John Smith, U.S.A Part 11

But you and I shall drink our wines And sing to the loved that love us.

So come with me where fortune smiles And the G.o.ds invite devotion-- Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the haze of that far-off ocean!

HORATIAN LYRICS.

I.

Odes I, 11.

What end the G.o.ds may have ordained for me, And what for thee, Seek not to learn, Leuconoe; we may not know; Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest-- 'Tis for the best To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe.

If for more winters our poor lot is cast, Or this the last, Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas; Strain clear the wine--this life is short, at best; Take hope with zest, And, trusting not To-Morrow, s.n.a.t.c.h To-Day for ease!

II.

Odes I, 23.

Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn And on the pathless mountain tops has stood?

Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites-- Her sinking knees with nameless terrors shake; Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights, Or the green lizards stir the slumbering brake.

I do not follow with a tigerish thought Or with the fierce Gaetulian lion's quest; So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought, Full ripe to nestle on a husband's breast.

HORACE II, 13.

O fountain of Blandusia, Whence crystal waters flow, With garlands gay and wine I'll pay The sacrifice I owe; A sportive kid with budding horns I have, whose crimson blood Anon shall die and sanctify Thy cool and babbling flood.

O fountain of Blandusia, The dogstar's hateful spell No evil brings unto the springs That from thy bosom well; Here oxen, wearied by the plow, The roving cattle here, Hasten in quest of certain rest And quaff thy gracious cheer.

O fountain of Blandusia, Enn.o.bled shalt thou be, For I shall sing the joys that spring Beneath your ilex tree; Yes, fountain of Blandusia, Posterity shall know The cooling brooks that from thy nooks Singing and dancing go!

HORACE IV, II.

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices.

And in your tresses you shall twine The loveliest flowers this vale produces.

My cottage wears a gracious smile-- The altar decked in floral glory,-- Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while As though it pined for honors gory.

Hither our neighbors nimbly fare-- The boys agog, the maidens snickering, And savory smells possess the air As skyward kitchen flames are flickering.

You ask what means this grand display, This festive throng and goodly diet?

Well--since you're bound to have your way-- I don't mind telling on the quiet.

'Tis April 13, as you know-- A day and month devote to Venus, Whereon was born some years ago, My very worthy friend, Macenas.

Nay, pay no heed to Telephus-- Your friends agree he doesn't love you; The way he flirts convinces us He really is not worthy of you!

Aurora's son, unhappy lad!

You know the fate that overtook him?

And Pegasus a rider had-- I say he _had_ before he shook him!

Haec docet (as you may agree): 'Tis meet that Phyllis should discover A wisdom in preferring me And mittening every other lover.

So come, O Phyllis, last and best Of loves with which this heart's been smitten; Come, sing my jealous fears to rest-- And let your songs be those _I've_ written.

HUGO'S "POOL IN THE FOREST."

How calm, how beauteous, and how cool-- How like a sister to the skies, Appears the broad, transparent pool That in this quiet forest lies.

The suns.h.i.+ne ripples on its face, And from the world around, above, It hath caught down the nameless grace Of such reflections as we love.

But deep below its surface crawl The reptile horrors of the Night-- The dragons, lizards, serpents--all The hideous brood that hate the Light; Through poison fern and slimy weed, And under ragged, jagged stones They scuttle, or, in ghoulish greed, They lap a dead man's bones.

And as, O pool, thou dost cajole With seemings that beguile us well, So doeth many a human soul That teemeth with the l.u.s.ts of h.e.l.l.

HORACE I, 4.

'Tis 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 gat 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.