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 |
 |
|
 | I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | ELEGY IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Works of Tibullus |  |
114
ELEGY IV.
I have my Mistress, and my Chains in view,
My Native much-lov'd Liberty adieu.
To me a cruel Servitude's assign'd,
In Gives constrain'd, in heavy Chains confin'd;
Fetters, with cruel Love, will ne'er unbind:
And whether I deserve the fatal Ill,
If culpable, or no, Love rages still.
My Native much-lov'd Liberty adieu.
To me a cruel Servitude's assign'd,
In Gives constrain'd, in heavy Chains confin'd;
Fetters, with cruel Love, will ne'er unbind:
And whether I deserve the fatal Ill,
If culpable, or no, Love rages still.
I burn, I burn, Oh! far thy Eyes remove,
Too cruel Maid, the Torches of my Love;
Oh! that uncapable of Griefs like these,
Or that Insensibility were Ease.
Ah! how much rather on some Mountain's Brow
I'd stand a Stone o'erspread with Drifts of Snow.
Or that a Rock expos'd to Storms I stood
Lash'd by the Waves, and by th' outragious Flood:
Now bitter is the Day, bitter the Light,
More bitter still the lonely Shades of Night.
O'er every Hour is Bitterness diffus'd,
In every Cup is bitter Gall infus'd;
Nor Elegies avail with moving Vein,
Nor Phæbus, Author of the Vocal Strain;
For only Gifts can please the greedy Maid,
I must to Presents have recourse for Aid:
Hence then ye Muses, and the Vocal Train,
If helpless you to ease a Lover's Pain.
I not invoke you to inspire my Lays,
To sing of Wars, or sound the Warrior's Praise;
Nor trace the radiant Circuit of the Sun,
Nor mark when he his wheeling Course has done,
The oblique Journey of the silent Moon.
All the Advantage I by Verse would find,
Is but Access to find my Mistress kind:
If useless you a boon like this to gain;
Begone, ye Muses, hence, your Powers are vain.
Too cruel Maid, the Torches of my Love;
Oh! that uncapable of Griefs like these,
Or that Insensibility were Ease.
Ah! how much rather on some Mountain's Brow
I'd stand a Stone o'erspread with Drifts of Snow.
Or that a Rock expos'd to Storms I stood
Lash'd by the Waves, and by th' outragious Flood:
Now bitter is the Day, bitter the Light,
More bitter still the lonely Shades of Night.
115
In every Cup is bitter Gall infus'd;
Nor Elegies avail with moving Vein,
Nor Phæbus, Author of the Vocal Strain;
For only Gifts can please the greedy Maid,
I must to Presents have recourse for Aid:
Hence then ye Muses, and the Vocal Train,
If helpless you to ease a Lover's Pain.
I not invoke you to inspire my Lays,
To sing of Wars, or sound the Warrior's Praise;
Nor trace the radiant Circuit of the Sun,
Nor mark when he his wheeling Course has done,
The oblique Journey of the silent Moon.
All the Advantage I by Verse would find,
Is but Access to find my Mistress kind:
If useless you a boon like this to gain;
Begone, ye Muses, hence, your Powers are vain.
But I by Blood or Rob'ry must prepare
Dishonest Presents to oblige the Fair;
That I no more may stretch'd, and weeping wait
A prostrate Suppliant at th' obdurate Gate;
Or I must steal the Gods suspended Signs,
Their Altars rob, and pilfer from their Shrines;
But most from Venus' sacred Trophies tear,
She of the Rapine claims the largest Share.
'Tis she compells me to the wicked Deed,
Twas she, the mercenary Maid decreed.
Dishonest Presents to oblige the Fair;
132
A prostrate Suppliant at th' obdurate Gate;
Or I must steal the Gods suspended Signs,
Their Altars rob, and pilfer from their Shrines;
But most from Venus' sacred Trophies tear,
She of the Rapine claims the largest Share.
'Tis she compells me to the wicked Deed,
Twas she, the mercenary Maid decreed.
Oh! may the Wretch eternally be curst
Who dug for Gems, and found green Em'ralds first.
Who fram'd the glowing Robe for Woman's Pride,
And snowy Wool in Tyrian Purple dy'd:
He gave the greedy Mind, the maid he dress'd
In the thin Texture of the Cöan Vest.
The Pearl with lucid Orb the shining Stores,
He cull'd from ruddy Seas, and shelly Shores.
