No more we meet in yonder bowers,

Absence has made me prone to roving
But older, firmer hearts than ours
Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpaired,
New beauties still are daily bright'ning,
Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Armed thus, to make their bosoms bleed,
Many will throng to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove, indeed;
Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught

Thy firmest promises are nought;
But placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget but to adore thee.

Oh, Memory! thou choicest blessing

When joined with hope, when still possessing,
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!

How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
"Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."

DAMÆTAS.

IN law an infant, and in years a boy,

In mind a slave to every vicious joy;

From every sense of shame and virtue weaned,
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child;

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool ;

Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school:
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin:
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, palled with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,
My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips which made me Beauty's slave.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue,

But where's the beam so sweetly straying

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,

Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast control.

Through hours, through years, through time 'twill cheer;

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 'twill appear,

And meet my fond expiring gaze.

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN DYING.

ANIMULA! vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comesque, corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca?

Pallidula, rigida, nudula,

Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.

TRANSLATION.

Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!

To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
No more with wonted humor gay,

But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

AD LESBIAM.

EQUAL to Jove that youth must be-
Greater than Jove he seems to me -
Who, free from jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms.
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from which such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserved for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly;

I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;

While trembling with a thousand fears,
Parched to the throat my tongue adheres,

My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support,

Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,

With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veiled in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.