If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken, A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you; If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you.

But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is, Your head with the vows of untruth, Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming, You come forth beloved of our youth.

It is advantageous, but no less outrageous, Your poor mother's ashes to cheat; While the G.o.ds of creation and each constellation You seem to regard as your meat.

Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it; The good-natured nymphs merely smile; And Cupid is merry,--'t is humorous, very,-- And sharpens his arrows the while.

Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking, A new band is joined to the old; While the horrified matrons your juvenile patrons In vain would bring back to the fold.

The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mellows Confess to a dread of your house; But a more pressing duty, in view of your beauty, Is the young wife's concern for her spouse.

THE RECONCILIATION

I

HE

When you were mine, in auld lang syne, And when none else your charms might ogle, I'll not deny, fair nymph, that I Was happier than a heathen mogul.

SHE

Before _she_ came, that rival flame (Had ever mater saucier filia?), In those good times, bepraised in rhymes, I was more famed than Mother Ilia.

HE

Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace Does she at song or harp employ her!

I'd gladly die, if only I Could live forever to enjoy her!

SHE

My Sybaris so n.o.ble is That, by the G.o.ds, I love him madly!

That I might save him from the grave, I'd give my life, and give it gladly!

HE

What if _ma belle_ from favor fell, And I made up my mind to shake her; Would Lydia then come back again, And to her quondam love betake her?

SHE

My other beau should surely go, And you alone should find me gracious; For no one slings such odes and things As does the lauriger Horatius!

THE RECONCILIATION

II

HORACE

While favored by thy smiles no other youth in amorous teasing Around thy snowy neck his folding arms was wont to fling; As long as I remained your love, acceptable and pleasing, I lived a life of happiness beyond the Persian king.

LYDIA

While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unreserved opinion, And for no other cherished thou a brighter, livelier flame, I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole dominion, Surpa.s.sed the Roman Ilia in eminence of fame.

HORACE

'T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accomplishments inthrall me,-- So sweet in modulations, such a mistress of the lyre.

In truth the fates, however terrible, could not appall me; If they would spare her, sweet my soul, I gladly would expire.

LYDIA

And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, inflames me With mutual, restless pa.s.sion and an all-consuming fire; And if the fates, however dread, would spare the youth who claims me, Not only once would I face death, but gladly twice expire.

HORACE

What if our early love returns to prove we were mistaken And bind with brazen yoke the twain, to part, ah! nevermore?

What if the charming Chloe of the golden locks be shaken And slighted Lydia again glide through the open door?

LYDIA

Though he is fairer than the star that shines so far above you, Thou lighter than a cork, more stormy than the Adrian Sea, Still should I long to live with you, to live for you and love you, And cheerfully see death's approach if thou wert near to me.

THE ROASTING OF LYDIA

No more your needed rest at night By ribald youth is troubled; No more your windows, fastened tight, Yield to their knocks redoubled.

No longer you may hear them cry, "Why art thou, Lydia, lying In heavy sleep till morn is nigh, While I, your love, am dying?"

Grown old and faded, you bewail The rake's insulting sally, While round your home the Thracian gale Storms through the lonely alley.

What furious thoughts will fill your breast, What pa.s.sions, fierce and tinglish (Cannot be properly expressed In calm, reposeful English).

Learn this, and hold your carping tongue: Youth will be found rejoicing In ivy green and myrtle young, The praise of fresh life voicing;

And not content to dedicate, With much protesting shiver, The sapless leaves to winter's mate, Hebrus, the cold dark river.

TO GLYCERA