Page:A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.djvu/244

238 Perhaps these are the best that have come down to us.

I wish to sing the Atridæ, And Cadmus I wish to sing; But my lyre sounds Only love with its chords. Lately I changed the strings And all the lyre; And I began to sing the labors Of Hercules; but my lyre Resounded loves. Farewell, henceforth, for me, Heroes! for my lyre Sings only loves.

Thou indeed, dear swallow, Yearly going and coming, In summer weavest thy nest, And in winter go'st disappearing Either to Nile or to Memphis. But Love always weaveth His nest in my heart. * * *

Turning the silver, Vulcan, make for me, Not indeed a panoply, For what are battles to me? But a hollow cup, As deep as thou canst.