AT LANUVIUM.

Spring grew to perfect summer in one day,

And we lay there among the vines, to gaze

Where Circe’ s isle floats purple, far away

Above the golden haze;

And on our ears there seemed to rise and fall

The burden of an old world song we knew,

That sang, “To-day is Neptune’ s festival,

And we, what shall we do?”

Go down brown-armed Campagna maid of mine,

And bring again the earthen jar that lies

With three years’ dust above the mellow wine;

And while the swift day dies.

You first shall sing a song of waters blue,

Paphos and Cnidos in the summer seas,

And one who guides her swan-drawn chariot through

The white-shored Cyclades;

And I will take the second turn of song,

Of floating tresses in the foam and surge

Where Nereid maids about the sea-god throng;

And night shall have her dirge.