morals goes so far as obviously to cost him serious personal uneasiness, thinks them in no danger in regard to the lady addressed in this Ode. "The whole tone towards Tyndaris," he says, "is fatherly, as well as genial." Certainly the paternal character of the relation does not strike the common reader. The lady, it is to be surmised, was no Lucretia; and solus cum sola, says the canon, non presumitur orare; least of all when, as in this case, the gentleman undertakes to console the lady for the cruel usage of a former admirer. Still there may be comfort for Mr Newman. Horace invites Tyndaris to visit him; but did she go?

As a counterpart to the picture suggested by this Ode of the pleasant woodland festival of the poet and the celebrated singer, where the talk (Greek, probably) would be polished and witty, and the repast, "light and choice, of Attic taste, with wine," let us take the picture of a homelier kind of festival, kindred in character if not quite so refined, which Virgil, or some one of his contemporaries, has painted in his 'Copa.' The one is a cabinet sketch by Watteau, the other a gallery picture dashed in with the broad brush and vivid colours of Rubens.

THE TAVERN DANCING-GIRL.

"See the Syrian girl, her tresses with the Greek tiara bound, Skilled to strike the castanets, and foot it to their merry sound, Through the tavern's reeky chamber, with her cheeks all flushed

with wine,

Strikes the rattling reeds, and dances, whilst around the guests recline!

'Wherefore thus, footsore and weary, plod through summer's dust and heat?

Better o'er the wine to linger, laid in yonder cool retreat!

There are casks, and cans, and goblets,-roses, fifes, and lutes are there,

Shady walks, where arching branches cool for us the sultry air. There from some Mænalian grotto, all unseen, some rustic maid Pipes her shepherd notes, that babble sweetly through the listening glade.

There, in cask pitched newly over, is a vintage clear and strong; There, among the trees, a brooklet brawls with murmur hoarse

along;

There be garlands, where the violet mingling with the crocus blows, Chaplets of the saffron twining through the blushes of the rose; Lilies, too, which Acheloës shall in wicker baskets bring,

Lilies fresh and sparkling, newly dipped within some virgin spring. There are little cheeses also, laid between the verdant rushes, Yellow plums, the bloom upon them, which they took from Autumn's blushes;

Chestnuts, apples ripe and rosy, cakes which Ceres might applaud ; Here, too, dwelleth gentle Amor; here with Bacchus, jovial god! Blood-red mulberries, and clusters of the trailing vine between, Rush-bound cucumbers are there, too, with their sides of bloomy green.

There, too, stands the cottage-guardian, in his hand a willow-hook, But he bears no other weapon; maidens unabashed may look. Come, my Alibida, hither! See, your ass is fairly beat!

Spare him, as I know you love him. How he's panting with the heat!

Now from brake and bush is shrilling the cicada's piercing note ;
E'en the lizard now is hiding in some shady nook remote.
Lay ye down!-to pause were folly-by the glassy fountain's brink,
Cool your goblet in the crystal, cool it ever, ere you drink.—
Come, and let your wearied body 'neath the shady vine repose,
Come, and bind your languid temples with a chaplet of the rose !
Come, and ye shall gather kisses from the lips of yon fair girl;
He whose forehead ne'er relaxes, ne'er looks sunny, is a churl!
Why should we reserve these fragrant garlands for the thankless
dust?

Would ye that their sweets were gathered for the monumental bust?
Wine there!-Wine and dice !-To-morrow's fears shall fools alone

benumb!

By the ear Death pulls me. 'Live!' he whispers softly, 'Live! I come!""

Baehr, in his 'History of Roman Literature,' suggests that this poem was written, not by Virgil, but by the Valgius Rufus to whom Horace addressed the Ninth Ode of the Second Book (ante, vol. i. p. 73).

And fear not lest Cyrus, that jealous young bear, &c. This is one of many indications to be met with in the Roman poets, that the quarrels of Roman gentlemen with their mistresses were not

usually confined to words, but were apt to degenerate even into blows. To avenge the falsehood of Neæra by handling the “tangles of her hair" with anything but a lover's gentleness was quite common; and the costliest robes of Cos were often rent into ribbons by the hands which had provided them at a reckless expense, in exchange for the privilege of caressing the form which they somewhat too lightly shrouded. Jealousy was the usual cause of these quarrels. It was easy to find the means "to make" such playthings of the hour as the Tyndaris of this poem “beautiful,” but not so easy "to keep them true." Constancy must be won by constancy, and this was the last thing the young spendthrifts of Rome, any more than those of our own epoch, thought of giving. They bought their hold, such as it was, upon their Barinés and Lesbias, at a cost nearly as great as that paid for the ruinous favours of their modern counterparts, those Dames aux Camellias, of whom too much is both seen and heard in our own day; but one may doubt whether they bought it too dearly, if they were in the habit of using these "delicate creatures" after the fashion of the Cyrus mentioned in this Ode. Even the gentle Tibullus, as submissive a lover, to all appearance, as ever sighed upon a midnight pillow," seems to have felt not too sure of being able to keep his hands off his mistress in the first paroxysms of a jealous fit. He says

"Non ego te pulsare velim; sed venerit iste

Si furor, optarim non habuisse manus."
-El. I. vi. 73.

"Beat thee! oh, that I never would!
But if I should so far forget me,
I'd wish my fingers off, that could
In any fit of frenzy let me."

That the practice was common, however, other passages of the same poet leave no doubt. At the close of Elegy x. Book I., contrasting the times of peace with those of war, he writes thus :

"But then flame Venus' wars; and battered doors

And tresses torn the woman then deplores.

:

She wails the bruises of her tender cheeks,

And even the victor's self bewails his freaks

Of frantic rage, o'erwhelmed with the disgrace
Of such a triumph in a strife so base.

But Love, when lovers into quarrels stray,
Prompts words of venom to embroil the fray,
And as from each to each the missiles fly,
He sits unmoved and inly smiling by.

The man who strikes a girl is steel, is stone,
And drags the gods down from their skyey zone.
Be it enough from off her limbs to tear

Her filmy dress, dishevel all her hair;
Enough to set her tears abroach, for most
Supreme felicity that man may boast,
Who, when the tempests of his wrath arise,
With tears can bathe a gentle woman's eyes.
But he that with his hands is cruel,-he
Should wield the sword and javelin, and be
From soft-eyed Venus evermore aloof!
Then, gentle Peace, come thou beneath my roof,
Bring ears of golden wheat, and from the snow
Of thy fair breast let ruddiest apples flow!"

The revelations of the Divorce Court show that unhappily this species of brutality has penetrated to us even through the ages of chivalry. But Damon no longer in our literature knocks down Phyllis, neither does Corydon in his angry fits annihilate the triumphs of Amaryllis's toilet. For parallels to the Roman youth of fashion we must turn to the popular fashionable literature of Paris. Thus M. Arsène Houssaye, in almost the words of Tibullus, appraises the luxury of forcing tears into fine eyes,- -a luxury poignantly sweet, but, to such sybarites as M. Houssaye, unhappily as evanescent as any other pungent pleasure. "Une femme qui pleure bien répand encore une poignante volupté dans le cœur de son amant ; mais rien ne lasse si vite que les larmes,-fussent elle les perles." ("Le Violon de Franjolé.') M. Ernest Feydeau, in the most shamelessly unmanly book of his day ('Fanny'),—it has been eclipsed by others more unmanly since, -represents his hero as striking his mistress, a lady of rank superior to his own, without a misgiving that in this he is doing anything extraordinary. "Elle s'affaissa en sanglotant sur ma poitrine. Mais la mémoire m'était revenue avec la connaissance, et la frappant au front de poings fermés, je la détachai de moi en m'écriant comme un furieux : 'Va-t'en d'ici!' . . . Retrouvant un reste de force de ma colère,

je la frappais encore à l'épaule.” To such triumphs of masculine passion has civilisation educated the most sentimental nation in Europe. Propertius, like Tibullus, professed to be superior to the vulgar vengeance of blows and violence. Thus, in Elegy v. Book II. he

says:

"The robe from thy false breast I will not tear,
Nor burst thy bolted door with frenzy in,
Nor rend the tresses of thy braided hair,
Nor bruise with ruthless hands thy dainty skin.
In such vile brawl, in such low bursts of ire,
Let rude unlettered churls their solace find ;
They never felt the Muses' quivering fire,

No ivy-wreath their narrow brows hath twined.
But words that shall outlive thee write will I,

O Cynthia fair, and not more fair than frail !
And, trust me, rumour's breath though thou defy,
My verse shall make thy rosy beauties pale."

A threat which probably appeared much less formidable to Cynthia than it did to Propertius. Poets, if we are to trust them. selves, are so often ill used. What if Cynthia had possessed "the accomplishment of verse," and had given us her version of the rup

ture?

ODE XX., page 34.

This Ode is either an invitation to Mæcenas to visit the poet at his farm (Mæcenas's gift), or, more probably, a note written with the view of preparing the luxurious statesman for the homely fare of the place, on hearing that he intended to pay him a visit. The age of the home-grown wine is marked by a flattering allusion to an incident by which Mecenas had manifestly been much gratified, the applause of the theatre on his first appearance there after recovering from a dangerous illness. Horace makes another reference to the same occurrence (B. II. Ode xvii.) The theatre referred to was that built by Pompey, after the Mithridatic war, on the opposite side of the Tiber from Mount Vatican, and directly opposite to the Janiculan Hill. It was the first theatre built of stone in Rome. In the Curia, near this theatre, Julius Cæsar was assassinated. The wines mentioned in the last stanza were all Italian wines of a high class. The Cæcuban was from a district of

VOL. II.

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