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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/classicsgreeklat11milliala 


This  is  Volume  Eleven  of  a  complete  set  of 

THE  CLASSICS— GREEK  AND  LATIN 

consisting  of  fifteen  volumes  issued  strictly  as 
a  Limited  Edition.  In  Volume  One  will  be 
found  a  certificate  as  to  the  Limitation  of  the 
Edition  and  the  Registered  Number  of  this  Set. 


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.vtiAxa  YQOOja  qima  .viaaiAM  azajKiAxa  A 
.aai8  v:wo  an  va  aajja^  mitdiv  a — aaia  ang 


DEATH  OF  VIRGINIA 
From  a  painting  by  Vinccnzio  Camucinni 
Virginia,  daughter  of  L.  Virginius,  a  Roman  centurion,  was 

DESIRED  BY  THE  DECEMVIR  APPIUS  ClAUDIUS,  WHO  HAD  ONE  OF  HIS 
CLIENTS  CLAIM  HER  AS  A  SLAVE.  To  SAVE  HER,  HER  FATHER  KILLED 
HER  IN  OPEN  COURT,  AND,  BRANDISHING  THE  BLOODY  KNIFE,  RAN  TO 
THE  CAMP  AND  STIRRED  UP  A  REVOLT  WHICH  ENDED  WITH  THE  ABOLI- 
TION   OF   THE    DECEMVIRATE,    AND    THE    SUICIDE    OF    APPIUS    IN    PRISON. 

To  Virginia  may  be  appropriately  ascribed  the  lines  of  Lucre- 
tius, PAGE  10,  DESCRIPTIVE  OF  IpHIGENIA: 

"But  in  the  very  season  of  desire 

A    stainless    maiden,    AMID    BLOODY    STAIN, 

She  died — a  victim  felled  by  its  own  sire." 


HE  MOST    CELEBRATED 
WORKS    OF    HELLENIC 


AND  ROMAN  LITERATVRE,  EM- 
BRACING POETRY.  ROMANCE, 
HISTORY,  ORATORY,  SCIENCE, 
AND  PHILOSOPHY,  TRANS- 
LATED INTO  ENGLISH  PROSE 
AND  VERSE  BY  DISTINGVISHED 
MEN  OF  LETTERS,  WITH  CRIT- 
ICAL APPRECIATIONS  BY  AN 
INTERNATIONAL  COVNClL  OF 
CLASSICAL  SCHOLARS.     *     • 


MARION  MILLS  MILLER,  Litt.D. 
(PRINCETON)  EDITOR  IN  CHIEF 


cJ^-^,^^ 


VINCENT-PARK 

AND   •    COMPANY- 
-*^  NEW  YORK  flS» 


stack 
Annex 


J.    P.    MAHAFFY,    D.C.L.,    Trinity    College,    Dublin 

SIR  ALEXANDER  GRANT,  LL.D.,  Edinburgh 

EDWARD  POSTE,  M.A.,  Oxford  University 

J.  H.  FREESE,  M.A.,  Cambridge  University 

BASIL  L.  GILDERSLEEVE,  LL.D., 

Professor    of    Greek,   Johns    Hopkins   University 

JOHN  HENRY  WRIGHT,  LL.D.. 

Professor    of    Greek,    Harvard    University 

HENRY  P.  WRIGHT,  PH.D., 

Professor  of  Latin,   Yale  University 
HARRY  THURSTON  PECK,  L.H.D., 

Professor  of  Latin,  Columbia  University 
SAMUEL  ROSS  WINANS,  PH.D., 

Professor  of  Greek,  Princeton  University 
CHARLES  E.  BENNETT,  LITT.D., 

Professor  of  Latin,  Cornell  University 
WILLIAM  A.  LAMBERTON,  LITT.D., 

Professor  of  Greek,  University  of  Pennsylvania 

JOHN  DAMEN  MAGUIRE,  PH.D., 

Professor  of  Latin,  Catholic  University  of  America 
PAUL  SHOREY,   PH.D., 

Professor  of  Greek,  University  of  Chicago 
MARTIN  LUTHER  D'OOGE,  PH.D., 

Professor  of  Greek,  University  of  Michigan 
ANDREW  J.  BELL,  M.A., 

Professor   of   Latin,    University  of  Toronto 
WILLIAM  AUGUSTUS   MERRILL,   L.H.D., 

Professor  of  Latin,  University  of  California 
MARY  LEAL  HARKNESS,  M.A., 

Pr«f«ssor  of  Latin,  Tulane  University 


MARION   MILLS   MILLER,   LITT.   D.    (Princeton) 
Editor-in-Chief 


VINCENT    PARKE    AND 

COMPANY,   NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1909,  by 

Vincent  Parke  and  Company, 

New  York 


Stack  Annex 

CONTENTS 


Introduction  :  page 

Lucretius^  the  Poet-Philosopher      ....  i 

By  William  Augustus  Merrill,  L.H.D.,  Professor  of 

Latin  in  the  University  of  California 

De  Rerum  Natura   [Concerning  the  Nature  of 
Things],  by  Lucretius: 

Abridged  by  W.  H.  Mallock,  with  Translation  of 
Passages  into  English  Verse  by  the  Same      .         .  7 

Introduction  : 

The  Life  of  Catullus        ....:.:.        57 
By  the  Rev.  James  Davies,  M.A. 

The  Poems  of  Catullus: 

Translated  in  the  Metres  of  the  Original  by  Robin- 
son Ellis  of  Oxford       ......        65 

Introduction  : 

The  Life  of  Tibullus        .         .         .         .        .         .      151 

By  James  Grainger,  M.D. 

The  Elegies  of  Tibullus,  Including  the  Poems  of 
SuLPiciA : 

Translated  into  English  Verse  by  James  Grainger, 

M.D 162 

Introduction  : 

The  Life  of  Propertius     .         .         .•      "  w        »;        >      227 
By  Sir  Charles  Abraham  Elton 


X  CONTENTS 

The  Elegies  of  Propertius  :  ^^^^ 

Translated  into  English  Verse  by  Sir  Charles  Abra- 
ham Elton     ........       237 

Introduction  : 

The  Life  of  Ovid       .......       265 

By  the  Rev.  Alfred  Church,  M.A. 

The  Metamorphoses  of  Ovid — Books  I  to  IV  In- 
clusive : 

Translated  into  English  Prose  by  Henry  T.  Riley, 
B.A.,  of  Cambridge  University       ....       327 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Death  of  Virginia Frontispiece 

From    an    engraving    after    a    painting    by    Vincenzio 
Camucinni 

Ovid 272 

From  an  old  engraving 
The  Fates 380 

From  a  painting  by  Paul  Thumann  » 


INTRODUCTION 


LUCRETIUS,  THE  POET-PHILOSOPHER 

WILLIAM  AUGUSTUS  MERRILL,  L.H.D., 
Professor  of  Latin  in  the  University  of  California. 


E  know  very  little  that  is  certain  about  the  life 
of  Titus  Lucretius  Carus.  Saint  Jerome,  the 
great  theologian  and  translator  of  the  Bible, 
says  that  in  the  year  95  before  Christ,  Titus 
Lucretius  the  poet  was  born,  and  that  he  was 
made  insane  through  a  love-potion,  and  that  in 
the  intervals  of  his  insanity  he  wrote  some  books  that  were 
amended  by  Cicero,  and  that  he  slew  himself  with  his  own 
hand  in  the  44th  year  of  his  life.  Modern  scholars  accept 
the  date  of  the  poet's  death,  but  attach  little  significance  to  the 
remainder  of  the  account.  The  story  of  the  love-potion 
points  to  mental  disorder  brought  about  by  drugs,  and  Lu- 
cretius' intermittent  insanity  and  his  suicide  are  not  improb- 
able. Very  likely  he  was  an  epileptic.  Whether  Cicero 
edited  the  great  poem  of  Lucretius,  Concerning  the  Nature  of 
Things,  is  doubtful  and  of  no  importance,  for  there  is  no 
trace  in  it  of  any  editing  whatever;  and  whether  Saint  Jerome 
meant  by  Cicero  the  great  orator  or  his  younger  brother  is 
also  uncertain. 

It  is  in  the  poem  itself  that  the  author  reveals  his  char- 
acter. He  was  evidently  a  high-spirited  Roman  who  moved 
in  the  upper  classes  of  society,  well  educated  in  Greek  learn- 
ing, but  a  Roman  patriot.  There  is  no  evidence  of  any 
struggle  with  poverty  or  of  any  insecurity  of  social  position ; 
he  was  apparently  a  man  who  was  free  to  pursue  the  intel- 
lectual life,  and  who  gave  himself  up  with  Roman  earnestness 
to  wrestle  with  the  great  theological  questions  that  come  to  all 


2  INTRODUCTION 

serious  minds.  He  lived  in  the  troublous  days  of  the  de- 
clining Republic,  a  period  of  great  unrest,  when  the  Romans 
had  lost  the  simplicity  of  life  and  thought  that  they  had  had 
as  a  plain  Italian  people.  They  had  ceased  to  be  a  nation  of 
farmers  and  tradesmen,  ignorant  of  philosophy,  and  they  no 
longer  lived  according  to  the  frugal  and  unimaginative 
standards  of  a  simple  and  unschooled  race. 

From  the  very  beginning  the  expansion  of  Roman  power 
had  brought  with  it  the  evil  that  expansion  always  brings ;  and 
with  wealth  and  power  and  knowledge  came  also  pride  and 
corruption  and  skepticism.  Many  there  were  who  accepted 
carelessly  the  new  order  of  things,  but  others,  like  Lucretius, 
men  of  sincerity  of  character  and  of  high  principle,  were 
plunged  into  deep  distress.  How  were  the  new  and  the  old 
to  be  reconciled?  Was  the  old  Roman  religion  true  with  its 
careful  provisions  for  the  needs  of  men?  Did  the  gods  take 
care  of  the  infant  at  his  birth  and  watch  over  his  tender  years, 
visiting  him  with  blessings  and  punishing  him  for  his  faults, 
providing  him  with  a  world  of  beauty  to  live  in  and  guarding 
him  and  keeping  him  f  rpm  all  harm,  and  finally  taking  him  to 
themselves  for  another  life  of  blessedness  or  of  suffering, 
according  to  the  character  of  his  earthly  career?  But  how 
explain  human  suffering,  the  frequent  triumph  of  evil,  the 
pitilessness  of  Nature,  the  terrors  of  earthquake,  fire,  and 
flood?  Greek  philosophy  had  answered  these  questions  in 
many  ways  and  with  varying  degrees  of  clearness;  but  only 
two  solutions  were  commonly  accepted  by  the  Romans.  One 
was  given  by  the  Stoics,  who  maintained  the  doctrine  of 
divine  providence,  of  faith  and  obedience,  of  justice  and  the 
triumph  of  the  right  in  the  end;  and  their  principles,  agreeing 
closely  with  those  of  the  Roman  traditional  religion,  were  ac- 
cepted by  many,  perhaps  by  the  best,  Roman  minds.  But 
opposed  to  the  Stoics  were  the  Epicureans,  who  were  material- 
ists and  scientists,  who  emphasized  physical  law  rather  than 
moral  conduct. 

It  is  always  so :  one  mind  will  be  attracted  by  ethical  ques- 
tions to  which  natural  science  will  be  subordinate,  while  to 
another,  scientific  truth  will  be  of  the  first  importance,  and  all 
else  will  be  of  little  consequence.     Lucretius  approached  the 


LUCRETIUS,  THE  POET-PHILOSOPHER     3- 

problem  from  the  physical  side,  and,  granting  the  premises 
of  the  Epicurean  school,  the  consequences  are  logical  and 
true.  If  the  world  is  the  result  of  the  blind  concurrence  of 
atoms,  if  natural  phenomena  are  due  to  the  working  of  natural 
law,  that  is,  of  the  habits  of  matter,  if  man  is  material,  includ- 
ing his  mind  and  soul,  then  there  is  no  room  for  religion,  and 
no  future  life  and  no  divine  providence.  And  this  is  the  posi- 
tion of  Lucretius.  After  many  a  long  struggle  he  thought  he 
had  gained  peace  of  mind,  and  like  many  enthusiasts  he  over- 
estimated the  importance  of  the  problem  and  the  solution 
thereof  to  those  who  had  not  passed  through  an  experience 
like  his  own.  His  task  was  plain :  to  publish  the  new  gospel 
with  Roman  thoroughness  and  with  the  passion  and  ardor 
that  only  a  profound  nature,  agitated  to  its  very  depths,  could 
exhibit.  He  therefore  chose  poetry  rather  than  prose  as  his 
medium ;  his  fundamental  arguments  he  took  mainly  from  his 
master  Epicurus ;  and  these  he  developed,  with  passionate  en- 
thusiasm, in  a  poetical  form  that  he  found  in  Empedocles  and 
Ennius ;  but  the  essential  character  of  the  poem  is  Roman. 

This  poem  on  Nature  is  the  only  work  that  has  come 
down  to  us  from  Lucretius'  hand,  and  is  probably  the  only 
product  of  his  genius.  Its  main  object  is  to  show  that  the 
world  is  governed  by  natural  law  without  the  aid  of  the  gods, 
and  that,  consequently,  religion  has  no  terrors  for  man.  In- 
deed, religion  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term  ceases  to  have 
any  significance,  although  the  Epicureans  inferred  the  exist- 
ence of  the  gods  who  should  serve  as  types  of  perfection  to 
men,  living  in  eternal  peace  and  calm,  but  "careless  of  man- 
kind." After  establishing  his  cosmogony  through  the  play 
of  natural  forces,  he  confirms  to  his  own  satisfaction  the 
mortality  of  the  soul,  and  sketches  the  origin  of  society 
through  natural  development,  closing  with  an  explanation  of 
meteoric  and  terrestrial  phenomena  and  with  a  description  of 
the  great  plague  of  Athens.  Such  was  no  proper  end  of  the 
poem,  and  there  are  many  other  indications  that  it  was  never 
finished. 

The  De  Rerum  Natura  was  closely  studied  by  Horace  and 
Virgil,  and  in  the  last  few  centuries  has  had  great  indirect 
influence  on  human  thought.     Chemists  and  physicists  have 


4  INTRODUCTION 

found  in  it  an  anticipation  of  the  atomic  theory,  and  the  fol- 
lowers of  Darwin  and  Wallace  have  seen  in  it  a  dim  adumbra- 
tion of  the  evolutionary  hypothesis.  Modern  poets  have 
studied  it  and  Tennyson  has  interpreted  most  happily  the 
author's  spirit.  Mrs.  Browning  declares  that  Lucretius  died 
"chief  poet  on  the  Tiber  side."  The  real  excellence  of  the 
poem  is  in  its  sublimity  of  thought,  its  passionate  support  of 
scientific  principles,  its  relentlessness  in  logical  conclusion,  its 
Roman  thoroughness  and  honesty,  and  its  stately  movement 
and  majestic  rhythm.  Perhaps  nothing  has  come  down  to  us 
in  Latin  literature  that  is  more  characteristically  Roman  than 
this  sublime  poem. 


LUCRETIUS 

DE  RERUM  NATURA 

[CONCERNING   THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS] 


ABRIDGED  AND  TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE 
AND  PROSE,  BY 

W.  H.  MALLOCK 


XJ— 2 


LUCRETIUS 

Ay,  but  I   MEANT  NOT  THEE;   I   MEANT  NOT   HER, 

Whom  all  the  pines  of  Ida  shook  to  see 

Slide  from  that  quiet  heaven  of  hers,  and  tempt 

The  Trojan,  while  his  neat-herds  were  abroad; 

Nor  her  that  o'er  her  wounded  hunter  wept 

Her  Deity  false  in  human-amorous  tears; 

Nor  whom   her  beardless  apple- arbiter 

Decided  fairest.     Rather,  O  ye  Gods, 

Poet-like,  as  the  great  Sicilian  called 

Calliope  to  grace  his  golden  verse — 

Ay,  and  this  Kypris  also — did  I  take 

That  popular  name  of  thine  to  shadow  forth 

The  all-generating  powers  and  genial  heat 

Of  nature,  when  she  strikes  through  the  thick  blood 

Of  cattle,  and  light  is  large,  and  lambs  are  glad 

Nosing  the  mother's  udder,  and  the  bird 

Makes  his  heart  voice  amid  the  blaze  of  flowers: 

Which  things  appear  the  work  of  mighty  Gods. 

— Tennyson. 


DE  RERUM  NATURA 

[Concerning  the  Nature  of  Things] 
BOOK   I 

INVOCATION 

Mother  and  mistress  of  the  Roman  race, 

Pleasure  of  gods  and  men,  O  fostering 
Venus,  whose  presence  breathes  in  every  place, 

Peopling  all  soils  whence  fruits  and  grasses  spring, 
And  all  the  water's  navigable  ways, 

Water  and  earth  and  air  and  everything. 
Since  by  thy  power  alone  their  life  is  given 
To  all  beneath  the  sliding  signs  of  heaven; 

Goddess,  thou  comest,  and  the  clouds  before  thee 
Melt,  and  the  ruffian  blasts  take  flight  and  fly; 

The  daedal  lands,  they  know  thee  and  adore  thee, 
And  clothe  themselves  with  sweet  flowers  instantly; 

Whilst  pouring  down  its  largest  radiance  o'er  thee. 
In  azure  calm  subsides  the  rounded  sky, 

To  overarch  thine  advent;  and  for  thee 

A  livelier  sunlight  laughs  along  the  sea. 

For  lo,  no  sooner  come  the  soft  and  glowing 
Days  of  the  spring,  and  all  the  air  is  stirred 

With  amorous  breaths  of  zephyrs  freshly  blowing. 
Than  the  first  prelude  of  thy  power  is  heard 

On  all  sides,  in  aerial  music  flowing 
Out  of  the  bill  of  every  pairing  bird; 

And  every  songster  feels,  on  every  tree, 

Its  small  heart  pulsing  with  the  power  of  thee. 

Next  the  herds  feel  thee;  and  the  wild  fleet  races 
Bound  o'er  the  fields,  that  smile  in  the  bright  weather, 
7 


8  LUCRETIUS 

And  swim  the  streaming  floods  in  fordless  places. 
Led  by  thy  chain,  and  captive  in  thy  tether. 

At  last  through  seas  and  hills,  thine  influence  passes, 
Through  field  and  flood  and  all  the  world  together, 

And  the  birds'  leafy  homes;  and  thou  dost  fire 

Each  to  renew  his  kind  with  sweet  desire. 

Wherefore,  since  thou,  O  lady,  only  thou 
Art  she  who  guides  the  world  upon  its  way; 

Nor  can  aught  rise  without  thee  anyhow 
Up  into  the  clear  borders  of  the  day, 

Neither  can  aught  without  thee  ever  grow 
Lovely  and  sweet — to  thee,  to  thee  I  pray — 

Aid  and  be  near  thy  suppliant  as  he  sings 

Of  nature  and  the  secret  ways  of  things. 

For  I  have  set  myself  [he  goes  on],  to  expound  these  as 
best  I  may  to  my  dear  friend,  the  son  of  the  Memmii,  in  this 
very  poem ;  and  for  my  affection  to  him,  I  would  have  every 
charm  given  to  my  verses.  And  do  thou,  my  Memmius,  so 
far  as  thou  canst  in  these  present  troublous  times,  give  an  at- 
tentive ear  to  me,  for  I  am  going  to  explain  to  you  the  whole 
system  of  things;  and  out  of  what  first  elements  the  world, 
and  men,  and  gods  have  all  alike  arisen.  I  have  a  teacher — 
Epicurus — who  has  explained  all  these  things  to  me ;  and  his 
teachings  when  first  given  to  men  made  a  new  era  in  their 
history.^ 

When  human  life,  a  shame  to  human  eyes, 

Lay  sprawling  in  the  mire  in  foul  estate, 
A  cowering  thing  without  the  strength  to  rise. 

Held  down  by  fell  Religion's  heavy  weight — 
Religion  scowling  downward  from  the  skies. 

With  hideous  head,  and  vigilant  eyes  of  hate — 
First  did  a  man  of  Greece  presume  to  raise 
His  brows,  and  give  the  monster  gaze  for  gaze. 

Him  not  the  tales  of  all  the  gods  in  heaven. 

Nor  the  heaven's  lightnings,  nor  the  menacing  roar 


^  The  prose  portions  of  the  abridgment  are  based  on  the  translation 
of  H.  A.  J.  Munro. 


THE    NATURE   OF    THINGS 

Of  thunder  daunted.     He  was  only  driven, 
By  these  vain  vauntings,  to  desire  the  more 

To  burst  through  Nature's  gates,  and  rive  the  unriven 
Bars.    And  he  gained  the  day ;  and,  conqueror, 

His  spirit  broke  beyond  our  world,  and  past 

Its  flamitig  walls,  and  fathomed  all  the  vast. 

And  back  returning,  crowned  with  victory,  he 
Divulged  of  things  the  hidden  mysteries. 

Laying  quite  bare  what  can  and  cannot  be. 
How  to  each  force  is  set  strong  boundaries. 

How  no  power  raves  unchained,  and  nought  is  free. 
So  the  times  change;  and  now  religion  lies 

Trampled  by  us;  and  unto  us  'tis  given 

Fearless  with  level  gaze  to  scan  the  heaven. 

Yet  fear  I  lest  thou  haply  deem  that  thus 
We  sin,  and  enter  wicked  ways  of  reason. 

Whereas  'gainst  all  things  good  and  beauteous 
'Tis  oft  religion  does  the  foulest  treason. 

Has  not  the  tale  of  Aulis  come  to  us. 
And  those  great  chiefs  who,  in  the  windless  season, 

Bade  young  Iphianassa's  form  be  la'd 

Upon  the  altar  of  the  Trivian  maid? 

Soon  as  the  fillet  round  her  virgin  hair 
Fell  in  its  equal  lengths  down  either  cheek, — 

Soon  as  she  saw  her  father  standing  there, 
Sad,  by  the  altar,  without  power  to  speak. 

And  at  his  side  the  murderous  minister. 

Hiding  the  knife,  and  many  a  faithful  Greek 

Weeping — her  knees  grew  weak,  and  with  no  sound 

She  sank,  in  speechless  terror,  on  the  ground. 

But  nought  availed  it  in  that  hour  accurst 
To  save  the  maid  from  such  a  doom  as  this, 

That  her  lips  were  the  baby  lips  that  first 

Called  the  king  father  with  their  cries  and  kiss. 

For  round  her  came  the  strong  men,  and  none  durst 
Refuse  to  do  what  cruel  part  was  his; 

So  silently  they  raised  her  up,  and  bore  her. 

All  quivering,  to  the  deadly  shrine  before  her. 


10  LUCRETIUS 

And  as  they  bore  her,  ne'er  a  golden  lyre 

Rang  round  her  coming  with  a  bridal  strain: 

But  in  the  very  season  of  desire, 

A  stainless  maiden,  amid  bloody  stain, 

She  died — a  victim  felled  by  its  own  sire — 
That  so  the  ships  the  wished-for  wind  might  gain, 

And  air  puff  out  their  canvas.    Learn  thou,  then. 

To  what  damned  deeds  religion  urges  men. 

Yes,  and  you  too,  Memmius,  even  you,  will  some  time  or 
other  seek  to  fall  away,  and  cower  under  the  terrors  of  this 
false  religion.  And,  indeed,  what  safeguard  have  you? 
How  will  you  steel  yourself  against  the  terrors  of  the  priests, 
who  have  ever  a  life  to  come  with  which  to  threaten  you,  and 
in  which  torments  everlasting  may,  as  they  say,  be  yours? 
Did  you  know  that  death  was  death  indeed,  then  you  might 
keep  a  stout  heart,  and  brave  them.  But  now  what  do  men 
know  of  the  soul?  They  know  neither  its  nature  nor  its 
origin — neither  whence  it  came  nor  whither  it  is  going.  How 
shall  they  know,  then,  what  may  not  be  in  store  for  it  ?  What 
shall  we  do  then?  Our  only  hope  is  in  this.  Let  us  grasp 
first  the  principles  of  things;  let  us  learn  by  what  laws  the 
stars  and  the  sun  move ;  how  the  earth  was  formed,  and  how 
all  things  live  and  grow  upon  it.  And  above  all,  let  us  find 
out  by  reason  what  the  soul  and  mind  consists  of,  and  what 
are  the  laws  of  those  things  whence  all  our  fears  arise — imag- 
ination, and  dreams,  and  madness. 

Hard  it  is  in  Latin  verses  to  expound  the  teachings  of  the 
Greeks.  Our  tongue  is  poor  and  wanting.  No  one  has  used 
it  yet  to  treat  such  themes  as  these.  And  yet  for  your  sake, 
and  the  pleasure  of  your  sweet  friendship,  I  will  not  be 
daunted.     I  will  essay  to  do  my  best. 

This  darkness,  then,  this  terrible  darkness,  in  which  the 
human  race  is  at  present  cowering,  can  be  dispelled,  not  by 
any  sunlight,  nor  the  lucid  darts  of  day,  but  by  the  aspect  and 
the  law  of  Nature — 

For  fear  takes  hold  upon  the  human  breast. 
When  we  see  many  things  by  Nature  done. 
Whereof  the  ways  and  means  are  known  to  none. 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  11 

And  accordingly  we  ascribe  these  phenomena  to  the  gods. 
One  thing,  therefore,  at  starting,  I  will  tell  you  first — how 
that  nothing  can  be  produced  from  nothing.  And  when  you 
are  once  made  certain  of  that,  you  shall  see  clearly  how  all 
things  can  be  produced  and  done  without  the  hand  of  gods. 

Lucretius  then  goes  on,  in  the  next  two  hundred  verses, 
to  explain  that  the  elements  of  all  things  are  atoms  and  void, 
supporting  his  theory  by  arguments  that  have  been  described 
already.  Atoms  and  void  are  both  alike  eternal.  All  com- 
posite things  may  pass  away,  but  these  remain  from  everlast- 
ing. Nothing  can  be  born  from  nothing;  and  nothing,  when 
born,  can  go  back  to  nothing: — 

Things  seem  to  die,  but  die  not.    The  spring  showers 

Die  on  the  bosom  of  the  motherly  earth. 
But  rise  again  in  fruits  and  leaves  and  flowers. 

And  every  death  is  nothing  but  a  birth. 

Atoms,  then,  and  empty  space  [he  goes  on] — these,  my 
friends,  are  all  that  really  is.  You  can  name  nothing  that  is 
not  a  property  of  these,  or  else  an  accident : — 

That  is  a  property  which  cannot  be 

Disjoined  from  a  thing  and  separate 
Without  the  said  thing's  death.    Fluidity 

Is  thus  a  property  of  water;  weight 
Is  of  a  stone.    Whilst  riches,  poverty. 

Slavery,  freedom,  concord,  war  and  hate, 
Which  change,  and  not  inhere  in  things  of  sense. 
We  name  not  properties,  but  accidents. 

The  Trojan  war,  for  instance,  was  simply  an  accident  of 
atoms  and  empty  space ;  nor,  but  for  these,  would  it  ever  have 
come  to  pass — 

For  had  things  no  material  substance  thus. 

Nor  void  to  move  in,  never  had  the  fire 
Out  of  the  fairest  child  of  Tyndarus 

Lit  in  the  Phrygian's  breast  the  fell  desire. 


12  LUCRETIUS 

And  put  the  torch  to  war;  nor  Pergamus 

Had  seen  the  dumb  and  lifeless  steed  draw  nigh  her, 
Out  of  whose  flanks  the  midnight  warriors  came. 
Who  ended  all,  and  wrapt  the  towers  in  flame. 

Remember  then,  I  again  tell  you,  that  here  are  the  two 
things  that  alone  really  are,  infinite  space  and  atoms — atoms 
indivisible,  indestructible,  that  have  endured,  and  that  will  en- 
dure for  ever.  Wherefore,  they  w^ho  held  fire  to  be  the  one 
substance  of  things,  and  the  sum  to  have  been  formed  out  of 
fire  alone,  are,  of  all  philosophers,  furthest  from  the  truth. 
Chief  of  this  band  is  Heraclitus,  a  declarer  of  dark  sentences, 
and  a  juggler  w'ith  words. 

