Classic Poem

POET .

Thy calends, Mars! are come, from whence of old
The year's beginning our forefathers told:
Now various gifts through every house impart
The pleasing tokens of the friendly heart.
To my Neaera, tuneful virgins! say,
What shall I give, what honour shall I pay?
Dear, e'en if fickle; dearer, if my friend!
To the lov'd fair, what present shall I send?

MUSES .

Gold wins the venal, verse the lovely maid:
In your smooth numbers be her charms display'd.
On polish'd ivory let the sheets be roll'd,
Your name in signature, the edges gold.
No pumice spare, to smooth each parchmentscroll;
In a gay wrapper then secure the whole.
Thus, to adorn your poems be your care;
And, thus adorn'd, transmit them to the fair.

POET .

Fair maids of Pindus! I your counsel praise:
As you advise me, I'll adorn my lays:
But by your streams, and by your shades, I pray,
Yourselves the volume to the fair convey.
O let it lowly at her feet be laid,
Ere the gilt wrapper or the edges fade;
Then let her tell me, if her flames decline,
If quite extinguish'd, or if still she's mine.
But first, your graceful salutations paid,
In terms submissive thus address the maid:
" Chaste fair! the bard, who doats upon your charms,
And once could clasp them in his nuptial arms,
This volume sends; and humbly hopes that you,
With kind indulgence, will the present view.
You, you! he prizes more, he vows, than life;
Still a lov'd sister, or again his wife.
But oh! may Hymen bless his virtuous fire,
And once more grant you to his fond desire!
Fix'd in this hope, he'll reach the dreary shore,
Where sense shall fail, and memory be no more."