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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SULPICIA's POEMS. |
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 | A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus |  |
233
SULPICIA's POEMS.
POEM THE FIRST.
[Great God of War! Sulpicia, lovely Maid]
Great God of War! Sulpicia, lovely Maid,
To grace your Calends, is in Pomp array'd.
If Beauty warms you, quit th'ethereal Height,
E'en Cytherea will indulge the Sight:
But while you gaze o'er all her matchless Charms,
Beware your Hands should meanly drop your Arms!
When Cupid would the Gods with Love surprize,
He lights his Torches at her radiant Eyes.
A secret Grace her every Act improves,
And pleasing follows wheresoe'er she moves:
If loose her Hair upon her Bosom plays,
Unnumber'd Charms that Negligence betrays:
Or if 'tis plaited with a labour'd Care,
Alike the labour'd Plaits become the Fair.
Whether rich Tyrian Robes her Charms invest,
Or all in snowy White the Nymph is drest,
All, all she graces, still supremely fair,
Still charms Spectators with a fond Despair.
A thousand Dresses thus Vertumnus wears,
And beauteous equally in each appears.
To grace your Calends, is in Pomp array'd.
If Beauty warms you, quit th'ethereal Height,
E'en Cytherea will indulge the Sight:
But while you gaze o'er all her matchless Charms,
Beware your Hands should meanly drop your Arms!
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He lights his Torches at her radiant Eyes.
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And pleasing follows wheresoe'er she moves:
If loose her Hair upon her Bosom plays,
Unnumber'd Charms that Negligence betrays:
Or if 'tis plaited with a labour'd Care,
Alike the labour'd Plaits become the Fair.
Whether rich Tyrian Robes her Charms invest,
Or all in snowy White the Nymph is drest,
All, all she graces, still supremely fair,
Still charms Spectators with a fond Despair.
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And beauteous equally in each appears.
The richest Tints and deepest Tyrian Hue,
To thee, O wonderous Maid! are solely due:
To thee th'Arabian Husbandman should bring
The spicy Produce of his eastern Spring:
Whatever Gems the swarthy Indians boast,
Their shelly Treasures, and their golden Coast,
Alone thou merit'st! Come, ye tuneful Choir!
And come, bright Phœbus! with thy plausive Lyre!
This solemn Festival harmonious praise,
No Theme so much deserves harmonious Lays.
To thee, O wonderous Maid! are solely due:
To thee th'Arabian Husbandman should bring
The spicy Produce of his eastern Spring:
Whatever Gems the swarthy Indians boast,
Their shelly Treasures, and their golden Coast,
Alone thou merit'st! Come, ye tuneful Choir!
And come, bright Phœbus! with thy plausive Lyre!
This solemn Festival harmonious praise,
No Theme so much deserves harmonious Lays.
241
THE SECOND POEM.
[Whether, fierce churning Boars! in Meads ye stray]
Whether, fierce churning Boars! in Meads ye stray,Or haunt the shady Mountain's devious Way;
Whet not your Tusks, my lov'd Cerinthus spare!
Know, Cupid! I consign him to your Care.
What Madness 'tis, shagg'd tractless Wilds to beat,
And wound, with pointed Thorns, your tender Feet:
O! why to savage Beasts your Charms oppose?
With Toils and Blood-hounds why their Haunts inclose?
The Lust of Game decoys you far away;
Ye Blood-hounds perish, and ye Toils decay!
Yet, yet could I with lov'd Cerinthus rove
Thro' dreary Desarts, and the thorny Grove:
The cumbrous Meshes on my Shoulders bear,
And face the Monsters with my barbed Spear:
Could track the bounding Stags thro' tainted Grounds,
Beat up their Cover, and unchain the Hounds:
Thro' dreary Desarts, and the thorny Grove:
The cumbrous Meshes on my Shoulders bear,
And face the Monsters with my barbed Spear:
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Beat up their Cover, and unchain the Hounds:
But most to spread our artful Toils I'd joy,
For while we watch'd them, I could clasp the Boy!
Then, as entranc'd in amorous Bliss we lay,
Mix'd Soul with Soul, and melted all away!
Snar'd in our Nets, the Boar might safe retire,
And owe his Safety to our mutual Fire.
For while we watch'd them, I could clasp the Boy!
Then, as entranc'd in amorous Bliss we lay,
Mix'd Soul with Soul, and melted all away!
Snar'd in our Nets, the Boar might safe retire,
And owe his Safety to our mutual Fire.
O! without me ne'er taste the Joys of Love,
But a chaste Hunter in my Absence prove.
And O! may Boars the wanton Fair destroy,
Who would Cerinthus to their Arms decoy!
Yet, yet I dread!—Be Sports your Father's Care;
But you, all Passion! to my Arms repair!
But a chaste Hunter in my Absence prove.
And O! may Boars the wanton Fair destroy,
Who would Cerinthus to their Arms decoy!
Yet, yet I dread!—Be Sports your Father's Care;
But you, all Passion! to my Arms repair!
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THE THIRD POEM.
[Come, Phœbus! with your loosely floating Hair]
Come, Phœbus! with your loosely floating Hair,
O sooth her Torture, and restore the Fair!
Come, quickly come! we supplicant implore,
Such Charms your happy Skill ne'er sav'd before!
Let not her Frame, consumptive pine away,
Her Eyes grow languid, and her Bloom decay;
Propitious come! and with you bring along
Each pain-subduing Herb, and soothing Song;
Or real Ills, or whate'er Ills we fear,
To Ocean's farthest Verge let Torrents bear.
O! rack no more, with harsh, unkind Delays,
The Youth, who ceaseless for her Safety prays;
'Twixt Love and Rage his tortur'd Soul is torn;
And now he prays, now treats the Gods with Scorn.
O sooth her Torture, and restore the Fair!
Come, quickly come! we supplicant implore,
Such Charms your happy Skill ne'er sav'd before!
Let not her Frame, consumptive pine away,
Her Eyes grow languid, and her Bloom decay;
Propitious come! and with you bring along
Each pain-subduing Herb, and soothing Song;
Or real Ills, or whate'er Ills we fear,
To Ocean's farthest Verge let Torrents bear.
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The Youth, who ceaseless for her Safety prays;
'Twixt Love and Rage his tortur'd Soul is torn;
And now he prays, now treats the Gods with Scorn.
Take Heart, fond Youth! you have not vainly pray'd,
Still persevere to love th'inchanting Maid:
Sulpicia is your own! for you she sighs,
And slights all other Conquests of her Eyes:
Dry then your Tears; your Tears would fitly flow
Did she on others her Esteem bestow.
Still persevere to love th'inchanting Maid:
Sulpicia is your own! for you she sighs,
And slights all other Conquests of her Eyes:
Dry then your Tears; your Tears would fitly flow
Did she on others her Esteem bestow.
O come! what Honour will be yours, to save
At once two Lovers from the doleful Grave?
Then both will emulous exalt your Skill;
With grateful Tablets, both your Temples fill;
Both heap with spicy Gums your sacred Fire;
Both sing your Praises to th'harmonious Lyre:
Your Brother-Gods will prize your healing Powers,
Lament their Attributes, and envy yours.
At once two Lovers from the doleful Grave?
Then both will emulous exalt your Skill;
With grateful Tablets, both your Temples fill;
Both heap with spicy Gums your sacred Fire;
Both sing your Praises to th'harmonious Lyre:
Your Brother-Gods will prize your healing Powers,
Lament their Attributes, and envy yours.
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THE FOURTH POEM.
[On my Account, to Grief a ceaseless Prey]
On my Account, to Grief a ceaseless Prey,Dost thou a sympathetic Anguish prove?
I would not wish to live another Day,
If my Recovery did not charm my Love:
For what were Life, and Health, and Bloom to me,
Were they displeasing, beauteous Youth! to thee.
THE FIFTH POEM.
[With Feasts I'll ever grace the sacred Morn]
With Feasts I'll ever grace the sacred Morn,
When my Cerinthus, lovely Youth! was born.
At Birth, to you th'unerring Sisters sung
Unbounded Empire o'er the Gay and Young:
But I, chief I! (if you my Love repay,)
With Rapture own your ever-pleasing Sway.
This I conjure you, by your charming Eyes,
Where Love's soft God in wanton Ambush lies!
This by your Genius, and the Joys we stole,
Whose sweet Remembrance still enchants my Soul!
When my Cerinthus, lovely Youth! was born.
At Birth, to you th'unerring Sisters sung
Unbounded Empire o'er the Gay and Young:
But I, chief I! (if you my Love repay,)
With Rapture own your ever-pleasing Sway.
This I conjure you, by your charming Eyes,
Where Love's soft God in wanton Ambush lies!
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Whose sweet Remembrance still enchants my Soul!
Great natal Genius! grant my Heart's Desire,
So shall I heap with costly Gums your Fire!
Whenever Fancy paints me to the Boy,
Let his Breast pant with an impatient Joy:
But if the Libertine for others sigh
(Which Love forbid!) O Love! your Aid deny.
Nor, Love! be partial, let us both confess
The pleasing Pain, or make my Passion less.
But O! much rather 'tis my Soul's Desire,
That both may feel an equal, endless Fire.
So shall I heap with costly Gums your Fire!
Whenever Fancy paints me to the Boy,
Let his Breast pant with an impatient Joy:
But if the Libertine for others sigh
(Which Love forbid!) O Love! your Aid deny.
Nor, Love! be partial, let us both confess
The pleasing Pain, or make my Passion less.
But O! much rather 'tis my Soul's Desire,
That both may feel an equal, endless Fire.
In secret my Cerinthus begs the same,
But the Youth blushes to confess his Flame:
Assent, thou God! to whom his Heart is known,
Whether he public ask, or secret own.
But the Youth blushes to confess his Flame:
Assent, thou God! to whom his Heart is known,
Whether he public ask, or secret own.
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THE SIXTH POEM.
[Accept, O natal Queen! with placent Air]
Accept, O natal Queen! with placent Air,The Incense offer'd by the learned Fair.
She's rob'd in cheerful Pomp, O Power divine!
She's rob'd to decorate your Matron-shrine;
Such her Pretence; but well her Lover knows
Whence her gay Look, and whence her Finery flows.
Thou, who dost o'er the nuptial Bed preside,
O! let not envious Night their Joys divide,
But make the Bridegroom amorous as the Bride!
So shall they tally, matchless lovely Pair!
A Youth all Transport, and a melting Fair!
Then let no Spies their secret Haunts explore;
Teach them thy Wiles, O Love! and guard the Door.
O! let not envious Night their Joys divide,
But make the Bridegroom amorous as the Bride!
So shall they tally, matchless lovely Pair!
A Youth all Transport, and a melting Fair!
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Teach them thy Wiles, O Love! and guard the Door.
Assent, chaste Queen! in purple Pomp appear;
Thrice Wine is pour'd, and Cakes await you, here.
Her Mother tells her for what Boon to pray;
Her Heart denies it, tho' her Lips obey.
She burns, that Altar as the Flames devour;
She burns, and slights the Safety in her Power.
So may the Boy, whose Chains you proudly wear,
Thro' Youth the soft indulgent Anguish bear;
And when old Age has chill'd his every Vein,
The dear Remembrance may he still retain!
Thrice Wine is pour'd, and Cakes await you, here.
Her Mother tells her for what Boon to pray;
Her Heart denies it, tho' her Lips obey.
She burns, that Altar as the Flames devour;
She burns, and slights the Safety in her Power.
So may the Boy, whose Chains you proudly wear,
Thro' Youth the soft indulgent Anguish bear;
And when old Age has chill'd his every Vein,
The dear Remembrance may he still retain!
257
THE SEVENTH POEM.
[At last the natal odious Morn draws nigh]
I
At last the natal odious Morn draws nigh,When to your cold, cold Villa I must go;
There, far, too far from my Cerinthus Sigh:
Oh why, Messala! will you plague me so?
II
Let studious Mortals prize the sylvan Scene;And ancient Maidens hide them in the Shade;
Green Trees perpetually give me the Spleen;
For Crowds, for Joy, for Rome, Sulpicia's made!
III
Your too officious Kindness gives me Pain.How fall the Hail-stones! hark! how howls the Wind!
Then know, to grace your Birth-day should I deign,
My Soul, my All, I leave at Rome behind.
259
THE EIGHTH POEM.
[At last the Fair's determin'd not to go]
At last the Fair's determin'd not to go:My Lord! you know the Whimsies of the Sex.
Then let us gay carouze, let Odours flow;
Your Mind no longer with her Absence vex:
For oh! consider, Time incessant flies;
But every Day's a Birth-day to the Wise!
THE NINTH POEM.
[That I, descended of Patrician Race]
That I, descended of Patrician Race,With Charms of Fortune, and with Charms of Face,
Am so indifferent grown to you of late,
So little car'd for, now excites no Hate.
Rare Taste, and worthy of a Poet's Brain,
To prey on Garbage, and a Slave adore!
In such to find out Charms, a Bard must feign
Beyond what Fiction ever feign'd of Yore.
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No! no! she honours your transcendent Taste.
THE TENTH POEM.
[If from the Bottom of my love-sick Heart]
If from the Bottom of my love-sick Heart,Of last Night's Coyness I do not repent,
May I no more your tender Anguish hear,
No longer see you shed th'impassion'd Tear.
You grasp'd my Knees, and yet to let you part—
O Night more happy with Cerinthus spent!
My Flame with Coyness to conceal I thought,
But this Concealment was too dearly bought.
263
THE ELEVENTH POEM.
[Fame says, my Mistress loves another Swain]
Fame says, my Mistress loves another Swain;Would I were deaf, when Fame repeats the Wrong!
All Crimes to her imputed, give me Pain,
Not change my Love: Fame, stop your sawcy Tongue!
THE TWELFTH POEM.
[Let other Maids, whose Eyes less prosperous prove]
Let other Maids, whose Eyes less prosperous prove,Publish my Weakness, and condemn my Love.
Exult, my Heart! at last the Queen of Joy,
Won by the Music of her Votary's Strain,
Leads to the Couch of Bliss herself the Boy;
And bids Enjoyment thrill in every Vein:
Last Night entranc'd in Extacy we lay,
And chid the quick, too quick Return of Day!
But stop, my Hand! beware what loose you scrawl,
Lest into curious Hands the Billet fall.
No—the Remembrance charms!—begone, Grimace!
Matrons! be yours Formality of Face.
Know, with a Youth of Worth, the Night I spent,
And cannot, cannot, for my Soul repent!
| A Poetical Translation of the elegies of Tibullus | |