Page:Statius (Mozley 1928) v1.djvu/119

posure of that low^[1] brow, the artless curls above and the soft line of lovely hair? Where is the mouth that prattled with fond complainings, those kisses redolent, as he clung, of vernal blossoms, his tears mingled with smiles, and his accents steeped in Hybla’s honey? A serpent would hush its hissing and cruel stepdames be fain to do his bidding. Nothing false do I add to his true beauty. Alas! that milk-white throat! those arms that were ever about his master’s neck! Where now is that not far distant hope of coming manhood, the longed-for glory of his cheeks, that beard that thou oft didst swear by? The remorseless hour and Time the enemy have swept all to ashes: to us is left but to remember. Who will beguile thy thoughts with the merry chatter thou didst love? who will allay thy cares and brooding mind? Who will appease thee when incensed with angry passion and storming at the serving-folk, and divert thee from thy fury to himself? Who, when the feast is begun and the wine poured out, will snatch it away e’en from thy lips and confound all things in delightful rapine? Who will climb on thy couch in the morning and whisper thee awake, and clasping thee tight delay thy going, and from the very gate recall thee to his kisses? Who will be the first to meet thee on thy return, and leap to thy kiss and thy embrace, and put his tiny arms about thy shoulders? Mute is the house, I vow, and lonely the hearth; desolation is in the chambers and a drear silence at the board.

What wonder if thy good foster-father honours thee with so grand a funeral? thou wert to thy lord