Nay, even thy husband will believe no ill. All this a wondrous witch did tell me true: One who can guide the stars to work her will, Or turn a torrent's course her task to do. Her spells call forth pale spectres from their graves, And charm bare bones from smoking pyres away: 'Mid trooping ghosts with fearful shriek she raves, Then sprinkles with new milk, and holds at bay. She has the power to scatter tempests rude, And snows in summer at her whisper fall; The horrid simples by Medea brewed Are hers; she holds the hounds of Hell in thrall. For me a charm this potent witch did weave; Thrice if thou sing, then speak with spittings three, Thy husband not one witness will believe, Nor his own eyes, if our embrace they see! But tempt not others! He will surely spy All else--to me, me only, magic-blind! And, hark! the hag with drugs, she said, would try To heal love's madness and my heart unbind. One cloudless night, with smoky torch, she burned Black victims to her gods of sorcery; Yet asked I not love's loss, but love returned, And would not wish for life, if robbed of thee. ELEGY THE THIRD SICKNESS AND ABSENCE Am I abandoned? Does Messala sweep Yon wide Aegean wave, not any more He, nor my mates, remembering where I weep, Struck down by fever on this alien shore? Spare me, dark death! I have no mother here, To clasp my relics to her widowed breast; No sister, to pour forth with hallowing tear Assyrian incense where my ashes rest. Nor Delia, who, before she said adieu, Asked omens fair at every potent shrine. Thrice did the ministrants give blessings true, The thrice-cast lot returned the lucky sign. All promised safe return; but she had fears And doubting sorrows, which implored my stay; While I, though all was ready, dried her tears, And found fresh pretext for one more delay. An evil bird, I cried, did near me flit, Or luckless portent thrust my plans aside; Or Saturn's day, unhallowed and unfit, Forbade a journey from my Delia's side. Full oft, when starting on the fatal track, My stumbling feet foretold unhappy hours: Ah! he who journeys when love calls him back, Should know he disobeys celestial powers! Help me, great Goddess! For thy healing power The votive tablets on thy shrine display. See Delia there outwatch the midnight hour, Sitting, white-stoled, until the dawn of day! Each day her tresses twice she doth unbind, And sings, the loveliest of the Pharian band. O that my fathers' gods this prayer could find! Gods of my hearth and of my native land! How happily men lived when Saturn reigned! Ere weary highways crossed the fair young world, Ere lofty ships the purple seas disdained, Their swelling canvas to the winds unfurled!