Of eager hope, that longs to be away;
Already, 'neath the light of other suns,
My feet, new-winged for travel, yearn to stray.
Who side by side went forth from home, farewell!
How far apart the paths shall carry you
Back to your native shore—ah, who can tell?"
—(C. xlvi.)
What a suggestive thought for the breaking-up of a year's daily familiar intercourse, with the jests, confabulations, lounges, tiffs, confidences, to which it has given rise! Once interrupted, will this conclave ever reassemble in its integrity? Of those that meet, how many will retain their like-mindedness? how few will not have "suffered a sea change" that has made them other than they were in heart, tone, and affections? To two, we know, of this company, Furius and Aurelius, our poet wrote a rather savage retort in later years for a strong expression upon the freedom and licence of his life and verses; and whilst he attempted the lame defence of an unchaste Muse on the score of a decent life (as to which he had much better, we suspect, have said little or nothing), indignantly objected to the criticism of his moral character by a couple of roués sunk as low in profligate living as he hints they are. To tell the truth, the poet's mode of life at all times must have been such as to render it the only feasible course for him to fall back upon a lame and impotent tu quoque. But he may have been in no mood for their old jokes and innuendos, however
