Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house All sad and silent, without lord or spouse, And all those vast dominions once thine own Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown. 2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.] How could that paper sent, That luckless paper, merit thy contempt? Ev'n foe to foe--though furiously--replies, And the defied his enemy defies. Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute, Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute. Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind: The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind. If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not. 3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.] Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse --Though yours is ever vocal--my dull muse; You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add I scorn your love, a calumny most sad; Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart. Leave, learned father, leave this bitter course, My studies are not turn'd unto the worse; I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true. 4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.] This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled, With honey-combs and milk of life is fed. Or with the Bethlem babes--whom Herod's rage Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age-- Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take. With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd, A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd. Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given, Was taken back--on the eighth day--to heaven To whom at Alcala I sadly gave Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave. He now with yours--gone both the blessed way-- Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play; And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be A light for my Therasia, and for me. 5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.] Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd? Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd? Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight, The Senate's prop, their oracle, and light, In Bilbilis and Calagurris dwell, Changing thy ivory-chair for a dark cell? Wilt bury there thy purple, and contemn All the great honours of thy noble stem? 6. [PAULINUS. CARM. X. 110-331.]