Classic Poem

ODEV III.

Enchanting Lydia! prithee,
By all the gods that see thee,
Pray tell me this: Must Sybaris
Perish, enamoured with thee?
Lo! wrapt as in a trance, he
Whose hardy youth could fancy
Each manly feat, dreads dust and heat,
All through thy necromancy!

Why rides he never, tell us,
Accoutred like his fellows,
For curb and whip, and horsemanship,
And martial bearing zealous?
Why hangs he back, demurrent
To breast the Tiber's current,
From wrestlers' oil, as from the coil
Of poisonous snake, abhorrent?

No more with iron rigour
Rude armour-marks disfigure
His pliant limbs, but languor dims
His eye and wastes his vigour.
Gone is the youth's ambition.
To give the lance emission,
Or hurl adroit the circling quoit
In gallant competition.

And his embowered retreat is
Like where the Son of Thetis
Lurked undivulged, while he indulged
A mother's soft entreaties,
Robed as a Grecian girl,
Lest soldier-like apparel
Might raise a flame, and his kindling frame
Through the ranks of slaughter whirl.
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