The Works of Horace In English Verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

O spare me, Venus!—Goddess, spare!
Nor wake the long-suspended War;
For chang'd I am, since first thy Chain
I wore, in gentle Cynara's Reign.
Mother too fierce of soft Desires,
Warm not my Breast with youthful Fires;
For, see! around my silver'd Head
Full fifty Years their Snow have spread.

414

To persecute thy Poet cease,
And let his Life decline in Peace.
Rather to blooming Youths repair,
Who seek thy Aid with ardent Prayer.
Would'st thou a worthy Heart inflame,
Young Paulus for thy Pupil claim;
And, gently wafted thro' the Sky
By purple Swans, to Paulus fly;
There from the golden Car alight,
And with thy Presence bless his Sight.
For he is graceful, nobly born;
A hundred Arts the Youth adorn;
A zealous Pleader in Defence
Of unbefriended Innocence:
He widely shall extend thy Sway,
And make the beauteous Nymphs obey.
Should his rich Rival strive in vain,
By Gifts the Maid he loves to gain,
Near Alba's Lake, by his Command,
Beneath a Citron Roof shall stand
Thy Marble Statue: Lovers there
The copious Incense shall prepare,
To scent thy Nostrils; and, around,
The Harp, the Flute, and Haut-boy sound,

415

In Concert with the joyous Lays,
Which twice a-Day, to chant thy Praise,
The Youths and Virgins shall repeat;
And, springing thrice with snowy Feet,
The Ground in Salian Measures beat.
Nor Maid I court, nor Matron now,
Nor gather Flowers to bind my Brow:
No more in Drinking I delight,
Nor pass in Revels half the Night;
Nor, vainly-fond, can hope to prove
The long-lost Joys of mutual Love.

But why, alas! say, Delia, why
Starts this fond Moisture from my Eye,
And trickles down my glowing Cheek?
Why do I faulter as I speak!
Why drops, in Words abrupt, my Tongue,
Which us'd to flow so smooth along?
I grasp you now, in nightly Dreams;
Now labour thro' the rolling Streams,
As swift you glide; or, o'er the Plain,
My cruel Fugitive pursue in vain.