TRANSLATIONS. 589 



Lydia. 



I now love and am loved again, 



By my Calais, son of the old Ornytus ; 



Twice I'd die for him willingly, 

 If the terrible fates spared but my Calais. 



Horace. 



What if love should return again, 

 And unite us by ties more indissoluble ? 



What if Chloe were cast away, 

 And the long-closed door open to Lydia ? 



Lydia. 



My love's brighter than any star ; 

 You, too, lighter than cork, tossed on the waves of the 



Hadriatic so terrible ; 

 Still I'd live but with thee, and I could die with thee. 



HORACE, SEVENTH EPODE. 1846. 



WHITHER, whither, reckless Eomans, 

 Are you rushing, sword in hand ? 



Has not yet the blood of brothers, 

 Fully stained the sea and land ? 



Not that raging conflagration 



Should o'er fallen Carthage play ; 



Not that the unconquered Briton 

 Should descend the sacred way. 



" Eome," exclaims the joyful Parthian, 



" Euin for herself prepares ; 

 Wolves with wolves are never savage, 

 Lion lion never tears." 



Is this fury ? is it madness 1 

 Speedy answer I demand ; 



Foolish, blinded, guilty Eomans, 

 Silent, stupefied you stand. 



