Erotion;
From her sixth winter's snows her eager shade
Hath fleeted on!
Whoe'er thou be that after me shalt sway
My scanty farm,
To her slight shade the yearly offering pay,
So--safe from harm--
Shall thou and thine revere the kindly _Lar_,
And _this_ alone
Be, through thy brief dominion, near or far,
A mournful stone!

Certainly he had a heart, this foul-mouthed Martial, who claimed for the
study of his book no serious hours, but moments of mirth, when men are
glad with wine, "in the reign of the Rose:" {9}

"_Haec hora est tua, cum furit Lyaeus_,
_Cum regnat rosa, cum madent capilli_;
_Tunc mevel rigidi legant Catones_."

But enough of the poets of old; another day we may turn to Carew and
Suckling, Praed and Locker, poets of our own speech, lighter lyrists of
our own time. {10}




ON VERS DE SOCIETE