More  famous  he  with  babbling  man  and  vain, 
Amongst  the  Greeks,  than  those  that  strive  to  know 

The  truth  indeed.    For  fools  are  always  fain 
To  measure  meanings  by  the  gaudy  show 

Of  twisted  words  that  hide  them.    And  a  strain 
That  fills  their  ears  with  honeyed  overflow 

Of  phrase  and  music,  is  at  once  decreed 

Surely  to  hold  the  very  truth  indeed. 

Lucretius  then  goes  on  to  give  the  reasons  why  the  theory 
of  Heraclitus  is  untenable,  and  how  it  contradicts  the  very 
premises  that  he  himself  starts  with.  Nor  any  wiser  are  those 
w^ho  hold  that  things  have  four  first  beginnings,  though  some 
of  those  who  have  taught  this,  have  been  wise — wise  above 
measure  is  other  ways. 

Chief  of  these 
Is  he  of  Agrigent,  Empedocles. 

Him  in  its  three-shored  bounds  that  isle  of  yore 
Reared,  which  the  wild  Ionian  water  laves. 

Round  curving  bays  and  headlands,  evermore 
Splashing  the  brine  up  out  of  its  green  waves. 

Here  does  the  racing  sea  withhold  the  shore 
Of  Italy;  and  here  Charybdis  raves; 

And  here  does  rumbling  ^tna  moan  and  strain 

For  strength  to  lighten  at  the  skies  again. 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  13 

Fair  is  that  land,  and  all  men  hold  it  fair ; 

Its  sons  who  guard  its  soil  are  fierce  and  free, 
And  all  rich  things,  and  gladsome  things  are  there, 

Yet  nothing  ever  was  there,  nor  shall  be, 
More  glorious  than  this  great  philosopher — 

More  holy,  marvellous,  and  dear  than  he: 
Yea,  and  with  such  a  strength  his  mighty  line 
Shouts  through  the  earth — he  seems  a  voice  divine. 

And  yet,  says  Lucretius,  in  spite  of  all  this,  he  has  gone 
astray  about  the  first  beginnings  of  things,  as  did  also 
Anaxagoras  and  all  the  rest,  partly  from  their  wrong  concep- 
tions of  matter,  partly  because  they  denied  the  reality  of 
empty  space.  And  all  these  faults  of  theirs  he  points  out  in 
a  way  that  we  have  already  analysed. 

And  now  mark  [he  goes  on]  what  remains  to  be  known, 
and  hear  it  more  distinctly.  For  my  mind  does  not  fail  to 
perceive  how  dark  these  things  are;  but  yet,  despite  all  diffi- 
culties— 

Yet  my  heart  smarting  with  desire  for  praise, 

Me  urges  on  to  sing  of  themes  like  these. 
And  that  great  longing  to  pour  forth  my  lays 

Constrains  me,  and  the  loved  Pierides, 
Whose  pathless  mountain-haunts  I  now  explore. 
And  glades  where  no  man's  foot  has  fallen  before. 

Ah  sweet,  ah  sweet,  to  approach  the  untainted  springs. 

And  quaff  the  virgin  waters  cool  and  clear, 
And  cull  the  flowers  that  have  been  unknown  things 

To  all  men  heretofore !  and  yet  more  dear 
When  mine  shall  be  the  adventurous  hand  that  brings 

A  crown  for  mine  own  brows,  from  places  where 
The  Muse  has  deigned  to  grant  a  crown  for  none. 
Save  for  my  favoured  brows,  and  mine  alone. 

Nor  am  I  vain,  Memmius,  in  such  vaunts  as  these ;  for  I 
am  struggling  to  teach  great  things,  and  to  release  the  human 
mind  from  the  fetters  of  religious  fear;  and  dark  as  my  sub- 


14  LUCRETIUS 

ject  is,  my  song  is  clear  and  lucid,  and  over  the  crabbed  things 
I  teach,  I  lay  the  Muses'  charm. 

And  now  thus  far  I  have  taught  you  how  solid  bodies 
of  matter  fly  about  ever  unvanquished  through  all  time.  I 
have  next  another  thing  to  teach  you.  I  must  show  you 
there  is  no  limit  to  the  sum  of  these  atoms,  and  likewise  that 
there  is  no  limit  to  the  space  they  move  in.  As  to  space,  I 
need  but  ask  you,  how  can  that  be  bounded?  For  whatever 
bounds  it,  that  thing  must  itself  be  bounded  likewise;  and  to 
this  bounding  thing  there  must  be  a  bound  again,  and  so  on 
for  ever  and  ever  throughout  all  immensity.  Suppose,  how- 
ever, for  a  moment,  all  existing  space  to  be  bounded,  and  that 
a  man  runs  forward  to  the  uttermost  borders,  and  stands  upon 
the  last  verge  of  things,  and  then  hurls  forward  a  winged 
javelin, — suppose  you  that  the  dart,  when  hurled  by  the  vivid 
force,  shall  take  its  way  to  the  point  the  darter  aimed  at,  or 
that  something  will  take  its  stand  in  the  path  of  its  flight,  and 
arrest  it?  For  one  or  other  of  these  things  must  happen. 
There  is  a  dilemma  here  that  you  never  can  escape  from. 
Place  your  limit  of  things  as  far  away  as  it  shall  please  you, 
I  will  dog  your  steps  till  you  have  come  to  the  utmost  borders, 
and  I  will  ask  you  what  then  becomes  of  your  javelin.  Surely 
you  must  see  what  the  end  of  this  must  be : — 

The  air  bounds  off  the  hills,  the  hills  the  air; 

Earth  bounds  the  ocean,  ocean  bounds  the  lands; 
But  the  unbounded  All  is  everywhere. 

Lucretius  here  adds  various  other  proofs  of  the  infinity 
of  empty  space,  and  the  infinite  number  of  the  atoms,  all  of 
which  have  been  already  stated.  Such  then,  he  exclaims, 
again  reiterating  his  teaching — 

Such  is  the  nature  then  of  empty  space. 

The  void  above,  beneath  us,  and  around, 
That  not  the  thunderbolt  with  pauseless  pace. 

Hurtling  for  ever  through  the  unplumbed  profound 
Of  time,  would  find  an  ending  to  its  race, 

Or  e'er  grown  nearer  to  the  boundless  bound. 
So  huge  a  room  around,  beneath,  above, 
Yawns,  in  which  all  things  being,  are  and  move. 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  15 

The  chance  to  which  our  world  owes  itself  needed  infinite 
atoms  for  its  production,  infinite  trials,  and  infinite  failures, 
before  the  present  combination  of  things  arose. 

For  blindly,  blindly,  and  without  design. 
Did  these  first  atoms  their  first  meetings  try; 

No  ordering  thought  was  there,  no  will  divine 
To  guide  them ;  but  through  infinite  time  gone  by 

Tossed  and  tormented  they  essayed  to  join, 
And  clashed  through  the  void  space  tempestuously, 

Until  at  last  that  certain  whirl  began. 

Which  slowly  formed  the  earth  and  heaven  and  man. 

And  now,  my  Memmius,  be  far  from  trusting  those  that 
say  all  thing  press  towards  the  centre,  and  that  there  are  men 
beneath  the  earth,  walking  with  their  heads  downwards.  For 
the  universe  being  infinite,  how  can  there  be  any  centre  to  it  ? 
And  even  grant  that  it  had  a  centre,  no  heavy  body  could 
abide  there;  for  everything  that  has  weight  must  be  for  ever 
and  for  ever  falling,  unless  some  rebound  send  it  upwards. 

Space,  then,  I  have  alrealdy  proved  to  be  infinite;  and 
space  being  infinite,  matter  must  be  infinite  also ;  lest,  after  the 
winged  fashion  of  flame,  the  walls  of  the  world  break  up 
suddenly,  and  fly  along  the  mighty  void,  and  the  heavens  fall 
upon  the  earth,  and  the  earth  break  up  from  beneath  the 
heaven,  and  the  whole  great  universe  in  a  single  moment 

Melt  and  be  gone,  and  nothing  take  its  place 
But  viewless  atoms  and  deserted  space. 

BOOK   II 

'Tis  sweet  when  tempests  roar  upon  the  sea 
To  watch  from  land  another's  deep  distress 

Amongst  the  waves — his  toil  and  misery: 
Not  that  his  sorrow  makes  our  happiness, 

But  that  some  sweetness  there  must  ever  be 
Watching  what  sorrows  we  do  not  possess: 

So,  too,  'tis  sweet  to  safely  view  from  far 

Gleam  o'er  the  plains  the  savage  ways  of  war. 


16  LUCRETIUS 

But  sweeter  far  to  look  with  purged  eyes 
Down  from  the  battlements  and  topmost  towers 

Of  learning,  those  high  bastions  of  the  wise, 
And  far  below  us  see  this  world  of  ours, 

The  vain  crowds  wandering  blindly,  led  by  lies. 
Spending  in  pride  and  wrangling  all  their  powers, 

So  far  below — the  pigmy  toil  and  strife 

The  pain  and  piteous  rivalries  of  life. 

O  peoples  miserable !  O  fools  and  blind ! 

What  might  you  cast  o'er  all  the  days  of  man ! 
And  in  that  night  before  you  and  behind 

What  perils  prowl !     But  you  nor  will  nor  can 
See  that  the  treasure  of  a  tranquil  mind 

Is  all  that  Nature  pleads  for,  for  this  span. 
So  that  between  our  birth  and  grave  we  gain 
Some  quiet  pleasures,  and  a  pause  from  pain. 

Wherefore  we  see  that  for  the  body's  need 
A  pause  from  pain  almost  itself  suffices. 

For  only  let  our  life  from  pain  be  freed, 
It  oft  itself  with  its  own  smile  entices, 

And  fills  our  healthy  hearts  with  joys  indeed, 
That  leave  us  small  desire  for  art's  devices. 

Nor  do  we  sigh  for  more  in  hours  like  these, 

Rich  in  our  wealth  of  sweet  simplicities. 

What  though  about  the   halls  no   silent  band 
Of  golden  boys  on  many  a  pedestal  ^ 

Dangle  their  hanging  lamps  from  outstretched  hand, 
To  flare  along  the  midnight  festival — 

Though  on  our  board  no  priceless  vessels  stand, 
Nor  gold  nor  silver  fret  the  dazzling  wall. 

Nor  does  the  soft  voluptuous  air  resound 

From  gilded  ceilings  with  the  cithern's  sound; 

The  grass  is  ours,  and  sweeter  sounds  than  these, 
As  down  we  couch  us  by  the  babbling  spring. 

And  overhead  we  hear  the  branching  trees 

That  shade  us,  whisper;  and  for  food  we  bring 

Only  the  country's  simple  luxuries. 

Ah,  sweet  is  this,  and  sweetest  in  the  spring. 

When  the  sun  goes  through  all  the  balmy  hours, 

And  all  the  green  earth's  lap  is  filled  with  flowers ! 


THE    NATURE   OF    THINGS  17 

These,  Memmius,  these  are  this  life's  true  enjoyments; 
not  the  seducing  pleasures  given  by  wealth  and  art.  Will  you 
get  rid  of  a  fever  more  quickly  if  you  toss  under  a  purple 
coverlet  than  under  the  blanket  of  a  poor  man?  Just  then  as 
treasures,  and  high  birth,  and  the  pomp  of  kingly  power, 
minister  nothing  to  the  body's  health,  push  thy  thought  but  a 
small  step  further,  and  you  will  see  they  minister  nothing  to 
the  mind  also:  unless,  indeed,  you  find  that  looking  on  the 
proud  array  of  war,  and  the  strength  of  obedient  legions,  your 
mind  grows  and  swells  with  a  haughtier  strength  also,  and  the 
scruples  of  religion  are  at  once  scared  away  from  it,  and  the 
fears  of  death  grow  faint,  and  you  realise  your  own  power 
and  greatness.  But  if  we  see  that  to  talk  like  this  is  folly, 
and  that  the  fear  of  death  cares  nothing  for  human  arms  and 
armies,  but  that  it  and  all  other  sorrows  stalk  menacing  and 
unabashed  through  courts  and  palaces,  and  flinch  nothing  at 
the  glitter  of  gold  and  purple,  how  can  you  doubt  but  that 
reason  alone  can  daunt  them?  For  what  is  all  this  life  of 
ours?  It  is  a  struggle  in  the  dark,  and  in  this  dark  men  are 
as  children.  They  quake  and  quiver  at  they  know  not  what, 
and  start  aside  at  objects  which  in  the  daylight  they  would 
only  laugh  at.  Light  then,  more  light, — this  is  the  thing  we 
need  for  the  liberation  of  man;  but  it  is  not  outer  light,  it  is 
the  inner  light  of  reason — 

Of  reason  searching  Nature's  secret  way. 
And  not  the  sun,  nor  lucid  darts  of  day. 

And  now  mark,  and  I  will  explain  to  you  the  motions  of 
the  bodies  of  matter:  how  things  are  begotten  and  broken 
up  again,  and  with  what  speed  they  go  moving  through  the 
great  void.  For  verily  in  movement  all  things  about  us  are, 
perpetually  wearing  away,  perpetually  re-begotten.  Some 
nations  wax,  others  wane,  and  in  a  brief  space  the  races  of 
living  things  are  changed,  and,  like  runners,  hand  over  the 
lamp  of  life. 

Here  Lucretius  goes  on  to  explain  more  in  detail  the 
everlasting  motion  of  the  atoms,  the  way  they  strike,  the  way 


18  LUCRETIUS 

they  rebound,  and  the  ways  in  which  they  become  intertangled. 
They  move,  he  says,  as  the  motes  move  in  a  sunbeam,  which 
you  may  see  streaming  through  a  dark  chamber,  and  in  the 
apparent  void  mingle  in  the  hght  of  the  rays,  and,  as  in 
never-ending  conflict,  skirmish  and  give  battle,  combating 
in  troops  and  never  halting,  driven  about  in  frequent  meet- 
ings and  partings,  so  that  you  may  guess  from  this  what  it  is 
for  first  beginnings  of  things  to  be  for  ever  tossing  about  in 
the  great  void.  So  far  as  it  goes,  a  small  thing  may  give 
an  illustration  of  a  great  thing,  and  put  you  on  the  track  of 
knowledge. 

