Heine'S "Widow Or Daughter."

Shall I woo the one or the other? Both attract me--more's the pity! Pretty is the widowed mother, And the daughter, too, is pretty.

When I see that maiden shrinking, By the gods, I swear I'll get 'er! But, anon, I fall to thinking That the mother'll suit me better!

So, like any idiot ass-- Hungry for the fragrant fodder, Placed between two bales of grass, Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder!

HORACE II, 20.

Maecenas, I propose to fly To realms beyond these human portals; No common things shall be my wings, But such as sprout upon immortals.

Of lowly birth, once shed of earth, Your Horace, precious (so you've told him), Shall soar away--no tomb of clay Nor Stygian prison house shall hold him.

Upon my skin feathers begin To warn the songster of his fleeting; But never mind--I leave behind Songs all the world shall keep repeating.

Lo, Boston girls with corkscrew curls, And husky westerns, wild and woolly, And southern climes shall vaunt my rhymes-- And all profess to know me fully.

Methinks the west shall know me best And therefore hold my memory dearer, For by that lake a bard shall make My subtle, hidden meanings clearer.

So cherished, I shall never die-- Pray, therefore, spare your dolesome praises, Your elegies and plaintive cries, For I shall fertilize no daisies!

HORACE'S SPRING POEM.

(Odes I, 4.)

The western breeze is springing up, the ships are in the bay, And Spring has brought a happy change as Winter melts away; No more in stall or fire the herd or plowman finds delight, No longer with the biting frosts the open fields are white.

Our Lady of Lythera now prepares to lead the dance, While from above the ruddy moon bestows a friendly glance; The nymphs and comely Graces join with Venus and the choir, And Vulcan's glowing fancy lightly turns to thoughts of fire.

Now is the time with myrtle green to crown the shining pate, And with the early blossoms of the spring to decorate; To sacrifice to Faunus--on whose favor we rely-- A sprightly lamb, mayhap a kid, as he may specify.

Impartially the feet of Death at huts and castles strike-- The influenza carries off the rich and poor alike; O Sestius! though blest you are beyond the common run, Life is too short to cherish e'en a distant hope begun.

The Shades and Pluto's mansion follow hard upon la grippe-- Once there you cannot throw at dice or taste the wine you sip, Nor look on Lycidas, whose beauty you commend, To whom the girls will presently their courtesies extend.

HORACE TO LIGURINE.

(Odes IV, 10.)

O cruel fair, Whose flowing hair The envy and the pride of all is, As onward roll The years, that poll Will get as bald as a billiard ball is; Then shall your skin, now pink and dimply, Be tanned to parchment, sear and pimply!

When you behold Yourself grown old These words shall speak your spirits moody: "Unhappy one! What heaps of fun I've missed by being goody-goody! Oh! that I might have felt the hunger Of loveless age when I was younger!"

HORACE ON HIS MUSCLE.

(Epode VI.)

You (blatant coward that you are!) Upon the helpless vent your spite; Suppose you ply your trade on me-- Come, monkey with this bard and see How I'll repay your bark with bite!

Ay, snarl just once at me, you brute! And I shall hound you far and wide, As fiercely as through drifted snow The shepherd dog pursues what foe Skulks on the Spartan mountain side!

The chip is on my shoulder, see? But touch it and I'll raise your fur; I'm full of business; so beware, For, though I'm loaded up for bear, I'm quite as likely to kill a cur!

HORACE TO MAECENAS.

(Odes III, 29.)

Dear noble friend! a virgin cask Of wine solicits attention-- And roses fair, to deck your hair, And things too numerous to mention, So tear yourself awhile away From urban turmoil, pride and splendor And deign to share what humble fare And sumptuous fellowship I tender; The sweet content retirement brings Smoothes out the ruffled front of kings.

The evil planets have combined To make the weather hot and hotter-- By parboiled streams the shepherd dreams Vainly of ice-cream soda-water; And meanwhile you, defying heat, With patriotic ardor ponder On what old Rome essays at home And what her heathen do out yonder. Maecenas, no such vain alarm Disturbs the quiet of this farm!

God in his providence observes The goal beyond this vale of sorrow, And smiles at men in pity when They seek to penetrate the morrow. With faith that all is for the best, Let's bear what burdens are presented, That we shall say, let come what may, "We die, as we have lived, contented! Ours is to-day; God's is the rest-- He doth ordain who knoweth best!"

Dame Fortune plays me many a prank-- When she is kind, oh! how I go it! But if, again, she's harsh, why, then I am a very proper poet! When favoring gales bring in my ships, I hie to Rome and live in clover-- Elsewise, I steer my skiff out here, And anchor till the storm blows over. Compulsory virtue is the charm Of life upon the Sabine farm!

HORACE IN LOVE AGAIN.

(Epode XI.)

Dear Pettius, once I reeled off rhyme Satiric, sad and tender, But now my quill Has lost its skill And I am dying in my prime Through love of female gender! Nay, do not laugh Nor deign to chaff Your friend with taunts of Lyde And other dames Who've been my flames-- This time it's bona-fide!

I maunder sadly to and fro-- I who was once so jolly! My old time chums Gyrate their thumbs And taunt me, as I sighing go, With what they term my folly. I told you once, Lake a garrulous dunce, Of my all consuming passion, And I rolled my eyes In tragedy wise And raved in lovesick fashion.

And when I'd aired my woes profound You volunteered this warning: "Horace, go light On the bowl to-night-- Ten hours of sleep will bring you round All right to-morrow morning!" Now ten hours sleep May do a heap For callow hearts a-patter, But I tell you, sir, This affair du coeur Of mine is a serious matter!