A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus and of the poems of Sulpicia. With The Original Text, and Notes Critical and Explanatory. In two volumes. By James Grainger |
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| 6. | THE SIXTH ELEGY.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus |  |
83
THE SIXTH ELEGY.
[With Wine, I strove to sooth my Love-sick Soul]
With Wine, I strove to sooth my Love-sick Soul,
But vengeful Cupid dash'd with Tears the Bowl:
All mad with Rage, to kinder Nymphs I flew;
But Vigour fled me, when I thought on you.
Balk'd of the Rapture, from my Arms they run,
Swear I'm devoted, and my Converse shun!
But vengeful Cupid dash'd with Tears the Bowl:
All mad with Rage, to kinder Nymphs I flew;
But Vigour fled me, when I thought on you.
Balk'd of the Rapture, from my Arms they run,
Swear I'm devoted, and my Converse shun!
85
By what dire Witchcraft am I thus betray'd?
Your Face and Hair unnerve me, matchless Maid:
Not more celestial look'd the Sea-born Fair,
Receiv'd by Peleus from her pearly Chair.
A rich Admirer his Addresses paid;
And brib'd my Mistress by a Beldam's Aid.
From you my ruin, curst Procuress, rose;
What Imprecations shall avenge my Woes?
May Heaven, in pity to my Sufferings, shed
Its keenest Mischief on your plotting Head!
The Ghosts of those, you robb'd of Love's delight,
In horrid Visions haunt your irksome Night!
And, on the Chimney, may the boding Owl
Your Rest disturb, and terrify your Soul!
By Famine stung, to Church-yards may you run;
There, feast on Offals, hungry Wolves would shun!
Or howling frantic, in a tatter'd Gown;
Fierce Mastiffs bate you thro' each crowded Town!
Your Face and Hair unnerve me, matchless Maid:
Not more celestial look'd the Sea-born Fair,
Receiv'd by Peleus from her pearly Chair.
A rich Admirer his Addresses paid;
And brib'd my Mistress by a Beldam's Aid.
From you my ruin, curst Procuress, rose;
What Imprecations shall avenge my Woes?
May Heaven, in pity to my Sufferings, shed
Its keenest Mischief on your plotting Head!
The Ghosts of those, you robb'd of Love's delight,
In horrid Visions haunt your irksome Night!
87
Your Rest disturb, and terrify your Soul!
By Famine stung, to Church-yards may you run;
There, feast on Offals, hungry Wolves would shun!
Or howling frantic, in a tatter'd Gown;
Fierce Mastiffs bate you thro' each crowded Town!
'Tis done! a Lover's Curse the Gods approve;
But keenest Vengeance fires the Queen of Love.
Leave then, my Fair, the crafty venal Jade;
What Passion yields not, when such Foes invade?
But keenest Vengeance fires the Queen of Love.
Leave then, my Fair, the crafty venal Jade;
What Passion yields not, when such Foes invade?
Your Hearts, ye Fair, does modest Merit claim?
Tho' small his Fortunes, feed his gentle Flame;
For, genuin Love's soft Raptures would ye know?
These Raptures Merit can alone bestow:
The Sons of Opulence are Folly's Care,
But Want's rough Child is Sense, and Honour's Heir.
Tho' small his Fortunes, feed his gentle Flame;
For, genuin Love's soft Raptures would ye know?
These Raptures Merit can alone bestow:
The Sons of Opulence are Folly's Care,
But Want's rough Child is Sense, and Honour's Heir.
In vain we sing—the Gate still bolted stands;
Come, Vengeance, let us burst its sullen Bands.
Learn, happy Rival, by my Wrongs to know
Your Fate; since Fortune governs all below.
Come, Vengeance, let us burst its sullen Bands.
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Your Fate; since Fortune governs all below.
| A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus | |