of form and hut
Only for her let men toil to find
The dyes and gems that the Indies yield ;
Only for her let the Arab hind
Cull the sweet crops of his spicy field.
Muses, through all the years to be.
Consecrate her a festal dayj
None is so sweet a maid as she.
None so worthy your festal lay.
TIBULLUS.
33
IV. II.
THE PATIENT.
Dost thou think of her now, dost thou love her,
As she lies fevered and ill ?
Scarce can she wish to recover,
Unless thou think of her still.
For what were her life worth keeping,
As she lies weary and low.
If thou couldst think without weeping
On her and her woe ?
IV. 13.
TO HIS BRIDE.
Never a woman on earth shall steal my heart from
my bride ;
This is my first, and shall be my only love.
Thee, thee alone I adore ; henceforth no maiden be¬
side
Seemeth fair to my eyes, or hath charms to move.,
d
LA KS FROM LA TIN L YRES.
Ah ! but I would that thy beauty might shine for no
other than me ;
Would I were safe with a bride that none else
would desire.
Why should I ever mistrust thee ? Shall all men be
talking of thee ?
Close in my heart will I keep thee, and joy, and
admire.
Happy with thee could I live in wildernesses afar.
Deep in the trackless woods that no mortals know ;
Thou art my solace in cares, in deepest darkness my
star.
Thou all my world, though through lonely paths
we go.
Now though the gods themselves should send me a
maiden to love,
Still should my heart prove cold, and their gift
nought worth;
Troth-plight am I to thee by the awe of Juno above ;
Guardian of wedded faith, be my goddess hence¬
forth.
TIBULLUS.
35
Ah fool ! what have I done ? I have given my bond
in her hand ;
Better have still been shy, and had little to say.
Now she will play the tyrant, and burn my heart as a
brand ;
Curse on the tongue that has chattered my freedom
away !
Now I must be her slave for ever, and never remove.
Never escape, obeying each hard behest;
Yet shall my suppliant knee be bent at the altar of
Love,
Love that can smite the oppressor, and right the
oppressed.
PROPERTIUS
II. I.
THE TENTH MUSE.
You ask how I manage to write
The songs you are pleased to admire ;
You think that a Muse must indite,
Or Apollo himself must inspire.
O love, in no Delphian shade.
By no fountain of Castaly,
But here by my side is the maid
That teaches my songs to me.
When your ivory fingers glance
And run o'er the ivory keys.
Soft syllables join in a dance.
And a sonnet is finished with ease.
40
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
When you flash on my dazzled sight
Resplendent in radiant dress ;
When your forehead's beautiful white
Is veiled by a vagrant tress ;
When your eyes are closed in sleep.
Or sparkle in sportive play ;
When, working, your fingers keep
Pace with the trifles you say ;
O love, with your love aglow,
My heart gives tune to my tongue ;
And the first-ripe melodies flow.
And a trifle is turned to a song.
PROPERTIUS.
41
II. 13. 1. 17.
THE POET'S FUNERAL.
Then, when the long night closes darkly o'er me,
Let not the comet loudly wail my fate,
Let no long pageant crowd the street before me.
Bear not my corpse in gaudy gilded state.
Burn no sweet spices in the censer steaming ;
All shall be done in plain and lowly guise ;
Only my songs, the children of my dreaming.
Offer to Her who knoweth jiot the skies.
Thou too, wilt come, with sobbing and with wailing.
Calling my name in lingering long adieus,
Pressing cold lips with kisses unavailing,
Shedding rich unguents from a costly cruse.
Low be my tomb, beneath a shadowing laurel ;
Small be the urn, that from the smouldering bier
Gathers my ashes ; brief the sculptured moral,
' True to one love, a Lover lieth here.'
42
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Ay, love, remember, when thy death shall call thee.
Let that last journey bring thee to my tomb;
Think of me still, whatever shall befall thee ;
I, unforgetting, wait thee in the gloom.
IL 27.
LOVERS' AUGURY.
Ah wretched mortals ! wherefore seek to know
The fatal time, the manner of your dying?
God-hidden things ye bid the stars to show,
With gipsy lore in heavenly houses prying.
Ye weep that on rough sea, or foughten field.
Or riotous street, your corpses shall be lying.
Or death the flames or poisoned cup shall yield.
Ah hapless lovers ! all too well ye know
What time, what cause, shall bring you to your
dying;
Nor on the crimsoned turf shall ye lie low.
Nor welter cold amid the foam-blasts flying.
PROPERTIUS.
43
Yet though in sadness unto death ye yield,
If through the gloom ye hear your lady's crying,
Even death's stern law for you shall be repealed.
III. 4.
THE TRIUMPH.
Now bends his way great Caesar
To the rich Indian strand.
To smite with all his legions
The ancient jewelled land :
Lo, triumphs from the world's far end
The guerdon of the war.
When Tigris and Euphrates roll
Submissive to our law :
When soon the distant Seres
Beneath our rods shall move.
And every Parthian trophy
Shall learn our Latin Jove.
44
LAYS FROM LATlN LYRES.
Go, haste, put forth the war-ships
Prepared again for fight,
And be his fiery charger
The care of every knight.
Good news I sing. Retrieve them now.
Old slaughter and old shame ;
Roman, go forth and conquer.
Nor dim the Roman name.
Great Father Mars, and Vesta,
Whose hearth-flame burns for aye.
Be mine, I pray, that happy day.
To glad me ere I die.
