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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| 11. | THE ELEVENTH ELEGY.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus |  |
151
THE ELEVENTH ELEGY.
[Who was the first that forg'd the deadly Blade?]
Who was the first that forg'd the deadly Blade?
Of rugged Steel his savage Soul was made;
By him, his bloody Flag Ambition wav'd;
And grisly Carnage thro' the Battle rav'd:
Yet wherefore blame him? we're ourselves to blame;
Arms first were forg'd to kill the savage Game:
Death-dealing Battles were unknown of old;
Death-dealing Battles took their rise from Gold:
When beachen Bowls, on oaken Tables stood,
When temperate Acorns were our Fathers food;
The Swain slept peaceful, with his Flocks around,
No Trench was open'd, and no Fortress frown'd.
Of rugged Steel his savage Soul was made;
By him, his bloody Flag Ambition wav'd;
And grisly Carnage thro' the Battle rav'd:
153
Arms first were forg'd to kill the savage Game:
Death-dealing Battles were unknown of old;
Death-dealing Battles took their rise from Gold:
When beachen Bowls, on oaken Tables stood,
When temperate Acorns were our Fathers food;
The Swain slept peaceful, with his Flocks around,
No Trench was open'd, and no Fortress frown'd.
O had I liv'd in gentle Days like these,
To Love devoted, and to home-felt Ease;
Compell'd I had not been those Arms to wear,
Nor had the Trumpet forc'd me from the Fair:
But now I'm dragg'd to War, perhaps my Foe
E'en now prepares th'inevitable Blow!
To Love devoted, and to home-felt Ease;
Compell'd I had not been those Arms to wear,
Nor had the Trumpet forc'd me from the Fair:
155
E'en now prepares th'inevitable Blow!
Come then, paternal Gods, whose Help I've known
From Birth to Manhood, still protect your Own,
Nor Blush, my Gods, tho' carv'd of antient Wood,
So carv'd in our Fore-fathers Times you stood;
And though in no proud Temples you were prais'd,
Nor foreign Incense on your Altars blaz'd;
Yet white-rob'd Faith conducted every Swain;
Yet meek-ey'd Piety seren'd the Plain;
While clustering Grapes, or Wheat-wreaths round your Hair,
Appeas'd your Anger, and engag'd your Care:
Or dulcet Cakes himself the Farmer paid,
When crown'd his Wishes by your powerful Aid;
While his fair Daughter, brought with her from home,
The luscious Offering of a honey-Comb:
If now you'll aid me in the Hour of need,
Your Care I'll recompence—a Boar shall bleed.
In White array'd I'll Myrtle Baskets bear,
And Myrtle Foliage, round my Temples wear:
In Arms redoutable let others shine,
By Mars protected mow the hostile Line;
You let me please, my Head with Roses crown,
And every Care in flowing Goblets drown;
Then when I'm joyous let the Soldier tell,
What Foes were captiv'd, and what Leaders fell;
Or on the Board describe with flowing Wine,
The furious Onset, and the flying Line.
For Reason whispers, Why will short-liv'd Man,
By War contract his too contracted Span?
Yet when he leaves the chearful Realms of Light,
No laughing Bowls, no Harvests cheer the Sight;
But howl the Damn'd, the triple Monster roars,
And Charon grumbles on the Stygian Shores:
By fiery Lakes, the blasted Phantoms yell,
Or shrowd their Anguish in the Depths of Hell.
From Birth to Manhood, still protect your Own,
Nor Blush, my Gods, tho' carv'd of antient Wood,
So carv'd in our Fore-fathers Times you stood;
And though in no proud Temples you were prais'd,
Nor foreign Incense on your Altars blaz'd;
Yet white-rob'd Faith conducted every Swain;
Yet meek-ey'd Piety seren'd the Plain;
While clustering Grapes, or Wheat-wreaths round your Hair,
Appeas'd your Anger, and engag'd your Care:
Or dulcet Cakes himself the Farmer paid,
When crown'd his Wishes by your powerful Aid;
While his fair Daughter, brought with her from home,
The luscious Offering of a honey-Comb:
If now you'll aid me in the Hour of need,
Your Care I'll recompence—a Boar shall bleed.
157
And Myrtle Foliage, round my Temples wear:
In Arms redoutable let others shine,
By Mars protected mow the hostile Line;
You let me please, my Head with Roses crown,
And every Care in flowing Goblets drown;
Then when I'm joyous let the Soldier tell,
What Foes were captiv'd, and what Leaders fell;
Or on the Board describe with flowing Wine,
The furious Onset, and the flying Line.
159
By War contract his too contracted Span?
Yet when he leaves the chearful Realms of Light,
No laughing Bowls, no Harvests cheer the Sight;
But howl the Damn'd, the triple Monster roars,
And Charon grumbles on the Stygian Shores:
By fiery Lakes, the blasted Phantoms yell,
Or shrowd their Anguish in the Depths of Hell.
In a thatch'd Cottage happier he by far,
Who never hears of Arms, of Gold, or War,
His chaste Embrace a numerous Offspring crown,
He courts not Fortune's Smile, nor dreads her Frown;
While lenient Baths at home his Wife prepares,
He, and his Sons, attend their fleecy Cares,
As old, as poor, as peaceful may I be,
So guard my Flocks, and such an Offspring see.
Who never hears of Arms, of Gold, or War,
His chaste Embrace a numerous Offspring crown,
He courts not Fortune's Smile, nor dreads her Frown;
While lenient Baths at home his Wife prepares,
He, and his Sons, attend their fleecy Cares,
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So guard my Flocks, and such an Offspring see.
Meantime, soft Peace, descend, O! bliss our Plains!
Soft Peace to plough with Oxen taught the Swains.
Peace plants the Orchard, and matures the Vine,
And first gay-laughing prest the ruddy Wine;
The Father quaffs, deep quaff his joyous Friends,
Yet to his Son a well-stor'd Vault descends.
Soft Peace to plough with Oxen taught the Swains.
Peace plants the Orchard, and matures the Vine,
And first gay-laughing prest the ruddy Wine;
The Father quaffs, deep quaff his joyous Friends,
Yet to his Son a well-stor'd Vault descends.
Bright shine the Plough-share, our Support and Joy!
But Rust, deep Rust, the Veteran's Arms destroy!
But Rust, deep Rust, the Veteran's Arms destroy!
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The Villager (his sacred offerings paid
In the dark Grove, and consecrated Shade,)
His Wife and Sons, now Darkness parts the Throng,
Drives home, and whistles, as he reels along.
Then triumphs Venus; then Love-feuds prevail;
The Youth all jealous then the Fair assail;
Doors, Windows fly, no Deference they pay,
The Chastest suffer in th'ungentle Fray:
These beat their Breasts, and melt in moving Tears;
The Lover weeps, and blames his Rage and Fears;
Love sits between, unmov'd with Tears and Sighs,
And with Incentives sly the Feud supplies.
In the dark Grove, and consecrated Shade,)
His Wife and Sons, now Darkness parts the Throng,
Drives home, and whistles, as he reels along.
Then triumphs Venus; then Love-feuds prevail;
The Youth all jealous then the Fair assail;
Doors, Windows fly, no Deference they pay,
The Chastest suffer in th'ungentle Fray:
These beat their Breasts, and melt in moving Tears;
The Lover weeps, and blames his Rage and Fears;
Love sits between, unmov'd with Tears and Sighs,
And with Incentives sly the Feud supplies.
Ye Youths, tho' stung with Taunts, of Blows beware;
They, they are impious, who can beat the Fair:
If much provok'd, or rend their silken Zone,
Or on their Tresses, be your Anger shown:
But if nor this your Passion can appease,
Until the Charmer weep, the Charmer teaze!
Blest Anger, if the Fair dissolves in Tears!
Blest Youth, her Fondness undisguis'd appears!
But crush the Wretch, O War, with all thy Woes,
Who to rough Usage adds the Crime of Blows.
They, they are impious, who can beat the Fair:
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Or on their Tresses, be your Anger shown:
But if nor this your Passion can appease,
Until the Charmer weep, the Charmer teaze!
Blest Anger, if the Fair dissolves in Tears!
Blest Youth, her Fondness undisguis'd appears!
But crush the Wretch, O War, with all thy Woes,
Who to rough Usage adds the Crime of Blows.
Bland Peace descend, with Plenty on our Plains,
And bless with Ease and laughing Sport the Swains.
And bless with Ease and laughing Sport the Swains.
| A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus | |