A Tardy Apology - II

You ask me, friend,
Why I don't send
The long since due-and-paid-for numbers;
Why, songless, I
As drunken lie
Abandoned to Lethean slumbers.

Long time ago
(As well you know)
I started in upon that carmen;
My work was vain,--
But why complain?
When gods forbid, how helpless are men!

Some ages back,
The sage Anack
Courted a frisky Samian body,
Singing her praise
In metered phrase
As flowing as his bowls of toddy.

Till I was hoarse
Might I discourse
Upon the cruelties of Venus;
'T were waste of time
As well of rhyme,
For you've been there yourself, Mæcenas!

Perfect your bliss
If some fair miss
Love you yourself and not your minæ;
I, fortune's sport,
All vainly court
The beauteous, polyandrous Phryne!

Eugene Field

Eugene Field was an American writer, best known for his children's poetry and humorous essays. Born in St. Louis, Missouri, he was known as the 'Poet of Childhood' due to his well-loved poems for children. After his mother's death in 1856, he was raised by a cousin in Amherst, Massachusetts. Field studied at several universities but never graduated. His most famous poems include 'Wynken, Blynken, and Nod' and 'The Duel.' Field worked as a journalist and editor in various cities, including Chicago, where he spent the last years of his life.

Eugene Field

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Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

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Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

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Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

English

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A Tardy Apology - I

Mæcenas, you will be my death,--though friendly you profess yourself,--
If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself:
"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us?
Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?"

A god, Mæcenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of me!
If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me;
Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology,
And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology.

Now, you yourself, Mæcenas, are enjoying this beatitude;
If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for gratitude.
A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous;
This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous!

Eugene Field

The Apology

    Do not be distant with me, do not be
        Angry because I drank deep of your wine,
    But treat that laughing matter laughingly
        Because I am a poet, and incline
    By nature and by art to jollity.

    Always I loved to see, I will aver,
        The good red tide lip at the flagon's brim,
    Sitting half fool and half philosopher,
        Chatting with every kind of her and him,
    And shrugged at sneer of money-gatherer.

    Often enough I trudge by hedge and wall,
        Too often there's no money in my purse,
    Nor malice in my mind ever at all,
        And for my songs no person is the worse
    But I who give all of my store to all.

    If busybody spoke to you of it,
        Say, kindly man, if kindly man do live:

James Stephens

Horace IV, II.

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine
That fairly reeks with precious juices.
And in your tresses you shall twine
The loveliest flowers this vale produces.

My cottage wears a gracious smile--
The altar decked in floral glory,--
Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while
As though it pined for honors gory.

Hither our neighbors nimbly fare--
The boys agog, the maidens snickering,
And savory smells possess the air
As skyward kitchen flames are flickering.

You ask what means this grand display,
This festive throng and goodly diet?
Well--since you're bound to have your way--
I don't mind telling on the quiet.

'Tis April 13, as you know--
A day and month devote to Venus,
Whereon was born some years ago,
My very worthy friend, Mace...

Eugene Field

Odes From Horace. - [1]To Telephus. Book The Third, Ode The Nineteenth.

The number of the vanish'd years
    That mark each famous Grecian reign,
This night, my Telephus, appears
    Thy solemn pleasure to explain;

Or else assiduously to dwell,
    In conscious eloquence elate,
On those who conquer'd, those who fell
    At sacred Troy's devoted gate.

But at what price the cask, so rare,
    Of luscious chian may be ours,
Who shall the tepid baths prepare,
    And who shall strew the blooming flowers;

Beneath what roof we next salute,
    And when shall smile these gloomy skies,
Thy wondrous eloquence is mute,
    Nor here may graver topics rise. -

Fill a bright bumper, - to the Moon!
    She's new! - auspicious be her birth!
One to the Midnight! - 't is our noon
    Of jocund thought, and fes...

Anna Seward

Horace To Phyllis

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine
That fairly reeks with precious juices,
And in your tresses you shall twine
The loveliest flowers this vale produces.

My cottage wears a gracious smile,--
The altar, decked in floral glory,
Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while
As though it pined for honors gory.

Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,--
The boys agog, the maidens snickering;
And savory smells possess the air
As skyward kitchen flames are flickering.

You ask what means this grand display,
This festive throng, and goodly diet?
Well, since you're bound to have your way,
I don't mind telling, on the quiet.

'Tis April 13, as you know,--
A day and month devote to Venus,
Whereon was born, some years ago,
My very worthy friend M...

Eugene Field

Ezra J. M'Manus To A Soubrette.

'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met,
And yet, ah yet, how swift and tender
My thoughts go back in Time's dull track
To you, sweet pink of female gender!
I shall not say--though others may--
That time all human joy enhances;
But the same old thrill comes to me still
With memories of your songs and dances.

Soubrettish ways these latter days
Invite my praise, but never get it;
I still am true to yours and you--
My record's made--I'll not upset it!
The pranks they play, the things they say--
I'd blush to put the like on paper;
And I'll avow they don't know how
To dance, so awkwardly they caper!

I used to sit down in the pit
And see you flit like elf or fairy
Across the stage, and I'll engage
No moonbeam sprite were half so airy.

Eugene Field