When, decked with spoil, the chariots
Lead on the wealthy train.
And at the people's shouting
The horses start and strain.
May I be there to see them.
With wife and children all.
And read on scroll-work written
Each conquered city's fall :
And see the Parthian armour,
And the barbaric bow.
And where, unarmed, at CsesaPs wheels
The captive chieftains go !
PROPERTIUS.
45
Keep thou thine offspring, Venus,
Keep him for ever thine.
Great Caesar, long descended
From old Eneas' line.
Then be this booty their reward
Whose labours win the day ;
Enough for me to greet them
Upon the Sacred Way.
III. 23-
THE TABLETS.
Well, 'tis a bore at last to lose
The old familiar friends I cherished :
My tablets, worn with constant use,
And scores of witty things, have perished.
They learned in time without my aid
To soothe an angry mistress sweetly ;
And then the casual jokes I made.
They always wrote them down so neatly !
46
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Not of expensive gold their case,
'Twas merely boxwood—but perfection ;
They had an honest, faithful face,
That earned good treatment and affection.
Perhaps they bear the tidings sad.
In fair Italian hand, to tell us
That ' Cynthia thinks your conduct bad,
' And bids you wait, for she is jealous ;
Or else a hurried line to say
That she forgives the humbled sinner,
If only he will come to-day.
And meet her, tête-à-tête, at dinner :
Or (degradation !) they may hold
Accounts of halfpence daily hoarded,
The price of stocks, the rate of gold.
Or items similarly sordid.
I'll advertise :—' Lost, stolen, or strayed,
' Two wooden tablets, hinged and double ;
' And forty shillings will be paid
'To recompense the finder's trouble.'
PROPERTIUS.
47
Then, Daviis, run, this notice post,
(For thieves to keep them would be silly ;)
' Important documents are lost ;
' Address, Fropertius, Piccadilly.'
OVID
Am. 1. i.
THE POErS MA STEP.
High deeds of heroes to rehearse
I thought, in grave heroic measure,
When Cupid, laughing, clipped my verse,
And bade me sing of love and pleasure
Usurping boy ! what right has he
To deal with poets as he chooses ?
I'll start afresh, and let him see
I'm not his servant, but the Muse's.
Alas ! unnerved by shafts of love.
To frame heroics I am ill able ;
In lighter measures I must move,
I cannot rhyme in decasyllabic.
E 2
52
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Am. I. 2.
THE TRIUMPH OF CUPID.
Now whence is this, that hard my couch doth seem,
I turn, I toss the coverlets away,
Nor comes to me nor sleep nor pleasing dream.
And aching limbs long weary for the day ?
Ah ! can it be, that Love some secret dart
Hath sent, and rages in my conquered heart ?
Dread Power ! I yield me ; vain it were to fight ;
The" willing captive lightlier bears the yoke ;
More fiercely, shaken, bums the torch's light.
That, lying stilly, dieth out in smoke.
Hard bits and blows the struggling steed must bear ;
And whoso fights with Love, shall faint with care.
I yield submiss, nor stir the sudden fire
With wrestlings vain. Lo ! here thy vassal stands;
Miséricorde, great Love ! lay by thine ire ;
I do thee homage with my fettered hands.
Spare thy dread dart ; small is his meed of praise,
Who, armed at point, an unarmed captive slays.
oy/D.
S3
Now wreathe thy conquering brow with myrtles ; yoke
Thy mother's doves in her fierce lover's car;
Mount and drive on, 'mid throngs of shouting folk
Lead thy long pageant of victorious war.
There, amid youths and maids, thy prisoner train.
Unused to bonds, I meekly bear my chain.
Hands fast behind, Right Reason shalt thou lead.
And Shamefastness, and every foe of Love ;
And many a Sport, and Madness, and Unheed,
Thy true help-fellows, by thy side shall move.
These be thy powers, that gods and mortals rue ;
These if thou leave, thou leavest thy kingdom too.
From heaven down gazing in glad wonderment,
Thy mother scatters roses at thy feet.
Who, plumes and tresses twinkling gem-besprent,
Goest, all golden, in thy gilded seat.
I too in this thy triumph bear my part ;
Spare, then, to spend thy strength on conquered heart.
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Am. I. 3.
THE WOOING 0' IT.
The girl who bound me as her slave,
Ne'er let her scorn the heart I gave ;
Or let me only love her still ;
Venus, my modest prayer fulfil.
Take me, I M-ill guard thee surely.
Take me, I will love thee purely.
Though no great ancestry I claim,
(A knight the author of my name,)
Though scarce ten oxen plough my land,
And parents give with frugal hand.
Let Phœbus and the Muses nine
Suffice, and love that makes me thine.
And honour, and a life unblamed.
Truth, and a conscience never shamed.
I am not fickle ; thou shalt be
(If vows are aught) the world to me,
While the kind Fates prolong thy thread
To love me living, mourn me dead ;
And let my happy verses prove
Not all unworthy of my love.
OVID.
55
Am. I. 9.
THE CAMP OF CUPID.
Nay, Atticus, believe me, he who loves
Is eke a warrior ; Cupid hath his camp ;
And the same age for love and warfare proves
The best for each, ere eld our ardour damp.
If captains seek new vigour in recruits,
An equal lustihed Dan Cupid suits.
One guards his leader's, one his mistress' gate ;
Both fare the night long, stretched upon the
ground ;
In love or battle both on Fortune wait.
And follow steadfast, though no end be found ;
Cross snows and mountains where dark torrents roar,
Or scan the stars, and seas unknown explore.
