LXXIX
HEROES SERVE
Upon the silent Danube's shore, When ev'ning wastes, 'tis sweet to see 'Their golden wine cups flowing o'er'; Our heroes in their revelry.
A youthful beauty pours the wine, And each will pledge a cup to her; And each of charms that seem divine, Would fain become a worshipper.
"Nay! heroes, nay!" the virgin cried, "My service—not my love—I give: For one alone—for none beside: For one alone I love and live." S. J. B.
LXXX
YOUTH AND AGE
Lo! the maid her rosy cheeks is laving. Listen! while she bathes her snowy forehead: "Forehead! if I thought an old man's kisses Would be stamp'd upon thee, I would hasten To the forest, and would gather wormwood Into boiling water press its bitters: With it steep my forehead ev'ry morning, That the old man's kiss might taste of wormwood. But, if some fair youth should come to kiss me, I would hurry to the verdant garden: I would gather all its sweetest roses, Would condense their fragrance,—and at morning, Every morning, would perfume my forehead So the youth's sweet kiss would breathe of fragrance, And his heart be gladden'd with the odour. Better dwell with youth upon the mountains, Than with age in luxury's richest palace: Better sleep with youth on naked granite, Than with eld on silks howe'er voluptuous." S. J. B.