So this marvel o' mine sees naught, and nothing can hear he,What he himself, an he be or not be, wholly unknowing.Now would I willingly pitch such wight head first fro' thy bridge,Better a-sudden t'arouse that numskull's stolid old senses,Or in the sluggish mud his soul supine to deposit Even as she-mule casts iron shoe where quagmire is stiffest.
TO PRIAPUS, THE GARDEN-GOD
This grove to thee devote I give, Priapus!Who home be Lampsacus and holt, Priapus!For thee in cities worship most the shoresOf Hellespont the richest oystery strand.To PRIAPUSThis place, O youths, I protect, nor less this turfbuilded cottage,Roofed with its osier-twigs and thatched with its bundles of sedges;I from the dried oak hewn and fashioned with rustical hatchet,Guarding them year by year while more are they evermore thriving.For here be owners twain who greet and worship my Godship,He of the poor hut lord and his son, the pair of them peasants:This with assiduous toil aye works the thicketty herbageAnd the coarse water-grass to clear afar from my chapel:That with his open hand ever brings me offerings humble.Hung up in honour mine are flowery firstlings of spring-tide,