And each, most soldier-like, is sent to spy
An envious rival, or a doughty foe ;
One sieges cities, one doth constant try
His mistress' portals, when she saith him No.
56
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
And oft, less arms more generous prevail,
Each must the drowsy crew by night assail.
Also in Cupid's campaigns, as in Mars',
Heed well the sleepless watchers on the wall.
And careful sentries ; fickle are loves and wars ;
The beaten rise, the proud, unbending, fall ;
Wherefore let none the lover's sloth upbraid.
Love breed eth ready wit, for daring made.
His lost Briséis great Achilles mourned,
(Now, Trojans, now, the Grecian force o'erwhelm :)
Straight from his love to battle Hector turned,
'Twas fair Andromache that laced his helm ;
And even Atrides, Priam's daughter seen.
Loved the distraught wild hair and frenzied mien.
So me, once sluggard, born in easy case.
Softened by sloth, love led me by the hand.
And I did battle for my Lady's grace.
And entered Cupid's camp at her command.
Now, soldiers all, who will that service prove,
Not choosing sloth, I charge ye that ye love.
OVID.
57
Am. I. 12.
THE TABLETS.
Condole with me ; my slave has brought
The unwelcome, melancholy message,
'She cannot come.' I hardly thought
My scheme would prosper : I'd a presage.
An omen, of my dreary fate ;
For, when I sent the note this morning,
The servant stumbled at the gate.
And foolishly ignored the warning.
But you, that make my woe complete,
My tablets, bringing her refusal,
Go hence, I fling you in the street.
Lie there, for every knave's perusal.
Lie there, let every passing wheel
Your form and features bruise and batter ;
Lie there, let every booted heel
Each last surviving fragment shatter.
58
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
My malison on your parent tree,
Apt, doubtless, for the hangman's uses ;
My malison on the pirate bee
That culled ydur wax from hemlock juices.
Your waxen face, as if for shame.
Blushed, by some poisonous dye made ruddy ;
Or did your maker's evil name—
Some murderer—make his work seem bloody ?
You would have served extremely well
For some prosaic legal process ;
Or you would very fitly tell
A greedy gambler's gains and losses :
But I was mad to trust to you
A letter fervid with affection.
Well-phrased my mistress' heart to woo >
What was it but to court rejection?
Ill-omened tablets, all unmeet.
Ill-omened in your double number.
Be lost or broken in the street.
Or kept (who cares ?) with mouldy lumber.
OV/D.
59
Am. II. 15.
»
T//E RING.
Sign of my too presumptuous flame,
To fairest Celia haste, nor linger;
And may she gladly breathe my name,
And gaily put thee on her finger !
Suit her as I myself, that she
May fondle thee with murmured blessing ;
Caressed by Celia ! \^'ho could be
ITnenvious of such sweet caressing?
Had I Medea's magic art,
Or Proteus' power of transformation.
Then would I blithely play thy part.
The happiest trinket in creation.
Oh, on her bosom I would fall.
Her finger girdling all too lightly;
Or else be magically small.
Fearing to be discarded nightly.
6o
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
And I her rosy lips would kiss,
(What mortal's fortune could be better ?)
As oft allowed to seal my bliss
As she desires to seal a letter.
Now go. These are delusions bright
Of idle Fancy's idlest scheming ;
Tell her to read the token right,
Tell her how sweet is true love's dreaming.
Am. II. 16.
IN ABSENCE.
Ah me 1 Sweet by my shady cottage
Ripples the streamlet cool and clear,
Winding in and out among fruitful orchards.
Watering green meads far and near.
Ah me ! Vainly in summer beauty
Glisten bright rill and meadows glad ;
Just one heedless word, and my love has left me.
Buried in grief, alone and sad.
OVID.
6i
Ah me ! Love is not quenched by absence,
Only its joys are mine no more ;
Joy and life are dead, for she is not near me.
She is not near whom I adore.
Ah me ! Where is thy vow, my darling,
' Nothing but death part me and thee?'
Surely yet thou comest again to cheer me,
Comest to smile once more on me.
Met. I. 533.
DAPHNE.
As oft the hare across the open ground
For safety flies, hard pressed by Gallic hound.
He, on his destined victim all intfnt.
Pursues with eager nostril on the scent ;
She, when the good hound close and closer draws.
Fancies herself each moment in his Jaws :
So Daphne fled, so follows Phcebus near.
The one from" ardour swift, the one from fear ;
62
ZA YS FROM ZAT/y ZYRES.
Love wings his feet ; now Phœbus gains apace,
Nor lets her rest, for love must win the race.
Her streaming hair floats loosely on the gale,
Her colour dies, her limbs o'erburdened fail ;
' Now,' cries the maid, where Peneus' waters shine,
' O Father, aid me, if the power be thine ;
' Receive, O Earth, thy daughter all too fair,
' Or change the beauty and the form I bear.'
Her words scarce breathed, strange torpors seize her
breast ;
Chills the warm heart, in new-grown bark encased ;
Her hair to leaves, her arms to branches grow.
And her swift feet become the roots below ;
While through the laurel, half disguised, her face.
Still loved by Phœbus, keeps its wonted grace.
HORACE
Od. I. 38.
TO HIS SERVANT.
Davus, my brows shall ne'er be graced
By costly wreaths in foreign taste ;
Nor seek the autumn rose to waste,
I charge you, spare it.
But be the simple myrtle mine.
It suits the servants when we dine,
And me too, when beneath the vine
I drink my claret.
Od. II. 4-
A MÉSALLIANCE.
My Xanthias, your lowly maid
Need never cause you shame;
Did not Briséis, pretty jade,
Achilles' self inflame ?
f
66
£AYS PROM LATIN LYRËS.
E'en Ajax for his captive's charms
Knew Love's captivity ;
Atrides left his conquering arms
A woman's slave to be,
After the foreign armies fell,
And valiant Hector's fate.
Who kept the Trojan ramparts well,
Opened the city gate.
Perhaps her parents, gently bom.
Their son-in-law will bless ;
Who knows ? for Phyllis seems to moum
Some family distress.
Be sure, no nameless child is she.
Of mongrel blood suspected,
Her pure unselfishness must be
Respectably connected.
Impartially her form I praise.
So have no jealous fear
Of him whose solitary days
Have ' come to forty year.'
HORACE.
67
Od. III. 9.
RECONCILIA TION.
He. When I was thought decidedly
The best of all your swains,
Mine was the arm most often given
To make the waltz seem almost heaven;
Was I not then far happier
Than any king that reigns,
When I was thought decidedly
The best of all your swains }
She. When persons thought it probable
That I should wed your Grace,
.^nd when I forged each rosy fetter.
Before you liked Miss Bluestock better,
Was not the coming triumph
Depicted on my face.
When persons thought it probable
That I should wed your Grace ?
F 2
68
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
He. I own I like the sciences,
Miss Bluestock knows them all ;
She's a disciple really fervent,
And I am her most humble servant ;
My life I'd gladly sacrifice
Lest aught to her befall,
Because I like the sciences,
And she can teach them all.
She. I know Lord Fitzplantagenet
Is looking for a wife,
The richest noble in the nation,
A man who hates a mere flirtation :
Oh, were my lord in jeopardy
I'd die to save his life.
Because Lord Fitzplantagenet
Is looking for a wife.
He. What if the old love between us
Should reassert its sway ?
Would loving looks be answered blindly.
Or would the change be taken kindly ?
Your rival, were she Venus.
Would seem inferior clay.
If but the old love between us
Should reassert its sway.
HORACE.
She. Shall I then make the venture,
And live and die with thee ?
Though Fitzplantagenet is brighter
Than any star, and you are lighter
Than driftwood, and your temper
Is as the changing sea ;
Oh yes, it would be charming
To live and die with thee.
Od. til 20.
THE LOVER-STEALER.
What terrors are yours to encounter
When the lioness comes for her whelp.
Nor daring her anger, the hunter
Flies shrieking for help !
70 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
She bursts through the ranks that withstand her,
She raves and she roars for her pet ;
Now fight for it, Love against Candour !
On which shall we bet ?
What weapons of logic will shield you
'Gainst ^the glamour of pearly teeth ?
And he, is he likely to yield you
The conqueror's wreath.
Who, pretty as he whom the Jove-bird
Flew bearing o'er Ida away,
The elegant, scented, young love-bird,
Smiles on at the fray ?
Od. III. 21.
GOOD WINE.
Good bottle of port, of the right old sort
When George the Third was king,
In our glasses deep, be it laughter or sleep.
No matter whate'er you bring.
HORACE.
71
I have not scanned your particular brand,
But it surely denotes good liquor ;
So I offer my best to a special guest,
And an ancient friend, the Vicar.
His cronies tell that his favourite well
Is the learning of Aristotle ;
But his scholarly mind, when the Vicar has dined.
Is never the worse for a bottle.
The excessive strain on the clerical brain
Grows lighter at your caress ;
And a merry bout makes the truth come out.
And even a priest confess.
To an anxious soul what so good as the bowl.
Or to fill the coward with fire ?
Can a tenant care, if the bottle be there.
For the wrath of the landlord or squire ?
Let the Vicar toast our national boast
Of Church and State, like a Tory;
Till the candles fail, and the morning pale
Appears in its summer glory.
72
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Od. III. 30.
THE POET'S IMMORTALITY.
No brass can make so lasting a monument,
Higher than the royal height of a Pyramid,
As verse, which neither tempest nor a north wind
Can e'er destroy, though years innumerable
Speed by me, and the fugitive centuries.
Not all mortal am I; this the better part of me
Will escape Libitina ; thus down to posterity
Ever my praise shall grow, while solemnly, silently.
High priests and maidens mount to the Capitol.
My name shall live where violent Aufidus
Down rushes, and where Daunus, anciently
A rustic king, too scantily murmureth :
I—for I first had knowledge in my humbleness
To bring sweet strains folian to Italy.
Be it then thy task to crown me with the merited
Delphic laurel, my queen-goddess Melpomene.
HORACE.
73
Od. IV. 7.
THE RETURN OF SPRING.
Gone are the frost and the snow, the meadows are
covered with grass,
Woods wave their tresses of green ;
Sweetly the landscape smiles once more, and the
rivulets pass
Calmly their banks between.
Now may the fairy troops on the greensward, lightly
clad,
Joyfully dance and play ;
Yet shall the dead year's memory echo at sunset sad.
Moaning of death and decay.
Spring's breath slayeth the winter, as summer shall
slay the spring,
Summer, too soon to die ;
Autumn shall come with its fruits, and perish, and
perishing bring
Winter's inclement sky.
74 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Yet to reviving skies these seasons, in turn as they
fade,
Rolling moons shall restore ;
We, when we sink to the rest where the rich and the
mighty are laid,
We shall return no more.
