ELEGY THE FOURTH
THE ARTS OF CONQUEST
"Safe in the shelter of thy garden-bower,
"Priapus, from the harm of suns or snows,
"With beard all shag, and hair that wildly flows,—
"O say! o'er beauteous youth whence comes thy power?
"Naked thou frontest wintry nights and days,
"Naked, no less, to Sirius' burning rays."
So did my song implore the rustic son
Of Bacchus, by his moon-shaped sickle known.
"Comply with beauty's lightest wish," said he,
"Complying love leads best to victory.
"Nor let a furious 'No' thy bosom pain;
"Beauty but slowly can endure a chain.
"Slow Time the rage of lions will o'er-sway,
"And bid them fawn on man. Rough rocks and rude
"In gentle streams Time smoothly wears away;
"And on the vine-clad hills by sunshine wooed,
"The purpling grapes feel Time's secure control;
"In Time, the skies themselves new stars unroll.
"Fear not great oaths! Love's broken oaths are borne
"Unharmed of heaven o'er every wind and wave.
"Jove is most mild; and he himself hath sworn
"There is no force in vows which lovers rave.
"Falsely by Dian's arrows boldly swear!
"And perjure thee by chaste Minerva's hair!
"Be a prompt wooer, if thou wouldst be wise:
"Time is in flight, and never backward flies.
"How swiftly fades the bloom, the vernal green!
"How swift yon poplar dims its silver sheen!
"Spurning the goal th' Olympian courser flies,
"Then yields to Time his strength, his victories;
"And oft I see sad, fading youth deplore
"Each hour it lost, each pleasure it forbore.
"Serpents each spring look young once more; harsh Heaven
"To beauteous youth has one brief season given.
"With never-fading youth stern Fate endows
"Phoebus and Bacchus only, and allows
"Full-clustering ringlets on their lovely brows.
"Keep at thy loved one's side, though hour by hour
"The path runs on; though Summer's parching star
"Burn all the fields, or blackest tempests lower,
"Or monitory rainbows threaten far.
"If he would hasten o'er the purple sea,
"Thyself the helmsman or the oarsman be.
"Endure, unmurmuring, each unwelcome toil,
"Nor fear thy unaccustomed hands to spoil.
"If to the hills he goes with huntsman's snare,
"Let thine own back the nets and burden bear.
"Swords would he have? Fence lightly when you meet;
"Expose thy body and compel defeat.
"He will be gracious then, and will not spurn
"Caresses to receive, resist, return.
"He will protest, relent, and half-conspire,
"And later, all unasked, thy love desire.
"But nay! In these vile times thy skill is vain.
"Beauty and youth are sold for golden gain.
"May he who first taught love to sell and buy,
"In grave accurst, with all his riches lie!
"O beauteous youth, how will ye dare to slight
"The Muse, to whom Pierian streams belong?
"Will ye not smile on poets, and delight,
"More than all golden gifts, in gift of song?
"Did not some song empurple Nisus' hair,
"And bid young Pelops' ivory shoulder glow?
"That youth the Muses praise, is he not fair,
"Long as the stars shall shine or waters flow ?
"But he who scorns the Muse, and will for gain
"Surrender his base heart,—let his foul cries
"Pursue the Corybants' infuriate train,
"Through all the cities of the Phrygian plain,—
"Unmanned forever, in foul Phrygian guise!
"But Venus blesses lovers who endear
"Love's quest alone by flattery, by fear,
"By supplication, plaint, and piteous tear."
Such song the god of gardens bade me sing
For Titius; but his fond wife would fling
Such counsel to the winds: "Beware," she cried,
"Trust not fair youth too far. For each one's pride
"Offers alluring charms: one loves to ride
"A gallant horse, and rein him firmly in;
"One cleaves the calm wave with white shoulder bare;
"One is all courage, and for this looks fair;
"And one's pure, blushing cheeks thy praises win."
Let him obey her! But my precepts wise
Are meant for all whom youthful beauty's eyes
Turn from in scorn. Let each his glory boast!
Mine is, that lovers, when despairing most,
My clients should be called. For them my door
Stands hospitably open evermore.
Philosopher to Venus I shall be,
And throngs of studious youth will learn of me.
Alas! alas! How love has been my bane!
My cunning fails, and all my arts are vain.
Have mercy, fair one, lest my pupils all
Mock me, who point a path in which I fall!
ELEGY THE FIFTH
COUNTRY-LIFE WITH DELIA
With haughty frown I swore I could employ
Thine absence well. But all my pride is o'er!
Now am I lashed, as when a madcap boy
Whirls a swift top along the level floor.
Aye! Twist me! Plague me! Never shall I say
Such boast again. Thy scorn and anger spare!
Spare me!—by all our stolen loves I pray,
By Venus,—by thy wealth of plaited hair!
Was it not I, when fever laid thee low,
Whose holy rites and offerings set thee free?
Thrice round thy bed with brimstone did I go,
While the wise witch sang healing charms for thee.
Lest evil dreams should vex thee, I did bring
That worshipped wafer by the Vestal given;
Then, with loose robes and linen stole, did sing
Nine prayers to Hecate 'neath the midnight heaven.
All rites were done! Yet doth a rival hold
My darling, and my futile prayers deride:
For I dreamed madly of a life all gold,
If she were healed,—but Heaven the dream denied.
A pleasant country-seat, whose orchards yield
Sweet fruit to be my Delia's willing care,
While our full corn-crop in the sultry field
Stands ripe and dry! O, but my dreams were fair!
She in the vine-vat will our clusters press,
And tread the rich must with her dancing feet;
She oft my sheep will number, oft caress
Some pretty, prattling slave with kisses sweet.
She offers Pan due tributes of our wealth,
Grapes for the vine, and for a field of corn
Wheat in the ear, or for the sheep-fold's health
Some frugal feast is to his altar borne.
Of all my house let her the mistress be!
I am displaced and give not one command!
Then let Messala come! From each choice tree
Let Delia pluck him fruit with her soft hand!
To serve and please so worshipful a guest,
She spends her utmost art and anxious care;
Asks his least wish, and spreads her dainty best,
Herself the hostess and hand-maiden fair.
Mad hope! The storm-winds bore away that dream
Far as Armenia's perfume-breathing bids.
Great Venus! Did I at thy shrine blaspheme?
Am I accursed for rash and impious words?
Had I, polluted, touched some altar pure,
Or stolen garlands from a temple door—
What prayers and vigils would I not endure,
And weeping kiss the consecrated floor?
Had I deserved this stroke,—with pious pain
From shrine to shrine my suppliant knees should crawl;
I would to all absolving gods complain,
And smite my forehead on the marble wall.
Thou who thy gibes at love canst scarce repress,
Beware! The angry god may strike again!
I knew a youth who laughed at love's distress,
And bore, when old, the worst that lovers ken.
His poor, thin voice he did compel to woo,
And curled, for mockery, his scanty hair;
Spied on her door, as slighted lovers do,
And stopped her maid in any public square.
The forum-loungers thrust him roughly by,
And spat upon their breasts, such luck to turn:
Have mercy, Venus! Thy true follower I!
Why wouldst thou, goddess, thine own harvest burn!