Hence Ills arose, then Doors first knew the Key,
And Dogs began to guard the fasten'd Way.
But bring your Price, come with a Gift prepar'd,
And you may quickly influence the Guard.
The Key no more forbids the op'ning Door,
And ev'n th' obliging Dog will bark no more.
Who dug for Gems, and found green Em'ralds first.
Who fram'd the glowing Robe for Woman's Pride,
And snowy Wool in Tyrian Purple dy'd:
He gave the greedy Mind, the maid he dress'd
In the thin Texture of the Cöan Vest.
The Pearl with lucid Orb the shining Stores,
He cull'd from ruddy Seas, and shelly Shores.
Hence Ills arose, then Doors first knew the Key,
And Dogs began to guard the fasten'd Way.
133
And you may quickly influence the Guard.
The Key no more forbids the op'ning Door,
And ev'n th' obliging Dog will bark no more.
Ah! whosoever unthinkingly confin'd,
A heavenly Body, and an earthly Mind,
He with one Good a many Ills conjoin'd.
Hence Chiding first began, and Tears, and Blame,
And Love from this receiv'd an evil Name.
A heavenly Body, and an earthly Mind,
He with one Good a many Ills conjoin'd.
Hence Chiding first began, and Tears, and Blame,
And Love from this receiv'd an evil Name.
But you who aw'd by Interest, sway'd by Gain,
Reject the faithful Vot'ries of your Train;
May greedy Flames, the cursed Wealth devour,
Made fiercer by the Wind's provoking Power;
While Youths behold the Sight in sportive Game,
Smile at the spreading Smoke and rising Flame;
Nor one officious to oppose the Rage
Shall Water throw its Fury to asswage:
Or seiz'd by Death, may not one Friend appear
To close thy Eyes, or weep behind thy Bier;
Nor on thy Pile be one small Present laid
To 'nrich thy Ashes, or oblige thy Shade.
Reject the faithful Vot'ries of your Train;
May greedy Flames, the cursed Wealth devour,
Made fiercer by the Wind's provoking Power;
While Youths behold the Sight in sportive Game,
Smile at the spreading Smoke and rising Flame;
Nor one officious to oppose the Rage
Shall Water throw its Fury to asswage:
118
To close thy Eyes, or weep behind thy Bier;
Nor on thy Pile be one small Present laid
To 'nrich thy Ashes, or oblige thy Shade.
But the kind lovely Maid, whose gen'rous Soul
No Wealth can stain, or sordid Bribes controul;
Although a hundred rolling Years are o're
When Age deforms, and Beauty fires no more:
Yet Crowds shall come to view her Obsequies,
And close the flaming Pile with weeping Eyes.
No Wealth can stain, or sordid Bribes controul;
Although a hundred rolling Years are o're
When Age deforms, and Beauty fires no more:
Yet Crowds shall come to view her Obsequies,
And close the flaming Pile with weeping Eyes.
And some old Man, whose Youth had felt her Charms,
Who had been often happy in her Arms,
Shall with a grateful gen'rous Ardour come,
And hang his annual Garland on her Tomb,
With throbbing Heart, and as he comes away,
With Sighs and longing Eyes reverted say;
Oh! silent may'st thou sleep in pleasing Rest,
And the light Turf lay easie on thy Breast.
Who had been often happy in her Arms,
Shall with a grateful gen'rous Ardour come,
And hang his annual Garland on her Tomb,
With throbbing Heart, and as he comes away,
With Sighs and longing Eyes reverted say;
119
And the light Turf lay easie on thy Breast.
'Tis Truth, but Truth, alas, affords no Aid,
For arbitrary Love will be obey'd.
Let Nemesis desire, at her Command,
I'd sell my Seat and old paternal Land;
Nay, let her all the pois'nous Simples brew,
That ever Circe or Medea knew:
Cull all the Drugs around the pontick Shore,
And deadlier Poisons in the Mixture pour,
Let her but with a Smile present the Cup,
And willingly I'll quaff the Potion up.
For arbitrary Love will be obey'd.
Let Nemesis desire, at her Command,
I'd sell my Seat and old paternal Land;
Nay, let her all the pois'nous Simples brew,
That ever Circe or Medea knew:
Cull all the Drugs around the pontick Shore,
And deadlier Poisons in the Mixture pour,
Let her but with a Smile present the Cup,
And willingly I'll quaff the Potion up.
| The Works of Tibullus | |