Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FOURTH 3. Chapter III (continued)

           The merry Loves one holiday
              Were all at gambols madly
           But Loves too long can seldom play
              Without behaving sadly.
           They laugh'd, they toy'd, they romp'd about,
           And then for change they all fell out.
           Fie, fie! how can they quarrel so?
              My Lesbia--ah, for shame, love
           Methinks 'tis scarce an hour ago
              When we did just the same, love.

                    II

        The Loves, 'tis thought, were free till then,
           They had no king or laws, dear;
         But gods, like men, should subject be,
           Say all the ancient saws, dear.
         And so our crew resolved, for quiet,
         To choose a king to curb their riot.
             A kiss: ah! what a grievous thing
              For both, methinks, 'twould be, child,
             If I should take some prudish king,
              And cease to be so free, child!

                    III

        Among their toys a Casque they found,
           It was the helm of Ares;
         With horrent plumes the crest was crown'd,
           It frightened all the Lares.
         So fine a king was never known--
        They placed the helmet on the throne.
         My girl, since Valor wins the world,
           They chose a mighty master;
         But thy sweet flag of smiles unfurled
           Would win the world much faster!

                    IV

      The Casque soon found the Loves too wild
         A troop for him to school them;
       For warriors know how one such child
         Has aye contrived to fool them.
       They plagued him so, that in despair
       He took a wife the plague to share.
           If kings themselves thus find the strife
              Of earth, unshared, severe, girl;
           Why just to halve the ills of life,
              Come, take your partner here, girl.

                    V

       Within that room the Bird of Love
          The whole affair had eyed then;
        The monarch hail'd the royal dove,
          And placed her by his side then:
        What mirth amidst the Loves was seen!
        'Long live,' they cried, 'our King and Queen.'
            Ah! Lesbia, would that thrones were mine,
              And crowns to deck that brow, love!
            And yet I know that heart of thine
              For me is throne enow, love!