Echoes from the Sabine Farm Part 10

Why, even Cato used to take A modest, surrept.i.tious nip At meal-times for his stomach's sake, Or to forefend la grippe.

How dost thou melt the stoniest hearts, And bare the cruel knave's design; How through thy fascinating arts We discount Hope, O gracious wine!

And pa.s.sing rich the poor man feels As through his veins thy affluence steals.

Now, prithee, make us frisk and sing, And plot full many a naughty plot With damsels fair--nor shall we care Whether school keeps or not!

And whilst thy charms hold out to burn We shall not deign to go to bed, But we shall paint creation red; So, fill, sweet wine, this friend of mine,-- My lawyer friend, as aforesaid.

TO POMPEIUS VARUS

Pompey, what fortune gives you back To the friends and the G.o.ds who love you?

Once more you stand in your native land, With your native sky above you.

Ah, side by side, in years agone, We've faced tempestuous weather, And often quaffed The genial draught From the same canteen together.

When honor at Philippi fell A prey to brutal pa.s.sion, I regret to say that my feet ran away In swift Iambic fashion.

You were no poet; soldier born, You stayed, nor did you wince then.

Mercury came To my help, which same Has frequently saved me since then.

But now you're back, let's celebrate In the good old way and cla.s.sic; Come, let us lard our skins with nard, And bedew our souls with Ma.s.sic!

With fillets of green parsley leaves Our foreheads shall be done up; And with song shall we Protract our spree Until the morrow's sun-up.

THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS

Maecenas, I propose to fly To realms beyond these human portals; No common things shall be my wings, But such as sprout upon immortals.

Of lowly birth, once shed of earth, Your Horace, precious (so you've told him), Shall soar away; no tomb of clay Nor Stygian prison-house shall hold him.

Upon my skin feathers begin To warn the songster of his fleeting; But never mind, I leave behind Songs all the world shall keep repeating.

Lo! Boston girls, with corkscrew curls, And husky westerns, wild and woolly, And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes, And all profess to know me fully.

Methinks the West shall know me best, And therefore hold my memory dearer; For by that lake a bard shall make My subtle, hidden meanings clearer.

So cherished, I shall never die; Pray, therefore, spare your dolesome praises, Your elegies, and plaintive cries, For I shall fertilize no daisies!

TO VENUS

Venus, dear Cnidian-Paphian queen!

Desert that Cyprus way off yonder, And fare you hence, where with incense My Glycera would have you fonder; And to your joy bring hence your boy, The Graces with unbelted laughter, The Nymphs, and Youth,--then, then, in sooth, Should Mercury come tagging after.

IN THE SPRINGTIME

I

'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea; The breezes, loitering kindly over The fields, again bring herds and men The grateful cheer of honeyed clover.

Now Venus. .h.i.ther leads her train; The Nymphs and Graces join in orgies; The moon is bright, and by her light Old Vulcan kindles up his forges.

Bind myrtle now about your brow, And weave fair flowers in maiden tresses; Appease G.o.d Pan, who, kind to man, Our fleeting life with affluence blesses;

But let the changing seasons mind us, That Death's the certain doom of mortals,-- Grim Death, who waits at humble gates, And likewise stalks through kingly portals.

Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades Enfold you with their hideous seemings; Then love and mirth and joys of earth Shall fade away like fevered dreamings.

IN THE SPRINGTIME

II

The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the bay, And spring has brought a happy change as winter melts away.

No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight; No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white.

Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead the dance, While from above the kindly moon gives an approving glance; The Nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir, And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire.

Now it is time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate, And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate; To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we rely, A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify.

Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike; The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike.

O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond the common run, Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun.

The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon the grip.

Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor taste the wine you sip; Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty you commend, To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend.

TO A BULLY

You, blatant coward that you are, Upon the helpless vent your spite.

Suppose you ply your trade on me; Come, monkey with this bard, and see How I'll repay your bark with bite!

Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute!

And I shall hound you far and wide, As fiercely as through drifted snow The shepherd dog pursues what foe Skulks on the Spartan mountain-side.

The chip is on my shoulder--see?

But touch it and I'll raise your fur; I'm full of business, so beware!

For, though I'm loaded up for bear, I'm quite as like to kill a cur!