Now  how  swiftly  [he  continues]  these  atoms  move,  Mem- 
mius,  you  may  learn  from  this : — 

When  first  the  morning  sprinkles  earth  with  light, 
And  in  the  forest's  lone  heart  everywhere 

The  birds  awaken,  and  with  fluttering  flight 
Pour  out  their  flutings  on  the  tender  air ; 

— at  such  a  time  we  see  how  in  a  moment,  in  a  single  moment, 
the  sun,  far  off  though  he  be,  darts  his  light  through  the 
whole  creation,  and  clothes  everything  with  his  brightness. 
But  the  sun's  rays  have  to  travel  through  air,  and  the  air 
retards  their  course ;  and  therefore  they  move  slowly  when 
compared  with  the  atoms,  which  move  only  through  pure  and 
empty  space,  and  which  hurry  on  and  on,  not  held  back  by 
anything. 

But  some,  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  matter,  say  that  with- 
out the  providence  of  the  gods  the  world  could  not  have  come 
to  be  what  it  has,  nor  the  seasons  vary  in  such  nice  con- 
formity to  the  ways  of  men.  Wanderers  they  from  the 
true  course  of  reason.  For  even  if  I  did  not  know  what  first 
beginnings  were,  I  could  still  maintain  that  the  earth  and 
heaven  were  never  the  work  of  any  divine  intelligence, — so 
great  are  the  defects  with  which  they  stand  encumbered. 
All  which,  Memmius,  I  will  by-and-by  make  clear  to  you; 
but  we  will  now  go  on  to  explain  what  is  yet  to  be  told  of 
motions. 


THE    NATURE   OF    THINGS  19 

Lucretius  now  goes  on  to  deal  with  the  primary  down- 
ward tendency  of  atoms,  and  to  account  for  the  upward 
courses  they  take,  through  blows  and  reboundings,  and  being 
squeezed  upwards  out  of  solidifying  substances.  Next  he 
explains  that  uncertain  sideways  movement,  which  is  the  one 
respect  in  which  the  uniformity  of  atomic  movement  is  broken, 
and  which  he  here  proclaims  to  be  the  origin,  and  the  only 
possible  origin,  of  the  free-will  of  living  beings. 

Then  he  goes  on  to  explain  that  the  laws  of  matter  have 
been  the  same  for  ever;  that  it  is  the  nature  of  matter  to  be 
for  ever  moving;  and  that  though  things  seem  to  be  now  at 
rest,  their  atoms  are  still  as  unresting  as  they  were  at  the 
beginning.  Nor  need  you  wonder  at  this,  he  says ;  for  when 
mighty  legions  fill  iii  their  courses  all  the  places  of  the  plains, 
in  the  mimicry  of  war,  the  glitter  of  them  lifts  itself  up  to 
the  sky,  and  the  whole  earth  about  glitters  with  brass,  and  a 
noise  is  made  beneath  by  the  trampling  of  the  mighty  ones, 
and  the  mountains  smitten  by  the  shouting  hurl  the  voices 
upwards  to  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  all  the  wheeling  horse- 
men scour  the  plains,  and  make  them  tremble  with  the 
charge : — 

Yet  some  space  is  there  in  the  far-off  hills 
Whence  all  this  storm  of  chargers  seems  to  rest, 
A  still  light  brooding  on  the  broad  plain's  breast. 

Lucretius  now  goes  on  to  show  that  the  atoms  must  be  of 
various  shapes,  the  kinds  of  things  produced  by  them  are  so 
different, — fluids,  solids,  and  airs,  tastes  and  smells.  Were 
not  the  seeds  of  different  shapes,  and  each  special  substance 
made  of  special  seeds,  how  could  the  species  of  animals  re- 
main alike,  and  never  vary?  or  how  could  parent  transmit  to 
child  that  special  something  by  which  the  two  mutually  recog- 
nise each  other  ?  For  this  we  see  that  even  the  beasts  can  do ; 
and  they  are  just  as  well  known  to  each  other  as  human  beings 
are. 

Thus  oft  before  our  pillared  sanctuaries, 

When  the  lit  altars  lift  their  fragrant  blaze, 
A  calf  pours  forth  its  warm  life's  blood,  and  dies; 
But  she,  the  mother,  in  her  lone  amaze 


20  LUCRETIUS 

Goes  through  the  fields,  and  still  can  recognize 
Her  own  one's  cloven  footfalls  in  the  ways, 
And  looks  to  find  it,  and  her  eyes  grow  wild 
With  wondering  for  her  unreturning  child. 

Then  from  her  mouth  breaks  forth  the  desolate  moan 
Through  all  the  leafy  groves,  and  she  gives  o'er 

Her  search,  only  she  oft  goes  back  alone 
To  that  bleak  stall  her  child  shall  know  no  more ; 

Nor  tender  willows,  nor  lush  grasses  grown 

Sweet  with  the  dew-fall,  nor  clear  streams  that  pour 

With  brimming  lips  their  waves  along  the  plain, 

Can  tempt  her  mouth,  nor  ease  her  breast  of  pain. 

Remember  then,  says  Lucretius,  that  the  atoms  have  vari- 
ous shapes;  but  the  number  of  such  shapes  is  finite,  though 
of  atoms  of  each  shape  the  number  must  be  infinite :  for  since 
the  difference  of  shape  is  finite,  those  which  are  Hke  are 
infinite,  or  the  sum  of  matter  will  be  finite.  All  this  he  draws 
out  at  length,  urging  all  the  arguments  that  have  been  de- 
scribed already. 

And  thus,  he  says,  out  of  infinite  matter,  and  through 
infinite  space,  things  as  they  are  continue,  for  ever  being 
destroyed  and  for  ever  again  renewed;  nor  can  death-dealing 
motions  keep  the  mastery  always,  nor  entomb  existence  for 
evermore,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  can  the  birth  and  increase- 
giving  motions  of  things  preserve  them  always  after  they  are 
born. 

Thus  from  the  depths  of  all  eternity 

The  unwearying  atoms  wage  a  dubious  war; 
And  now  with  surging  life  doth  victory  lie, 

And  now  anon  is  death  the  conqueror; 
And  with  the  funeral  wail,  the  baby's  cry 

Blends,  as  it  opes  its  eyes  on  daylight's  shore: 
Nor  ever  morning  broke  that  failed  to  hear 
The  infant's  bleatings  and  the  mourner's  tear. 

And  herein,  Memmius,  it  is  most  fit  you  should  remember 
that  there  is  nothing  that  is  known  by  sense  that  consists  of 
one  kind  of  seed;  all  is  formed  by  a  mixture  of  divers  atoms. 
And  when  a  thing  has  many  properties,  you  must  know  it  is 


THE    NATURE   OF    THINGS  21 

a  compound  of  seeds  of  many  shapes.  Such  a  compound 
is  the  great  earth  we  Hve  on,  for  her  properties,  as  we  can  all 
see,  are  many.  For  she  brings  forth  fires,  and  the  great  seas, 
and  crops,  and  joyous  trees,  and  the  bodies  of  living  things. 
Wherefore,  of  gods,  and  men,  and  beasts,  she  alone  has  been 
named  the  mother.  Of  her  the  Greek  poets  sang,  that,  borne 
on  her  towering  chariot,  she  comes  driving  a  yoke  of  lions. 
They  have  yoked  to  her  car  the  beasts,  to  show  that  nature, 
however  savage,  should  be  softened  by  the  care  of  parents. 
They  have  crowned  her  head  with  a  mural  crown,  because, 
fortified  in  strong  positions,  she  sustains  cities.  Phrygian 
bands  escort  her,  for  in  Phrygia  the  story  is  that  the  first 
corn  grew;  and  Galli,  too,  are  her  guardians,  to  show  that 
they  who  have  done  violence  to  the  divinity  of  the  mother, 
are  unworthy  to  bring  a  living  offspring  to  the  daylight. 

The  tight-stretched  timbrels  thunder  round  her  way. 
The  sounding  cymbals  clash,  and  cry  Prepare ! 

The  threatening  horns  with  hoarser  music  bray, 
And  hollow  pipes  are  loud  upon  the  air; 

And  swords  are  borne  before  her,  sharp  to  slay — 
Emblems  of  rage  to  thankless  souls  that  dare 

Neglect  the  Queen;  till  holy  fear  has  birth 

Of  the  great  Mother  over  all  the  earth. 

Therefore  when  first  she  slowly  comes  progressing 
Through  mighty  cities,  and  with  soundless  tongue 

Breathes  over  men  the  dumb  unworded  blessing, 
Down  in  her  path  are  brass  and  silver  flung, 

A  bounteous  largess,  mortal  thanks  expressing; 
And  flowers  are  showered  by  all  the  adoring  throng, 

Till  on  the  Mother  and  her  train  there  falls 

A  snowstorm  of  soft-settling  rose-petals. 

But  all  this  escort  and  progress  are  only  symbolism.  It 
is  beautifully  told  and  well  set  forth,  but  it  is  very  far  re- 
moved from  true  reason.  For  the  nature  of  the  gods  must 
enjoy  supreme  repose,  and  know  neither  care  nor  labour; 
for  no  pain  mars  it,  nor  can  aught  we  do  appease  it  or  make 
it  angry.     And  if  any  one  choose  to  call  the  sea  Neptune,  and 

XI— 3 


22  LUCRETIUS 

corn  Ceres,  and  would  rather  use  the  word  Bacchus  than  the 
word  wine,  let  us  suffer  him  to  say  in  this  sense  that  the  earth 
is  mother  of  gods,  if  he  only  forbears  in  earnest  to  sully  his 
soul  with  the  stain  of  foul  religion. 

For  all  this  while  the  earth  is  blind  and  dumb, 

It  neither  knows,  nor  thinks,  nor  hears,  nor  feels, 
But  blindly  in  it  various  seeds  unite. 
And  blindly  these  break  forth,  and  reach  the  light. 

But  though  all  things,  Lucretius  goes  on,  are  composed 
of  many  seeds,  it  is  evident  that  these  combinations  follow 
some  laws,  and  only  certain  set  combinations  are  possible  by 
the  nature  of  things.  The  uniformity  of  nature  shows  us 
this;  and  you  may  learn  it,  too,  from  considering  what  the 
atoms  are  themselves.  You  must  know,  too,  that  first  begin- 
nings have  themselves  no  sensible  qualities.  In  especial,  you 
must  remember  that  they  are  without  colour.  Lucretius  gives 
many  reasons  for  this, — more  particularly,  that  colour  cannot 
exist  without  light,  and  that  it  varies  according  to  what  way 
the  light  falls  upon  it. 

After  this  fashion  does  the  ringdove's  down 
Change  in  the  sun,  and  shift  its  plumy  sheen; 

Now  all  a  poppy's  dark  vermilion. 

Now  coral,  glimmering  over  emerald  green. 

So  too  the  peacock,  saturate  with  sun 
O'er  all  its  sweep  of  trailing  tail,  is  seen 

To  quiver  in  the  light  with  varying  dyes, 

And  all  the  hues  inconstant  in  its  eyes. 

Lucretius  goes  on  with  his  reasons  why  atoms  cannot 
have  either  voice,  or  smell,  or  sense,  or  any  sensible  qualities 
whatsoever.  Life  has  arisen  out  of  the  lifeless,  as  we  see 
even  now  worms  arising  out  of  clods,  though  in  the  case  of 
the  higher  animals  the  lifeless  matter  has  to  go  through 
many  stages ;  and  only  through  special  combinations  of  circum- 
stances can  it  at  last  break  forth  into  life  and  consciousness. 
But  if  any  one  shall  say  that  sense  may  be  so  far  begotten 
out  of  no-sensation,  by  a  process  of  change  or  by  a  kind  of 


THE    NATURE   OF    THINGS  23 

birth,  all  we  have  to  show  to  such  a  man  is,  that  this  change 
and  birth  can  only  happen  in  obedience  to  fixed  laws,  and 
under  fixed  conditions.  Above  all,  the  senses  cannot  exist 
in  any  body,  till  the  living  nature  of  that  body  has  been  begot- 
ten; for  till  then,  the  atoms  that  will  make  up  the  principles 
of  life  and  feeling  are  wandering  far  and  wide — in  air  and 
earth,  in  flowers  and  trees  and  rivers.  Common-sense  will 
tell  you  that  all  this  must  be  so.  For  did  the  atoms  live,  what 
then?  Think  of  the  picture  you  would  have  to  form  of 
them. 

Sure,  had  they  life,  these  seeds  of  things,  why  then 
Each  separate  particle  would  laugh  and  cry 

By  its  small  self,  and  speculate  like  men — 
What  were  my  own  first  seeds,  and  whence  am  I  ? 

Wherefore  be  assured,  Memmius,  that  we  have  all  arisen 
out  of  lifeless  things — 

And  learn 
That  what  of  us  was  taken  from  the  dust 
Will  surely  one  day  to  the  dust  return; 
And  what  the  air  has  lent  us,  heaven  will  bear 
Away  and  render  back  its  own  to  air. 

For  death  is  not  an  extinction  of  matter, — it  is  a  change 
and  a  dissolution  only.  The  atoms  are  like  the  letters  of  an 
alphabet,  for  ever  shifting  their  places,  and  clustering  into 
new  words,  and  these  words  again  clustering  into  new  verses. 

And  now,  we  entreat  you,  apply  your  mind  to  reason. 
For  a  new  matter  struggles  earnestly  to  gain  your  ears;  and 
remember  this,  that  the  simplest  thing,  if  new,  is  at  first  hard 
to  be  realised;  and  the  hardest  thing  grows  easy  when  we 
have  known  it  long  enough. 

Lift  up  your  eyes,  consider  the  blue  sky. 

And  all  the  multitudes  of  wandering  signs 
It  holds  within  its  hollows ;  mark  on  high 

How  shines  the  sun,  and  how  the  clear  moon  shines. 
Supposing  this  great  vision  suddenly 

Broke  on  the  gaze  of  man,  my  soul  divines 
That  to  the  astonished  nations  it  would  seem 
A  mist,  a  fancy,  a  desire,  a  dream. 


