Propertius: ELEGIAE

Callimachi Manes et Coi sacra Philitae,
    in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus.
primus ego ingredior puro de fonte sacerdos
    Itala per Graios orgia ferre choros.
dicite, quo pariter carmen tenuastis in antro
    quove pede ingressi?

Shades of Callimachus and the sacred rites of Coan Philetas,
    into your grove, I beg, allow me to go.
I, a priest, am the first to enter from a pure spring,
    to bear Italian orgies through Greek choruses.
tell me, in what cavern together you attenuated the song,
    or with what foot did you enter?

quamve bibistis aquam?
ah valeat, Phoebum quicumque moratur in armis!
    exactus tenui pumice versus eat,
quo me Fama levat terra sublimis, et a me
    nata coronatis Musa triumphat equis,
et mecum in curru parvi vectantur Amores,
    scriptorumque meas turba secuta rotas.

or what water did you drink?
ah, away with whoever keeps Phoebus lingering in arms!
    let the verse, polished with fine pumice, go forth,
whereby lofty Fame lifts me from the earth, and by me
    the Muse born from me triumphs with coronated horses,
and with me in the chariot the little Loves are borne,
    and the crowd of writers follows my wheels.

quid frustra immissis mecum certatis habenis?
non datur ad Musas currere lata via.
multi, Roma, tuas laudes annalibus addent,
qui finem imperii Bactra futura canent.

why do you strive with me in vain, with the reins let loose?
it is not granted to run by a broad way to the Muses.
many, Rome, will add your praises to the annals,
who will sing that Bactra will be the future limit of the empire.

sed, quod pace legas, opus hoc de monte Sororum
    detulit intacta pagina nostra via.
mollia, Pegasides, date vestro serta poetae:
    non faciet capiti dura corona meo.
at mihi quod vivo detraxerit invida turba,
    post obitum duplici faenore reddet Honos;
omnia post obitum fingit maiora vetustas:
    maius ab exsequiis nomen in ora venit.

but, that you may read in peace, this work from the Sisters’ mount
    our way has brought down with the page untouched.
soft garlands, Pegasids, give to your poet:
    a hard crown will not suit my head.
but what the envious throng has taken from me while I live,
    after death Honor will render back with double usury;
Antiquity after death fashions all things greater:
    a greater name comes into mouths from the obsequies.

nam quis equo pulsas abiegno nosceret arces,
    fluminaque Haemonio comminus isse viro,
Idaeum Simoenta Iovis cum prole Scamandro,
    Hectora per campos ter maculasse rotas?
Deiphobumque Helenumque et Pulydamantis in armis
    qualemcumque Parim vix sua nosset humus.
exiguo sermone fores nunc, Ilion, et tu
    Troia bis Oetaei numine capta dei.

for who would know the citadels smitten by the fir-wood horse,
    and that the rivers came to close combat with the Haemonian (Thessalian) man,
the Idaean Simois with Scamander, offspring of Jove,
    that across the plains Hector had thrice stained the wheels?
and Deiphobus and Helenus and Polydamas in arms,
    and Paris, whatever sort he was, scarce would their own soil have known.
with scant speech you would now be, Ilion, and you too,
    Troy, twice taken by the numen of the Oetaean god.

nec non ille tui casus memorator Homerus
    posteritate suum crescere sensit opus;
meque inter seros laudabit Roma nepotes:
    illum post cineres auguror ipse diem.
ne mea contempto lapis indicet ossa sepulcro
    provisumst Lycio vota probante deo.

and not least that Homer, the narrator of your fortunes,
    perceived his work to grow with posterity;
and Rome will praise me among her late-born descendants:
    I myself augur that day after my ashes.
lest a stone point out my bones in a despised sepulcher
    provision has been made, the Lycian god approving the vows.

Carminis interea nostri redeamus in orbem,
    gaudeat ut solito tacta puella sono.
Orphea delenisse feras et concita dicunt
    flumina Threicia sustinuisse lyra;
saxa Cithaeronis Thebanam agitata per artem
    sponte sua in muri membra coisse ferunt;
quin etiam, Polypheme, fera Galatea sub Aetna
    ad tua rorantis carmina flexit equos:
miremur, nobis et Baccho et Apolline dextro,
    turba puellarum si mea verba colit?
quod non Taenariis domus est mihi fulta columnis,
    nec camera auratas inter eburna trabes,
nec mea Phaeacas aequant pomaria silvas,
     non operosa rigat Marcius antra liquor;
at Musae comites et carmina cara legenti,
    nec defessa choris Calliopea meis.

Meanwhile let us return into the orbit of our song,
    so that the girl, touched by the accustomed sound, may rejoice.
They say Orpheus charmed the beasts and that the roused
    rivers he held back with his Thracian lyre;
the rocks of Cithaeron, set in motion by Theban art,
    they report to have of their own accord come together into the members of a wall;
nay even, Polyphemus, wild Galatea beneath Etna
    turned her dripping horses toward your songs:
should we wonder, with Bacchus and Apollo favorable to us,
    if a throng of girls cultivates my words?
because my house is not propped with Taenarian columns,
    nor a ceiling amid ivory beams gilded,
nor do my orchards equal the Phaeacian woods,
     non does Marcius water irrigate my operose caverns;
but the Muses are companions and my songs dear to the reader,
    and Calliope not wearied by my choruses.

fortunata, meo si qua's celebrata libello!
    carmina erunt formae tot monumenta tuae.
nam neque pyramidum sumptus ad sidera ducti,
    nec Iovis Elei caelum imitata domus,
nec Mausolei dives fortuna sepulcri
    mortis ab extrema condicione vacant.

fortunate, if you are celebrated by my little book!
    my songs will be so many monuments of your beauty.
for neither the expenditures of pyramids raised to the stars,
    nor the house of Jove at Elis, imitating the sky,
nor the opulent fortune of Mausolus’s sepulcher
    are exempt from the ultimate condition of death.

aut illis flamma aut imber subducet honores,
annorum aut tacito pondere victa ruent.
at non ingenio quaesitum nomen ab aevo
excidet: ingenio stat sine morte decus.

either flame or rain will withdraw their honors from them,
or, conquered by the silent weight of years, they will collapse.
but the name sought by talent will not fall away from age
by talent honor stands without death.

III

Visus eram molli recubans Heliconis in umbra,
    Bellerophontei qua fluit umor equi,
reges, Alba, tuos et regum facta tuorum,
    tantum operis, nervis hiscere posse meis;
parvaque iam magnis admoram fontibus ora
    (unde pater sitiens Ennius ante bibit,
et cecinit Curios fratres et Horatia pila,
    regiaque Aemilia vecta tropaea rate,
victricisque moras Fabii pugnamque sinistram
    Cannensem et versos ad pia vota deos,
Hannibalemque Lares Romana sede fugantis,
    anseris et tutum voce fuisse Iovem),
cum me Castalia speculans ex arbore Phoebus
    sic ait aurata nixus ad antra lyra:
'quid tibi cum tali, demens, est flumine? quis te
    carminis heroi tangere iussit opus?
non hinc ulla tibi sperandast fama, Properti:
    mollia sunt parvis prata terenda rotis;
ut tuus in scamno iactetur saepe libellus,
    quem legat exspectans sola puella virum.

I seemed to be reclining in the soft shade of Helicon,
    where the moisture of the Bellerophontic horse flows,
your kings, Alba, and the deeds of your kings—
    so great a work—to be able to open with my strings;
and already I was bringing my small lips to the great springs
    (whence thirsty father Ennius once drank,
and he sang of the Curii brothers and the Horatian javelins,
    and the royal trophies of Aemilius borne on a ship,
and the delaying-tactics of victorious Fabius and the ill-omened
    battle of Cannae, and the gods turned to pious vows,
and the Lares driving Hannibal from the Roman seat,
    and that Jupiter was kept safe by the voice of a goose),
when Phoebus, watching me from a Castalian tree,
    thus spoke, leaning on a gilded lyre, to the caves:
“Madman, what have you to do with such a river? Who bade you
    touch the work of heroic song?
From here no fame is to be hoped for you, Propertius:
    soft meadows are to be trodden by little wheels;
so that your little book may be tossed often on a bench,
    for a girl waiting alone for her man to read.”

cur tua praescriptos evectast pagina gyros?
    non est ingenii cumba gravanda tui.
alter remus aquas alter tibi radat harenas,
    tutus eris: medio maxima turba marist.'
dixerat, et plectro sedem mihi monstrat eburno,
    quo nova muscoso semita facta solost.

why has your page been carried beyond the prescribed gyres?
    the skiff of your genius is not to be weighed down.
let one oar skim the waters, the other for you graze the sands,
    you will be safe: the greatest turmoil of the sea is in the middle.'
he had spoken, and with an ivory plectrum he points out to me a seat,
    where alone a new path has been made through the moss.

hic erat affixis viridis spelunca lapillis,
    pendebantque cavis tympana pumicibus,
orgia Musarum et Sileni patris imago
    fictilis et calami, Pan Tegeaee, tui;
et Veneris dominae volucres, mea turba, columbae
    tingunt Gorgoneo punica rostra lacu;
diversaeque novem sortitae iura Puellae
    exercent teneras in sua dona manus:
haec hederas legit in thyrsos, haec carmina nervis
    aptat, at illa manu texit utraque rosam.
e quarum numero me contigit una dearum
    (ut reor a facie, Calliopea fuit):
'contentus niveis semper vectabere cycnis,
    nec te fortis equi ducet ad arma sonus.
nil tibi sit rauco praeconia classica cornu
     flare, nec Aonium tingere Marte nemus;
aut quibus in campis Mariano proelia signo
    stent et Teutonicas Roma refringat opes,
barbarus aut Suebo perfusus sanguine Rhenus
    saucia maerenti corpora vectet aqua.

here there was a green grotto with little stones affixed,
    and tympana hung from hollow pumice-stones,
the orgia of the Muses and a likeness of father Silenus
    of clay, and the reed-pipes, Pan Tegean, that are yours;
and the winged ones of lady Venus, my crowd, the doves,
    dip their punic-crimson beaks in the Gorgonean pool;
and the nine diverse Girls, having drawn lots for jurisdictions,
    exercise their tender hands upon their own gifts:
this one gathers ivies for thyrsi, this one fits songs to strings,
    but that one with both hands weaves a rose.
of whose number it befell me that one of the goddesses
    (as I reckon from her face, it was Calliope):
“content, you will always be borne by snowy swans,
    nor will the sound of the brave horse lead you to arms.
let it be nothing to you to blow the proclamations of the war-trumpets
    with a raucous horn, nor to stain the Aonian grove with Mars;
or in what fields battles under the Marian standard
    may stand and Rome may shatter Teutonic powers,
or the barbarian Rhine, drenched with Suevian blood,
    may carry wounded bodies on its grieving water.”

quippe coronatos alienum ad limen amantes
    nocturnaeque canes ebria signa morae,
ut per te clausas sciat excantare puellas,
    qui volet austeros arte ferire viros.'
talia Calliope, lymphisque a fonte petitis
    ora Philitea nostra rigavit aqua.

for indeed garland-crowned lovers at another’s threshold,
    and the dogs of the night, are the drunken signs of nocturnal delay,
so that through you he may know how to charm out shut-in girls,
    whoever will wish to smite austere men by art.'
such things said Calliope, and with waters fetched from the spring
    she bathed my lips with Philitean water.

Arma deus Caesar dites meditatur ad Indos,
    et freta gemmiferi findere classe maris.
magna, Quiris, merces: parat ultima terra triumphos;
    Tigris et Euphrates sub tua iura fluent;
sera, sed Ausoniis veniet provincia virgis;
    assuescent Latio Partha tropaea Iovi.
ite agite, expertae bello, date lintea, prorae,
    et solitum, armigeri, ducite munus, equi!

Arms does the god Caesar meditate against the wealthy Indians,
    and to cleave with a fleet the straits of the gem-bearing sea.
Great, Quiris, the wages: the farthest land prepares triumphs;
    the Tigris and Euphrates will flow under your laws;
Late, but to Ausonian rods the province will come;
    Parthian trophies will grow accustomed to Latium’s Jove.
Go on, come on, prows experienced in war, give the linens,
    and, arms-bearing horses, perform the accustomed duty!

omina fausta cano. Crassos clademque piate!
ite et Romanae consulite historiae!

