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 |
 | I. |
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| II. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 3. |
TIBULLUS. BOOK THE THIRD.
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
 | A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus |  |
137
TIBULLUS. BOOK THE THIRD.
ELEGY THE FIRST.
[Thy Calends, Mars! are come, from whence of old]
POET.Thy Calends, Mars! are come, from whence of old,
The Year's Beginning our Forefathers told:
Now various Gifts thro' every House impart,
The pleasing Tokens of the friendly Heart.
139
What shall I give, what Honour shall I pay?
Dear, e'en if fickle; dearer, if my Friend!
To the lov'd Fair, what Present shall I send?
141
Gold wins the venal, Verse the lovely Maid:
In your smooth Numbers be her Charms display'd.
On polish'd Ivory let the Sheets be roll'd,
Your Name in Signature, the Edges Gold.
143
In a gay Wrapper then secure the whole.
Thus to adorn your Poems be your Care;
And thus adorn'd, transmit them to the Fair.
POET.
Fair Maids of Pindus! I your Counsel praise:
As you advise me, I'll adorn my Lays:
But by your Streams, and by your Shades, I pray,
Yourselves the Volume to the Fair convey.
O let it lowly at her Feet be laid,
Ere the gilt Wrapper, or the Edges fade;
Then let her tell me, if her Flames decline,
If quite extinguish'd, or if still she's mine.
But first your graceful Salutations paid,
In Terms submissive thus address the Maid:
“Chaste Fair! the Bard, who doats upon your Charms,
“And once could clasp them in his nuptial Arms,
“This Volume sends; and humbly hopes, that you,
“With kind Indulgence, will the Present view.
“You, you! he prizes more, he vows, than Life;
“Still a lov'd Sister, or again his Wife.
145
“And once more grant you to his fond Desire!
“Fix'd in this Hope, he'll reach the dreary Shore,
“Where Sense shall fail, and Memory be no more.”
147
THE SECOND ELEGY.
[Hard was the first, who ventur'd to divide]
Hard was the first, who ventur'd to divide
The youthful Bridegroom, and the tender Bride:
More hard the Bridegroom, who can bear the Day,
When Force has torn his tender Bride away.
Here too my Patience, here my Manhood fails;
The Brave grow Dastards, when fierce Grief assails:
Die, die I must! the Truth I freely own;
My Life too burthensome a Load is grown.
Then, when I flit a thin an empty Shade,
When on the mournful Pile my Corse is laid,
With melting Grief, with Tresses loose and torn,
Wilt thou, Neæra! for thy Husband mourn?
A Parent's Anguish will thy Mother shew,
For the lost Youth, who liv'd, who dy'd for you?
The youthful Bridegroom, and the tender Bride:
More hard the Bridegroom, who can bear the Day,
When Force has torn his tender Bride away.
149
The Brave grow Dastards, when fierce Grief assails:
Die, die I must! the Truth I freely own;
My Life too burthensome a Load is grown.
Then, when I flit a thin an empty Shade,
When on the mournful Pile my Corse is laid,
With melting Grief, with Tresses loose and torn,
Wilt thou, Neæra! for thy Husband mourn?
A Parent's Anguish will thy Mother shew,
For the lost Youth, who liv'd, who dy'd for you?
But see the Flames o'er all my Body stray!
And now my Shade ye call, and now ye pray
In Black array'd; the Flame forgets to soar;
And now pure Water on your Hands ye pour;
My lov'd Remains next gather'd in a Heap,
With Wine ye sprinkle, and in Milk ye steep.
The Moisture dry'd, within the Urn ye lay
My Bones, and to the Monument convey.
Panchaian Odours thither ye will bring,
And all the Produce of an Eastern Spring:
But what than Eastern Springs I hold more dear,
O wet my Ashes with a genuine Tear!
And now my Shade ye call, and now ye pray
151
And now pure Water on your Hands ye pour;
My lov'd Remains next gather'd in a Heap,
With Wine ye sprinkle, and in Milk ye steep.
The Moisture dry'd, within the Urn ye lay
My Bones, and to the Monument convey.
153
And all the Produce of an Eastern Spring:
But what than Eastern Springs I hold more dear,
O wet my Ashes with a genuine Tear!
Thus, by you both lamented, let me die,
Be thus perform'd my mournful Obsequy!
Then shall these Lines, by some throng'd Way, relate
The dear Occasion of my dismal Fate:
“Here lies poor Lygdamus; a lovely Wife,
“Torn from his Arms, cut short his Thread of Life”
Be thus perform'd my mournful Obsequy!
Then shall these Lines, by some throng'd Way, relate
The dear Occasion of my dismal Fate:
“Here lies poor Lygdamus; a lovely Wife,
“Torn from his Arms, cut short his Thread of Life”
155
THE THIRD ELEGY.
[Why did I supplicate the Powers divine?]
Why did I supplicate the Powers divine?
Why votive Incense burn at every Shrine?
Not that I Marble Palaces might own,
To draw Spectators, and to make me known;
Not that my Teams might plough new-purchas'd Plains,
And bounteous Autumn glad my countless Swains:
I begg'd with you my youthful Days to share,
I begg'd in Age to clasp the lovely Fair;
And when my stated Race of Life was o'er,
I begg'd to pass alone the Stygian Shore.
Why votive Incense burn at every Shrine?
Not that I Marble Palaces might own,
To draw Spectators, and to make me known;
Not that my Teams might plough new-purchas'd Plains,
And bounteous Autumn glad my countless Swains:
157
I begg'd in Age to clasp the lovely Fair;
And when my stated Race of Life was o'er,
I begg'd to pass alone the Stygian Shore.
Can treasur'd Gold the tortur'd Breast compose?
Or Plains, wide-cultur'd, sooth the Lover's Woes?
Can Marble-pillar'd Domes, the Pride of Art,
Secure from Sorrow the Possessor's Heart?
Not circling Woods, resembling sacred Groves,
Not Parian Pavements, nor gay-gilt Alcoves,
Not all the Gems that load an Eastern Shore,
Not whate'er else the greedy Great adore,
Possess'd, can shield the Owner's Breast from Woe,
Since fickle Fortune governs all below:
Such Toys, in little Minds, may Envy raise;
Still little Minds improper Objects praise.
Poor let me be; for Poverty can please
With you; without you, Crowns could give no Ease.
Or Plains, wide-cultur'd, sooth the Lover's Woes?
Can Marble-pillar'd Domes, the Pride of Art,
Secure from Sorrow the Possessor's Heart?
Not circling Woods, resembling sacred Groves,
Not Parian Pavements, nor gay-gilt Alcoves,
159
Not whate'er else the greedy Great adore,
Possess'd, can shield the Owner's Breast from Woe,
Since fickle Fortune governs all below:
Such Toys, in little Minds, may Envy raise;
Still little Minds improper Objects praise.
Poor let me be; for Poverty can please
With you; without you, Crowns could give no Ease.
Shine forth, bright Morn! and every Bliss impart,
Restore Neæra to my doating Heart!
For if her glad Return the Gods deny,
If I sollicit still in vain the Sky,
Nor Power, nor all the Wealth this Globe contains,
Can ever mitigate my Heart-felt Pains;
Let others these enjoy; be Peace my Lot,
Be mine Neæra, mine a humble Cot!
Saturnia, grant thy Suppliant's timid Prayer!
And aid me, Venus! from thy pearly Chair!
Restore Neæra to my doating Heart!
For if her glad Return the Gods deny,
If I sollicit still in vain the Sky,
Nor Power, nor all the Wealth this Globe contains,
Can ever mitigate my Heart-felt Pains;
Let others these enjoy; be Peace my Lot,
Be mine Neæra, mine a humble Cot!
161
And aid me, Venus! from thy pearly Chair!
Yet, if the Sisters, who o'er Fate preside,
My Vows contemning, still detain my Bride,
Cease, Breast, to heave! cease, anxious Blood, to flow!
Come, Death! transport me to thy Realms below.
My Vows contemning, still detain my Bride,
Cease, Breast, to heave! cease, anxious Blood, to flow!
Come, Death! transport me to thy Realms below.
163
THE FOURTH ELEGY.
[Last Night's ill-boding Dreams, ye Gods avert!]
Last Night's ill-boding Dreams, ye Gods avert!
Nor plague, with Portents, a poor Lover's Heart!
But why? From Prejudice our Terrors rise;
Vain Visions have no Commerce with the Skies:
Th'Event of Things the Gods alone foresee,
And Tuscan Priests foretel what they decree.
Dreams flit at Midnight round the Lover's Head,
And timorous Man alarm with idle Dread:
And hence Oblations to divert the Woe,
Weak stuperstitious Minds on Heaven bestow.
But since whate'er the Gods foretel is true,
And Man's oft warn'd, mysterious Dreams! by you;
Dread Juno! make my nightly Visions vain,
Vain make my boding Fears, and calm my Pain!
The blessed Gods, you know, I ne'er revil'd,
And nought iniquous e'er my Heart defil'd.
Nor plague, with Portents, a poor Lover's Heart!
But why? From Prejudice our Terrors rise;
Vain Visions have no Commerce with the Skies:
Th'Event of Things the Gods alone foresee,
And Tuscan Priests foretel what they decree.
165
And timorous Man alarm with idle Dread:
And hence Oblations to divert the Woe,
Weak stuperstitious Minds on Heaven bestow.
But since whate'er the Gods foretel is true,
And Man's oft warn'd, mysterious Dreams! by you;
Dread Juno! make my nightly Visions vain,
Vain make my boding Fears, and calm my Pain!
The blessed Gods, you know, I ne'er revil'd,
And nought iniquous e'er my Heart defil'd.
Now Night had lav'd her Coursers in the Main,
And left to dewy Dawn a doubtful Reign;
Bland Sleep, that from the Couch of Sorrow flies,
(The Wretch's Solace) had not clos'd my Eyes;
At last, when Morn unbar'd the Gates of Light,
A downy Slumber shut my labouring Sight:
A Youth appear'd, with Virgin-laurel crown'd,
He mov'd majestic, and I heard the Sound.
Such Charms, such manly Charms, were never seen,
As fir'd his Eyes, and harmoniz'd his Mein;
His Hair, in Ringlets of an auburn Hue,
Shed Syrian Sweets, and o'er his Shoulders flew;
As white as thine, fair Luna! was his Skin,
So vein'd with Azure, and as smoothly thin;
So soft a Blush vermilion'd o'er his Face,
As when a Maid first melts in Man's Embrace;
Or when the Fair with curious Art unite
The purple Amaranth, and Lilly white.
A Bloom like his, when ting'd by Autumn's Pride,
Reddens the Apple on the sunny Side;
A Tyrian Tunic to his Ancles flow'd,
Which thro' it's sirfled Plaits his godlike Beauties show'd.
A Lyre, the Present Mulciber bestow'd,
On his left Arm with easy Grandeur glow'd;
The peerless Work of Virgin Gold was made,
With Ivory, Gems, and Tortoise interlaid;
O'er all the vocal Strings his Fingers stray,
The vocal Strings his Fingers glad obey,
And, harmoniz'd, a sprightly Prelude play:
But when he join'd the Music of his Tongue,
These soft, sad elegiac Lays he sung:
And left to dewy Dawn a doubtful Reign;
167
(The Wretch's Solace) had not clos'd my Eyes;
At last, when Morn unbar'd the Gates of Light,
A downy Slumber shut my labouring Sight:
A Youth appear'd, with Virgin-laurel crown'd,
He mov'd majestic, and I heard the Sound.
Such Charms, such manly Charms, were never seen,
As fir'd his Eyes, and harmoniz'd his Mein;
His Hair, in Ringlets of an auburn Hue,
Shed Syrian Sweets, and o'er his Shoulders flew;
169
So vein'd with Azure, and as smoothly thin;
So soft a Blush vermilion'd o'er his Face,
As when a Maid first melts in Man's Embrace;
Or when the Fair with curious Art unite
The purple Amaranth, and Lilly white.
A Bloom like his, when ting'd by Autumn's Pride,
Reddens the Apple on the sunny Side;
171
Which thro' it's sirfled Plaits his godlike Beauties show'd.
A Lyre, the Present Mulciber bestow'd,
On his left Arm with easy Grandeur glow'd;
The peerless Work of Virgin Gold was made,
With Ivory, Gems, and Tortoise interlaid;
173
The vocal Strings his Fingers glad obey,
And, harmoniz'd, a sprightly Prelude play:
But when he join'd the Music of his Tongue,
These soft, sad elegiac Lays he sung:
“All hail, thou Care of Heaven! (a virtuous Bard
“The God of Wine, the Muses, I, regard;)
“But neither Bacchus, nor the Thespian Nine,
“The sacred Will of Destiny divine:
“The secret Book of Destiny to see,
“Heaven's awful Sire has given alone to me;
“And I, unerring God, to you explain
“(Attend and credit) what the Fates ordain.
“The God of Wine, the Muses, I, regard;)
“But neither Bacchus, nor the Thespian Nine,
“The sacred Will of Destiny divine:
“The secret Book of Destiny to see,
“Heaven's awful Sire has given alone to me;
“And I, unerring God, to you explain
“(Attend and credit) what the Fates ordain.
“She who is still your ever constant Care,
“Dearer to you than Sons to Mothers are,
“Whose Beauties bloom in every softned Line,
“Her Sex's Envy, and the Love of thine:
“Not with more Warmth is female Fondness mov'd,
“Not with more Warmth are tenderest Brides belov'd.
“For whom you hourly importune the Sky,
“For whom you wish to live, nor fear to die,
“Whose Form, when Night has wrap'd in Black the Pole,
“Cheats in soft Vision your enamour'd Soul;
“Neæra! whose bright Charms your Verse displays,
“Seeks a new Lover, and inconstant strays!
“For thee no more with mutual Warmth she burns,
“But thy chaste House, and chaste Embrace, she spurns.
“Dearer to you than Sons to Mothers are,
“Whose Beauties bloom in every softned Line,
“Her Sex's Envy, and the Love of thine:
“Not with more Warmth is female Fondness mov'd,
“Not with more Warmth are tenderest Brides belov'd.
“For whom you hourly importune the Sky,
“For whom you wish to live, nor fear to die,
“Whose Form, when Night has wrap'd in Black the Pole,
“Cheats in soft Vision your enamour'd Soul;
175
“Seeks a new Lover, and inconstant strays!
“For thee no more with mutual Warmth she burns,
“But thy chaste House, and chaste Embrace, she spurns.
“O cruel, perjur'd, false, intriguing Sex!
“O born with Woes poor wretched Man to vex!
“Whoe'er has learn'd her Lover to betray,
“Her Beauty perish, and her Name decay!
“O born with Woes poor wretched Man to vex!
“Whoe'er has learn'd her Lover to betray,
“Her Beauty perish, and her Name decay!
“Yet, as the Sex will change, avoid Despair;
“A patient Homage may subdue the Fair.
“Fierce Love taught Man to suffer, laugh at Pain;
“Fierce Love taught Man, with Joy, to drag the Chain;
“Fierce Love, nor vainly fabulous the Tale,
“Forc'd me, yes forc'd me, to the lonely Dale:
“There I Admetus' snowy Heifers drove,
“Nor tun'd my Lyre, nor sung, absorb'd in Love
“The favourite Son of Heaven's almighty Sire,
“Prefer'd a Straw-pipe to his golden Lyre.
“A patient Homage may subdue the Fair.
“Fierce Love taught Man to suffer, laugh at Pain;
“Fierce Love taught Man, with Joy, to drag the Chain;
“Fierce Love, nor vainly fabulous the Tale,
“Forc'd me, yes forc'd me, to the lonely Dale:
“There I Admetus' snowy Heifers drove,
“Nor tun'd my Lyre, nor sung, absorb'd in Love
“The favourite Son of Heaven's almighty Sire,
“Prefer'd a Straw-pipe to his golden Lyre.
177
“Tho' false the Fair, tho' Love is wild, obey;
“Or, Youth, you know not Love's tyrannic Sway.
“In plaintive Strains address the haughty Fair;
“The Haughty soften at the Voice of Prayer.
“If ever true my Delphian Answers prove,
“Bear this my Message to the Maid you love.
“Or, Youth, you know not Love's tyrannic Sway.
“In plaintive Strains address the haughty Fair;
“The Haughty soften at the Voice of Prayer.
“If ever true my Delphian Answers prove,
“Bear this my Message to the Maid you love.
“Pride of your Sex, and Passion of the Age!
“No more let other Men your Love engage;
“A Bard on you the Delian God bestows,
“This Match alone can warrant your Repose.”
“No more let other Men your Love engage;
“A Bard on you the Delian God bestows,
“This Match alone can warrant your Repose.”
He sung. When Morpheus from my Pillow flew,
And plung'd me in substantial Griefs anew.
And plung'd me in substantial Griefs anew.
Ah! who could think that thou had'st broke thy Vows,
That thou, Neæra! sought'st another Spouse?
Such horrid Crimes, as all Mankind detest,
Could they, how could they, harbour in thy Breast?
The ruthless Deep, I know, was not thy Sire;
Nor fierce Chimæra, belching Floods of Fire;
Nor did'st thou from the triple Monster spring,
Round whom a Coil of kindred Serpents cling;
Thou art not of the Lybian Lions' Seed,
Of barking Scylla's, nor Charybdis' Breed;
Nor Afric's Sands, nor Scythia gave thee Birth;
But a compassionate, benignant Earth.
No! thou, my Fair! deriv'st thy noble Race
From Parents deck'd with every human Grace.
That thou, Neæra! sought'st another Spouse?
Such horrid Crimes, as all Mankind detest,
Could they, how could they, harbour in thy Breast?
The ruthless Deep, I know, was not thy Sire;
Nor fierce Chimæra, belching Floods of Fire;
Nor did'st thou from the triple Monster spring,
Round whom a Coil of kindred Serpents cling;
Thou art not of the Lybian Lions' Seed,
Of barking Scylla's, nor Charybdis' Breed;
179
But a compassionate, benignant Earth.
No! thou, my Fair! deriv'st thy noble Race
From Parents deck'd with every human Grace.
Ye Gods! avert the Woes that haunt my Mind,
And give the cruel Phantoms to the Wind.
And give the cruel Phantoms to the Wind.
181
THE FIFTH ELEGY.
[While you at Tuscan Baths for Pleasure stay]
While you at Tuscan Baths for Pleasure stay,
(Too hot when Sirius darts his sultry Ray,
Tho' now that purple Spring adorns the Trees,
Not Baia's more medicinal than these,)
Me harder Fates attend, my Youth decays;
Yet spare, Persephone! my blameless Days:
With secret Wickedness unstung my Soul;
I never mix'd, nor gave the baneful Bowl;
I ne'er the holy Mysteries proclaim'd;
I fir'd no Temple, and no God defam'd;
Age has not snow'd my jetty Locks with White,
Nor bent my Body, nor decay'd my Sight;
(When both the Consuls fell, ah fatal Morn!
Fatal to Roman Freedom! I was born.)
Apples unripe, what Folly 'tis to pull,
Or crush the Cluster ere the Grapes are full!
(Too hot when Sirius darts his sultry Ray,
Tho' now that purple Spring adorns the Trees,
Not Baia's more medicinal than these,)
Me harder Fates attend, my Youth decays;
Yet spare, Persephone! my blameless Days:
183
I never mix'd, nor gave the baneful Bowl;
I ne'er the holy Mysteries proclaim'd;
I fir'd no Temple, and no God defam'd;
185
Nor bent my Body, nor decay'd my Sight;
(When both the Consuls fell, ah fatal Morn!
Fatal to Roman Freedom! I was born.)
187
Or crush the Cluster ere the Grapes are full!
189
Ye gloomy Gods! whom Acheron obeys,
Dispel my Sickness, and prolong my Days!
Ere to the Shades my dreary Steps I take,
Or ferry o'er th'irremeable Lake,
Let me (with Age when wrinkled all my Face)
Tell ancient Stories to my listening Race;
Dispel my Sickness, and prolong my Days!
191
Or ferry o'er th'irremeable Lake,
193
Tell ancient Stories to my listening Race;
195
Thrice five long Days and Nights consum'd with Fire,
(O sooth its Rage!) I gradually expire;
While you the Naiad of your Fountain praise,
Or lave, or spend in gentle Sport your Days:
Yet, O my Friends! whate'er the Fates decree,
Joy guide your Steps, and still remember me!
(O sooth its Rage!) I gradually expire;
197
Or lave, or spend in gentle Sport your Days:
Yet, O my Friends! whate'er the Fates decree,
Joy guide your Steps, and still remember me!
Mean Time, to deprecate the fierce Disease,
And hasten glad Returns of vigorous Ease,
Milk, mix'd with Wine, O promise to bestow,
And sable Victims, on the Gods below.
And hasten glad Returns of vigorous Ease,
Milk, mix'd with Wine, O promise to bestow,
And sable Victims, on the Gods below.
201
THE SIXTH ELEGY.
[Come, Bacchus, come! so may the mystic Vine]
LOVER.Come, Bacchus, come! so may the mystic Vine
And verdant Ivy round thy Temples twine!
My Pains, the Anguish I endure, remove;
Oft hast thou vanquish'd the fierce Pangs of Love.
203
In the gay Cordial let me drench my Soul.
Hence, gloomy Care! I give you to the Wind;
The God of Fancy frolicks in my Mind!
My dear Companions! favour my Design,
Let's drown our Senses all, in rosy Wine!
COMPANION.
Those may the Fair with practis'd Guile abuse,
Who, sourly wise, the gay Dispute refuse:
The jolly God can Cheerfulness impart,
Enlarge the Soul, and pour out all the Heart.
LOVER.
But Love the Monsters of the Wood can tame,
The wildest Tygers own the powerful Flame:
He bends the stubborn to his awful Sway,
And melts Insensibility away:
So wide the Reign of Love!
