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. |
| III. |
Book III.
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| IV. |
 | The Works of Tibullus |  |
177
Book III.
ELEGY I.
The Feast of Roman Mars is drawing near,
Which to our Ancestors began the Year;
And Presents now are carry'd up and down,
From House to House, throughout the joyful Town.
Say ye, Pierian Nine, what to my Fair
Neæra shall I send? What Gift prefer?
That She, who I am fond of calling Mine,
If false, yet fair, and to my Thoughts divine.
Which to our Ancestors began the Year;
And Presents now are carry'd up and down,
From House to House, throughout the joyful Town.
Say ye, Pierian Nine, what to my Fair
Neæra shall I send? What Gift prefer?
178
If false, yet fair, and to my Thoughts divine.
The mercenary Maid delights in Gold,
The Fair in Verse, to have her Praises told;
And my Neæra Prides her in my Lays,
And Joys to find her Beauties merit Praise.
Then let the Book be bound with curious Art,
And neatly beautify'd in every Part;
And in the Front with painted Pride declare
The Name in curious Letters of my Fair.
The Fair in Verse, to have her Praises told;
And my Neæra Prides her in my Lays,
And Joys to find her Beauties merit Praise.
Then let the Book be bound with curious Art,
And neatly beautify'd in every Part;
And in the Front with painted Pride declare
The Name in curious Letters of my Fair.
And, O! ye Nine, by whom inspir'd I sing,
By your Castalian Shades and sacred Spring;
Hence I conjure you to my much-lov'd Fair,
The polish'd Piece, and curious Volume bear,
E're soiling Hands the shining Lids invade,
Or the gay Leaves, and gilded Edges fade.
And let her then resolve me if her Flame
Of Love, and mine, are equal, and the same:
Or whether she retains the smallest Part,
Or if 'tis quite extinguish'd in her Heart:
And after due Respect obsequious paid,
Thus with submissive Voice address the Maid.
By your Castalian Shades and sacred Spring;
Hence I conjure you to my much-lov'd Fair,
The polish'd Piece, and curious Volume bear,
E're soiling Hands the shining Lids invade,
Or the gay Leaves, and gilded Edges fade.
And let her then resolve me if her Flame
Of Love, and mine, are equal, and the same:
179
Or if 'tis quite extinguish'd in her Heart:
And after due Respect obsequious paid,
Thus with submissive Voice address the Maid.
Neæra chast! he who a Husband's Name
Once hop'd, now claims a Brother's chaster Flame,
This trifling Present with Submission sends
To her, on whom his Hope and Fear attends;
He swears he loves you dearer than his Life,
Whether his future Sister, or his Wife:
But rather as his Wife, which earnest Vow
Will last 'till he shall view the Shades below.
Once hop'd, now claims a Brother's chaster Flame,
This trifling Present with Submission sends
To her, on whom his Hope and Fear attends;
He swears he loves you dearer than his Life,
Whether his future Sister, or his Wife:
But rather as his Wife, which earnest Vow
Will last 'till he shall view the Shades below.
ELEGY II.
Fierce was the Man who durst Loves Rites invade,And part the Youth from the desiring Maid;
Or his malicious subtle Arts employ,
To part the Maid from her enamour'd Boy:
180
To live divided from the much-lov'd Fair.
I own my self unable to sustain
A Grief like this, or bear the racking Pain.
Sorrow, an Ill no Courage can controul,
Divides the Heart, and quite unnerves the Soul.
I freely own the Ills to Love I owe,
A Life of Trouble, and a Scene of Woe.
Therefore when Death shall this fair Form invade,
And I shall shrink into an empty Shade;
When rising Flames have sunk the Funeral Pile,
And my white Bones the Load of Ashes Soil:
Before the Fire Neæra shall repair,
And weep around with long dishevel'd Hair;
With her, her Mother'll weeping come, the one
Shall mourn a Lover, t'other mourn a Son.
But first the Mother, and the sobbing Maid
Shall often call me, and invoke my Shade;
And having laid me decent on the Bier,
Wash my pale Corps with a religious Care.
181
My Bones, the All of me, can then be found;
Array'd in Mourning Robes, the sorrowing Pair
Shall gather all around with pious Care;
With Ruddy Wine the Relicks sprinkle o'er,
And snowy Milk on the Collections pour;
Then with fair Linnen Cloths the Moisture dry,
In-urn'd in some cold Marble Tomb to lie;
With them inclose the Spices, Sweets, and Gums
And all that from the soft Arabia comes,
And what Assyria's wealthy Confines send,
And Tears, an Off'ring to my Mem'ry lend;
In such a Manner let me be intomb'd,
When shrunk to Ashes, and to Dust consum'd;
Then let some Elegy in Letters fair,
The mournful Cause that wrought my Death declare.
Let Characters upon the Marble tell
In this sad Verse, the Reason why I fell.
182
Grief, and Neæra wrought the fatal Doom;
Soon as his Mistress had her Faith betray'd,
He dy'd, and could not live without the Maid.
ELEGY III.
If you, Neæra, ask the Reason whyI load with Pray'rs, and od'rous Smoak, the Sky;
Not for a Palace built with Parian Stone,
To hold my Greatness, and to make me known;
Nor vast extended Tracts of Land to plough,
Nor yet for wealthy Harvests tends my Vow.
Not these, but that indulgent Heaven would bless
Me and Neæra with a Life of Ease;
That I may find my Age in your Embrace,
And thence set out to run th' Infernal Race;
A shudd'ring Fare, to fill the Boat below,
And see the irremeable Waters flow.
183
With Phrygian Columns to support the Weight:
Admit the shady Vista's that suround
The Dome, appear like consecrated Ground,
A Fane enclos'd with holy Groves around;
Where Floors of polish'd Marble level lie,
And Roofs of fretted Gold to daze th' erected Eye.
Or what the Pearls cull'd from the Eastern Shore,
The Beamy Diamond, and the shining Store;
Or Vests that glow with rich Sidonian Dyes,
Or all that the mis-judging Vulgar prize:
Not any thing, for Envy sullies these,
They're the mistaken Goods which generally please;
The poor Possessor strives, but strives in vain
With these, to sooth his Care, and ease his Pain;
For Fortune rules with arbitrary Sway,
And what she gives, he fears she'll take away.
If I may claim a Blessing to my Share,
Let me be poor, so I enjoy my Fair:
184
No, not the Name and Ensigns of a King.
When will the happy Morning be display'd,
That will restore to me the lovely Maid?
Thrice, four times blest be that auspicious Light!
That brings Neæra to my longing Sight!
For this, if any God will hear my Pray'r;
If any God propitious lends an Ear,
I'll neither Kingdoms ask, nor Lydia's Strand,
Splendidly rich, with all its golden Sand;
Nor all the Wealth the extended Earth contains,
Let others earnestly desire their Gains.
Let me in humble Quiet spend my Life,
Bless'd in my Country Farm, and lovely Wife.
Saturnia! favouring hear my tremb'ling Vow!
And Queen of Love! thou Cyprian Goddess thou!
But if the Sister-Fates the Task decline,
To draw a Day like this in future Twine;
185
To view the Wastes, and the pale Floods below,
Where livid Styx rolls on his lazy Tide,
By dreary Confines bound on every Side,
ELEGY IV.
May Heaven send better Visions to my View,
And grant those hateful Dreams may not be true,
Which did last Night my troubled Thoughts molest,
Disturb'd my Mind, and broke my quiet Rest:
Hence ye delusive Visions, far away,
No more ye vain fantastick Spectres play.
Think not that I can any Credence give,
Or in such idle Fancies place Belief.
Important Truths the Oracles declare,
And Truth attends the Auruspices' Care:
But Dreams fallacious fill the dreary Night,
And scare the tim'rous Mind with vain Affright.
And Men left these their quiet Slumbers break,
Make Off'rings of the Salt and Barley Cake.
But whether 'tis for our own good design'd,
Or whether to confuse the doubtful Mind:
The Fears which threaten me I think are vain,
If no ill Acts my guiltless Mind distain,
Nor impious Words have 'scap'd my Tongue prophane.
And grant those hateful Dreams may not be true,
Which did last Night my troubled Thoughts molest,
Disturb'd my Mind, and broke my quiet Rest:
Hence ye delusive Visions, far away,
No more ye vain fantastick Spectres play.
Think not that I can any Credence give,
Or in such idle Fancies place Belief.
Important Truths the Oracles declare,
And Truth attends the Auruspices' Care:
But Dreams fallacious fill the dreary Night,
And scare the tim'rous Mind with vain Affright.
