Place me where on the ice-bound plain No tree is cheer'd by summer breezes, Where Jove descends in sleety rain Or sullen freezes; Place me where none can live for heat, 'Neath Phoebus' very chariot plant me, That smile so sweet, that voice so sweet, Shall still enchant me.

XXIII.

VITAS HINNULEO.

You fly me, Chloe, as o'er trackless hills A young fawn runs her timorous dam to find, Whom empty terror thrills Of woods and whispering wind.

Whether 'tis Spring's first shiver, faintly heard Through the light leaves, or lizards in the brake The rustling thorns have stirr'd, Her heart, her knees, they quake.

Yet I, who chase you, no grim lion am, No tiger fell, to crush you in my gripe: Come, learn to leave your dam, For lover's kisses ripe.

XXIV.

QUIS DESIDERIO.

Why blush to let our tears unmeasured fall For one so dear? Begin the mournful stave, Melpomene, to whom the Sire of all Sweet voice with music gave.

And sleeps he then the heavy sleep of death, Quintilius? Piety, twin sister dear Of Justice! naked Truth! unsullied Faith!

When will ye find his peer?

By many a good man wept. Quintilius dies; By none than you, my Virgil, trulier wept: Devout in vain, you chide the faithless skies, Asking your loan ill-kept.

No, though more suasive than the bard of Thrace You swept the lyre that trees were fain to hear, Ne'er should the blood revisit his pale face Whom once with wand severe Mercury has folded with the sons of night, Untaught to prayer Fate's prison to unseal.

Ah, heavy grief! but patience makes more light What sorrow may not heal.

XXVI.

MUSIS AMICUS.

The Muses love me: fear and grief, The winds may blow them to the sea; Who quail before the wintry chief Of Scythia's realm, is nought to me.

What cloud o'er Tiridates lowers, I care not, I. O, nymph divine Of virgin springs, with sunniest flowers A chaplet for my Lamia twine, Pimplea sweet! my praise were vain Without thee. String this maiden lyre, Attune for him the Lesbian strain, O G.o.ddess, with thy sister quire!

XXVII.

NATIS IN USUM.

What, fight with cups that should give joy?

'Tis barbarous; leave such savage ways To Thracians. Bacchus, shamefaced boy, Is blushing at your b.l.o.o.d.y frays.

The Median sabre! lights and wine!

Was stranger contrast ever seen?

Cease, cease this brawling, comrades mine, And still upon your elbows lean.

Well, shall I take a toper's part Of fierce Falernian? let our guest, Megilla's brother, say what dart Gave the death-wound that makes him blest.

He hesitates? no other hire Shall tempt my sober brains. Whate'er The G.o.ddess tames you, no base fire She kindles; 'tis some gentle fair Allures you still. Come, tell me truth, And trust my honour.--That the name?

That wild Charybdis yours? Poor youth!

O, you deserved a better flame!

What wizard, what Thessalian spell, What G.o.d can save you, hamper'd thus?

To cope with this Chimaera fell Would task another Pegasus.

XXVIII.

TE MARIS ET TERRA.

The sea, the earth, the innumerable sand, Archytas, thou couldst measure; now, alas!

A little dust on Matine sh.o.r.e has spann'd That soaring spirit; vain it was to pa.s.s The gates of heaven, and send thy soul in quest O'er air's wide realms; for thou hadst yet to die.

Ay, dead is Pelops' father, heaven's own guest, And old t.i.thonus, rapt from earth to sky, And Minos, made the council-friend of Jove; And Panthus' son has yielded up his breath Once more, though down he pluck'd the shield, to prove His prowess under Troy, and bade grim death O'er skin and nerves alone exert its power, Not he, you grant, in nature meanly read.

Yes, all "await the inevitable hour;"

The downward journey all one day must tread.

Some bleed, to glut the war-G.o.d's savage eyes; Fate meets the sailor from the hungry brine; Youth jostles age in funeral obsequies; Each brow in turn is touch'd by Proserpine.

Me, too, Orion's mate, the Southern blast, Whelm'd in deep death beneath the Illyrian wave.

But grudge not, sailor, of driven sand to cast A handful on my head, that owns no grave.

So, though the eastern tempests loudly threat Hesperia's main, may green Venusia's crown Be stripp'd, while you lie warm; may blessings yet Stream from Tarentum's guard, great Neptune, down, And gracious Jove, into your open lap!

What! shrink you not from crime whose punishment Falls on your innocent children? it may hap Imperious Fate will make yourself repent.

My prayers shall reach the avengers of all wrong; No expiations shall the curse unbind.

Great though your haste, I would not task you long; Thrice sprinkle dust, then scud before the wind.

XXIX.

ICCI, BEATIS.

Your heart on Arab wealth is set, Good Iccius: you would try your steel On Saba's kings, unconquer'd yet, And make the Mede your fetters feel.

Come, tell me what barbarian fair Will serve you now, her bridegroom slain?

What page from court with essenced hair Will tender you the bowl you drain, Well skill'd to bend the Serian bow His father carried? Who shall say That rivers may not uphill flow, And Tiber's self return one day, If you would change Panaetius' works, That costly purchase, and the clan Of Socrates, for shields and dirks, Whom once we thought a saner man?

x.x.x.

O VENUS.