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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TIBULLUS. BOOK THE SECOND.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus |  |
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TIBULLUS. BOOK THE SECOND.
ELEGY THE FIRST.
[Attend! and favour! as our Sires ordain]
Attend! and favour! as our Sires ordain;
The Fields we lustrate, and the rising Grain:
Come, Bacchus, and thy Horns with Grapes surround;
Come, Ceres, with thy wheaten Garland crown'd;
This hallow'd Day suspend each Swain his Toil,
Rest let the Plough, and rest th'uncultur'd Soil:
Unyoke the Steer, his Racks heap high with Hay,
And deck with Wreaths his honest Front To-day.
Be all your Thoughts to this grand Work apply'd!
And lay, ye thrifty Fair, your Wool aside!
Hence I command you Mortals from the Rite,
Who spent in amorous Blandishment the Night,
The vernal Powers in Chastity delight.
But come, ye Pure, in spotless Garbs array'd!
For you the solemn Festival is made!
Come! follow thrice the Victim round the Lands!
In running Water purify your Hands!
See! to the Flames the willing Victim come!
Ye Swains with Olive crown'd, be dumb! be dumb!
“From Ills, O sylvan Gods, our Limits shield,
“To-day we purge the Farmer and the Field;
“O let no Weeds destroy the rising Grain;
“By no fell Prowler be the Lambkin slain;
“So shall the Hind dread Penury no more;
“But gaily smiling o'er his plenteous Store,
“With liberal Hand shall larger Billets bring,
“Heap the broad Hearth, and hail the genial Spring.
“His numerous Bond-slaves all in goodly Rows,
“With wicker Hutts your Altars shall inclose.
“That done, they'll cheerly laugh, and dance, and play,
“And praise your Goodness in their uncouth Lay.”
The Fields we lustrate, and the rising Grain:
Come, Bacchus, and thy Horns with Grapes surround;
Come, Ceres, with thy wheaten Garland crown'd;
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Rest let the Plough, and rest th'uncultur'd Soil:
9
And deck with Wreaths his honest Front To-day.
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And lay, ye thrifty Fair, your Wool aside!
13
Who spent in amorous Blandishment the Night,
The vernal Powers in Chastity delight.
But come, ye Pure, in spotless Garbs array'd!
For you the solemn Festival is made!
Come! follow thrice the Victim round the Lands!
In running Water purify your Hands!
See! to the Flames the willing Victim come!
Ye Swains with Olive crown'd, be dumb! be dumb!
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“To-day we purge the Farmer and the Field;
“O let no Weeds destroy the rising Grain;
“By no fell Prowler be the Lambkin slain;
“So shall the Hind dread Penury no more;
“But gaily smiling o'er his plenteous Store,
“With liberal Hand shall larger Billets bring,
“Heap the broad Hearth, and hail the genial Spring.
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“With wicker Hutts your Altars shall inclose.
“That done, they'll cheerly laugh, and dance, and play,
“And praise your Goodness in their uncouth Lay.”
The Gods assent! see! see! those Entrails show,
That Heaven approves of what is done below!
Now quaff Falernian, let my Chian Wine,
Pour'd from the Cask in massy Goblets shine!
Drink deep, my Friends; all, all, be madly gay,
'Twere Irreligion not to reel To-day!
Health to Messala, every Peasant toast,
And not a Letter of his Name be lost!
O come, my Friend, whom Gallic Triumphs grace,
That Heaven approves of what is done below!
Now quaff Falernian, let my Chian Wine,
Pour'd from the Cask in massy Goblets shine!
Drink deep, my Friends; all, all, be madly gay,
'Twere Irreligion not to reel To-day!
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And not a Letter of his Name be lost!
Thou noblest Splendor of an antient Race;
Thou whom the Arts all emulously crown,
Sword of the State, and Honour of the Gown;
My Theme is Gratitude, inspire my Lays!
O be my Genius! while I strive to praise
The rural Deities, the rural Plain,
The Use of foodful Corn they taught the Swain.
They taught Man first the social Hut to raise,
And thatch it o'er with Turf, or leafy Sprays:
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And on rude Wheels the rolling Carriage laid.
Man left his savage Ways; the Garden glow'd,
Fruits not their own admiring Trees bestow'd,
While thro' the thirsty Ground meandring Runnels flow'd.
There Bees of Sweets dispoil the breathing Spring,
And to their Cells the dulcet Plunder bring.
The Ploughman first to sooth the toilsome Day,
Chanted in measur'd Feet his sylvan Lay:
And, Seed-time o'er, he first in blythsome Vein,
Pip'd to his Houshold Gods the hymning Strain.
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And cooling Water made it fit for Man.
The Village-Lad first made a Wreath of Flowers
To deck in Spring the tutelary Powers:
Blest be the Country, yearly there the Plain
Yields, when the Dog-star burns, the golden Grain:
Thence too thy Chorus, Bacchus, first began,
The painted Clown first laid the tragic Plan.
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The Village sent it, recompenc'd the Song.
There too the Sheep his woolly Treasure wears;
There too the Swain his woolly Treasure shears;
This to the thrifty Dame long Work supplies;
The Distaff hence, and Basket took their Rise.
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Thy Praise, Minerva, and Arachne's Doom!
Mid Mountain Herds Love first drew vital Air,
Unknown to Man, and Man had nought to fear;
'Gainst Herds, his Bow th'unskilful Archer drew;
Ah my pierc'd Heart, an Archer now too true!
Now Herds may roam untouch'd, 'tis Cupid's Joy,
The Brave to vanquish, and to fix the Coy.
