There in soft shadow of some ancient tree, Maidens, boys, and wine-cups be, Scattered on the pleasant grass; From lip to lip the cups they pass; Their own mantles garland-bound Hang o'er-head for canopy, And every cup with rose is crowned; Each at banquet buildeth high Of turf the table, and of turf the bed,-- Such was ancient revelry! Here too some lover at his darling's head Flings words of scorn, which by and by He wildly prays be left unsaid, And swears that wine-cups lie. O under Phoebus' ever-peaceful sway, Away, ye bows, ye arrows fierce, away! Let Love without a shaft among earth's peoples stray! A noble weapon! but when Cupid takes His arrow,--ah! what mortal wound he makes! Mine is the chief. This whole year have I lain Wounded to death, yet cherishing the pain, And counting my delicious anguish gain. Of Nemesis my song must tell! Without her name I make no verses well, My metres limp and all fine words are vain! Therefore, my darling, since the powers on high Protect the poets,--O! a little while On Apollo's servant smile! So let me sing in words divine An ode of triumph for young Messaline. Before his chariot he shall bear Towns and towers for trophies proud, And on his brow the laurel-garland wear; While, with woodland laurel crowned. His legions follow him acclaiming loud, "Io triumphe," with far-echoing sound. Let my Messala of the festive crowd Receive applause, and joyfully behold His son's victorious chariot passing by! Smile, Phoebus there! Thy flowing locks all gold! Thy virgin sister, too, stoop with thee from the sky! ELEGY THE SIXTH LET LOVERS ALL ENLIST Now for a soldier Macer goes. Will Cupid take the field? Will Love himself enlist, and bear on his soft breast a shield? Through weary marches over land, through wandering waves at sea, Armed _cap-a-pie_, will that small god the hero's comrade be? O burn him, boy, I pray, that could thy blessed favors slight! Back to the ranks the straggler bring beneath thy standard bright! Yet, if to soldiers thou art kind, I too will volunteer, I too will from a helmet drink, nor thirst in desert's fear. Venus, good-bye! Now, off I go! Good-bye, sweet ladies all! I am all valor, and delight to hear the trumpets call. Large is my brag! But while with pride my project I recite, I see her bolted door,--and then my boasting fails me quite. Never to visit her again, with many an oath I swore; But while I vowed, my feet had run unguided to her door. Come now, ye lovers all! who serve in Cupid's hard campaign, Let us together to the wars, and thus our peace regain! This age of iron frowns on love and smiles on golden gain,-- On spoils of war which must be won by agony and pain. For spoils alone our swords are keen, and deadly spears are hurled While carnage, wrath, and swifter death fly broadcast through the world.