Once it shall call thee to judgment, that stem un¬
changeable hour
Long foredoomed for thine end.
Nothing shall win thy return, not riches, nor virtue,
nor power.
No, nor the prayer of thy friend.
MARTIAL
I. 20.
BETTER THAN CURE.
Madam, if I remember right,
You had four teeth in all ;
Now, as two coughs expelled them quite,
Cough on in comfort day and night ;
No evil can befall.
I. 48.
NO DIFFERENCE.
So Diaulus has turned undertaker ? The fact is.
The doctor's profession is changed, not his practice.
78 LAVS FROM LATIN LYRES.
I. 90.
PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.
You always whisper in my ear
Things that the whole wide world might hear j
In confidence you laugh and chatter,
Argue and gossip, whine and flatter.
Is loyalty, too, a secret thing,
And do you whisper ' Save the King ? '
III. 14.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
Ex'Govkrnor Jones from over the sea
Came back to England hungrily
For fresh promotion;
But hearing this enlightened age
Had quite abolished patronage,
Recrossed the ocean.
MARTIAL.
79
III. 33-
A PIS-ALLER.
A maid of gentle birth I seek j
But if she be denied,
A yeoman's daughter fair and meek
May well become my bride.
Or lastly, in the lowest place,
A serving maid would be
My preference, if her open face
Showed true gentility.
Ill- 56, SI-
WATER RATES.
At Ravenna a pump is worth more than a vine,
For the people pay dearer for" water than wine ;
Their vintners have hit on a new way to cheat,
They charge for it watered, and give it you neat.
8o ZA YS FROM LATIN LYRES.
IV. 32.
A SEPULCHRE.
Embalmed within this amber tear,
Like his own nectar pure and clear,
The bee laborious takes his rest.
And in his chosen tomb is blest.
IV. 47-
PHAETHON.
What ! Phaethon in the encaustic floor ?
AVhy, Phaethon was burnt before.
MARTIAL.
8i
IV. 91.
ON HIS BOOK.
Halt ! here's more than enough for a poetaster;
Halt, my pen, nor trespass on the binding,
Unrestrained, as if from force df habit
Assailing roughly Martial and Catullus,
Though thou knowest that both of them were mur¬
dered
Long, long since, so eager was the onslaught.
Now nods and yawns the reader at his labours.
And the scribe, curse his impudence, says truly.
Halt ! here's more than enough for a poetaster.
82 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
VI. 4.
FLATTERY.
Great Prince, the censor of our morals,
We owe thee scores of peaceful laurels
For streets and churches round us rising,
And new town-halls of thy devising ;
But how the enormous debt to pay
For being so virtuous to-day ?
VI. 17.
CHANGE OF NAME.
And so, my good friend Harlequin, you wish to
change your name ;
You shorten it to Harley ; well, I think your taste
is bad.
Had you been born Cadogan, and your fancy been
the same.
You now might very worthily assume the name of
Cad.
MARTIAL.
83
VI. 52.
THE EASY SHAVER.
This tomb commemorates the untimely end
Of Toogood, matchless valet, and my friend:
Light was the hand that smoothed the stubbly chin,
Light the deft razor that caressed the skin :
Then, earth, lie lightly round this hallowed stone,
And be thy touch as gentle as his own.
VI. 53-
A CORONERS VERDICT.
We bathed and dined together one day,
And then, without any warning,
The friend I thought so cheerful and gay
Was dead before the morning.
Does a coroner's quest a necessity seem
To account for his sad condition ?
No ; the cause of death was a dreadful dream
Of the family physician.
G 2
84
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
VI. 6c.
CONDITIONS OF SUCCESS.
He published ; and ' in every line,'
They said, ' the sparks of genius shine ; '
Is that enough to save his book
From rat, and moth, and pastry-cook ?
Ah ! no ; the work that would survive all change will
Need more than genius—a Guardian Angel.
VI. 69.
BASS'S ENTIRE.
I am not surprised that Polly your wife
Should drink no spirits all her life ;
'Tis odd, though, that Mac Whiskey's daughter
Should be the Polly that drinks cold water.
MARTIAL.
85
VI. 78.
DEARER THAN EYE.^IGHT.
A jolly old toper as ever you'll find
Had one eye that was weak, and the other one blind.
The oculist warned him ;—'Beware, sir, of drinking;
' Sign the pledge, or stone blindness will follow your
blinking.'
' Then farewell, sweet light ! ' cried the patient, and
laughed.
And the last thing he saw was the bumper he quaffed.
VIL 83.
THE BARBER.
While the slow barber shaved Lupercus' beard,
(Unending toil !) another growth appeared.
¿AYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
VIII. 6.
SIR DÉSIRE POTTS.
Of all our antiquarian sots
The worst is Sir Désiré Potts ;
He raves about his store of plate,
Each ancient owner's name and date.
Rowena used this Runic urn
To mix the mead for Vortigem ;
This is the goblet Alfred won
By harping to the fierce Guthrun ;
This ponderous beaker Edmund sent
At Leolf's head (observe the dent) ;
This furnished many a jovial bout
For Rufus (see, the rim's worn out) ;
This bowl oft held the sugared sack
For brave Prince Hal and plump Sir Jack ;
This cup contained fair Mary's wine
The first time Damley came to dine.
Then he fills one with special pleasure :—
' Now this was James the Second's treasure.