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Nor sighs for Wealth, nor waits at Grandeur's Heels;
Age fir'd by Love is touch'd by Shame no more,
But blabs its Follies at the Fair One's Door!
Led by soft Love, the tender trembling Fair
Steals to her Swain, and cheats Suspicion's Care,
With out-stretch'd Arms she wins her darkling Way,
And Tiptoe listens that no Noise betray!
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How happy they, whose mutual Choice he crowns!
Will Love partake the Banquet of the Day?
O come—but throw thy burning Shafts away.
Ye Swains, begin to mighty Love the Song,
Your Songs, ye Swains, to mighty Love belong!
Breathe out aloud your Wishes for my Fold,
Your own soft Vows in Whispers may be told.
But hark! loud Mirth and Musick fire the Crowd—
Ye now may venture to request aloud!
Pursue your Sports; Night mounts her curtain'd Wane;
The dancing Stars compose her filial Train;
Black muffled Sleep steals on with silent Pace,
And Dreams flit last, Imaginations Race!
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THE SECOND ELEGY.
[Rise, happy Morn, without a Cloud arise!]
Rise, happy Morn, without a Cloud arise!
This Morn, Cornutus blest his Mother's Eyes!
Hence each unholy Wish, each adverse Sound,
As we his Altar's hallowed Verge surround!
Let rich Arabian Odors scent the Skies,
And sacred Incense from his Altar rise;
Implor'd, thou tutelary God, descend!
And deck'd with flowery Wreaths the Rites attend!
Then as his Brows with precious Unguents flow,
Sweet sacred Cakes, and liberal Wine bestow.
This Morn, Cornutus blest his Mother's Eyes!
Hence each unholy Wish, each adverse Sound,
As we his Altar's hallowed Verge surround!
Let rich Arabian Odors scent the Skies,
And sacred Incense from his Altar rise;
Implor'd, thou tutelary God, descend!
And deck'd with flowery Wreaths the Rites attend!
Then as his Brows with precious Unguents flow,
Sweet sacred Cakes, and liberal Wine bestow.
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O Genius, grant whate'er my Friend desires:
The Cake is scatter'd, and the Flame aspires!
Ask then, my noble Friend, whate'er you want:
What silent still? your Prayer the God will grant:
Uncovetous of rural wide Domains,
You beg no woody Hills, no cultur'd Plains:
Not venal, you request no Eastern Stores,
Where ruddy Waters lave the gemmy Shores:
Your Wish I guess; you wish a beauteous Spouse,
Joy of your Joy, and faithful to your Vows.
'Tis done! my Friend! see nuptial Love appears!
See! in his Hand a yellow Zone he bears!
A yellow Zone, that spite of Years shall last,
And heighten Fondness, even when Beauty's past.
The Cake is scatter'd, and the Flame aspires!
Ask then, my noble Friend, whate'er you want:
What silent still? your Prayer the God will grant:
Uncovetous of rural wide Domains,
You beg no woody Hills, no cultur'd Plains:
Not venal, you request no Eastern Stores,
Where ruddy Waters lave the gemmy Shores:
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Joy of your Joy, and faithful to your Vows.
'Tis done! my Friend! see nuptial Love appears!
See! in his Hand a yellow Zone he bears!
A yellow Zone, that spite of Years shall last,
And heighten Fondness, even when Beauty's past.
With happy Signs, great Power, confirm our Prayer,
With endless Concord bless the married Pair.
O grant, dread Genius, that a numerous Race
Of beauteous Infants crown their fond Embrace;
Their beauteous Infants round thy Feet shall play,
And keep with custom'd Rites this happy Day.
With endless Concord bless the married Pair.
O grant, dread Genius, that a numerous Race
Of beauteous Infants crown their fond Embrace;
Their beauteous Infants round thy Feet shall play,
And keep with custom'd Rites this happy Day.
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THE THIRD ELEGY.
[My fair, Cornutus, to the Country's flown]
My fair, Cornutus, to the Country's flown,
Oh how insipid is the City grown!
No Taste have they for Elegance refin'd;
No tender Bosoms, who remain behind:
Now Cytherea glads the laughing Plain,
And Smiles and Sports compose her sylvan Train.
Now Cupid joys to learn the Ploughman's Phrase,
And clad a Peasant o'er the Fallows strays.
O how the weighty Prong I'll busy weild!
Should the Fair wander to the labour'd Field;
A Farmer then the crooked Plough-share hold,
Whilst the dull Ox prepares the vigorous Mold:
I'd not complain tho' Phœbus burnt the Lands,
And painful Blisters swell'd my tender Hands.
Oh how insipid is the City grown!
No Taste have they for Elegance refin'd;
No tender Bosoms, who remain behind:
Now Cytherea glads the laughing Plain,
And Smiles and Sports compose her sylvan Train.
Now Cupid joys to learn the Ploughman's Phrase,
And clad a Peasant o'er the Fallows strays.
O how the weighty Prong I'll busy weild!
Should the Fair wander to the labour'd Field;
A Farmer then the crooked Plough-share hold,
Whilst the dull Ox prepares the vigorous Mold:
I'd not complain tho' Phœbus burnt the Lands,
And painful Blisters swell'd my tender Hands.
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Admetus' Herds the fair Apollo drove,
In spite of Med'cine's Power, a Prey to Love;
Nor aught avail'd to sooth his amorous Care,
His Lyre of silver Sound, or waving Hair.
To quench their Thirst, the Kine to Streams he led,
And drove them from their Pasture to the Shed:
The Milk to curdle, then, the Fair he taught,
And from the Cheese to strain the dulcet Draught.