24  LUCRETIUS 

And  yet  how  little,  it  is  so  familiar,  do  we  now  heed  it! 
Wonder  not,  therefore,  if  I  lead  your  spirit  on  a  farther  and 
a  more  adventurous  voyage,  and  carry  you  past  the  walls  of 
heaven  and  the  bounding  blue,  and  show  you  what  is  there, 
far  yonder,  in  the  bottomless  unplumbed  depths,  to  which  the 
spirit  ever  yearns  to  look  forward,  and  to  which  the  mind's 
inner  self  reaches  in  free  and  unhindered  flight.  There  then, 
in  the  space  beyond,  where  the  atoms  are  for  ever  flying,  are 
other  worlds  than  ours,  woven  as  ours  was  out  of  flying  atoms, 
and  the  blind  clash  of  them.  Our  universe  is  but  one  out 
of  a  countless  number.  As  a  man  is  but  one  amongst  many 
men,  so  is  our  universe  but  one  amongst  many  universes. 
And  through  all  these  runs  a  single  law.  They  have  risen  in 
the  same  way,  they  are  sustained  in  the  same  way;  and  in 
the  same  way,  and  by  a  like  necessity,  they  will  all  one  day 
perish.  Do  but  realise  this,  and  the  whole  scheme  of  things 
will  grow  clearer  to  you,  and  you  will  see  how — 

Rid  of  her  haughty  masters,  straight  with  ease 
Does  nature  work,  and  willingly  sustains 

Her  frame,  and  asks  no  aid  of  deities. 
For  of  those  holy  gods  who  haunt  the  plains 

Of  Ether,  and  for  aye  abide  in  peace, 
I  ask,  could  such  as  they  are  hold  the  reins 

Of  all  the  worlds,  or  in  their  courses  keep 

The  forces  of  the  immeasurable  deep? 

Whose  are  the  hands  could  make  the  stars  to  roll 
Through  all  their  courses,  and  the  fruitful  clod 

Foster  the  while  with  sunlight,  always  whole, 
A  multiplied  but  undivided  god; 

And  strike  with  bellowing  thunders  from  the  pole. 
Now  his  own  temples,  now  the  unbending  sod ; 

And  now  in  deserts  those  vain  lightnings  try 

That  strike  the  pure,  and  pass  the  guilty  by  ? 

And  this  too,  Memmius,  you  must  know  as  well.  Each 
of  these  countless  universes  has  grown  from  small  to 
greater,  and  the  bulk  of  them  has  been  added  to  by  seeds 
dropped  down  upon  them  out  of  the  boundless  space;  and,  in 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  25 

like  manner,  they  are  diminished  and  divided,  for  their  seeds 
get  loose,  and  the  boundless  space  receives  them  back  again. 
And  as  plants  and  animals  are  born,  increase  in  stature  and 
in  strength,  and  then  wax  old  and  die,  so  is  it  with  the  worlds 
also.  And  this  world  of  ours,  as  many  a  sign  shows  us,  is 
now  well  stricken  in  years,  and  the  time  of  its  dissolution  is 
drawing  nigh.  With  each  return  of  its  seasons  its  strength 
gets  more  feeble.  Once  goodly  crops  and  grasses  sprang 
from  the  teeming  soil  without  labour.  Now,  labour  as  we 
will,  but  a  scant  reward  is  yielded.  And  now  the  aged 
ploughman  shakes  his  head,  and  sighs  to  think  of  the  earth's 
exuberance  in  the  days  when  he  was  young.  And  the  sor- 
rowful planter  complains  of  his  shrivelled  vines,  and  wearies 
heaven  with  his  prayers,  and  comprehends  not  that  all  things 
are  gradually  wasting  away,  and  passing  -to  the  grave,  quite 
worn  out  by  age  and  length  of  days. 

BOOK   III 

INVOCATION   TO   EPICURUS 

Thou  who  wert  first  in  drowning  depths  of  night 

To  lift  aloft  so  clear  a  lamp,  whose  rays 
Strike  along  life,  and  put  the  shades  to  flight — 

Thee,  thee,  chief  glory  of  the  Grecian  race, 
I  strive  to  follow,  humbly  and  aright. 

And  my  feet  in  thy  very  footprints  place; 
Not  that  thy  rival  I  would  dare  to  be. 
But  that  I  love,  and  loving  follow  thee. 

Thy  rival!     Nay;   can   swallows   rival   swans? 

Or  thunder-footed  steeds  competitors 
Find  'mongst  the  she-goat's  gamb'ling  little  ones? 

Oh,  first  and  best  of  all  discoverers, 
We  are  but  bees  along  the  flowery  lawns. 

Who  rifle  for  our  food  thy  fields  of  verse. 
And  on  thy  golden  maxims  pause  and  prey — 
All-gold,  and  worthy  to  endure  for  aye. 

For  lo!  no  sooner  does  thy  powerful  line 
Loud  through  the  world  the  scheme  of  Nature  sing. 


26  LUCRETIUS 

Than  the  mind  hears,  and  at  that  note  of  thine 
Its  flocks  of  phantom  terrors  take  to  wing. 

The  world's  walls  rot  apart,  and  I  divine 
With  opened  eyes  the  ways  of  everything, 

And  how  through  Nature's  void  immensity 

Things  were  not,  were,  and  are,  and  cease  to  be. 

And  lo !  the  gods  appear,  the  immortal  races, 

Visible  in  the  lucent  windless  air 
That  fills  their  quiet  blest  abiding-places. 

Which  never  noisy  storm  nor  storm-clouds  dare 
To  trouble,  where  the  frost's  tooth  leaves  no  traces. 

And  downwards  no  white  falling  snowflakes  fare. 
But  on  their  lips  the  laughters  never  cease, 
Nor  want  nor  pain  invades  their  ageless  peace. 

But  on  the  other  hand  we  search  in  vain. 

For  those  swart  forms,  the  fearful  deities 
Of  Hell.    Our  vision  roams  the  whole  inane. 

But  aught  like  Acheron  it  nowhere  sees. 
And  I,  when  I  to  this  high  view  attain. 

Feel  on  my  soul  a  maddening  rapture  seize, 
And  next  a  trembling,  that  thy  hand  should  dare 
Thus  to  the  quick  to  lay  all  Nature  bare. 

And  now,  says  Lucretius,  since  I  have  shown  what  atoms 
are,  their  number,  their  shape,  and  their  motions,  and  how  all 
things  can  be  produced  out  of  them,  I  will  next  reveal  the 
nature  of  the  mind  and  soul  that  the  dream  of  Acheron  may- 
be once  and  for  all  dispelled,  which  at  present  troubles  life  to 
its  inmost  depth,  casts  a  chill  and  deathly  shade  over  our 
whole  existence,  and  leaves  a  taint  and  a  bitterness  in  every 
pleasure.  True  it  is  that  we  often  hear  men  vaunt  that  they 
have  no  fear  of  death,  and  that  the  ills  and  hardships  of  life 
are  all  they  really  flinch  from.  But  these  are  merely  boasters. 
Bring  them  into  any  trouble  or  danger,  and  you  will  see  how 
they  betake  themselves  to  their  knees,  whining  to  their  gods, 
and  forgetful  of  all  their  bravery.  Such  fearless  firmness  as 
these  men  feign  to  have,  can  be  given  only  by  knowledge  and 
calm  reason.     Listen  to  me,  then,  and  I  will  lead  you  to  it : — 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  27 

First,  then,   I   say  the  mind,   which  often  we 

Call  also  understanding,  wherein  dwells 
The  power  that  rules  our  whole  vitality, 

Is  part  of  man,  as  is  whatever  else 
Goes  to  make  up  his  frame,  as  hands,  feet,  knees; 

Nor  is  it,  as  a  foolish  Greek  school  tells, 
A  harmony  of  all  the  members,  spread 
As  health  is,  everywhere  from  feet  to  head. 

But  it  resides  in  one  particular  place,  just  as  sight,  hearing, 
and  smell  do.  Lucretius  here  goes  on  in  detail  to  explain  the 
nature  of  the  mind,  how  it  is  connected  with  the  vital  soul, 
and  how  the  two  are  connected  with  the  body,  how  they  gov- 
ern it  and  are  contained  by  it,  how  the  former  is  seated  in 
heart,  and  how  the  latter  pervades  the  whole  frame.  He 
then  describes  how  the  mind  touches  the  soul  and  moves  it, 
and  how  the  soul  in  turn  touches  the  body ;  and  from  this  he 
argues  that  they  must  of  necessity  be  corporeal,  for  where 
there  is  no  corporeality,  there  is  no  touch.  With  first  begin- 
nings, then,  he  says,  interlaced  from  their  earliest  birth,  are 
mind  and  body  fashioned,  and  gifted  with  a  life  of  joint  part- 
nership; and  it  is  plain  that  the  faculty  of  the  body  and  of 
the  mind  cannot  feel  separately,  each  alone  without  the 
power  of  the  other,  but  sense  is  kindled  throughout  our  flesh 
and  blown  into  a  flame  between  the  two,  by  joint  motions  on 
the  part  of  both. 

And  now  (he  goes  on)  I  will  show  you  that  mind  and  soul 
are  mortal;  and  in  what  I  have  now  to  say,  remember  that 
I  still  use  the  words  mind  and  soul  indifferently,  and  that 
what  I  say  of  the  one  will  apply  in  the  same  way  to  the  other, 
since  both  make  up  one  thing,  and  are  one  single  substance. 
First  of  all,  then,  remember  of  how  fine  a  substance  I  have 
shown  the  soul  to  be,  and  how  far  more  sensitive  than  any 
other  thing, — 

More  than  a  drifting  smoke,  or  ductile  river; 

For  even  shapes  of  mists  and  smoke  in  dreams. 
Soon  as  they  touch  the  mind  will  make  it  quiver. 

As  when  in  sleep  the  votive  altar  steams 
Before  our  sight;  for  even  dreams  like  these 
Come  from  the  touch  of  films  and  images. 


28  LUCRETIUS 

Well,  then,  since  you  see  that  water  is  scattered  when  the 
vessel  that  held  it  is  broken,  and  the  mists  melt  away  into  the 
air,  how  can  you  doubt  that  the  soul  will  one  day  do  likewise 
when  its  body  goes  to  pieces?  Again,  we  see  that  the  mind 
is  born  with  the  body,  grows  strong  with  the  body,  and  also 
with  the  body  once  more  grows  frail  and  feeble: — 

It  follows  then  that  when  this  life  is  past, 
It  goes  an  outcast  from  the  body's  door. 

And  dies  like  smoke  along  the  driving  blast. 
We  with  the  flesh  beheld  it  born  and  rise 
To  strength;  and  with  the  flesh  it  fades  and  dies. 

And  now  consider  this  too.  The  body  is  subject  to  many 
diseases,  and  with  many  of  these  the  soul  is  affected  also. 
Often  the  reason  wanders,  often  the  reason  is  for  a  time 
quite  slain.  Such  loss  of  reason  comes  from  the  powers  of 
the  mind  and  soul  being  dissevered,  and  riven  and  forced 
asunder  by  the  same  baneful  malady  as  the  body  is.  What 
shall  we  think  then? — 

Even  in  the  body  thus  the  soul  is  troubled 
And  scarce  can  hold  its  fluttering  frame  together; 

How  should  it  live  then,  when,  with  force  redoubled, 
Naked  it  feels  the  air  and  angry  weather? 

Again,  Lucretius  goes  on,  seeds  of  the  soul  are  evidently 
left  in  the  body  after  death,  because  w'orms  and  living  things 
are  bred  out  of  it.  And  a  soul  that  can  be  thus  divided  cannot 
be  immortal.  For  it  is  impossible  to  think  that  each  of  these 
worms  has  an  immortal  soul  of  its  own,  that  immediately  at 
the  birth  of  its  body  makes  its  way  into  it,  and  that  thus  many 
thousands  of  souls  meet  together  in  a  place  from  which  one 
has  been  withdrawn,  and  either  find  bodies  ready  made  for 
them,  or  set  each  about  making  a  body  for  itself.  This  is 
glaringly  absurd : — 

For  why  should  souls,  if  they  can  cast  away 
Their  mortal  carcasses,  and  still  live  on,  i 

Thus  toil  to  build  themselves  a  den  of  clay? 
Since  when  with  bodies  they  are  clothed  upon 


THE    NATURE  OF    THINGS  29 

They  straight  grow  heirs  to  sickness  and  decay, 

And  through  them  all  the  body's  grief  has  gone. 
Nor  for  themselves  could  souls  contrive  to  build 
Such  prison-pens,  how  much  soe'er  they  willed. 

Lucretius  here  brings  forward  several  other  arguments, 
and  then  he  once  more  thus  returns  to  this  one : — 

Again,  when  creatures'  bodies  are  preparing, 
Sure  we  should  laugh  to  see  the  souls  stand  by — 

Bands  of  immortals  at  each  other  glaring 
About  that  mortal  house  in  rivalry, 

Each  longing  he  may  be  the  first  to  fare  in. 
And  each  braced  up  to  push  his  best  and  try. 

Unless  they  settle  it  on  this  condition, 

That  who  comes  first  shall  have  the  first  admission. 

Again,  if  more  arguments  are  still  needed,  for  everything 
there  is  a  fixed  place  appointed ;  nor  do  fishes  live  in  the  land, 
trees  in  the  clouds,  nor  the  sap  of  trees  in  stones.  And  thus 
the  nature  of  mind  cannot  come  into  being  without  the  body, 
nor  exist  away  from  it.  And  therefore,  when  the  body  has 
died,  we  must  admit  that  the  soul  is  perished.  Every  argu- 
ment points  to  this  conclusion.  We  cannot  doubt  it ;  we  can- 
not escape  from  it.  Analogy,  observation,  and  common- 
sense,  all  point  the  same  way,  and  confirm  us  in  a  complete 
certitude : — • 

Death  is  for  us  then  but  a  noise  and  name. 
Since  the  mind  dies,  and  hurts  us  not  a  jot; 

As  in  bygone  times  when  Carthage  came 
To  battle,  we  and  ours  were  troubled  not. 

Nor  heeded  though  the  whole  earth's  shuddering  frame 
Reeled  with  the  stamp  of  armies,  and  the  lot 

Of  things  was  doubtful,  to  which  lords  should  fall 

The  land  and  seas  and  all  the  rule  of  all; 

So,  too,  when  we  and  ours  shall  be  no  more. 

And  there  has  come  the  eternal  separation 
Of  flesh  and  spirit,   which,   conjoined   before, 

Made  us  ourselves,  there  will  be  no  sensation; 


30  LUCRETIUS 

We  should  not  hear  were  all  the  world  at  war; 

Nor  shall  we,  in  its  last  dilapidation, 
When  the  heavens  fall,  and  earth's  foundations  flee. 
We  shall  nor  feel,  nor  hear,  nor  know,  nor  see. 

And  even — if  for  a  moment  we  may  imagine  the  impossi- 
ble— even  should  the  soul  still  survive  the  body,  what  is  that 
to  us  ?  For  we  are  neither  soul  nor  body,  but  we  are  a  single 
being  fashioned  out  of  the  wedlock  of  the  two.  Nor,  again, 
if  time  should  gather  up  our  matter  after  death,  and  again 
remould  it  into  the  very  beings  we  now  are,  that  is  nothing  to 
us,  when  once  the  chain  of  our  consciousness  has  been  snapped 
asunder.  Perhaps  we  may  have  existed  before:  that  gives 
us  no  sorrow.  Suppose  we  can  exist  again:  this  need  give 
us  no  more  trouble  than  that. 

Therefore,  when  you  see  a  man  bemoaning  his  hard  case, 
that  after  death  his  body  will  either  rot  in  the  grave,  or  be 
consumed  by  fire,  or  be  torn  by  wild  beasts,  the  sound  his 
mouth  gives  forth  betrays  a  f^aw  somewhere.  He  does  not 
really  grant  the  conclusion  he  professes  to  grant.  He  has  not 
with  his  whole  mind  realised  that  he  will  wholly  die.  The 
inveterate  fancy  still  clings  to  him  that  there  will  still  be  a 
surviving  something,  that  living  will  lament  about  its  own 
death ; — 

Perplexed  he  argues,  from  the  fallacy 

Of  that  surviving  self  not  wholly  freed. 
Hence  he  bewails  his  bitter  doom — to  die; 

Nor  does  he  see  that  when  he  dies  indeed. 
No  second  he  will  still  remain  to  cry, 

Watching  its  own  cold  body  burn  or  bleed. 
O  fool !  to  fear  the  wild-beast's  ravening  claw. 
Or  that  torn  burial  of  its  mouth  and  maw. 

For  lo !  if  this  be  fearful,  let  me  learn 

Is  it  more  fearful  than  if  friends  should  place 

Thy  decent  limbs  upon  the  pyre  and  burn 
Sweet  frankincense?  or  smother  up  thy  face 

With  honey  in  the  balm-containing  urn? 
Or  if  you  merely  lay  beneath  the  rays 

Of  heaven  on  some  cold  rock?  or  damp  and  cold 

If  on  thine  eyelids  lay  a  load  of  mould? 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  31 

"Thou  not  again  shalt  see  thy  dear  home's  door, 
Nor  thy  dear  wife  and  children  come  to  throw 

Their  arms  round  thee,  and  ask  for  kisses  more. 
And  through  thy  heart  make  quiet  comfort  go: 

Out  of  thy  hands  hath  slipped  the  precious  store 
Thou  hoardest  for  thine  own,"  men  say,  "  and  lo. 

All  thou  desired  is  gone !  "  but  never  say, 

"  All  the  desires  as  well  hath  passed  away." 

Ah !  could  they  only  see  this,  and  could  borrow 
True  words,  to  tell  what  things  in  death  abide  thee ! 

"Thou  shalt  lie  soothed  in  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow, 
Nor  ever  cark  nor  care  again  betide  thee: 

Friend,  thou  wilt  say  thy  long  good-bye  to  sorrow, 
And  ours  will  be  the  pangs,  who  weep  beside  thee, 

And  watch  thy  dear  familiar  body  burn, 

And  leave  us  but  the  ashes  and  the  urn." 

Often,  too,  at  feasts  men  say,  as  they  drink,  and  wreatlie 
their  garlands  round  them,  "  Miserable  creatures  that  we  are! 
our  joys  are  short;  they  will  soon  be  part  and  parcel  of  the 
past,  and  the  past  never  gives  its  own  back  again."  As  if 
after  death  they  would  ever  know  thirst,  and  be  pining  for 
the  wine-cup  that  will  never  more  be  allowed  them! 

Once  more,  could  Nature  only  speak  to  us,  how  would 
she  deride  us  foolish  mortals  and  reprove  us !  "  Fools,"  she 
would  say,  "  and  sickly  sorrowers  I  why  bemoan  and  wail  for 
death  in  this  wise?  For  say  thy  past  life  has  been  welcome 
to  thee,  and  all  its  joys  have  not  been  given  in  vain,  passing 
through  thee  like  a  leaky  vessel  that  refuses  to  be  filled — say 
thou  hast  had  thy  will  and  thy  fill  of  living : — 

Why  not  rise  up  then,  like  a  sated  guest. 
And  enter,  fool,  upon  thy  dreamless  rest? 

But  if,  on  the  contrary,  life  has  been  a  sorrow  to  thee,  and 
all  the  blessings  that  have  been  thine  thou  hast  squandered, 
why  seek  to  re-begin  the  weary  round,  and  to  gather  what 
again  thou  wilt  waste  and  squander  as  before?  For  hope  not 
to  find  anything  new.  There  is  no  other  pleasure  that  I  can 
contrive  or  discover  for  thee : 


32  LUCRETIUS 

For  though  thy  life  be  fresh  within  thy  frame, 
Nor  years  have  yet  thy  bodily  strength  abated, 

You  would  find  all  things  alway  still  the  same, 
Nor  e'er  discover  one  thing  new  created — 

Nor  shouldst  thou  live  till  all  men's  lives  be  done, 

For  there  is  no  new  thing  beneath  the  sun. 

Think,  too,  of  the  bygone  antiquity  of  the  everlasting  time 
before  our  birth,  how  that  was  nothing  to  us.  For  nature 
holds  up  to  us  the  time  that  was  before  us,  as  a  vision  of  the 
future  time  that  is  to  come  after  us. 

Look  in  the  glass  then.     Say  what  shape  is  there? 

Appears  there  aught  of  terrible  or  sad? 
Does  not  the  image  that  you  gaze  at  seem 
Even  gentler  than  a  sleep  without  a  dream. 

Sure  enough,  however,  the  terrors  men  dread  after  death 
are  not  all  vain  imaginings.  Birds  truly  eat  a  way  into 
Tityos;  Sisyphus  rolls  his  stone  up-hill  for  ever.  But  he  is  a 
Tityos,  who,  as  he  grovels  in  lust,  is  eaten  up  by  anguish 
like  a  vulture;  and  he  is  a  Sisyphus  who  is  for  ever  asking 
honours  of  the  people,  and  is  for  ever  going  back  disap- 
pointed. The  torments  that  we  dreamed  of  in  the  future 
have  their  real  being  here,  and  men  inflict  them  on  them- 
selves, in  this  very  life  around  us. 

Ah!  might  men  only  see  the  real  cause  of  their  sorrows, 
how  salvation  would  then  dawn  on  them!  The  man  who  is 
sick  of  home  hurries  forth  from  his  lordly  porticos,  and  then, 
again,  hurries  back,  finding  he  is  no  better  off  abroad.  In 
the  town  he  says,  Ah,  would  I  were  in  the  country!  and  in  the 
country.  Ah,  would  I  were  in  the  town!  and  to  and  fro 
between  the  two  he  goes  hurrying  in  his  chariot,  and  at  each 
end  of  his  journey  he  can  do  nothing  but  yawn  for  weariness. 
In  this  way  each  man  flies  from  himself,  but  can  never  for 
a  moment  escape;  and  he  hates  himself,  being  sick  with  an 
unknown  malady.  But  could  he  only  see  the  matter  rightly, 
leaving  all  else,  he  would  study  the  nature  of  things ;  and 
learning  that  certain  extinction  and  death  is  the  end  of  all, 
would  learn  so  to  order  his  life  accordingly. 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  33 

BOOK  IV 

And  now  since  I  have  shown  you  what  mind  and  soul  is, 
and  how  hfe  is  born  with  this  body,  and  dies  with  the  body's 
death,  I  will  go  on  to  explain  to  you  a  matter  of  the  utmost 
moment;  I  will  show  you  how  we  see,  and  feel,  and  taste, 
and  how  our  life  is  connected  with  and  knows  the  external 
world.  And  hard  though  the  subject  be,  I  will  make  it  sweet 
to  you,  overlaying  all  its  bitterness  with  the  sweet  honey  of 
the  Muses. 

Lucretius  now  goes  on  to  explain  how  films  and  images 
are  perpetually  streaming  off  the  surface  of  things,  and  illus- 
trates this  by  many  analogies.  For  without  doubt,  he  says, 
we  see  many  things  freely  giving  such  discharge,  not  from  the 
centre  only,  but  from  the  outer  surface  itself. 

This  daily  happens,  when  the  sunlight  gleams 

Through  those  broad  awnings,  yellow,  red,  and  blue, 

Which  flap  and  flutter  on  their  poles  and  beams 
Over  great  theatres:  for  there  you  view 

How  from  their  surface  down  their  colour  streams. 
And  how  they  make  to  flicker  with  their  hue 

The  curving  crowd,  and  all  the  scene's  recesses. 

And  the  grave  fathers  in  their  stately  dresses. 

And  all  the  more  the  narrowing  walls  around 

Make  of  the  theatre  a  well  of  night. 
So  much  more  gaily  do  the  colours  bound, 

And  every  object  laughs  with  wayward  light. 

And  therefore,  he  says,  since  sheets  of  canvas  discharge 
colour  from  their  surface,  all  things  will  naturally  discharge 
their  pictures  too — since,  in  each  case  alike  they  are  sent  forth 
from  the  surface.  Nor  are  you  to  suppose  that  only  those 
images  are  going  through  the  air,  which  are  thus  sent  off  the 
surface  of  things.  There  are  other  images,  with  no  counter- 
parts, which  spontaneously  beget  and  fashion  themselves,  as 
clouds  do,  and  wander  along  as  clouds  do,  with  ever-varying 
and  inconstant  shape.  For  the  clouds  in  this  way  we  can  see 
continually 


34  LUCRETIUS 

Fanning  the  air,  and,  gathering  form  on  high, 
Blot  out  the  blue,  and  violate  the  sky; 

Then  through  the  air  in  shifting  shapes  are  born: 
Now  see  we  monstrous  giants  hurrying  past, 

Who  trail  behind  them  lengths  of  shade  forlorn; 
And  now  great  mountains  move  along  the  blast, 

And  crags  and  boulders  from  the  mountains  torn. 
By  which  the  sun's  dimmed  face  is  overcast; 

And  now  some  mighty  beast  comes  on  amain 

With  packs  of  other  storm-clouds  in  its  train. 

And  now  I  will  go  on  to  show  with  what  ease  and  celerity 
the  images  or  idols  that  I  spoke  of  are  begotten,  and  how  in- 
cessantly they  flow  and  fall  away  from  things.  Hereupon  he 
explains  more  minutely  the  nature  of  these  emanations,  how 
fine  their  substance  is,  and  consequently  with  what  swiftness 
they  are  capable  of  moving: — 

For  we  observe  that  things  of  little  weight 
Are  ever  swift  to  move,  of  the  which  kind 

The  sunlight  is,  which  does  not  hesitate. 
Ever  pressed  on  by  fresh  light  from  behind. 

To  force  its  way,  and  nimbly  penetrate 
Through  all  the  space  of  air. 

And  these  idols  or  images  of  things  are  in  their  move- 
ments as  swift  as  sunlight,  and  can  pass  through  air  as  read- 
ily,— nay,  they  must  be  even  swifter;  for  the  stars  are  farther 
from  us  than  the  sun,  and  yet 

No  sooner  is  the  shine  of  water  spread 
In  the  night  air,  beneath  heaven's  glittering  plain. 

Than  instantly  to  every  star  o'erhead 
A  star  within  the  wave  responds  again. 

Therefore,  again  and  again,  I  repeat,  you  must  admit  that 
bodies,  capable  of  striking  the  eyes  and  provoking  vision,  are 
constantly  travelling  through  the  air  with  a  marvellous 
velocity.  But  because  we  can  see  with  the  eyes  alone,  the  con- 
sequence is,  that  to  whatever  point  we  turn  our  sight,  then  all 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  35 

the  same  things  meet  and  strike  us  with  their  shape  and  colour. 
Lucretius  now  goes  on  to  explain  the  manner  in  which  we  in- 
fer the  distance  of  things,  and  then  the  action  of  mirrors,  and 
the  real  nature  of  the  reflection  in  them.  He  then  passes  to 
optical  delusions,  and  the  various  ways  in  which  it  seems  that 
our  eyes  deceive  us : — 

Now  for  this  cause  the  far  towers  of  a  town 

Reach  us  as  round,  when  they  indeed  are  square; 

The  angles  of  their  films  are  quite  worn  down 
In  drifting  towards  us  through  the  length  of  air; 

And  when  they  meet  us,  those  strong  things  of  stone 
Seem  smooth  and  circular,  as  though  they  were 

Turned  in  a  lathe;  but  vaguely  thus  appear, 

And  like  a  shadowy  sketch  of  round  things  near. 

And  there  are  nuinberless  other  like  cases  as  well,  but  they 
can  be  all  explained  satisfactorily,  and  we  must  never  for  a 
moment  admit  that  our  eyes  deceive  us.  The  frailty,  the 
sense  of  deception,  is  really  in  the  mind.  Do  but  think  of  the 
following  instances,  and  you  will  see  that  this  is  so: — 

The  ship  in  which  we  sail  seems  standing  still. 
The  ship  that  rides  at  anchor  drifting  by; 

And,  as  we  hold  to  seaward,  field  and  hill 
Seem  to  drop  far  astern;  and  in  the  sky 

The  stars  we  steer  by  seem  immovable. 
And  yet  go  moving  on  assiduously, 

Since  each  clear  body  has  its  hour  to  rise, 

And  its  long  road  to  rest  across  the  skies. 

And  as  we  watch  the  sun  and  moon,  their  light 
Seems  also  fixed,  yet  still  moves  on  we  know: 

And  when  on  deck  we  watch  with  straining  sight. 
Up  from  the  sea-line  shadowy  mountains  go. 