I sing auspicious omens. Expiate the Crassi and the disaster!
go, and have regard for Roman history!

Mars pater, et sacrae fatalia lumina Vestae,
    ante meos obitus sit precor illa dies,
qua videam spoliis oneratos Caesaris axes,
    et subter captos arma sedere duces,
tela fugacis equi et bracati militis arcus,
    ad vulgi plausus saepe resistere equos,
inque sinu carae nixus spectare puellae
    incipiam et titulis oppida capta legam!
ipsa tuam serva prolem, Venus: hoc sit in aevum,
    cernis ab Aenea quod superesse caput.
praeda sit haec illis, quorum meruere labores:
    me sat erit Sacra plaudere posse Via.

Father Mars, and the fated lights of sacred Vesta,
    before my obit, I pray, may that day be,
on which I see Caesar’s chariots laden with spoils,
    and the captured commanders sit beneath the arms,
the missiles of the fleeing horse and the trousered soldier’s bows,
    the horses again and again halting at the populace’s applause,
and, leaning in the lap of my dear girl, to behold I shall begin
    and to read the captured towns on the inscriptions!
you yourself guard your offspring, Venus: let this head endure forever,
    which you see surviving from Aeneas.
let this booty be for those whose labors have deserved it:
    for me it will be enough to be able to applaud on the Sacred Way.

Pacis Amor deus est, pacem veneramur amantes:
    sat mihi cum domina proelia dura mea.
nec mihi mille iugis Campania pinguis aratur,
    nec bibit e gemma divite nostra sitis,
nec tamen inviso pectus mihi carpitur auro,
    nec mixta aera paro clade, Corinthe, tua.
o prima infelix fingenti terra Prometheo!

Love is the god of Peace, we lovers venerate peace:
    enough for me are my own hard battles with my mistress.
nor is fat Campania plowed for me by a thousand yokes,
    nor does our thirst drink from a rich gem,
nor yet is my breast gnawed by hateful gold,
    nor do I procure bronzes mingled with your disaster, Corinth.
O first unhappy earth for Prometheus as he was fashioning!

    ille parum caute pectoris egit opus.
corpora disponens mentem non vidit in arto:
    recta animi primum debuit esse via.
nunc maris in tantum vento iactamur, et hostem
    quaerimus, atque armis nectimus arma nova.

    he too incautiously undertook the work of the breast.
arranging bodies, he did not see the mind in a narrow place:
    the straight way of the mind ought to have been first.
now we are to such an extent tossed by the wind of the sea, and we seek
    an enemy, and with arms we link new arms.

haud ullas portabis opes Acherontis ad undas:
    nudus in inferna, stulte, vehere rate.
victor cum victo pariter miscetur in umbris:
    consule cum Mario, capte Iugurtha, sedes.
Lydus Dulichio non distat Croesus ab Iro:
    optima mors, carpta quae venit ante die.

you will carry no wealth to the waves of Acheron:
    naked into the underworld, fool, you will be borne by the raft.
the victor with the vanquished is equally mingled in the shades:
    captured Jugurtha, you sit with Consul Marius.
the Lydian Croesus does not differ from the Dulichian Irus:
    best is the death which, plucked, comes before its day.

me iuvat in prima coluisse Helicona iuventa
    Musarumque choris implicuisse manus;
me iuvat et multo mentem vincire Lyaeo,
    et caput in verna semper habere rosa.
atque ubi iam Venerem gravis interceperit aetas,
    sparserit et nigras alba senecta comas,
tum mihi naturae libeat perdiscere mores,
    quis deus hanc mundi temperet arte domum,
qua venit exoriens, qua deficit, unde coactis
    cornibus in plenum menstrua luna redit,
unde salo superant venti, quid flamine captet
    Eurus, et in nubes unde perennis aqua;
sit ventura dies mundi quae subruat arces,
    purpureus pluvias cur bibit arcus aquas,
aut cur Perrhaebi tremuere cacumina Pindi,
    solis et atratis luxerit orbis equis,
cur serus versare boves et plaustra Bootes,
    Pleiadum spisso cur coit igne chorus,
curve suos fines altum non exeat aequor,
    plenus et in partes quattuor annus eat;
sub terris sint iura deum et tormenta reorum,
    num rota, num scopuli, num sitis inter aquas,
aut Alcmaeoniae furiae aut ieiunia Phinei,
    Tisiphones atro si furit angue caput,
num tribus infernum custodit faucibus antrum
    Cerberus, et Tityo iugera pauca novem,
an ficta in miseras descendit fabula gentes,
    et timor haud ultra quam rogus esse potest.
exitus hic vitae superet mihi: vos, quibus arma
    grata magis, Crassi signa referte domum.

It pleases me in earliest youth to have cultivated Helicon,
    and to have entwined my hands in the choruses of the Muses;
it pleases me too to bind my mind with much Lyaeus,
    and to have my head always in a springtime rose.
and when heavy age shall have intercepted Venus,
    and white old age shall have sprinkled my black hair,
then may it be my delight to learn thoroughly the manners of Nature—
    what god with art governs this house of the world,
where it comes rising, where it fails, whence, with horns gathered,
    the monthly moon returns to the full;
whence on the brine the winds prevail, what in its blast
    the East Wind aims at, and whence the perennial water into the clouds;
whether a day is to come that will undermine the citadels of the world,
    why the purple bow drinks the rainy waters,
or why the Perrhaebian peaks of Pindus trembled,
    and the orb of the sun shone with blackened horses;
why Boötes is late to turn his oxen and wagons,
    why the chorus of the Pleiads gathers in compact fire,
and why the deep does not pass beyond its own bounds,
    and the year, at full, goes into four parts;
whether beneath the earth there are the judgments of the gods and torments of the guilty—
    whether a wheel, or crags, or thirst amid waters,
or the Alcmaeonian furies or the fasts of Phineus,
    whether Tisiphone’s head rages with a black serpent,
whether Cerberus keeps the infernal cavern with three jaws,
    and for Tityos the scant acres are nine,
or whether the tale descends feigned upon wretched peoples,
    and fear can be no further than the pyre.
let this exit of life remain for me; you, for whom arms
    are more pleasing, bring Crassus’s standards back home.

Dic mihi de nostra quae sensti vera puella:
    sic tibi sint dominae, Lygdame, dempta iuga.
omnis enim debet sine vano nuntius esse,
    maioremque metu servus habere fidem.
nunc mihi, si qua tenes, ab origine dicere prima
    incipe: suspensis auribus ista bibam.

Tell me, about my girl, what true things you have perceived:
    so may the yokes of the mistress be removed for you, Lygdamus.
for every messenger ought to be without a vain message,
    and a servant should have greater credit from fear.
now, if you hold anything, begin to tell me from the very beginning:
    with ears suspended I will drink these things in.

num me laetitia tumefactum fallis inani,
haec referens, quae me credere velle putas?
sicin eram incomptis vidisti flere capillis?
illius ex oculis multa cadebat aqua?

do you deceive me, swollen with inane joy,
relating these things which you think I wish to credit?
was it thus you saw her weeping with unkempt hair?
was much water falling from her eyes?

nec speculum in strato vidisti, Lygdame, lecto,
    scriniaque ad lecti clausa iacere pedes,
ac maestam teneris vestem pendere lacertis?
    ornabat niveas nullane gemma manus?
tristis erat domus, et tristes sua pensa ministrae
    carpebant, medio nebat et ipsa loco,
umidaque impressa siccabat lumina lana,
    rettulit et querulo iurgia nostra sono?

did you not see a mirror on the made bed, Lygdamus,
    and little caskets lying closed at the bed’s foot,
and a mournful dress hanging from her tender upper arms?
    was no gem adorning her snow-white hands?
the house was sad, and her sad maidservants their allotments of wool
    were plucking, and she herself was spinning in the middle place,
and with wool pressed on she was drying her moist eyes,
    and did she recount our quarrels in a querulous tone?

'haec te teste mihi promissast, Lygdame, merces?
est poena et servo rumpere teste fidem.
ille potest nullo miseram me linquere facto,
et qualem nolo dicere habere domi?

'Is this the reward promised me, with you as witness, Lygdamus?
There is punishment, even with a slave as witness, for breaking faith.
He can leave me wretched without any deed,
and have at home such a one as I do not wish to name?

gaudet me vacuo solam tabescere lecto?
si placet, insultet, Lygdame, morte mea.
non me moribus illa, sed herbis improba vicit
staminea rhombi ducitur ille rota.

does he rejoice that I waste away alone on an empty bed?
if it pleases, let him gloat, Lygdamus, over my death.
it was not by morals that that shameless woman conquered me, but by herbs—
he is led by the thread-spun wheel of the rhomb.

illum turgentis sanie portenta rubetae
    et lecta exsuctis anguibus ossa trahunt,
et strigis inventae per busta iacentia plumae,
    cinctaque funesto lanea vitta toro.
si non vana canunt mea somnia, Lygdame, testor,
    poena erit ante meos sera sed ampla pedes;
putris et in vacuo texetur aranea lecto:
    noctibus illorum dormiet ipsa Venus.'
quae tibi si veris animis est questa puella,
    hac eadem rursus, Lygdame, curre via,
et mea cum multis lacrimis mandata reporta,
    iram, non fraudes esse in amore meo,
me quoque consimili impositum torquerier igni:
    iurabo bis sex integer esse dies.
quod mihi si e tanto felix concordia bello
    exstiterit, per me, Lygdame, liber eris.

him the portents of a toad swollen with gore draw,
    and bones gathered from snakes sucked dry,
and the feathers of a strix found lying through the tombs,
    and a woolen fillet girt to a funereal couch.
if my dreams do not sing vainly, Lygdamus, I bear witness,
    there will be a punishment before my feet, late but ample;
and a mouldering cobweb will be woven on the empty bed:
    on their nights Venus herself will sleep.'
if the girl has complained to you with true feelings,
    by this same way again, Lygdamus, run,
and bring back my commands with many tears,
    that there is anger, not deceits, in my love,
that I too am tormented, set upon a similar fire:
    I will swear to be intact for twelve days.
and if for me a happy concord shall arise out of so great a war,
    through me, Lygdamus, you will be free.

VII

Ergo sollicitae tu causa, pecunia, vitae!
    per te immaturum mortis adimus iter;
tu vitiis hominum crudelia pabula praebes;
    semina curarum de capite orta tuo.
tu Paetum ad Pharios tendentem lintea portus
    obruis insano terque quaterque mari.

Therefore, money, you are the cause of anxious life!
    through you we approach the untimely path of death;
you furnish cruel fodder to the vices of men;
    the seeds of cares, sprung from your head.
you overwhelm Paetus, as he stretches his linen sails toward the Pharian harbors,
    with the insane sea, thrice and four times.

nam dum te sequitur, primo miser excidit aevo
    et nova longinquis piscibus esca natat.
quod si contentus patrio bove verteret agros,
    verbaque duxisset pondus habere mea,
viveret ante suos dulcis conviva Penates,
    pauper, at in terra nil nisi fleret opes.
noluit hoc Paetus, stridorem audire procellae
    et duro teneras laedere fune manus,
sed thyio thalamo aut Oricia terebintho
    effultum pluma versicolore caput.

for while he follows you, the wretch fell out of life in his first age,
    and fresh bait floats for far-distant fishes.
but if, content with the ancestral ox, he were turning the fields,
    and had deemed my words to have weight,
he would be living before his own Penates, a sweet table-companion,
    poor, yet on land he would bewail nothing but riches.
Paetus did not want this, to hear the screech of the procella
    and to wound his tender hands with the hard rope,
but a head propped on a bedchamber of thyine or Orician terebinth,
    upon variegated feather.

hunc parvo ferri vidit nox improba ligno,
    et miser invisam traxit hiatus aquam;
huic fluctus vivo radicitus abstulit ungues:
    Paetus ut occideret, tot coiere mala.
flens tamen extremis dedit haec mandata querelis
    cum moribunda niger clauderet ora liquor:
'di maris Aegaei quos sunt penes aequora, venti,
    et quaecumque meum degravat unda caput,
quo rapitis miseros primae lanuginis annos?
    attulimus longas in freta vestra comas.

wicked night saw this man borne on a small piece of wood,
    and the wretch drew the hateful water of the yawning gulf;
from him the wave tore out his nails by the roots while he lived:
    so many evils converged that Paetus might perish.
weeping, however, with final laments he gave these commands
    when black liquid was closing his dying lips:
'gods of the Aegean sea, in whose power are the waters, winds,
    and whatever wave weighs down my head,
to what end do you snatch the wretched years of the first down of youth?
    into your straits we have brought our long tresses.

ah miser alcyonum scopulis affligar acutis!
    in me caeruleo fuscina sumpta deost.
at saltem Italiae regionibus evehat aestus:
    hoc de me sat erit si modo matris erit.'
subtrahit haec fantem torta vertigine fluctus;
    ultima quae Paeto voxque diesque fuit.

ah, wretched me, let me be battered on the sharp rocks of the halcyons!
    against me the trident taken up by the cerulean god is.
but at least let the surge carry me to the regions of Italy:
    this about me will be enough, if only it will be my mother’s.'
the wave, with twisted vertigo, pulls down the one speaking these things;
    this was both the last voice and the last day for Paetus.

Paete, quid aetatem numeras? quid cara natanti
mater in ore tibist? non habet unda deos.

Paetus, why do you reckon your lifetime? why, as you swim, is your dear mother on your lips?
the wave has no gods.

et mater non iusta piae dare debita terrae
    nec pote cognatos inter humare rogos,
sed tua nunc volucres astant super ossa marinae,
    nunc tibi pro tumulo Carpathium omne marest.
infelix Aquilo, raptae timor Orithyiae,
    quae spolia ex illo tanta fuere tibi?
aut quidnam fracta gaudes, Neptune, carina?

and a mother cannot give the just, due rites to pious earth
    nor can she inter you among kindred pyres,
but now sea-birds stand above your marine bones,
    now for you, in place of a tomb, the whole Carpathian sea is.
ill-fated Aquilo, terror of rapt Orithyia,
    what spoils so great from that man were there for you?
or what, Neptune, do you rejoice in—a shattered keel?

    portabat sanctos alveus ille viros.
o centum aequoreae Nereo genitore puellae,
    et tu, materno tacta dolore, Theti;
vos decuit lasso supponere bracchia mento:
    non poterat vestras ille gravare manus.
reddite corpus, aquae!

    that boat was carrying holy men.
o hundred sea-maidens, with Nereus as father,
    and you, Thetis, touched by maternal sorrow;
it was fitting for you to put your arms beneath the weary chin:
    he could not burden your hands.
give back the body, waters!

positast in gurgite vita;
    Paetum sponte tua, vilis harena, tegas;
et quotiens Paeti transibit nauta sepulcrum,
    dicat 'et audaci tu timor esse potes.'
ite, rates curvate et leti texite causas:
    ista per humanas mors venit acta manus.
terra parum fuerat fatis, adiecimus undas:
    fortunae miseras auximus arte vias.
ancora te teneat, quem non tenuere penates?

life has been set in the gulf;
    Paetus, may you, paltry sand, of your own accord cover;
and as often as a sailor passes Paetus’s sepulchre,
    let him say, ‘even you can be a fear to the audacious.’
go, curve the ships, and weave the causes of death:
    that death came, wrought by human hands.
the land had been too little for the Fates; we added the waves:
    we have augmented by art the wretched ways of Fortune.
may an anchor hold you, whom the Penates (household gods) did not hold?

    quid meritum dicas, cui sua terra parumst?
ventorumst, quodcumque paras: haud ulla carina
    consenuit, fallit portus et ipse fidem.
nam tibi nocturnis ad saxa ligata procellis
    omnia detrito vincula fune cadunt.

    what would you say he deserved, for whom his own land is too little?
whatever you prepare is of the winds: no keel has grown old,
    and even the port itself deceives faith.
for in your case, by nocturnal storms, fastened to the rocks,
    all the moorings fall, the rope worn through.

sunt Agamemnonias testantia litora curas,
    quae notat Argynni poena Athamantiadae.
[hoc iuvene amisso classem non solvit Atrides,
    pro qua mactatast Iphigenia mora.]
natura insidians pontum substravit avaris:
    ut tibi succedat, vix semel esse potest.
saxa triumphalis fregere Capherea puppes,
    naufraga cum vasto Graecia tracta salost.

there are shores bearing witness to Agamemnonian cares,
    which the punishment of the Athamantiad marks at Argynnus.
[with this youth lost, the son of Atreus did not loose the fleet,
    for whose delay Iphigenia was sacrificed.]
nature, lying in ambush, has paved the sea beneath the avaricious:
    that it should succeed for you can scarcely happen once.
the Capherean rocks shattered the triumphal sterns,
    when shipwrecked Greece was dragged by the vast brine.

paulatim socium iacturam flevit Ulixes,
in mare cui soliti non valuere doli.
at tu, saeve Aquilo, numquam mea vela videbis:
ante fores dominae condar oportet iners.

Little by little Ulysses wept the loss of his comrades,
for whom his accustomed wiles did not prevail upon the sea.
But you, savage Aquilo, you shall never behold my sails:
before my lady’s doors I must be laid to rest, inert.

VIII

Dulcis ad hesternas fuerat mihi rixa lucernas
    vocis et insanae tot maledicta tuae.
tu vero nostros audax invade capillos
    et mea formosis unguibus ora nota,
tu minitare oculos subiecta exurere flamma,
    fac mea rescisso pectora nuda sinu!
cum furibunda mero mensam propellis et in me
    proicis insana cymbia plena manu,
nimirum veri dantur mihi signa caloris:
    nam sine amore gravi femina nulla dolet.

Sweet to me had been the quarrel by last night’s lamps
    and so many maledictions of your insane voice.
but you, indeed, bold, invade my hair,
    and mark my face with your beautiful nails,
you threaten to sear my eyes with a flame held beneath,
    do it—make my breasts bare, with the fold torn open!
when, frenzied with wine, you shove the table and at me
    you hurl cups full, with your mad hand,
surely tokens of true heat are given to me:
    for without grave love no woman suffers.

quae mulier rabida iactat convicia lingua,
    haec Veneris magnae volvitur ante pedes.
custodum grege seu circa se stipat euntem,
    seu sequitur medias, maenas ut icta, vias,
seu timidam crebro dementia somnia terrent,
    seu miseram in tabula picta puella movet,
his ego tormentis animi sum verus haruspex,
    has didici certo saepe in amore notas.
non est certa fides, quam non in iurgia vertas:
    hostibus eveniat lenta puella meis.

what woman with a rabid tongue hurls invectives,
    she throws herself before the feet of great Venus.
whether she crowds about herself, as she goes, a herd of guards,
    or follows the public streets like a Maenad smitten,
or whether frequent dreams, in her madness, terrify the timid one,
    or a girl painted on a panel stirs the wretched woman,
by these torments of mind I am a true haruspex,
    I have often learned these sure signs in love.
there is no pledged faith so sure that you do not turn it into quarrels:
    may a reluctant girl befall my enemies.

in morso aequales videant mea vulnera collo:
    me doceat livor mecum habuisse meam.
aut in amore dolere volo aut audire dolentem,
    sive meas lacrimas sive videre tuas,
tecta superciliis si quando verba remittis,
    aut tua cum digitis scripta silenda notas.
odi ego quos numquam pungunt suspiria somnos:
    semper in irata pallidus esse velim.

let my equals see my wounds on a bitten neck:
    let the livid bruise teach that I have had my girl with me.
either I want to suffer in love or to hear you suffering,
    either to see my tears or to see yours,
if ever you send back words covert beneath your eyebrows,
    or you mark with your fingers writings that must be kept silent.
I hate those slumbers that sighs never prick:
    I would always wish to be pallid before you in anger.

dulcior ignis erat Paridi, cum Graia per arma
    Tynaridi poterat gaudia ferre suae:
dum vincunt Danai, dum restat barbarus Hector,
    ille Helenae in gremio maxima bella gerit.
aut tecum aut pro te mihi cum rivalibus arma
    semper erunt: in te pax mihi nulla placet.
gaude, quod nullast aeque formosa: doleres,
    si qua foret: nunc sis iure superba licet.

sweeter was the fire to Paris, when through Grecian arms
    he could carry the joys to his own Tyndarid:
while the Danaans are conquering, while barbarous Hector remains,
    he wages the greatest wars in Helen’s lap.
either with you or for you I shall always take up arms against rivals;
    no peace with you pleases me.
rejoice, that none is equally beautiful: you would grieve,
    if there were one: now you may be proud by right.

at tibi, qui nostro nexisti retia lecto,
sit socer aeternum nec sine matre domus!
cui nunc si qua datast furandae copia noctis,
offensa illa mihi, non tibi amica, dedit.

but for you, who have woven nets for our bed,
may there be a father-in-law eternal and a house not without a mother!
for whom now, if any opportunity has been given for stealing a night,
that girl, offended, gave it to me, not to you.

Maecenas, eques Etrusco de sanguine regum,
    intra fortunam qui cupis esse tuam,
quid me scribendi tam vastum mittis in aequor?
    non sunt apta meae grandia vela rati.
turpest, quod nequeas, capiti committere pondus
    et pressum inflexo mox dare terga genu.

Maecenas, equestrian, from Etruscan blood of kings,
    you who desire to be within your own fortune,
why do you send me into so vast a sea of writing?
    grand sails are not fitting to my raft.
it is shameful, what you cannot, to commit a weight to the head
    and, when pressed, soon to give your back with a bent knee.

omnia non pariter rerum sunt omnibus apta,
    palma nec ex aequo ducitur ulla iugo.
gloria Lysippost animosa effingere signa;
    exactis Calamis se mihi iactat equis;
in Veneris tabula summam sibi poscit Apelles;
    Parrhasius parva vindicat arte locum;
argumenta magis sunt Mentoris addita formae;
    at Myos exiguum flectit acanthus iter;
Phidiacus signo se Iuppiter ornat eburno;
    Praxitelen propria vendit ab urbe lapis.
est quibus Eleae concurrit palma quadrigae,
    est quibus in celeris gloria nata pedes;
hic satus ad pacem, hic castrensibus utilis armis:
    naturae sequitur semina quisque suae.

Not all things are equally apt for all men,
    nor is any palm drawn from the yoke on equal terms.
glory is Lysippus’s to fashion animous statues;
    Calamis vaunts himself to me with horses finished to precision;
on a panel of Venus Apelles claims the highest place;
    Parrhasius claims a place by subtle art;
embellishments are rather added to form by Mentor;
    but with Myos the acanthus bends its slight course;
Jupiter is adorned with a Phidian ivory statue;
    the stone from its own city sells Praxiteles.
there are those for whom the Eleian palm comes by the four-horse chariot,
    there are those for whom glory was born in swift feet;
this man is begotten for peace, that man useful for the camp’s arms:
    each one follows the seeds of his own nature.

at tua, Maecenas, vitae praecepta recepi,
    cogor et exemplis te superare tuis.
cum tibi Romano dominas in honore secures
    et liceat medio ponere iura foro;
vel tibi Medorum pugnacis ire per hastas,
    atque onerare tuam fixa per arma domum;
et tibi ad effectum vires det Caesar, et omni
    tempore tam faciles insinuentur opes;
parcis et in tenuis humilem te colligis umbras:
    velorum plenos subtrahis ipse sinus.
crede mihi, magnos aequabunt ista Camillos
    iudicia, et venies tu quoque in ora virum.

but your precepts of life, Maecenas, I have received,
    and I am compelled by your own examples to surpass you.
when the ruling axes in Roman honor are yours,
    and it is permitted to set down laws in the middle of the forum;
or for you to go through the spears of the pugnacious Medes,
    and to load your house with arms fastened up;
and Caesar gives you forces for accomplishment, and at every
    time resources insinuate themselves so easily;
you are sparing and you gather yourself, humble, into slender shades:
    you yourself draw back the full bellies of the sails.
believe me, those judgments will equal great Camilli,
    and you too will come upon the mouths of men.

non ego velifera tumidum mare findo carina:
    tota sub exiguo flumine nostra morast.
non flebo in cineres arcem sedisse paternos
    Cadmi, nec semper proelia clade pari;
nec referam Scaeas et Pergama, Apollinis arces,
    et Danaum decimo vere redisse rates,
moenia cum Graio Neptunia pressit aratro
    victor Palladiae ligneus artis equus.
inter Callimachi sat erit placuisse libellos
    et cecinisse modis, Coe+ poeta, tuis.

