HORACE. <br /> <br />While I was pleasing to your arms, <br />Nor any youth, of happier charms, <br />Thy snowy bosom blissful prest, <br />Not Portia's like me was blest. <br /> <br /> <br />LYDIA. <br /> <br />While for no other fair you burn'd, <br />Nor Lydia was for Chloe scorn'd <br />What maid was then so blest as thine? <br />Not [xx's] flame could equal mine. <br /> <br /> <br />HORACE. <br /> <br />Me Chloe now possesses whole, <br />Her voice her lyre command my soul; <br />For whom Ill gladly die, to save <br />Her dearer beauties from the grave. <br /> <br /> <br />LYDIA. <br /> <br />My heart young Calats inspires, <br />Whose bosom glows with mutal fires, <br />For whom I twice would die with joy, <br />If death would spare the charming boy. <br /> <br /> <br />HORACE. <br /> <br />Yet what if love, whole bards we broke, <br />Again should tame us to the yoke; <br />Should I shake off bright Chloe's chain, <br />And take my Lydia home again?-- <br /> <br /> <br />LYDIA. <br /> <br />Though he exceed in beauty far <br />The rising lustre of a star; <br />Though light as cork thy fancy strays, <br />Thy passions wild as angry seas, <br />When vex'd with storms; yet gladly I <br />With thee would live, with thee would die.<br /><br />Henry Livingston Jr.<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ix-ode-to-horace/
