English

You ask me, dear Pudens, to make my corrections
Myself in your copy and cure imperfections.
You're really too kind and too easy to please,
When you want my own hand in such trifles as these.

Now , now, ye Muses, sport; for 'tis the time
Our victor god returns from northern clime.
Thou first, December, bade the folk rejoice;
Soon we may cry — " He comes" — with lifted voice.
Happy thy lot! We could not let thee go
If January's joys thou didst bestow.
Soon shall wreathed soldiers fling their jests afar,
Walking attendant on thy laurelled car;
For Triumph loves the merry song and joke,
And even Caesar then will banter brook.

E' EN though the wintry North and Peuci's ice
And wanton Rhine, his horn now shattered thrice,
And Danube glowing with fierce horse's feet,
Would keep thee, sire, while thou dost bring defeat
Upon their perjured realms, thou canst not stay
Now longer from thy people: hark, they pray
Alone for thy return, whom Lord Supreme
And Father of the World we Romans deem.
In mind and thought we all are there with thee,
And in the circus so thy face we see,
That people know not, when the race is done,
Whether the Sparrow or the Tiger's won.

Doth Caesar now to Ausonia wend his way
From that far land where northern frosts hold sway?
No token sure have we, but Rumour's voice —
Fain would I think her true — cries loud Rejoice.
Glad faces at the notice-boards are seen
And martial spears are wreathed with garlands green.
Soon Rome thy glorious triumph's tale shall tell,
And hail thee once again " Invincible."
But now, that we in joy may more believe,
Come thou thyself the laurel to receive.

If for thy people's love thou hast a care,
And wilt a joyful issue grant to prayer,
Then, sire, give back our god: Rome grudges thee
To foreign lands though thou victorious be.
Our foemen have the Lord of Earth in sight,
And in thy face find terror and delight.

Thou who to Sarmate arrows ne'er wilt yield,
More trusty than the War God's Getic shield,
Woven from countless boars with talons bright
And proof against e'en Meleager's might,
Rejoice, good cuirass, in thy happy part
To guard our god and touch his beating heart.
Go thou unharmed and soon, the triumph won,
Restore our chief the palm-leaved gown to don.

PART IV.

King Solomon a field possest,
Baal-hamon field with plenty blest:
With vines of noblest kind 'twas set
This vineyard he to keepers let;
These for the fruit agreed to bring
A thousand shekels to the king.
That fertile vineyard I possess,
I always keep, and fence, and dress:
A thousand silver shekels are,
O Solomon, thy rightful share;
And those two hundred which remain,
To them that keep the fruit pertain.

The Bridegroom .

PART III.

The Bridegroom .

A little sister, fair and young,
Does to our family belong:
Her breasts appear not yet, 'tis true;
What shall we for our sister do,
When she begins to get a name,
When growing beauties spread her fame?
If, by the firmness of her mind,
She seems a wall, for strength design'd;
A palace on that wall we'll found,
Glittering with silver all around:
If like a gate, built to defend
From foes, and to admit a friend;

PART II.

The Daughters of Jerusalem .

Who's this that from the desart moves,
Leaning upon the arm she loves?

The B RIDEGROOM .

At first, my love, I rais'd up thee
Under the fruitful apple-tree;
There many a pang, and many a throw
Did thy fair mother undergo;
But after many pangs and throws,
Did her blest fruit at last disclose.

The B RIDE .

O let my name be deep imprest,
Like a fair signet, on thy breast!

CHAP. VIII.

PART I.

O How I wish, that thou, my love,
Wouldst to me as a brother prove!
Fed by those breasts, born on that knee,
Which suckled and supported me.
With how much joy I should thee meet,
Or in the field, or in the street!
There I'd embrace thee, there I'd kiss;
Nor should I be despis'd for this.
How gladly would I lead thee home!
Wither thou wouldst as gladly come,
To my dear mother's pleasant seat,
Where thou shouldst many welcomes meet.