Some new Neæra's tangled hair- I cannot promise to be cold If smiles are kind as yours of old I answer truly - No. You fear, you frankly add, "to find That altering Time estranges." To this I make response that we (As physiologists agree) Must have septennial changes; This is a thing beyond control, And it were best upon the whole To try and find out whether We could not, by some means, arrange So as to change together: But, had you asked me to allow That you could ever grow Less amiable than you are now, if you care But - to be serious This much-discussed rejection, Enforced by all the liquid grief And when, arrived so far, you say Then, Lydia, then . . I still shall stay, A GAGE D'AMOUR. (HORACE, III., 8.) "Martiis cælebs quid agam Kalendis miraris?" HARLES,—for it seems you wish to know, CH You wonder what could scare me so, And why, in this long-locked bureau, With trembling fingers, With tragic air, I now replace This ancient web of yellow lace, Among whose faded folds the trace Of perfume lingers. Friend of my youth, severe as true, To indigestion; I had forgotten it was there, A scarf that Some-one used to wear. Hinc illæ lacrima, so spare Your cynic question. Some-one who is not girlish now, And wed long since. We meet and bow; Affects us keenly; Yet, trifling though my act appears, Your Sternes would make it ground for tears;One can't disturb the dust of years, And smile serenely. "My golden locks" are gray and chill, For hers, let them be sacred still; But yet, I own, a boyish thrill Went dancing through me, We shut our heart up, now-a-days, And lo, the sentimental thing At once commences quavering Its lover's ditty. Laugh, if you like. The boy in me,- The fresh young smile that shone when she, Once more we trod the Golden Way, - And I, whom none can well portray, She twirled the flimsy scarf about Where we were bound no mortal knows, Well, well, the wisest bend to Fate. Its wonted station. Pass me the wine. To Those that keep Peaceful, inviolate, and deep, I pour libation! |