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To A Faun.
WOOER of young Nymphs who fly thee,
Lightly o'er my sunlit lawn, Trip, and go, nor injured by thee
Be my weanling herds, O Faun:
If the kid his doomed head bows, and
Brims with wine the loving cup, When the year is full; and thousand
Scents from altars boar go up.
Each flock in the rich grass gambols
When the month comes which is thine ; And the happy village rambles
Fieldward with the idle kine:
Lambs play on, the wolf their neighbour :
Wild woods deck thee with their spoil; And with glee the sons of labour
Stamp upon their foe the soil.
LYCE, the gods have listened to my prayer:
And still would'st thou seem fair ;
Still unshamed drink, and play,
And, wine-flushed, woo slow-answering Love with
weak Shrill pipings. With young Chia He doth dwell,
Queen of the harp; her cheek
Is his sweet citadel :
He marked the withered oak, and on he flew Intolerant; shrank from Lyce grim and wrinkled,
Whose teeth are ghastly-blue,
Whose temples snow-besprinkled :
Not purple, not the brightest gem that glows, Brings back to her the years which, fleeting fast,
Time hath once shut in those
Dark annals of the Past.
Oh, where is all thy loveliness ? soft hue
Her, who breathed love, who drew
My heart out of my breast ?
Fair, and far-famed, and subtly sweet, thy face Ranked next to Cinara's. But to Cinara fate Gave but a few years' grace;
And lets live, all too late,
Lyce, the rival of the beldam crow:
The torch that long ago
Beamed bright, a cinder now.
“ HAPPY—who far from turmoil, like the men
That lived in days gone by,
Nor dreams of usury! .
He dreads not angry seas :
He gets him far from these.
With poplars tall to wed:
Fair branches in its stead;.
Into the valley deep:
Or shear his tender sheep.
Peeps o'er the fallows bare; Then with what glee his purpling grape is picked,
And newly-grafted pear,
For you, Priapus and Silvanus strict
Guard of his land—to share. -Now ’neath an ancient oak, entangled now
In green grass, will he lie;
Is heard the wood-birds cry;
To sing him lullaby. -But when the wintry skies Jove's thunder rives,
And down the snow-storms pour;
The hound-encompassed boar :
The fat thrush to surprise ;
Either a glorious prize!
That fret a lover sighs ?
“Does a pure wife his household cares divide,
Watch his sweet little ones ;(The Sabine's thus and swift Apulian's bride
Toiled 'neath Apulia's suns ;)