EPILOGUE

The day is done; and, lo! the shades

Melt‘ neath Diana's mellow grace.

Hark, how those deep, designing maids

Feign terror in this sylvan place!

Come, friends, it's time that we should go;

We're honest married folk, you know.

Was not the wine delicious cool

Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile enhanced?

And by that clear Bandusian pool

How gayly Chloe sung and danced!

And Lydia Die,— aha, methinks

You'll not forget the saucy minx!

But, oh, the echoes of those songs

That soothed our cares and lulled our hearts!

Not to that age nor this belongs

The glory of what heaven-born arts

Speak with the old distinctive charm

From yonder humble Sabine farm!

The day is done. Now off to bed,

Lest by some rural ruse surprised,

And by those artful girls misled,

You two be sadly compromised.

You go; perhaps I'd better stay

To shoo the giddy things away!

But sometime we shall meet again

Beside Digentia, cool and clear,—

You and we twain, old friend; and then

We'll have our fill of pagan cheer.

Then, could old Horace join us three,

How proud and happy he would be!

Or if we part to meet no more

This side the misty Stygian Sea,

Be sure of this: on yonder shore

Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we;

A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,—

The fellowship that knows no end!