Yet would I have thee chaste and constant be,
Not with a fearful but a faithful heart;
And that in thy fond breast the love of me
Burn but more fondly when we live apart.
She who was never faithful to a friend
Will come to age and misery, and wind
With tremulous ringer from her distaff's end
The ever-twisting wool; and she will bind
Upon her moving looms the finished thread,
Or clean and pick the long skeins white as snow.
And all her fickle gallants when they wed,
Will say, "That old one well deserves her woe."
Venus from heaven will note her flowing tear:
"I smile not on the faithless," she will say.
Her curse on others fall! O, Delia dear!
Let us teach true love to grow old and gray!
ELEGY THE EIGHTH
MESSALA
The Fatal Sisters did this day ordain,
Reeling threads no god can rend,
Foretelling to this man should bend
The tribes of Acquitaine;
And 'neath his legions' yoke
Th' impetuous torrent Atur glide subdued.
All was accomplished as the Fates bespoke;
His triumph then ensued:
The Roman youth, exulting from afar,
Acclaimed his mighty deeds,
And watched the fettered chieftains filing by,
While, drawn by snow-white steeds,
Messala followed on his ivory car,
Laurelled and lifted high!
Not without me this glory and renown!
Let Pyrenees my boast attest!
Tarbella, little mountain-town,
Cold Ocean rolling in the utmost West,
Arar, Garonne, and rushing Rhone,
Will bear me witness due;
And valleys broad the blond Carnutes own,
By Liger darkly blue.
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