Epilogue

The day is done; and, lo! the shades     Melt 'neath Diana's mellow grace.     Hark, how those deep, designing maids     Feign terror in this sylvan place!     Come, friends, it's time that we should go;     We're honest married folk, you know.     Was not the wine delicious cool     Whose sweetness Pyrrha's smile enhanced?     And by that clear Bandusian pool     How gayly Chloe sung and danced!     And Lydia Die,--aha, methinks     You'll not forget the saucy minx!     But, oh, the echoes of those songs     That soothed our cares and lulled our hearts!     Not to that age nor this belongs     The glory of what heaven-born arts     Speak with the old distinctive charm     From yonder humble Sabine farm!     The day is done. Now off to bed,     Lest by some rural ruse surprised,     And by those artful girls misled,     You two be sadly compromised.     You go; perhaps I'd better stay     To shoo the giddy things away!     But sometime we shall meet again     Beside Digentia, cool and clear,--     You and we twain, old friend; and then     We'll have our fill of pagan cheer.     Then, could old Horace join us three,     How proud and happy he would be!     Or if we part to meet no more     This side the misty Stygian Sea,     Be sure of this: on yonder shore     Sweet cheer awaiteth such as we;     A Sabine pagan's heaven, O friend,--     The fellowship that knows no end!