Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor
- While you for none were pining
- Sorer, nor Lydia after Chloe came,
- Lydia, her peers outshining,
- Might match her own with Ilia's Roman fame.
- Now Chloe is my treasure,
- Whose voice, whose touch, can make sweet music flow:
- For her I'd die with pleasure,
- Would Fate but spare the dear survivor so.
- I love my own fond lover,
- Young Calais, son of Thurian Ornytus:
- For him I'd die twice over,
- Would Fate but spare the sweet survivor thus.
- What now, if Love returning
- Should pair us 'neath his brazen yoke once more,
- And, bright-hair'd Chloe spurning,
- Horace to off-cast Lydia ope his door?
- Though he is fairer, milder,
- Than starlight, you lighter than bark of tree,
- Than stormy Hadria wilder,
- With you to live, to die, were bliss for me.