Into  one  solid  isle  their  shapes  unite, 

And  yet  we  know  huge  straits  between  them  flow, 

And  ways  for  fleets.     And  giddy  children  view. 

When  they  stop  turning,  all  things  turning  too. 

So,  too,  the  sun  seems  near  us  when  it  rises,  and  yet 
illimitable  lands  and  seas  and  unknown  people  lie  between. 


36  LUCRETIUS 

A  puddle  of  not  a  finger's  depth  seems  to  contain  the  whole 
great  heaven.  As  we  pause  on  horseback  in  a  river-ford,  the 
river  seems  to  be  standing  still,  and  ourselves  to  be  carried 
violently  up  the  stream.  A  portico  is  supported  on  equal 
pillars,  and  yet  as  we  look  through  it  their  height  seems  to  be 
dwindling,  and  the  floor  seems  to  be  rising,  till  they  meet  in  a 
vanishing-point.  Oars  we  know  to  be  straight;  and  yet  dip 
them  in  the  water,  and  their  submerged  part  will  seem  to  be 
bent  and  broken: — 

So,  too,  we  seem  when  chained  in  sleep  profound 

To  move  in  daylight,  footing  field  and  hill. 
Sailing  new  seas,  and  treading  alien  ground; 

And  when  the  earnest  night  is  deep  and  still. 
Our  ears  are  loud  with  many  a  fancied  sound. 

And  many  other  marvellous  things  are  there,  which  would 
seek  to  shake  the  credit  of  the  senses :  but  in  vain ;  for  it  is 
not  the  senses  that  deceive  us,  but  we  who  deceive  ourselves, 
by  wrongly  interpreting  what  they  rightly  tell  us.     Again — 

If  a  man  hold  that  nothing  can  be  known, 

He  knows  not  whether  he  can  know  this  even. 

Since  he  admits  the  things  he  knows  are  none. 
He  stands  with  head  on  earth,  and  feet  in  heaven. 

And  I  decline  to  talk  with  such  an  one. 

No — such  scepticism  as  this  is  utterly  suicidal.  The 
senses  are  all  we  can  take  our  stand  on,  and  they  are  unerring 
guides. 

And  now,  says  Lucretius,  I  will  explain  the  action  of  the 
sther  senses.  Sounds,  in  the  first  place,  are  streams  of  atoms, 
whose  shape  varies  with  the  quality  of  the  sound : — • 

Nor  are  the  first  beginnings  of  like  form 
Which  pierce  the  ears  in  crabbed  sounds  and  sweet. 

As  when  in  air  the  braying  trumpets  storm 
Which  rouse  barbarian  nations  to  their  feet, 

And  when  its  carol  comes  from  the  wild  swan 

Over  the  headlong  floods  of  Helicon. 


THE   NATURE  OF   THINGS  37 

When  we  speak,  we  force  our  voices  out  of  the  depth  of 
our  bodies,  and  the  tongue  gives  their  shape  to  them  just  as 
they  are  leaving  our  Hps.  Words  travel  a  certain  distance 
keeping  their  clear  shape;  gradually  this  becomes  obliterated. 
No  sooner  is  a  voice  uttered,  than  it  starts  asunder  into  many 
voices ;  and  this  is  the  way  in  which  a  whole  assembly  hears 
the  words  of  a  single  speaker.  Voices  which  do  not  strike 
directly  on  the  ear  are  carried  away  and  lost,  or  else  striking 
on  something  solid  are  thrown  back  again: — 

Which  knowing,  you  may  to  yourself  explain, 

And  to  your  friends  the  explanation  tell, 
How  it  is  that  the  rocks  give  back  again 

Our  syllables  in  many  a  lonely  dell; 
And  how,  when  in  the  dusk  we  call  in  vain 

For  our  strayed  friends,  the  hills  grow  voluble. 
And  their  familiar  names  are  tossed  about 
From  slope  to  slope  in  many  a  lipless  shout. 

I  have  seen  places  where  to  one  such  call. 

Straight  six  or  seven  voices  would  reply. 
In  such  a  wise  did  every  rocky  wall 

One  to  the  other  make  our  utterance  fly; 
And  then  the  others,  likewise,  one  and  all 

Would  toss  them  back  in  answer  presently. 
In  spots  like  these,  the  village  people  tell 
That  the  shy  nymphs  and  goat-foot  satyrs  dwell. 

And  there,  too,  say  they,  lurk  the  haunting  fauns, 
Who  make  strange  noises  through  the  night  profound, 

Playing  quaint  pranks  amongst  the  shadowy  lawns, 
With  twangling  lyres,  and  pipes  of  plaintive  sound. 

Also,  they  hear  god  Pan,  when  spring-time  dawns, 
Come,  that  wild  head  of  his  with  pine-boughs  bound. 

To  touch  the  reeds  with  crooked  mouth,  and  fling 

Their  song  of  sylvan  music  to  the  spring. 

Now,  to  proceed,  you  need  not  wonder  how 

It  is  that  voices  come  and  beat  the  ears 
Through  things  through  which  the  eyesight  cannot  go. 

Because  of  this  the  reason  plain  appears — 
XI— 4 


38  LUCRETIUS 

Full  many  a  thing  that  lets  the  voice  gC/  through. 

The  visual  film  to  thousand  pieces  tears, 
'Tis  of  so  fine  a  texture. 

Lucretius  now  proceeds  to  give  that  account  of  the  re- 
maining senses,  of  dreams,  of  the  imagination,  and  of  the  way 
in  which  external  things  act  as  a  stimulus  to  the  mind,  and  the 
mind  again  acts  as  a  stimulus  to  the  body,  which  has  been  al- 
ready explained  at  length.  He  then  goes  on  to  describe  the 
nature  of  love,  which  he  treats  of  simply  as  a  form  of  physical 
excitement.  This  pleasure,  he  says,  is  for  us  Venus;  from 
that  desire  is  the  Latin  name  of  love — from  that  desire  has 
first  trickled  into  the  heart  yon  drop  of  Venus's  honeyed  joy, 
destined  to  be  followed  soon  by  chilly  care.  For  though  that 
which  you  yearn  for  is  away,  yet  images  of  it  are  at  hand, 
and  its  sweet  name  is  present  to  the  ears.  But  it  is  meet  to 
fly  such  images,  and  scare  away  all  that  feeds  love,  and  not 
keep  your  thoughts  set  upon  one  object,  and  so  lay  up  for 
yourself  care  and  unfailing  pain.  For  the  sore  gathers 
strength,  and  becomes  inveterate  by  feeding.  For  love,  says 
Lucretius,  is  a  fierce  madness,  a  hungry  longing,  that  will  be 
satiated,  and  will  always  leave  you  craving.  For  its  sake 
young  men  waste  their  strength  and  ruin  themselves,  and  their 
whole  life  is  passed  at  the  beck  of  another : — 

Meanwhile  their  substance  wastes  and  runs  away 

Turned  into  coverlets  from  Babylon; 
Their  duties  are  neglected  day  by  day. 

And  all  their  noble  name  is  quite  undone. 
Meanwhile  upon  her  brow  green  emeralds  play. 

Glancing  in  gold,  and  shoes  from  Sicyon 
Deck  her  elastic  feet ;  and  tears  and  traces 
Are  on  her  crumpled  robe  of  love's  embraces. 

And  all  the  wealth  their  good  sires  toiled  to  gain 

Changes  to  head-gear,  and  rich  anadem, 
And  Cean  robes  with  trailing  sweep  of  train. 

And  feasts,  and  goblets  thick  with  many  a  gem, 
And  unguents,  games,  and  garlands.    All  in  vain ! 

They  have  their  canker  in  the  heart  of  them, 
A  bitter  something,  in  the  midmost  hours 
Of  joy,  starts  up,  and  stings  amongst  the  flowers. 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  39 

Either  because  they  burn  to  see  how  they 

In  foul  embraces  and  effeminate 
Slay  their  own  selves,  and  waste  their  strength  away; 

Or  else  the  dainty  lips,  on  whom  their  fate 
Hangs,  some  slight  word  of  doubtful  meaning  say, 

Which  stings  their  heart  like  fire ;  or  soon  or  late 
They  think  her  eyes  are  roaming,  to  beguile 
Others,  and  catch  the  footprints  of  a  smile. 

And  these  evils  are  the  evils  of  love  when  it  is  successful. 
How  much  greater  are  those  of  love  that  is  crossed  and  hope- 
less! So  that  it  is  best  to  watch  beforehand,  that  you  be 
never  entangled  in  the  snare.  And  yet  even  when  you  are 
entangled  you  may  escape,  unless  you  stand  in  your  own 
way,  and  refuse  resolutely  to  observe  all  those  vices  of  mind 
and  body  which  you  may  be  quite  sure  will  abound  in  her, 
woo  whom  you  will.  For  this  is  what  men  do  for  the  most 
part,  blinded  by  passion,  and  attribute  to  their  loved  ones 
beauties  that  are  not  really  theirs. 

Muddy  complexions  have  a  dusky  spell, 

A  lover  says.    A  slut's  a  natural  creature, 
A  romping  hoyden  seems  a  slim  gazelle; 

A  sharp-tongued  spitfire  dazzles  like  a  meteor. 
See,  in  yon  slow  and  cumbrous  movements  dwell 

A  queenly  pride;  that  face,  without  a  feature, 
Is  strangely  touching;  and  this  fat  plump  chit 
Is,^top  to  toe,  the  very  soul  of  wit. 

Lucretius  goes  on,  something  in  the  temper  of  Pope,  to 
describe  how  diflterent  is 

Cynthia  at  her  toilet's  greasy  task. 
To  Cynthia   fragrant   at   an   evening   masque, 

and  he  draws  a  humours  contrast  between  the  scene  at  the 
toilet  indoors,  when  the  lady  is  putting  the  last  delicate  stroke 
to  her  charms,  with  her  maid  behind  her  tittering  at  the 
whole  process,  and  the  lover  outside  at  the  threshold  full  of 
yearning  for  the  adored  one,  and  thinking  sacred  for  her  sake 
the  very  house  that  holds  her. 


40  LUCRETIUS 

And  yet,  says  Lucretius  in  conclusion,  it  is  not  all  love 
that  is  thus  vain  and  deluding:  some  women  have  a  genuine 
passion  for  their  lovers  or  their  husbands;  and  often  a  wife, 
though  of  but  small  beauty,  will  by  her  gentle  manners  win 
the  heart  of  a  man,  and  custom  will  habituate  him  to  pass  his 
life  with  her,  and  love  will  set  its  mark  on  his  heart  at  last, 
as  dripping  water  will  at  last  make  a  hole  in  a  stone. 

BOOK  V 

TO    EPICURUS 

Where  is  the  bard  whose  verse  avails  to  tell 

Of  themes  like  these — of  Nature's  ways  sublime? 

Or  who  shall  so  the  power  of  verse  compel 
As  fitly  to  resound  his  praise  in  rhyme. 

Who  all  those  spoils,  that  to  his  own  hand  fell, 
Hath  left  us  as  an  heirloom  for  all  time. 

Making  us  wise  for  ever?     Truly  none, 

Unless  indeed  it  be  a  god  alone.  , 

For,  Memmius,  if  'tis  pleasing  in  thine  eyes 
To  speak  the  plain  unvarnished  truth  of  things, 

The  author  of  these  great  discoveries — 
He  was  a  god  of  gods,  a  king  of  kings. 

For  first  through  him  men  grew  what  men  call  wise. 
And  from  him  every  rule  of  prudence  springs. 

Who  towed  our  life  out  of  the  storms  and  night. 

And  moored  us  in  the  tranquil  calm  and  light. 

What,  compared  to  his  discoveries,  are  those  of  other  dis- 
coverers? Ceres,  it  is  said,  gave  corn  to  us,  and  Bacchus 
wine.  But  we  could  have  lived  on  happily  without  either  of 
these,  and  many  a  nation  does  so  even  now.  But  unless  the 
breast  is  clear,  no  life  can  be  happy;  and  hence  he,  Epicurus 
our  mighty  master,  is  rightly  held  a  god  by  us,  since  from  him 
come  those  sweet  mental  solaces  which  are  even  now  spread- 
ing in  the  world,  and  soothing  the  hearts  of  men. 

Yea,  and  our  master  therefore  did  far  more 
Than  vaunted  Hercules.    For  how  should  we 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  41 

Fear  the  Nem«an  lion's  rage  and  roar. 
Or  that  great  bull  in  Crete  beyond  the  sea. 

Or  all  the  bristles  of  the  Arcadian  boar. 
Or  what  to  us  could  snaky  hydras  be? 

Or  how  would  Gorgon  fight  us  from  his  gloom. 

Or  those  Stymphalian  birds  with  brazen  plume? 

Or  that  great  dragon  which  for  ever  keeps 

The  shining  fruitage  of  the  Hesperides, 
With  fierce  and  vigilant  eye  that  never  sleeps. 

Couched  'neath  the  shadow  of  the  charmed  trees. 
Whilst  round  the  midmost  stem  his  huge  coil  creeps^ 

How  should  he  harm  us  by  his  far-oflF  seas, 

The  Atlantic  shore,  and  the  abhorred  waves 
Which  even  the  wild  barbarian  never  braves? 

And  all  the  other  monsters  of  like  kind  that  have  been 
conquered,  what  harm,  I  ask,  could  they  do  us  were  they  even 
now  living?  None,  methinks — neither  these,  nor  the  like  of 
these.  But  unless  the  breast  is  cleared,  it  itself  is  full  of 
monsters;  rather  let  us  be  afraid  of  them,  and  honour  and 
glorify  him  who  put  them  first  to  rout. 

Wherefore,  walking  in  his  footsteps,  I  will  tell  you  in 
order  how  the  world  arose,  and  what  laws  it  obeyed  in  rising. 
I  will  show  you  that  it  had  a  birth,  and  that  death  is  also  in 
store  for  it.  I  will  tell  you  how  the  heaven  is  formed,  and 
the  earth  also,  the  moon  and  stars,  and  how  living  creatures 
emerged  out  of  lifeless  matter;  and  I  will  show  you  how  all 
things  are  held  and  fettered  by  immutable  laws  and  bound- 
aries : — 

Well,  not  to  dally  more  with  things  unproven. 

