Chloris Properly Rebuked

Chloris, my friend, I pray you your misconduct to forswear;
The wife of poor old Ibycus should have more savoir faire.
A woman at your time of life, and drawing near death's door,
Should not play with the girly girls, and think she's en rapport.

What's good enough for Pholoe you cannot well essay;
Your daughter very properly courts the jeunesse dorée,--
A Thyiad, who, when timbrel beats, cannot her joy restrain,
But plays the kid, and laughs and giggles à l'Américaine.

'T is more becoming, Madame, in a creature old and poor,
To sit and spin than to engage in an affaire d'amour.
The lutes, the roses, and the wine drained deep are not for you;
Remember what the poet says: Ce monde est plein de fous!

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

Garden And Cradle

Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

Ailsie, My Bairn

Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

The Twenty-Third Psalm

Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

A Lullaby

Eugene Field, Simple Poetry

English

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To Phyllis II

Sweet Phyllis, I have here a jar of old and precious wine,
The years which mark its coming from the Alban hills are nine,
And in the garden parsley, too, for wreathing garlands fair,
And ivy in profusion to bind up your shining hair.

Now smiles the house with silver; the altar, laurel-bound,
Longs with the sacrificial blood of lambs to drip around;
The company is hurrying, boys and maidens with the rest;
The flames are flickering as they whirl the dark smoke on their crest.

Yet you must know the joys to which you have been summoned here
To keep the Ides of April, to the sea-born Venus dear,--
Ah, festal day more sacred than my own fair day of birth,
Since from its dawn my loved Mæcenas counts his years of earth.

A rich and wanton girl has caught, as suited to he...

Eugene Field

Poking Fun At Xanthias

Of your love for your handmaid you need feel no shame.
Don't apologize, Xanthias, pray;
Remember, Achilles the proud felt a flame
For Brissy, his slave, as they say.
Old Telamon's son, fiery Ajax, was moved
By the captive Tecmessa's ripe charms;
And Atrides, suspending the feast, it behooved
To gather a girl to his arms.

Now, how do you know that this yellow-haired maid
(This Phyllis you fain would enjoy)
Hasn't parents whose wealth would cast you in the shade,--
Who would ornament you, Xan, my boy?
Very likely the poor chick sheds copious tears,
And is bitterly thinking the while
Of the royal good times of her earlier years,
When her folks regulated the style!

It won't do at all, my dear boy, to believe
That she of whose charms you are proud<...

Eugene Field

A Chaucerian Paraphrase Of Horace

Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken,
Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken;
Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding
Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding;
Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder
For to beare swete company with some oder;
Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth,
But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth;
Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes
That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys;
But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye
When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly.

Eugene Field

Let Us Have Peace

In maudlin spite let Thracians fight
Above their bowls of liquor;
But such as we, when on a spree,
Should never brawl and bicker!

These angry words and clashing swords
Are quite de trop, I'm thinking;
Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise,
And drown your wrath in drinking.

Aha, 't is fine,--this mellow wine
With which our host would dope us!
Now let us hear what pretty dear
Entangles him of Opus.

I see you blush,--nay, comrades, hush!
Come, friend, though they despise you,
Tell me the name of that fair dame,--
Perchance I may advise you.

O wretched youth! and is it truth
You love that fickle lady?
I, doting dunce, courted her once;
Since when, she's reckoned shady!

Eugene Field

An Excuse For Lalage

To bear the yoke not yet your love's submissive neck is bent,
To share a husband's toil, or grasp his amorous intent;
Over the fields, in cooling streams, the heifer longs to go,
Now with the calves disporting where the pussy-willows grow.

Give up your thirst for unripe grapes, and, trust me, you shall learn
How quickly in the autumn time to purple they will turn.
Soon she will follow you, for age steals swiftly on the maid;
And all the precious years that you have lost she will have paid.

Soon she will seek a lord, beloved as Pholoe, the coy,
Or Chloris, or young Gyges, that deceitful, girlish boy,
Whom, if you placed among the girls, and loosed his flowing locks,
The wondering guests could not decide which one decorum shocks.

Eugene Field

A Paraphrase, Circa 1715

Since Chloe is so monstrous fair,
With such an eye and such an air,
What wonder that the world complains
When she each am'rous suit disdains?

Close to her mother's side she clings,
And mocks the death her folly brings
To gentle swains that feel the smarts
Her eyes inflict upon their hearts.

Whilst thus the years of youth go by,
Shall Colin languish, Strephon die?
Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate,
And choose him ere it be too late!

Eugene Field