COMPANION.
Wine, Wine, dear Boy!
Can any here in empty Goblets joy?
205
That those who praise him, should a Bumper love.
What Terrors arm his Brow? the Goblet drain:
To be too sober, is to be profane!
Her Son, who mock'd his Rites, Agave tore,
And furious scatter'd round the yelling Shore!
Such Fears be far from us, dread God of Wine!
Thy Rites we honour, we are wholly thine!
But let the sober Wretch thy Vengeance prove:
LOVER.
Or her, whom all my Sufferings cannot move!
—What pray'd I rashly for? my madding Prayer,
Ye Winds! disperse, unratified, in Air:
207
Serenely rise your Days, serenely roll!
COMPANION.
The Love-sick Struggle past, again be gay:
Come, crown'd with Roses, let's drink down the Day!
LOVER.
Ah me! loud-laughing Mirth how hard to feign!
When doom'd a Victim to Love's dreadful Pain:
How forc'd the drunken Catch, the smiling Jest,
When black Sollicitude annoys the Breast!
COMPANION.
Complaints, away! the blythsome God of Wine
Abhors to hear his genuine Votaries whine.
LOVER.
You, Ariadne! on a Coast unknown,
The perjur'd Theseus wept, and wept alone;
But learn'd Catullus, in immortal Strains,
Has sung his Baseness, and has wept your Pains.
209
Thrice happy they, who hear Experience call,
And shun the Precipice where others fall.
When the Fair clasps you to her Breast, beware,
Nor trust her, by her Eyes altho' she swear;
Not tho', to drive Suspicion from your Breast,
Or Love's soft Queen, or Juno she attest;
211
LOVER.
Yet Jove connives at amorous Perjuries.
Hence, serious Thoughts! then why do I complain?
The Fair are licenc'd by the Gods to feign.
Yet would the Guardian Powers of gentle Love,
This once indulgent to my Wishes prove,
Each Day we then should laugh, and talk, and toy,
And pass each Night in hymeneal Joy.
O let my Passion six thy faithless Heart!
For still I love thee, faithless as thou art!
213
My Wine to temper cooler Streams employ.
What tho' the smiling Board Neæra flies,
And in a Rival's Arms perfidious lies,
215
Not I—
COMPANION.
Quick, Servants! bring us stronger Wine.
LOVER.
Now Syrian Odours scent the festal Room,
Let rosy Garlands on our Foreheads bloom.
217
THE SEVENTH ELEGY.
[To you my Tongue eternal Fealty swore]
I
To you my Tongue eternal Fealty swore,My Lips the Deed with conscious Rapture own;
A fickle Libertine I rove no more,
You only please, and lovely seem alone.
II
The numerous Beauties that gay Rome can boast,With you compar'd, are Ugliness at best;
On me their Bloom and practis'd Smiles are lost,
Drive then, my Fair! Suspicion from your Breast.
III
Ah no! Suspicion is the Test of Love:I too dread Rivals, I'm suspicious grown;
Your Charms the most insensate Heart must move;
Would you were beauteous in my Eyes alone!
IV
I want not Man to envy my sweet Fate,I little care that others think me blest;
Of happy Conquests let the Coxcomb prate;
Vainglorious Vaunts the silent Wise detest.
219
V
Supremely pleas'd with you, my heavenly Fair!In any trackless Desert I could dwell;
From our Recess your Smiles would banish Care,
Your Eyes give Lustre to the Midnight Cell.
VI
For various Converse I should long no more,The blythe, the moral, witty, and severe;
Its various Arts are her's, whom I adore;
She can depress, exalt, instruct, and cheer.
VII
Should mighty Jove send down from Heaven a Maid,With Venus' Cestus zon'd, my Faith to try,
(So, as I Truth declare, me Juno aid!)
For you I'd scorn the Charmer of the Sky.
221
VIII
But hold! you're mad to vow, unthinking Fool!Her boundless Sway you're mad to let her know:
Safe from Alarms, she'll treat you as a Tool—
Ah, babbling Tongue! from thee what Mischiefs flow!
IX
Yet let her use me with Neglect, Disdain;In all, subservient to her Will I'll prove;
Whate'er I feel, her Slave I'll still remain,
Who shrinks from Sorrow, cannot be in Love!
X
Imperial Queen of Bliss! with Fetters bound,I'll sit me down before your holy Fane;
You kindly heal the constant Lover's Wound,
Th'inconstant torture with Increase of Pain.
| A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus | |