Verses and Translations Part 11

Hear now the pretty laugh that tells In what dim corner lurks thy love; And s.n.a.t.c.h a bracelet or a glove From wrist or hand that scarce rebels.

TO LEUCONOE.

OD. i. 11.

Seek not, for thou shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall be; Ask not of Chaldaea's science what G.o.d wills, Leuconoe: Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry blast Waits thee still; and this, it may be, Jove ordains to be thy last, Which flings now the flagging sea-wave on the obstinate sandstone-reef.

Be thou wise: fill up the wine-cup; shortening, since the time is brief, Hopes that reach into the future. While I speak, hath stol'n away Jealous Time. Mistrust To-morrow, catch the blossom of To-day.

JUNO'S SPEECH.

OD. iii. 3.

The just man's single-purposed mind Not furious mobs that prompt to ill May move, nor kings' frowns shake his will Which is as rock; not warrior-winds

That keep the seas in wild unrest; Nor bolt by Jove's own finger hurled: The fragments of a s.h.i.+vered world Would crash round him still self-possest.

Jove's wandering son reached, thus endowed, The fiery bastions of the skies; Thus Pollux; with them Caesar lies Beside his nectar, radiant-browed.

For this rewarded, tiger-drawn Rode Bacchus, reining necks before Untamed; for this War's horses bore Quirinus up from Acheron,

When in heav'n's conclave Juno said, Thrice welcomed: "Troy is in the dust; Troy, by a judge accursed, unjust, And that strange woman prostrated.

"The day Laomedon ignored His G.o.d-pledged word, resigned to me And Pallas ever-pure, was she, Her people, and their traitor lord.

"No more the Greek girl's guilty guest Sits splendour-girt: Priam's perjured sons Find not against the mighty ones Of Greece a s.h.i.+eld in Hector's breast:

"And, long drawn out by private jars, The war sleeps. Lo! my wrath is o'er: And him the Trojan vestal bore (Sprung of that hated line) to Mars,

"To Mars restore I. His be rest In halls of light: by him be drained The nectar-bowl, his place obtained In the calm companies of the blest.

"While betwixt Rome and Ilion raves A length of ocean, where they will Rise empires for the exiles still: While Paris's and Priam's graves

"Are hoof-trod, and the she-wolf breeds Securely there, unharmed shall stand Rome's l.u.s.trous Capitol, her hand Impose proud laws on trampled Medes.

"Wide-feared, to far-off climes be borne Her story; where the central main Europe and Libya parts in twain, Where full Nile laves a land of corn:

"The buried secret of the mine, (Best left there) resolute to spurn, And not to man's base uses turn With hand that spares not things divine.

"Earth's utmost end, where'er it be, May her hosts reach; careering proud O'er lands where watery rain and cloud, Or where wild suns hold revelry.

"But, to the soldier-sons of Rome, Tied by this law, such fates are willed; That they seek never to rebuild, Too fond, too bold, their grandsires' home.

"With darkest omens, deadliest strife, Shall Troy, raised up again, repeat Her history; I the victor-fleet Shall lead, Jove's sister and his wife.

"Thrice let Apollo rear the wall Of bra.s.s; and thrice my Greeks shall hew The fabric down; thrice matrons rue In chains their sons', their husbands' fall."

Ill my light lyre such notes beseem.

Stay, Muse; nor, wayward still, rehea.r.s.e G.o.d-utterances in puny verse That may but mar a mighty theme.

TO A FAUN.

OD. iii. 18.

Wooer of young Nymphs who fly thee, Lightly o'er my sunlit lawn Trip, and go, nor injured by thee Be my weanling herds, O Faun:

If the kid his doomed head bows, and Brims with wine the loving cup, When the year is full; and thousand Scents from altars h.o.a.r go up.

Each flock in the rich gra.s.s gambols When the month comes which is thine; And the happy village rambles Fieldward with the idle kine:

Lambs play on, the wolf their neighbour: Wild woods deck thee with their spoil; And with glee the sons of labour Stamp thrice on their foe, the soil.

TO LYCE.

OD. iv. 13.

Lyce, the G.o.ds have listened to my prayer; The G.o.ds have listened, Lyce. Thou art grey, And still would'st thou seem fair; Still unshamed drink, and play,

And, wine-flushed, woo slow-answering Love with weak Shrill pipings. With young Chia He doth dwell, Queen of the harp; her cheek Is his sweet citadel:-

He marked the withered oak, and on he flew Intolerant; shrank from Lyce grim and wrinkled, Whose teeth are ghastly-blue, Whose temples snow-besprinkled:-

Not purple, not the brightest gem that glows, Brings back to her the years which, fleeting fast, Time hath once shut in those Dark annals of the Past.

Oh, where is all thy loveliness? soft hue And motions soft? Oh, what of Her doth rest, Her, who breathed love, who drew My heart out of my breast?

Fair, and far-famed, and subtly sweet, thy face Ranked next to Cinara's. But to Cinara fate Gave but a few years' grace; And lets live, all too late,

Lyce, the rival of the beldam crow: That fiery youth may see with scornful brow The torch that long ago Beamed bright, a cinder now.

TO HIS SLAVE.

OD. i. 38.

Persian grandeur I abhor; Linden-wreathed crowns, avaunt: Boy, I bid thee not explore Woods which latest roses haunt:

Try on nought thy busy craft Save plain myrtle; so arrayed Thou shalt fetch, I drain, the draught Fitliest 'neath the scant vine-shade.

THE DEAD OX.

GEORG. IV.

Lo! smoking in the stubborn plough, the ox Falls, from his lip foam gus.h.i.+ng crimson-stained, And sobs his life out. Sad of face the ploughman Moves, disentangling from his comrade's corpse The lone survivor: and its work half-done, Abandoned in the furrow stands the plough.