She in the vine-vat will our clusters press, And tread the rich must with her dancing feet; She oft my sheep will number, oft caress Some pretty, prattling slave with kisses sweet. She offers Pan due tributes of our wealth, Grapes for the vine, and for a field of corn Wheat in the ear, or for the sheep-fold's health Some frugal feast is to his altar borne. Of all my house let her the mistress be! I am displaced and give not one command! Then let Messala come! From each choice tree Let Delia pluck him fruit with her soft hand! To serve and please so worshipful a guest, She spends her utmost art and anxious care; Asks his least wish, and spreads her dainty best, Herself the hostess and hand-maiden fair. Mad hope! The storm-winds bore away that dream Far as Armenia's perfume-breathing bids. Great Venus! Did I at thy shrine blaspheme? Am I accursed for rash and impious words? Had I, polluted, touched some altar pure, Or stolen garlands from a temple door-- What prayers and vigils would I not endure, And weeping kiss the consecrated floor? Had I deserved this stroke,--with pious pain From shrine to shrine my suppliant knees should crawl; I would to all absolving gods complain, And smite my forehead on the marble wall. Thou who thy gibes at love canst scarce repress, Beware! The angry god may strike again! I knew a youth who laughed at love's distress, And bore, when old, the worst that lovers ken. His poor, thin voice he did compel to woo, And curled, for mockery, his scanty hair; Spied on her door, as slighted lovers do, And stopped her maid in any public square. The forum-loungers thrust him roughly by, And spat upon their breasts, such luck to turn: Have mercy, Venus! Thy true follower I! Why wouldst thou, goddess, thine own harvest burn! ELEGY THE SIXTH A LOVER'S CURSES I strove with wine my sorrows to efface. But wine turned tears was all the drink I knew; I tried a new, strange lass. Each cold embrace Brought my true love to mind, and colder grew. "I was bewitched" she cried "by shameful charms;" And things most vile she vowed she could declare. Bewitched! 'tis true! but by thy soft white arms, Thy lovely brows and lavish golden hair! Such charms had Thetis, born in Nereid cave, Who drives her dolphin-chariot fast and free To Peleus o'er the smooth Haemonian wave, Love-guided o'er long leagues of azure sea. Ah me! the magic that dissolves my health Is a rich suitor in my mistress' eye, Whom that vile bawd led to her door by stealth And opened it, and bade me pine and die. That hag should feed on blood. Her festive bowls Should be rank gall: and round her haunted room Wild, wailing ghosts and monitory owls Should flit forever shrieking death and doom.