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 |
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| V. | ELEGY V. |
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 | The Works of Tibullus |  |
ELEGY V.
Phæbus
, within thy aweful Fane is plac'd
A Priest with holy Robes and Titles grac'd.
Propitious God! thy Lyre and Verses bring,
And with thy Finger strike the Vocal String:
And may your heavenly Song, and charming Lays,
Incline with mine to swell th' intended Praise:
While we with pious Toil before thy Shrine,
Thy Altars heap, and offer Rites Divine:
Do thou accept the Off'ring, and be there,
Confess'd with Laurel foliage round thy Hair:
But with illustrious Pride attend the Show,
And loosly let thy graceful Vestments flow;
Array'd as when old Saturn fled above,
You sang the Victor God, the pow'rful Jove.
A Priest with holy Robes and Titles grac'd.
Propitious God! thy Lyre and Verses bring,
And with thy Finger strike the Vocal String:
136
Incline with mine to swell th' intended Praise:
While we with pious Toil before thy Shrine,
Thy Altars heap, and offer Rites Divine:
Do thou accept the Off'ring, and be there,
Confess'd with Laurel foliage round thy Hair:
But with illustrious Pride attend the Show,
And loosly let thy graceful Vestments flow;
Array'd as when old Saturn fled above,
You sang the Victor God, the pow'rful Jove.
With piercing View you see the Years to come,
And tell in present Answers future Doom.
The Augur taught by thee with artful Care,
Knows what the diff'rent Flight of Birds declare.
Thou know'st the more exalted Fates of Kings,
Then when th' Auruspex reaking Entrails brings:
He through thy Aid can in the Charger see
Surprizing Fates, and strange Events to be.
To Sybill you unveil'd the future Days,
Who sung Presages dark in uncouth Lays.
The wife prophetick Dame yet never fail'd,
But if she promis'd Pow'r, the Romans still prevail'd.
O! teach thy Priest long Volumes to revolve,
And sacred, tho' surprizing Doubts resolve.
Unveil the dark mysterious Truth conceal'd,
And be what seems obscure, by thee reveal'd.
And tell in present Answers future Doom.
The Augur taught by thee with artful Care,
Knows what the diff'rent Flight of Birds declare.
Thou know'st the more exalted Fates of Kings,
Then when th' Auruspex reaking Entrails brings:
He through thy Aid can in the Charger see
Surprizing Fates, and strange Events to be.
137
Who sung Presages dark in uncouth Lays.
The wife prophetick Dame yet never fail'd,
But if she promis'd Pow'r, the Romans still prevail'd.
O! teach thy Priest long Volumes to revolve,
And sacred, tho' surprizing Doubts resolve.
Unveil the dark mysterious Truth conceal'd,
And be what seems obscure, by thee reveal'd.
The future Fate she of Æneas told,
And did important Truths to come unfold:
After he, on his Back, sustain'd a Weight
Father and Lares, a religious Freight;
Disclos'd a mighty Empire fix'd by Fate,
And all the Glories of the Roman State,
When she saw blazing Iliums Light aspire,
Her Glorys, Fanes, and Gods consum'd with Fire.
She told a glorious Empire yet to come,
E'er Romulus design'd eternal Rome,
Or Walls the Cause of Rhemus' fatal Doom:
For then the lowing Herd on Herbage graz'd,
Where now stupendious Palaces were rais'd;
And where Jove's Temple shoots its rising Tow'rs,
Hovels were rear'd, and Shepherds lowly Bow'rs.
There Pan beneath a Tree his shady Shrine,
Possess'd, with sprinkled Milk and Rites divine:
And Fram'd of Wood, the Goddess of the Field,
In her right Hand a homely Cyckle held:
There on some shady Tree's extended Boughs,
Hung warbling Pipes, the Signs of offer'd Vows.
By straying Shepherds hung Reads with Decrease,
With Wax conjoin'd, and gradually less.
And where Velabria spreads his wat'ry Store,
A little Wherry swam with silent Oar.
