THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE 
 
 <Ji.ft of 
 William Daly
 
 THE WORKS OF 
 EUGENE FIELD 
 
 Vol. VI
 
 THE WRITINGS IN 
 PROSE AND VERSE 
 OF EUGENE FIELD 
 
 FARM 
 
 ' 1 
 
 CHARLES SOFTENER'S 
 SONS J NEW YORK ) 899
 
 I 

 
 THE WRITINGS IN 
 PROSE AND VERSE 
 OF EUGENE FIELD 
 
 ECHOES FROM 
 THE SABINE 
 FARM * * * * 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER*S 
 SONSJNEWYORKJJ899
 
 Copyright, 1892, by 
 A. C. McCLURG & Co. 
 
 Copyright, 1895, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ONE Sunday evening in the winter of 
 1890 Eugene Field and the writer were 
 walking in Lake View, Chicago, on their 
 way to visit the library of a common friend, 
 when the subject of publishing a book for 
 Field came up for discussion. 
 
 The Little Book of Western Verse and The 
 Little Book of Profitable Tales had been pri 
 vately printed the year before at Chicago, and 
 Field had been frequently reminded that the 
 writer was ready and willing to stand sponsor 
 for any new volume he, Field, might desire 
 to bring out. 
 
 " The only thing I have on hand that might 
 make a book," said Field, "are some few 
 paraphrases of the Odes of Horace which my 
 brother, 'Rose,' and I have been fooling over, 
 and which, truth to tell, are certainly freely
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 rendered. There are not enough of them, 
 but we '11 do some more, and I '11 add a brief 
 Life of Horace as a preface or introduction." 
 
 It is to be regretted that Field never carried 
 out his intention with respect to this last, for 
 he had given much thought and study to the 
 great Roman satirist, and what Eugene Field 
 could have said upon the subject must have 
 been of interest. It is my belief that as he 
 thought upon the matter it grew too great 
 for him to handle within the space he had at 
 first determined, and that tucked away within 
 the recesses of his literary intentions was the 
 determination, nullified by his early death, 
 to write, con amore, a life of Quintus Hora- 
 tius Flaccus. 
 
 This determination to write separately an 
 extended account of Horace greatly reduced 
 the bulk of the material intended for the Sa- 
 bine Echoes, and it was with respect to this 
 that Field apologetically and, as was his 
 wont, humorously wrote: 
 
 "The volume may be rather thin in cor- 
 pore, but think how hefty it will be intel 
 lectually." 
 
 When it came to the discussion of how
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 many copies should be printed it was sug 
 gested that the edition be an exceedingly 
 limited one, in order to cause as much 
 scrambling and heartburning as possible 
 among our bibliophilic brethren. And never 
 shall I forget the seriousness of the man's 
 face, nor the roars of laughter that followed, 
 when he suggested that fifty copies only 
 should be made, and that we should reserve 
 one each and burn the other forty-eight ! 
 
 It was a biting cold night and we had been 
 loitering by the way, stopping to debate each, 
 point as it arose but now we plunged on 
 with excess of motion to keep ourselves 
 warm, breaking out with occasional peals of 
 laughter as we thought of our plan to make 
 the publication what the booksellers call 
 " excessively rare." 
 
 Field, elsewhere, has said he did not know 
 why the original intention as to the destruc 
 tion of the forty-eight copies was not carried 
 out, but the answer is not far away. As the 
 time for publication approached it was found 
 impossible that such and such a friend should 
 be forgotten in the matter of a copy, and so 
 it went on until it was deemed prudent to 
 vii
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 add fifty to the number originally intended 
 to be issued, and that decision, in the light 
 of what followed, proved to be an eminently 
 wise one. More than once some to me un 
 known friend of Field would write a pleasant 
 lie as a reason to gain possession of the book, 
 and up in a corner of the letter would be 
 found an endorsement of the request after 
 this fashion : 
 
 What 's writ below 
 
 I 'd have you know 
 Nor falsehood nor romance is ; 
 
 It 's solemn truth, 
 
 So grant the youth 
 The boon he seeks, dear Francis. 
 
 EUGENE FIELD. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, how 
 ever flimsy the pretext upon which the re 
 quest for a copy was made, it never failed of 
 its object if it brought with it Field's endorse 
 ment. Among many pleasant utterances on 
 this subject Field has said that but for the 
 writer the Horatian verses would not have 
 been given to the world and this has been 
 taken to mean more than was intended, and
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 much unearned praise has been bestowed. 
 But, in allusion to the original issue of the 
 Odes, Field added, "in this charming guise," 
 which places quite another construction upon 
 the matter. 
 
 It may be that the enthusiasm displayed 
 not only pleased Field, and incited him and 
 his brother Roswell to perform that which, 
 otherwise, might have been indefinitely de 
 ferred, but there is no question but that they 
 intended to publish the Horatian odes at 
 some time or another. Field was greatly 
 delighted with the reception of this work, 
 and I once heard him say it would outlive 
 all his other books. He came naturally by 
 his love of the classics. His father was a 
 splendid scholar who obliged his sons to 
 correspond with him in Latin. Field's fa 
 vorite ode was the Bandusian Spring, the 
 paraphrasing of which in the styles of the 
 various writers of different periods gave 
 him genuine joy and is perhaps the choice 
 bit of the collection. The Echoes from the 
 Sabine Farm was the most ambitious work 
 Field had attempted up to the time of 
 its issue. He was not at all sure that the 
 ix
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 public for whom he wrote, what following 
 he then felt was his own, would accept his 
 efforts in this direction with any sort of ac 
 claim. Unquestionably, Field, at all times, 
 believed in himself and in his power ulti 
 mately to make a name, as every man must 
 who achieves success, but he was as far 
 from believing that the public would accept 
 him as an interpreter of Horatian odes as 
 was Edward Fitzgerald with respect to 
 Omar Khayyam. In short, he looked upon 
 his work in the original publication of Echoes 
 from the Sabine Farm as a labor of love 
 an effort from which some reputation might 
 come, but certainly no monetary remunera 
 tion. It was because he so regarded it that 
 he permitted the work to be first issued un 
 der the bolstering influence of a patron. It 
 was, so he thought, an excellent opportu 
 nity to show his friends and acquaintances 
 that his Pegasus was capable of soaring to 
 classic heights, and he little dreamed that 
 the paraphrasing of the Odes of Horace over 
 which "Rose and I have been fooling" 
 would be required for a popular edition. 
 With the announcement of the Scribner edi-
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 tion of The Sabine Echoes came also the in 
 telligence of Field's death. 
 
 I have found people who were somewhat 
 puzzled as to the exact intentions of the 
 Fields with respect to these translations and 
 paraphrases. However, there can be no 
 chance for mistake even to the veriest em 
 bryonic reader of Horace, if he will but re 
 member that, while some of these tran 
 scriptions are indeed very faithful reproduc 
 tions or adaptations of the original, others 
 again are to be accepted as the very riot of 
 burlesque verse-making. 
 
 The last stanza in the epilogue of this book 
 reads : 
 
 Or if we part to meet no more 
 This side the misty Stygian river, 
 
 Be sure of this : On yonder shore 
 Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we 
 
 A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend 
 And fellowship that knows no end. 
 
 FRANCIS WILSON. 
 
 January 22, 1896.
 
 TO M. L. GRAY. 
 
 COME, dear old friend, and with us twain 
 To calm Digentian groves repair; 
 
 The turtle coos his sweet refrain 
 And posies are a-blooming there; 
 
 And there the romping Sabine girls 
 
 Bind myrtle in their lustrous curls. 
 
 I know a certain ilex-tree 
 
 Whence leaps a fountain cool and clear. 
 Its voices summon you and me; 
 
 Come, let us haste to share its cheer! 
 Methinks the rapturous song it sings 
 Should woo our thoughts from mortal things. 
 
 But, good old friend, I charge thee well, 
 Watch thou my brother all the while, 
 
 Lest some fair Lydia cast her spell 
 Round him unschooled in female guile. 
 
 Those damsels have no charms for me; 
 
 Guard thou that brother, I'll guard thee!
 
 And, lo, sweet friend! behold this cup, 
 Round which the garlands intertwine; 
 
 With Massic it is foaming up, 
 
 And we would drink to thee and thine. 
 
 And of the draught thou shalt partake, 
 
 Who lov'st us for our father's sake. 
 
 Hark you! from yonder Sabine farm 
 
 Echo the songs of long ago, 
 With power to soothe and grace to charm 
 
 What ills humanity may know; 
 With that sweet music in the air, 
 T is Love and Summer everywhere. 
 
 So, though no grief consumes our lot 
 (Since all our lives have been discreet), 
 
 Come, in this consecrated spot, 
 Let 's see if pagan cheer be sweet. 
 
 Now, then, the songs; but, first, more wine. 
 
 The gods be with you, friends of mine! 
 
 E. F.
 
 Contents? of fyi$ ^oofe 
 
 WRITTEN IN COLLABORATION WITH 
 ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To M. L. GRAY ......... E. F. . xiii 
 
 AN INVITATION TO MAECENAS. Odes, III. 29 . E. F. . 3 
 
 CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED, Odes, III. 15 . R. M. F. 6 
 
 To THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA 
 
 Odes, III. 13 . E. F. . 8 
 
 To THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. . . . R. M. F. 10 
 
 THE PREFERENCE DECLARED. Odes, I. 38 . E. F. . 12 
 
 A TARDY APOLOGY. I. . Epode XIV. . R. M. F. 13 
 A TARDY APOLOGY. II ....... E. F. .15 
 
 To THE SHIP OF STATE. . Odes, I. 14 . R. M. F. 17 
 
 QUITTING AGAIN. . . . Odes, III. 26 . E. F. . 19 
 
 SAILOR AND SHADE . . . Odes, I. 28 . E. F. . 21 
 
 LET Us HAVE PEACE . . Odes, I. 27 . E. F. . 23 
 To QUINTUS DELLIUS . . Odes, II. 3 . E. F. .25 
 
 POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS. Odes, II. 4 . R. M. F. 27 
 
 To ARISTIUS Fuscus . . Odes, I. 22 . E. F. . 30 
 
 To ALBIUS TIBULLUS. I. . Odes, I. 33 . E. F. . 32 
 
 To ALBIUS TIBULLUS. II ....... R. M. F. 34 
 
 To M/ECENAS ..... Odes, I. i . . R. M. F. 36 
 
 To His BOOK .... Epistle XX. . R. M. F. 39 
 
 FAME vs. RICHES . ArsPoetica, line 323, E. F. . 41 
 xv
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE LYRIC MUSE . Ars Poetica, line 301, E. F. . 42 
 
 A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC, 
 
 Epode III. . R. M. F. 45 
 
 AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE . Odes, II. 5. . R. M. F. 47 
 
 AN APPEAL TO LYCE . . Odes, IV. 13 . R. M. F. 49 
 
 A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE I. Odes, I. 9 . . E. F. . 51 
 
 A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE II R. M. F. 53 
 
 To DIANA Odes, III. 22 . R. M. F. 55 
 
 To His LUTE Odes, I. 32. . E. F. . 56 
 
 To LEUCONOE I Odes, I. n. . R. M. F. 58 
 
 To LEUCONOE II E. F. .60 
 
 To LIGURINUS. I. ... Odes, IV. 10 . R. M. F. 61 
 
 To LIGURINUS. II E. F. .62 
 
 THE HAPPY ISLES . . . Epode XIV. line 41,8. F. 64 
 
 CONSISTENCY Ars Poetica . E. F. . 66 
 
 To POSTUMUS Odes, II. 14 . R. M. F. 69 
 
 To MISTRESS PYRRHA. I. Odes, I. 5 . E. F. . 72 
 
 To MISTRESS PYRRHA. II R. M. F. 73 
 
 To MELPOMENE .... Odes, III. 30 . E. F. . 75 
 
 To PHYLLIS. I. ... Odes, IV. 1 1 . E. F. . 77 
 
 To PHYLLIS. II R. M. F. 80 
 
 To CHLOE. I Odes, I. 23 . R. M. F. 83 
 
 To CHLOE. II E. F. .85 
 
 A PARAPHRASE E. F. .86 
 
 ANOTHER PARAPHRASE E. F. .87 
 
 A THIRD PARAPHRASE E. F. .88 
 
 A FOURTH PARAPHRASE . . E. F. , 89
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To M/ECENAS Odes, I. 20 . E. F. .90 
 
 To BARINE Odes, II. 8. . R. M. F. 92 
 
 THE RECONCILIATION. I. . Odes, III. 9 . E. F. -95 
 
 THE RECONCILIATION. II R. M. F. 97 
 
 THE ROASTING OF LYDIA . Odes, I. 25 . R. M. F. 100 
 
 To GLYCERA Odes, I. 19 . R. M. F. 102 
 
 To LYDIA. I Odes, I. 13 . E. F. . 104 
 
 To LYDIA. II R. M. F. 106 
 
 To QUINTIUS HIRPINUS . Odes, II. u . E. F. . 108 
 WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG . Odes, I. 18 . E. F. . 1 10 
 AN ODE TO FORTUNE . . Odes, I. 35 . E. F. .112 
 To A JAR OF WINE . . Odes, III. 21 . E. F. .115 
 To POMPEIUS VARUS . . Odes, II. i . E. F. .117 
 THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS. Odes, II. 20 . E. F. .119 
 
 To VENUS Odes, I. 30 . E. F. .121 
 
 IN THE SPRINGTIME. I. . Odes, I. 4 . E. F. .122 
 
 IN THE SPRINGTIME. II R. M. F. 124 
 
 To A BULLY Epode VI . . E. F. .127 
 
 To MOTHER VENUS 128 
 
 To LYDIA Odes, I. 8 . E. F. .131 
 
 To NEOBULE Odes, III. 12 . R. M. F. 133 
 
 AT THE BALL GAME . . Odes, V. 17 . R. M. F. 135 
 EPILOGUE E. F. .139
 
 from tip 
 
 f arm
 
 AN INVITATION TO M/ECENAS 
 
 EAR, noble friend ! a virgin cask 
 
 Of wine solicits your attention ; 
 And roses fair, to deck your hair, 
 And things too numerous to mention. 
 So tear yourself awhile away 
 
 From urban turmoil, pride, and splendor, 
 And deign to share what humble fare 
 
 And sumptuous fellowship I tender. 
 The sweet content retirement brings 
 Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings. 
 
 The evil planets have combined 
 
 To make the weather hot and hotter; 
 
 By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams 
 Vainly of ice-cream soda-water. 
 
 3
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 And meanwhile you, defying heat, 
 
 With patriotic ardor ponder 
 On what old Rome essays at home, 
 
 And what her heathen do out yonder. 
 Maecenas, no such vain alarm 
 Disturbs the quiet of this farm ! 
 
 God in His providence obscures 
 
 The goal beyond this vale of sorrow, 
 And smiles at men in pity when 
 
 They seek to penetrate the morrow. 
 With faith that all is for the best, 
 
 Let 's bear what burdens are presented, 
 That we shall say, let come what may, 
 
 " We die, as we have lived, contented! 
 Ours is to-day; God's is the rest, 
 He doth ordain who knoweth best." 
 
 Dame Fortune plays me many a prank. 
 
 When she is kind, oh, how I go it! 
 But if again she 's harsh, why, then 
 
 I am a very proper poet! 
 
 4
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 When favoring gales bring in my ships, 
 I hie to Rome and live in clover; 
 
 Elsewise I steer my skiff out here, 
 
 And anchor till the storm blows over. 
 
 Compulsory virtue is the charm 
 
 Of life upon the Sabine farm !
 
 CHLORIS PROPERLY REBUKED 
 
 CHLORIS, my friend, I pray you your 
 misconduct to forswear; 
 The wife of poor old Ibycus should have 
 
 more savoir faire. 
 A woman at your time of life, and drawing 
 
 near death's door, 
 
 Should not play with the girly girls, and 
 think she 's en rapport. 
 
 What 's good enough for Pholoe you cannot 
 
 well essay; 
 Your daughter very properly courts thejeu- 
 
 nesse doree, 
 A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot 
 
 her joy restrain, 
 But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles 
 
 d I ' Americaine. 
 
 6
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature 
 
 old and poor, 
 To sit and spin than to engage in an affaire 
 
 d' amour. 
 The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained 
 
 deep are not for you ; 
 Remember what the poet says: Ce monde 
 
 estplein de fous !
 
 TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA 
 
 O FOUNTAIN of Bandusia ! 
 Whence crystal waters flow, 
 With garlands gay and wine I '11 pay 
 
 The sacrifice I owe; 
 A sportive kid with budding horns 
 
 I have, whose crimson blood 
 Anon shall dye and sanctify 
 Thy cool and babbling flood. 
 
 O fountain of Bandusia! 
 
 The Dog-star's hateful spell 
 No evil brings into 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. 
 8
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 O fountain of Bandusia! 
 
 Ennobled shalt thou be, 
 For I shall sing the joys that spring 
 
 Beneath yon ilex-tree. 
 Yes, fountain of Bandusia, 
 
 Posterity shall know 
 The cooling brooks that from thy nooks 
 
 Singing and dancing go.
 
 TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA 
 
 O FOUNTAIN of Bandusia! more glit 
 tering than glass, 
 And worthy of the pleasant wine and toasts 
 
 that freely pass ; 
 More worthy of the flowers with which 
 
 thou modestly art hid, 
 To-morrow willing hands shall sacrifice to 
 thee a kid. 
 
 In vain the glory of the brow where proudly 
 
 swell above 
 The growing horns, significant of battle and 
 
 of love ; 
 For in thy honor he shall die, the offspring 
 
 of the herd, 
 And with his crimson life-blood thy cold 
 
 waters shall be stirred.
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 The Dog-star's cruel season, with its fierce 
 
 and blazing heat, 
 Has never sent its scorching rays into thy 
 
 glad retreat; 
 The oxen, wearied with the plow, the herd 
 
 which wanders near, 
 Have found a grateful respite and delicious 
 
 coolness here. 
 
 When of the graceful ilex on the hollow 
 
 rocks I sing, 
 Thou shalt become illustrious, O sweet Ban- 
 
 dusian spring ! 
 Among the noble fountains which have been 
 
 enshrined in fame, 
 Thy dancing, babbling waters shall in song 
 
 our homage claim.
 
 B 
 
 THE PREFERENCE DECLARED 
 
 OY, I detest the Persian pomp; 
 I hate those linden-bark devices; 
 And as for roses, holy Moses ! 
 
 They can't be got at living prices 
 Myrtle is good enough for us, 
 
 For you, as bearer of my flagon ; 
 For me, supine beneath this vine, 
 
 Doing my best to get a jag on ! 
 
 12
 
 A TARDY APOLOGY 
 
 MAECENAS, you will be my death, 
 though friendly you profess yourself, 
 If to me in a strain like this so often you ad 
 dress yourself : 
 "Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why 
 
 indolently shock you us ? 
 Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude 
 innocuous ? " 
 
 A god, Maecenas! yea, a god hath proved 
 the very curse of me ! 
 
 If my iambics are not done, pray, do not 
 think the worse of me; 
 
 Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned with 
 out apology, 
 
 And wept his simple measures on a sample 
 of conchology. 
 
 13
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Now, you yourself, Maecenas, are enjoying 
 
 this beatitude ; 
 If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you 've 
 
 cause for gratitude. 
 A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with 
 
 lovers numerous; 
 This is the artful hussy's neat conception of 
 
 the humorous! 
 
 '4
 
 A TARDY APOLOGY 
 
 Y 
 
 'OU ask me, friend, 
 Why I don't send 
 The long since due-and-paid-for numbers; 
 Why, songless, I 
 As drunken lie 
 Abandoned to Lethean slumbers. 
 
 Long time ago 
 
 (As well you know) 
 I started in upon that carmen; 
 
 My work was vain, 
 
 But why complain ? 
 
 When gods forbid, how helpless are men ! 
 15
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Some ages back, 
 
 The sage Anack 
 Courted a frisky Samian body, 
 
 Singing her praise 
 
 In metered phrase 
 As flowing as his bowls of toddy. 
 
 Till I was hoarse 
 
 Might I discourse 
 Upon the cruelties of Venus; 
 
 T were waste of time 
 
 As well of rhyme, 
 For you 've been there yourself, Maecenas! 
 
 Perfect your bliss 
 
 If some fair miss 
 Love you yourself and not your minae; 
 
 I, fortune's sport, 
 
 All vainly court 
 The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne ! 
 
 16
 
 TO THE SHIP OF STATE 
 
 /~\ SHIP of state, 
 
 Shall new winds bear you back upon 
 
 the sea ? 
 
 What are you doing ? Seek the harbor's lee 
 Ere 't is too late ! 
 
 Do you bemoan 
 Your side was stripped of oarage in the 
 
 blast? 
 
 Swift Africus has weakened, too, your 
 mast; 
 
 The sailyards groan. 
 '7
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Of cables bare, 
 
 Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave. 
 Your sails are rent; you have no gods to 
 save, 
 
 Or answer pray'r. 
 
 Though Pontic pine, 
 
 The noble daughter of a far-famed wood, 
 You boast your lineage and title good, 
 
 A useless line! 
 
 The sailor there 
 
 In painted sterns no reassurance finds; 
 Unless you owe derision to the winds, 
 
 Beware beware ! 
 
 My grief erewhile, 
 But now my care my longing! shun the 
 
 seas 
 That flow between the gleaming Cyclades, 
 
 Each shining isle. 
 
 18
 
 QUITTING AGAIN 
 
 THE hero of 
 Affairs of love 
 
 By far too numerous to be mentioned, 
 And scarred as I 'm, 
 It seemeth time 
 That I were mustered out and pensioned. 
 
 So on this wall 
 
 My lute and all 
 I hang, and dedicate to Venus; 
 
 And I implore 
 
 But one thing more 
 Ere all is at an end between us. 
 19
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 O goddess fair 
 
 Who reignest where 
 The weather 's seldom bleak and snowy, 
 
 This boon I urge: 
 
 In anger scourge 
 My old cantankerous sweetheart, Chloe ! 
 
 20
 
 SAILOR AND SHADE 
 
 SAILOR 
 
 YOU, who have compassed land and sea, 
 Now all unburied lie; 
 All vain your store of human lore, 
 
 For you were doomed to die. 
 The sire of Pelops likewise fell, 
 
 Jove's honored mortal guest; 
 So king and sage of every age 
 
 At last lie down to rest. 
 Plutonian shades enfold the ghost 
 
 Of that majestic one 
 Who taught as truth that he, forsooth, 
 
 Had once been Pentheus' son ; 
 Believe who may, he 's passed away, 
 
 And what he did is done. 
 A last night comes alike to all; 
 
 One path we all must tread, 
 
 21
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Through sore disease or stormy seas 
 
 Or fields with corpses red. 
 Whate'er our deeds, that pathway leads 
 
 To regions of the dead. 
 
 SHADE 
 
 The fickle twin Illyrian gales 
 
 Overwhelmed me on the wave; 
 But you that live, I pray you give 
 
 My bleaching bones a grave! 
 Oh, then when cruel tempests rage 
 
 You all unharmed shaH be; 
 Jove's mighty hand shall guard by land 
 
 And Neptune's on the sea. 
 Perchance you fear to do what may 
 
 Bring evil to your race ? 
 Oh, rather fear that like me here 
 
 You '11 lack a burial place. 
 So, though you be in proper haste, 
 
 Bide long enough, I pray, 
 To give me, friend, what boon shall send 
 
 My soul upon its way ! 
 
 22
 
 LET US HAVE PEACE 
 
 IN maudlin spite let Thracians fight 
 Above their bowls of liquor; 
 But such as we, when on a spree, 
 Should never brawl and bicker! 
 
 These angry words and clashing swords 
 Are quite de trop, I 'm thinking; 
 
 Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise, 
 And drown your wrath in drinking. 
 
 Aha, 't is fine, this mellow wine 
 With which our host would dope us! 
 
 Now let us hear what pretty dear 
 Entangles him of Opus.
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 I see you blush, nay, comrades, hush! 
 
 Come, friend, though they despise you, 
 Tell me the name of that fair dame, 
 
 Perchance I may advise you. 
 
 O wretched youth ! and is it truth 
 
 You love that fickle lady ? 
 I, doting dunce, courted her once; 
 
 Since when, she 's reckoned shady!
 
 TO QUINTUS DELLIUS 
 
 BE tranquil, Dellius, I pray; 
 For though you pine your life away 
 With dull complaining breath, 
 Or speed with song and wine each day, 
 Still, still your doom is death. 
 
 Where the white poplar and the pine 
 In glorious arching shade combine, 
 
 And the brook singing goes, 
 Bid them bring store of nard and wine 
 
 And garlands of the rose. 
 
 Let 's live while chance and youth obtain ; 
 Soon shall you quit this fair domain 
 
 Kissed by the Tiber's gold, 
 And all your earthly pride and gain 
 
 Some heedless heir shall hold. 
 25
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 One ghostly boat shall some time bear 
 From scenes of mirthfulness or care 
 
 Each fated human soul, 
 Shall waft and leave its burden where 
 
 The waves of Lethe roll. 
 
 So come, I prithee, Dettius mine; 
 
 Let 's sing our songs and drink our wine 
 
 In that sequestered nook 
 Where the white poplar and the pine 
 
 Stand listening to the brook.
 
 POKING FUN AT XANTHIAS 
 
 OF your love for your handmaid you 
 need feel no shame. 
 Don't apologize, Xanthias, pray; 
 Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame 
 
 For Brissy, his slave, as they say. 
 Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved 
 
 By the captive Tecmessa's ripe charms ; 
 And Atrides, suspending the feast, it be 
 hooved 
 To gather a girl to his arms. 
 
 Now, how do you know that this yellow- 
 haired maid 
 
 (This Phyllis you fain would enjoy) 
 27
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Has n't parents whose wealth would cast 
 
 you in the shade, 
 Who would ornament you, Xan, my 
 
 boy? 
 Very likely the poor chick sheds copious 
 
 tears, 
 
 And is bitterly thinking the while 
 Of the royal good times of her earlier years, 
 When her folks regulated the style! 
 
 It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe 
 
 That she of whose charms you are proud 
 Is beautiful only as means to deceive, 
 
 Merely one of the horrible crowd. 
 So constant a sweetheart, so loving a wife, 
 
 So averse to all notions of greed 
 Was surely not born of a mother whose life 
 
 Is a chapter you 'd better not read. 
 
 As an unbiased party I feel it my place 
 (For I don't like to do things by halves) 
 28
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 To compliment Phyllis, her arms and her 
 
 face 
 
 And (excuse me!) her delicate calves. 
 Tut, tut! don't get angry, my boy, or 
 
 suspect 
 
 You have any occasion to fear 
 A man whose deportment is always correct, 
 And is now in his forty-first year ! 
 
 20
 
 TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS 
 
 FUSCUS, whoso to good inclines, 
 And is a faultless liver, 
 Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear, 
 Nor poison-arrowed quiver. 
 
 Ay, though through desert wastes he roam, 
 Or scale the rugged mountains, 
 
 Or rest beside the murmuring tide 
 Of weird Hydaspan fountains ! 
 
 Lo, on a time, I gayly paced 
 
 The Sabine confines shady, 
 And sung in glee of Lalage, 
 
 My own and dearest lady; 
 30
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 And as I sung, a monster wolf 
 Slunk through the thicket from me; 
 
 But for that song, as I strolled along, 
 He would have overcome me! 
 
 Set me amid those poison mists 
 Which no fair gale dispelleth, 
 
 Or in the plains where silence reigns, 
 And no thing human dwelleth, 
 
 Still shall I love my Lalage, 
 Still sing her tender graces ; 
 
 And while I sing, my theme shall bring 
 Heaven to those desert places ! 
 
 3<
 
 TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS 
 
 i 
 
 NOT to lament that rival flame 
 Wherewith the heartless Glycera 
 scorns you, 
 
 Nor waste your time in maudlin rhyme, 
 How many a modern instance warns you! 
 
 Fair-browed Lycoris pines away 
 Because her Cyrus loves another; 
 
 The ruthless churl informs the girl 
 He loves her only as a brother! 
 
 For he, in turn, courts Pholoe, 
 
 A maid unscotched of love's fierce virus ; 
 Why, goats will mate with wolves they 
 
 hate 
 
 Ere Pholoe will mate with Cyrus! 
 32
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Ah, weak and hapless human hearts, 
 
 By cruel Mother Venus fated 
 To spend this life in hopeless strife, 
 
 Because incongruously mated ! 
 
 Such torture, Albius, is my lot; 
 
 For, though a better mistress wooed me, 
 My Myrtale has captured me, 
 
 And with her cruelties subdued me! 
 
 33
 
 TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS 
 
 GRIEVE not, my Albius, if thoughts of 
 Glycera may haunt you, 
 Nor chant your mournful elegies because 
 
 she faithless proves ; 
 If now a younger man than you this cruel 
 
 charmer loves, 
 
 Let not the kindly favors of the past rise up 
 to taunt you. 
 
 Lycoris of the little brow for Cyrus feels a 
 
 passion, 
 And Cyrus, on the other hand, toward 
 
 Pholoe inclines; 
 But ere this crafty Cyrus can accomplish 
 
 his designs 
 
 She-goats will wed Apulian wolves in defer 
 ence to fashion. 
 
 34
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Such is the will, the cruel will, of love-in 
 citing Venus, 
 Who takes delight in wanton sport and 
 
 ill-considered jokes, 
 And brings ridiculous misfits beneath her 
 
 brazen yokes, 
 
 A very infelicitous proceeding, just between 
 us. 
 
 As for myself, young Myrtale, slave-born 
 
 and lacking graces, 
 And wilder than the Adrian tides which 
 
 form Calabrian bays, 
 
 Entangled me in pleasing chains and com 
 promising ways, 
 
 When just my luck a better girl was 
 courting my embraces.
 
 TO M/ECENAS 
 
 MAECENAS, thou of royalty's descent, 
 Both my protector and dear ornament, 
 Among humanity's conditions are 
 Those who take pleasure in the flying car, 
 Whirling Olympian dust, as on they roll, 
 And shunning with the glowing wheel the 
 
 goal; 
 
 While the ennobling palm, the prize of worth, 
 Exalts them to the gods, the lords of earth. 
 
 Here one is happy if the fickle crowd 
 His name the threefold honor has allowed; 
 And there another, if into his stores 
 Comes what is swept from Libyan threshing- 
 floors. 
 
 He who delights to till his father's lands, 
 And grasps the delving-hoe with willing 
 hands, 
 
 36
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Can never to Attalic offers hark, 
 Or cut the Myrtoan Sea with Cyprian bark. 
 The merchant, timorous of Afric's breeze, 
 When fiercely struggling with Icarian seas 
 Praises the restful quiet of his home, 
 Nor wishes from the peaceful fields to roam ; 
 Ah, speedily his shattered ships he mends, 
 To poverty his lesson ne'er extends. 
 
 One there may be who never scorns to fill 
 His cups with mellow draughts from Massic's 
 
 hill, 
 
 Nor from the busy day an hour to wean, 
 Now stretched at length beneath the arbute 
 
 green, 
 Now at the softly whispering spring, to 
 
 dream 
 Of the fair nymphs who haunt the sacred 
 
 stream. 
 For camp and trump and clarion some have 
 
 zest, 
 The cruel wars the mothers so detest. 
 
 37
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 'Neath the cold sky the hunter spends his 
 
 life, 
 
 Unmindful of his home and tender wife, 
 Whether the doe is seen by faithful hounds 
 Or Marsian boar through the fine meshes 
 
 bounds. 
 
 But as for me, the ivy-wreaths, the prize 
 Of learned brows, exalt me to the skies; 
 The shady grove, the nymphs and satyrs 
 
 there, 
 
 Draw me away from people everywhere; 
 If it may be, Euterpe's flute inspires, 
 Or Polyhymnia strikes the Lesbian lyres ; 
 And if you place me where no bard debars, 
 With head exalted I shall strike the stars!
 
 TO HIS BOOK 
 
 YOU vain, self-conscious little book, 
 Companion of my happy days, 
 How eagerly you seem to look 
 For wider fields to spread your lays ; 
 My desk and locks cannot contain you, 
 Nor blush of modesty restrain you. 
 
 Well, then, begone, fool that thou art! 
 But do not come to me and cry, 
 
 When critics strike you to the heart: 
 "Oh, wretched little book am I ! " 
 
 You know I tried to educate you 
 
 To shun the fate that must await you. 
 39
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 In youth you may encounter friends 
 (Pray this prediction be not wrong), 
 
 But wait until old age descends 
 And thumbs have smeared your gentlest 
 song; 
 
 Then will the moths connive to eat you 
 
 And rural libraries secrete you. 
 
 However, should a friend some word 
 Of my obscure career request, 
 
 Tell him how deeply I was stirred 
 To spread my wings beyond the nest; 
 
 Take from my years, which are before you, 
 
 To boom my merits, I implore you. 
 
 Tell him that I am short and fat, 
 Quick in my temper, soon appeased, 
 
 With locks of gray, but what of that ? 
 Loving the sun, with nature pleased. 
 
 I 'm more than four and forty, hark you, 
 
 But ready for a night off, mark you ! 
 
 40
 
 FAME vs. RICHES 
 
 '"T" S HE Greeks had genius, 't was a gift 
 1 The Muse vouchsafed in glorious 
 measure ; 
 
 The boon of Fame they made their aim 
 And prized above all worldly treasure. 
 
 But we, how do we train our youth ? 
 
 Not in the arts that are immortal, 
 But in the greed for gains that speed 
 
 From him who stands at Death's dark 
 portal. 
 
 Ah, when this slavish love of gold 
 Once binds the soul in greasy fetters, 
 
 How prostrate lies, how droops and dies 
 The great, the noble cause of letters !
 
 THE LYRIC MUSE 
 
 1LOVE the lyric muse! 
 For when mankind ran wild in grooves 
 Came holy Orpheus with his songs 
 And turned men's hearts from bestial loves, 
 
 From brutal force and savage wrongs ; 
 Amphion, too, and on his lyre 
 
 Made such sweet music all the day 
 That rocks, instinct with warm desire, 
 Pursued him in his glorious way. 
 
 I love the lyric muse ! 
 Hers was the wisdom that of yore 
 
 Taught man the rights of fellow man, 
 Taught him to worship God the more, 
 
 And to revere love's holy ban. 
 42
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Hers was the hand that jotted down 
 The laws correcting divers wrongs; 
 
 And so came honor and renown 
 To bards and to their noble songs. 
 
 I love the lyric muse! 
 Old Homer sung unto the lyre; 
 
 Tyrtaeus, too, in ancient days ; 
 Still warmed by their immortal fire, 
 
 How doth our patriot spirit blaze! 
 The oracle, when questioned, sings; 
 
 So our first steps in life are taught. 
 In verse we soothe the pride of kings, 
 
 In verse the drama has been wrought. 
 
 I love the lyric muse! 
 Be not ashamed, O noble friend, 
 
 In honest gratitude to pay 
 Thy homage to the gods that send 
 
 This boon to charm all ill away. 
 
 43
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SAB1NE FARM 
 
 With solemn tenderness revere 
 This voiceful glory as a shrine 
 
 Wherein the quickened heart may hear 
 The counsels of a voice divine! 
 
 44
 
 A COUNTERBLAST AGAINST GARLIC 
 
 MAY the man who has cruelly murdered 
 his sire 
 
 A crime to be punished with death 
 Be condemned to eat garlic till he shall expire 
 
 Of his own foul and venomous breath ! 
 What stomachs these rustics must have who 
 
 can eat 
 
 This dish that Canidia made, 
 Which imparts to my colon a torturous heat, 
 And a poisonous look, I 'm afraid ! 
 
 They say that ere Jason attempted to yoke 
 The fire-breathing bulls to the plow 
 
 He smeared his whole body with garlic, a 
 
 joke 
 Which I fully appreciate now. 
 
 45
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 When Medea gave Glauce her beautiful 
 dress, 
 
 In which garlic was scattered about, 
 It was cruel and rather low-down, I confess, 
 
 But it settled the point beyond doubt. 
 
 On thirsty Apulia ne'er has the sun 
 
 Inflicted such terrible heat; 
 As for Hercules' robe, although poisoned, 
 't was fun 
 
 When compared with this garlic we eat! 
 Maecenas, if ever on garbage like this 
 
 You express a desire to be fed, 
 May Mrs. Maecenas object to your kiss, 
 
 And lie at the foot of the bed ! 
 
 46
 
 AN EXCUSE FOR LALAGE 
 
 TO bear the yoke not yet your love's 
 submissive neck is bent, 
 To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amor 
 ous intent; 
 Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer 
 
 longs to go, 
 
 Now with the calves disporting where the 
 pussy-willows grow. 
 
 Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, 
 
 trust me, you shall learn 
 How quickly in the autumn time to purple 
 
 they will turn. 
 Soon she will follow you, for age steals 
 
 swiftly on the maid; 
 And all the precious years that you have 
 
 lost she will have paid. 
 
 47
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, 
 
 the coy, 
 Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, 
 
 girlish boy, 
 Whom, if you placed among the girls, and 
 
 loosed his flowing locks, 
 The wondering guests could not decide 
 
 which one decorum shocks. 
 
 48
 
 AN APPEAL TO LYCE 
 
 CCE, the gods have heard my prayers, 
 as gods will hear the dutiful, 
 And brought old age upon you, though you 
 
 still affect the beautiful. 
 You sport among the boys, and drink and 
 
 chatter on quite aimlessly ; 
 And in your cups with quavering voice you 
 torment Cupid shamelessly. 
 
 For blooming Chia, Cupid has a feeling more 
 than brotherly; 
 
 He knows a handsaw from a hawk when 
 ever winds are southerly. 
 
 He pats her pretty cheeks, but looks on you 
 as a monstrosity; 
 
 Your wrinkles and your yellow teeth excite 
 his animosity. 
 
 49
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 For jewels bright and purple Coan robes 
 
 you are not dressable; 
 Unhappily for you, the public records are 
 
 accessible. 
 Where is your charm, and where your bloom 
 
 and gait so firm and sensible, 
 That drew my love from Cinara, a lapse 
 
 most indefensible ? 
 
 To my poor Cinara in youth Death came 
 
 with great celerity ; 
 Egad, that never can be said of you with 
 
 any verity ! 
 The old crow that you are, the teasing boys 
 
 will jeer, compelling you 
 To roost at home. Reflect, all this is straight 
 
 that I am telling you.
 
 A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE 
 
 i 
 
 SEE, Thaliarch mine, how, white with 
 snow, 
 
 Soracte mocks the sullen sky ; 
 How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed, 
 And chained with frost the rivers lie. 
 
 Pile, pile the logs upon the hearth ; 
 
 We '11 melt away the envious cold: 
 And, better yet, sweet friend, we 'II wet 
 
 Our whistles with some four-year-old. 
 
 Commit all else unto the gods, 
 
 Who, when it pleaseth them, shall bring 
 To fretful deeps and wooded steeps 
 
 The mild, persuasive grace of Spring. 
 5'
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Let not To-morrow, but To-day, 
 Your ever active thoughts engage ; 
 
 Frisk, dance, and sing, and have your fling, 
 Unharmed, unawed of crabbed Age. 
 
 Let 's steal content from Winter's wrath, 
 
 And glory in the artful theft, 
 That years from now folks shall allow 
 
 'T was cold indeed when we got left. 
 
 So where the whisperings and the mirth 
 
 Of girls invite a sportive chap, 
 Let 's fare awhile, aha, you smile; 
 
 You guess my meaning, verbum sap.
 
 A ROMAN WINTER-PIECE 
 
 NOW stands Soracte white with snow, 
 now bend the laboring trees, 
 And with the sharpness of the frost the stag 
 nant rivers freeze. 
 Pile up the billets on the hearth, to warmer 
 
 cheer incline, 
 
 And draw, my Thaliarchus, from the Sabine 
 jar the wine. 
 
 The rest leave to the gods, who still the 
 
 fiercely warring wind, 
 And to the morrow's store of good or evil 
 
 give no mind. 
 Whatever day your fortune grants, that day 
 
 mark up for gain ; 
 And in your youthful bloom do not the sweet 
 
 amours disdain. 
 
 53
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Now on the Campus and the squares, when 
 
 evening shades descend, 
 Soft whisperings again are heard, and loving 
 
 voices blend; 
 And now the low delightful laugh betrays 
 
 the lurking maid, ; 
 While from her slowly yielding arms the 
 
 forfeiture is paid. 
 
 54
 
 TO DIANA 
 
 O VIRGIN, tri-formed goddess fair, 
 The guardian of the groves and hills, 
 Who hears the girls in their despair 
 Cry out in childbirth's cruel ills, 
 
 And saves them from the Stygian flow ! 
 Let the pine-tree my cottage near 
 
 Be sacred to thee evermore, 
 That I may give to it each year 
 With joy the life-blood of the boar, 
 Now thinking of the sidelong blow. 
 
 55
 
 TO HIS LUTE 
 
 IF ever in the sylvan shade 
 A song immortal we have made, 
 Come now, O lute, I prithee come, 
 Inspire a song of Latium ! 
 
 A Lesbian first thy glories proved ; 
 In arms and in repose he loved 
 To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise 
 His voice in Love's and Liber's praise. 
 The Muses, too, and him who clings 
 To Mother Venus' apron-strings, 
 And Lycus beautiful, he sung 
 In those old days when you were young. 
 56
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 O shell, that art the ornament 
 Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content 
 To Jove, and soothing troubles all, 
 Come and requite me, when I call! 
 
 57
 
 TO LEUCONOE 
 
 i 
 
 WHAT end the gods may have or 
 dained for me, 
 And what for thee, 
 Seek not to learn, Leuconoe; we may not 
 
 know. 
 
 Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest. 
 T is 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, 
 
 58
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Strain clear the wine ; this life is short, at best. 
 Take hope with zest, 
 And, trusting not To-morrow, snatch To 
 day for ease ! 
 
 59
 
 TO LEUCONOE 
 
 SEEK not, Leuconoe, to know how long 
 you 're going to live yet, 
 What boons the gods will yet withhold, or 
 
 what they 're going to give yet; 
 For Jupiter will have his way, despite how 
 
 much we worry, 
 Some will hang on for many a day, and some 
 
 die in a hurry. 
 The wisest thing for you to do is to embark 
 
 this diem 
 Upon a merry escapade with some such 
 
 bard as I am. 
 And while we sport I '11 reel you off such 
 
 odes as shall surprise ye ; 
 To-morrow, when the headache comes, 
 
 well, then I '11 satirize ye! 
 60
 
 TO LIGURINUS 
 
 THOUGH mighty in Love's favor still, 
 Though cruel yet, my boy, 
 When the unwelcome dawn shall chill 
 
 Your pride and youthful joy, 
 The hair which round your shoulder grows 
 
 Is rudely cut away, 
 Your color, redder than the rose, 
 Is changed by youth's decay, 
 
 Then, Ligurinus, in the glass 
 
 Another you will spy. 
 And as the shaggy face, alas ! 
 
 You see, your grief will cry : 
 " Why in my youth could I not learn 
 
 The wisdom men enjoy ? 
 Or why to men cannot return 
 
 The smooth cheeks of the boy ? " 
 
 01
 
 TO LIGURINUS 
 
 O CRUEL fair, 
 Whose flowing hair 
 The envy and the pride of all is, 
 As onward roll 
 The years, that poll 
 Will get as bald as a billiard ball is ; 
 Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply, 
 Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply! 
 
 When you behold 
 Yourself grown old, 
 
 These words shall speak your spirits 
 moody: 
 
 62
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 " Unhappy one! 
 What heaps of fun 
 I 've missed by being goody-goody ! 
 Oh, that I might have felt the hunger 
 Of loveless age when I was younger! "
 
 THE HAPPY ISLES 
 
 OH, come with me to the Happy Isles 
 In the golden haze off yonder, 
 Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze 
 
 beguiles 
 And the ocean loves to wander. 
 
 Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, 
 
 Proudly the fig rejoices, 
 Merrily dance the virgin rills, 
 
 Blending their myriad voices. 
 
 Our herds shall suffer no evil there, 
 But peacefully feed and rest them; 
 
 Never thereto shall prowling bear 
 Or serpent come to molest them. 
 64
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, 
 Nor feverish drought distress us, 
 
 But he that compasseth heat and cold 
 Shall temper them both to bless us. 
 
 There no vandal foot has trod, 
 And the pirate hordes that wander 
 
 Shall never profane the sacred sod 
 Of those beautiful isles out yonder. 
 
 Never a spell shall blight our vines, 
 
 Nor Sirius blaze above us, 
 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 gods invite devotion, 
 
 Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles 
 In the haze of that far-off ocean !
 
 CONSISTENCY 
 
 SHOULD painter attach to a fair human 
 head 
 
 The thick, turgid neck of a stallion, 
 Or depict a spruce lass with the tail of a 
 
 bass, 
 I am sure you would guy the rapscallion. 
 
 Believe me, dear Pisos, that just such a 
 
 freak 
 
 Is the crude and preposterous poem 
 Which merely abounds in a torrent of 
 
 sounds, 
 
 With no depth of reason below 'em. 
 66
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 'T is all very well to give license to art, 
 The wisdom of license defend I; 
 
 But the line should be drawn at the fripper- 
 
 ish spawn 
 Of a mere cacoethes scribendi. 
 
 It is too much the fashion to strain at ef 
 fects, 
 
 Yes, that 's what 's the matter with Han 
 nah! 
 
 Our popular taste, by the tyros debased, 
 Paints each barnyard a grove of Diana! 
 
 Should a patron require you to paint a ma 
 rine, 
 Would you work in some trees with their 
 
 barks on ? 
 
 When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar, 
 Would you give him a pitcher like Clark- 
 son ? 
 
 67
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Now, this is my moral: Compose what you 
 may, 
 
 And Fame will be ever far distant 
 Unless you combine with a simple design 
 
 A treatment in toto consistent. 
 
 68
 
 TO POSTUMUS 
 
 OPOSTUMUS, my Postumus, the years 
 are gliding past, 
 And piety will never check the wrinkles 
 
 coming fast, 
 The ravages of time old age's swift advance 
 
 has made, 
 
 And death, which unimpeded comes to bear 
 us to the shade. 
 
 Old friend, although the tearless Pluto you 
 
 may strive to please, 
 And seek each year with thrice one hundred 
 
 bullocks to appease, 
 Who keeps the thrice-huge Geryon and 
 
 Tityus his slaves, 
 Imprisoned fast forevermore with cold and 
 
 sombre waves, 
 
 69
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Yet must that flood so terrible be sailed by 
 mortals all; 
 
 Whether perchance we may be kings and 
 live in royal hall, 
 
 Or lowly peasants struggling long with pov 
 erty and dearth, 
 
 Still must we cross who live upon the favors 
 of the earth. 
 
 And all in vain from bloody war and contest 
 we are free, 
 
 And from the waves that hoarsely break 
 upon the Adrian Sea; 
 
 For our frail bodies all in vain our he'->less 
 terror grows 
 
 In gloomy autumn seasons, when the bane 
 ful south wind blows. 
 
 Alas! the black Cocytus, wandering to the 
 
 world below, 
 That languid river to behold we of this earth 
 
 must go; 
 
 70
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 To see the grim Danaides, that miserable 
 race, 
 
 And Sisyphus of SEolus, condemned to end 
 less chase. 
 
 Behind you must you leave your home and 
 
 land and wife so dear, 
 And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, 
 
 you rear, 
 And which around the funeral piles as signs 
 
 of mourning grow, 
 Not one will follow you, their short-lived 
 
 master, there below. 
 
 j. 
 Your worthier heir the precious Gecuban 
 
 shall drink galore, 
 Now with a hundred keys preserved and 
 
 guarded in your store, 
 And stain the pavements, pouring out in 
 
 waste the nectar proud, 
 Better than that with which the pontiffs' 
 
 feasts have been endowed.
 
 TO MISTRESS PYRRHA 
 
 WHAT perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, 
 With smiles for diet, 
 Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, 
 
 On the quiet ? 
 For whom do you bind up your tresses, 
 
 As spun-gold yellow, 
 Meshes that go with your caresses, 
 To snare a fellow ? 
 
 How will he rail at fate capricious, 
 
 And curse you duly, 
 Yet now he deems your wiles delicious, 
 
 You perfect, truly! 
 Pyrrha, your love 's a treacherous ocean ; 
 
 He '11 soon fall in there ! 
 Then shall I gloat on his commotion, 
 
 For / have been there! 
 72
 
 TO MISTRESS PYRRHA 
 
 WHAT dainty boy with sweet per 
 fumes bedewed 
 
 Has lavished kisses, Pyrrha, in the cave ? 
 For whom amid the roses, many-hued, 
 Do you bind back your tresses' yellow wave ? 
 
 How oft will he deplore your fickle whim, 
 And wonder at the storm and roughening 
 
 deeps, 
 
 Who now enjoys you, all in all to him, 
 And dreams of you, whose only thoughts 
 
 he keeps. 
 
 7?
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Wretched are they to whom you seem so 
 
 fair ; 
 That I escaped the storms, the gods be 
 
 praised! 
 
 My dripping garments, offered with a prayer, 
 Stand as a tablet to the sea-god raised. 
 
 74
 
 TO MELPOMENE 
 
 EFTY and enduring is the monument I 've 
 reared : 
 
 Come, tempests, with your bitterness as 
 sailing; 
 And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all 
 
 things mortal feared, 
 Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! 
 
 I shall not altogether die : by far my greater 
 
 part 
 Shall mock man's common fate in realms 
 
 infernal ; 
 My works shall live as tributes to my genius 
 
 and my art, 
 
 My works shall be my monument eternal ! 
 75
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 While this great Roman empire stands and 
 
 gods protect our fanes, 
 Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the 
 
 story 
 How one most lowly born upon the parched 
 
 Apulian plains 
 First raised the native lyric muse to glory. 
 
 Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud es 
 tate I 've won, 
 And, with thine own dear hand the meed 
 
 supplying, 
 
 Bind thou about the forehead of thy cele 
 brated son 
 
 The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame un 
 dying ! 
 
 76
 
 TO PHYLLIS 
 I 
 
 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. 
 77
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 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. 
 
 T is April 13, as you know, 
 
 A day and month devote to Venus, 
 Whereon was born, some years ago, 
 
 My very worthy friend, Maecenas. 
 
 Nay, pay no heed to Telephus ; 
 
 Your friends agree he does n'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 bad, before he shook him ! 
 
 78
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Hoc docet (as you must agree) 
 
 'T is 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 / 've written. 
 
 79
 
 TO PHYLLIS 
 ii 
 
 SWEET Phyllis, I have here a jar of old 
 and precious wine, 
 The years which mark its coming from the 
 
 Alban hills are nine, 
 
 And in the garden parsley, too, for wreath 
 ing garlands fair, 
 
 And ivy in profusion to bind up your shin 
 ing hair. 
 
 Now smiles the house with silver; the 
 
 altar, laurel-bound, 
 Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to 
 
 drip around; 
 The company is hurrying, boys and maidens 
 
 with the rest; 
 The flames are flickering as they whirl the 
 
 dark smoke on their crest 
 80
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Yet you must know the joys to which you 
 
 have been summoned here 
 To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born 
 
 Venus dear, 
 Ah, festal day more sacred than my own 
 
 fair day of birth, 
 Since from its dawn my loved Maecenas 
 
 counts his years of earth. 
 
 A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited 
 to her mind, 
 
 The Telephus whom you desire, a youth 
 not of your kind. 
 
 She holds him bound with pleasing chains, 
 the fetters of her charms, 
 
 Remember how scorched Phaethon ambi 
 tious hopes alarms. 
 
 The winged Pegasus the rash Bellerophon 
 
 has chafed, 
 To you a grave example for reflection has 
 
 vouchsafed, 
 
 81
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Always to follow what is meet, and never 
 try to catch 
 
 That which is not allowed to you, an inap 
 propriate match. 
 
 Come now, sweet Phyllis, of my loves the 
 
 last, and hence the best 
 (For nevermore shall other girls inflame this 
 
 manly breast) ; 
 Learn loving measures to rehearse as we 
 
 may stroll along, 
 And dismal cares shall fly away and vanish 
 
 at your song.
 
 TO CHLOE 
 
 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. 
 
 83
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 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. 
 
 8 4
 
 TO CHLOE 
 ii 
 
 CHLOE, you shun me like a hind 
 That, seeking vainly for her mother, 
 Hears danger in each breath of wind, 
 And wildly darts this way and t' other; 
 
 Whether the breezes sway the wood 
 Or lizards scuttle through the brambles, 
 
 She starts, and off, as though pursued, 
 The foolish, frightened creature scrambles. 
 
 But, Chloe, you 're no infant thing 
 That should esteem a man an ogre; 
 
 Let go your mother's apron-string, 
 And pin your faith upon a toga!
 
 HI 
 A PARAPHRASE 
 
 HOW happens it, my cruel miss, 
 You 're always giving me the mitten ? 
 You seem to have forgotten this : 
 That you no longer are a kitten ! 
 
 A woman that has reached the years 
 Of that which people call discretion 
 
 Should put aside all childish fears 
 And see in courtship no transgression. 
 
 A mother's solace may be sweet, 
 But Hymen's tenderness is sweeter; 
 
 And though all virile love be meet, 
 You '11 find the poet's love is metre. 
 
 86
 
 IV 
 
 A PARAPHRASE, CIRCA 1715 
 
 SINCE Chloe is so monstrous fair, 
 With such an eye and such an air, 
 What wonder that the world complains 
 When she each am'rous suit disdains ? 
 
 Close to her mother's side she clings, 
 And mocks the death her folly brings 
 To gentle swains that feel the smarts 
 Her eyes inflict upon their hearts. 
 
 Whilst thus the years of youth go by, 
 Shall Colin languish, Strephon die ? 
 Nay, cruel nymph ! come, choose a mate, 
 And choose him ere it be too late !
 
 A PARAPHRASE, BY DR. I. W. 
 
 WHY, Mistress Chloe, do you bother 
 With prattlings and with vain ado 
 Your worthy and industrious mother, 
 Eschewing them that come to woo ? 
 
 Oh, that the awful truth might quicken 
 This stern conviction to your breast: 
 
 You are no longer now a chicken 
 Too young to quit the parent nest. 
 
 So put aside your froward carriage, 
 And fix your thoughts, whilst yet there 's 
 time, 
 
 Upon the righteousness of marriage 
 With some such godly man as I 'm. 
 
 88
 
 VI 
 A PARAPHRASE, BY CHAUCER 
 
 SYN that you, Chloe, to your moder 
 sticken, 
 
 Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken ; 
 Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding 
 Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse 
 
 chiding. 
 
 Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder 
 For to beare swete company with some oder ; 
 Your moder ben well enow so farre shee 
 
 goeth, 
 
 But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth ; 
 Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes 
 That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys ; 
 But all that do with gode men wed full 
 
 quicklye 
 When that they be on dead go to ye seints 
 
 full sickerly. 
 
 89
 
 TO M/ECENAS 
 
 THAN you, O valued friend of mine, 
 A better patron non cstf 
 Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,- 
 You '11 find it poor but honest. 
 
 I put it up that famous day 
 
 You patronized the ballet, 
 And the public cheered you such a way 
 
 As shook your native valley. 
 
 Caecuban and the Calean brand 
 May elsewhere claim attention; 
 
 But /have none of these on hand, 
 For reasons 1 '11 not mention. 
 90
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 ENVOY 
 
 So, come! though favors I bestow 
 
 Cannot be called extensive, 
 Who better than my friend should know 
 
 That they 're at least expensive ? 
 
 9<
 
 TO BAR1NE 
 
 IF for your oath broken, or word lightly 
 spoken, 
 
 A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you; 
 If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall 
 
 linger 
 Your beauty to mar, I '11 believe you. 
 
 But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your 
 
 tact is, 
 
 Your head with the vows of untruth, 
 Than you shine out more charming, and, 
 
 what 's more alarming, 
 You come forth beloved of our youth. 
 92
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SAB1NE FARM 
 
 It is advantageous, but no less outrageous, 
 Your poor mother's ashes to cheat; 
 While the gods of creation and each con 
 stellation 
 You seem to regard as your meat. 
 
 Now Venus, 1 own it, is pleased to con 
 done it; 
 
 The good-natured nymphs merely smile; 
 
 And Cupid is merry, 't is humorous, 
 very, 
 
 And sharpens his arrows the while. 
 
 Our boys you are making the slaves for 
 
 your taking, 
 
 A new band is joined to the old; 
 While the horrified matrons your juvenile 
 
 patrons 
 In vain would bring back to the fold. 
 
 93
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 The thrifty old fellows your loveliness mel 
 lows 
 
 Confess to a dread of your house; 
 
 But a more pressing duty, in view of your 
 beauty, 
 
 Is the young wife's concern for her spouse. 
 
 94
 
 THE RECONCILIATION 
 
 i 
 
 HE 
 
 WHEN you were mine, in auld lang 
 syne, 
 And when none else your charms might 
 
 ogle, 
 
 I '11 not deny, fair nymph, that I 
 Was happier than a heathen mogul. 
 
 SHE 
 
 Before she came, that rival flame 
 (Had ever mater saucier filia ?), 
 
 In those good times, bepraised in rhymes, 
 I was more famed than Mother Ilia. 
 
 95
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 HE 
 
 Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace 
 Does she at song or harp employ her! 
 
 I 'd gladly die, if only I 
 Could live forever to enjoy her! 
 
 SHE 
 
 My Sybaris so noble is 
 
 That, by the gods, I love him madly! 
 That I might save him from the grave, 
 
 I 'd give my life, and give it gladly! 
 
 HE 
 
 What if ma belle from favor fell, 
 And I made up my mind to shake her; 
 
 Would Lydia then come back again, 
 And to her quondam love betake her ? 
 
 SHE 
 
 My other beau should surely go, 
 
 And you alone should find me gracious; 
 For no one slings such odes and things 
 
 As does the lauriger Horatius! 
 96
 
 THE RECONCILIATION 
 
 HORACE 
 
 WHILE favored by thy smiles no other 
 youth in amorous teasing 
 Around thy snowy neck his folding arms 
 
 was wont to fling; 
 As long as I remained your love, acceptable 
 
 and pleasing, 
 
 I lived a life of happiness beyond the Per 
 sian king. 
 
 LYDIA 
 
 While Lydia ranked Chloe in your unre 
 served opinion, 
 
 And for no other cherished thou a brighter, 
 livelier flame, 
 
 97
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 I, Lydia, distinguished throughout the whole 
 
 dominion, 
 
 Surpassed the Roman Ilia in eminence of 
 fame. 
 
 HORACE 
 
 T is now the Thracian Chloe whose accom 
 plishments inthrall me, 
 So sweet in modulations, such a mistress 
 
 of the lyre. 
 In truth the fates, however terrible, could 
 
 not appall me; 
 
 If they would spare her, sweet my soul, I 
 gladly would expire. 
 
 LYDIA 
 
 And now the son of Ornytus, young Calais, 
 
 inflames me 
 
 With mutual, restless passion and an all- 
 consuming fire; 
 
 And if the fates, however dread, would 
 spare the youth who claims me, 
 98
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Not only once would I face death, but 
 gladly twice expire. 
 
 HORACE 
 
 What if our early love returns to prove we 
 
 were mistaken 
 And bind with brazen yoke the twain, to 
 
 part, ah ! nevermore ? 
 What if the charming Chloe of the golden 
 
 locks be shaken 
 
 And slighted Lydia again glide through 
 the open door ? 
 
 LYDIA 
 
 Though he is fairer than the star that shines 
 
 so far above you, 
 Thou lighter than a cork, more stormy 
 
 than the Adrian Sea, 
 Still should I long to live with you, to live 
 
 for you and love you, 
 And cheerfully see death's approach if 
 thou wert near to me. 
 
 99
 
 THE ROASTING OF LYDIA 
 
 NO more your needed rest at night 
 By ribald youth is troubled; 
 No more your windows, fastened tight. 
 Yield to their knocks redoubled. 
 
 No longer you may hear them cry, 
 " Why art thou, Lydia, lying 
 
 In heavy sleep till morn is nigh, 
 While I, your love, am dying?" 
 
 Grown old and faded, you bewail 
 
 The rake's insulting sally, 
 While round your home the Thracian gale 
 
 Storms through the lonely alley. 
 
 100
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 What furious thoughts will fill your breast, 
 What passions, fierce and tinglish 
 
 (Cannot be properly expressed 
 In calm, reposeful English). 
 
 Learn this, and hold your carping tongue: 
 
 Youth will be found rejoicing 
 In ivy green and myrtle young, 
 
 The praise of fresh life voicing; 
 
 And not content to dedicate, 
 
 With much protesting shiver, 
 The sapless leaves to winter's mate, 
 
 Hebrus, the cold dark river. 
 
 101
 
 TO GLYCERA 
 
 THE cruel mother of the Loves, 
 And other Powers offended, 
 Have stirred my heart, where newly roves 
 The passion that was ended. 
 
 T is Glycera, to boldness prone, 
 Whose radiant beauty fires me; 
 
 While fairer than the Parian stone 
 Her dazzling face inspires me. 
 
 And on from Cyprus Venus speeds, 
 
 Forbidding ah! the pity - 
 The Scythian lays, the Parthian meeds, 
 
 And such irrelevant ditty.
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Here, boys, bring turf and vervain too ; 
 
 Have bowls of wine adjacent; 
 And ere our sacrifice is through 
 
 She may be more complaisant. 
 
 105
 
 TO LYDIA 
 
 i 
 
 WHEN, Lydia, you (once fond and 
 true, 
 
 But now grown cold and supercilious) 
 
 Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms 
 
 Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious! 
 
 Then with despite my cheeks wax white, 
 My doddering brain gets weak and giddy, 
 
 My eyes o'erflow with tears which show 
 That passion melts my vitals, Liddy! 
 
 Deny, false jade, your escapade, 
 And, lo! your wounded shoulders show 
 
 it! 
 
 No manly spark left such a mark 
 Leastwise he surely was no poet! 
 104
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 With savage buss did Telephus 
 
 Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow; 
 As you would save what Venus gave, 
 
 I charge you shun that awkward fellow ! 
 
 And now I say thrice happy they 
 That call on Hymen to requite 'em ; 
 
 For, though love cools, the wedded fools 
 Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em. 
 
 105
 
 TO LYDIA 
 
 WHEN praising Telephus you sing 
 His rosy neck and waxen arms, 
 Forgetful of the pangs that wring 
 This heart for my neglected charms, 
 
 Soft down my cheek the tear-drop flows, 
 My color comes and goes the while, 
 And my rebellious liver glows, 
 And fiercely swells with laboring bile. 
 
 Perchance yon silly, passionate youth, 
 Distempered by the fumes of wine, 
 Has marred your shoulder with his tooth, 
 Or scarred those rosy lips of thine. 
 106
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Be warned ; he cannot faithful prove, 
 Who, with the cruel kiss you prize, 
 Has hurt the little mouth I love, 
 Where Venus's own nectar lies. 
 
 Whom golden links unbroken bind, 
 Thrice happy more than thrice are they; 
 And constant, both in heart and mind, 
 In love await the final day. 
 
 107
 
 TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS 
 
 TO Scythian and Cantabrian plots, 
 Pay them no heed, O Quintiusl 
 
 So long as we 
 From care are free, 
 Vexations cannot cinch us. 
 
 Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth, 
 Speed hand in hand together; 
 
 The songs we sing 
 
 In time of spring 
 Are hushed in wintry weather. 
 
 Why, even flow'rs change with the hours, 
 And the moon has divers phases; 
 And shall the mind 
 Be racked to find 
 A clew to Fortune's mazes ? 
 108
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Nay ; 'neath this tree let you and me 
 Woo Bacchus to caress us; 
 We 're old, 't is true, 
 But still we two 
 Are thoroughbreds, God bless us! 
 
 While the wine gets cool in yonder pool. 
 Let 's spruce up nice and tidy; 
 Who knows, old boy, 
 But we may decoy 
 The fair but furtive Lyde ? 
 
 She can execute on her ivory lute 
 Sonatas full of passion, 
 
 And she bangs her hair 
 
 (Which is passing fair) 
 In the good old Spartan fashion. 
 
 109
 
 WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG 
 
 OVARUS mine, 
 Plant thou the vine 
 Within this kindly soil of Tibur; 
 
 Nor temporal woes, 
 
 Nor spiritual, knows 
 The man who 's a discreet imbiber. 
 
 For who doth croak 
 
 Of being broke, 
 Or who of warfare, after drinking ? 
 
 With bowl atween us, 
 
 Of smiling Venus 
 And Bacchus shall we sing, I 'm thinking. 
 
 Of symptoms fell 
 Which brawls impel, 
 Historic data give us warning; 
 The wretch who fights 
 When full, of nights, 

 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Is bound to have a head next morning. 
 
 I do not scorn 
 
 A friendly horn, 
 But noisy toots, I can't abide 'em ! 
 
 Your howling bat 
 
 Is stale and flat 
 To one who knows, because he 's tried 'em ! 
 
 The secrets of 
 
 The life I love 
 (Companionship with girls and toddy) 
 
 I would not drag 
 
 With drunken brag 
 Into the ken of everybody ; 
 
 But in the shade 
 
 Let some coy maid 
 With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle, 
 
 Then all day long, 
 
 With mirth and song, 
 Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle ! 
 
 in
 
 o 
 
 AN ODE TO FORTUNE 
 
 LADY FORTUNE! 't is to thee I 
 call, 
 Dwelling at Antium, thou hast power to 
 
 crown 
 The veriest clod with riches and renown, 
 
 And change a triumph to a funeral. 
 The tillers of the soil and they that vex the 
 
 seas, 
 
 Confessing thee supreme, on bended knees 
 Invoke thee, all. 
 
 Of Dacian tribes, of roving Scythian 
 
 bands, 
 Of cities, nations, lawless tyrants red
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 With guiltless blood, art thou the haunting 
 
 dread ; 
 
 Within thy path no human valor stands, 
 And, arbiter of empires, at thy frown 
 The sceptre, once supreme, slips surely 
 
 down 
 From kingly hands. 
 
 Necessity precedes thee in thy way; 
 Hope fawns on thee, and Honor, too, is 
 
 seen 
 
 Dancing attendance with obsequious mien; 
 But with what coward and abject dismay 
 The faithless crowd and treacherous wan 
 tons fly 
 When once their jars of luscious wine run 
 
 dry, 
 Such ingrates they! 
 
 Fortune, I call on thee to bless 
 Our king, our Caesar girt for foreign wars! 
 Help him to heal these fratricidal scars 
 in
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 That speak degenerate shame and wicked 
 ness; 
 And forge anew our impious spears and 
 
 swords, 
 Wherewith we may against barbarian 
 
 hordes 
 Our Past redress! 
 
 114
 
 TO A JAR OF WINE 
 
 O GRACIOUS jar, my friend, my 
 twin, 
 
 Born at the time when I was born, 
 Whether tomfoolery you inspire 
 Or animate with love's desire, 
 
 Or flame the soul with bitter scorn, 
 Or lull to sleep, O jar of mine! 
 
 Come from your place this festal day; 
 
 Corvinus hither wends his way, 
 And there 's demand for wine! 
 
 Corvinus is the sort of man 
 Who dotes on tedious argument. 
 
 An advocate, his ponderous pate 
 Is full of Blackstone and of Kent; 
 
 Yet not insensible is he, 
 
 O genial Massic flood ! to thee.
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SAB1NE FARM 
 
 Why, even Cato used to take 
 
 A modest, surreptitious 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 passing 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. 
 
 116
 
 TO POMPEIUS VARUS 
 
 POMPEY, what fortune gives you back 
 To the friends and the gods 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 passion, 
 I regret to say that my feet ran away 
 
 In swift Iambic fashion.
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 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 classic; 
 Come, let us lard our skins with nard, 
 
 And bedew our souls with Massic! 
 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. 
 