186
Make Off'rings of the Salt and Barley Cake.
But whether 'tis for our own good design'd,
Or whether to confuse the doubtful Mind:
The Fears which threaten me I think are vain,
If no ill Acts my guiltless Mind distain,
Nor impious Words have 'scap'd my Tongue prophane.
Night with her Ebon Wheels had left the Sky,
To wash her Chariot in the Azure Sea;
When yet no Sleep my weary Eye-lids clos'd,
No soothing Sleep my troubled Soul compos'd.
At length when Phœbus rose to view the East,
Slow Sleep inclin'd my weary Eyes to rest.
When, lo! a Youth appear'd before my Bed,
His lovely Temples with chast Laurel spread:
No Youth so lovely grac'd the Times that were,
Nor present Days behold a Face so fair:
His Length of Hair in lovely Ringlets flew,
With Odours sweet, and of an Amber Hue;
His Body fair, as Cynthia Silver bright,
And purple Blushes grac'd the snowy White:
Such glowing Blushes stain the modest Maid,
When to the eager am'rous Youth convey'd,
And the new Pleasures of the Bridal Bed.
Such blended Beauties Girls in Garlands bind
With Flow'rs of diff'rent Hues together twin'd,
Twisting the Lilly pale with snowy Head,
And scarlet Amaranthus glowing Red;
A Hue like this, when ting'd by Autumn's Pride,
Reddens the Apple on the sunny Side.
About his Feet a Palla graceful flow'd,
For such a Vestment did his Body shroud.
A sounding Lyre design'd by curious Art,
And labour'd o'er with Skill was every Part;
With Pearls, and shining Gold diversify'd,
The curious Piece hung careless at his Side.
With Iv'ry Bow he wakes the trembling Strings,
And tunes his Voice, and thus melodious sings;
His flying Fingers stop the Notes around,
And these sad Words he sung with sweetest Sound.
To wash her Chariot in the Azure Sea;
When yet no Sleep my weary Eye-lids clos'd,
No soothing Sleep my troubled Soul compos'd.
At length when Phœbus rose to view the East,
Slow Sleep inclin'd my weary Eyes to rest.
When, lo! a Youth appear'd before my Bed,
His lovely Temples with chast Laurel spread:
No Youth so lovely grac'd the Times that were,
Nor present Days behold a Face so fair:
187
With Odours sweet, and of an Amber Hue;
His Body fair, as Cynthia Silver bright,
And purple Blushes grac'd the snowy White:
Such glowing Blushes stain the modest Maid,
When to the eager am'rous Youth convey'd,
And the new Pleasures of the Bridal Bed.
Such blended Beauties Girls in Garlands bind
With Flow'rs of diff'rent Hues together twin'd,
Twisting the Lilly pale with snowy Head,
And scarlet Amaranthus glowing Red;
A Hue like this, when ting'd by Autumn's Pride,
Reddens the Apple on the sunny Side.
About his Feet a Palla graceful flow'd,
For such a Vestment did his Body shroud.
A sounding Lyre design'd by curious Art,
And labour'd o'er with Skill was every Part;
With Pearls, and shining Gold diversify'd,
The curious Piece hung careless at his Side.
188
And tunes his Voice, and thus melodious sings;
His flying Fingers stop the Notes around,
And these sad Words he sung with sweetest Sound.
Hail! Care of God, for by a Rite divine,
The Gods assist the Bard in each Design.
Phœbus and Bacchus, and the sacred Nine.
But neither Bacchus, nor the learned Throng,
Can speak what Fate, next Hour, will bring along.
To me, alone the Laws of future Doom
Jove gave, and View of Ages yet to come:
Then take these Warnings which a God reveals;
Believe a God, and hear what Cynthius tells.
She who was always thy peculiar Care,
Then whom not Daughters, Mothers held so dear:
Not with such Passion eagerest Youths are mov'd,
Nor with such Passion tenderest Maids belov'd;
For whom you weary all the Gods with Pray'r.
And every Day is spent in Fear for her:
And when still Sleep his Sable Mantle throws,
To veil your Eyes, and urge a still Repose.
She in your Sleep arises to your Sight,
And fills with vain fantastick Dreams, the Night.
That she who in thy Verse is made divine,
Neæra nam'd in every sounding Line:
That celebrated she, with all her Charms,
Begins to languish for another's Arms.