Oft, oft his Virgin-sister blush'd for Shame,
As bearing Lambkins o'er the Field he came!
Oft would he sing the listning Vales among,
Till lowing Oxen broke the plaintive Song.
To Delphi, trembling anxious Chiefs repair,
But got no Answer, Phœbus was not there.
Thy curling Locks that charm'd a Step-dame's Eye,
A jealous Step-dame, now neglected fly!
To see thee, Phœbus, thus disfigur'd stray!
Who could discover the fair God of Day?
Constrain'd by Cupid in a Cott to pine,
Where was thy Delos, where thy Pythian Shrine?
Thrice happy Days, when Love almighty sway'd!
And openly the Gods his Will obey'd.
Now Love's soft Power's become a common Jest—
Yet those, who feel his Influence in their Breast,
The Prudes Contempt, the Wiseman's Sneer despise,
Nor would his Chains forego, to rule the Skies.
In spite of Med'cine's Power, a Prey to Love;
Nor aught avail'd to sooth his amorous Care,
His Lyre of silver Sound, or waving Hair.
To quench their Thirst, the Kine to Streams he led,
And drove them from their Pasture to the Shed:
The Milk to curdle, then, the Fair he taught,
And from the Cheese to strain the dulcet Draught.
Oft, oft his Virgin-sister blush'd for Shame,
As bearing Lambkins o'er the Field he came!
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Till lowing Oxen broke the plaintive Song.
To Delphi, trembling anxious Chiefs repair,
But got no Answer, Phœbus was not there.
Thy curling Locks that charm'd a Step-dame's Eye,
A jealous Step-dame, now neglected fly!
To see thee, Phœbus, thus disfigur'd stray!
Who could discover the fair God of Day?
Constrain'd by Cupid in a Cott to pine,
Where was thy Delos, where thy Pythian Shrine?
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And openly the Gods his Will obey'd.
Now Love's soft Power's become a common Jest—
Yet those, who feel his Influence in their Breast,
The Prudes Contempt, the Wiseman's Sneer despise,
Nor would his Chains forego, to rule the Skies.
Curst Farm! that forc'd my Nemesis from Town,
Blasts taint thy Vines, and Rains thy Harvests drown.
Tho' Hymns implore your Aid, great God of Wine!
Assist the Lover, and neglect the Vine;
To Shades, unpunish'd, ne'er let Beauty stray;
Not all your Vintage can its Absence pay!
Rather than Harvest should the Fair detain,
May Rills and Acorns feed th'unactive Swain!
The Swains of old, no golden Ceres knew,
And yet how fervent was their Love and true?
Their melting Vows the Paphian Queen approv'd,
And every Valley witness'd how they lov'd.
Then lurk'd no Spies to catch the willing Maid;
Doorless each House; in vain no Shepherd pray'd.
Once more ye simple Usages obtain!
No—lead me, drive me to the cultur'd Plain!
Enchain me, whip me, if the Fair command;
Whipp'd, and enchain'd, I'll plough the stubborn Land!
Blasts taint thy Vines, and Rains thy Harvests drown.
Tho' Hymns implore your Aid, great God of Wine!
Assist the Lover, and neglect the Vine;
To Shades, unpunish'd, ne'er let Beauty stray;
Not all your Vintage can its Absence pay!
Rather than Harvest should the Fair detain,
May Rills and Acorns feed th'unactive Swain!
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And yet how fervent was their Love and true?
Their melting Vows the Paphian Queen approv'd,
And every Valley witness'd how they lov'd.
Then lurk'd no Spies to catch the willing Maid;
Doorless each House; in vain no Shepherd pray'd.
Once more ye simple Usages obtain!
No—lead me, drive me to the cultur'd Plain!
Enchain me, whip me, if the Fair command;
Whipp'd, and enchain'd, I'll plough the stubborn Land!
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THE FOURTH ELEGY.
[Chains, and a haughty Fair I fearless view!]
Chains, and a haughty Fair I fearless view!
Hopes of paternal Freedom all adieu.
Ah when will Love compassionate my Woes?
In one sad Tenour my Existence flows:
Whether I kiss or bite the galling Chain,
Alike my Pleasure, and alike my Pain.
I burn, I burn! oh banish my Despair!
Oh ease my Torture, too too cruel Fair:
Rather than feel such vast, such matchless Woe,
I'd rise some Rock o'erspread with endless Snow!
Or frown a Cliff on some disastrous Shore,
Where Ships are wreck'd, and Tempests ever roar!
Hopes of paternal Freedom all adieu.
Ah when will Love compassionate my Woes?
In one sad Tenour my Existence flows:
Whether I kiss or bite the galling Chain,
Alike my Pleasure, and alike my Pain.
I burn, I burn! oh banish my Despair!
Oh ease my Torture, too too cruel Fair:
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I'd rise some Rock o'erspread with endless Snow!
Or frown a Cliff on some disastrous Shore,
Where Ships are wreck'd, and Tempests ever roar!
In pensive Gloominess I pass the Night,
Nor feel Contentment at the Dawn of Light.
What though the God of Verse my Woes indite,
What though I soothing Elegies can write,
No Strains of Elegy her Pride controul;
Gold is the Passport to her venal Soul.
I ask not of the Nine the epic Lay;
Ye Nine! or aid my Passion, or away.
I ask not to describe in lofty Strain,
The Sun's Eclipses, or the lunar Wane;
To win Admission to the haughty Maid,
Alone I crave your elegiac Aid;
But if she still contemns the tearful Lay,
Ye, and your Elegies, away, away!
