Ovid: TRISTIA

Hunc quoque de Getico, nostri studiose, libellum
     litore praemissis quattuor adde meis.
Hic quoque talis erit, qualis fortuna poetae:
     inuenies toto carmine dulce nihil.
Flebilis ut noster status est, ita flebile carmen,
     materiae scripto conueniente suae.

This little book too, O studious friend, from the Getic shore
     add to my four sent ahead.
This too will be such as is the fortune of the poet:
     you will find nothing sweet in the whole poem. As our state is lamentable, so the poem is lamentable,
     the writing suitable to its own material.

Integer et laetus laeta et iuuenalia lusi:
     illa tamen nunc me composuisse piget.
ut cecidi, subiti perago praeconia casus,
     sumque argumenti conditor ipse mei.
utque iacens ripa deflere Caystrius ales
     dicitur ore suam deficiente necem,
sic ego, Sarmaticas longe proiectus in oras,
     efficio tacitum ne mihi funus eat.

Whole and glad, I played with glad and juvenile things:
     yet now it irks me to have composed those.
Since I have fallen, I carry through the heraldings of my sudden accident,
     and I am myself the founder of my argument.
And as, lying on the bank, the Caystrian bird
     is said to bewail his own death with his voice failing,
so I, cast far upon Sarmatian shores,
     effect that my funeral not go tacit for me.

Delicias siquis lasciuaque carmina quaerit,
praemoneo, non est scripta quod ista legat.
Aptior huic Gallus blandique Propertius oris,
aptior, ingenium come, Tibullus erit.
Atque utinam numero non nos essemus in isto!

If anyone seeks delights and lascivious songs,
I forewarn: this is not written for him to read those.
More apt for him will be Gallus and Propertius of blandishing speech,
more apt will be Tibullus, with a kindly genius.
And would that we were not in that number!

     ei mihi, cur umquam Musa iocata mea est?
Sed dedimus poenas, Scythicique in finibus Histri
     ille pharetrati lusor Amoris abest.
Quod superest, animos ad publica carmina flexi,
     et memores iussi nominis esse mei.

     alas for me, why has my Muse ever jested?
But we have paid the penalties, and on the Scythian borders of the Danube
     that player of quiver-bearing Love is away.
What remains, I have turned my spirits to public songs,
     and have ordered them to be mindful of my name.

Si tamen ex uobis aliquis tam multa requiret,
unde dolenda canam, multa dolenda tuli.
Non haec ingenio, non haec componimus arte:
materia est propriis ingeniosa malis.
Et quota fortunae pars est in carmine nostrae?

If, however, any of you should ask so many things, whence I sing lamentable things, I have endured many lamentable things.
Not these by genius, not these do we compose by art:
the material is made ingenious by my own misfortunes.
And what portion of my fortune is in my song?

     Felix, qui patitur quae numerare potest!
Quot frutices siluae, quot flauas Thybris harenas,
     mollia quot Martis gramina campus habet,
tot mala pertulimus, quorum medicina quiesque
     nulla nisi in studio est Pieridumque mora.
"Quis tibi, Naso, modus lacrimosi carminis?" inquis:
     idem, fortunae qui modus huius erit.

     Happy is he who endures what he can number!
As many shrubs as the forests have, as many yellow sands the Tiber,
     as many soft grasses the Field of Mars possesses,
so many evils have I borne, whose remedy and repose
     are none except in study and in lingering with the Pierides.
"What end, Naso, is there to your tearful song?" you ask:
     the same as whatever measure there will be to this fortune.

Quod querar, illa mihi pleno de fonte ministrat,
     nec mea sunt, fati uerba sed ista mei.
At mihi si cara patriam cum coniuge reddas,
     sint uultus hilares, simque quod ante fui.
Lenior inuicti si sit mihi Caesaris ira,
     carmina laetitiae iam tibi plena dabo.

What I am to lament, she supplies to me from a brimming fountain,
     nor are these mine, but the words of my fate.
But if you should restore to me my dear fatherland together with my wife,
     let faces be cheerful, and let me be what I was before.
If the wrath of the unconquered Caesar should be gentler to me,
     I will now give to you songs full of joy.

Nec tamen ut lusit, rursus mea littera ludet:
sit semel illa ioco luxuriata meo.
Quod probet ipse, canam. Poenae modo parte leuata
barbariam rigidos effugiamque Getas.

Nor, however, will my letter play again as it has played:
let it once have luxuriated in my jest.
What he himself approves, I will sing. With the punishment only in part lightened
I shall escape barbarism and the rigid Getae.

Interea nostri quid agant, nisi triste, libelli?
     Tibia funeribus conuenit ista meis.
"At poteras" inquis "melius mala ferre silendo,
     et tacitus casus dissimulare tuos."
Exigis ut nulli gemitus tormenta sequantur,
     acceptoque graui uulnere flere uetas?

Meanwhile, what are my little books to do, if not be sad?
     That pipe is fitting for my funerals.
"But you could," you say, "bear evils better by keeping silent,
     and, silent, dissimulate your misfortunes."
You demand that no groans follow torments,
     and forbid weeping when a grave wound has been received?

Ipse Perilleo Phalaris permisit in aere
     edere mugitus et bouis ore queri.
Cum Priami lacrimis offensus non sit Achilles,
     tu fletus inhibes, durior hoste, meos?
Cum faceret Nioben orbam Latonia proles,
     non tamen et siccas iussit habere genas.

Phalaris himself permitted Perillus in the bronze to utter bellowings
     and to complain with the mouth of a bull.
Though Achilles was not offended by Priam’s tears,
     do you, harder than a foe, inhibit my weeping?
When the Latonian offspring made Niobe bereft,
     yet even then they did not command her to have dry cheeks.

Est aliquid, fatale malum per uerba leuare:
     hoc querulam Procnen Halcyonenque facit.
Hoc erat, in gelido quare Poeantius antro
     uoce fatigaret Lemnia saxa sua.
Strangulat inclusus dolor atque exaestuat intus,
     cogitur et uires multiplicare suas.

There is something, to lighten a fated ill through words:
     this makes Procne and Halcyone querulous.
This was why, in an icy cave, the Poeantian
     would weary his Lemnian rocks with his voice.
Pain, shut in, strangles and seethes within,
     and is compelled to multiply its forces.

Da ueniam potius, uel totos tolle libellos,
sic mihi quod prodest si tibi, lector, obest.
Sed neque obesse potest, ulli nee scripta fuerunt
nostra nisi auctori perniciosa suo.
"At mala sunt." Fateor.

Grant pardon rather, or remove the little books entirely,
thus, if what profits me harms you, reader.
But neither can it harm, nor have our writings been
pernicious to anyone, except to their own author.
"But they are bad." I confess.

Quis te mala sumere cogit?
Aut quis deceptum ponere sumpta uetat?
Ipse nec emendo, sed ut hic deducta legantur;
non sunt illa suo barbariora loco.

Who compels you to take up bad things?
Or who forbids one, once deceived, to put down what was taken up?
I myself do not emend, but let them be read here as spun out;
they are not more barbarous than in their own place.

Nec me Roma suis debet conferre poetis:
     inter Sauromatas ingeniosus eram.
Denique nulla mihi captatur gloria, quaeque
     ingeniis stimulos subdere fama solet.
Nolumus assiduis animum tabescere curis,
     quae tamen irrumpunt quoque uetantur eunt.

Nor ought Rome to compare me with her own poets:
     among the Sarmatians I was ingenious.
In fine, no glory is being hunted by me, and that fame which
     is wont to set spurs to talents.
We do not wish the mind to waste away with assiduous cares,
     which yet break in even where they are forbidden to go.

Cur scribam, docui. Cur mittam, quaeritis, isto?
uobiscum cupio quolibet esse modo.

Why I write, I have explained. Why I send it, do you ask, thither?
I desire to be with you in any manner whatsoever.

Ecquid ubi e Ponto noua uenit epistula, palles,
     et tibi sollicita soluitur illa manu?
Pone metum, ualeo; corpusque, quod ante laborum
     inpatiens nobis inualidumque fuit,
sufficit, atque ipso uexatum induruit usu.
     An magis infirmo non uacat esse mihi?

Do you, when a new epistle comes from Pontus, grow pale,
     and is it loosened for you by an anxious hand?
Put aside fear, I am well; and my body, which before was
     impatient of labors and weak for me,
does suffice, and, vexed by use itself, has hardened.
     Or rather, is there no leisure for me to be infirm?

Mens tamen aegra iacet, nec tempore robora sumpsit,
     affectusque animi, qui fuit ante, manet.
Quaeque mora spatioque suo coitura putaui
     uulnera non aliter quam modo facta dolent.
Scilicet exiguis prodest annosa uetustas;
     grandibus accedunt tempore damna malis.

Yet my ailing mind lies prostrate, nor has it taken strength from time,
     and the affections of my spirit remain as before.
And the wounds which I thought would, with delay and their own span, knit together
     ache no otherwise than as if just now made.
Surely time-worn antiquity profits small things;
     but to great ills, with time, losses are added.

