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Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses ;-Cupid paied-
He stakes hys quiver, bowe and arrowes,
Hys mother's doves and teame of sparrowes;
Looses them too-then downe he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose

Uppon hys cheek (but none knows how)
With these the crystal of his browe,
And then the dymple on his chinne-
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he sette her both his eyes;
She wonn : and Cupid blind did rise.
Oh, Love! hath she done this to thee?
What, shall, alas, become of me?

GEORGE HERRICK.

FRAGMENT OF THE PAINTER AND POET, APELLES.

Έρως τ' εμη εταιρη
Καμπασπα συγκύβευον
Φιληματ' ην δ' αεθλα·
Λύσεν τ' έρως οφλημα
Τοξον, βελῆ, φαρέτρην,
Και μήτερος πελείας,
Στρουθων ζυγον τεθηκεν·
Απώλεσεν τ' απαντα
Χειλους τιθης έρευθος,

Ροδον τε των παρείων
(Πως ουν μεν ουτις οιδεν),

Κρυσταλλον ηδ' εθηκε
Τον αγλαον μετώπου,
Σφραγισμα και γενειου
Καμπαστ' απαντ' ανείλεν.
Τελος δε ομματ' αμφω
Εθηκε επευξατ' αυτή
Τυφλος τ' απώχετ' Ερως
Ει ταυτα σοι μέγιστε
Κακ' ηδ' Ερως ποιησε;
Φευ! αθλιωτάτῳ τι
Μελλει εμοι γενεσθαι ;

Tivoli and Tarentum were the two favourite retreats or Horace, whenever he could tear himself from the metropolis. The charms of both are celebrated in the succeeding composition. It would appear to have been elicited at a banquet, on Septimius expressing himself so devotedly attached to our poet, that he would cheerfully accompany him to the utmost boundary of the Roman empire.

LIB II. ODE VI.-THE ATTRACTIONS OF TIBUR AND TARENTUM.

SEPTIMIUS, pledged with me to roam
Far as the fierce IBERIAN's home,
Where men abide not yet o'ercome

By Roman legions,
And MAURITANIAN billows foam-
Barbaric regions !

Septimi, Gades
Aditure mecum, et
Cantabrum indocturn
Juga ferre nostra, et
Barbaras Syrtes,
Ubi Maura semper
Estuat unda:

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Extemporaneous in its essence, hearty, glowing, and glorious, here follows an effusion of affectionate welcome to one of the young Pompeys, with whom he had studied at Athens and fought at Philippi. The scene is at the Sabine farm. The exile, it will be seen, has only just returned on the general amnesty granted by Augustus.

LIB. II. ODE VII.- -A FELLOW-SOLDIER WELCOMED FROM

EXILE.

Friend of my soul! with whom arrayed

I stood in the ranks of peril, When Brutus at Philippi made

That effort wild and sterile... Who hath reopened Rome to thee, Her temples and her forum ; Beckoning the child of Italy

Back to the clime that bore him?

Thou, O my earliest comrade! say,
Pompey, was I thy teacher

To baulk old Time, and drown the day
Deep in a flowing pitcher ?

Think of the hours we thus consumed,
While Syria's richest odours,
Lavish of fragrancy, perfumed
The locks of two marauders.

With thee I shared Philippi's rout,
Though I, methinks, ran faster;
Leaving behind-'twas wrong, no doubt-
My SHIELD in the disaster:

E'en Fortitude that day broke down ;
And the rude foeman taught her
To hide her brow's diminished frown
Low amid heaps of slaughter.

But Mercury, who kindly watched
Me 'mid that struggle deadly,

Stooped from a cloud, and quickly snatched
His client from the medley.
While thee, alas! the ebbing flood

Of war relentless swallowed,
Replunging thee 'mid seas of blood;
And years of tempest followed.