In vain I ask, but Gold ne'er asks in vain;
Then will I desolate the World for Gain!
For Gold, I'll impious plunder every Shrine;
But chief, O Venus, will I plunder thine!
By thee compell'd, I love a venal Maid,
And quit for bloody Fields my peaceful Shade:
By thee compell'd, I rob the hallowed Shrine,
Then chiefly Venus will I plunder thine!
Nor feel Contentment at the Dawn of Light.
What though the God of Verse my Woes indite,
What though I soothing Elegies can write,
No Strains of Elegy her Pride controul;
Gold is the Passport to her venal Soul.
I ask not of the Nine the epic Lay;
Ye Nine! or aid my Passion, or away.
I ask not to describe in lofty Strain,
The Sun's Eclipses, or the lunar Wane;
To win Admission to the haughty Maid,
Alone I crave your elegiac Aid;
But if she still contemns the tearful Lay,
Ye, and your Elegies, away, away!
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Then will I desolate the World for Gain!
For Gold, I'll impious plunder every Shrine;
But chief, O Venus, will I plunder thine!
By thee compell'd, I love a venal Maid,
And quit for bloody Fields my peaceful Shade:
By thee compell'd, I rob the hallowed Shrine,
Then chiefly Venus will I plunder thine!
Perish the Man! whose curst industrious Toil
Or finds the Gem, or dies the wooly Spoil;
Hence, hence the Sex's Avarice arose,
And Art with Nature not enough bestows:
Hence, the fierce Dog was posted for a Guard,
The Fair grew venal, and their Gates were barr'd.
But weighty Presents Vigilance o'ercome,
The Gate bursts open, and the Dog is dumb.
Or finds the Gem, or dies the wooly Spoil;
Hence, hence the Sex's Avarice arose,
And Art with Nature not enough bestows:
Hence, the fierce Dog was posted for a Guard,
The Fair grew venal, and their Gates were barr'd.
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The Gate bursts open, and the Dog is dumb.
From venal Charms, ye Gods! what Mischiefs flow?
The Joy, how much o'er-ballanc'd by the Woe!
Hence, hence so few, sweet Love, frequent thy Fane,
Hence impious Slander loads thy guiltless Reign.
The Joy, how much o'er-ballanc'd by the Woe!
Hence, hence so few, sweet Love, frequent thy Fane,
Hence impious Slander loads thy guiltless Reign.
But ye! who sell your heavenly Charms for Hire,
Your ill-got Riches be consum'd with Fire!
May not one Lover strive to quench the Blaze,
But smile malicious, as o'er all it preys!
And when ye die, no gentle Friend be near,
To catch your Breath, or shed a genuine Tear!
Behind the Corpse, to march in solemn Show,
Or Syrian Odors on the Pile bestow.
Your ill-got Riches be consum'd with Fire!
May not one Lover strive to quench the Blaze,
But smile malicious, as o'er all it preys!
And when ye die, no gentle Friend be near,
To catch your Breath, or shed a genuine Tear!
Behind the Corpse, to march in solemn Show,
Or Syrian Odors on the Pile bestow.
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Far other Fates attend the generous Maid,
Tho' Age and Sickness bid her Beauties fade,
Still she's rever'd; and when Death's easy Call
Has freed her Spirit from Life's anxious Thrall,
The pitying Neighbours all her Loss deplore,
And many a weeping Friend besets the Door;
While some old Lover touch'd with grateful Woe,
Shall yearly Garlands on her Tomb bestow;
And home returning, thus the Fair address,
‘Light may the Turf thy gentle Bosom press.’
Tho' Age and Sickness bid her Beauties fade,
Still she's rever'd; and when Death's easy Call
Has freed her Spirit from Life's anxious Thrall,
The pitying Neighbours all her Loss deplore,
And many a weeping Friend besets the Door;
While some old Lover touch'd with grateful Woe,
Shall yearly Garlands on her Tomb bestow;
And home returning, thus the Fair address,
‘Light may the Turf thy gentle Bosom press.’
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'Tis Truth; but what has Truth with Love to do?
Imperious Cupid, I submit to you!
To sell my Father's Seat should you command;
Adieu my Father's Gods, my Father's Land!
From madding Mares, whate'er of Poyson flows,
Or on the Forehead of their Offspring grows,
Whate'er Medea brew'd of baleful Juice,
What noxious Herbs Æmathian Hills produce;
Of all, let Nemesis a Draught compose,
Or mingle Poysons, feller still than those;
If she but smile, the deadly Cup I'll drain,
Forget her Avarice, and exult in Pain!
Imperious Cupid, I submit to you!
To sell my Father's Seat should you command;
Adieu my Father's Gods, my Father's Land!
From madding Mares, whate'er of Poyson flows,
Or on the Forehead of their Offspring grows,
Whate'er Medea brew'd of baleful Juice,
What noxious Herbs Æmathian Hills produce;
Of all, let Nemesis a Draught compose,
Or mingle Poysons, feller still than those;
If she but smile, the deadly Cup I'll drain,
Forget her Avarice, and exult in Pain!
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THE FIFTH ELEGY.
[To hear our solemn Vows, O Phœbus deign!]
To hear our solemn Vows, O Phœbus deign!
A novel Pontiff treads thy sacred Fane:
Nor distant hear, dread Power! 'tis Rome's Request,
That with thy golden Lyre thou standst confest:
Deign mighty Bard! to strike the vocal String,
And praise thy Pontiff; we, his Praises sing:
Around thy Brows, triumphant Laurels twine,
Thine Altar visit, and thy Rites divine:
New flush thy Charms, new curl thy waving Hair;
O come the God in Vestment, and in Air!
