Youth, beauty, strength, the trophy, and the bust,
Not these his honours to the Tomb we trust;
But modest manners, innocent of art,
The open nature, and the moral heart.
Such love of truth as ancient Britains bore,
Such fortitude, as never Roman more:
And call'd betimes, his task of glory done,
To mix with nature's social as his own.

Oh, lovely was our Rosalie
Unto her mother and to me;
Her gentle mother's image smiled
In Rosalie, our only child.

But gone is little Rosalie, —
Gone from her mother and from me;
An angel loved her when she smiled, —
Loved Rosalie, our only child.

Encradled like a tint of light
Within a dew-drop, frail and bright,
Was the sweet spirit, pure and mild,
Of Rosalie, our only child.

Oh, nevermore shall on my knee,
No, nevermore! sit Rosalie,
Who all our weary hours beguiled,
Sweet Rosalie, our only child.

Ye woeful sires, whose causeless hate hath bred
Grief to yourselves, death to my love and me,
Let us not be disjoined when we are dead,
Though we alive conjoined could never be.
Though cruel stars denied us two one bed,
Yet in one tomb us two entombed see.
Like as the dart was one, and one the knife,
That did begin our love and end our life.

THE Gazel OF THE M ASTER

Yield not the soul to pang of Love, for Love's the soul's fierce glow;
That Love's the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.
Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;
For all that comes from fancy wild of Love's pang is grief's throe.
Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained sabre thee to slay;
Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.
Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see —

If love of mine could witch you back to earth
It would be when the bat is on the wing,
The lawn dew-drenched, the first stars glimmering,
The moon a golden slip of seven nights' birth.
If prayer of mine could bring you it would be
To this wraith-flowered, jasmine-scented place
Where shadow trees their branches interlace;
Phantoms we'd tread a land of fantasy.
If love could hold you I would bid you wait
Till the pearl sky is indigo and till
The plough shows silver lamps beyond the hill
And Hesperus holds his torch above the gate.

1

Since mine eyes beheld him,
Blind I seem to be;
Wheresoe'er they wander,
Him alone they see.
Round me glows his image,
In a waking dream;
From the darkness rising
Brighter doth it beam.

All is drear and gloomy
That around me lies;
Now my sister's pastimes
I no longer prize;
In my chamber rather
Would I weep alone;
Since my eyes beheld him
Blind methinks I'm grown.

2

He, the best of all, the noblest,

RENUNCIATION .

To treasure thoughts of kindness shown
And feel no duty left undone, —
No outraged faith, no league of love
Betrayed in mock appeal to Jove —
If this be pleasure, many a joy,
Catullus, waits you by and by
From this ungrateful love! By you
All kindly things to say or do
Were said and done; — all to no good
Offered to such ingratitude.
Why further rack yourself? O borrow
Strength for withdrawal yet more thorough,
And grieve not Heaven by wooing Sorrow!
'T is hard at once old love to quell.

LOVE IN RUINS .

Lesbia! you used to say you were
Catullus' own;
To me not Jove would you prefer,
And thereupon
I loved you as no mistress mere,
But as a son
Or daughter's husband is held dear —
Now you are known!
And though my passion 's livelier
And fiercer grown,
More vile and worthless you appear —
The wrong you 've done

RECONCILIATION .

When he who longs and sighs,
Though hope has fled,
Stumbles upon the prize,
Oh, joy indeed!
Such joy is mine, that thou,
Dearer than gold,
Lesbia, reseekest now
Thy love of old;
Thyself reseek'st my love
When hope had fled!
O day all days above,
Be honored!
Who happier lives than I?
Or who shall say

LOVE DETECTED .

Lesbia does nothing else but flout me,
She cannot hold her tongue about me!
Then hang me, but she loves me dearly!
What proof? My own behaviour clearly:
For I attack her just as stoutly,
Yet hang me! her I love devoutly.