The Works of Tibullus Containing his Love-Elegies. Translated by Mr Dart. To which is added, The Life of the Author; with Observations on the Original Design of Elegiack Verse; and the Characters of the most Celebrated Greek, Latin and English Elegiack Poets |
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| I. | ELEGY I. |
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 | The Works of Tibullus |  |
ELEGY I.
Lustrations we for Fields and Fruits prepare,
Rites handed down from ancient Times that were.
Be silent all, O Vintage, Pow'r divine!
Hither, with Clusters from the Purple Vine:
Hither, O Ceres, to our Rites repair;
And bind with Wreaths of Corn thy radiant Hair.
Rites handed down from ancient Times that were.
Be silent all, O Vintage, Pow'r divine!
Hither, with Clusters from the Purple Vine:
Hither, O Ceres, to our Rites repair;
And bind with Wreaths of Corn thy radiant Hair.
114
On this religious Day, and solemn Feast,
Rest let the Ground, and let the Peasant rest;
No toilsome Plough, nor tiresome Labour Mind,
The Oxen from their weighty Yoaks unbind,
And let them at the heap'd up Rack be fed,
With each a Flow'ry Garland on his Head.
Let all to these religious Duties come,
And may no Spinster ply the weaving Loom.
But hence, far from these Altars, far remove,
Vot'ries last Night to Venus, and to Love;
Far from these pure unspotted Rites retire,
The Gods are pure, and Purity require;
Before the Pow'rs in spotless Garments stand,
And sprinkle Water with unsullied Hand.
Observe the Victim Lamb his Footsteps bend
To flaming Altars, while the Crowd attend
In due Procession, and unspotted wear
A Wreath of Olive Boughs to bind their Hair.
Rest let the Ground, and let the Peasant rest;
No toilsome Plough, nor tiresome Labour Mind,
The Oxen from their weighty Yoaks unbind,
And let them at the heap'd up Rack be fed,
With each a Flow'ry Garland on his Head.
Let all to these religious Duties come,
And may no Spinster ply the weaving Loom.
But hence, far from these Altars, far remove,
Vot'ries last Night to Venus, and to Love;
Far from these pure unspotted Rites retire,
The Gods are pure, and Purity require;
Before the Pow'rs in spotless Garments stand,
And sprinkle Water with unsullied Hand.
Observe the Victim Lamb his Footsteps bend
To flaming Altars, while the Crowd attend
In due Procession, and unspotted wear
A Wreath of Olive Boughs to bind their Hair.
115
Gods, Patron Gods, we purge the Fields and Swains,
Drive all approaching Evils from our Plains.
Let no fallacious Weeds infest our Grain,
To make the Peasant's Hopes and Labours vain.
Secure the Lamb, although his Pace be slow,
From prowling Wolves the swifter-footed Foe:
Then the glad Peasant, with delighted Eyes,
Shall see his close-stow'd Barns and Granaries;
Then shall he make the rising Flames aspire,
And heap large Logs upon his glowing Fire;
While all the Houshold with their sportive Play,
Shall to the Lares celebrate the Day,
And artfully before their Hearthy Shrine.
Shall slender Twigs in little Hovels twine.
May this succeed; see in glad Bowls they bear
The Intrails; see, the Gods accept our Pray'r.
Drive all approaching Evils from our Plains.
Let no fallacious Weeds infest our Grain,
To make the Peasant's Hopes and Labours vain.
Secure the Lamb, although his Pace be slow,
From prowling Wolves the swifter-footed Foe:
Then the glad Peasant, with delighted Eyes,
Shall see his close-stow'd Barns and Granaries;
Then shall he make the rising Flames aspire,
And heap large Logs upon his glowing Fire;
While all the Houshold with their sportive Play,
Shall to the Lares celebrate the Day,
And artfully before their Hearthy Shrine.
Shall slender Twigs in little Hovels twine.