I do not cleave the swelling sea with a sail-bearing keel:
    my whole delay is under a tiny river.
I shall not weep that the paternal citadel of Cadmus sat in ashes,
    nor battles always with equal disaster;
nor will I recount the Scaean [gates] and Pergamum, the citadels of Apollo,
    and that the Danaan ships returned in the tenth spring,
when the Neptunian walls he pressed with a Greek plough—
    the victorious wooden horse of Palladian art.
among Callimachus’s little books it will be enough to have pleased,
    and to have sung in your modes, Coan+ poet.

haec urant pueros, haec urant scripta puellas
    meque deum clament et mihi sacra ferant!
te duce vel Iovis arma canam caeloque minantem
    Coeum et Phlegraeis Eurymedonta iugis;
eductosque pares silvestri ex ubere reges,
    ordiar et caeso moenia firma Remo,
celsaque Romanis decerpta palatia tauris,
    crescet et ingenium sub tua iussa meum;
prosequar et currus utroque ab litore ovantis,
    Parthorum astutae tela remissa fugae,
claustraque Pelusi Romano subruta ferro,
    Antonique gravis in sua fata manus.
mollia tu coeptae fautor cape lora iuventae,
    dexteraque immissis da mihi signa rotis.

let these writings sear boys, let these writings sear girls,
    and let them cry me a god and bring sacred things to me!
with you as leader I will sing even of Jove’s arms and Coeus
    menacing heaven, and Eurymedon on the Phlegraean ridges;
and I will begin the twin kings drawn forth as equals from the woodland udder,
    and the walls made firm with Remus slain,
and lofty palaces torn away by Roman bulls,
    and my genius will grow under your commands;
and I will attend the chariots ovant from each shore,
    the missiles of the Parthians sent back by their crafty flight,
and the bars of Pelusium undermined by Roman iron,
    and Antony’s hand weighty against his own fate.
be you the patron: take the pliant reins of my begun youth,
    and with your right hand give me the signals for the loosed wheels.

hoc mihi, Maecenas, laudis concedis, et a test
quod ferar in partis ipse fuisse tuas.

this, Maecenas, of praise you concede to me, and from you
that I may be reported myself to have been in your party.

Mirabar, quidnam visissent mane Camenae,
    ante meum stantes sole rubente torum.
natalis nostrae signum misere puellae
    et manibus faustos ter crepuere sonos.
transeat hic sine nube dies, stent aere venti,
    ponat et in sicco molliter unda minas.

I wondered what the Camenae had visited for in the morning,
    standing before my couch with the sun reddening.
they sent a sign of our girl’s birthday,
    and with their hands they thrice crepitated auspicious sounds.
let this day pass without a cloud, let the winds stand still in the air,
    and let the wave gently lay down its threats on dry land.

aspiciam nullos hodierna luce dolentis,
    et Niobae lacrimas supprimat ipse lapis;
alcyonum positis requiescant ora querelis;
    increpet absumptum nec sua mater Ityn.
tuque, o cara mihi, felicibus edita pennis,
    surge et poscentis iusta precare deos.
at primum pura somnum tibi discute lympha,
    et nitidas presso pollice finge comas;
dein qua primum oculos cepisti veste Properti
    indue, nec vacuum flore relinque caput;
et pete, qua polles, ut sit tibi forma perennis,
    inque meum semper stent tua regna caput.

I will behold none grieving in today’s light,
    and let the very stone suppress Niobe’s tears;
let the mouths of the halcyons, their complaints set aside, find rest;
    nor let his mother reproach her Itys, consumed.
and you, O dear to me, brought forth under felicitous wings,
    rise and pray the gods what is just for one who asks.
but first scatter sleep from yourself with pure water,
    and mold your shining locks with the thumb pressed;
then don the garment with which you first seized Propertius’s eyes,
    and do not leave your head empty of a flower;
and seek, wherein you are strong, that your beauty be perennial,
    and over my head may your realms always stand.

inde coronatas ubi ture piaveris aras,
    luxerit et tota flamma secunda domo,
sit mensae ratio, noxque inter pocula currat,
    et crocino nares murreus ungat onyx.
tibia continuis succumbat rauca choreis,
    et sint nequitiae libera verba tuae,
dulciaque ingratos adimant convivia somnos;
    publica vicinae perstrepat aura viae:
sit sors et nobis talorum interprete iactu,
    quem gravius pennis verberet ille puer.
cum fuerit multis exacta trientibus hora,
    noctis et instituet sacra ministra Venus,
annua solvamus thalamo sollemnia nostro,
    natalisque tui sic peragamus iter.

then, when you have propitiated the garlanded altars with incense,
    and a favorable flame has shone through the whole house,
let there be an arrangement for the table, and let the night run among cups,
    and let a myrrhine onyx anoint the nostrils with saffron.
let the hoarse pipe succumb to continuous choreae,
    and let words be free for your wantonness,
and let sweet banquets steal away ungrateful slumbers;
    let the public air of the neighboring street resound:
let there be a lot for us too, with the cast of knucklebones as interpreter,
    whom that Boy may beat more heavily with his wings.
when the hour has been exacted by many trientes,
    and Venus as ministrant will institute the sacred rites of night,
let us discharge the annual solemnities in our chamber,
    and thus let us carry through the course of your birthday.

Quid mirare, meam si versat femina vitam
    et trahit addictum sub sua iura virum,
criminaque ignavi capitis mihi turpia fingis,
    quod nequeam fracto rumpere vincla iugo?
ventorum melius praesagit navita morem,
    vulneribus didicit miles habere metum.
ista ego praeterita iactavi verba iuventa:
    tu nunc exemplo disce timere meo.

Why do you marvel, if a woman turns my life about
    and draws an addicted man under her laws,
and you feign for me shameful crimes of a craven head,
    because I cannot, though the yoke be broken, burst the chains?
the sailor better presages the manner of the winds,
    the soldier has learned through wounds to have fear.
those words I vaunted in bygone youth:
    you now, by my example, learn to fear.

Colchis flagrantis adamantina sub iuga tauros
    egit et armigera proelia sevit humo,
custodisque feros clausit serpentis hiatus,
    iret ut Aesonias aurea lana domos.
ausa ferox ab equo quondam oppugnare sagittis
    Maeotis Danaum Penthesilea rates;
aurea cui postquam nudavit cassida frontem,
    vicit victorem candida forma virum.
Omphale in tantum formae processit honorem,
    Lydia Gygaeo tincta puella lacu,
ut, qui pacato statuisset in orbe columnas,
    tam dura traheret mollia pensa manu.

The Colchian drove the blazing bulls beneath adamantine yokes
    and sowed battles on the armor-bearing soil,
and shut the fierce jaws of the guardian serpent,
    so that the golden fleece might go to Aeson’s house.
the fierce one, Penthesilea the Maeotian, once dared from horseback to assail with arrows
    the Danaan ships;
after her golden casque laid bare her brow,
    her fair form conquered the conquering man.
Omphale advanced to such honor of beauty,
    the Lydian girl tinged in the Gygaean lake,
that he who had set up his columns in a pacified world
    should with so hard a hand draw the soft distaff-tasks.

Persarum statuit Babylona Semiramis urbem,
    ut solidum cocto tolleret aggere opus,
et duo in adversum mitti per moenia currus
    nec possent tacto stringere ab axe latus;
duxit et Euphraten medium, quam condidit, arcis,
    iussit et imperio subdere Bactra caput.
nam quid ego heroas, quid raptem in crimina divos?
    Iuppiter infamat seque suamque domum.

Semiramis established Babylon, the city of the Persians,
    so that with a baked rampart it might raise a solid work,
and that two chariots sent in opposite directions along the walls
    might not be able, with the axle touching, to graze a side;
she also led the Euphrates through the middle of the citadel which she founded,
    and ordered Bactra to submit its head to her command.
for why should I seize heroes, why should I drag gods into charges?
    Jupiter disgraces both himself and his own house.

quid, modo quae nostris opprobria nexerit armis,
    et, famulos inter femina trita suos,
coniugii obsceni pretium Romana poposcit
    moenia et addictos in sua regna Patres?
noxia Alexandria, dolis aptissima tellus,
    et totiens nostro Memphi cruenta malo,
tris ubi Pompeio detraxit harena triumphos--
    tollet nulla dies hanc tibi, Roma, notam.
issent Phlegraeo melius tibi funera campo,
    vel tua si socero colla daturus eras.

What of her, who just now has woven opprobrium upon our arms,
    and, a woman worn among her own servants,
demanded, as the price of obscene conjugium, the Roman walls
    and the Fathers adjudged into her realms?
noxious Alexandria, a land most apt for wiles,
    and Memphis so often bloody with our misfortune,
where the sand detracted from Pompey three triumphs--
    no day will remove this mark from you, Rome.
your funerals would have gone better on the Phlegraean field,
    or if you were going to give your neck to your father-in-law.

scilicet incesti meretrix regina Canopi,
    una Philippeo sanguine adusta nota,
ausa Iovi nostro latrantem opponere Anubim,
    et Tiberim Nili cogere ferre minas,
Romanamque tubam crepitanti pellere sistro,
    baridos et contis rostra Liburna sequi,
foedaque Tarpeio conopia tendere saxo,
    iura dare et statuas inter et arma Mari!
quid nunc Tarquinii fractas iuvat esse secures,
    nomine quem simili vita superba notat,
si mulier patienda fuit? cane, Roma, triumphum
    et longum Augusto salva precare diem!

Surely the incestuous meretrix-queen of Canopus,
    a single brand, singed by Philippian blood,
dared to set barking Anubis against our Jove,
    and to compel the Tiber to bear the threats of the Nile,
and to drive the Roman trumpet with a crepitating sistrum,
    and barides with poles to pursue Liburnian prows,
and to stretch foul canopies on the Tarpeian rock,
    and to give laws to the Sea amid statues and arms!
what now does it profit that the axes of Tarquinius are broken,
    whom a proud life marks with a similar name,
if a woman had to be endured? sing, Rome, a triumph,
    and, safe, pray for a long day for Augustus!

fugisti tamen in timidi vaga flumina Nili:
    accepere tuae Romula vincla manus.
bracchia spectasti sacris admorsa colubris,
    et trahere occultum membra soporis iter.
'Non hoc, Roma, fui tanto tibi cive verenda!'
    dixit et assiduo lingua sepulta mero.

yet you fled into the wandering streams of the timid Nile:
    the Romulean hands received your chains.
you gazed on your arms bitten by sacred serpents,
    and your limbs draw the occult path of sleep.
'Not for this, Rome, was I to be venerable to you, with so great a citizen!'
    she said, her tongue buried by constant neat wine.

septem urbs alta iugis, toto quae praesidet orbi,
    non humana deicienda manu.
haec di condiderunt, haec di quoque moenia servant:
    vix timeat salvo Caesare Roma Iovem.
nunc ubi Scipiadae classes, ubi signa Camilli,
    aut modo Pompeia, Bospore, capta manu?

the city high on seven ridges, which presides over the whole orb,
    not to be cast down by human hand.
these the gods founded, these walls the gods also guard:
    scarcely would Rome fear Jove, with Caesar safe.
now where are the fleets of the Scipiads, where the standards of Camillus,
    or just now, O Bosporus, captured by Pompeian hand?

Hannibalis spolia et victi monumenta Syphacis,
    et Pyrrhi ad nostros gloria fracta pedes?
Curtius expletis statuit monumenta lacunis,
    admisso Decius proelia rupit equo,
Coclitis abscissos testatur semita pontes,
    est cui cognomen corvus habere dedit:
Leucadius versas acies memorabit Apollo:
    tanti operis bellum sustulit una dies.
at tu, sive petes portus seu, navita, linques,
    Caesaris in toto sis memor Ionio.

Hannibal’s spoils and the monuments of conquered Syphax,
    and Pyrrhus’s glory broken at our feet?
Curtius, with the pools filled, established monuments,
    Decius, with his horse at full gallop, burst open the battles,
The path of Cocles bears witness to the bridges cut down,
    there is one to whom a raven gave the cognomen Corvus:
Leucadian Apollo will commemorate the turned battle-lines:
    one day took away the war of so great an enterprise.
but you, whether you seek harbors or, sailor, you leave them,
    be mindful of Caesar throughout all the Ionian Sea.

XII

Postume, plorantem potuisti linquere Gallam,
    miles et Augusti fortia signa sequi?
tantine ulla fuit spoliati gloria Parthi,
    ne faceres Galla multa rogante tua?
si fas est, omnes pariter pereatis avari,
    et quisquis fido praetulit arma toro!

Postumus, were you able to leave Galla weeping,
    a soldier, and follow the brave standards of Augustus?
was any glory of the despoiled Parthian so great,
    that you would not refrain, with your own Galla begging much?
if it be lawful, may you all alike perish, you avaricious,
    and whoever has preferred arms to a faithful bed!

tu tamen iniecta tectus, vesane, lacerna
    potabis galea fessus Araxis aquam.
illa quidem interea fama tabescet inani,
    haec tua ne virtus fiat amara tibi,
neve tua Medae laetentur caede sagittae,
    ferreus armato neu cataphractus equo,
neve aliquid de te flendum referatur in urna:
    sic redeunt, illis qui cecidere locis.
ter quater in casta felix, o Postume, Galla!

you, however, covered with a thrown-on lacerna, madman,
    weary will drink the Araxes’ water with a helmet.
that fame indeed meanwhile will waste away into empty rumor,
    lest this your valor become bitter to you,
nor let the arrows of the Mede rejoice in your slaughter,
    nor the iron-clad cataphract on his armored horse,
nor let anything of you, to be wept over, be brought back in an urn:
    thus they return, those who have fallen in those places.
thrice and four times happy in chastity, O Postumus, Galla!

    moribus his alia coniuge dignus eras.
quid faciet nullo munita puella timore,
    cum sit luxuriae Roma magistra suae?
sed securus eas: Gallam non munera vincent,
    duritiaeque tuae non erit illa memor.

    with such morals you were worthy of another spouse.
what will a girl do, fortified by no fear,
    since Rome is the teacher of its own luxury?
but go secure: gifts will not conquer Galla,
    nor will she be mindful of your harshness.

nam quocumque die salvum te fata remittent,
    pendebit collo Galla pudica tuo.
Postumus alter erit miranda coniuge Ulixes:
    non illi longae tot nocuere morae,
castra decem annorum, et Ciconum mors, Ismara capta,
    exustaeque tuae nox, Polypheme, genae,
et Circae fraudes, lotosque herbaeque tenaces,
    Scyllaque et alternas scissa Charybdis aquas,
Lampeties Ithacis veribus mugisse iuvencos
    (paverat hos Phoebo filia Lampetie),
et thalamum Aeaeae flentis fugisse puellae,
    totque hiemis noctes totque natasse dies,
nigrantisque domos animarum intrasse silentum,
    Sirenum surdo remige adisse lacus,
et veteres arcus leto renovasse procorum,
    errorisque sui sic statuisse modum.
nec frustra, quia casta domi persederat uxor.

for on whatever day the fates send you back safe,
    Modest Galla will hang upon your neck.
Postumus will be another Ulysses with an admirable spouse:
    nor did so many long delays harm him,
the camps of ten years, and slaughter among the Cicones, Ismara captured,
    and the night of your burned cheek, Polyphemus,
and Circe’s deceits, and the lotus and tenacious herbs,
    and Scylla and Charybdis, rending the alternating waters,
and that Lampetie’s young steers bellowed on Ithacan spits
    (Lampetie, daughter of Phoebus, had pastured these),
and to have fled the bridal-chamber of the weeping Aeaean girl,
    and to have swum so many nights of winter and so many days,
and to have entered the black dwellings of the souls of the silent,
    and to have approached the Sirens’ lakes with a deaf oarsman,
and to have renewed the old bow with the death of the suitors,
    and thus to have set a limit to his wandering.
nor in vain, because a chaste wife had sat fast at home.

vincit Penelopes Aelia Galla fidem.

Aelia Galla surpasses the fidelity of Penelope.

XIII

Quaeritis, unde avidis nox sit pretiosa puellis,
    et Venere exhaustae damna querantur opes.
certa quidem tantis causa et manifesta ruinis:
    luxuriae nimium libera facta viast.
Inda cavis aurum mittit formica metallis,
    et venit e Rubro concha Erycina salo,
et Tyros ostrinos praebet Cadmea colores,
    cinnamon et multi pistor odoris Arabs.

You ask whence the night is precious for greedy girls,
    and why wealth, drained by Venus, complains of its losses.
The cause, indeed, is certain and manifest in such great ruins:
    the road to luxury has been made too free.
The Indian ant sends gold from hollowed metals,
    and the Erycinian shell comes from the Red brine,
and Tyre supplies shellfish-purple, Cadmean colors,
    cinnamon, and the Arab, a grinder of much fragrance.

haec etiam clausas expugnant arma pudicas
    quaeque gerunt fastus, Icarioti, tuos.
matrona incedit census induta nepotum
    et spolia opprobrii nostra per ora trahit.
nullast poscendi, nullast reverentia dandi,
    aut si quast, pretio tollitur ipsa mora.

these arms too take by storm even chaste women shut in,
    and those who wear your haughtiness, Icarius.
the matron advances, clothed in the wealth of her grandsons,
    and drags the spoils of our disgrace across her face.
there is no reverence in asking, none in giving,
    or if there is any, the delay itself is removed for a price.

felix Eois lex funeris una maritis,
    quos Aurora suis rubra colorat equis!
namque ubi mortifero iactast fax ultima lecto,
    uxorum fusis stat pia turba comis,
et certamen habent leti, quae viva sequatur
    coniugium: pudor est non licuisse mori.
ardent victrices et flammae pectora praebent,
    imponuntque suis ora perusta viris.

happy the one funeral-law for Eastern husbands,
    whom Aurora reddens with her own horses!
for when the last, death-bearing torch has been cast upon the bed,
    a pious throng of wives stands with hair unbound,
and they have a contest of death, which woman alive shall follow
    the marriage: it is a shame not to have been allowed to die.
the victresses burn and offer their breasts to the flames,
    and they set their seared faces upon their husbands.

hoc genus infidum nuptarum, hic nulla puella
    nec fida Euadne nec pia Penelope.
felix agrestum quondam pacata iuventus,
    divitiae quorum messis et arbor erant!
illis munus erat decussa Cydonia ramo,
    et dare puniceis plena canistra rubis,
nunc violas tondere manu, nunc mixta referre
    lilia vimineos lucida per calathos,
et portare suis vestitas frondibus uvas
    aut variam plumae versicoloris avem.

this breed of faithless wives; here no girl
    neither faithful Evadne nor pious Penelope.
happy once the peaceful youth of the rustics,
    whose riches were the harvest and the tree!
for them a gift was a Cydonian apple shaken from the branch,
    and to give baskets full of crimson bramble-berries,
now to clip violets with the hand, now to carry back
    lilies, mingled, gleaming through wicker baskets,
and to carry grapes clothed in their own leaves
    or a variegated bird with versicolored plumage.

his tum blanditiis furtiva per antra puellae
    oscula silvicolis empta dedere viris.
hinnulei pellis stratos operibat amantes,
    altaque nativo creverat herba toro,
pinus et incumbens laetas circumdabat umbras;
    nec fuerat nudas poena videre deas.
corniger Arcadii vacuam pastoris in aulam
    dux aries saturas ipse reduxit oves;
dique deaeque omnes, quibus est tutela per agros,
    praebebant vestri verba benigna foci:
'et leporem, quicumque venis, venaberis, hospes,
    et si forte meo tramite quaeris avem:
et me Pana tibi comitem de rupe vocato,
    sive petes calamo praemia, sive cane.'
at nunc desertis cessant sacraria lucis:
    aurum omnes victa iam pietate colunt.

then with these blandishments, through furtive caves, the girls
    gave kisses bought to the woodland men.
the fawn’s hide covered the lovers spread out,
    and tall grass had grown for a native couch,
and a pine, leaning over, cast cheerful shadows around;
    nor had it been a penalty to see the goddesses nude.
the horn-bearing ram, leader, himself led back the sated sheep
    into the empty hall of the Arcadian shepherd;
and all the gods and goddesses, whose tutelage is throughout the fields,
    were offering kindly words from your hearth:
‘and the hare, whoever you come, you will hunt, guest,
    and if by chance along my path you seek a bird:
and call me, Pan, to you as companion from the rock,
    whether you seek prizes with reed, or with hound.’
but now the sanctuaries in deserted groves are idle:
    all men worship gold, with piety now conquered.

auro pulsa fides, auro venalia iura,
    aurum lex sequitur, mox sine lege pudor.
torrida sacrilegum testantur limina Brennum,
    dum petit intonsi Pythia regna dei:
at mox laurigero concussus vertice diras
    Gallica Parnasus sparsit in arma nives.
te scelus accepto Thracis Polymestoris auro
    nutrit in hospitio non, Polydore, pio.

gold has driven out good faith, for gold laws are venal,
    gold the law follows, soon shame is lawless.
the scorched thresholds bear witness to sacrilegious Brennus,
    while he seeks the Pythian realms of the unshorn god:
but soon Parnassus, shaken at its laurel-bearing summit, scattered
    dire Gallic snows upon the arms.
crime, with the gold of the Thracian Polymestor accepted,
    does not nourish you, Polydorus, in pious hospitality.

tu quoque ut auratos gereres, Eriphyla, lacertos,
    delapsis nusquamst Amphiarau+s equis.
proloquar (atque utinam patriae sim verus haruspex!):
    frangitur ipsa suis Roma superba bonis.
certa loquor, sed nulla fides; neque vilia quondam
    verax Pergameis maenas habenda mali:
sola Parim Phrygiae fatum componere, sola
    fallacem Troiae serpere dixit equum.

you too, Eriphyle, in order that you might wear gilded upper arms,
    Amphiaraus is nowhere after his horses sank down.
I will speak forth (and would that I be a true haruspex for my country!):
    proud Rome is broken by her own goods.
I speak certainties, but there is no credence; nor should the truth-telling
    Maenad once have been reckoned cheap for the Pergamean ill:
she alone declared that Paris was composing the fate of Phrygia, she alone
    that the fallacious horse was creeping toward Troy.

ille furor patriae fuit utilis, ille parenti:
expertast veros irrita lingua deos.

that fury was useful to the fatherland, that to her parent:
her vain tongue experienced the true gods.

XIV

Multa tuae, Sparte, miramur iura palaestrae,
    sed mage virginei tot bona gymnasii,
quod non infamis exercet corpore ludos
    inter luctantis nuda puella viros,
cum pila velocis fallit per bracchia iactus,
    increpat et versi clavis adunca trochi,
pulverulentaque ad extremas stat femina metas,
    et patitur duro vulnera pancratio:
nunc ligat ad caestum gaudentia bracchia loris,
    missile nunc disci pondus in orbe rotat,
et modo Taygeti, crinis aspersa pruina,
    sectatur patrios per iuga longa canes:
gyrum pulsat equis, niveum latus ense revincit,
    virgineumque cavo protegit aere caput,
qualis Amazonidum nudatis bellica mammis
    Thermodontiacis turba lavatur aquis;
qualis et Eurotae Pollux et Castor harenis,
    hic victor pugnis, ille futurus equis,
inter quos Helene nudis capere arma papillis
    fertur nec fratres erubuisse deos.
lex igitur Spartana vetat secedere amantes,
    et licet in triviis ad latus esse suae,
nec timor aut ullast clausae tutela puellae,
    nec gravis austeri poena cavenda viri.
nullo praemisso de rebus tute loquaris
    ipse tuis: longae nulla repulsa morae.

Many laws of your wrestling-ground, Sparta, we marvel at,
    but more the so many goods of the maidenly gymnasium,
that no infamous body exercises the games
    when a naked girl among wrestling men trains,
when the swift throw of the ball deceives through her arms,
    and the hooked rod of the turned hoop clacks,
and a woman dusty stands at the far turning-posts,
    and suffers wounds in the hard pankration:
now she binds her rejoicing arms for the cestus with thongs,
    now she whirls the missile weight of the discus in a circle,
and just now, her hair sprinkled with the rime of Taygetus,
    she pursues her fathers’ hounds over the long ridges:
she hammers the circuit on horseback, girds her snowy flank with a sword,
    and shields her maiden head with hollow bronze,
like the warlike throng of the Amazons with bared breasts
    bathed in the Thermodontine waters;
and like Castor and Pollux on the sands of the Eurotas,
    this one a victor with fists, that one to be with horses,
between whom Helen is said with naked nipples to take up arms
    nor to have shamed her brethren gods.
the Spartan law therefore forbids lovers to withdraw,
    and it is allowed at the crossroads to be at his lady’s side,
nor is there fear or any wardship of a shut-in girl,
    nor a heavy penalty of a stern husband to be avoided.
with no go-between sent ahead you yourself may safely speak
    about your own affairs: no delay of a long refusal.

nec Tyriae vestes errantia lumina fallunt,
    est neque odoratae cura molesta comae.
at nostra ingenti vadit circumdata turba,
    nec digitum angustast inseruisse via;
nec quae sit facies nec quae sint verba rogandi
    invenias: caecum versat amator iter.
quod si iura fores pugnasque imitata Laconum,
    carior hoc esses tu mihi, Roma, bono.

nor do Tyrian garments deceive wandering eyes,
    nor is there a troublesome care for odoriferous tresses.
but ours goes, enclosed by a huge crowd,
    nor is there room to insert even a finger;
nor can you discover what her face is nor what words of asking there are:
    the lover winds a blind course.
but if the laws, the doorways, and the combats copied the Laconians,
    by this good you would be dearer to me, Rome.

Sic ego non ullos iam norim in amore tumultus
    nec veniat sine te nox vigilanda mihi,
fabula nulla tuas de nobis concitet aures;
     te solam et lignis funeris ustus amem.
ut mihi praetexti pudor est relevatus amictus
    et data libertas noscere amoris iter,
illa rudis animos per noctes conscia primas
    imbuit, heu nullis capta Lycinna datis!
tertius (haud multo minus est) cum ducitur annus,
    vix memini nobis verba coisse decem.

Thus may I now come to know no tumults in love
    nor may there come to me a night to be kept awake without you,
let no tale about me stir your ears;
     you alone, even burned on the funeral logs, may I love.
since for me the shame of the toga praetexta has been lifted
    and freedom has been granted to learn the path of love,
that girl, conscious of my first nights while I was untrained,
    imbued my spirit—alas, Lycinna, won with no gifts given!
the third year (it is not much less) is being drawn along,
    I scarcely remember that ten words have come together between us.

cuncta tuus sepelivit amor, nec femina post te
    ulla dedit collo dulcia vincla meo.
at tu non meritam parcas vexare Lycinnam:
    nescit vestra ruens ira referre pedem.
testis erit Dirce tam vano crimine saeva,
    Nycteos Antiopen accubuisse Lyco.

your love has buried all things, nor after you has any woman
    put sweet fetters upon my neck.
but do you spare from harassing undeserving Lycinna:
    your rushing wrath does not know to draw back its foot.
savage Dirce will be witness to so empty a charge,
    that Nycteus’ Antiopê lay with Lycus.

ah quotiens pulchros vulsit regina capillos,
    molliaque immitis fixit in ora manus!
ah quotiens famulam pensis oneravit iniquis,
    et caput in dura ponere iussit humo!
saepe illam immundis passast habitare tenebris,
    vilem ieiunae saepe negavit aquam.

ah how often has the queen plucked the lovely locks,
    and, pitiless, has fastened her soft hands upon her face!
ah how often has she burdened the maidservant with iniquitous tasks,
    and ordered her to place her head on the hard ground!
often has she forced her to dwell in unclean darkness,
    often denied cheap water to the fasting girl.

Iuppiter, Antiopae nusquam succurris habenti
tot mala? corrumpit dura catena manus.
si deus es, tibi turpe tuam servire puellam:
invocet Antiope quem nisi vincta Iovem?

Jupiter, do you nowhere come to the aid of Antiope, suffering so many evils?
The hard chain mars her hands.
if you are a god, it is shameful for you that your maiden serve;
whom but Jupiter should Antiope, bound, invoke?

sola tamen, quaecumque aderant in corpore vires,
regalis manicas rupit utraque manu.
inde Cithaeronis timido pede currit in arces.
nox erat, et sparso triste cubile gelu.

alone, however, whatever strength was present in her body,
she broke the regal manacles with both hands.
thence she runs with timid foot into the citadels of Cithaeron.
it was night, and the couch was sad with frost strewn about.

saepe vago Asopi sonitu permota fluentis
    credebat dominae pone venire pedes.
et durum Zethum et lacrimis Amphiona mollem
    expertast stabulis mater abacta suis.
ac veluti, magnos cum ponunt aequora motus,
    Eurus et adversus desinit ire Noto,
litore sollicito sonitus rarescit harenae,
    sic cadit inflexo lapsa puella genu.

often, moved by the wandering sound of Asopus’s streams,
    she believed the footsteps of her mistress to be coming from behind.
and the mother, driven from her own stalls, experienced Zethus harsh and Amphion soft with tears,
    driven away from her own stables.
and just as, when the waters lay down their great motions,
    and Eurus and the opposing Notus cease to go,
on the troubled shore the sound of the sand grows rare,
    so the girl, slipping, falls upon a bent knee.

sera, tamen pietas: natis est cognitus error.
    digne Iovis natos qui tueare senex,
tu reddis pueris matrem; puerique trahendam
    vinxerunt Dircen sub trucis ora bovis.
Antiope, cognosce Iovem: tibi gloria Dirce
    ducitur in multis mortem habitura locis.

late, yet piety: to the sons the error has been recognized.
    worthy, old man, to protect the sons of Jove,
you restore the mother to the boys; and the boys
    bound Dirce to be dragged beneath the mouth of a savage bull.
Antiope, recognize Jove: for you, glory; Dirce
    is led to meet death in many places.

prata cruentantur Zethi, victorque canebat
paeana Amphion rupe, Aracynthe, tua.

the meadows of Zethus are bloodied, and Amphion, as victor, was singing
the paean on your crag, Aracynthus.

XVI

Nox media, et dominae mihi venit epistula nostrae:
    Tibure me missa iussit adesse mora,
candida qua geminas ostendunt culmina turres,
    et cadit in patulos nympha Aniena lacus.
quid faciam? obductis committam mene tenebris
    ut timeam audacis in mea membra manus?

Midnight, and a letter from my mistress comes to me:
    sent from Tibur, it ordered me to be present without delay,
where the bright roof-peaks display twin towers,
    and the Anio nymph falls into broad-spreading lakes.
what am I to do? shall I commit myself to the drawn-over darkness
    so that I may fear a bold hand upon my limbs?

at si distulero haec nostro mandata timore,
    nocturno fletus saevior hoste mihi.
peccaram semel, et totum sum pulsus in annum:
    in me mansuetas non habet illa manus.
nec tamen est quisquam, sacros qui laedat amantes:
     Scironis medias his licet ire vias.

but if I postpone these mandates out of my fear,
    nocturnal weeping will be to me a foe more savage than an enemy.
I sinned once, and I am banished for a whole year:
    she does not have gentle hands toward me.
nor, however, is there anyone who harms sacred lovers:
     Sciron’s middle roads it is permitted for these to go.

quisquis amator erit, Scythicis licet ambulet oris,
    nemo adeo ut feriat barbarus esse volet.
sanguine tam parvo quis enim spargatur amantis
    improbus, et cuius sit comes ipsa Venus?
luna ministrat iter, demonstrant astra salebras,
    ipse Amor accensas praecutit ante faces,
saeva canum rabies morsus avertit hiantis:
    huic generi quovis tempore tuta viast.

Whoever will be a lover, though he walk on Scythian shores,
    no barbarian will wish to be so barbarous as to strike him.
For who would be so wicked as to be sprinkled with so little blood of a lover—
    one whose companion is Venus herself?
The Moon ministers the way, the stars demonstrate the rough spots,
    Love himself brandishes kindled torches in front,
the rabid fury of dogs turns aside the bites of the open-mouthed:
    for this kind, at any time, the road is safe.

quod si certa meos sequerentur funera cursus,
    tali mors pretio vel sit emenda mihi.
afferet haec unguenta mihi sertisque sepulcrum
    ornabit custos ad mea busta sedens.
di faciant, mea ne terra locet ossa frequenti
    qua facit assiduo tramite vulgus iter!

but if certain death were to follow my courses,
    let death even be bought at such a price by me.
she will bring these unguents to me and will adorn my sepulcher with garlands,
    a guardian sitting beside my tomb.
may the gods bring it to pass that the earth not lay my bones in a frequented place
    where the vulgar crowd makes its way along a continual path!

post mortem tumuli sic infamantur amantum.
me tegat arborea devia terra coma,
aut humer ignotae cumulis vallatus harenae:
non iuvat in media nomen habere via.

after death the tombs of lovers are thus made infamous.
let out-of-the-way earth cover me with arboreal foliage,
or walled about by the heaps of an unknown sand:
it does not delight to have a name in the middle of the road.

XVII

Nunc, o Bacche, tuis humiles advolvimur aris:
    da mihi pacato vela secunda, pater.
tu potes insanae Veneris compescere fastus,
    curarumque tuo fit medicina mero.
per te iunguntur, per te solvuntur amantes:
    tu vitium ex animo dilue, Bacche, meo.

Now, O Bacchus, we lowly are prostrate at your altars:
    grant me favorable sails with things pacified, father.
you can restrain the haughtiness of insane Venus,
    and for cares a medicine is made by your pure wine.
through you lovers are joined, through you lovers are dissolved:
    wash away the vice from my mind, Bacchus.

te quoque enim non esse rudem testatur in astris
    lyncibus ad caelum vecta Ariadna tuis.
hoc mihi, quod veteres custodit in ossibus ignes,
    funera sanabunt aut tua vina malum.
semper enim vacuos nox sobria torquet amantes;
    spesque timorque animos versat utroque modo.

for the stars, too, bear witness that you are no novice:
    Ariadne, carried to heaven by your lynxes.
this malady, which keeps ancient fires in my bones,
    either funerals will heal, or your wines the ill.
for a sober night always torments vacant lovers;
    and hope and fear turn their spirits both ways.

quod si, Bacche, tuis per fervida tempora donis
    accersitus erit somnus in ossa mea,
ipse seram vites pangamque ex ordine colles,
    quos carpant nullae me vigilante ferae.
dum modo purpureo spument mihi dolia musto,
    et nova pressantis inquinet uva pedes,
quod superest vitae per te et tua cornua vivam,
    virtutisque tuae, Bacche, poeta ferar.
dicam ego maternos Aetnaeo fulmine partus,
    Indica Nysaeis arma fugata choris,
vesanumque nova nequiquam in vite Lycurgum,
    Pentheos in triplicis funera rapta greges,
curvaque Tyrrhenos delphinum corpora nautas
    in vada pampinea desiluisse rate,
et tibi per mediam bene olentia flumina Diam,
    unde tuum potant Naxia turba merum.

