One child I leave to solace and uphold
Euphron hereafter, when infirm and old.
And one, for his remembrance sake, I bear
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there.
ON THE REED.
I was of late a barren plant,
Useless, insignificant,
Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore:
But gather'd for poetic use,
And plunged into a sable juice,
Of which my modicum I sip,
With narrow mouth and slender lip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with fluency untired
As if by Phoebus' self inspired.
TO HEALTH:
Eldest born of pow'rs divine!
Blest Hygeia! be it mine
To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live:
For in pow'r if pleasure be,
Wealth, or numerous progeny,
Or in amorous embrace,
Where no spy infests the place;
Or in aught that Heav'n bestows
To alleviate human woes,
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and ev'ry true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister graces Three,
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess
Much, but never happiness.
ON THE ASTROLOGERS.
Th' astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age:
One only disagreed. But he was wise,
And spoke not till he heard the fun'ral crics.
ON AN OLD WOMAN.
Mycilla dyes her locks 'tis said;
But 'tis a foul aspersion,
She buys them black, they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.
Far happier are the dead, methinks, than they
Who look for death, and fear it ev'ry day.
ON FLATTERERS.
No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found,
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,
But hollow and unsound.
For lull'd into a dangerous dream
We close infold a foe,
Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
Th' inevitable blow.
TO THE SWALLOW.
Attic maid! with honey fed,
Bear'st thou to thy callow brood
Yonder locust from the mead,
Destin'd their delicious food!
Ye have kindred voices clear,
Ye alike unfold the wing,
Migrate hither, sojourn here,
Both attendant on the spring!
Ah! for pity drop the prize;
Let it not, with truth, be said,
That a songster gasps and dies,
That a songster may be fed.
ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH. Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour ;
Who nought enjoy'd, while young, denied the means; And nought, when old, enjoy'd, denied the pow'r.
ON A TRUE FRIEND.
Hast thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your every need,
Well managed, till you die.
ON A BATH, BY PLATO.
Did Cytherea to the skies
From this pellucid lymph arise?
Or was it Cytherea's touch,
When bathing here, that made it such?
ON A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS. With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air, Eumelus gather'd free, though scanty, fare. No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss, Nor lux'ry knew, save liberty, nor bliss. Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his heirs His seeds bequeath'd, his birdlime, and his snares.
Charon! receive a family on board
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl,
Apollo and Diana, for a word
By me too proudly spoken, slew us all.
Trav❜llers regret not me; for thou shalt find,
Just cause of sorrow none in my decease,
Who, dying, children's children left behind,
And with one wife lived many a year in peace.
Three virtuous youths espous'd my daughters three,
And oft their infants in my bosom lay,
Nor saw I one of all deriv'd from me,
Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away.
Their duteous hands my fun'ral rites bestow'd,
And me, by blameless manners fitted well
To seek it, sent to the serene abode,
Where shades of pious men for ever dwell.
They call thee rich-I deem thee poor,
Since, if thou dar'st not use thy store,
But sav'st it only for thine heirs,
The treasure is not thine, but theirs.
A miser, traversing his house,
Espied, unusual there, a mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest,
Briskly inquisitive, address'd:
"Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it
I owe this unexpected visit?"
The mouse her host obliquely eyed,
And smiling, pleasantly replied,
"Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard!
I come to lodge, and not to board.”
Art thou some individual of a kind
Long-lived by nature as the rook or hind?
Heap treasure, then, for if thy need be such,
Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much.
But man thou seem'st, clear therefore from thy breast
This lust of treasure-folly at the best!
For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb,
To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom?
ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY.
Rich, thou hadst many lovers-poor, hast none,
So surely want extinguishes the flame,
And she who call'd thee once her pretty one,
And her Adonis, now inquires thy name.
Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where,
In what strange country can thy parents live,
Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware,
That want 's a crime no woman can forgive?
ON THE GRASSHOPPER.
Happy songster, perch'd above,
On the summit of the grove,
Whom a dew-drop cheers to sing
With the freedom of a king.
From thy perch, survey the fields
Where prolific nature yields
Nought that, willingly as she,
Man surrenders not to thee.
For hostility or hate,
None thy pleasures can create.
Thee it satisfies to sing
Sweetly the return of spring;
Herald of the genial hours,
Harming neither herbs nor flow'rs.
Therefore man thy voice attends
Gladly-thou and he are friends;
Nor thy never-ceasing strains
Phoebus or the muse disdains
As too simple or too long,
For themselves inspire the song.
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying,
Ever singing, sporting, playing,
What has nature else to show
Godlike in its kind as thou?
ON HERMOCRATIA.
Hermocratia named-save only one-
Twice fifteen births I bore, and buried none;
For neither Phoebus pierced my thriving joys,
Nor Dian-she my girls, or he my boys.
But Dian rather, when my daughters lay
In parturition, chased their pangs away.
And all my sons, by Phoebus' bounty, shared
A vig'rous youth, by sickness unimpair'd.
O Niobe! far less prolific! see
Thy boast against Latona shamed by me!
FROM MENANDER.
Fond youth! who dream'st that hoarded gold Is needful, not alone to pay
For all thy various items sold,
To serve the wants of every day;
Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat,
For sav'ry viands season'd high;
But somewhat more important yet-
I tell thee what it cannot buy.
No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd
Than fame to Tantalus assign'd,
Would save thee from the tomb at last,
But thou must leave it all behind.
I give thee, therefore, counsel wise;
Confide not vainly in thy store,
However large-much less despise
Others comparatively poor;
But in thy more exalted state
A just and equal temper show, That all who see thee rich and great May deem thee worthy to be so.
FROM A HYMN OF CALIMACHUS.
Nor oils of balmy scent produce,
Nor mirror for Minerva's use,
Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array'd
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid.
Not even when they left the skies
To seek on Ida's head the prize
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign,
Or Pallas, in the crystal plain
Of Simois' stream her locks to trace,
Or in the mirror's polish'd face,
Though Venus oft with anxious care
Adjusted twice a single hair.
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