She offers Pan due tributes of our wealth,
Grapes for the vine, and for a field of corn
Wheat in the ear, or for the sheep-fold's health
Some frugal feast is to his altar borne.
Of all my house let her the mistress be!
I am displaced and give not one command!
Then let Messala come! From each choice tree
Let Delia pluck him fruit with her soft hand!
To serve and please so worshipful a guest,
She spends her utmost art and anxious care;
Asks his least wish, and spreads her dainty best,
Herself the hostess and hand-maiden fair.
Mad hope! The storm-winds bore away that dream
Far as Armenia's perfume-breathing bids.
Great Venus! Did I at thy shrine blaspheme?
Am I accursed for rash and impious words?
Had I, polluted, touched some altar pure,
Or stolen garlands from a temple door--
What prayers and vigils would I not endure,
And weeping kiss the consecrated floor?
Had I deserved this stroke,--with pious pain
From shrine to shrine my suppliant knees should crawl;
I would to all absolving gods complain,
And smite my forehead on the marble wall.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35