TO MISTRESS PYRRHA
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II
What dainty boy with sweet perfumes 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. 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. |
TO MELPOMENE
| Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared: Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; 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! 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 estate I've won, And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! |