University of Virginia Library

The Fourth Elegy of the Fourth Book of Tibullas, translated.

To Phœbus.

Come now Apollo, give the Virgin ease,
Whose Soul's afflicted with a sad Disease:
Make haste, I say, I'm sure you'l ne're repent,
There's scarce a prettier in the Firmament;
Prevent th'encroaching Evils of the Grave.
Let her the same commanding Sweetness have,
Let all her Pains, and her successive Cares
Be swallow'd up, together with our Fears.
Give her a Dose, and by some skilful Art,
Stave off the Terrors that infect her Heart.
Pity Cerinthus too, who'd fain appease
With constant Vows the angry Deities;
In doleful Strains he does his Fate deplore,
And curses Heav'n, that she should be no more.
But lay aside those Fears, and still be true,
Cerinthus still love on, as she loves you,
And then no Angel will from Heav'n destroy
The Bands of Love, or interrupt your Joy.
But now some noble Sacrifice to you,
Who at a Touch could save two Souls, is due,
At once the Lover and the Mistress too.
Let Grief dissolve into the Shades of Night,
And rise thou brighter by Sulpitia's Light:
Tears can do nothing here, but when you find
The fair Sulpitia's cruel and unkind.
Now great Apollo you may dance and play,
Before their Altars they both Incense pay.
That powerful Art they so admire in you,
Each God would wish himself Apollo too.