Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/212

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With thine ivy-clad spear the tigers driving, 755
And thy turban set on thy hornéd head:
Not thus will thy glorious locks outshine
The unadorned hair of Hippolytus.
And admire not thy beauty over much,
For fame has spread the story far,
How Phaedra's sister preferred to thee, 760
O Bromius, a mortal man.
Ah beauty, a doubtful boon art thou,
The gift of a fleeting hour! How swift
On flying feet thou glidest away!
So flowery meadows of the spring
The summer's burning heat devours, 765
When midday's raging sun rides high,
And night's brief round is hurried through.
As the lilies languish on their stems,
So pleasing tresses fail the head;
And swiftly is the radiance dimmed 770
Which gleams from the tender cheeks of youth!
Each day hath its spoil from the lovely form;
For beauty flees and soon is gone.
Who then would trust a gift so frail?
Nay, use its joys, while still thou mayst;
For silent time will soon destroy thee, 775
And hours to baser hours steal on.
Why seek the desert wilds? Thy form
Is no more safe in pathless ways.
If in the forest's depths thou hide,
When Titan brings the noonday heat,
The saucy Naïds will surround thee, 780
Who are wont in their clear springs to snare
The lovely youth; and 'gainst thy sleep
The wanton goddesses of groves,
The Dryads, who the roving Pans
Drive in pursuit, will mischief plot.
Or else that glowing star, whose birth 785
The old Arcadians beheld,
Will see thee from the spangled sky,
And straight forget to drive her car.