 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
89
Translation of Tibullus.
Book IV. Elegy III.
Ye furious Boars, that haunt the shady Grove,
Or dreary Plain, O spare my youthful Love,
Nor whet your Tusks against my charming Boy;
Thou, Cupid, guard him for Sulpicia's Joy.
The love of Sport has born him far away,
Perish, ye Dogs, ye Forests, all decay.
Is it not Madness o'er the Hills to roam
And bring thy tender Hands all mangled Home?
Can it be sweet to pierce the thorny Wood,
And stain thy Beauteous Legs with starting Blood?
Yet might I my Cerinthus' Pleasures share,
Nor Hills, nor Woods, nor Thorns, nor Wounds I'd fear.
Careful I'd search the Stag's uncertain Way,
And loose the eager Dog upon his Prey.
Then, then the Woods should truly pleasant prove,
E'en 'mid the Toils I'd grasp my manly Love;
And the rough Boar should pass unheeded by;
His Safety owing to our thoughtless Joy.
Or dreary Plain, O spare my youthful Love,
Nor whet your Tusks against my charming Boy;
Thou, Cupid, guard him for Sulpicia's Joy.
The love of Sport has born him far away,
Perish, ye Dogs, ye Forests, all decay.
Is it not Madness o'er the Hills to roam
And bring thy tender Hands all mangled Home?
Can it be sweet to pierce the thorny Wood,
And stain thy Beauteous Legs with starting Blood?
Yet might I my Cerinthus' Pleasures share,
Nor Hills, nor Woods, nor Thorns, nor Wounds I'd fear.
Careful I'd search the Stag's uncertain Way,
And loose the eager Dog upon his Prey.
91
E'en 'mid the Toils I'd grasp my manly Love;
And the rough Boar should pass unheeded by;
His Safety owing to our thoughtless Joy.
But tho' thy Sports, my Love, exceed my Charms,
Oh! take no other Mistress to thy Arms,
At Dian's Shrine his Vows the Sportsman pays,
Chaste then, like hers, for ever be thy Ways.
And oh! if any shameless Nymph shall dare,
Joys due to me alone, by Stealth to share,
Her guilty Limbs may hungry Tigers tear.
But come, my Love, my Charmer, come away,
To others gladly leave the rural Prey,
To others leave the dusty dang'rous Field,
More Joy the narrow space of these fond Arms can yield.
Oh! take no other Mistress to thy Arms,
At Dian's Shrine his Vows the Sportsman pays,
Chaste then, like hers, for ever be thy Ways.
And oh! if any shameless Nymph shall dare,
Joys due to me alone, by Stealth to share,
Her guilty Limbs may hungry Tigers tear.
But come, my Love, my Charmer, come away,
To others gladly leave the rural Prey,
To others leave the dusty dang'rous Field,
More Joy the narrow space of these fond Arms can yield.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |