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105
Cornelia apud Inferos
Paraphrased out of Propertius
Cease, Paulus, cease to drench my tomb with tears;
Deaf to your woe the ebon gates of Hell!
When death engulfs our tender mortal years,
Behind a wall of adamant we dwell.
Ev'n if a god could hear your cries and moans,
Deep is the stream, and dark, without a ford;
Beneath the sky there yet is hope; but groans
The buried to the living ne'er restored.
The funeral trumpet sealed my fate for aye,
The crawling flame condemned my shrunken dust;
O what is wedlock, Paulus, what the cry
Of charioteers, the pride of badge or bust?
For all her fame, her happiness, her race,
Cornelia now lies lighter than a cloud.
O cursèd Night, my marshy resting-place,
O winding waters and my liquid shroud!
Deaf to your woe the ebon gates of Hell!
When death engulfs our tender mortal years,
Behind a wall of adamant we dwell.
Ev'n if a god could hear your cries and moans,
Deep is the stream, and dark, without a ford;
Beneath the sky there yet is hope; but groans
The buried to the living ne'er restored.
The funeral trumpet sealed my fate for aye,
The crawling flame condemned my shrunken dust;
O what is wedlock, Paulus, what the cry
Of charioteers, the pride of badge or bust?
For all her fame, her happiness, her race,
Cornelia now lies lighter than a cloud.
O cursèd Night, my marshy resting-place,
O winding waters and my liquid shroud!
Too early, yet all innocent, I come;
Father of shades, be clement to my shade.
May Æacus, my judge, be mild and dumb,
And due indulgence for my years be made.
O brethren of his dreadful house, be kind!
O hearken for my doom, each griesly Fate!
O pause, Ixion! Sisyphus, be blind!
O grasp thy river, Tantalus, and wait!
Be merciful, rude Cerberus, to-day,
And drop the rusty links of thy loose chain.
I for myself will plead my cause; and may
The fell urn whelm me, if I plead in vain.
Father of shades, be clement to my shade.
May Æacus, my judge, be mild and dumb,
And due indulgence for my years be made.
O brethren of his dreadful house, be kind!
O hearken for my doom, each griesly Fate!
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O grasp thy river, Tantalus, and wait!
Be merciful, rude Cerberus, to-day,
And drop the rusty links of thy loose chain.
I for myself will plead my cause; and may
The fell urn whelm me, if I plead in vain.
If noble parentage might e'er avail,
My father's names should consecrate my race;
My mother's ancestry no less prevail;
Both strains of blood were blazoned in my face.
When from my brows the virgin mantle fell,
My tresses bore the fillet of a bride,
And, for a moment, dear, I pleased thee well;
My tomb declares I had no love beside.
Ye ancestors, who in your Roman yoke
Dragged Africa in bondage to your knee,
And thou who in the flush of conquest broke
The pride of Perseus, answer then for me.
The censors blamed me not for light attire;
Never I made your reverend shades to blush.
Cornelia flung no cinders on your fire;
She added to your flame a nobler flush.
Changeless and innocent, my years out-roll;
This way or that no fault with me was found;
My virtues were the mirror of my soul,
And not by custom in a circle bound.
Whatever fate or fame may urge of me,
No matron shrank to seat her at my side,
Not even that rarest maid of Cybele,
Claudia, whom chastity hath deified;
Nor she, the guardian-priest of Vesta's flame,
Who saw her veil blaze on the living coal;
And thou, Scribonia, from whose race I came,
Only by dying have I grieved thy soul.
My father's names should consecrate my race;
My mother's ancestry no less prevail;
Both strains of blood were blazoned in my face.
When from my brows the virgin mantle fell,
My tresses bore the fillet of a bride,
And, for a moment, dear, I pleased thee well;
My tomb declares I had no love beside.
Ye ancestors, who in your Roman yoke
Dragged Africa in bondage to your knee,
And thou who in the flush of conquest broke
The pride of Perseus, answer then for me.
The censors blamed me not for light attire;
Never I made your reverend shades to blush.
Cornelia flung no cinders on your fire;
She added to your flame a nobler flush.
Changeless and innocent, my years out-roll;
This way or that no fault with me was found;
My virtues were the mirror of my soul,
And not by custom in a circle bound.
Whatever fate or fame may urge of me,
No matron shrank to seat her at my side,
Not even that rarest maid of Cybele,
Claudia, whom chastity hath deified;
107
Who saw her veil blaze on the living coal;
And thou, Scribonia, from whose race I came,
Only by dying have I grieved thy soul.
A mother's tears, a country's sorrow, these
Have been my glory; Cæsar deigns to mourn;
A sister's daughter in my shade he sees,
And weeps my ashes, tho' a God, forlorn.
Have been my glory; Cæsar deigns to mourn;
A sister's daughter in my shade he sees,
And weeps my ashes, tho' a God, forlorn.
Yet have I known love's full beatitude;
Fate hath not torn me from a barren bed;
O Lepidus, O Paulus, tender brood,
From your warm arms, I, lingering, turned and fled.
Fate hath not torn me from a barren bed;
O Lepidus, O Paulus, tender brood,
From your warm arms, I, lingering, turned and fled.
Twice have I seen high on the curule chair
My brother, consul at the hour I died.
Daughter, be worthy of the name you bear;
Be my ensample at your father's side.
Live as I lived. But, as for me, adieu!
To quit a life so drear, I grow resigned.
The loftiest tribute that is woman's due
Is to be lauded for a virtuous mind.
My brother, consul at the hour I died.
Daughter, be worthy of the name you bear;
Be my ensample at your father's side.
Live as I lived. But, as for me, adieu!
To quit a life so drear, I grow resigned.
The loftiest tribute that is woman's due
Is to be lauded for a virtuous mind.
Dearest, to thee our children I commend;
Up through the dark this plaintive prayer I fling!
Father, a mother's blessing I shall send,
When round thy neck their little fingers cling.
Up through the dark this plaintive prayer I fling!
Father, a mother's blessing I shall send,
When round thy neck their little fingers cling.
Our kisses on their lips shall be combined;
But though thy heart be breaking, none the less,
Dry those sad eyes, and let our children find
No salt upon the smiling mouth they press.
But though thy heart be breaking, none the less,
Dry those sad eyes, and let our children find
No salt upon the smiling mouth they press.
108
Paulus, tired nights are long enough for tears,
And lonely dreams will draw us face to face;
Then when my breaking voice thy fancy hears,
Speak, speak! I shall be present in that place.
And lonely dreams will draw us face to face;
Then when my breaking voice thy fancy hears,
Speak, speak! I shall be present in that place.
But ah! if other nuptials bid rejoice,
If some fresh wife approach with cautious smile,
Children, approve your father's second choice,
And with caresses that new face beguile;
Nor over-loudly praise your Mother dead,
Lest in such open speech ye seem to blame.
But if long woe circles your Father's head,
And consecrates the memory of my name,
Then from to-day look forward to long years,
Soothed by your love through all their vain despair;
The gods above, in pity of my tears,
Grant you long life to be your Father's care.
Happy I was in death, and void of fears,
With all my lov'd ones clustered round me there.
If some fresh wife approach with cautious smile,
Children, approve your father's second choice,
And with caresses that new face beguile;
Nor over-loudly praise your Mother dead,
Lest in such open speech ye seem to blame.
But if long woe circles your Father's head,
And consecrates the memory of my name,
Then from to-day look forward to long years,
Soothed by your love through all their vain despair;
The gods above, in pity of my tears,
Grant you long life to be your Father's care.
Happy I was in death, and void of fears,
With all my lov'd ones clustered round me there.
My cause is ended. Rise, my weeping friends;
Bid my pure soul fulfil the gods' behest;
Heav'n opens for me; and my shade ascends
To join the solemn cohorts of the blest.
Bid my pure soul fulfil the gods' behest;
Heav'n opens for me; and my shade ascends
To join the solemn cohorts of the blest.
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