MARTIAL,
87
' The sole thing left of all his wealth j
' A boimper to Prince Charlie's health ! '
You take his toast in sheer despair;
Why can't he drink from common ware ?
VIII. 7.
SILENCE IS GOLDEN.
The learned counsel rose to speak : the Court
Listened in rapt attention all the day ;
You might have heard a pin drop; for, in short,
That learned man had not a word to say.
VIIL 2r.
THE RETURN OF CMSAR.
Bright Phosphor, rise, dispel the night ;
Thou lingerest, and our joys delay.
Bright Phosphor, rise, bring back the day;
For Caesar comes ; bring in the light
88
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
On thee earth's empress city cries.
Say, comest thou o'er the azure plain
In slow Bootes' easy wain,
That now so late thy flame doth rise?
Where is thy power that once could rend
From Leda's child his fiery steed ?
Unasked, to-day, to aid thy speed.
That courser's might would Castor lend.
Why lingerest thou ? the King of Day
Yearns for his rising; at the rein
His flaming horses chafe and strain ;
Aurora waits to lead his way.
Yet changeless in the deep blue dome
The moon and stars maintain their state ;
The moon and stars were fain to wait
To see returned the lord of Rome.
Come, Caesar, come, yea now, though night
Obstruct the heaven, and stars delay;
Thy coming shall tum night to day.
And Rome rejoice in Caesar's light.
MARTIAL.
89
VIII. 35-
COMPATIBILITY OF TEMPER.
O WELL-MATCHED pair, how Can ye live in strife,
Ill-tempered husband, and ill-tempered wife ?
VIII. 43-
MATRIMONIAL NEWS.
Somehow, Chrestilla lives to mourn.
Like Fabius, several spouses.
And funeral torches often bum
Within their dismal houses.
Kind Venus, to save further bother,
Pray let them wed and end each other.
90
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
VIII. 69.
THE PRICE OF FAME.
No living author our Reviewer praises,
But still withholds the laurel till they die.
Pardon, great Critic ! .death even for such bays is
Too dear a price ; and I, for one, won't buy.
VIII. 81.
THE PEARL-WORSHIPPER.
No fetish dolls, no bright Madonnas,
But fair large pearls our Gellia honours ;
These she adores with joyful kissing,
Vows she should die if they were missing.
O what a work of social good
For the bold hand of Colonel Blood !
MARTIAL.
91
IX. 1
TRIFLES.
Mine is the best-praised trifling lyre ;
The trifles that you scarce admire
May yet give pleasure.
Grave themes let graver poets choose,
I only study to amuse
Your worship's leisure.
IX. 6.
MUTUAL. AFFECTION.
\
Jenny's no fool; she wants Will for a lover.
And Willie's no fool, for he vows he won't have her.
92 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
IX. 16.
CHLOE'S SEVEN HUSBANDS.
Chloe's seven husbands 'neath one tomb repose
' Chloe's sad work,' the superscription goes.
IX. 31.
NIGRINA.
She bore his corpse across the wave ;
Too brief the homeward voyage seemed ;
To give her burden to the grave
A second widowhood she deemed.
MARTIAL.
93
X. I.
AN APOLOGY.
If my ' finis,' dear reader, too distant you think.
Skip a part of the book, to a pamphlet I'll shrink ;
And as three little poems are printed with ease
On one page, you may make me as short as you
please.
X. 8.
OLD GAMMER.
Old Gammer wants a husband,
She sets her cap at me ;
If she were under thirty.
Perhaps the thing might be.
Or else if she were older,
And turned of seventy.
She'd find a lover bolder.
In hope that she might die.
49
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
X. 23-
M. ANTONIUS.
Antonius in serene old age
Can number seventy happy years,
And of his past forgets no page,
Nor yet approaching Lethe fears.
He can recall no useless day,
No evil thought to cause him pain ;
The good prolong their lives, for they
Who love their past live o'er again.
X. 97.
A DISAPPOINTMENT.
The funeral pile was built with care.
The weeping wife bought spices rare.
MARTIAL.
95
The coffin and undertakers were there,
And all was done to the letter ;
Poor Numa was dying ; he made me his heir :
And then got suddenly better !
XL 59-
THE MAN WITH MANY RINGS.
O WHY, my lord, upon every finger
Wear you those rings, so many and gay ?
Truly, my lady, not to deceive you.
Because I have nowhere to put them away.
96
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
XI. 59-
GENTEEL POVERTY.
Charinus, it is said,
Wears his twenty rings in bed ;
And the reason, if you ask it.
Is, he can't afford a casket.
XI. 100.
THE GOLDEN MEAN.
I COULD not love a slender wife.
Whose waist my finger ring would hole
Whose face, if ever I made bold
To kiss, would cut me like a knife.
And yet I should not care for one
Whose weight was over half a ton.
I like the charms that please the eyes ;
But not the bulk that wins a prize.
MARTIAL.
97
XII. 31.
THE GARDEN.
These groves, these founts, these creeper-shaded
bowers.
This purling streamlet, and this fishful lake.
These lawns, these beds of herbs and glorious flowers.
These white doves cooing in their whitened towers ;
Marcella planned them for my absent sake.
My little kinigdom ; crowns me when I come.
Nausicaa now in vain might bid me take
Phseacian pleasances ; more fair have I at home.
STATIUS
SYLV. V. 4.
HOW HAVE I FRIGHTED THEE?
O GENTLE Sleep, o comfortable god,
How have I sinned against thee, I alone.
That o'er my youthful blood
Thou wilt not shed thy slumbrous benison ?