May this succeed; see in glad Bowls they bear
The Intrails; see, the Gods accept our Pray'r.
116
Now bring me Old Falernian Wine to raise
My Mirth, Wine seal'd in ancient Consuls Days;
Pierce me a Cask full with the Chion Store,
On such a Day the Wine profusely pour.
'Tis barb'rous not to drink on such a Day,
'Till staggering Feet can ill direct their Way;
But let each Man Messala's Health commend,
And name to every Glass my absent Friend;
Noble by Birth, with growing Honours fill'd
By Gallick Triumphs, and the vanquish'd Field;
This Verse with Favour hear, those Thanks which rise
From Country Swains to rural Deities.
My Mirth, Wine seal'd in ancient Consuls Days;
Pierce me a Cask full with the Chion Store,
On such a Day the Wine profusely pour.
'Tis barb'rous not to drink on such a Day,
'Till staggering Feet can ill direct their Way;
But let each Man Messala's Health commend,
And name to every Glass my absent Friend;
Noble by Birth, with growing Honours fill'd
By Gallick Triumphs, and the vanquish'd Field;
This Verse with Favour hear, those Thanks which rise
From Country Swains to rural Deities.
I sing the Country, and the Sylvan reign,
When fav'ring Gods did spreading Oaks ordain
To shake the Acorns down for Humane Good,
To drive off Hunger with a wholsome Food.
First taught by them, their lowly Bow'rs they made
Of winding Willows, with a Leavy Shade;
They taught to tame the Oxen by their Skill,
And ease the heavy Wain with whirling Wheel.
When fav'ring Gods did spreading Oaks ordain
To shake the Acorns down for Humane Good,
To drive off Hunger with a wholsome Food.
117
Of winding Willows, with a Leavy Shade;
They taught to tame the Oxen by their Skill,
And ease the heavy Wain with whirling Wheel.
Then savage Food they left, then Apples spread,
And wat'ry Streams were round the Gardens lead;
Then Golden Clusters the glad Vines produce,
By treading Feet th' exprest the luscious Juice,
Then Water mix'd with Wine began its Use.
Fields Corn produce, when Syrius Star appears,
And Annual Harvests wave their Yellow Ears.
In Country Gardens the laborious Bee
Selects the Sweets of Flowers with Indust'ry;
Rifles the Spring, and sucks the od'rous Bloom,
To stock with luscious Food his waxen Comb.
The Farmer tir'd with ploughing up the Plains,
Gives a small Respite to his Toils and Pains,
And joyous roars out rude unpolish'd Rhimes,
With artless Measures, and repeated Chimes:
Before the Gods with Garlands dress'd his Skill,
He tries and fills with Notes the rural Quill.
The Country Farmer painted o'er with Red,
To Bacchus first the artless Chorus lead;
And for Reward had from the numerous Stock
The Leader-Goat: A Goat then lead the Flock.
Here first Spring-Flowers the Youth in Chaplets bound,
And with soft Wreaths the ancient Lares crown'd.
In Country Fields the Sheep their Fleeces bear
The Wooll, the tender Girl's peculiar Care.
The Distaff fill'd with this, employs the Maid,
While o'er her Thumb she twirls the twisted Thread:
And as th' industrious Spinster sings a Song,
The whirling Reel keeps Measure with her Tongue.
Cupid was born in Country Fields and Meads,
Where the wild Mare with untam'd Fury treads;
There exercis'd with uninstructed Bow,
But, ah! how skill'd! and how experienc'd now!
Nor Shoots at random Flocks, and Beasts, as then,
But fixes Maids, and tames audacious Men.
He makes the Young Man slight the tempting Gold,
And low-priz'd Riches, he commands the Old.—
Humbly a Woman's haughty Pride to bear,
And speak mean Soothings to appease the Fair;
Led on by him, the Girl her Plot conceals,
And to th' expecting Youth at Midnight steals.
The doubtful Path her tim'rous Feet essay,
And with her Hand sh' explores the dusky Way.