O'er this (design'd the Farmer's Wife) the Maid
Was on some solemn Holy-Day convey'd,
And brought back Presents of the Country Cheese,
Or else a sporting Lamb with snowy Fleece.
And did important Truths to come unfold:
After he, on his Back, sustain'd a Weight
Father and Lares, a religious Freight;
Disclos'd a mighty Empire fix'd by Fate,
And all the Glories of the Roman State,
When she saw blazing Iliums Light aspire,
Her Glorys, Fanes, and Gods consum'd with Fire.
122
E'er Romulus design'd eternal Rome,
Or Walls the Cause of Rhemus' fatal Doom:
For then the lowing Herd on Herbage graz'd,
Where now stupendious Palaces were rais'd;
And where Jove's Temple shoots its rising Tow'rs,
Hovels were rear'd, and Shepherds lowly Bow'rs.
There Pan beneath a Tree his shady Shrine,
Possess'd, with sprinkled Milk and Rites divine:
And Fram'd of Wood, the Goddess of the Field,
In her right Hand a homely Cyckle held:
There on some shady Tree's extended Boughs,
Hung warbling Pipes, the Signs of offer'd Vows.
By straying Shepherds hung Reads with Decrease,
With Wax conjoin'd, and gradually less.
And where Velabria spreads his wat'ry Store,
A little Wherry swam with silent Oar.
O'er this (design'd the Farmer's Wife) the Maid
Was on some solemn Holy-Day convey'd,
123
Or else a sporting Lamb with snowy Fleece.
Brother of winged Love, Æneas hail,
Who with thy Gods directs the flying Sail.
See Jove assigns thee Laurentines Abodes,
And calls to Hospitable Fields thy Gods.
The Trojan then with Wonder fill'd shall say
'Twas not in vain he came so long a Way;
There sacred Thou, by Old Numicus' Floods,
Shalt from a Heroe mingle with the Gods.
See as thy tir'd Fleet inclines to Shore,
Victoria flies, and haughty now no more,
Sits on thy Sails, and stoops to Trojan Power.
I see, I see Rutilian Fires alight,
The horrid Camp now shines before my Sight:
And thee proud Turnus with a Soul elate,
I see thy speedy Death, and dangerous Fate.
Laurentum's Camp I view before my Eyes,
I see Lavinum's Walls attempt the Skies,
And Alba Longa lofty Tow'rs arise.
Thee Ilia next I see, as from afar,
Destin'd to please the mighty Pow'r of War.
I see thee leave the Fires and hallow'd Place,
Now view the private Theft and close Embrace.
Thy purple Fillets flying loose abroad,
And on the Banks the scatter'd Trophies strow'd,
And cumb'rous Weapons of the eager God.
Now while you may, ye Oxen, graze your fill,
And crop the Grass from every rising Hill:
For on these Hills, and on this quiet Green,
E're long a mighty City shall be seen.
Rome, aweful Name, design'd from mighty sway,
Fatal to Nations, destin'd to obey:
Where e'er from Heaven bright Ceres views her Ground,
And spicy Fields, with yellow Harvests crown'd:
Where first the Morning Sun the East surveys,
And where declining to the Western Seas;
He wheels his Chariot swiftly down, and laves
His neighing Horses in the beating Waves.
Prophetick Truths I sing, so safely may,
I eat the Laurel Leaves I first display,
And may my Virgin Honour ne'er decay.
Who with thy Gods directs the flying Sail.
See Jove assigns thee Laurentines Abodes,
And calls to Hospitable Fields thy Gods.
The Trojan then with Wonder fill'd shall say
'Twas not in vain he came so long a Way;
There sacred Thou, by Old Numicus' Floods,
Shalt from a Heroe mingle with the Gods.
See as thy tir'd Fleet inclines to Shore,
Victoria flies, and haughty now no more,
Sits on thy Sails, and stoops to Trojan Power.
I see, I see Rutilian Fires alight,
The horrid Camp now shines before my Sight:
And thee proud Turnus with a Soul elate,
I see thy speedy Death, and dangerous Fate.
