ang with Hero's song
divide not lovers 1

Tutul old; but love ane

Ong

Sic meos amores?

ITIOR longe qvam volat aestas,
Citior qvam lux laeta iuventae,
Citior gratae qvam fuga noctis
Modo venisti, modo fugisti.
Foliis qvalis viduatur humus,
Qualis trahitur nox sine somno,
Qvale fugatis cor deliciis,
Mihi talis abit vita relictae.
Sicut hirundo, redditur aestas,
Nox, strigis instar, solium reparat,
Sed vaga, cygni more, iuventus
Ut tu, perfide, tecumqve fugit.
Mihi lux hodie crastina cordi est;
Non sine luctu sopor ipse redit:
Folia e ramo sumere qvovis
Mea nunc frustra conatur hiemps.
Lilia dantur nuptae thalamo;
Rosa matronae caput exornat ;
Violas poscit mortua virgo;
Mihi sit violae tricoloris honos.
Tumulor vivens: detur tumulo
Flos sine fletu; neu me sociae
Quamvis carae

Vanis celebrent desideriis.

K.

Fides.

VOD tot abest animis mihi displicet, at magis illud, Qvod tot inest lingvis, trita loqvella, Fides.— Displicet anne Fides ?-Credatur ab omnibus oro, Deqve Fide mundus desinat esse loqvax.

K.

Oenone.

HERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier

Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.

The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen,
Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,
And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand
The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down
Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars
The long brook falling through the cloven ravine
In cataract after cataract to the sea.

Behind the valley topmost Gargarus
Stands

up
and takes the morning; but in front
The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal
Troas and Ilion's columned citadel,

The crown of Troas.

Hither came at noon

Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn

Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.

Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck
Floated her hair, or seemed to float, in rest.
She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,
Sang to the stillness, till the mountain shade
Sloped downward to her seat from the
upper cliff.

O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida,
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.
For now the noonday quiet holds the hill;
The grasshopper is silent in the grass;
The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,
Rests like a shadow; and the cicala sleeps.
The purple flowers droop; the golden bee
Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.

My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,
My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,
And I am all aweary of my life.

TENNYSON.