Now sleep the beasts on ground, the birds aloft,
And rounded hill-tops lie like sleeping things.
And rivers whisper soft,
And ocean's roar is hush'ed to murinurings.
Yet many a night I watch the crescent sail
Across the dark to where Jove's lamp did fade,
And Venus rise and pale.
Till morn in mercy cools my aching head.
I02
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
O comfortable Sleep ! perchance there be
Watchers this night who seek thee not for bliss ;
Come thou from them to me,
And touch, or stoop ; I will not ask a kiss.
AUSONIUS
Epigr. ii.
ECHO TO THE PAINTER.
Tell me why with effort vain
Thou the painter's art dost strain
To picture her thou canst not spy ?
The child of words and air am I ;
Mine is gossip void of thought ;
Mine are voices all untaught ;
Mine the power to point the quips
Stolen from thy scarce-shut lips ;
And mine the jest that, following after,
Lightly mocks at mortal laughter.
Then, if in thine ears I dwell.
Thou must paint sound to paint me well.
100
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
EpiGR. 12.
OPPORTUNITY AND AFTERTHOUGHT.
Who made thee ?—Phidias, that wrought great Jove
And Pallas, I am his third masterpiece :
A goddess, little known, or known to few,
For Opportunity is seldom seen.
—Why balanced on that wheel ?—My restless feet
Crave ever ceaseless motion.—They have wings ?
—Yes, they have wings ; and Mercury has them too,
But he, he loves his speed, while oft I stop
In dalliance with mortals at my will.
—Thy face is veiled.—Aye, lest my face be known.
—Thy locks cut close.—Lest men should catch my
flight.
—And thy companion ?—Let her speak herself.
—Ten me, who art thou ?—I am one to whom
Thy pedant Cicero hath given no name ;
But yet a goddess ; and I bring regret
For deeds undone, or done, or done too well.
To plague thee; and my name is Afterthought.
Ausomus,
107
—Is she thy comrade, Opportunity?
—Surely : whene'er men lose me she remains:
Poor fools, when I escape she comforts them.
But ask no more with wasted words j take heed.
Else shalt thou think me vanished from thyself
Epigr. 19.
THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE.
My love, though we live to a hundred.
What change should that make in our life ?
Let us keep the pet names we invented
The day when I made you my wife.
So call me Dear Boy, as you used to.
And you shall be Little One yet;
The days of our life are uncertain.
Then why should we count them, my pet ?
io8
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Epigr. 75.
THE QUACK DOCTOR.
Sir Thomas fell sick ; Dr. Glohbs shook his head,
And said the poor man could not live ;
But as soon as the doctor had left him for dead,
Sir Thomas began to revive.
One evening as Globbs in his surgery sat,
A strange visitor came to his side.
All pale, like a corpse, with a shroud, and all that ;—
' Why, Sir Thomas ! I thought you had died ! '
' I'm a ghost,' said Sir Thomas ; ' I died of your pill; '
' All your tricks and your secrets I know ;
' And the devil employs me, because of my skill,
' To summon physicians below.'
' Must I die? ' shrieked the doctor, just ready to fall.
While his hair was all standing on end ;
' Never fear,'said the knight; 'we've agreed, one and
all,
That you're not a physician, my friend.'
Ausomus.
log
Epigr. 144.
OAT ONE BY NAME BRIGHT.
O morning Star, once shining Bright,
Now dimmed and dull, presaging night !
Epigr. 145.
A MAXIM OF MENANDER.
Enjoy thy goods, remembering how quickly life doth
fly;
Yet do thy diligence for gain, as though thou ne'er
shouldst die.
Epit. 30.
DIDO.
Poor Dido, twice ill-starred the knot thou tiest ;
This husband dead, thou fliest ; this fled, thou diest.
no LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Epit- 36.
EPITAPH.
Stranger, to these my ashes bring
Good wine, and nard, and red, red roses.
And balsam, and sweet-smelling posies
That make an everlasting spring.
So, while the seasons seem estranged.
My former joyance is not changed ;
E'en though you think me dead.
Where nought or all things are remembered.
CLAUDIAN
Idyll. I.
THE PHŒNIX.
An isle there is, secluded in the seas,
Far from the furthest Ind and eastern breeze,
First at the dawn the panting steeds to hear.
And the keen lash of Phœbus circling near;
When sounds his threshold with the dewy car.
When blushes fair Aurora, from afar
Fired by the glittering wheels, to bid the day
Gather new strength and chase the night away.
Here in these realms, endowed beyond the rest.
The Sun-bird lives for ever, and is blest >
Blest, for no mortal weaklings can defile
Or mortal deeds contaminate his isle ;
A godlike bird, not heaven's eternal spheres
Are more eternal than his endless years.
Him neither herb, nor any whitening grain.
Nor honeyed flower, nor limpid streams sustain ;
Is he not wont a daintier feast to find
In the warm sunbeams and the tropic wind ?
i
114
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Lo ! from his eyes mysterious lightnings playi
And on his crest he bears the star of day ;
Through darkness dense, a gleaming light, he flies.
And Tyrian crimson deeply tints his thighs :
Swift as the Zephyr wind his wings of blue
Shine rich with sunny flecks of golden hue.
The wondrous bird no hymeneals knows.
But self-created from himself he grows ;
Each fertile death a newer life-time brings,
And, born again, a lustier self upsprings.
For when he sees a thousand summers past,
Spring showers as oft, as oft the wintry blast.
