Maid's love makes man to moan, Yea, Father Jove too, THE VENGEANCE OF EROS. A WOOER very passionate once loved a cruel May Her form was fair beyond compare, but bitter was her way; She hated him that loved her, and was unkind for aye, Nor knew she Love, how great the god, how perilous his bow, How bitter are the shafts he sends on her that is his foe. Whene'er they met, whene'er they spoke, immovable was she, And gave him not a gleam of hope to soothe his misery. No smile her proud lip had for him, no pleasant glance her eye; Her tongue would find no word for him, her hand his hand deny. But as a forest-dwelling beast far from the hunter flies, The lily is exceeding fair; it falls and wastes anon: When thou shalt look within thyself and weep in bitter woe. But grant me, love, this last request one kindness now bestow: When thou hast found me hanging dead before thy portal here, O pass not by my wretched corse, but stand and drop a tear, And loose the cord, and wrap me up in garments of thine own, And give one kiss, the first and last that e'er I shall have known. And do not fear to kiss the dead the dead lips will not move; I cannot change to life again, though thou shouldst change to love. And hollow out a tomb for me, my hopeless love to hide; Nor go away till thou three times 'Farewell, my friend,' hast cried. And if thou wilt, say also this, 'My friend was good and brave;' And what I write upon thy wall write thou upon my grave! 'Love slew the man that lieth here; wayfarer pass not by, But stop and say, A cruel May hath caused him here to lie."" The heartless fair came forth at morn, and there her lover hung. She nothing said, nor wept a tear that he had died so young. Her careless garments brushed the corse that hung before her bath; The wonted fountain tempted her, she sought the pleasant bath, And braved the god whom she had spurned; for at that very place, A marble Cupid crowned the wave high o'er a marble base. The conscious statue toppled prone; the stream with blood was dyed; The cruel girl's departing voice came floating on the tide. Rejoice and triumph, ye that love! The god his wronger slew. And love, all ye that are beloved! the god will have his due. BACCHUS AND ARIADNE. FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S ARS AMATORIA. 'GNOSIS in ignotis amens errabat arenis ON Dia's sandy islet the ocean billows beat; On Dia's sandy islet stray ARIADNE'S feet, Just as from sleep she started, those erring feet are bare, All loose her flowing garments, all loose her yellow hair. She plained to the deaf waters of THESEUS' cruelty; Her tender cheeks were tear-bedewed, most pitiful to see. She shrieked and wept together, but both became her well, Nor was her face disfigured by all the tears that fell. Her soft, soft breasts still beating with open hands, she cried, "The traitor hath departed! ah, what will me betide? Ah what will me betide?' she said. Hark! over all the shore, Sound cymbals shrill and tambourines that phrensied hands run o'er. With terror fell she prostrate and stammered like the dying: Her color fled, and as the dead her pallid limbs were lying, When lo! the wild Bacchantes come, with tresses all abroad, And lo! the buoyant satyrs come, that swarm before their god! And lo! the drunk SILENUS his seat can scarce retain; The ass is bending with his weight, his hands grasp tight the mane; He chases the Bacchantes: they fly and tempt pursuit, The while that clumsy rider goads on his sluggish brute. Down from the long-eared creature he tumbles on his head! 'Get up! get up, old fellow!' the noisy Satyrs said. His chariot top IACCHUS with vines hath wreathed about; His golden reins IACCHUS to his tiger-team lets out. Nor blush, nor speak nor even think of THESEUS now she may, And thrice to fly she started, and thrice fear made her stay: She shuddered like the barren ears, what time the tempest blows, She trembled like the light reed that in the dank marsh grows. 'Behold a love more constant in me!' IACCHUS cried, 'Fear not; thou, Cretan woman, shalt be IACCHUS' bride: The heaven shall be thy dowry! a star for all to see, Thou oft shalt guide from heaven, my bride, the ship tost doubtfully.' He said and from his car, lest the tigers her should fright, Leaped down to land; the yielding sand confest his footstep's might. He pressed her to his bosom - to strive she had no skill; He bore her off- for easily a god does what he will. Then some went singing Hymen! and some cried Evoe! And so the God and his true-love were wedded holily. THREE EPIGRAMS FROM GEORGE BUCHANAN. New Haven 1839. VENDIDIT ære polum, terras in morte reliquit; The heavens for gold Pope Pius sold, The earth at death he left; So he must dwell for aye in hell, Of all but that bereft. Paulus ab Hebraeo scis quantum distet Iuda? Wouldst know from Hebrew Judas how differs Paul of Rome? Contendunt specimen pistor pictorque uter edat Hic fecisse Deum se jactat; rettulit ille, A baker and a painter once into a quarrel fell, "Your God is ever chewed by men," "And yours the worms devour," "My God remains for years entire, a witness of my power; Of yours some tens of thousands are eaten in an hour." "But you can scarcely paint a god in one revolving year; Of mine a hundred thousand in one short hour appear.' "Stay," said the priest, "my children, nor quarrel fruitlessly; Your gods of bread and canvass are nothing without me; And since I make a god of both, they both promote my good, The painter's god must beg for me, the baker's be my food." THE AUTHORS' QUARREL. Translated for the Literary World from Molière's. TRISSOTIN (introducing Vadius). OUR friend has been dying to see you so long, That, in bringing him hither, I cannot be wrong. No tyro, dear madam an adept in wit. PHILAMINTA. The hand that presents him is surety for it. |