Classic Poem

When thou to lounge mid Baiae's haunts art fain,
Near road first trackt by toiling Hercules,
Admiring now Thesprotus' old domain,
Now famed Misenum, hanging o'er the seas;

Say, dost thou care for me, who watch alone?
In thy love's corner hast thou room to spare?
Or have my lays from thy remembrance flown,
Some treacherous stranger finding harbour there?

Rather I 'd deem that, trusting tiny oar,
Thou guidest slender skiff in Lucrine wave;
Or in a sheltered creek, by Teuthras' shore,
Dost cleave thy bath, as in lone ocean cave,

Than for seductive whispers leisure find,
Reclining softly on the silent sand,
And mutual gods clean banish from thy mind,
As flirt is wont, no chaperon near at hand.

I know, of course, thy blameless character,
Yet in thy fond behalf all court I fear.
Ah! pardon if my verse thy choler stir,
Blame but my jealous care for one so dear.

Mother and life beneath thy love I prize,
Cynthia to me is home, relations, bliss;
Come I to friends with bright or downcast eyes —
'T is Cynthia's mood is the sole cause of this.

Ah! let her, then, loose Baiae's snares eschew —
Oft from its gay parades do quarrels spring,
And shores that oft have made true love untrue:
A curse on them, for lovers' hearts they wring.