Then slay to Jove the victim calf,
Due to the God;-and weary,
Under my bower of laurels quaff

A wine-cup blithe and merry.
Here, while thy war-worn limbs repose,
'Mid peaceful scenes sojourning,
Spare not the wine.. 'twas kept.. it flows
To welcome thy returning.

O sæpe mecum
Tempus in ultimum
Deducte, Bruto
Militiæ duce,

Quis te redonavit
Quiritem
Dis patriis,
Italoque cœlo.

Pompei, meorum
Prime sodalium,

Cum quo morantem
Sæpe diem mero
Fregi, coronatus
Nitentes
Malobathro
Syrio capillos?

Tecum Philippos
Et celerem fugam
Sensi, relictâ

Non bene parmulâ,
Quum fracta virtus,
Et minaces
Turpe solum
Tetigere mento.

Sed me per hostes
Mercurius celer
Denso paventum
Sustulit aere:
Te rursus in bellum

Resorbens

Unda fretis

Tulit æstuosis.

Ergo obligatam
Redde Jovi dapem
Longâque fessum

Militiâ latus
Depone sub

Lauro meâ, nee
Parce cadis

Tibi destinatis.

Come, with oblivious bowls dispel

Grief, care, and disappointment!
Freely from yon capacious shell
Shed, shed the balmy ointment!
Who for the genial banquet weaves
Gay garlands, gathered newly;
Fresh with the garden's greenest leaves,
Or twined with myrtle duly?

Whom shall the dice's cast " WINE-KING"
Elect, by Venus guided?

Quick, let my roof with wild mirth ring—
Blame not my joy, nor chide it!

Madly each bacchanalian feat

I mean to-day to rival,

For, oh! 'tis sweet thus... THUS TO GREET
SO DEAR A FRIEND'S ARRIVAL!

Oblivioso

Levia Massico
Ciboria exple;
Funde capacibus
Unguenta de conchis.
Quis udo
Deproperare
Apio coronas
Curatve myrto?

Quem Venus arbitrum
Dicet bibendi ?
Non ego sanius
Bacchabor Edonis.
Recepto

Dulce mihi furere
Est amico!

The nursery tradition respecting lies, and their conse quence, may be traced in the opening stanza of this playful remonstrance with Barine. The image of Cupid at a grinding stone, sharpening his darts, is the subject of a fine antique cameo in the Orleans Collection.

LIB. II. ODE VIII.- -THE ROGUERIES OF BARINE.

IN BARINEN.

Barinè! if, for each untruth,
Some blemish left a mark uncouth,
With loss of beauty and of youth,

Or Heaven should alter

The whiteness of a single tooth-
O fair defaulter!

Then might I trust thy words-But thou
Dost triumph o'er each broken vow;
Falsehood would seem to give thy brow
Increased effulgence:

Men still admire-and gods allow

Thee fresh indulgence.

Swear by thy mother's funeral urn— Swear by the stars that nightly burn (Seeming in silent awe to mourn

O'er such deception)—

Swear by each Deity in turn,

From Jove to Neptune :

Ula si juris
Tibi pejerati
Pœna, Barinè,

Nocuisset unquam ;

Dente si nigro

Fieres vel uno
Turpior ungui,
Crederem. Sed tu,
Simul obligasti
Perfidum votis
Caput, enitescis
Pulchrior multo,
Juvenumque prodis
Publica cura.

Expedit matris
Cineres opertos
Fallere, et toto
Taciturna noctis
Signa cum cœlo,
Gelidâque Divos

Morte carentes.

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'Twas on a windy night,

At two o'clock in the morning,
An Irish lad so tight,

All wind and weather scorning,
At Judy Callaghan's door,
Sitting upon the palings,
His love-tale he did pour,

And this was part of his wailings:-
Only say

You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan ;

Don't say nay,
Charming Judy Callaghan.

Oh! list to what I say,

Charms you've got like Venus ; Own your love you may,

There's but the wall between us.

* Callage, contractio, Venus dicitur Kaλλ vvn,

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