When Saturn was dethron'd, so crown'd with Bays,
So rob'd, thou sungst th'Almighty Victor's Praise.
What Fate, from Gods and Man, has wrapt in Night,
Prophetic flashes on thy mental Sight:
From Thee, Diviners learn their prescient Lore,
On reeking Bowels, as they thoughtful pore:
The Seer thou teachest the Success of Things,
As flies the Bird, or feeds, or screams, or sings:
The Sibyl-leaves if Rome ne'er sought in vain;
Thou gav'st a Meaning to the mystic Strain:
Thy sacred Influence may this Pontiff know,
And as he reads them, with the Prophet glow.
A novel Pontiff treads thy sacred Fane:
Nor distant hear, dread Power! 'tis Rome's Request,
That with thy golden Lyre thou standst confest:
Deign mighty Bard! to strike the vocal String,
And praise thy Pontiff; we, his Praises sing:
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Thine Altar visit, and thy Rites divine:
New flush thy Charms, new curl thy waving Hair;
O come the God in Vestment, and in Air!
When Saturn was dethron'd, so crown'd with Bays,
So rob'd, thou sungst th'Almighty Victor's Praise.
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Prophetic flashes on thy mental Sight:
From Thee, Diviners learn their prescient Lore,
On reeking Bowels, as they thoughtful pore:
The Seer thou teachest the Success of Things,
As flies the Bird, or feeds, or screams, or sings:
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Thou gav'st a Meaning to the mystic Strain:
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And as he reads them, with the Prophet glow.
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When great Æneas snatch'd his aged Sire,
And burning Lares, from the Grecian Fire,
She , she foretold this Empire fix'd by fate,
And all the Triumphs of the Roman State;
Yet when he saw his Ilion wrapp'd in Flame,
He scarce could credit the mysterious Dame.
And burning Lares, from the Grecian Fire,
She , she foretold this Empire fix'd by fate,
And all the Triumphs of the Roman State;
Yet when he saw his Ilion wrapp'd in Flame,
He scarce could credit the mysterious Dame.
(Quirinus had not plann'd eternal Rome,
Nor had his Brother met his early Doom,
Where now Jove's Temple swells, low Hamlets stood,
And Domes ascend, where Heifers crop'd their Food.
Sprinkled with Milk, Pan grac'd an Oak's dun Shade,
And Scythe-arm'd Pales watch'd the mossy Glade;
For Help from Pan, to Pan on ev'ry Bough
Pipes hung, the grateful Shepherd's vocal Vow,
Of Reeds, still lessening, was the Gift compos'd,
And friendly Wax th'unequal Junctures clos'd.
So where Velabrian Streets like Cities seem,
One little Wherry plied the lazy Stream,
O'er which the wealthy Shepherd's favourite Maid
Was to her Swain, on Holydays, convey'd;
The Swain, his Truth of Passion to declare,
Or Lamb, or Cheese, presented to the Fair.)
Nor had his Brother met his early Doom,
Where now Jove's Temple swells, low Hamlets stood,
And Domes ascend, where Heifers crop'd their Food.
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And Scythe-arm'd Pales watch'd the mossy Glade;
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Pipes hung, the grateful Shepherd's vocal Vow,
Of Reeds, still lessening, was the Gift compos'd,
And friendly Wax th'unequal Junctures clos'd.
So where Velabrian Streets like Cities seem,
One little Wherry plied the lazy Stream,
O'er which the wealthy Shepherd's favourite Maid
Was to her Swain, on Holydays, convey'd;
The Swain, his Truth of Passion to declare,
Or Lamb, or Cheese, presented to the Fair.)
The Cumæan Sibyl speaks.
“Fierce Brother of the Power of soft Desire,“Who fly'st, with Trojan Gods, the Grecian Fire!
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“Those friendly Plains invite thy banish'd Gods!
“There shall a nobler Troy herself applaud,
“Admire her Wanderings, and the Grecian Fraud!
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“A God thyself, and mingle with the Skies!
“No more thy Phrygians for their Country sigh,
“See Conquest o'er your shatter'd Navy fly!
“See the Rutulian Tents, a mighty Blaze!
“Thou, Turnus! soon shalt end thy hateful Days!
“The Camp I see, Lavinium greets my View!
“And Alba! brave Ascanius! built by you:
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“And, clasp'd by Mars, in amorous Bliss expire!
“On Tyber's Bank, thy sacred Robes I see,
“And Arms abandon'd, eager God! by thee.
“Your Hills crop fast, ye Herds! while Fate allows;
“Eternal Rome shall rise, where now ye brouze:
“Rome, that shall stretch her irresistless Reign,
“Wherever Ceres views her golden Grain;
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“And where the West shuts up the Gates of Day.
“The Truth I sing; so may the Laurels prove
“Safe Food, and I be screen'd from guilty Love.”
Thus sung the Sibyl, and address'd her Prayer,
Phœbus! to thee, and madding, loos'd her Hair.
Nor, Phœbus! give him only these to know,
A farther Knowlege on thy Priest bestow:
Let him interpret what thy fav'rite Maid,
What Amalthea, what Mermessia said:
Let him interpret what Albuna bore
Thro' Tyber's Waves, unwet, to Tyber's farthest Shore.
Phœbus! to thee, and madding, loos'd her Hair.
