Graceful youths and maidens brightShall twice a day thy tuneful praise resound,While their feet, so fair and white,In Salian measure three times beat the ground.I can relish love no more,Nor flattering hopes that tell me hearts are true,Nor the revel's loud uproar,Nor fresh-wreathed flowerets, bathed in vernal dew.Ah! but why, my Ligurine,Steal trickling tear-drops down my wasted cheek?Wherefore halts this tongue of mine,So eloquent once, so faltering now and weak?Now I hold you in my chain,And clasp you close, all in a nightly dream;Now, still dreaming, o'er the plainI chase you; now, ah cruel! down the stream.Who fain at Pindar's flight would aim,On waxen wings, Iulus, heSoars heavenward, doom'd to give his nameTo some new sea.