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��LATIN POEMS
��Me tenet urbs reflua quam Thamesis alluit
unda,
Meque nee invitnm patria dulcis habet.
Jam nee arundiferum tuihi cura revisere
Camum, n
Nee dudum vetiti me laris angit amor.
Nuda nee arva placent, umbrasque negan-
tia molles ;
Quam male Phcebicolis convenit ille lo- cus ! Nee duri libet usque minas perf erre Magis-
tri,
Cseteraque ingenio non subeunda meo. Si sit hoe exilium, patrios adiisse penates,
Et vacuum curis otia grata sequi, Non ego vel profugi nomen sortemve re-
cuso,
Lsetus et exilii conditione fruor. 20
O utinam vates nunquam graviora tulisset
Ille Tomitano flebilis exul agi'o; Non tune lonio quicquam cessisset Homero,
Neve foret victo laus tibi prima, Maro. Tempora nam licet hie placidis dare libera
Musis,
Et totum rapiunt me, mea vita, libri. Excipit hinc fessum sinuosi pompa theatri,
Et vocat ad plausus garrula scena suos. Seu catus auditur senior, seu prodigus
haeres,
Seu procus, aut posita casside miles adest, 30
Sive decennali foacundus lite patronus Detonat inculto barbara verba foro; Ssepe vafer gnato succurrit servus amanti,
Et nasum rigidi f alii t ubique patris ; Saepe novos illic virgo mirata calores
Quid sit amor nescit, dum quoque nescit
mat: Sive cruentatum furiosa Tragoedia scep-
trum
Quassat, et effusis crinibus ora rotat; Et dolet, et specto, juvat et spectasse
dolendo;
Interdum et lacrymis duleis amaror inest: 40
Seu puer infelix indelibata reliquit
Gaudia, et abrupto flendus amore cadit; Seu ferus e tenebris iterat Styga criminis
ultor,
Conscia f unereo pectora torre movens ; Seu moeret Pelopeia domus, seu nobilis Hi,
Aut luit incestos aula Creontis avos. Sed neque sub tecto semper nee in urbe
latemus, Irrita nee nobis tempora veris eunt.
��prayers. I am in that city which Thames washes with her tidal wave, and I am glad to be there ; I have no wish to go back to reedy Cam ; I feel no homesickness for that forbidden college room of mine. The bare fields there, niggard of pleasant shade, do not please me. How ill does that place suit with poets ! But here in London no stern master's threats can reach me, nor any of those other indignities at which my nature rebelled. If this is " exile," to live under my father's roof and be free to use my leisure pleasantly, I will not repudiate either the name or the lot they have put upon me, but will in all happiness enjoy my condition. Oh would that Ovid, sad exile in the fields of Thrace, had never suf- fered a worse lot ! Then he would have yielded not a whit even to Homer, nor would the first praise be thine, Virgil, for he would have vanquished thee.
I have time free now to give to the tran- quil Muses. They claim me wholly ; my books are my life. When I am weary, the pomp of the changing theatre awaits me, the garrulous stage and the clapping hands. Sometimes the cautious old man holds the scene, or the prodigal heir, or the wooer, or the soldier with his helmet laid aside ; or the lawyer, pregnant with a ten-years' suit, thunders barbarous words before an igno- rant court. The wily servant helps his master's son in his love-scrapes, and tricks the stern father under his very nose ; and the girl, wondering at the new ardors that fill her, loves without knowing what love is. Then awful Tragedy shakes her bloody sceptre, and rolls her eyes under her dis- heveled hair. I suffer and gaze, and find it good to suffer and gaze. Bitterness mingles with sweet tears as I see some hapless boy, torn from his love, leave all his joys untasted and fall lamentable ; or when the fierce avenger of crime recrosses Styx out of the shades, and terrifies the breasts of the guilty with his funeral torch ; or when the house of Pelops mourns, or the house of Ilus ; or when the hall of Creon laments the incest of its lords.
But I do not stay indoors always, nor even in town ; I do not let the spring slip
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