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A farther Knowlege on thy Priest bestow:
Let him interpret what thy fav'rite Maid,
What Amalthea, what Mermessia said:
Let him interpret what Albuna bore
Thro' Tyber's Waves, unwet, to Tyber's farthest Shore.
When stony Tempests fell, when Comets glar'd,
Intestine Wars their Oracles declar'd:
The sacred Groves (our Ancestors relate)
Foretold the Changes of the Roman State:
To charge the Clarion sounded in the Sky,
Arms clash'd, Blood ran, and Warriours seem'd to die:
With monstrous Prodigies the Year began:
An annual Darkness the whole Globe o'er-ran;
Apollo, shorn of every beamy Ray,
Oft strove, but strove in vain, to light the Day:
The Statues of the Gods wept tepid Tears;
And speaking Oxen fill'd Mankind with Fears!
Intestine Wars their Oracles declar'd:
95
Foretold the Changes of the Roman State:
To charge the Clarion sounded in the Sky,
Arms clash'd, Blood ran, and Warriours seem'd to die:
With monstrous Prodigies the Year began:
An annual Darkness the whole Globe o'er-ran;
Apollo, shorn of every beamy Ray,
Oft strove, but strove in vain, to light the Day:
The Statues of the Gods wept tepid Tears;
And speaking Oxen fill'd Mankind with Fears!
These were of old: No more, Apollo! frown,
But in the Waves each adverse Omen drown.
O! let thy Bays in crackling Flames ascend;
So shall the Year with Joy begin and end!
The Bays give prosp'rous Signs; rejoice ye Swains!
Propitious Ceres shall reward your Pains.
With Must the jolly Rustic purpled o'er,
Shall squeeze rich Clusters, which their Tribute pour,
Till Vatts are wanting, to contain their Store.
Far hence, ye Wolves! the mellow Shepherds bring
Their Gifts to Pales, and her Praises sing.
Now, fir'd with Wine, they solemn Bonfires raise,
And leap, untimorous, thro' the strawy Blaze!
From every Cott, unnumber'd Children throng,
Frequent the Dance, and louder raise the Song:
And while in Mirth the Hours they thus employ,
At home the Grandsire tends his little Boy;
And in each Feature pleas'd himself to trace,
Foretells his Pratler will adorn the Race.
But in the Waves each adverse Omen drown.
O! let thy Bays in crackling Flames ascend;
So shall the Year with Joy begin and end!
The Bays give prosp'rous Signs; rejoice ye Swains!
Propitious Ceres shall reward your Pains.
With Must the jolly Rustic purpled o'er,
Shall squeeze rich Clusters, which their Tribute pour,
Till Vatts are wanting, to contain their Store.
97
Their Gifts to Pales, and her Praises sing.
Now, fir'd with Wine, they solemn Bonfires raise,
And leap, untimorous, thro' the strawy Blaze!
From every Cott, unnumber'd Children throng,
Frequent the Dance, and louder raise the Song:
And while in Mirth the Hours they thus employ,
At home the Grandsire tends his little Boy;
And in each Feature pleas'd himself to trace,
Foretells his Pratler will adorn the Race.
The sylvan Youth, their grateful Homage paid,
Where plays some Streamlet, seek th'embowering Shade;
Or stretch'd on soft enamel'd Meadows lie,
Where thickest Umbrage cools the Summer-sky:
With Roses, see! the sacred Cup is crown'd,
Hark! Music breathes her animating Sound:
The Couch of Turf, and festal Tables stand
Of Turf, erected by each Shepherd-hand;
And all well-pleas'd, the votive Feast prepare,
Each one his Goblet, and each one his Share.
Now drunk, they blame their Stars and curse the Maid;
But sober, deprecate whate'er they said.
Where plays some Streamlet, seek th'embowering Shade;
Or stretch'd on soft enamel'd Meadows lie,
Where thickest Umbrage cools the Summer-sky:
With Roses, see! the sacred Cup is crown'd,
Hark! Music breathes her animating Sound:
The Couch of Turf, and festal Tables stand
Of Turf, erected by each Shepherd-hand;
And all well-pleas'd, the votive Feast prepare,
Each one his Goblet, and each one his Share.
99
But sober, deprecate whate'er they said.
Perish thy Shafts, Apollo! and thy Bow!
If Love unarmed in our Forests go.
Yet since he learn'd to wing th'unerring Dart,
Much cause has Man to curse his fatal Art:
But most have I; the Sun has wheel'd his round
Since first I felt the deadly festering Wound;
Yet, yet I fondly, madly, wish to burn,
Abjure Indifference, and at Comfort spurn;
And tho' from Nemesis my Genius flows;
Her scarce I sing, so weighty are my Woes!
If Love unarmed in our Forests go.
Yet since he learn'd to wing th'unerring Dart,
Much cause has Man to curse his fatal Art:
But most have I; the Sun has wheel'd his round
Since first I felt the deadly festering Wound;
Yet, yet I fondly, madly, wish to burn,
Abjure Indifference, and at Comfort spurn;
And tho' from Nemesis my Genius flows;
Her scarce I sing, so weighty are my Woes!
O cruel Love! how joyous should I be,
Your Arrows broke, and Torch extinct to see!
From you, my want of Reverence to the Skies!
From you, my Woes and Imprecations rise!
Yet I advise you, too relentless Fair!
(As Heaven protects the Bards) a Bard to spare!
Your Arrows broke, and Torch extinct to see!
From you, my want of Reverence to the Skies!
From you, my Woes and Imprecations rise!
Yet I advise you, too relentless Fair!
(As Heaven protects the Bards) a Bard to spare!