Conquered by time he feçls his powers decay.
And stern old age subdues them day by day.
As when a pine on some Caucasian height
Bows to the gale, and weary with the fight.
When age, and storms, and wind their wrath have spent.
Falls from the peak in headlong rum sent.
So the old vigour of the Sun-bird fails.
And dim with years his starry plumage pales ;
While his proud wings that wont the heavens to dare.
Enfeebled, scarce attempt the lower air.
(So, too, pure Cynthia's orb, a doubtful light,
O'erwhelmed by gathering clouds, is lost to sight.)
CLAUDIANT,
"î
Then surely conscious of the approaching dc—
He gets the glad materials for his tomb ;
From warm hill sides he culls with labour nice
The long parched grasses and Sabaean spice :
This done, he takes his stand, himself his sire.
Himself his offspring, on the funeral pyre.
There rests he, and each moment weaker grown.
With songs of suppliant music makes his moan,
And his last notes the kindly Sun implore
To fire the dying spark of life once more.
Then Phoebus draws his rein with tightened hand.
And stays to utter the divine command.
• O thou whose solemn mockery of death
' Burns but an aged frame, and brings thee breath
' Of lusty life, new vigour, and new joy,
' Thyself alone unable to destroy,
' Be young again, and leave to burn below
' Thy worn-out self ; on stronger pinions go.'
With this great Phœbus from his locks of fire
One flaming thread casts down upon the pyre :
The weary limbs with vital ardour burn.
And welcome death, for shall not youth return?
The fragrant heap with heavenly lightning glows ;
Awe-struck the moon with tardier axle goes :
I 2
ii6 LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Meanwhile, to save the deathless piide of ear*''^
As the bright furnace labours to the birth,
Lest even the immortal Sun-bird perish there.
Each tmsty flame is heedful Nature's care.
Now the yet unborn bird fresh blood sustains.
Fills every nerve, and courses through the veins ;
Now all unmoved the quickened embers shake,
And dust and ash the first dull plumage make:
Forth springs the bird re-risen from his sire.
Young from the speedy working of the fire.
Next, that the spirit of the dead may rest
On Egypt's earth, and in repose be blest.
The distant Nile he seeks with eager wings.
And wrapped in grass his father's relics brings ;
While countless birds, far circling through the sky.
To guard their lord, a feathered army, fly.
But of these myriads no vassal dares
To outstrip his leader and the load he bears :
No falcon fierce, nor eagle, moves to war,
For each is bound in reverential awe.
So when the Parthian by the yellow strand
Of ancient Tigris leads his barbarous band.
His glittering helm with kingly gems is crowned.
With gold the trappings of his steed are bound :
CLAUDIA N.
7
See the rich robe with Tyrian purple dyed,
Broidered by cunning hands, Assyria's pride.
And see the chief, with wealth and empire vain,
Lordly supreme, the servile host disdain !
In Egypt's land a hundred columns bright,
Torn from the quarries of the Theban height.
On lofty heads a lofty temple bear.
To Phoebus consecrate with solemn prayer.
Here, then, 'tis said, the ashes of his sire
The Sun-bird offers at his patron's fire ;
The mighty altar-flames the dust consume,
And, hidden in smoke, breathe forth a rich perfume ;
Through all the land the Indian odours roll.
And far and wide redundant glad the soul :
E'en foul Pelusium hails the balmy breeze,
E'en sevenfold Nile flows scented to the seas.
Heir of thyself, blest bird ! the fatal day
That sees our dissolution into clay
Gives life to thee, whom death lets cast aside
Nought but old age, thyself hast never died.
Yea, thou hast seen each century, when first
From arid rocks the floods uprising burst ;
Thou knowest when Phaethon with unskilled hand
Drove Phoebus' chariot, and scorched the land j
118 LAYS FROM LA TIN L YKES.
Nor fire, nor sword, nor slaughter harm thy
Thou sole survivor in a world of strife ;
Fear not, the Furies with the incessant loom
Weave thee no thread, industrious for thy doom.
Epigr. 2.
DULCE DOMUM.
I envied him ; his life was passed
Really at home from first to last :
In the same garden, staff in hand
He tottered, where he learned to stand.
He never tempted fortune's breeze.
Nor ventured over unknown seas;
Cared not for argosies or war,
Or noisy pleadings at the bar ;
But, to the neighbouring city's strife
Unused, he led a mral life.
No London seasons marked his years.
His spring brought blossoms, autumn pears.
CLAUDIAN.
Yon hedgerow hid each setting sun,
Yon glen revealed each morn begun ;
Yon oak that braves the fiercest weather,
Both he and it were young together.
What matter though he never knew
London was nearer than Peru ;
And that the Thames, for aught he cared.
Might with the Ganges be compared ?
Had he not hearty life, and ease.
And grandsons clambering on his knees?
Let others toil o'er hill and plain.
Or shivering map the Arctic main ;
Be work or rest our portion in it.
This life's a journey every minute.
Epigr. 5.
SERENA'S GOBLET.
Ye nymphs that guard the Heliconian wave.
With choicest drops Serena's goblet fill ;
The learned lips that crystal draught shall lave
Shall add new lustre to your sacred rill.
I20
LAYS FROM LATIN LYRES.
Epigr. 30.
GRANNY AND BIZZY.
By night and by day
Granny's snoring away,
While thievish Bizzy is waking.
O fewer would weep
If Bizzy would sleep,
And some one gave Granny a shaking.
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