Short Poems

L ESBIA , in owning you were born
When Charles was King, you are forsworn;
And if 'twas Charles Martel you meant,
You lie again: it's evident
That one with your experience must
Have sprung with Adam from the dust!

Am I too big to suit your mind?
Is ‘finis’ long delayed?
Read but few epigrams, and find
How short I can be made!
Choose the quatrains and couplets—see
The columns end with these—
For so a bulky tome may be
As little as you please.

S CORPUS am I, the charioteer
Who gained a glorious name,
The noisy circus held me dear,
But ah, how brief my fame!
At twenty-seven my course was done,
For Lachesis, cajoled
By counting up the palms I won,
Had thought that I was old.

How glorious the Hera who hath brought
To Polycleitus an undying fame,
The perfect loveliness his hand hath wrought
Phidias the master might have longed to claim.
On Ida's mount the shepherd, free of blame,
Had crowned her as the fairest ever seen;
Aye, she had set the heart of Zeus aflame
Had he not loved his sister and his Queen.

M UNNA has asked the right for children three,
Two boys he has—a schoolmaster is he.

You like the shortest poems, not the best,
'Tis those you always read—and skip the rest;
I spread a varied banquet for your taste,
You take made dishes and the rest you waste.
And wrong your appetite, for truth to tell
A satisfying meal needs bread as well.

In cups of amethystine hue
Was rich Opimian poured for you,
'Twas common Sabine raw and new
You gave to me, and said,
‘Wilt have a cup of gold for it’?
No, I will not, for I submit
A golden cup is hardly fit
For drink as dull as lead.

Break , Victory, the palm of thy renown,
Let Favour smite her naked breast, and Fame
Don sorrow's garb; let Glory cast the crown
That decked her tresses to the cruel flame;
Robbed of his youthful prime—ah deed of shame—
The grim black steeds doth Scorpus yoke: of yore
Swiftly he drove, swift to the goal he came,
Too swiftly now his race of life is o'er.

I WAIT on you all day, my home forsaking,
Thrice climb the Aventine tho' great the height is;
Now A can stop or draw a tooth that's aching,
And B perhaps may heal conjunctivitis,
To deal with scars is C's sole undertaking,
While D can cure a case of tonsilitis:
Had I a hernia to E you'd send me;
But I'm a total wreck—and who can mend me?

If in my suffering any good you find,
I'll call at dawn or midnight, nor complain,
Nipped by the bitter blast of freezing wind,
Endure the snow and brave the chilling rain;
But not a single farthing you can gain,
And I must bear a tortured slave's distress—
Oh spare a weary wight the wanton pain
That racks him and to you is profitless!