101
E'en now, the Pontiff claims my loftiest Lay,
In Triumph, soon he'll mount the sacred Way.
Then pictur'd Towns shall show successful War,
And Spoils and Chiefs attend his ivory Car:
Myself will bear the Laurel in my Hand;
And pleas'd, amid the pleas'd Spectators stand:
While war-worn Veterans, with Laurels crown'd,
With Io-triumphs shake the Streets around.
His Father hails him, as he rides along,
And entertains with pompous Shews the Throng.
In Triumph, soon he'll mount the sacred Way.
Then pictur'd Towns shall show successful War,
And Spoils and Chiefs attend his ivory Car:
Myself will bear the Laurel in my Hand;
And pleas'd, amid the pleas'd Spectators stand:
While war-worn Veterans, with Laurels crown'd,
With Io-triumphs shake the Streets around.
His Father hails him, as he rides along,
And entertains with pompous Shews the Throng.
O Phœbus! kindly deign to grant my Prayer;
So may'st thou ever wave thy curled Hair;
So ever may thy Virgin-sister's Name
Preserve the Lustre of a spotless Fame.
So may'st thou ever wave thy curled Hair;
So ever may thy Virgin-sister's Name
Preserve the Lustre of a spotless Fame.
103
THE SIXTH ELEGY.
[Macer campaigns; who now will thee obey]
Macer campaigns; who now will thee obey
O Love! if Macer dare forego thy Sway?
Put on the Crest, and grasp the burnish'd Shield,
Pursue the base Deserter to the Field:
Or if to Winds he gives the loosen'd Sail,
Mount thou the Deck, and risk the stormy Gale:
To dare desert thy sweetly-pleasing Pains,
For stormy Seas, or sanguinary Plains!
'Tis, Cupid! thine, the Wanderer to reclaim,
Regain thy Honour, and avenge thy Name!
If such thou spar'st, a Soldier I will be,
The meanest Soldier, and abandon thee.
Adieu, ye trifling Loves! farewel, ye Fair!
The Trumpet charms me, I to Camps repair;
The martial Look, the martial Garb assume,
And see the Laurel on my Forehead bloom!
My vaunts how vain! debarr'd the cruel Maid,
The Warriour softens, and my Laurels fade.
Piqu'd to the Soul, how frequent have I swore,
Her Gate so servile to approach no more?
Unconscious what I did, I still return'd,
Was still deny'd Access, and yet I burn'd!
O Love! if Macer dare forego thy Sway?
Put on the Crest, and grasp the burnish'd Shield,
Pursue the base Deserter to the Field:
Or if to Winds he gives the loosen'd Sail,
Mount thou the Deck, and risk the stormy Gale:
105
For stormy Seas, or sanguinary Plains!
'Tis, Cupid! thine, the Wanderer to reclaim,
Regain thy Honour, and avenge thy Name!
107
The meanest Soldier, and abandon thee.
Adieu, ye trifling Loves! farewel, ye Fair!
The Trumpet charms me, I to Camps repair;
109
And see the Laurel on my Forehead bloom!
My vaunts how vain! debarr'd the cruel Maid,
The Warriour softens, and my Laurels fade.
Piqu'd to the Soul, how frequent have I swore,
Her Gate so servile to approach no more?
Unconscious what I did, I still return'd,
Was still deny'd Access, and yet I burn'd!
111
Ye Youths, whom Love commands with angry Sway,
Attend his Wars, like me, and pleas'd obey.
This Iron Age approves his Sway no more:
All fly to Camps for Gold, and Gold adore:
Yet Gold clothes kindred States in hostile Arms!
Hence Blood and Death, Confusion and Alarms!
Mankind, for Lust of Gold, at once defy
The naval Combat, and the stormy Sky!
The Soldier hopes, by martial Spoils, to gain
Flocks without Number, and a rich Domain:
His Hopes obtain'd by every horrid Crime,
He seeks for Marble in each foreign Clime:
A thousand Yoke sustain the pillar'd Freight,
And Rome, surpriz'd beholds th'enormous Weight.
Let such with Moles the furious Deep inclose,
Where Fish may swim unhurt, tho' Winter blows:
Let Flocks and Villas call the Spoiler Lord!
And be the Spoiler by the Fair ador'd!
Let one we know, a whipp'd Barbarian Slave,
Live like a King, with kingly Pride behave!
Be ours the Joys of œconomic Ease,
From bloody Fields remote, and stormy Seas!
Attend his Wars, like me, and pleas'd obey.
This Iron Age approves his Sway no more:
All fly to Camps for Gold, and Gold adore:
Yet Gold clothes kindred States in hostile Arms!
Hence Blood and Death, Confusion and Alarms!
Mankind, for Lust of Gold, at once defy
The naval Combat, and the stormy Sky!
The Soldier hopes, by martial Spoils, to gain
Flocks without Number, and a rich Domain:
His Hopes obtain'd by every horrid Crime,
He seeks for Marble in each foreign Clime:
A thousand Yoke sustain the pillar'd Freight,
And Rome, surpriz'd beholds th'enormous Weight.
Let such with Moles the furious Deep inclose,
Where Fish may swim unhurt, tho' Winter blows:
Let Flocks and Villas call the Spoiler Lord!
And be the Spoiler by the Fair ador'd!
113
Live like a King, with kingly Pride behave!
Be ours the Joys of œconomic Ease,
From bloody Fields remote, and stormy Seas!
In Gold, alas! the venal Fair delight!
Since Beauty sighs for Spoil, for Spoil I'll fight!