Paene decem totis aluit Poeantius annis
     pestiferum tumido uulnus ab angue datum.
Telephus aeterna consumptus tabe perisset,
     si non, quae nocuit, dextra tulisset opem.
Et mea, si facinus nullum commisimus, opto,
     uulnera qui fecit, facta leuare uelit,
contentusque mei iam tandem parte doloris
     exiguum pleno de mare demat aquae.

For almost ten whole years the Poeantian nursed the pestiferous wound given by a tumid serpent;
     Telephus, consumed by an eternal wasting, would have perished,
if the right hand which harmed had not brought aid.
     And I too—if I have committed no crime—wish that he who made my wounds may be willing to alleviate what has been done,
and, content at last with a portion of my pain,
     let him remove a small amount of water from the full sea.

Detrahat ut multum, multum restabit acerbi,
     parsque meae poenae totius instar erit.
Litora quot conchas, quot amoena rosaria flores,
     quotue soporiferum grana papauer habet,
silua feras quot alit, quot piscibus unda natatur,
     quot tenerum pennis aera pulsat auis,
tot premor aduersis: quae si conprendere coner,
     Icariae numerum dicere coner aquae.
utque uiae casus, ut amam pericula ponti,
     ut taceam strictas in mea fata manus,
barbara me tellus orbisque nouissima magni
     sustinet et saeuo cinctus ab hoste locus.

Even if he takes away much, much of the bitter will remain,
     and a part of my penalty will be the likeness of the whole.
As many shells as the shores, as many flowers as pleasant rose-gardens,
     and as many grains as the soporific poppy has,
as many beasts as the forest nourishes, as many fish as the wave is swum by,
     as many birds as beat the tender air with their wings,
by so many adversities am I pressed: which, if I should try to grasp,
     I should be trying to tell the number of the Icarian water.
And as the mishaps of the road, as the bitter perils of the sea,
     to say nothing of the hands drawn against my fate,
a barbarian land and the farthest edge of the great world
     sustains me, and a place girded by a savage foe.

Hinc ego traicerer (neque enim mea culpa cruenta est)
esset, quae debet, si tibi cura mei.
Ille deus, bene quo Romana potentia nixa est,
saepe suo uictor lenis in hoste fuit.
Quid dubitas et tuta times?

Hence I would be ferried across (for my fault is not blood-stained),
there would be what is due, if you have a care for me.
That god, on whom Roman potency has well leaned,
often, as victor, has been lenient toward his enemy.
Why do you hesitate and fear what is safe?

Accede rogaque:
Caesare nil ingens mitius orbis habet.
Me miserum! Quid agam, si proxima quaeque relinquunt?

Approach and ask:
The mighty orb has nothing milder than Caesar.
Alas, wretched me! What am I to do, if all who are nearest abandon me?

Subtrahis effracto tu quoque colla iugo?
Quo ferar? unde petam lassis solacia rebus?

Do you too withdraw your neck from the broken yoke?
Where shall I be borne? From where shall I seek solace for my weary affairs?

Ancora iam nostram non tenet ulla ratem.
Videris. Ipse sacram, quamuis inuisus, ad aram
confugiam: nullas summouet ara manus.

Already no anchor holds our ship.
See to it. I myself, though hated, will flee to the sacred altar
for refuge: the altar drives away no hands.

Alloquor en absens absentia numina supplex,
     si fas est homini cum Ioue posse loqui.
Arbiter inperii, quo certum est sospite cunctos
     Ausoniae curam gentis habere deos,
o decus, o patriae per te florentis imago,
     o uir non ipso, quem regis, orbe minor
(sic habites terras et te desideret aether,
     sic ad pacta tibi sidera tardus eas)
parce, precor, minimamque tuo de fulmine partem
     deme: satis poenae, quod superabit, erit.
Ira quidem moderata tua est, uitamque dedisti,
     nec mihi ius ciuis nec mihi nomen abest,
nec mea concessa est aliis fortuna, nec exul
     edicti uerbis nominor ipse tui.

Lo, absent, I address the absent numina as a suppliant,
     if it is fas for a human to be able to speak with Jove.
Arbiter of imperium, while you are safe it is certain that all
     the gods have the care of the Ausonian gens,
O glory, O image of a fatherland flourishing through you,
     O man not lesser than the very orb which you rule—
(thus may you dwell upon the lands and may the aether long for you,
     thus may you go tardy to the stars pledged to you)—
spare, I pray, and remove the least part from your fulmen:
     what shall remain will be penalty enough.
Your anger indeed is moderated, and you have granted life,
     nor is the right of a civis nor the name lacking to me,
nor has my fortuna been conceded to others, nor am I myself
     named an exile by the words of your edict.

Omniaque haec timui, quia me meruisse uidebam;
     sed tua peccato lenior ira meo est.
Arua relegatum iussisti uisere Ponti,
     et Scythicum profuga scindere puppe fretum.
Iussus ad Euxini deformia litora ueni
     aequoris (haec gelido terra sub axe iacet)
nec me tam cruciat numquam sine frigore caelum,
     glaebaque canenti semper obusta gelu,
nesciaque est uocis quod barbara lingua Latinae,
     Graecaque quod Getico uicta loquela sono est,
quam quod finitimo cinctus premor undique Marte,
     uixque breuis tutum murus ab hoste facit.

And all these things I feared, because I saw that I had deserved them;
     but your wrath is more lenient than my transgression.
You ordered me, relegated, to visit the fields of Pontus,
     and to cleave the Scythian strait with a fugitive ship.
Ordered, I came to the unsightly shores of the Euxine
     sea (this land lies beneath the icy axis),
nor does the heaven never without cold so torment me,
     and the soil ever scorched by hoary frost,
as that the barbarian tongue is ignorant of Latin voice,
     and Greek speech is conquered by the Getic sound,
and that, girded by neighboring Mars, I am pressed on all sides,
     and a short wall scarcely makes me safe from the enemy.

Pax tamen interdum est, pacis fiducia numquam.
     Sic hic nunc patitur, nunc timet arma locus.
Hinc ego dum muter, uel me Zanclaea Charybdis
     deuoret atque suis ad Styga mittat aquis,
uel rapidae flammis urar patienter in Aetnae,
     uel freta Leucadii mittar in alta dei.

Yet there is peace sometimes, confidence of peace never.
     Thus this place now suffers arms, now fears them.
Meanwhile, until I am moved from here, either let the Zanclaean Charybdis
     devour me and send me to Styx with her waters,
or let me be burned patiently in the flames of rapid Aetna,
     or let me be sent into the deep straits of the Leucadian god.

Quod petimus, poena est: neque enim miser esse recuso,
sed precor ut possim tutius esse miser.

What we seek is a penalty: for I do not refuse to be wretched,
but I pray that I may be able to be wretched more safely.

III

Illa dies haec est, qua te celebrare poetae,
     si modo non fallunt tempora, Bacche, solent,
festaque odoratis innectunt tempora sertis,
     et dicunt laudes ad tua uina tuas.
Inter quos, memini, dum me mea fata sinebant,
     non inuisa tibi pars ego saepe fui,
quem nunc suppositum stellis Cynosuridos Vrsae
     iuncta tenet crudis Sarmatis ora Getis.
Quique prius mollem uacuamque laboribus egi
     in studiis uitam Pieridumque choro,
nunc procul a patria Geticis circumsonor armis,
     multa prius pelago multaque passus humo.

This is that day, on which poets are accustomed to celebrate you,
     if only the times do not deceive, Bacchus,
and they wreathe their festive temples with odorous garlands,
     and speak your lauds to your wines, your own.
Among whom, I remember, while my fates allowed me,
     I was often a not-unwelcome part to you,
I whom now the shore, joined to the cruel Sarmatians and the Getae,
     holds, set beneath the stars of the Cynosurid Bear.
And I, who before led a soft life empty of labors
     in the studies and the chorus of the Pierides,
now, far from my fatherland, am surrounded by the din of Getic arms,
     having before suffered many things on the sea and many on the soil.

Siue mihi casus siue hoc dedit ira deorum,
     nubila nascenti seu mihi Parca fuit,
tu tamen e sacris hederae cultoribus unum
     numine debueras sustinuisse tuo.
An dominae fati quicquid cecinere sorores,
     omne sub arbitrio desinit esse dei?
Ipse quoque aetherias meritis inuectus es arces,
     quo non exiguo facta labore uia est.

Whether for me chance or the wrath of the gods gave this,
     or the Parca was cloudy for me at my birth,
yet you, however, from the sacred cultivators of the ivy, one,
     ought to have sustained by your numen.
Or does whatever the sisters of mistress Fate sang
     all cease to be under the god’s arbitration?
You yourself also have been borne to the aetherial citadels by merits,
     a way to which was made not by scant labor.

Nec patria est habitata tibi, sed adusque niuosum
     Strymona uenisti Marticolamque Geten,
Persidaque et lato spatiantem flumine Gangen,
     et quascumque bibit decolor Indus aquas.
Scilicet hanc legem nentes fatalia Parcae
     stamina bis genito bis cecinere tibi.
Me quoque, si fas est exemplis ire deorum,
     ferrea sors uitae difficilisque premit.

Nor has a fatherland been inhabited by you, but as far as snowy
     Strymon you came and the Mars-cultivating Getan,
and Persia and the Ganges wandering with its broad river,
     and whatever waters the dusky Indus drinks.
Surely the Parcae, spinning the fatal threads,
     have sung this law for you, twice for the twice‑born.
Me also, if it is right to go by the examples of the gods,
     an iron lot of life and a difficult one presses.

Illo nec leuius cecidi, quem magna locutum
     reppulit a Thebis Iuppiter igne suo.
ut tamen audisti percussum fulmine uatem,
     admonitu matris condoluisse potes,
et potes aspiciens circum tua sacra poetas
     "nescioquis nostri" dicere "cultor abest."
Fer, bone Liber, opem: sic altera degrauet ulmum
     uitis et incluso plena sit uua mero,
sic tibi cum Bacchis Satyrorum gnaua iuuentus
     adsit, et attonito non taceare sono,
ossa bipenniferi sic sint male pressa Lycurgi,
     impia nec poena Pentheos umbra uacet,
sic micet aeternum uicinaque sidera uincat
     coniugis in caelo clara corona tuae:
huc ades et casus releues, pulcherrime, nostros,
     unum de numero me memor esse tuo.
Sunt dis inter se commercia.

I fell no less than that one, whom, having spoken great things, Jupiter repelled from Thebes with his own fire.
     Yet when you heard that the poet was struck by the thunderbolt, you could, at your mother’s admonition, have felt sympathy,
and you can, looking around the poets about your sacred rites,
     say, “some worshiper of ours is missing.”
Bring help, good Liber: so may the vine lighten the elm in turn,
     and the grape be full of pure wine enclosed;
so may the diligent youth of Satyrs be present to you with the Bacchae,
     and may you not be silent to the thunderstruck sound;
so may the bones of two-axed Lycurgus be badly crushed,
     nor may the impious shade of Pentheus be without penalty;
so may the bright corona of your spouse in heaven flash forever
     and outshine the neighboring stars:
come hither and lighten, most beautiful one, our mishaps,
     remember that I am one from your number.
There are mutual commerces among the gods.

Flectere tempta
     Caesareum numen numine, Bacche, tuo.
Vos quoque, consortes studii, pia turba, poetae,
     haec eadem sumpto quisque rogate mero.
Atque aliquis uestrum, Nasonis nomine dicto,
     opponat lacrimis pocula mixta suis,
admonitusque mei, cum circumspexerit omnes,
     dicat "ubi est nostri pars modo Naso chori?"
Idque ita, si uestrum merui candore fauorem,
     nullaque iudicio littera laesa meo est,
si, ueterum digne ueneror cum scripta uirorum,
     proxima non illis esse minora reor.

Try to bend
     the Caesarean numen by your numen, Bacchus.
You also, partners in our study, devout throng, poets,
     with wine taken up let each of you ask these same things.
And let someone of you, with the name of Naso spoken,
     hold forth cups mixed with his own tears,
and, reminded of me, when he has looked around at all,
     let him say, "where is Naso, lately a part of our chorus?"
And let it be so, if I have merited your favor by my candor,
     and no letter has been injured by my judgment,
if, as is worthy, I venerate the writings of men of old,
     and reckon that what is next to them is not inferior.

Sic igitur dextro faciatis Apolline carmen:
quod licet, inter uos nomen habete meum.

Thus then, make a song with propitious Apollo:
so far as it is permitted, keep my name among you.

Litore ab Euxino Nasonis epistula ueni,
     lassaque facta mari lassaque facta uia,
qui mihi flens dixit "tu, cui licet, aspice Romam.
     Heu quanto melior sors tua sorte mea est!"
Flens quoque me scripsit: nec qua signabar, ad os est
     ante, sed ad madidas gemma relata genas.
Tristitiae causam siquis cognoscere quaerit,
     ostendi solem postulat ille sibi,
nec frondem in siluis, nec aperto mollia prato
     gramina, nec pleno flumine cernit aquam;
quid Priamus doleat, mirabitur, Hectore rapto,
     quidue Philoctetes ictus ab angue gemat.

From the Euxine shore, the epistle of Naso came,
     tired out by the sea and tired out by the road,
he who, weeping, said to me: "you, to whom it is permitted, look upon Rome.
     Alas, how much better your sort than my sort!"
Weeping, too, he wrote me; nor was the place where I was sealed first
     at his lips, but the gem was applied to his wet cheeks.
If anyone seeks to know the cause of sadness,
     he demands that the sun be shown to him,
nor does he discern the leaf in the woods, nor the soft grasses in the open meadow,
     nor the water in a full river;
he will wonder what Priam grieves, with Hector snatched away,
     or why Philoctetes, struck by a serpent, laments.

Di facerent utinam talis status esset in illo,
     ut non tristitiae causa dolenda foret!
Fert tamen, ut debet, casus patienter amaros,
     more nec indomiti frena recusat equi.
Nec fore perpetuam sperat sibi numinis iram,
     conscius in culpa non scelus esse sua.

Would that the gods would bring it to pass that such a state were in him,
     that there might not be a cause of sadness to be lamented!
Yet, as he ought, he bears bitter chances patiently,
     nor, in the manner of an untamed horse, does he refuse the reins.
Nor does he expect for himself the divinity’s wrath to be perpetual,
     conscious that in his fault there is not crime but fault.

Saepe refert, sit quanta dei clementia, cuius
     se quoque in exemplis adnumerare solet:
nam, quod opes teneat patrias, quod nomina ciuis,
     denique quod uiuat, munus habere dei.
Te tamen (o, si quid credis mihi, carior illi
     omnibus) in toto pectore semper habet;
teque Menoetiaden, te, qui comitatus Oresten,
     te uocat Aegiden Euryalumque suum.
Nec patriam magis ille suam desiderat et quae
     plurima cum patria sentit abesse sibi,
quam uultus oculosque tuos, o dulcior illo
     melle, quod in ceris Attica ponit apis.

He often relates how great the clemency of the god is, in whose     examples he is wont to number himself as well:
     for that he holds ancestral resources, that he has the names of a citizen,
finally, that he lives, he holds to be a gift of the god. Yet you (O, if you believe me at all, dearer to him     than all) he always holds in his whole breast;
     and he calls you the Menoetiad, you, the one who accompanied Orestes,
you the Aegid, and his Euryalus. Nor does he long more for his own fatherland and those very many things     which he feels are absent to him along with his fatherland,
than for your face and eyes, O sweeter than that honey     which the Attic bee sets in the wax.

Saepe etiam maerens tempus reminiscitur illud,
     quod non praeuentum morte fuisse dolet;
cumque alii fugerent subitae contagia cladis,
     nec uellent ictae limen adire domus,
te sibi cum paucis meminit mansisse fidelem,
     si paucos aliquis tresue duosue uocat.
Quamuis attonitus, sensit tamen omnia, nec te
     se minus aduersis indoluisse suis.
Verba solet uultumque tuum gemitusque referre,
     et te flente suos emaduisse sinus:
quam sibi praestiteris, qua consolatus amicum
     sis ope, solandus cum simul ipse fores.

Often also, grieving, he recalls that time,
     which he laments was not forestalled by death;
and when others were fleeing the contagions of the sudden disaster,
     nor were willing to approach the threshold of the stricken house,
he remembers that you, with a few, remained faithful to him,
     if anyone calls a few three or two.
Although thunderstruck, he nevertheless perceived everything, and that you
     grieved no less than he himself at his adversities.
He is wont to recount your words and your face and your groans,
     and that, as you wept, his own bosom was drenched;
how you proved yourself to him, with what help you consoled
     a friend, when at the same time you yourself were one to be consoled.

Pro quibus affirmat fore se memoremque piumque,
     siue diem uideat siue tegatur humo,
per caput ipse suum solitus iurare tuumque,
     quod scio non illi uilius esse suo.
Plena tot ac tantis referetur gratia factis,
     nec sinet ille tuos litus arare boues.
Fac modo, constanter profugum tueare: quod ille,
     qui bene te nouit, non rogat, ipsa rogo.

For which things he affirms that he will be mindful and pious,
     whether he should see the day or be covered by earth,
he himself accustomed to swear by his own head and by yours,
     which I know is to him no cheaper than his own.
Full thanks will be rendered for deeds so many and so great,
     nor will he allow your oxen to plough the shore.
Only do this: steadfastly protect the exile; which he,
     who knows you well, does not ask—I myself ask.

Annuus assuetum dominae natalis honorem
     exigit: ite manus ad pia sacra meae.
Sic quondam festum Laertius egerat heros
     forsan in extremo coniugis orbe diem.
Lingua fauens adsit, nostrorum oblita malorum,
     quae, puto, dedidicit iam bona uerba loqui:
quaeque semel toto uestis mihi sumitur anno,
     sumatur fatis discolor alba meis;
araque gramineo uiridis de caespite fiat,
     et uelet tepidos nexa corona focos.