Thy former Passion to her Mind is lost,
That Mind is now with different Passions tost;
She fir'd with other Flames, about does rove,
Detests her quiet House, and seeks another Love.
Ah! cruel Sex, a Name to Faith unknown,
May they be curs'd who any have undone.
But she may change, the Sex for Change is fam'd,
By Faith and stretch'd out Arms she'll be reclaim'd;
For cruel Love instructs us to sustain
Vast Toils, and slight the Labour and the Pain.
He! cruel Love, directs us by his Care,
His Lash, and smarting Scourge content to bear.
There's more than Fiction in the Tale you've heard
Of me, how once I kept Admetus' Herd.
My Vocal Shell could then no Pleasure bring,
Nor sang I measure to the sounding String;
But with an Oaten Pipe was wont to rove,
Ev'n I, Latona's Son, and Progeny of Jove.
Fond Youth! you know not Love if e'er you fear
A Mistress' Frowns, and heavy Yoak to bear.
Nor doubt that tender Blandishments will fail.
O'er steely Breasts, oft soothing Prayers prevail.
What others do from Oracles believe,
Do thou more sure from my own Lips receive;
For Delius says, Neæra will be kind,
Nor more with various Passions change her Mind
For different Men: When this the God had said
I 'woke, and from my Eyes the Slumbers fled.
The Gods assist the Bard in each Design.
Phœbus and Bacchus, and the sacred Nine.
But neither Bacchus, nor the learned Throng,
Can speak what Fate, next Hour, will bring along.
To me, alone the Laws of future Doom
Jove gave, and View of Ages yet to come:
Then take these Warnings which a God reveals;
Believe a God, and hear what Cynthius tells.
She who was always thy peculiar Care,
Then whom not Daughters, Mothers held so dear:
Not with such Passion eagerest Youths are mov'd,
Nor with such Passion tenderest Maids belov'd;
For whom you weary all the Gods with Pray'r.
And every Day is spent in Fear for her:
189
To veil your Eyes, and urge a still Repose.
She in your Sleep arises to your Sight,
And fills with vain fantastick Dreams, the Night.
That she who in thy Verse is made divine,
Neæra nam'd in every sounding Line:
That celebrated she, with all her Charms,
Begins to languish for another's Arms.
Thy former Passion to her Mind is lost,
That Mind is now with different Passions tost;
She fir'd with other Flames, about does rove,
Detests her quiet House, and seeks another Love.
Ah! cruel Sex, a Name to Faith unknown,
May they be curs'd who any have undone.
But she may change, the Sex for Change is fam'd,
By Faith and stretch'd out Arms she'll be reclaim'd;
For cruel Love instructs us to sustain
Vast Toils, and slight the Labour and the Pain.
He! cruel Love, directs us by his Care,
His Lash, and smarting Scourge content to bear.
190
Of me, how once I kept Admetus' Herd.
My Vocal Shell could then no Pleasure bring,
Nor sang I measure to the sounding String;
But with an Oaten Pipe was wont to rove,
Ev'n I, Latona's Son, and Progeny of Jove.
Fond Youth! you know not Love if e'er you fear
A Mistress' Frowns, and heavy Yoak to bear.
Nor doubt that tender Blandishments will fail.
O'er steely Breasts, oft soothing Prayers prevail.
What others do from Oracles believe,
Do thou more sure from my own Lips receive;
For Delius says, Neæra will be kind,
Nor more with various Passions change her Mind
For different Men: When this the God had said
I 'woke, and from my Eyes the Slumbers fled.
Ah! little did I dream of such a Time,
Or think that Breast could harbour such a Crime;
For thou'rt descended of a humane Birth,
No rapid Pontick Ocean brought thee forth;
No fierce Chimæra breathing fiery Death,
No Hellish Cerberus with triple Breath:
Nor did'st from Scylla barking Womb proceed
With Dogs enclos'd, nor from the Lyon's Breed:
Nor was thy Birth on barbarous Scythias Land,
Nor on the dangerous Shoals of Africk's Sand.
But of a Noble House, and lovely Pair,
Thy Father gen'rous, and thy Mother fair.
With Dreams like these may Phœbus fill my Mind
No more, but throw the Visions in the Wind.
Or think that Breast could harbour such a Crime;
191
No rapid Pontick Ocean brought thee forth;
No fierce Chimæra breathing fiery Death,
No Hellish Cerberus with triple Breath:
Nor did'st from Scylla barking Womb proceed
With Dogs enclos'd, nor from the Lyon's Breed:
Nor was thy Birth on barbarous Scythias Land,
Nor on the dangerous Shoals of Africk's Sand.
But of a Noble House, and lovely Pair,
Thy Father gen'rous, and thy Mother fair.
With Dreams like these may Phœbus fill my Mind
No more, but throw the Visions in the Wind.
ELEGY V.
You to th' Etrurian pleasing Baths retreat;
Baths dangerous in the sult'ry Summer's Heat,
But now prefer'd to Baja's, when his Wing
The Winter spreads, and yields to purple Spring.
Baths dangerous in the sult'ry Summer's Heat,
But now prefer'd to Baja's, when his Wing
The Winter spreads, and yields to purple Spring.
192
For me, Persephone, with doubtless Power,
Denounces Death, and marks th' oblivious Hour.
Spare! Goddess, spare! and grant a longer Date
To Youth unworthy of so hard a Fate.
The Rites for Ceres, and for thee ordain'd,
Were never by my daring Tongue prophan'd:
My Hands ne'er charg'd the Cup with deadly Juice,
No Land gave pois'nous Simples for my Use;
Nor did I ever impious raise my Hands
To fire the sacred Fanes with flaming Brands.
Nor have my Thoughts injurious Ills design'd,
Nor meditated Mischiefs stain'd my Mind.
No Blasphemies did e'er my Lips distain,
Nor has my Tongue been us'd to talk prophane.
I'm Young, nor do my Jetty Locks give way
To the fair Hue of venerable Grey;
Nor bending Age has made me stoop as yet,
Nor giv'n his stagg'ring Motion to my Feet.
What Pleasure is there in the rash Design,
Of plucking unripe Clusters from the Vine?
Or with rough Hands the Apple-tree invade,
Soon as the Fruit is set, and Blossoms fade?
Spare, O! ye Pow'rs, who hold the livid Floods,
Tenants of dusky Shades, and gloomy Woods.
You to whom Lots decisive did ordain
The third Division, and Infernal Reign.
May I to Meads below my Journey take,
To fill the Boat, and cross the dreary Lake;
When Age has rifled my becoming Grace,
And scatter'd Paleness o'er my wrinkl'd Face.
When I, an ancient Sire, shall teach the Young,
And talk pass'd Actions to the list'ning Throng.
Denounces Death, and marks th' oblivious Hour.
Spare! Goddess, spare! and grant a longer Date
To Youth unworthy of so hard a Fate.
The Rites for Ceres, and for thee ordain'd,
Were never by my daring Tongue prophan'd:
My Hands ne'er charg'd the Cup with deadly Juice,
No Land gave pois'nous Simples for my Use;
Nor did I ever impious raise my Hands
To fire the sacred Fanes with flaming Brands.
Nor have my Thoughts injurious Ills design'd,
Nor meditated Mischiefs stain'd my Mind.
No Blasphemies did e'er my Lips distain,
Nor has my Tongue been us'd to talk prophane.
I'm Young, nor do my Jetty Locks give way
To the fair Hue of venerable Grey;
Nor bending Age has made me stoop as yet,
Nor giv'n his stagg'ring Motion to my Feet.
193
Of plucking unripe Clusters from the Vine?
Or with rough Hands the Apple-tree invade,
Soon as the Fruit is set, and Blossoms fade?
Spare, O! ye Pow'rs, who hold the livid Floods,
Tenants of dusky Shades, and gloomy Woods.
You to whom Lots decisive did ordain
The third Division, and Infernal Reign.
May I to Meads below my Journey take,
To fill the Boat, and cross the dreary Lake;
When Age has rifled my becoming Grace,
And scatter'd Paleness o'er my wrinkl'd Face.
When I, an ancient Sire, shall teach the Young,
And talk pass'd Actions to the list'ning Throng.
Pray Heaven these Apprehensions may be vain,
Though I have languish'd fifteen Days in Pain.
Though I have languish'd fifteen Days in Pain.
But you the sacred Deities revere,
And Nymphs who make the Tuscan Baths their Care;
And swiming while at Ease, your Limbs you lave
With easy Hand, disturb the smiling Wave.
Live happy, and your Days in Pleasure spend,
Always remembring of your absent Friend;
Whether we live and breath the Vital Air,
Or whether Fates will have it said we were;
Mean while, in Hopes my Illness may decrease,
Offer to Dis a Sheep with Sable Fleece;
And for Libation give the Pow'r divine,
A Bowl of snowy Milk, and ruddy Wine.
And Nymphs who make the Tuscan Baths their Care;
194
With easy Hand, disturb the smiling Wave.
Live happy, and your Days in Pleasure spend,
Always remembring of your absent Friend;
Whether we live and breath the Vital Air,
Or whether Fates will have it said we were;
Mean while, in Hopes my Illness may decrease,
Offer to Dis a Sheep with Sable Fleece;
And for Libation give the Pow'r divine,
A Bowl of snowy Milk, and ruddy Wine.
195
ELEGY VI.
Bacchus
attend! So sacred be the Vine;
So may cool Ivy round thy Temples twine.
To heal my Grief thy generous Blessing pour:
Love oft has fled at thy superior Power.
So may cool Ivy round thy Temples twine.
To heal my Grief thy generous Blessing pour:
Love oft has fled at thy superior Power.
Boy! Let the Glasses crown'd with Liquor stand,
And pour Falernian with a ready Hand.
Ye melancholy Train of Cares, away!
Let Phœbus shine on this auspicious Day,
And his white Steeds diffuse a lively Ray.
And pour Falernian with a ready Hand.
Ye melancholy Train of Cares, away!
Let Phœbus shine on this auspicious Day,
And his white Steeds diffuse a lively Ray.
You, my dear Friends, the cheerful Banquet join,
Nor baulk your Glass while I dispose the Wine.
He that to join the drinking Match declines,
And shuns the Flavour of the generous Wines;
Him may his Favourite Girl with Wiles deceive,
Oft blind her Crimes, and he as oft believe.
Nor baulk your Glass while I dispose the Wine.
He that to join the drinking Match declines,
And shuns the Flavour of the generous Wines;
Him may his Favourite Girl with Wiles deceive,
Oft blind her Crimes, and he as oft believe.
196
The jolly God can Chearfulness impart,
Enlarge the Soul, and raise the joyful Heart;
He brings the stubborn underneath his Rein,
Disarms the Lover of his high Disdain,
And send him suppliant to the Fair again.
Th' Armenian Tyger with his spotted Pride,
The furious Lyon with his tawny Hide
He overcomes, their Anger can asswage,
Soften their Breasts, and quell their cruel Rage.
Love has an equal Power o'er things like these,
Nay can do greater Wonders if he please;
But what is that to us, let us attend
The Gifts that Bacchus does so freely send.
Come drink around, and let the Liquor pass;
Which of you loves to see an empty Glass?
'Tis just, nor Bacchus does the Rule decline,
That they who worship him should drink his Wine.
E're long he comes too fierce, and too severe;
Let him drink on who does his Anger fear.
How dire his Punishment, his Pow'r how great;
Agave's Rage will prove, and Pentheus' Fate.
But hence those Fears; let her who strives with Fraud
To veil her Baseness, dread the angry God.
Alas, what do I wish with thoughtless Mind?
May all those Pray'rs be scatter'd in the Wind.
For still believe me my ungenerous Fair,
Though I, neglected, am not worth your Care;
Yet I shall my unweary'd Pray'rs raise,
That you may spend a Life of prosp'rous Days.
Enlarge the Soul, and raise the joyful Heart;
He brings the stubborn underneath his Rein,
Disarms the Lover of his high Disdain,
And send him suppliant to the Fair again.
Th' Armenian Tyger with his spotted Pride,
The furious Lyon with his tawny Hide
He overcomes, their Anger can asswage,
Soften their Breasts, and quell their cruel Rage.
Love has an equal Power o'er things like these,
Nay can do greater Wonders if he please;
But what is that to us, let us attend
The Gifts that Bacchus does so freely send.
Come drink around, and let the Liquor pass;
Which of you loves to see an empty Glass?
'Tis just, nor Bacchus does the Rule decline,
That they who worship him should drink his Wine.
197
Let him drink on who does his Anger fear.
How dire his Punishment, his Pow'r how great;
Agave's Rage will prove, and Pentheus' Fate.