 118
 
 THE POET'S METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 M/ECENAS, 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. 
 119
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 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 
 
 T IS 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 hither 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 god Pan, who, kind to man, 
 Our fleeting life with affluence blesses; 
 
 122
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 But let the changing seasons mind us, 
 That Death 's the certain doom of mor 
 tals, 
 
 Grim Death, who waits at humble gates, 
 And likewise stalks through kingly por 
 tals. 
 
 Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades 
 Enfold you with their hideous seemings; 
 
 Then love and mirth and joys of earth 
 Shall fade away like fevered dream ings. 
 
 123
 
 IN THE SPRINGTIME 
 
 THE western breeze is springing up, the 
 ships are in the bay, 
 And spring has brought a happy change as 
 
 winter melts away. 
 No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman 
 
 finds delight; 
 
 No longer with the biting frosts the open 
 fields are white. 
 
 Our Lady of Cythera now prepares to lead 
 
 the dance, 
 While from above the kindly moon gives an 
 
 approving glance; 
 124
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 The Nymphs and comely Graces join with 
 
 Venus and the choir, 
 And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to 
 
 thoughts of fire. 
 
 Now it is time with myrtle green to crown 
 
 the shining pate, 
 And with the early blossoms of the spring to 
 
 decorate ; 
 To sacrifice to Faunus, on whose favor we 
 
 rely, 
 A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may 
 
 specify. 
 
 Impartially the feet of Death at huts and 
 
 castles strike; 
 The influenza carries off the rich and poor 
 
 alike. 
 O Sestius, though blessed you are beyond 
 
 the common run, 
 Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope 
 
 begun. 
 
 125
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard 
 upon the grip. 
 
 Once there you cannot throw the dice, nor 
 taste the wine you sip; 
 
 Nor look on blooming Lycidas, whose beauty 
 you commend, 
 
 To whom the girls will presently their cour 
 tesies extend. 
 
 120
 
 TO A BULLY 
 
 YOU, blatant coward that you are, 
 Upon the helpless vent your spite. 
 Suppose you ply your trade on me; 
 Come, monkey with this bard, and see 
 How I '11 repay your bark with bite! 
 
 Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute! 
 
 And I shall hound you far and wide, 
 As fiercely as through drifted snow 
 The shepherd dog pursues what foe 
 
 Skulks on the Spartan mountain-side. 
 
 The chip is on my shoulder see? 
 
 But touch it and I '11 raise your fur; 
 I 'm full of business, so beware! 
 For, though I 'm loaded up for bear, 
 
 I 'm quite as like to kill a cur! 
 127
 
 TO MOTHER VENUS 
 
 O MOTHER VENUS, quit, I pray, 
 Your violent assailing! 
 The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth 
 
 At last are unavailing; 
 My blood runs cold, I 'm getting old, 
 And all my powers are failing. 
 
 Speed thou upon thy white swans' wings, 
 And elsewhere deign to mellow 
 
 With thy soft arts the anguished hearts 
 Of swains that writhe and bellow; 
 
 And right away seek out, I pray, 
 Young Paullus, he 's your fellow! 
 128
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 You '11 find young Paullus passing fair, 
 Modest, refined, and tony; 
 
 Go, now, incite the favored wight! 
 With Venus for a crony 
 
 He '11 outshine all at feast and ball 
 And conversazione! 
 
 Then shall that godlike nose of thine 
 
 With perfumes be requited, 
 And then shall prance in Salian dance 
 
 The girls and boys delighted, 
 And while the lute blends with the flute 
 
 Shall tender loves be plighted. 
 
 But as for me, as you can see, 
 I 'm getting old and spiteful. 
 
 I have no mind to female kind, 
 That once I deemed delightful; 
 
 No more brim up the festive cup 
 That sent me home at night full. 
 129
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Why do I falter in my speech, 
 
 O cruel Ligurine ? 
 Why do I chase from place to place 
 
 In weather wet and shiny ? 
 Why down my nose forever flows 
 
 The tear that 's cold and briny ? 
 
 110
 
 TO LYDIA 
 
 TELL me, Lydia, tell me why, 
 By the gods that dwell above, 
 Sybaris makes haste to die 
 
 Through your cruel, fatal love. 
 
 Now he hates the sunny plain; 
 
 Once he loved its dust and heat. 
 Now no more he leads the train 
 
 Of his peers on coursers fleet. 
 
 Now he dreads the Tiber's touch, 
 
 And avoids the wrestling-rings, 
 
 He who formerly was such 
 
 An expert with quoits and things.
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Come, now, Mistress Lydia, say 
 Why your Sybaris lies hid, 
 
 Why he shuns the martial play, 
 As we 're told Achilles did. 
 
 132
 
 TO NEOBULE 
 
 A SORRY life, forsooth, these wretched 
 girls are undergoing, 
 Restrained from draughts of pleasant wine, 
 
 from loving favors showing, 
 For fear an uncle's tongue a reprimand will 
 be bestowing ! 
 
 Sweet Cytherea's winged boy deprives you 
 of your spinning, 
 
 And Hebrus, Neobule, his sad havoc is be 
 ginning, 
 
 Just as Minerva thriftily gets ready for an 
 inning. 
 
 133
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Who could resist this gallant youth, as Ti 
 ber's waves he breasted, 
 
 Or when the palm of riding from Bellero- 
 phon he wrested, 
 
 Or when with fists and feet the sluggers 
 easily he bested ? 
 
 He shot the fleeing stags with regularity 
 surprising; 
 
 The way he intercepted boars was quite be 
 yond surmising, 
 
 No wonder that your thoughts this youth 
 has been monopolizing! 
 
 So I repeat that with these maids fate is 
 
 unkindly dealing, 
 Who never can in love's affair give license 
 
 to their feeling, 
 Or share those sweet emotions when a 
 
 gentle jag is stealing. 
 
 '34
 
 AT THE BALL GAME 
 
 WHAT gods or heroes, whose brave 
 deeds none can dispute, 
 Will you record, O Clio, on the harp and 
 
 flute? 
 What lofty names shall sportive Echo grant 
 
 a place 
 
 On Pindus' crown or Helicon's cool, shadowy 
 space ? 
 
 Sing not, my Orpheus, sweeping oft the 
 
 tuneful strings, 
 Of gliding streams and nimble winds and 
 
 such poor things; 
 But lend your measures to a theme of noble 
 
 thought, 
 And crown with laurel these great heroes, 
 
 as you ought. 
 
 35
 
 Now steps Ryanus forth at call of furious 
 
 Mars, 
 And from his oaken staff the sphere speeds 
 
 to the stars ; 
 And now he gains the tertiary goal, and 
 
 turns, 
 While whiskered balls play round the timid 
 
 staff of Burns. 
 
 Lo ! from the tribunes on the bleachers comes 
 
 a shout, 
 
 Beseeching bold Ansonius to line 'em out; 
 And as Apollo's flying chariot cleaves the 
 
 sky, 
 So stanch Ansonius lifts the frightened ball on 
 
 high. 
 
 Like roar of ocean beating on the Cretan 
 
 cliff, 
 The strong Kdmiske gives the panting sphere 
 
 a biff; 
 
 .36
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 And from the tribunes rise loud murmurs 
 
 everywhere, 
 When twice and thrice Mikellius beats the 
 
 mocking air. 
 
 And as Achilles' fleet the Trojan waters 
 
 sweeps, 
 So horror sways the throng, Pfefferius 
 
 sleeps ! 
 And stalwart Konnor, though by Mercury 
 
 inspired, 
 The Equus Carolus defies, and is retired. 
 
 So waxes fierce the strife between these god 
 like men ; 
 
 And as the hero's fame grows by Virgilian 
 pen, 
 
 So let Clarksonius Maximus be raised to 
 heights 
 
 As far above the moon as moon o'er lesser 
 lights. 
 
 137
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 But as for me, the ivy leaf is my reward, 
 If you a place among the lyric bards accord ; 
 With crest exalted, and O "People," with 
 
 delight, 
 1 '11 proudly strike the stars, and so be out 
 
 of sight. 
 
 38
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 THE day is done; and, lo! the shades 
 Melt 'neath Diana's mellow grace. 
 Hark, how those deep, designing maids 
 
 Feign terror in this sylvan place ! 
 Come, friends, it 's time that we should go; 
 We 're honest married folk, you know. 
 
 Was not the wine delicious cool 
 Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile en 
 hanced? 
 And by that clear Bandusian pool 
 
 How gayly Chloe sung and danced! 
 And Lydia Die, aha, methinks 
 You '11 not forget the saucy minx! 
 139
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 But, oh, the echoes of those songs 
 That soothed our cares and lulled our 
 hearts ! 
 
 Not to that age nor this belongs 
 The glory of what heaven-born arts 
 
 Speak with the old distinctive charm 
 
 From yonder humble Sabine farm ! 
 
 The day is done. Now off to bed, 
 Lest by some rural ruse surprised, 
 
 And by those artful girls misled, 
 You two be sadly compromised. 
 
 You go; perhaps / 'd better stay 
 
 To shoo the giddy things away! 
 
 But sometime we shall meet again 
 Beside Digentia, cool and clear, 
 
 You and we twain, old friend; and then 
 We '11 have our fill of pagan cheer. 
 
 Then, could old Horace join us three, 
 
 How proud and happy he would be! 
 140
 
 ECHOES FROM THE SABINE FARM 
 
 Or if we part to meet no more 
 This side the misty Stygian Sea, 
 
 Be sure of this : on yonder shore 
 Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we; 
 
 A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend, 
 
 The fellowship that knows no end ! 
 
 E. F. 
 
 141
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 CC7 
 
 PRINTED IN US. A.
 
 AA 001 14 
 
 PS1667 E34 I 899 
 
 NIVERS TY OF CA. RIVERSIDE LIBRARY