No More Learning

The fable saith that once upon a day
The frog that aped the ox did burst:
I fancy ere this rival gets his way,
He will explode with envy first!




_II. --Epitaphs_


ON A DEAD SLAVE-BOY

Dear Alcimus, Death robbed thy lord of thee
When young, and lightly now Labian soil
Veils thee in turf: take for thy tomb to be
No tottering mass of Parian stone which toil
Vainly erects to moulder o'er the dead.
Rather let pliant box thy grave entwine;
Let the vine-tendril grateful shadow shed
O'er the green grass bedewed with tears of mine.
Sweet youth, accept the tokens of my grief:
Here doth my tribute last as long as time.
When Lachesis my final thread shall weave,
I crave such plants above my bones may climb.


ON A LITTLE GIRL, EROTION

Mother Flaccilla, Fronto sire that's gone,
This darling pet of mine, Erotion,
I pray ye greet, that nor the Land of Shade
Nor Hell-hound's maw shall fright my little maid.
Full six chill winters would the child have seen
Had her life only six days longer been.
Sweet child, with our lost friends to guard thee, play,
And lisp my name in thine own prattling way.
Soft be the turf that shrouds her! Tenderly
Rest on her, earth, for she trod light on thee.




_III. --Poems on Friendship and Life_


A WORTHY FRIEND

If there be one to rank with those few friends
Whom antique faith and age-long fame attends;
If, steeped in Latin or Athenian lore,
There be a good man truthful at the core;
If one who guards the right and loves the fair,
Who could not utter an unworthy prayer;
If one whose prop is magnanimity,
I swear, my Decianus, thou art he.


A RETROSPECT

Good comrades, Julius, have we been,
And four-and-thirty harvests seen:
We have had sweetness mixed with sour;
Yet oftener came the happy hour.
If for each day a pebble stood,
And either black or white were hued,
Then, ranged in masses separate,
The brighter ones would dominate.
If thou wouldst shun some heartaches sore,
And ward off gloom that gnaws thy core,
Grapple none closely to thy heart:
If less thy joy, then less thy smart.


GIFTS TO FRIENDS ARE NOT LOST

A cunning thief may rob your money-chest,
And cruel fire lay low an ancient home;
Debtors may keep both loan and interest;
Good seed may fruitless rot in barren loam.
A guileful mistress may your agent cheat,
And waves engulf your laden argosies;
But boons to friends can fortune's slings defeat:
The wealth you give away will never cease.


ON MAKING THE BEST OF LIFE

Julius, in friendship's scroll surpassed by none,
If life-long faith and ancient ties may count,
Nigh sixty consulates by thee have gone:
The days thou hast to live make small amount.
Defer not joys them mayst not win from fate
Judge only what is past to be thine own.
Cares with a linked chain of sorrows wait.
Mirth tarries not; but soon on wing is flown.
With both hands hold it--clasped in full embrace,
Still from thy breast it oft will glide away!
To say, "I mean to live," is folly's place:
To-morrow's life comes late; live, then, to-day.


A DAY IN ROME

(First Century A. D. )

The first two hours Rome spends on morning calls,
And with the third the busy lawyer bawls.
Into the fifth the town plies varied tasks;
The sixth, siesta; next hour closing asks.
The eighth sees bath and oil and exercise;
The ninth brings guest on dining-couch who lies.
The tenth is claimed for Martial's poetry,
When you, my friend, contrive high luxury
To please great Caesar, and fine nectar warms
The mighty hand that knows a wine-cup's charms.
Eve is the time for jest: with step so bold
My muse dare not at morn great Jove behold.