The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 128

Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, f.a.n.n.y dearest, for thee I'd sigh; And every smile on my cheek should turn To tears when thou art nigh.

But between love and wine and sleep, So busy a life I live, That even the time it would take to weep Is more than my heart can give.

Then wish me not to despair and pine, f.a.n.n.y, dearest of all the dears!

The Love that's ordered to bathe in wine, Would be sure to take cold in tears.

Reflected bright in this heart of mine, f.a.n.n.y dearest, thy image lies; But ah! the mirror would cease to shine, If dimmed too often with sighs.

They lose the half of beauty's light, Who view it thro' sorrow's tear; And 'tis but to see thee truly bright That I keep my eye-beams clear.

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow--

f.a.n.n.y, dearest! the hope is vain; If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, I shall never attempt it with rain.

TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS.

CARM. 70.

_dicebas quondam, etc_.

TO LESBIA.

Thou told'st me, in our days of love, That I had all that heart of thine; That, even to share the couch of Jove, Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from mine.

How purely wert thou worshipt then!

Not with the vague and vulgar fires Which Beauty wakes in soulless men,-- But loved, as children by their sires.

That flattering dream, alas, is o'er;-- I know thee now--and tho' these eyes Doat on thee wildly as before, Yet, even in doating, I despise.

Yes, sorceress--mad as it may seem-- With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee, That pa.s.sion even outlives esteem.

And I at once adore--and scorn thee.

CARM. II.

_pauca nunciate meae puellae_.

Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er The fates have willed thro' life I've roved, Now speed ye home, and with you bear These bitter words to her I've loved.

Tell her from fool to fool to run, Where'er her vain caprice may call; Of all her dupes not loving one, But ruining and maddening all.

Bid her forget--what now is past-- Our once dear love, whose rain lies Like a fair flower, the meadow's last.

Which feels the ploughshare's edge and dies!

CARM. 29.

_peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque ocelle_.

Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye Of all peninsulas and isles, That in our lakes of silver lie, Or sleep enwreathed by Neptune's smiles--

How gladly back to thee I fly!

Still doubting, asking--_can_ it be That I have left Bithynia's sky, And gaze in safety upon thee?

Oh! what is happier than to find Our hearts at ease, our perils past; When, anxious long, the lightened mind Lays down its load of care at last:

When tired with toil o'er land and deep, Again we tread the welcome floor Of our own home, and sink to sleep On the long-wished-for bed once more.

This, this it is that pays alone The ills of all life's former track.-- Shine out, my beautiful, my own Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.

And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs The light of heaven like Lydia's sea, Rejoice, rejoice--let all that laughs Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!

TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA.

_nulla tuum n.o.bis subducet femina lectum, etc., Lib. iv. Carm. 13_.

"Never shall woman's smile have power "To win me from those gentle charms!"-- Thus swore I, in that happy hour, When Love first gave thee to my arms.

And still alone thou charm'st my sight-- Still, tho' our city proudly shine With forms and faces, fair and bright, I see none fair or bright but thine.

Would thou wert fair for only me, And couldst no heart but mine allure!-- To all men else unpleasing be, So shall I feel my prize secure.