Wretched are they whom Love with fierce Desires,
Inflames and scorches with enraging Fires.
But blest the Man to whom he gently brings
Calm Love, with waving Plumes and downy Wings.
O! sacred Power the Feasts which we provide
Attend, but lay thy dang'rous Shafts aside;
Dismiss from Use thy ill-designing Bow,
And far, O! far, thy flaming Torches throw.
And wat'ry Streams were round the Gardens lead;
Then Golden Clusters the glad Vines produce,
By treading Feet th' exprest the luscious Juice,
Then Water mix'd with Wine began its Use.
Fields Corn produce, when Syrius Star appears,
And Annual Harvests wave their Yellow Ears.
In Country Gardens the laborious Bee
Selects the Sweets of Flowers with Indust'ry;
Rifles the Spring, and sucks the od'rous Bloom,
To stock with luscious Food his waxen Comb.
The Farmer tir'd with ploughing up the Plains,
Gives a small Respite to his Toils and Pains,
And joyous roars out rude unpolish'd Rhimes,
With artless Measures, and repeated Chimes:
118
He tries and fills with Notes the rural Quill.
The Country Farmer painted o'er with Red,
To Bacchus first the artless Chorus lead;
And for Reward had from the numerous Stock
The Leader-Goat: A Goat then lead the Flock.
Here first Spring-Flowers the Youth in Chaplets bound,
And with soft Wreaths the ancient Lares crown'd.
In Country Fields the Sheep their Fleeces bear
The Wooll, the tender Girl's peculiar Care.
The Distaff fill'd with this, employs the Maid,
While o'er her Thumb she twirls the twisted Thread:
And as th' industrious Spinster sings a Song,
The whirling Reel keeps Measure with her Tongue.
Cupid was born in Country Fields and Meads,
Where the wild Mare with untam'd Fury treads;
There exercis'd with uninstructed Bow,
But, ah! how skill'd! and how experienc'd now!
119
But fixes Maids, and tames audacious Men.
He makes the Young Man slight the tempting Gold,
And low-priz'd Riches, he commands the Old.—
Humbly a Woman's haughty Pride to bear,
And speak mean Soothings to appease the Fair;
Led on by him, the Girl her Plot conceals,
And to th' expecting Youth at Midnight steals.
The doubtful Path her tim'rous Feet essay,
And with her Hand sh' explores the dusky Way.
Wretched are they whom Love with fierce Desires,
Inflames and scorches with enraging Fires.
But blest the Man to whom he gently brings
Calm Love, with waving Plumes and downy Wings.
O! sacred Power the Feasts which we provide
Attend, but lay thy dang'rous Shafts aside;
Dismiss from Use thy ill-designing Bow,
And far, O! far, thy flaming Torches throw.
120
And you, O celebrate the God with Pray'r,
And call him loud to mind your Fleecy Care,
But to your self so low that none may hear:
Or you may venture to invoke aloud,
None can distinguish Pray'rs which in the Crowd
Are by the laughing Sports and Shoutings drown'd,
And by th' inflated Pipes promiscuous sound.
And call him loud to mind your Fleecy Care,
But to your self so low that none may hear:
Or you may venture to invoke aloud,
None can distinguish Pray'rs which in the Crowd
Are by the laughing Sports and Shoutings drown'd,
And by th' inflated Pipes promiscuous sound.
Sport on, for coming Night as Day declines,
Her sable Coursers to her Chariot joins,
Whilst all the starry shining Train advance,
And round their Mother's Wheels in Chorus dance;
Then follows silent Sleep, with dusky Wings
Involv'd, and fleeting Midnight Visions brings.
Her sable Coursers to her Chariot joins,
Whilst all the starry shining Train advance,
And round their Mother's Wheels in Chorus dance;
Then follows silent Sleep, with dusky Wings
Involv'd, and fleeting Midnight Visions brings.
| The Works of Tibullus | |