But if, Bacchus, by your gifts through my burning temples
    sleep shall be summoned into my bones,
I myself will sow vines and set the hills in rows,
    which no wild beasts shall pluck while I keep watch.
so long as my vats foam with purple must for me,
    and the new grape stains the feet of the presser,
for what remains of life I shall live through you and your horns,
    and of your might, Bacchus, I shall be famed as a poet.
I will speak of the maternal births by the Aetnean thunderbolt,
    the Indian arms put to flight by the Nysaean choruses,
and mad Lycurgus, to no avail against the new vine,
    the bands borne off to Pentheus’s threefold funeral,
and that the Tyrrhenian sailors as the curved bodies of dolphins
    leapt down into the shallows from the vine-wreathed ship,
and Dia for you, with sweet-smelling rivers through its midst,
    whence the Naxian throng drink your unmixed wine.

candida laxatis onerato colla corymbis
    cinget Bassaricas Lydia mitra comas,
levis odorato cervix manabit olivo,
    et feries nudos veste fluente pedes.
mollia Dircaeae pulsabunt tympana Thebae,
    capripedes calamo Panes hiante canent,
vertice turrigero iuxta dea magna Cybebe
     tundet ad Idaeos cymbala rauca choros.
ante fores templi, cratere antistes et auro
    libatum fundens in tua sacra merum,
haec ego non humili referam memoranda coturno,
    qualis Pindarico spiritus ore tonat:
tu modo servitio vacuum me siste superbo,
    atque hoc sollicitum vince sopore caput.

bright necks, with loosened hair burdened with corymbs,
    a Lydian mitra will gird the Bassaric locks;
the smooth nape will drip with scented olive-oil,
    and with flowing garment you will strike your bare feet.
soft tympana the Dircaean Thebes will beat,
    goat-footed Pans will sing with gaping mouth on the reed-pipe,
nearby the great goddess Cybele with a turret-bearing crown
    will beat hoarse cymbals to the Idaean choruses.
before the doors of the temple, the priest, from a krater and gold,
    pouring pure wine, a libation, into your sacred rites—
these things I shall recount, to be remembered, not in a humble cothurnus,
    such as a spirit thunders from a Pindaric mouth:
only set me free, void of proud servitude,
    and conquer this anxious head with sleep.

XVIII

Clausus ab umbroso qua tundit pontus Averno
    fumida Baiarum stagna tepentis aquae,
qua iacet et Troiae tubicen Misenus harena,
    et sonat Herculeo structa labore via;
hic ubi, mortalis dexter cum quaereret urbes,
    cymbala Thebano concrepuere deo--
at nunc invisae magno cum crimine Baiae,
    quis deus in vestra constitit hostis aqua?--
Marcellus Stygias vultum demisit in undas,
    errat et inferno spiritus ille lacu.
quid genus aut virtus aut optima profuit illi
    mater, et amplexum Caesaris esse focos?
aut modo tam pleno fluitantia vela theatro,
    et per mirantis omina festa manus?

Shut in where the sea beats against umbrageous Avernus
    the fuming pools of Baiae’s tepid water,
where too lies the trumpeter of Troy, Misenus, in the sand,
    and the road structured by Herculean labor resounds;
here where, when a dexterous mortal was seeking cities,
    the cymbals clashed for the Theban god--
but now, Baiae, hated with a great indictment,
    what god has taken his stand an enemy in your water?--
Marcellus lowered his face into Stygian waves,
    and that spirit wanders in the infernal lake.
what did birth or virtue or a most excellent mother profit him,
    and to have the hearths of Caesar in his embrace?
or only just now the floating sails over a theater so full,
    and the festive hands through a marveling crowd at the omens?

occidit, et misero steterat vicesimus annus:
    tot bona tam parvo clausit in orbe dies.
i nunc, tolle animos et tecum finge triumphos,
    stantiaque in plausum tota theatra iuvent;
Attalicas supera vestes, atque ostra smaragdis
    gemmea sint Indis: ignibus ista dabis.
sed tamen huc omnes, huc primus et ultimus ordo:
    est mala, sed cunctis ista terenda viast.

he has fallen, and for the wretched one the 20th year had stood:
    a day shut up so many good things in so small an orb.
go now, lift your spirits and fashion triumphs with yourself,
    and let whole theaters standing aid with applause;
surpass Attalic garments, and let purples be jeweled with Indian
    emeralds: you will give these things to the fires.
but yet hither all, hither both the first and the last rank:
    it is an evil road, but this road must be trodden by all.

exoranda canis tria sunt latrantia colla,
    scandendast torvi publica cumba senis.
nec forma aeternum aut cuiquamst fortuna perennis:
    longius aut propius mors sua quemque manet.
ille licet ferro cautus se condat et aere,
    mors tamen inclusum protrahit inde caput.

the three barking necks of the hound must be appeased,
    and the public skiff of the grim old man must be mounted.
nor is beauty eternal, nor is fortune perennial for anyone:
    farther off or nearer, one’s own death waits for each.
though he, cautious, hide himself with iron and bronze,
    death nevertheless pulls forth the shut-in head from there.

Nirea non facies, non vis exemit Achillem,
    Croesum aut, Pactoli quas parit umor, opes.
at tibi nauta, pias hominum quo traicit umbras,
    huc animae portet corpus inane tuae:
qua Siculae victor telluris Claudius et qua
    Caesar, ab humana cessit in astra via.

Beauty did not exempt Nireus, nor force Achilles,
    nor Croesus, nor the wealth which the moisture of Pactolus begets.
but for you, boatman, by whom the pious shades of men are ferried across,
    hither may he carry the empty body of your soul:
where Claudius, victor of Sicilian earth, and where
    Caesar, from the human way departed into the stars.

XIX

Obicitur totiens a te mihi nostra libido:
    crede mihi, vobis imperat ista magis.
vos, ubi contempti rupistis frena pudoris,
    nescitis captae mentis habere modum.
flamma per incensas citius sedetur aristas,
    fluminaque ad fontis sint reditura caput,
et placidum Syrtes portum et bona litora nautis
    praebeat hospitio saeva Malea suo,
quam possit vestros quisquam reprehendere cursus
    et rabidae stimulos frangere nequitiae.

So often by you is our libido thrown in my teeth:
    believe me, that thing commands you more.
you, when you have burst the reins of despised modesty,
    do not know to keep a measure for a captured mind.
the flame is more quickly assuaged upon blazing ears of grain,
    and rivers are to return to the fountain-head of their source,
and that the Syrtes provide a placid harbor and cruel Malea
    offer good shores to sailors with its own hospitality,
than that anyone could reprehend your courses
    and break the goads of rabid wantonness.

testis, Cretaei fastus quae passa iuvenci
    induit abiegnae cornua falsa bovis;
testis Thessalico flagrans Salmonis Enipeo,
    quae voluit liquido tota subire deo.
crimen et illa fuit, patria succensa senecta
    arboris in frondes condita Myrrha novae.
nam quid Medeae referam, quo tempore matris
    iram natorum caede piavit amor?

witness she who, having suffered the scorn of the Cretan young bull,
    put on the false horns of a fir-wood cow;
witness the one burning for Salmoneus’s Thessalian Enipeus,
    who wished to go down wholly beneath the liquid god.
and she too was a crime, Myrrha, inflamed for her father’s old age,
    hidden into the leaves of a new tree.
for why should I recall Medea, when love expiated a mother’s wrath
    by the slaughter of her sons?

quidve Clytaemestrae, propter quam tota Mycenis
infamis stupro stat Pelopea domus?
tuque, o, Minoa venumdata, Scylla, figura
tondes purpurea regna paterna coma.
hanc igitur dotem virgo desponderat hosti!

or what of Clytaemestra, on account of whom throughout Mycenae
the Pelopian house stands infamous for adultery?
and you, O Scylla, sold to Minos for your beauty,
you shear your paternal realms with a purple lock of hair.
this dowry then the maiden had promised to the enemy!

    Nise, tuas portas fraude reclusit amor.
at vos, innuptae, felicius urite taedas:
    pendet Cretaea tracta puella rate.
non tamen immerito Minos sedet arbiter Orci:
    victor erat quamvis, aequus in hoste fuit.

    Nisus, love by deceit has unbarred your gates.
but you, unmarried girls, burn your torches more fortunately:
    the Cretan maiden hangs, dragged by the ship.
yet not without merit does Minos sit arbiter of Orcus:
    although he was the victor, he was equitable toward his foe.

Credis eum iam posse tuae meminisse figurae,
vidisti a lecto quem dare vela tuo?
durus, qui lucro potuit mutare puellam!
tantine, ut lacrimes, Africa tota fuit?

Do you think him now able to remember your figure,
did you see the one who from your bed set sail?
hard is he, who could for lucre exchange a girl!
was the whole of Africa worth so much, that you weep?

at tu stulta adeo's? tu fingis inania verba:
    forsitan ille alio pectus amore terat.
est tibi forma potens, sunt castae Palladis artes,
    splendidaque a docto fama refulget avo,
fortunata domus, modo sit tibi fidus amicus.
    fidus ero: in nostros curre, puella, toros!

but are you so foolish? you fashion empty words:
    perhaps he wears his heart away with another love.
you have potent beauty, you have the chaste arts of Pallas,
    and a splendid renown gleams from your learned grandsire,
your house is fortunate, provided you have a faithful friend.
    I will be faithful: hasten, girl, to our marriage-bed!

tu quoque, qui aestivos spatiosius exigis ignes,
Phoebe, moraturae contrahe lucis iter.
nox mihi prima venit! primae da tempora nocti!

you too, who more spaciously drive the summer fires,
Phoebus, contract the course of the light that would linger.
night comes to me first! grant time to the first night!

    longius in primo, Luna, morare toro.
quam multae ante meis cedent sermonibus horae
    dulcia quam nobis concitet arma Venus!
foedera sunt ponenda prius signandaque iura
    et scribenda mihi lex in amore novo.

    linger longer, Moon, on the first couch.
how many hours will yield beforehand to my speeches
    before Venus rouses for us the sweet arms!
pacts must first be laid down and the laws be signed
    and a law must be written for me in the new love.

haec Amor ipse suo constringet pignora signo:
    testis sidereae torta corona deae.
namque ubi non certo vincitur foedere lectus,
    non habet ultores nox vigilanda deos,
et quibus imposuit, solvit mox vincla libido:
    contineant nobis omina prima fidem.
ergo, qui tactis haec foedera ruperit aris,
    pollueritque novo sacra marita toro,
illi sint quicumque solent in amore dolores,
    et caput argutae praebeat historiae,
nec flenti dominae patefiant nocte fenestrae:
    semper amet, fructu semper amoris egens.

these pledges Love himself will bind with his own sign:
    witness the twisted crown of the starry goddess.
for when the couch is not bound by a sure covenant,
    the night that must be watched has no avenging gods,
and lust soon loosens the bonds it has imposed:
    may the first omens keep faith for us.
therefore, whoever shall break these covenants with the altars touched,
    and shall have polluted the sacred rites of marriage with a new bed,
let whatever pains are wont in love be his,
    and let him offer his head to a keen tale,
nor let windows be opened at night to a weeping mistress:
    let him always love, always in need of the fruit of love.

XXI

Magnum iter ad doctas proficisci cogor Athenas
    ut me longa gravi solvat amore via.
crescit enim assidue spectando cura puellae:
    ipse alimenta sibi maxima praebet amor.
omnia sunt temptata mihi, quacumque fugari
    posset: at exsomnis me premit ipse deus.

I am compelled to set out on a great journey to learned Athens
    that a long road may release me from grievous love.
for the care for the girl grows assiduously by gazing:
    love itself provides for itself the greatest nourishments.
all things have been attempted by me, by which it could be put to flight:
    but the god himself, sleepless, presses me.

vix tamen aut semel admittit, cum saepe negarit:
     seu venit, extremo dormit amicta toro.
unum erit auxilium: mutatis Cynthia terris
    quantum oculis, animo tam procul ibit amor.
nunc agite, o socii, propellite in aequora navem,
    remorumque pares ducite sorte vices,
iungiteque extremo felicia lintea malo:
    iam liquidum nautis aura secundat iter.

scarcely yet does she admit me even once, though she has often denied it:
    or if she comes, wrapped, she sleeps at the far edge of the couch.
there will be one aid: with lands changed, Cynthia,
    as far from my eyes, so far from my mind will love go.
now come, O comrades, propel the ship into the seas,
    and you equals, draw by lot your turns at the oars,
yoke the fortunate linens to the far mast;
    now a limpid breeze seconds the sailors’ course.

Romanae turres et vos valeatis, amici,
    qualiscumque mihi tuque, puella, vale!
ergo ego nunc rudis Hadriaci vehar aequoris hospes,
    cogar et undisonos nunc prece adire deos.
deinde per Ionium vectus cum fessa Lechaeo
    sedarit placida vela phaselus aqua,
quod superest, sufferre, pedes, properate laborem,
    Isthmos qua terris arcet utrumque mare.

Roman towers, and may you fare well, friends,
    whatever you are to me, and you too, girl, farewell!
therefore I now, untrained, shall be borne as a guest of the Adriatic sea,
    and I shall be compelled now to approach with prayer the wave-sounding gods.
then, borne over the Ionian, when at Lechaeum the skiff
    shall have settled its weary sails upon the placid water,
what remains—make haste, my feet—to suffer the labor,
    where the Isthmus by land wards off both seas.

inde ubi Piraei capient me litora portus,
    scandam ego Theseae bracchia longa viae.
illic vel stadiis animum emendare Platonis
    incipiam aut hortis, docte Epicure, tuis;
persequar aut studium linguae, Demosthenis arma,
    libaboque tuos, culte Menandre, sales;
aut certe tabulae capient mea lumina pictae,
    sive ebore exactae, seu magis aere, manus.
et spatia annorum et longa intervalla profundi
    lenibunt tacito vulnera nostra sinu:
seu moriar, fato, non turpi fractus amore;
    atque erit illa mihi mortis honesta dies.

then, when the shores of the harbor of Piraeus shall take me in,
    I shall climb the long arms of Theseus’s road.
there I shall begin either to amend my mind by the stadia of Plato
    or, learned Epicurus, in your gardens;
I shall pursue either the study of language, the arms of Demosthenes,
    and I shall sip your witticisms, cultivated Menander;
or surely painted panels will seize my eyes,
    whether wrought by hand in ivory, or rather in bronze.
and the spaces of years and the long intervals of the deep
    will lenify in a silent bosom our wounds:
whether I die, by fate, not broken by base love;
    and that will be for me a seemly day of death.

XXII

Frigida tam multos placuit tibi Cyzicus annos,
    Tulle, Propontiaca qua fluit isthmos aqua,
Dindymis et sacra fabricata in vite Cybebe,
    raptorisque tulit quae via Ditis equos?
si te forte iuvant Helles Athamantidos urbes,
    nec desiderio, Tulle, movere meo,
si tibi olorigeri visendast ora Caystri,
    et quae serpentis temperat unda vias;
tu licet aspicias caelum omne Atlanta gerentem,
    sectaque Persea Phorcidos ora manu,
Geryonis stabula et luctantum in pulvere signa
    Herculis Antaeique, Hesperidumque choros;
tuque tuo Colchum propellas remige Phasim,
    Peliacaeque trabis totum iter ipse legas,
qua rudis Argoa natat inter saxa columba
    in faciem prorae pinus adacta novae:
omnia Romanae cedent miracula terrae.
    natura hic posuit, quidquid ubique fuit.

Has chilly Cyzicus pleased you for so many years,
    Tullus, where the isthmus flows with Propontic water,
and Dindymus and Cybebe sacred, fashioned in vine-wood,
    and the road which bore the horses of Dis the ravisher?
if perhaps the cities of Helle, daughter of Athamas, delight you,
    and, Tullus, you are not moved by my longing,
if the shore of swan-bearing Cayster is for you to be visited,
    and the wave which steers the serpent’s winding paths;
even if you look upon all the heaven that Atlas bears,
    and the face of the Phorcides cut by Perseus’s hand,
the stalls of Geryon and the signs of those wrestling in the dust—
    Hercules and Antaeus—and the choruses of the Hesperides;
and you with your own oarage drive the Phasis of Colchis,
    and yourself “read through” the whole journey of the Pelian beam,
where the untrained dove of the Argo swims among the rocks,
    the pine driven into the shape of a new prow:
all marvels will yield to the Roman land.
    Here Nature has placed whatever has been everywhere.

armis apta magis tellus quam commoda noxae:
    Famam, Roma, tuae non pudet historiae.
nam quantum ferro tantum pietate potentes
    stamus: victricis temperat ira manus.
hic, Anio Tiburne, fluis, Clitumnus ab Umbro
    tramite, et aeternum Marcius umor opus,
Albanus lacus et foliis Nemorensis abundans,
    potaque Pollucis nympha salubris equo.

a land more apt for arms than accommodating to wrongdoing:
    Rome, the fame of your history feels no shame.
for as much as we are powerful by iron, so much by piety
    we stand: the wrath of the conquering hand is tempered.
here, Anio, at Tibur, you flow; Clitumnus from an Umbrian
    channel, and the Marcian water, an eternal work,
the Alban lake and Nemorensian, abounding in leaves,
    and the healthful nymph drunk by Pollux’s horse.

at non squamoso labuntur ventre cerastae,
     Itala portentis nec furit unda novis;
non hic Andromedae resonant pro matre catenae,
    nec tremis Ausonias, Phoebe fugate, dapes,
nec cuiquam absentes arserunt in caput ignes
    exitium nato matre movente suo;
Penthea non saevae venantur in arbore Bacchae,
    nec solvit Danaas subdita cerva rates;
cornua nec valuit curvare in paelice Iuno
    aut faciem turpi dedecorare bove;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
arboreasque cruces Sinis, et non hospita Grais
    saxa, et curtatas in fera fata trabes.
haec tibi, Tulle, parens, haec est pulcherrima sedes,
    hic tibi pro digna gente petendus honos,
hic tibi ad eloquium cives, hic ampla nepotum
    spes et venturae coniugis aptus amor.

but cerastes do not glide with scaly belly,
    nor does the Italian wave rage with new portents;
not here do the chains of Andromeda resound for her mother,
    nor, Phoebus put to flight, do you tremble at Ausonian banquets,
nor have distant fires burned upon anyone’s head,
    doom for a son with his own mother setting it in motion;
the savage Bacchae do not hunt Pentheus in a tree,
    nor did a hind placed beneath release the Danaans’ ships;
nor had Juno the power to bend horns upon a paramour,
    or to disgrace a face with a shameful cow;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
and Sinis’s tree-crosses, and rocks not hospitable to Greeks,
    and beams cut short into savage dooms.
this, for you, Tullus, is a parent-land, this is the most beautiful seat,
    here for you an honor to be sought worthy of your race,
here for you citizens for eloquence, here a ample hope of descendants
    and a fitting love of a future spouse.

XXIII

Ergo tam doctae nobis periere tabellae,
    scripta quibus pariter tot periere bona!
has quondam nostris manibus detriverat usus,
    qui non signatas iussit habere fidem.
illae iam sine me norant placare puellas,
    et quaedam sine me verba diserta loqui.

Therefore have such well-taught tablets perished for me,
    on which together so many good writings have likewise perished!
These once use had worn smooth in my hands,
    a practice which ordered that even unsealed ones should have credence.
They already, without me, knew how to placate girls,
    and, without me, to speak certain eloquent words.

non illas fixum caras effecerat aurum:
    vulgari buxo sordida cera fuit.
qualescumque mihi semper mansere fideles,
    semper et effectus promeruere bonos.
forsitan haec illis fuerunt mandata tabellis:
    'irascor, quoniam's, lente, moratus heri.

It was not fixed gold that had made them dear:
    sordid wax was on common boxwood.
such as they were, they always remained faithful to me,
    and always too they merited good effects.
perhaps these had been entrusted to those tablets:
    'I grow angry, since, slow one, you tarried yesterday.'

an tibi nescio quae visast formosior? an tu
    non bona de nobis crimina ficta iacis?'
aut dixit: 'venies hodie, cessabimus una:
    hospitium tota nocte paravit Amor,'
et quaecumque volens reperit non stulta puella
    garrula, cum blandis dicitur hora dolis.
me miserum, his aliquis rationem scribit avarus
    et ponit duras inter ephemeridas!

'or did some I-know-not-what seem to you more beautiful? or are you
    hurling not-good feigned crimes against me?'
or she said: 'you will come today, we shall idle together:
    Love has prepared hospitality for the whole night,'
and whatever a not-stupid, garrulous girl, being willing, contrives,
    when the hour is being appointed with coaxing wiles.
wretched me, some miser writes an account on these,
    and files them among harsh ephemerides (day-books)!

quas si quis mihi rettulerit, donabitur auro:
quisenta velit?
i puer, et citus haec aliqua propone columna,
et dominum Esquiliis scribe habitare tuum.

which, if anyone shall bring back to me, he will be gifted with gold:
who would want such things?
go, boy, and swiftly post these on some column,
and write that your master dwells on the Esquiline.

XXIV

Falsast ista tuae, mulier, fiducia formae,
    olim oculis nimium facta superba meis.
noster amor talis tribuit tibi, Cynthia, laudes:
    versibus insignem te pudet esse meis.
mixtam te varia laudavi saepe figura,
    ut, quod non esses, esse putaret amor;
et color est totiens roseo collatus Eoo,
    cum tibi quaesitus candor in ore foret:
quod mihi non patrii poterant avertere amici,
    eluere aut vasto Thessala saga mari,
hoc ego--non ferro, non igne coactus, at ipsa
    naufragus Aegaea (vera fatebor) aqua.

That confidence of yours, woman, in your form, is false,
    once made too proud in my eyes.
our love, Cynthia, granted you such praises:
    you are ashamed to be marked out by my verses.
I often praised you, blended with a various figure,
    so that Love might think you to be what you were not;
and your color was so often compared to rosy Eos,
    when a sought-after fairness was on your face:
that which my friends of my homeland were not able to turn me from,
    nor could a Thessalian witch wash out in the vast sea,
this I myself—not by steel, not compelled by fire, but, shipwrecked
    by the Aegean water itself (I will confess the truth)—have washed away.

correptus saevo Veneris torrebar aeno;
     vinctus eram versas in mea terga manus.
ecce coronatae portum tetigere carinae,
    traiectae Syrtes, ancora iacta mihist.
nunc demum vasto fessi resipiscimus aestu,
    vulneraque ad sanum nunc coiere mea.

seized, I was being scorched in cruel Venus’ bronze cauldron;
     I was bound, my hands turned behind my back.
behold, the garlanded keels have touched port,
     the Syrtes crossed, the anchor has been cast for me.
now at last, weary from the vast surge, we come to our senses,
     and now my wounds have come together to soundness.

Mens Bona, si qua dea's, tua me in sacraria dono!
exciderunt surdo tot mea vota Iovi.

Good Mind, if you are any goddess, consign me to your sanctuaries!
so many of my vows have fallen upon deaf Jupiter.

XXV

Risus eram positis inter convivia mensis,
    et de me poterat quilibet esse loquax.
quinque tibi potui servire fideliter annos:
    ungue meam morso saepe querere fidem.
nil moveor lacrimis: ista sum captus ab arte;
    semper ab insidiis, Cynthia, flere soles.

I was a laughingstock amid the convivial banquets, with the tables set,
    and about me anyone could be loquacious.
for five years I was able to serve you faithfully:
    with your nail bitten, you often used to complain of my fidelity.
I am not moved at all by tears: by that art I was captured;
    always, as part of your insidious snares, Cynthia, you are wont to weep.

flebo ego discedens, sed fletum iniuria vincit:
    tu bene conveniens non sinis ire iugum.
limina iam nostris valeant lacrimantia verbis,
    nec tamen irata ianua fracta manu.
at te celatis aetas gravis urgeat annis,
    et veniat formae ruga sinistra tuae!

I will weep as I depart, but injury overcomes my weeping:
    you, well-matched, do not allow the yoke to go.
let the thresholds now, weeping at my words, be bidden farewell,
    yet let not the angry door be shattered by the hand.
but may grievous age press you with hidden years,
    and let a sinister wrinkle come upon your beauty!

vellere tum cupias albos a stirpe capillos,
    iam speculo rugas increpitante tibi,
exclusa inque vicem fastus patiare superbos,
    et quae fecisti facta queraris anus!
has tibi fatalis cecinit mea pagina diras:
    eventum formae disce timere tuae!

then may you desire to pluck white hairs from the root,
    now with the mirror reproaching you for your wrinkles,
shut out, and in your turn may you endure proud scorns,
    and as an old woman bewail the deeds which you did!
my fatal page has chanted these dire curses to you:
    learn to fear the event of your beauty!