But hence those Fears; let her who strives with Fraud
To veil her Baseness, dread the angry God.
Alas, what do I wish with thoughtless Mind?
May all those Pray'rs be scatter'd in the Wind.
For still believe me my ungenerous Fair,
Though I, neglected, am not worth your Care;
Yet I shall my unweary'd Pray'rs raise,
That you may spend a Life of prosp'rous Days.
But while I talk I trifle Time away;
Come let's repeat the circling Glass, I pray,
And after many Dark, enjoy one lightsome Day.
Come let's repeat the circling Glass, I pray,
And after many Dark, enjoy one lightsome Day.
198
ELEGY VII.
Ah me! How hard it is to imitate
False Mirth; and mimick Chearfulness create!
When the uneasy Mind enjoys no Rest,
How forc'd the Laughter seems! how dull the Jest!
Ill suits the Mouth, the Smile when ill design'd,
Nor drunken Words express a chearful Mind.
Why do I thus complain? Vile Cares be gone!
Bacchus detests the melancholly Moan.
Fair Ariadne by false Vows betray'd,
While Theseus' treacherous Tongue deceiv'd the Maid:
Unheard you mourn'd, and unobserv'd you wept,
Upon a lonely desert Island left.
Thus Learn'd Catullus, in his moving Strain,
Repeats the Crimes of that ungrateful Man.
False Mirth; and mimick Chearfulness create!
When the uneasy Mind enjoys no Rest,
How forc'd the Laughter seems! how dull the Jest!
Ill suits the Mouth, the Smile when ill design'd,
Nor drunken Words express a chearful Mind.
Why do I thus complain? Vile Cares be gone!
Bacchus detests the melancholly Moan.
Fair Ariadne by false Vows betray'd,
While Theseus' treacherous Tongue deceiv'd the Maid:
Unheard you mourn'd, and unobserv'd you wept,
Upon a lonely desert Island left.
Thus Learn'd Catullus, in his moving Strain,
Repeats the Crimes of that ungrateful Man.
But such Examples being known, take Care,
And by another's Grief their Ills beware;
Let none deceive thee, tho' she Fondness shows,
Though round your Neck her winding Arms she throws;
Nor let her seize thee with her Syren's Song,
Nor all the sordid Flatteries of her Tongue:
Though by her Eyes she swears, thy Mind to move,
By her own Juno, and the Queen of Love.
There's nothing in it, Jove at Lovers Vows
Laughs, and in Air the idle Perj'ries throws.
Then why to such Complainings am I led?
Why dwell so long on one perfidious Maid?
Leave me, ye melancholly Words, I pray,
And hence ye dull Reflections far away.
How could I, blest with thee, long Nights employ?
And how with thee the longest Day enjoy:
Perfidious Maid! I ne'er deserv'd this Ill;
False as you are,—tho' false, yet lovely still,
And by another's Grief their Ills beware;
199
Though round your Neck her winding Arms she throws;
Nor let her seize thee with her Syren's Song,
Nor all the sordid Flatteries of her Tongue:
Though by her Eyes she swears, thy Mind to move,
By her own Juno, and the Queen of Love.
There's nothing in it, Jove at Lovers Vows
Laughs, and in Air the idle Perj'ries throws.
Then why to such Complainings am I led?
Why dwell so long on one perfidious Maid?
Leave me, ye melancholly Words, I pray,
And hence ye dull Reflections far away.
How could I, blest with thee, long Nights employ?
And how with thee the longest Day enjoy:
Perfidious Maid! I ne'er deserv'd this Ill;
False as you are,—tho' false, yet lovely still,
Bacchus the Naïd loves, why do you stay?
With Tibers Flood the raging Wine allay.
Tho' hum'rous the fantastick Maid denies
Her Presence, and conceal'd in Secret lies:
Shall I all Night intreat, and beg and pine?
Not I; here, Boy, come give me stronger Wine.
While round my Locks the Tyrian Odours shed,
I ought with glowing Flow'rs to bind my Head.
With Tibers Flood the raging Wine allay.
200
Her Presence, and conceal'd in Secret lies:
Shall I all Night intreat, and beg and pine?
Not I; here, Boy, come give me stronger Wine.
While round my Locks the Tyrian Odours shed,
I ought with glowing Flow'rs to bind my Head.
| The Works of Tibullus | |