Laurentum's Camp I view before my Eyes,
I see Lavinum's Walls attempt the Skies,
And Alba Longa lofty Tow'rs arise.
140
Destin'd to please the mighty Pow'r of War.
I see thee leave the Fires and hallow'd Place,
Now view the private Theft and close Embrace.
Thy purple Fillets flying loose abroad,
And on the Banks the scatter'd Trophies strow'd,
And cumb'rous Weapons of the eager God.
Now while you may, ye Oxen, graze your fill,
And crop the Grass from every rising Hill:
For on these Hills, and on this quiet Green,
E're long a mighty City shall be seen.
Rome, aweful Name, design'd from mighty sway,
Fatal to Nations, destin'd to obey:
Where e'er from Heaven bright Ceres views her Ground,
And spicy Fields, with yellow Harvests crown'd:
Where first the Morning Sun the East surveys,
And where declining to the Western Seas;
He wheels his Chariot swiftly down, and laves
His neighing Horses in the beating Waves.
141
I eat the Laurel Leaves I first display,
And may my Virgin Honour ne'er decay.
Thus sang the Maid, and call'd thee Phæbus near,
She giddy writh'd her Neck, and wildly toss'd her Hair;
What e'er Amalthea, what Marpessia said,
Herophile, Apollo's fav'rite Maid:
Or what the fam'd Albuna understood,
Who lay conceal'd beside Old Tybur's Flood.
She giddy writh'd her Neck, and wildly toss'd her Hair;
What e'er Amalthea, what Marpessia said,
Herophile, Apollo's fav'rite Maid:
Or what the fam'd Albuna understood,
Who lay conceal'd beside Old Tybur's Flood.
These sang of Comets blazing in the Air,
The dire Portents of an impending War.
And how the rough Artillery of the Sky,
Huge ponderous Stones came rattling from on high.
In Clouds they heard the Arrow's whizzing Noise,
And the loud sounding Trumpet's brazen Voice.
In sacred Groves strange Noise the Ear invades,
And Fates were told from Woods and gloomy Shades.
The Sun deficient view the dusky Day,
And his pale Steed reflect a dying Ray.
Warm Tears down the Gods Marble Statues roll'd,
And Vocal Oxen coming Fates foretold.
The dire Portents of an impending War.
And how the rough Artillery of the Sky,
Huge ponderous Stones came rattling from on high.
In Clouds they heard the Arrow's whizzing Noise,
And the loud sounding Trumpet's brazen Voice.
126
And Fates were told from Woods and gloomy Shades.
The Sun deficient view the dusky Day,
And his pale Steed reflect a dying Ray.
Warm Tears down the Gods Marble Statues roll'd,
And Vocal Oxen coming Fates foretold.
With these Portents the former Times were scar'd,
But Phæbus kindly better Fates award:
These Prodegies avert and turn away,
Imers'd beneath the Surges of the Sea.
May crackling Laurel in the Flame declare,
The Omen of a sacred happy Year.
The Laurel gives the Sign, rejoice thou Swain,
Ceres will swell the Field with kindly Grain;
Now stain'd with Must, the Clown shall Clusters tread,
And cheerfully the pleasing Labour speed.
The Shepherd then inspir'd with generous Wine,
Shall keep Palilian Feasts and Rites Divine,
Then, O ye Wolves, desist to tear the Kine.
He warm'd with Wine, shall light up Straw in Heaps,
And thrice surround the Fire with sporting Leaps.
The Wife shall then her num'rous Off-spring see,
And Infants play around their Father's Knee:
The Grandsire's Care shall be to tend the Child,
And the old Woman lisp out Soothings mild.
Then shall the sacred rural Rites be paid
By Country Youth, with careless Limbs display'd
On rising Grass, beneath some spreading Shade;
Or else with their united Garments spread,
They'll form a cooling Umbrage over Head,
Deck'd with soft Flow'rs, in Bandage hanging down,
With glowing Flow'rs, the brimming Goblets crown.
Soft Grass-turfs on the verdant Altars lay,
And on the Seats the easy Turf display.