In all my Plunder Nemesis shall shine,
Yours be the Profit, be the Peril mine:
To deck your heav'nly Charms the Silk-worm dies,
Embroidery labours, and the Shuttle flies!
For you be rifled Ocean's pearly Store!
To you Pactolus send his golden Ore!
Ye Indians! blacken'd by the nearer Sun,
Before her Steps in splendid Liveries run;
For you shall wealthy Tyre and Afric vie,
To yield the Purple, and the Scarlet Dye.
Since Beauty sighs for Spoil, for Spoil I'll fight!
In all my Plunder Nemesis shall shine,
Yours be the Profit, be the Peril mine:
To deck your heav'nly Charms the Silk-worm dies,
Embroidery labours, and the Shuttle flies!
For you be rifled Ocean's pearly Store!
To you Pactolus send his golden Ore!
Ye Indians! blacken'd by the nearer Sun,
Before her Steps in splendid Liveries run;
For you shall wealthy Tyre and Afric vie,
To yield the Purple, and the Scarlet Dye.
117
THE SEVENTH ELEGY.
[Thousands in Death would seek an End of Woe]
Thousands in Death would seek an End of Woe,
But Hope, deceitful Hope! prevents the Blow!
Hope plants the Forest, and she sows the Plain;
And feeds, with future Granaries, the Swain;
Hope snares the winged Vagrants of the Sky,
Hope cheats in reedy Brooks the scaly Fry;
By Hope, the fetter'd Slave, the Drudge of Fate,
Sings, shakes his Irons, and forgets his State;
Hope promis'd you, you haughty still deny;
Yield to the Goddess, O my Fair! comply.
Hope whisper'd me, “Give Sorrow to the Wind!
“The haughty Fair-one shall at last be kind.”
Yet, yet you treat me with the same Disdain:
O let not Hope's soft Whispers prove in vain!
But Hope, deceitful Hope! prevents the Blow!
Hope plants the Forest, and she sows the Plain;
And feeds, with future Granaries, the Swain;
119
Hope cheats in reedy Brooks the scaly Fry;
By Hope, the fetter'd Slave, the Drudge of Fate,
Sings, shakes his Irons, and forgets his State;
121
Yield to the Goddess, O my Fair! comply.
Hope whisper'd me, “Give Sorrow to the Wind!
“The haughty Fair-one shall at last be kind.”
Yet, yet you treat me with the same Disdain:
O let not Hope's soft Whispers prove in vain!
Untimely Fate your Sister snatch'd away;
Spare me, O spare me, by her Shade I pray!
So shall my Garlands deck her Virgin-tomb;
So shall I weep, no Hypocrite, her Doom!
So may her Grave with rising Flowers be drest,
And the green Turf lie lightly on her Breast.
Spare me, O spare me, by her Shade I pray!
So shall my Garlands deck her Virgin-tomb;
So shall I weep, no Hypocrite, her Doom!
So may her Grave with rising Flowers be drest,
And the green Turf lie lightly on her Breast.
Ah me! will nought avail? The World I'll fly,
And, prostrate at her Tomb, a Suppliant sigh!
To her attentive Ghost, of you complain;
Tell my long Sorrowing, tell of your Disdain:
Oft, when alive, in my Behalf she spoke:
Your endless Coyness must her Shade provoke:
With ugly Dreams she'll haunt your Hour of Rest,
And weep before you, an unwelcome Guest!
Ghastly and pale, as when besmear'd with Blood,
Oh fatal Fall! she pass'd the Stygian Flood.
And, prostrate at her Tomb, a Suppliant sigh!
To her attentive Ghost, of you complain;
Tell my long Sorrowing, tell of your Disdain:
Oft, when alive, in my Behalf she spoke:
Your endless Coyness must her Shade provoke:
With ugly Dreams she'll haunt your Hour of Rest,
And weep before you, an unwelcome Guest!
123
Oh fatal Fall! she pass'd the Stygian Flood.
No more, my Strains! your Eyes with Tears o'erflow,
This moving Object renovates your Woe:
You, you are guiltless! I your Maid accuse;
You generous are! she, she has selfish Views.
Nay, were you guilty, I'll no more complain;
One Tear from you o'erpays a Life of Pain!
She, Phryne, promis'd to promote my Vows:
She took, but never gave my Billet-doux.
You're gone abroad, she confidently swears,
Oft when your sweet-ton'd Voice salutes mine Ears:
Or, when you promise to reward my Pains,
That you're afraid, or indispos'd, she feigns:
Then madding Jealousy inflames my Breast;
Then Fancy represents a Rival blest;
I wish thee, Phryne! then, a thousand Woes;—
And if the Gods with half my Wishes close,
Phryne! a Wretch of Wretches thou shalt be,
And vainly beg of Death to set thee free!
This moving Object renovates your Woe:
You, you are guiltless! I your Maid accuse;
You generous are! she, she has selfish Views.
Nay, were you guilty, I'll no more complain;
One Tear from you o'erpays a Life of Pain!
She, Phryne, promis'd to promote my Vows:
She took, but never gave my Billet-doux.
125
Oft when your sweet-ton'd Voice salutes mine Ears:
Or, when you promise to reward my Pains,
That you're afraid, or indispos'd, she feigns:
Then madding Jealousy inflames my Breast;
Then Fancy represents a Rival blest;
I wish thee, Phryne! then, a thousand Woes;—
And if the Gods with half my Wishes close,
Phryne! a Wretch of Wretches thou shalt be,
And vainly beg of Death to set thee free!
| A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus | |