CLVII

Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort;

He who was used to success, and to easy victories

always,

Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden,

Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted!

Ah! 'twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armour!

'I alone am to blame,' he muttered, 'for mine was the folly.

What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness,

Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens?

'Twas but a dream,-let it pass,-let it vanish like so many others!

What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless!

Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and henceforward

Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers!'

Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort,

While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest,

Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond

them.

LONGFELLOW.

CLVII

It tristis sine voce viam totaque repulsam mente movet. sic se solitum successibus uti, vincere cui pronum semper, iam ferre puellae iurgia derisumque et spreti vulnus amoris? unanimemne et qui ante omnes sibi fidus amicum illusisse fidem, pactum contemnere foedus? grande nefas, nec iam mediocri bile ferendum.

sic ira spumante fremens iecur ibat in armis.

et secum: 'mea culpa quidem est, vaecordia quando nostra fuit. quid enim vetus et non factus amori, inque paludato doctus canescere coetu,

castrorum vitam atque omnes expertus in usus,
virginibus teneris me credere tetricus ausim?
verum ut erat somni sine pondere euntis imago,
sic abeat, sic cedat amor: nam flosculus olim
qui fuit, hic idem est abiecta vilior herba,
cogor et ex animo vulsum radicibus imis

proicere. hinc ego iam superest quod vivere Marti
me dedero, pugnis flagrans et amore pericli.'
sic tristem fortunam animo, sic saepe repulsam
volvit amans, seu luce viam tenet, aut ubi noctu
membra reclinatus silvis arbusta notabat
suspiciens longoque abeuntia sidera caelo.

CLVIII

Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story!
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is
wrinkled?

"Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled.
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory!
Oh Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear One discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

BYRON.

CLIX

Hero, when that he came not, watched all night,
Into the darkness straining hard her sight;

And morning breaking and no sign of him,
With aching heart she scanned the sea-face dim,

Fearing to look because that lamp went out.
He was not there, but casting all about,

Lo, at the turret's foot his body lay,

Rolled on the stones, and soaked with breaking spray.
She rent her robe upon her, and leaped down
Headlong, distracted, from the turret's crown;
There on his corpse she breathed her dying breath,
And linked in life, those two were one in death.

CLVIII

Nequiquam laudas fastis memorabile nomen; a, decus est unum, crede, iuventa viro.

quo mihi nunc laurus? quarti redimicula lustri, frons consuta hederis myrtea pluris erat. rugosa quid serta iuvant, quid fronte corollae ? ceu rosa quae verno mortua rore madet. gaudia tolle mihi canentibus ista capillis; non ego quis emitur nil nisi fama, moror. quodsi, fama, tuas laudes insanus amavi, nominis haud cupidus grande sonantis eram, sed vultum dominae potius spectare fatentis hoc non indignum pectus amore suo. his petiique oculis, his te cepique petitam, maxima quod iubaris pars ea visa tui est : felici quotiens illuxerat illa voluptas,

munus amor famae (sensimus) ipse dabat.

J. S. P.

CLIX

Sestias in specula noctem quam longa tenebras sederat explorans, nec tamen ille venit. tum redeunte die tristis circumspicit aequor; nulla viri monstrat signa notamve dies. et spectare timens spectat tamen; igne timorem auxerat exstincto nuntia taeda viae;

en, miserum visu, iuxta sub turre quod aestus expulerat lacerum corpus amantis erat.

tum vero amentem discissa veste puellam praecipitem muro desiluisse ferunt, atque efflasse super Leandri funere vitam, sic mors unanimis sustulit una duos.

CLX

Fer. This is strange: your father's in some passion That works him strongly.

Mira.

Never till this day

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.
Pro. You do look, my son, in a movèd sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

SHAKESPEARE.