Here warm'd with Wine, and with o'er burden'd Head,
The Youth shall insolently scoff the Maid,
Yet sober, wish th' opprobrious Words unsaid.
When he reflects, himself he'll often blame,
And swear his Words and Thoughts were not the same.
O Phæbus, neither suffer Shafts nor Bow,
Let Love unarm'd around the Meadows go.
Shooting was first an advantagious Art,
'Till Cupid stretch'd the Bow, and us'd the Dart.
Alas, the Time he ever knew the Skill,
Knowledge, productive of a world of Ill,
And most to me who by his Arrow's slain,
Indulge my Illness, while I love the Pain.
I scarcely now of Nemesis can sing,
Without whose Name I can no Measure bring.
But you, my Dear, your sacred Poet spare,
For Poets are the Gods peculiar Care,
Then I of Messalinus, great in War,
Shall sing, and Nations shown before his Car;
And pleas'd shall with the glad Spectators stand,
Waving the Laurel Branches in my Hand:
My self a Soldier too with Laurel crown'd,
Shall shout glad Io' triumph all around;
Then my Messala, as the Show goes on,
The glorious Father of so great a Son,
Shall view the Sight with a rejoicing Eye,
And praise the Victor as he passes by.
But Phæbus kindly better Fates award:
These Prodegies avert and turn away,
Imers'd beneath the Surges of the Sea.
May crackling Laurel in the Flame declare,
The Omen of a sacred happy Year.
The Laurel gives the Sign, rejoice thou Swain,
Ceres will swell the Field with kindly Grain;
Now stain'd with Must, the Clown shall Clusters tread,
And cheerfully the pleasing Labour speed.
127
Shall keep Palilian Feasts and Rites Divine,
Then, O ye Wolves, desist to tear the Kine.
He warm'd with Wine, shall light up Straw in Heaps,
And thrice surround the Fire with sporting Leaps.
The Wife shall then her num'rous Off-spring see,
And Infants play around their Father's Knee:
The Grandsire's Care shall be to tend the Child,
And the old Woman lisp out Soothings mild.
Then shall the sacred rural Rites be paid
By Country Youth, with careless Limbs display'd
On rising Grass, beneath some spreading Shade;
Or else with their united Garments spread,
They'll form a cooling Umbrage over Head,
Deck'd with soft Flow'rs, in Bandage hanging down,
With glowing Flow'rs, the brimming Goblets crown.
Soft Grass-turfs on the verdant Altars lay,
And on the Seats the easy Turf display.
144
The Youth shall insolently scoff the Maid,
Yet sober, wish th' opprobrious Words unsaid.
When he reflects, himself he'll often blame,
And swear his Words and Thoughts were not the same.
O Phæbus, neither suffer Shafts nor Bow,
Let Love unarm'd around the Meadows go.
Shooting was first an advantagious Art,
'Till Cupid stretch'd the Bow, and us'd the Dart.
Alas, the Time he ever knew the Skill,
Knowledge, productive of a world of Ill,
And most to me who by his Arrow's slain,
Indulge my Illness, while I love the Pain.
I scarcely now of Nemesis can sing,
Without whose Name I can no Measure bring.
But you, my Dear, your sacred Poet spare,
For Poets are the Gods peculiar Care,
Then I of Messalinus, great in War,
Shall sing, and Nations shown before his Car;
145
Waving the Laurel Branches in my Hand:
My self a Soldier too with Laurel crown'd,
Shall shout glad Io' triumph all around;
Then my Messala, as the Show goes on,
The glorious Father of so great a Son,
Shall view the Sight with a rejoicing Eye,
And praise the Victor as he passes by.
O! Phœbus, hear the Pray'rs I now prefer,
So may you ever wave your flowing Hair;
So ever may your Sister's spotless Fame
Preserve the Lustre of a Virgin Name.
So may you ever wave your flowing Hair;
So ever may your Sister's spotless Fame
Preserve the Lustre of a Virgin Name.
| The Works of Tibullus | |