The yearly natal day of my lady demands the accustomed honor:
     go, my hands, to my pious rites.
Thus once the Laertian hero kept the feast,
     perhaps at the farthest edge of the world away from his wife.
Let a favorable tongue be present, forgetful of our misfortunes,
     which, I suppose, has now unlearned to speak good words;
and the garment which is put on me once in the whole year,
     let it be donned, a white one, of a hue unlike my fates;
and let an altar be made, green from grassy turf,
     and let a woven garland veil the warm hearths.

da mihi tura, puer, pingues facientia flammas,
     quodque pio fusum stridat in igne merum.
Optime natalis! Quamuis procul absumus, opto
     candidus huc uenias dissimilisque meo,
si quod et instabat dominae miserabile uulnus
     sit perfuncta meis tempus in omne malis;
quaeque graui nuper plus quam quassata procella est,
     quod superest, tutum per mare nauis eat.

give me incense, boy, that makes the flames rich,
     and let unmixed wine, poured out, hiss in the pious fire.
Excellent birthday! Although we are far away, I wish
     that you come hither bright and unlike my own,
if also the pitiable wound that was pressing on my lady
     may she be finished with my misfortunes for all time;
and the ship which was lately more than shaken by a heavy tempest,
     as to what remains, let the ship go safe through the sea.

Illa domo nataque sua patriaque fruatur
      (erepta haec uni sit satis esse mihi)
quatenus et non est in caro coniuge felix
     pars uitae tristi cetera nube uacet.
Viuat, ametque uirum, quoniam sic cogitur, absens,
     consumatque annos, sed diuturna, suos.
Adicerem et nostros, sed ne contagia fati
     corrumpant timeo, quos agit ipsa, mei.

Let her enjoy her home and her native fatherland
      (let it be enough that these have been snatched from one—me)
insofar as she is not happy in her dear spouse,
      let the remaining part of life be free of a gloomy cloud.
Let her live, and love her husband—since thus she is compelled—though absent,
      and let her spend her years, but long-lasting ones, her own.
I would add mine too, but I fear lest the contagions of fate
      corrupt them—the ones which my own fate itself drives.

Nil homini certum est. Fieri quis posse putaret,
ut facerem in mediis haec ego sacra Getis?
Aspice ut aum tamen fumos e ture coortos
in partes Italas et loca dextra ferat.

Nothing is certain for man.
Who would have thought it could come to pass, that I should perform these rites amid the Getae?
Look how, however, the breeze carries the fumes arisen from incense
into the Italian parts and to the right-hand places.

Sensus inest igitur nebulis, quas exigit ignis:
     consilio fugiunt aethera, Ponte, tuum.
Consilio, commune sacrum cum fiat in ara
     fratribus, alterna qui periere manu,
ipsa sibi discors, tamquam mandetur ab illis,
     scinditur in partes atra fauilla duas.
Hoc, memini, quondam fieri non posse loquebar,
     et me Battiades iudice falsus erat:
omnia nunc credo, cum tu non stultus ab Arcto
     terga uapor dederis Ausoniamque petas.

Therefore there is sense in the vapors which the fire drives forth:
     by counsel they flee the ether that is yours, Pontus.
By counsel, when a common sacrifice is made on the altar
     for the brothers who perished by each other’s hand in turn,
itself at odds with itself, as though it were commanded by them,
     the black cinder is split into two parts.
This, I remember, I once said could not happen,
     and, with Battiades as judge, I was judged false:
everything now I believe, since you, not foolish, from the Bear (the North),
     vapor, have turned your back and are seeking Ausonia.

Haec ergo lux est, quae si non orta fuisset,
     nulla fuit misero festa uidenda mihi.
Edidit haec mores illis heroisin aequos,
     quis erat Eetion Icariusque pater.
Nata pudicitia est, uirtus probitasque, fidesque,
     at non sunt ista gaudia nata die,
sed labor et curae fortunaque moribus inpar,
     iustaque de uiduo paene querela toro.

This, therefore, is the light/day, which, if it had not arisen,
     there would have been no feast-days for wretched me to behold.
This produced manners equal to those heroines,
     of whom Eetion and Icarius were fathers.
Chastity was born, virtue and probity, and good faith,
     yet these joys were not born in a day,
but toil and cares, and Fortune unequal to her character,
     and a just complaint about a marriage-bed almost widowed.

Scilicet aduersis probitas exercita rebus
     tristi materiam tempore laudis habet.
Si nihil infesti durus uidisset Vlixes,
     Penelope felix sed sine laude foret.
Victor Echionias si uir penetrasset in arces,
     forsitan Euadnen uix sua nosset humus.

Of course probity, exercised by adverse circumstances,
     has matter for praise in a grim time.
If hardy Ulysses had seen nothing hostile,
     Penelope would be happy but without praise.
If, as victor, the man had penetrated the Echionian citadels,
     perhaps its own soil would scarcely have known Evadne.

Cum Pelia genitae tot sint, cur nobilis una est?
Nempe fuit misero nupta quod una uiro.
Effice ut Iliacas tangat prior alter harenas,
Laudamia nihil cur referatur erit.

Since so many Pelian-born daughters exist, why is one noble?
Surely because one was wedded to a wretched husband.
Bring it about that another touch the Iliac sands earlier,
and Laodamia will have nothing for which she is mentioned.

Et tua, quod malles, pietas ignota maneret,
     implerent uenti si mea uela sui.
Di tamen et Caesar dis accessure, sed olim,
     aequarint Pylios cum tua fata dies,
non mihi, qui poenam fateor meruisse, sed illi
     parcite, quae nullo digna dolore dolet.

And your piety, which you would prefer, would have remained unknown,
     if the winds had filled my sails with their own force.
Yet may the gods, and Caesar—destined to be added to the gods, but in due time—
     when your fated days equal the Pylian span,
spare, not me, who I confess have deserved punishment, but her
     who, worthy of no sorrow, sorrows.

Tu quoque, nostrarum quondam fiducia rerum,
     qui mihi confugium, qui mihi portus eras,
tu quoque suscepti curam dimittis amici,
     officiique pium tam cito ponis onus?
sarcina sum, fateor, quam si non tempore nostro
     depositurus eras, non subeunda fuit.
Fluctibus in mediis nauem, Palinure, relinquis?

You too, once the confidence of our affairs,
     who were to me a refuge, who to me a harbor,
you too dismiss the care of the friend undertaken,
     and so quickly lay down the pious burden of duty?
sack I am, I confess, which, if you were not in our time
     going to set down, should not have been taken up.
In the midst of the waves, Palinurus, do you leave the ship?

     Ne fuge, neue tua sit minor arte fides.
Numquid Achilleos inter fera proelia fidi
     deseruit leuitas Automedontis equos?
Quem semel excepit, numquam Podalirius aegro
     promissam medicae non tulit artis opem.

Do not flee, and let not your faith be less than your art.
Did faithful Automedon ever, amid savage battles, abandon Achilles’ horses through inconstancy?
To the sick man whom once he took in, Podalirius never failed to bring
the promised aid of the medical art.

Turpius eicitur, quam non admittitur hospes
     quae patuit, dextrae firma sit ara meae.
Nil nisi me solum primo tutatus es; at nunc
     me pariter serua iudiciumque tuum,
si modo non aliqua est in me noua culpa, tuamque
     mutarunt subito crimina nostra fidem.
Spiritus hic, Scythica quem non bene ducimus aura,
     quod cupio, membris exeat ante meis,
quam tua delicto stringantur pectora nostro,
     et uidear merito uilior esse tibi.

More disgracefully is a guest cast out than not admitted;
     let the altar of my right hand, which lay open, be firm.
You protected nothing save me alone at first; but now
     guard me likewise and your judgment,
if only there is not some new fault in me, and my crimes
     have not suddenly altered your faith.
This breath, which we do not draw well in the Scythian air,
     let it, as I desire, depart first from my limbs,
rather than that your breast be tightened by my transgression,
     and I seem with good cause viler to you.

Non adeo toti fatis urgemur iniquis,
     ut mea sit longis mens quoque mota malis.
Finge tamen motam, quotiens Agamemnone natum
     dixisse in Pyladen improba uerba putas?
Nec procul a uero est quin et pulsarit amicum:
     mansit in officiis non minus ille suis.

We are not so entirely pressed by iniquitous fates,
     that my mind too is moved by long evils.
Yet suppose it were moved—how often do you think the son of Agamemnon
     said improper words against Pylades?
Nor is it far from the truth that he even struck his friend:
     he remained none the less in his duties.

Hoc est cum miseris solum commune beatis,
     ambobus tribui quod solet obsequium:
ceditur et caecis et quos praetexta uerendos
     uirgaque cum uerbis inperiosa facit.
Si mihi non parcis, fortunae parcere debes:
     non habet in nobis ullius ira locum.
Elige nostrorum minimum minimumque laborum,
     isto, quod reris, grandius illud erit.

This is the only thing common to the wretched and the blessed,
     that the customary deference is granted to both:
one yields both to the blind and to those whom the praetexta makes reverend
     and the rod with imperious words.
If you do not spare me, you ought to spare Fortune:
     no one’s wrath has a place in our case.
Choose the least, the very least, of our labors;
     that will be grander than what you suppose.

Quam multa madidae celantur harundine fossae,
     florida quam multas Hybla tuetur apes,
quam multae gracili terrena sub horrea ferre
     limite formicae grana reperta solent,
tam me circumstat densorum turba malorum.
     Crede mihi, uero est nostra querela minor.
His qui contentus non est, in litus harenas,
     in segetem spicas, in mare fundat aquas.

How many ditches are concealed by the wet reed,
     how many bees does flowery Hybla watch over,
how many grains ants are accustomed to carry beneath earthen granaries
     along a slender track, the grains they have found,
so a dense throng of evils surrounds me.
     Believe me, our complaint is in truth the lesser.
Let him who is not content with these pour sands upon the shore,
     ears into the standing crop, waters into the sea.

Intempestiuos igitur compesce tumores,
uela nec in medio desere nostra mari.

Therefore restrain unseasonable surges,
nor abandon our sails in the middle of the sea.

VII

Quam legis, ex illa tibi uenit epistula terra,
     latus ubi aequoreis additur Hister aquis.
Si tibi contingit cum dulci uita salute,
     candida fortunae pars manet uria meae.
Scilicet, ut semper, quid agam, carissime, quaeris,
     quamuis hoc uel me scire tacente potes.

The letter you are reading comes to you from that land,
     where the Hister is added to the sea’s waters by its flank.
If it befalls you, along with sweet life, to have well-being,
     a bright part of my fortune remains.
Of course, as always, dearest, you ask what I am doing,
     although you can know this even with me silent.

Sum miser, haec breuis est nostrorum summa malorum,
     quisquis et offenso Caesare uiuit, erit.
Turba Tomitanae quae sit regionis et inter
     quos habitem mores, discere cura tibi est?
Mixta sit haec quamuis inter Graecosque Getasque,
     a male pacatis plus trahit ora Getis.

I am miserable; this is the brief summary of our evils,
     and whoever lives with Caesar offended will be so.
The populace of the Tomitan region—what it is—and among
     what mores I dwell, is it your care to learn?
Although this place is mixed among both Greeks and Getae,
     from the ill-pacified Getae it draws its speech more.

Sarmaticae maior Geticaeque frequentia gentis
     per medias in equis itque reditque uias.
In quibus est nemo, qui non coryton et arcum
     telaque uipereo lurida felle gerat.
Vox fera, trux uultus, uerissima Martis imago,
     non coma, non ulla barba resecta manu,
dextera non segnis fixo dare uulnera cultro,
     quem iunctum lateri barbarus omnis habet.

A greater throng of the Sarmatian and the Getic people
     goes and returns on horseback through the middle of the roads.
Among whom there is no one who does not carry a corytus and a bow
     and weapons lurid with viperine gall.
A wild voice, a grim visage, the truest image of Mars,
     not hair, not any beard cut back by the hand,
a right hand not sluggish to give wounds with the fixed dagger,
     which every barbarian has joined to his side.

Viuit in his heu nunc, lusorum oblitus amorum,
     hos uidet, hos uates audit, amice, tuus:
atque utinam uiuat non et moriatur in illis,
     absit ab inuisis et tamen umbra locis.
Carmina quod pleno saltari nostra theatro,
     uersibus et plaudi scribis, amice, meis,
nil equidem feci (tu scis hoc ipse) theatris,
     Musa nec in plausus ambitiosa mea est.
Non tamen ingratum est, quodcumque obliuia nostri
     impedit et profugi nomen in ora refert.

He lives among these now, alas, forgetful of love-games,
     these he sees, these your poet hears, my friend:
and would that he neither live nor die among them,
     and yet may even his shade be absent from the hateful places.
That my songs are danced to in a full theater,
     and that my verses are applauded, you write, my friend—
I indeed have done nothing for the theaters (you know this yourself),
     nor is my Muse ambitious for applause.
Nevertheless it is not ungrateful, whatever hinders our oblivion
     and brings back the name of the exile to people’s lips.

Quamuis interdum, quae me laesisse recordor,
     carmina deuoueo Pieridasque meas,
cum bene deuoui, nequeo tamen esse sine illis
     uulneribusque meis tela cruenta sequor,
quaeque modo Euboicis lacerata est fluctibus, audet
     Graia Capheream currere puppis aquam.
Nec tamen, ut lauder, uigilo curamque futuri
     nominis, utilius quod latuisset, ago.
Detineo studiis animum falloque dolores,
     experior curis et dare uerba meis.

Although at times, the songs which I recall to have injured me,
     I curse, and my Pierides as well,

when I have duly devoted them, yet I cannot be without them,
     and, with my wounds, I pursue the bloody weapons;

and the ship which lately was lacerated by Euboean waves dares
     to run the Capherean water, a Greek ship.

Nor yet, that I may be praised, do I keep vigil, nor do I pursue the care
     of a future name, which would more usefully have lain hidden.

I detain my mind with studies and I beguile my pains;
     I even try to give words to my cares.

Quid potius faciam desertis solus in oris,
     quamue malis aliam quaerere coner opem?
Siue locum specto, locus est inamabilis, et quo
     esse nihil toto tristius orbe potest,
siue homines, uix sunt homines hoc nomine digni,
     quamque lupi, saeuae plus feritatis habent.
Non metuunt leges, sed cedit uiribus aequum,
     uictaque pugnaci iura sub ense iacent.

What rather should I do, alone on deserted shores,
     or than try to seek some other aid against my ills?
Whether I look to the place, the place is unlovely, and than which
     nothing in the whole orb can be sadder,
or the men, they are scarcely men worthy of this name,
     and than wolves they have more savage ferity.
They do not fear the laws, but the equitable yields to force,
     and the rights, conquered, lie beneath the pugnacious sword.

Pellibus et laxis arcent mala frigora bracis,
     oraque sunt longis horrida tecta comis.
In paucis remanent Graecae uestigia linguae,
     haec quoque iam Getico barbara facta sono.
unus in hoc nemo est populo, qui forte Latine
     quaelibet e medio reddere uerba queat.

With skins and loose breeches they ward off the bitter chills,
     and their faces are rough, covered with long hair.
In a few there remain vestiges of the Greek tongue,
     these too now made barbarous by the Getic sound.
There is in this people not a single man who, perchance, in Latin
     can render any commonplace words.

Ille ego Romanus uates (ignoscite, Musae)
     Sarmatico cogor plurima more loqui.
En pudet et fateor, iam desuetudine longa
     uix subeunt ipsi uerba Latina mihi.
Nec dubito quin sint et in hoc non pauca libello
     barbara: non hominis culpa, sed ista loci.

I, that Roman poet (forgive, Muses),
     am compelled to speak very many things in Sarmatian fashion.
Lo, I am ashamed and I confess, now by long desuetude
     the Latin words themselves scarcely come to me.
Nor do I doubt that in this little book also there are not a few
     barbarisms: not the fault of the man, but that of this place.

Ne tamen Ausoniae perdam commercia linguae,
     et fiat patrio uox mea muta sono,
ipse loquor mecum desuetaque uerba retracto,
     et studii repeto signa sinistra mei.
Sic animum tempusque traho, sic meque reduco
     a contemplatu summoueoque mali.
Carminibus quaero miserarum obliuia rerum:
     praemia si studio consequar ista, sat est.

Lest I lose the commerce of the Ausonian language,
     and my voice become mute to the native sound,
I speak with myself and retrace unaccustomed words,
     and I recall the sinister signs of my study.
Thus I drag my spirit and my time, thus I also lead myself back
     from the contemplation of the evil and remove myself from it.
With songs I seek oblivion of my wretched matters:
     if I may obtain these rewards for my study, it is enough.

VIII

Non adeo cecidi, quamuis abiectus, ut infra
te quoque sim, inferius quo nihil esse potest.
Quae tibi res animos in me facit, improbe? Curue
casibus insultas, quos potes ipse pati?

I have not fallen to such a degree, although abject, as to be beneath even you, than which nothing can be lower.
What thing gives you courage against me, impudent one? Or why
do you insult over downfalls, which you yourself can suffer?

Nec mala te reddunt mitem placidumque iacenti
     nostra, quibus possint inlacrimare ferae;
nec metuis dubio Fortunae stantis in orbe
     numen, et exosae uerba superba deae.
Exigit a dignis ultrix Rhamnusia poenas:
     inposito calcas quid mea fata pede?
Vidi ego naufragium qui risit in aequora mergi,
     et "numquam" dixi "iustior unda fuit."
Vilia qui quondam miseris alimenta negarat,
     nunc mendicato pascitur ipse cibo.

Nor do my evils make you mild and placid toward me lying prostrate—
     evils at which even wild beasts could weep;
nor do you fear the numen of Fortune standing upon her dubious orb,
     nor the proud words of the goddess that loathes such things.
The avenging Rhamnusia exacts penalties from the deserving:
     why do you trample my fates with your planted foot?
I myself saw him who had laughed at shipwrecks sink into the waters,
     and I said, “never was there a more just wave.”
He who once denied cheap nourishment to the wretched
     now himself is fed with begged-for food.

Passibus ambiguis Fortuna uolubilis errat
     et manet in nullo certa tenaxque loco,
sed modo laeta uenit, uultus modo sumit acerbos,
     et tantum constans in leuitate sua est.
Nos quoque floruimus, sed flos erat ille caducus,
     flammaque de stipula nostra breuisque fuit.
Neue tamen tota capias fera gaudia mente,
     non est placandi spes mihi nulla dei,
uel quia peccaui citra scelus, utque pudore
     non caret, inuidia sic mea culpa caret,
uel quia nil ingens ad finem solis ab ortu
     illo, cui paret, mitius orbis habet.

With ambiguous steps the volatile Fortune wanders
     and abides in no place fixed and steadfast,
but now she comes glad, now she assumes bitter faces,
     and only in her lightness is she constant.
We too have flourished, but that flower was perishable,
     and the flame from our stubble was brief.
And yet do not seize savage joys with your whole mind,
     there is not no hope for me of placating the god,
either because I have sinned short of crime, and as it does not lack shame,
     so my fault lacks envy,
or because from the sun’s rising to its end the mighty orb
     has nothing milder than that one whom it obeys.

Scilicet ut non est per uim superabilis ulli,
     molle cor ad timidas sic habet ille preces,
exemploque deum, quibus accessurus et ipse est,
     cum poenae uenia plura roganda dabit.
Si numeres anno soles et nubila toto,
     inuenies nitidum saepius isse diem
ergo ne nimium nostra laetere ruina,
     restitui quondam me quoque posse puta:
posse puta fieri lenito principe uultus
     ut uideas media tristis in urbe meos,
utque ego te uideam causa grauiore fugatum,
     haec sunt a primis proxima uota meis.

Surely, as he is not by force superable by any,
     so he has a soft heart for timid prayers,

     and, by the example of the gods, to whose company he too is about to accede,
     he will grant more, when pardon for punishment is to be asked.

If you count in the whole year the suns and the clouds,
     you will find the shining day to have come more often;

therefore do not rejoice too much at our ruin,
     suppose that I too can someday be restored:

suppose it possible, the prince being softened,
     that you may see my sad features in the middle of the city,

and that I may see you driven away for a graver cause—
     these are next to my first vows.

O tua si sineres in nostris nomina poni
     carminibus, positus quam mihi saepe fores!
Te canerem solum, meriti memor, inque libellis
     creuisset sine te pagina nulla meis.
Quid tibi deberem, tota sciretur in urbe,
     exul in amissa si tamen urbe legor.

O if you would allow your name to be set in our poems,
     how often would you be set down by me!
You alone I would sing, mindful of merit, and in my little books
     no page would have grown without you.
What I would owe to you would be known in the whole city,
     if, though an exile, I am nevertheless read in the city I have lost.

Te praesens mitem nosset, te serior aetas,
     scripta uetustatem si modo nostra ferunt,
nec tibi cessaret doctus bene dicere lector:
     hic te seruato uate maneret honor.
Caesaris est primum munus, quod ducimus auras;
     gratia post magnos est tibi habenda deos.
Ille dedit uitam; tu, quam dedit ille, tueris,
     et facis accepto munere posse frui.

The present would know you gentle, a later age would too,
     if only our writings carry through to antiquity,
nor would the learned reader cease to speak well to you:
     here, with the poet preserved, this honor would remain to you.
It is Caesar’s first gift that we draw the airs;
     gratitude, next after the great gods, is owed to you.
He gave life; you safeguard the life which he gave,
     and you make it possible to enjoy the gift received.

Cumque perhorruerit casus pars maxima nostros,
     pars etiam credi pertimuisse uelit,
naufragiumque meum tumulo spectarit ab alto,
     nec dederit nanti per freta saeua manum,
seminecem Stygia reuocasti solus ab unda.
     Hoc quoque, quod memores possumus esse, tuum est.
Di tibi se tribuant cum Caesare semper amicos:
     non potuit uotum plenius esse meum.

And when the greatest part has shuddered at my misfortunes,
     a part would even wish to be believed to have been afraid,
and has watched my shipwreck from a high mound,
     nor has given a hand to a swimmer through the savage straits,
you alone called me, half-dead, back from the Stygian wave.
     This too, that we are able to be mindful, is yours.
May the gods, together with Caesar, grant themselves to you always as friends:
     my prayer could not have been fuller.

Haec meus argutis, si tu paterere, libellis
     poneret in multa luce uidenda labor;
nunc quoque se, quamuis est iussa quiescere, quin te
     nominet inuitum, uix mea Musa tenet.
utque canem pauidae nactum uestigia ceruae
     latrantem frustra copula dura tenet,
utque fores nondum reserati carceris acer
     nunc pede, nunc ipsa fronte lacessit equus,
sic mea lege data uincta atque inclusa Thalia
     per titulum uetiti nominis ire cupit.
Ne tamen officio memoris laedaris amici,
     parebo iussis (parce timere) tuis.

These things my labor, with clever little books, if you would allow,
     would set forth to be seen in much light;
even now too, although she has been ordered to be quiet, my Muse scarcely
     holds herself from naming you, you unwilling. As a hard leash holds a dog,
having found the tracks of a timorous hind, barking in vain,
     and as, at the doors of the not-yet-unbarred starting-gate, a keen
horse provokes now with his hoof, now with his very brow,
     so my Thalia, bound and enclosed by the given law,
desires to go through the title of the forbidden name.
     Yet lest you be offended by the office of a mindful friend,
I will obey your orders (do not fear) yours.

At non parerem, nisi me meminisse putares.
Hoc quod non prohibet uox tua, gratus ero.
Dumque (quod o breue sit!) lumen uitale uidebo,
seruiet officio spiritus iste tuo.

But I would not comply, unless you supposed me to remember.
In this, which your voice does not prohibit, I shall be grateful.
And while (which, O, may it be brief!) I shall see the vital light,
this spirit will serve your office.

Vt sumus in Ponto, ter frigore constitit Hister,
     facta est Euxini dura ter unda maris.
At mihi iam uideor patria procul esse tot annis,
     Dardana quot Graio Troia sub hoste fuit.
Stare putes, adeo procedunt tempora tarde,
     et peragit lentis passibus annus iter.

As we are in Pontus, the Hister stood fast three times with cold,
     the wave of the Euxine sea was made hard three times.
But to me I already seem to be far from my fatherland for as many years,
     as Dardanian Troy was under the Greek foe.
You would think it stands still, so tardily do the times proceed,
     and the year accomplishes its journey with languid steps.

Nec mihi solstitium quicquam de noctibus aufert,
     efficit angustos nec mihi bruma dies.
Scilicet in nobis rerum natura nouata est,
     cumque meis curis omnia longa facit.
An peragunt solitos communia tempora motus,
     stantque magis uitae tempora dura meae?

Nor does the solstice take anything from the nights for me,
     nor does midwinter make the days narrow for me.
Surely in my case the nature of things has been renewed,
     and along with my cares it makes all things long.
Or do the common times complete their accustomed motions,
     and do the hard times of my life stand still the more?

Quem tenet Euxini mendax cognomine litus,
     et Scythici uere terra sinistra freti.
Innumerae circa gentes fera bella minantur,
     quae sibi non rapto uiuere turpe putant.
Nil extra tutum est: tumulus defenditur ipse
     moenibus exiguis ingenioque loci.

The shore of the Euxine, mendacious in its cognomen, holds me,
     and the land truly sinister of the Scythian strait.
Innumerable nations around menace fierce wars,
     who think it not shameful to live by rapine.
Nothing outside is safe: the mound itself is defended
     by exiguous walls and by the ingenuity of the place.

Cum minime credas, ut aues, densissimus hostis
     aduolat, et praedam uix bene uisus agit.
Saepe intra muros clausis uenientia portis
     per medias legimus noxia tela uias.
Est igitur rarus, rus qui colere audeat, isque
     hac arat infelix, hac tenet arma manu.

When you least expect it, like birds, the enemy in densest mass swoops, and, scarcely well seen, carries off the prey.
Often within the walls, with the gates shut, we gather noxious missiles coming through the middle streets.
Therefore rare is he who dares to cultivate the countryside, and that same man, unlucky, with this hand ploughs, with this hand holds arms.

Sub galea pastor iunctis pice cantat auenis,
     proque lupo pauidae bella uerentur oues.
Vix ope castelli defendimur; et tamen intus
     mixta facit Graecis barbara turba metum.
Quippe simul nobis habitat discrimine nullo
     barbarus et tecti plus quoque parte tenet.

Under a helmet the shepherd sings on reeds joined with pitch,
     and instead of the wolf the timorous sheep dread wars.
Hardly with the help of the fortress are we defended; and yet inside
     a barbarian throng, mixed with Greeks, engenders fear.
For indeed side by side with us it dwells, with no distinction,
     and the barbarian even holds more than a share of the roof.

Quorum ut non timeas, possis odisse uidendo
     pellibus et longa pectora tecta coma.
Hos quoque, qui geniti Graia creduntur ab urbe,
     pro patrio cultu Persica braca tegit.
Exercent illi sociae commercia linguae:
     per gestum res est significanda mihi.

So that you may not fear them, you could hate them at the sight of
     their chests covered with hides and with long hair.
These too, who are believed to have been born from a Greek city,
     instead of ancestral dress, Persian breeches cover them.
They practice the commerce of a companion tongue:
     by gesture must the matter be signified to me.

Barbarus hic ego sum, qui non intellegor ulli,
     et rident stolidi uerba Latina Getae;
meque palam de me tuto mala saepe loquuntur,
     forsitan obiciunt exiliumque mihi.
utque fit, in me aliquid ficti, dicentibus illis
     abnuerim quotiens annuerimque, putant.
Adde quod iniustum rigido ius dicitur ense,
     dantur et in medio uulnera saepe foro.

