Odes and Carmen Saeculare — Book I - XXXIII - Albi, Ne Doleas

ALBI, NE DOLEAS.

What, Albius!

why this passionate despair For cruel Glycera?

why melt your voice In dolorous strains, because the perjured fair Has made a younger choice?

See, narrow-brow'd Lycoris, how she glows For Cyrus!

Cyrus turns away his head To Pholoe's frown; but sooner gentle roes Apulian wolves shall wed, Than Pholoe to so mean a conqueror strike: So Venus wills it; 'neath her brazen yoke She loves to couple forms and minds unlike, All for a heartless joke.

For me sweet Love had forged a milder spell;

But Myrtale still kept me her fond slave, More stormy she than the tempestuous swell That crests Calabria's wave.

XXXIV.