CARMEN IV. THE DEDICATION OF THE PINNACE.

That yacht of mine that here you see,
My friends, may boast herself to be
The swiftest of all crafts afloat,
For never yet hath any boat
Outstripped her in her rapid course
Whether propelled by rowers' force
Or whether with a full-spread sail
She flew before a favouring gale.
And this, she says, nor Hadria's shore
On which the raging billows roar,

Nor distant Rhodus' famous bay,
Nor Cyclad islands can gainsay.
This too, she says, will rugged Thrace,
Propontis, and the tides which race

Along the Pontic gulf declare,

This well doth Pontus know, for there
Of old my boat 'mid leafy trees
With foliage rustling to the breeze
Stood on Cytorus' mountain brow;
This, too, Amastris' hill doth know,
And thou, Cytorus' box-clad crest,
My skiff avers, for erst did rest
Upon thy lofty top the tree

Which made my boat, and 'twas thy sea
Which first received her plashing oar
That through the deep her master bore
Safe o'er the madly-seething seas,
Whether there piped the rising breeze
From right or left, or when the gale
Filled from both sides the swelling sail.
She says, too, that she ne'er has made
Vows to the sea-gods for their aid,
When she into this limpid mere

From furthest bounds her course did steer,

All this is o'er, now rest at last

My boat enjoys, her toils are past,

Twin Castor, dedicate is she

To thy Twin brother, and to thee.

CARMEN V.-TO LESBIA.

Let us live, my Lesbia fair,
Loving ever while we may,
Not a farthing will we care
What the surly grey-beards say,
Suns may set again to rise

But when our brief light is o'er
Endless night shall veil our eyes
Closed in sleep for evermore.

So do thou bestow on me

First a thousand kisses, then

Let the tale a hundred be,

Next a thousand give again,

Then a hundred, hurrying on,

Hundreds, thousands more bestow,

So that when our pastime's done We may never come to know What has been our count of joy, Nor may envy those sweet blisses With its evil blight destroy,

Reckoning up our tale of kisses.

CARMEN VI.-TO FLAVIUS.

Your charmer's beauty still would be,
My friend, full well I deem

Of all the talk you have with me

The everlasting theme,

Were it not that this precious maid
Has neither charms nor grace,
It must be some unhealthy jade
You love, and dare not face
My scorn, and so you never own
The love with which you burn,
But you don't spend your nights alone,
As we can well discern.

Your couch is decked with garlands rare,
And drenched with Syrian scent,

These little facts alone declare

That you on love are bent,

The pillow pressed on either side,
-'Tis useless to conceal-

The creaking bed, your restless stride

All these a tale reveal;

Your lank appearance too may show
What can not hidden be,

So let us all about her know,
Or fair or foul is she?

Tell us and I the praise will sing

Of you and her you love,

So that your fame through heaven shall ring And reach the gods above.

CARMEN VII.-TO LESBIA.

Dost thou ask how many kisses,
Lesbia, e'er could surfeit me,

Or how soon with those sweet blisses
Satisfied my love would be?
Countless as betwixt the shrine

Of great Jove on Libya's strand
And old Battus' tomb divine

Lie the heaps of burning sand; Countless as the stars which see In the quiet hush of night Lovers' joys wrought secretly

Hidden from day's garish light,

Thus unnumbered kisses, which

Curious watchers ne'er could count

Or with evil tongue bewitch

Reckoning up their full amount, These enough for him would be

Who is mad with love for thee.