A ROMAN "ROUND-ROBIN." ("HIS FRIENDS TO QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS.) "Hæc decies repetita [non] placebit."—ARS POETICA. FLACCUS, you write us charming songs : No bard we know possesses In such perfection what belongs To brief and bright addresses; No man can say that Life is short No man to Virtue's paths exhort In phrases less regretful; Or touch, with more serene distress, On Fortune's ways erratic ; And then delightfully digress From Alp to Adriatic : All this is well, no doubt, and tends Barbarian minds to soften ; But, Horace-we, we are your friends Why tell us this so often? Why feign to spread a cheerful feast, And then thrust in our faces These barren scraps (to say the least) Of Stoic common-places? Recount, and welcome, your pursuits: Sing Lydé's lyre and hair; Sing drums and Berecynthian flutes; Sing parsley-wreaths; but spare,— O, spare to sing, what none deny, That things we love decay ; That Time and Gold have wings to fly ; That all must Fate obey! Or bid us dine-on this day week— And pour us, if you can, As soft and sleek as girlish cheek, DAISY'S VALENTINES. ALL night through Daisy's sleep, it seems, Have ceaseless "rat-tats" thundered; All night through Daisy's rosy dreams Have devious Postmen blundered, Delivering letters round her bed,— Suggestive missives, sealed with red, And franked of course with due Queen's-head, While Daisy lay and wondered. But now, when chirping birds begin, And Day puts off the Quaker, When Cook renews her morning din, And rates the cheerful baker,— She dreams her dream no dream at all, Winged letters flutter down, and fall Around her head, and wake her. Yes, there they are! With quirk and twist, And fraudful arts directed; (Save Grandpapa's dear stiff old "fist," Through all disguise detected ;) But which is his, her young Lothair's, Who wooed her on the school-room stairs With three sweet cakes, and two ripe pears, In one neat pile collected? |