Paulinus_
(1654).

1. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIV. 115-16.]

Let me not weep to see thy ravish'd house
All sad and silent, without lord or spouse,
And all those vast dominions once thine own
Torn 'twixt a hundred slaves to me unknown.

2. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXIII. 30-1; XXV. 5-9, 14, 17.]

How could that paper sent,
That luckless paper, merit thy contempt?
Ev'n foe to foe--though furiously--replies,
And the defied his enemy defies.
Amidst the swords and wounds, there's a salute,
Rocks answer man, and though hard are not mute.
Nature made nothing dumb, nothing unkind:
The trees and leaves speak trembling to the wind.
If thou dost fear discoveries, and the blot
Of my love, Tanaquil shall know it not.

3. [PAULINUS. CARM. XI. 1-5; X. 189-92.]

Obdurate still and tongue-tied, you accuse
--Though yours is ever vocal--my dull muse;
You blame my lazy, lurking life, and add
I scorn your love, a calumny most sad;
Then tell me, that I fear my wife, and dart
Harsh, cutting words against my dearest heart.
Leave, learned father, leave this bitter course,
My studies are not turn'd unto the worse;
I am not mad, nor idle, nor deny
Your great deserts, and my debt, nor have I
A wife like Tanaquil, as wildly you
Object, but a Lucretia, chaste and true.

4. [PAULINUS. CARM. XXXI. 581-2, 585-90, 601-2, 607-12.]

This pledge of your joint love, to heaven now fled,
With honey-combs and milk of life is fed.
Or with the Bethlem babes--whom Herod's rage
Kill'd in their tender, happy, holy age--
Doth walk the groves of Paradise, and make
Garlands, which those young martyrs from him take.
With these his eyes on the mild Lamb are fix'd,
A virgin-child with virgin-infants mix'd.
Such is my Celsus too, who soon as given,
Was taken back--on the eighth day--to heaven
To whom at Alcala I sadly gave
Amongst the martyrs' tombs a little grave.
He now with yours--gone both the blessed way--
Amongst the trees of life doth smile and play;
And this one drop of our mix'd blood may be
A light for my Therasia, and for me.

5. [AUSONIUS. EPIST. XXV. 50, 56-7, 60-2.]

Sweet Paulinus, and is thy nature turn'd?
Have I so long in vain thy absence mourn'd?
Wilt thou, my glory, and great Rome's delight,
The Senate's prop,