Here I am the barbarian, who is understood by no one,
     and the stolid Getae laugh at Latin words;
and they often speak openly and safely ill of me,
     perhaps they even throw my exile in my teeth.
And, as happens, they suppose some fiction against me;
     as they are speaking, they think I have refused as often as I have nodded.
Add that unjust “right” is pronounced by a rigid sword,
     and wounds too are often given in the middle of the forum.

O duram Lachesin, quae tam graue sidus habenti
     fila dedit uitae non breuiora meae!
Quod patriae uultu uestroque caremus, amici,
     atque hic in Scythicis gentibus esse queror:
utraque poena grauis. Merui tamen urbe carere,
     non merui tali forsitan esse loco.

O hard Lachesis, who, to one bearing so heavy a constellation,
     gave threads of life not shorter than my own!
Because I am deprived of the face of my fatherland and of your face as well, friends,
     and I complain that I am here among Scythian peoples:
each penalty is heavy. I deserved, however, to be without the city,
     I did not, perhaps, deserve to be in such a place.

Quid loquor, a! Demens? Ipsam quoque perdere uitam,
Caesaris offenso numine. Dignus eram.

What am I saying, ah! Demented? To destroy my very life as well,
with Caesar’s numen offended. I was deserving.

Quod te nescioquis per iurgia dixerit esse
     exulis uxorem, littera questa tua est.
Indolui, non tam mea quod fortuna male audit,
     qui iam consueui fortiter esse miser,
quam quod cui minime uellem, sum causa pudoris,
     teque reor nostris erubuisse malis.
Perfer et obdura; multo grauiora tulisti,
     eripuit cum me principis ira tibi.

Because someone-or-other, in the course of insults, has said that you are
     an exile’s wife, your letter complained.
I grieved, not so much that my fortune has an ill report,
     I who am now accustomed to be bravely wretched, than that I am, to the one to whom I would least wish it, a cause of shame,
     and I think you have blushed at my misfortunes.
Bear up and endure; you have borne much graver things,
     when the princeps’ wrath snatched me from you.

Fallitur iste tamen, quo iudice nominor exul:
     mollior est culpam poena secuta meam.
Maxima poena mihi est ipsum offendisse, priusque
     uenisset mallem funeris hora mihi.
Quassa tamen nostra est, non mersa nec obruta nauis,
     utque caret portu, sic tamen exstat aquis.

Yet that man is deceived, by whose judgment I am named an exile:
     the penalty that followed my fault is gentler.
The greatest penalty for me is to have offended him, and I would rather
     that the hour of my funeral had come earlier.
Yet our ship is shaken, not sunk nor overwhelmed,
     and though it lacks a harbor, still it stands out from the waters.

Nec uitam nec opes nec ius mihi ciuis ademit,
     qui merui uitio perdere cuncta meo.
Sed quia peccato facinus non affuit illi,
     nil nisi me patriis iussit abesse focis.
utque aliis, quorum numerum comprendere non est
     Caesareum numen sic mihi mite fuit.

Neither life nor wealth nor the right of a citizen did he take from me,
     I, who by my own fault had deserved to lose everything.
But because to my sin no crime was attached,
     he ordered nothing except that I be absent from my native hearths.
And as for others, whose number cannot be comprehended,
     the Caesarean numen was thus mild to me.

Ipse relegati, non exulis utitur in me
     nomine: tuta suo iudice causa mea est.
Iure igitur laudes, Caesar, pro parte uirili
     carmina nostra tuas qualiacumque canunt:
iure deos, ut adhuc caeli tibi limina claudant,
     teque uelint sine se, comprecor, esse deum.
Optat idem populus; sed, ut in mare flumina uastum,
     sic solet exiguae currere riuus aquae.

He himself uses, in my case, the name of “relegated,” not of “exile”: my cause is safe with its own judge.
     By right, therefore, Caesar, for my virile share, our songs, whatever they are, sing your praises:
By right I entreat the gods, that for now the thresholds of heaven be closed to you,
     and that they be willing that you be a god without themselves.
The people desires the same; but, as rivers into the vast sea,
     so is a rivulet of scant water wont to run.

At tu fortuna, cuius uocor exul ab ore,
nomine mendaci parce grauate meam.

But you, Fortune, by whose mouth I am called an exile,
refrain from burdening my cause with a mendacious name.

XII

Scribis, ut oblectem studio lacrimabile tempus,
     ne pereant turpi pectora nostra situ.
Difficile est quod, amice, mones, quia carmina laetum
     sunt opus, et pacem mentis habere uolunt.
Nostra per aduersas agitur fortuna procellas,
     sorte nec ulla mea tristior esse potest.

You write that I should amuse with study the lamentable time,
     lest our hearts perish in foul decay.
What you admonish, friend, is difficult, because poems are a cheerful
     work, and wish to have peace of mind.
Our fortune is driven through adverse tempests,
     nor can any lot be sadder than mine.

Exigis ut Priamus natorum funere plaudat,
     et Niobe festos ducat ut orba choros.
Luctibus an studio uideor debere teneri,
     solus in extremos iussus abire Getas?
Des licet in ualido pectus mihi robore fultum,
     fama refert Anyti quale fuisse reo,
fracta cadet tantae sapientia mole ruinae:
     plus ualet humanis uiribus ira dei.

You demand that Priam applaud at the funeral of his sons,
     and that Niobe, bereft, lead festive choruses.
Am I to seem to be held fast by grief or by zeal,
     I alone ordered to go away to the farthest Getae?
Grant, though, that my breast is propped with sturdy strength,
     such as fame reports Anytus to have had as a defendant—
wisdom, broken, will fall beneath the mass of so great a ruin:
     the ire of a god prevails more than human forces.

Ille senex, dictus sapiens ab Apolline, nullum
     scribere in hoc casu sustinuisset opus.
ut ueniant patriae, ueniant obliuia uestri,
     omnis ut amissi sensus abesse queat,
at timor officio fungi uetat ipse quietum:
     cinctus ab innumero me tenet hoste locus.
Adde quod ingenium longa rubigine laesum
     torpet et est multo, quam fuit ante, minus.

That old man, called wise by Apollo, would have
     undertaken to write no work in this case.
May there come oblivion of my fatherland, may there come oblivion of you,
     so that every sense of what has been lost may be able to be absent,
but fear itself forbids me, even if at rest, to perform my office:
     a place, girded by an innumerable host, holds me.
Add that my genius, harmed by long rust,
     grows torpid and is much less than it was before.

Fertilis, assiduo si non renouetur aratro,
     nil nisi cum spinis gramen habebit ager.
Tempore qui longo steterit, male curret et inter
     carceribus missos ultimus ibit equus.
Vertitur in teneram cariem rimisque dehiscit,
     siqua diu solitis cumba uacauit aquis.

Fertile, if it be not renewed by the assiduous plow,
     the field will have nothing except grass with thorns.
A horse that has stood for a long time will run ill, and among
     those released from the starting-gates it will go last.
It turns into soft rot and gapes with cracks,
     if any skiff has long been free of its accustomed waters.

Me quoque despera, fuerim cum paruus et ante,
     illi, qui fueram, posse redire parem.
Contudit ingenium patientia longa malorum,
     et pars antiqui nulla uigoris adest.
Siqua tamen nobis, ut nunc quoque, sumpta tabella est,
     inque suos uolui cogere uerba pedes,
carmina nulla mihi sunt scripta, aut qualia cernis
     digna sui domini tempore, digna loco.

Despair of me too, that I, who once was young and before,
     can return equal to the one I had been.
Long patience of evils has crushed my ingenuity,
     and no part of the ancient vigor is present.
If, however, some writing-tablet, as now too, has been taken up by me,
     and I have wished to force the words into their proper feet,
no poems are written by me, or such as you see,
     worthy of their master’s time, worthy of the place.

Denique "non paruas animo dat gloria uires,
     et fecunda facit pectora laudis amor."
Nominis et famae quondam fulgore trahebar,
     dum tulit antemnas aura secunda meas.
Non adeo est bene nunc ut sit mihi gloria curae:
     si liceat, nulli cognitus esse uelim.
An quia cesserunt primo bene carmina, suades
     scribere, successus ut sequar ipse meos?

Finally, "glory gives not small powers to the mind,
     and love of praise makes hearts fecund."
By the splendor of name and fame once I was drawn,
     while a favorable breeze bore my yards.
It is not now so well that glory should be a care to me:
     if it were permitted, I would wish to be known to no one.
Or because the songs turned out well at first, do you urge
     me to write, so that I myself may follow up my successes?

Pace, nouem, uestra liceat dixisse, sorores:
     uos estis nostrae maxima causa fugae.
utque dedit iustas tauri fabricator aeni,
     sic ego do poenas artibus ipse meis.
Nil mihi debebat cum uersibus amplius esse,
at, puto, si demens studium fatale retemptem,
     hic mihi praebebit carminis arma locus.

By your leave, nine sisters:
     you are the greatest cause of my flight.
and as the maker of the brazen bull paid just penalties,
     so I myself pay penalties for my own arts.
I ought to have had nothing further to do with verses,
but, I think, if mad I should re-attempt the fated pursuit,
     this place will provide me with the arms of song.

Non liber hic ullus, non qui mihi commodet aurem,
     uerbaque significent quid mea, norit, adest.
Omnia barbariae loca sunt uocisque ferinae,
     omniaque hostilis plena timore soni.
Ipse mihi uideor iam dedidicisse Latine:
     nam didici Getice Sarmaticeque loqui.

There is no book here, no one who would lend me an ear,
     and who would know what my words signify, is at hand.
All the places are of barbarity and of a feral voice,
     and all are full with fear of a hostile sound.
I myself seem now to have unlearned Latin:
     for I have learned to speak in Getic and Sarmatian.

Nec tamen, ut uerum fatear tibi, nostra teneri
     a conponendo carmine Musa potest.
Scribimus et scriptos absumimus igne libellos:
     exitus est studii parua fauilla mei.
Nec possum et cupio non nullos ducere uersus:
     ponitur idcirco noster in igne labor,
nec nisi pars casu flammis erepta doloue
     ad uos ingenii peruenit ulla mei.

Nor yet, to confess the truth to you, can my Muse be held     back from composing song.
We write, and the written little books we consume in fire:     the outcome of my study is a small cinder.
And I cannot, and yet I desire, to lead forth some verses:     therefore my labor is laid upon the fire,
and not unless a part, by chance or by stratagem, snatched from the flames,     does any of my genius arrive to you.

Sic utinam, quae nil metuentem tale magistrum
perdidit, in cineres Ars mea uersa foret!

Thus would that my Art, which, its master fearing nothing of the sort,
destroyed him, had been turned into cinders!

XIII

Hanc tuus e Getico mittit tibi Naso salutem,
     mittere si quisquam, quo caret ipse, potest.
Aeger enim traxi contagia corpore mentis,
     libera tormento pars mihi ne qua uacet.
Perque dies multos lateris cruciatibus utor;
     scilicet inmodico frigore laesit hiems.

This greeting your Naso sends you from the Getic land,
     if anyone can send what he himself lacks.
For, sick, I have drawn the contagions of the mind into the body,
     so that no part for me may be free from torment.
And through many days I suffer torments of the side;
     evidently winter has harmed me with immoderate cold.

Si tamen ipse uales, aliqua nos parte ualemus:
     quippe mea est umeris fulta ruina tuis.
Quid, mihi cum dederis ingentia pignora, cumque
     per numeros omnes hoc tueare caput,
quod tua me raro solatur epistula, peccas,
     remque piam praestas, sed mihi uerba negas?
Hoc, precor, emenda: quod si correxeris unum,
     nullus in egregio corpore naeuus erit.

If, however, you yourself are well, we are in some part well:
     for indeed my collapse is propped by your shoulders.
What? though you have given me vast pledges, and though
     by every count you guard this head,
that your epistle rarely consoles me—you are at fault;
     you perform a pious service, but you deny me words?
Emend this, I pray: and if you correct this one thing,
     there will be no blemish in an outstanding body.

Pluribus accusem, fieri nisi possit, ut ad me
     littera non ueniat, missa sit illa tamen.
Di faciant, ut sit temeraria nostra querela,
     teque putem falso non meminisse mei.
Quod precor, esse liquet: neque enim mutabile robur
     credere me fas est pectoris esse tui.

I would accuse you of more, unless it could be that, though a letter does not come to me, yet it was sent.
May the gods make it so that my complaint is rash, and that I may suppose it false that you have not remembered me.
What I pray is clear: for it is not right for me to believe the strength of your heart to be mutable.

Cana prius gelido desint absinthia Ponto,
     et careat dulci Trinacris Hybla thymo,
inmemorem quam te quisquam conuincat amici.
     Non ita sunt fati stamina nigra mei.
Tu tamen, ut possis falsae quoque pellere culpae
     crimina, quod non es, ne uideare, caue.

Sooner let hoary wormwoods fail the icy Pontus,
     and let Trinacrian Hybla lack its sweet thyme,
than that anyone convict you as forgetful of a friend.
     The threads of my fate are not so black.
You, however, so that you may be able to drive away even the charges
     of a false fault, beware lest you seem what you are not.

utque solebamus consumere longa loquendo
     tempora, sermoni deficiente die,
sic ferat ac referat tacitas nunc littera uoces,
     et peragant linguae charta manusque uices.
Quod fore ne nimium uidear diffidere, sitque
     uersibus hoc paucis admonuisse satis,
accipe quo semper finitur epistula uerbo,
      (atque meis distent ut tua fata!) "uale".

and as we were accustomed to consume long spans by speaking
     the day failing our discourse,
so let the letter now bear and bring back silent voices,
     and let page and hand perform the offices of the tongue.
that i may not seem to distrust too much that this will be, and that it may be
     enough to have given this reminder in a few verses,
receive the word with which a letter is always finished,
      (and may your fates be far from mine!) "farewell".

XIV

Quanta tibi dederim nostris monumenta libellis,
     o mihi me coniunx carior, ipsa uides.
Detrahat auctori multum fortuna licebit,
     tu tamen ingenio clara ferere meo;
dumque legar, mecum pariter tua fama legetur,
     nec potes in maestos omnis abire rogos;
cumque uiri casu possis miseranda uideri,
     inuenies aliquas, quae, quod es, esse uelint,
quae te, nostrorum cum sis in parte malorum,
     felicem dicant inuideantque tibi.
Non ego diuitias dando tibi plura dedissem:
     nil feret ad Manes diuitis umbra suos.

How great monuments I have given to you in my little books,
     O wife dearer to me than myself, you yourself see.
Let Fortune be permitted to detract much from the author,
     you, however, will be held famous by my genius;
and while I am read, together with me your fame will be read as well,
     nor can you pass entirely into the mournful funeral pyres;
and though by your husband’s misfortune you could seem pitiable,
     you will find some who would wish to be what you are,
who, since you are in a share of our misfortunes,
     call you fortunate and envy you.
By giving you riches I would not have given you more:
     the shade of a rich man will carry nothing to his own Manes.

Perpetui fructum donaui nominis idque,
     quo dare nil potui munere maius, habes.
Adde quod, ut rerum sola es tutela mearum,
     ad te non parui uenit honoris onus,
quod numquam uox est de te mea muta tuique
     indiciis debes esse superba uiri.
Quae ne quis possit temeraria dicere, persta,
     et pariter serua meque piamque fidem.

I have given the fruit of a perpetual name, and you have that gift
     than which I could give nothing greater.
Add, too, that, since you alone are the tutelage of my affairs,
     there has come to you the burden of no small honor,
that my voice is never mute about you, and by the attestations of your
     husband you ought to be proud.
So that no one may be able to speak rash things, stand fast,
     and alike preserve both me and your pious faith.

Nam tua, dum stetimus, turpi sine crimine mansit,
     et tantum probitas inreprehensa fuit.
Area de nostra nunc est tibi facta ruina;
     conspicuum uirtus hic tua ponat opus.
Esse bonam facile est, ubi, quod uetet esse, remotum est,
     et nihil officio nupta quod obstet habet.

For your good name, while I stood, remained without shameful charge,
     and only irreproachable probity was displayed.
From my ruin now a building-site has been made for you;
     here let your virtue set up a conspicuous work.
To be good is easy, where what would forbid being so has been removed,
     and a wife has nothing that stands as an obstacle to duty.

Cum deus intonuit, non se subducere nimbo,
     id demum est pietas, id socialis amor.
Rara quidem uirtus, quam non Fortuna gubernet,
     quae maneat stabili, cum fugit ilia, pede.
Siqua tamen pretium sibi uirtus ipsa petitum,
     inque parum lactis ardua rebus adest,
ut tempus numeres, per saecula nulla tacetur,
     et loca mirantur qua patet orbis iter.

When god has thundered, not to withdraw oneself from the storm-cloud—
     that indeed is piety, that is social love.
Rare indeed the virtue which Fortune does not govern,
     which remains with a stable foot when she flees.
If ever, however, virtue itself has sought some reward for itself,
     and amid scant milk is present for arduous affairs,
so long as you number time, she is silenced in no ages,
     and the places marvel where the path of the world-orb lies open.

Aspicis ut longo teneat laudabilis aeuo
     nomen inextinctum Penelopea fides?
Cernis ut Admeti cantetur et Hectoris uxor
     ausaque in accensos Iphias ire rogos?
ut uiuat fama coniunx Phylaceia, cuius
     Iliacam celeri uir pede pressit humum?

Do you see how laudable Penelopean fidelity keeps an undying name through a long age?
     Do you discern how the wife of Admetus is sung and Hector’s wife,
     and the Iphian, who dared to go upon the kindled pyres?
Do you see how the Phylacean spouse lives in fame, whose
     husband pressed the Iliac ground with swift foot?

Morte nihil opus est pro me, sed amore fideque:
     non ex difficili fama petenda tibi est.
Nec te credideris, quia non facis, ista moneri:
     uela damus, quamuis remige puppis eat.
Qui monet ut facias, quod iam facis, ille monendo
     laudat et hortatu comprobat acta suo.

There is no need of death for me, but of love and of faith:
     your fame is not to be sought from what is difficult.
Nor think that you are being admonished of these things because you do not do them:
     we set the sails, although the ship goes with oars.
He who advises you to do what you already do, by advising
     praises, and by his exhortation approves your deeds.