Part 10 (1/2)

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 fas.h.i.+on.

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