Look  round  you,  on  the  heaven,  the  earth,  the  sea. 
The  triple  thread  of  which  the  world  is  woven. 
Three  bodies,  Memmius,  such  a  different  three. 
A  day  shall  come  when  these  shall  all  be  cloven, 
And  all  the  things  that  are  shall  cease  to  be. 
And  blown  like  dust  upon  a  stormy  wind. 
The  whole  world  melt,  nor  leave  a  wrack  behind. 

If  you  doubt  how  this  can  be,  consider  the  power  of  earth- 
quakes, and  how  in  a  few  moments  all  things  near  are  shat- 
tered by  them : — 


42  LUCRETIUS 

But  these  may  fortune  banish  from  our  patK, 
Nor  with  such  signs  see  fit  to  assure  our  faith. 

But  before  I  go  on  to  sing  you  the  sure  oracle,  the  doom 
and  the  destruction  that  await  this  whole  universe,  I  will  again 
pause  a  moment  and  sustain  your  trembling  mind,  lest  relig- 
ion should  still  make  you  think  that  the  world  will  endure  for 
ever,  and  that  all  who  should  seek  to  prove  otherwise  shall 
suffer  punishment,  like  a  fresh  race  of  Titans  labouring  to 
tmdermine  the  world.  For  what  life  or  sense  is  there  in  the 
sea,  the  sun,  the  moon,  that  they  should  heed  or  hear  what 
men  say  about  them?  How  can  they  possibly  have  any  life 
or  passions  in  them?  For  we  have  seen  what  life  is.  It  can- 
not exist  without  a  fleshly  body ;  and  even  in  that  body  it  can 
live  only  in  a  certain  part. 

Then,  too,  you  cannot  possibly  believe  that  the  gods  exist 
in  any  parts  of  the  world.  Their  fine  nature  is  far  with- 
drawn from  our  senses;  the  mind  itself  hardly  sees  th^m. 
We  cannot  touch  them;  and  how  then,  I  ask  you,  shall  they 
touch  us?  What  folly,  too,  to  say  that  the  gods  have  made 
the  world,  and  set  it  in  order,  and  arranged  it  for  the  use  of 
man?  In  the  first  place,  what  could  possibly  induce  them  to 
take  such  trouble? — 

What  could  they  gain  from  such  a  race  as  ours? 

Or  what   advantage  could  our  gratitude 
Yield  these  immortal  and  most  blessed  powers. 

That  they  in  aught  should  labour  for  our  good? 

Or  what  new  incident  could  have  broken  in  upon  them, 
and  made  them  desirous  to  change  their  former  life?  Or 
even  if  they  wanted  to  make  a  world,  where  did  they  find  any 
pattern  to  work  by,  and  how  did  they  set  about  the  business? 
or  how,  again,  did  they  ascertain  the  world-making  capabili- 
ties of  the  atoms,  unless  Nature  herself,  mother  of  the  gods, 
had  shown  the  gods  all  that  she  herself  could  do? 

But  even  had  the  science  ne'er  been  mine 

Of  first  beginnings,  and  how  all  began, 
I  could  show  clearly  that  no  power  divine 

Helped  at  the  work,  and  made  the  world  for  man; 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  43 

So  great  the  blunders  in  the  vast  design, 

So  palpably  is  all  without  a  plan. 
For  if  'twere  made  for  us,  its  structure  halts 
In  every  member,  full  of  flaws  and  faults. 


Look  at  the  earth ;  mark  then,  in  the  first  place. 
Of  all  the  ground  the  rounded  sky  bends  over, 

Forests  and  mountains  fill  a  mighty  space, 
And  even  more  do  wasteful  waters  cover. 

And  sundering  seas;  then  the  sun's  deadly  rays 
Scorch  part,  and  over  part  the  hard  forests  hover; 

And  Nature  all  the  rest  with  weeds  would  spoil, 

Unless  man  thwarted  her  with  wearying  toil. 

Mark,  too,  the  babe,  how  frail  and  helpless,  quite 

Naked  it  comes  out  of  its  mother's  womb, 
A  waif  cast  hither  on  the  shores  of  light. 

Like  some  poor  sailor,  by  the  fierce  sea's  foam 
Washed  upon  land;  it  lies  in  piteous  plight. 

Nor  speaks,  but  soon,  as  it  beholds  its  home. 
Bleats  forth  a  bitter  cry — oh  meet  presage 
Of  its  life  here,  its  woful  heritage! 

But  the  small  younglings  of  the  herds  and  flocks 
Are  strong,  and  batten  on  the  grass  and  dew. 

They  need  no  playthings,  none  their  cradle  rocks. 
Nor  ask  they  with  the  seasons  garments  new. 

They  have  no  need  of  walls,  and  bars,  and  locks 
To  guard  their  treasures;  but  for  ever  true 

To  them,  the  earth  her  constant  bounty  pours 

Forth  at  their  feet,  and  never  stints  her  stores. 

Lucretius  now  goes  on  to  point  out  in  detail  the  continual 
waste  of  everything  that  is  visibly  going  on  in  the  world 
around  us,  and  to  argue  from  this  that  of  the  whole  there 
must  be  one  day  a  like  dissolution.  Earth  is  for  ever  being 
dissolved  in  water,  or  broken  into  dust  and  being  whirled 
away  in  air;  water  in  its  turn  is  being  for  ever  drunk  up  by 
the  sun ;  and  the  sun  itself  is  for  ever  wasting  its  substance  in 
swift  emission  of  rays. 


44  LUCRETIUS 

So  you  may  see  at  night  such  earthly  fire, 
As  hanging  lamps,  and  torches  blazing  bright, 

Darting  their  flames  out,  as  with  keen  desire, — 
Desire,  I  say,  to  feed  the  wasting  light, 

Which  travelling,  still  doth  on  its  path  expire, 
And  would  if  not  renewed  be  broken  quite; 

But  to  the  dying  rays  succeed  fresh  rays, 

And  on  the  wall  the  light  unpausing  plays. 

Again,  too,  you  may  see  that  even  stones  are  conquered  by 
time,  high  towers  moulder  and  fall  down  crashing,  and  even 
the  mountain-summits  crumble  to  decay. 

Think  of  this,  too, — if  the  world  was  ever  born,  so  surely 
will  it  perish.  And  it  must  have  had  a  birthday — it  cannot 
have  been  from  everlasting,  or  else  some  record  would  have 
come  to  us  of  times  before  the  Theban  war  and  the  fall  of 
Pergamus. 

Again,  as  I  have  shown  that  nothing  is  solid  but  the  atoms, 
and  that  void  is  mixed  up  with  all  things,  and  that  void  and 
atoms  alone  can  resist  all  force  and  are  indestructible,  you 
may  be  certain,  you  surely  can  no  longer  doubt,  that  the  grave 
and  gate  of  death  is  gaping  for  the  whole  universe. 

Again,  I  have  just  shown  you  how  all  the  elements  of  the 
world  are  engaged  continually  in  a  fierce  intestine  war;  and 
to  this  struggle  there  must  some  day  be  an  end, — either  water, 
fire,  or  air  will  one  day  get  the  mastery,  and  then  there  will  be 
the  beginning  of  the  end.  Twice,  indeed,  even  already,  they 
feign  that  the  battle  has  been  wellnigh  ended,  and  that  water 
once  was  all  but  master;  and  once  again  that  fire  was,  when 
Phaethon  was  whirled  aloft  in  the  sun's  chariot — 

And  the  boy's  hands  let  go  the  dangling  reins. 
And  the  team  tore  across  the  ethereal  plains. 

But  the  almighty  father,  seized  with  ire. 
Launched  at  the  boy  the  all-dreaded  thunderstone ; 

And  as  he  fell,  the  Sun,  the  Sun  his  sire. 
With  rapid  hand,  from  headlong  Phaethon 

Snatched  the  world's  lamp  of  ever-burning  fire. 
And  gathered  up  the  reins,  and  one  by  one 

He  tamed  the  trembling  steeds,  and  once  again 

Mounted  his  car,  and  gave  new  life  to  men. 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  45 

And  now,  says  Lucretius,  I  will  tell  you  in  what  order 
the  present  world  evolved  itself.  And  he  goes  on  to  describe 
the  first  chaotic  atom-storm,  and  the  gradual  massing  together 
of  the  earth,  and  how  it  cast  off  from  itself  the  blue  heaven, 
as  a  kind  of  husk  or  covering,  and  then  threw  out  the  fires 
that  make  the  moon,  and  stars,  and  all  the  other  lights  that 
are  in  the  firmament.  First  an  igneous  ether,  he  says,  went 
up  from  the  earth's  surface,  which,  sweeping  round  as  fire, 
gradually  formed  the  heavens. 

And  this  same  ether  rising,  in  its  wake 

Full  many  a  seed  of  vivid  fire  up-drew. 
Thus  when  we  see  the  low  red  morning  break 

Along  the  grasses  rough  and  gemmed  with  dew. 
Does  a  grey  mist  go  up  from  off  the  lake. 

And  from  the  clear  perennial  river  too; 
And  even  at  times  the  very  meadows  seem 
From  their  green  breast  to  breathe  a  silvery  stream. 

He  now  adds  a  number  of  details  as  to  the  formation  of 
the  earth's  surface,  which  have  been  described  already;  and 
again  refers  to  the  onward  changeless  sweep  of  the  ether, 
which  keeps  on  its  even  way,  unheeding  all  the  turmoil  and 
the  storms  in  the  lower  air,  between  the  earth  and  it. 

Onward  it  ever  drives  in  changeless  sweep; 
And  how  it  still  can  so  hold  on  and  on 

The  Pontic  sea  may  teach  you,  which  doth  keep 
Ever  due  on,  nor  turns,  for  any  force, 
Its  icy  current  and  compulsive  course. 

Upon  this  follows  a  long  series  of  speculations  on  the  mo- 
tions of  the  sun  and  moon,  the  rest  of  the  heavenly  bodies, 
and  the  laws  which  govern  the  regular  recurrence  of  the  sea- 
sons, and  the  changing  duration  of  the  hours  of  light  and 
darkness. 

And  now,  he  says,  since  I  have  explained  in  what  way 
everything  might  go  on  throughout  the  blue  vault  of  heaven, 
I  will  go  back  to  the  infancy  of  the  world,  and  the  tender  age 
of  the  fields,  and  show  what,  in  their  first  attempts  at  child- 
bearing,  they  tried  to  raise. 


46  LUCRETIUS 

Up  to  the  shores  of  light,  and  gave  them  there 
Into  the  keeping  of  the  wandering  air. 

In  the  beginning,  then,   the  clods  gave  forth 
All  kinds  of  herbage,  and  a  verdant  sheen 

Was  glossy  on  the  hills ;  and  flowery  earth 

Laughed  over  all  her  meadows  glad  and  green: 

Then  bushes  next,  and  trees  of  greater  girth, 
Orderly  rising  into  air  were  seen; 

Which  things  came  forth  spontaneous  everywhere. 

Like  a  bird's  feathers  or  a  horse's  hair. 

Then  gradually,  in  the  manner  that  has  been  described  al- 
ready, the  earth  gave  birth  to  men,  and  animals,  of  the  kinds 
that  are  now  with  us: — 

But  hardier  far  than  we  were  those  first  races 
Of  men,  since  earth  herself  did  them  produce, 

And  braced  them  with  a  firmer  frame  than  braces 
Us  now,  and  strung  their  arms  with  mightier  thews. 

Nor  sun  nor  rain  on  them  left  any  traces, 
Nor  sickness.    And  they  never  learned  the  use 

Of  arts,  for  ages:  but  like  beasts  they  ran 

Wild  in  the  woods — the  early  race  of  man. 

Their  strong  arms  knew  not  how  to  guide  the  plough. 
Or  how  to  plunge  the  spade  and  till  the  plain, 

Or  from  the  trees  to  lop  the  failing  bough. 

But  what  the  sun  had  given  them,  and  the  rain, 

They  took,  and  deemed  it  luxury  enow. 
Nor  knew  they  yet  the  fatal  greed  of  gain. 

But  in  the  woods  they  sought  their  simple  store, 

And  stripped  the  trees,  and  never  asked  for  more. 

For  thick  the  acorns  in  the  forest  grew, 

And  arbute-trees  would  yield  the  berried  prize. 

Which  in  the  winter  wears  a  scarlet  hue; 
And  the  earth  bore  these  then  of  larger  size; 

And  many  another  suchlike  berry  too. 
It,  from  its  yet  unminished  granaries, 

Gave  gladly  forth,  more  than  sufficing  then 

To  appease  the  dawning  wants  of  those  poor  men. 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  47 

And  like  wild  herds  they  clustered  to  the  sound 

Of  falling  waters,  loud  in  many  a  dell, 
To  slake  their  thirst;  and  as  they  roamed,  they  found 

The  nymphs'  green  haunts,  and  there  began  to  dwell; 
For  there  sweet  waters  gushed  from  out  the  ground 

In  living  streams,  and  on  the  damp  rocks  fell — 
The  damp  rocks,  green  with  many  a  mossy  stain — 
Then  slipt  away,  and  babbled  to  the  plain. 


And  they  knew  nought  of  fire,  nor  thought  to  fling 
The  skins  of  beasts  about  their  nakedness; 

But  the  wild  wood's  roof  was  their  covering, 
Or  rugged  mountain  cave ;  and  they  would  press 

Into  the  brushwood,  from  the  buffeting 

Of  rain  and  storm,  and  all  the  weather's  stress. 

And  nothing  yet  of  rule  or  law  they  knew. 

Nor  how  to  keep  the  weal  of  all  in  view. 

Whatever  fortune  threw  in  each  man's  way. 
That  each  bore  off  and  hoarded  as  his  own. 

To  grasp  and  clutch  it  as  his  proper  prey, 
Aloof,  and  living  for  himself  alone. 

And  naked  in  the  woods  the  lovers  lay, 
And  by  her  lust  or  his  each  girl  was  won; 

Or  else  by  force ;  or  bribed,  she  heard  his  suit. 

By  little  gifts  of  acorns  or  ripe  fruit. 

And  trusting  in  their  strength  of  hands  and  feet, 
They  would  outstrip  the  wild  beasts  in  the  wood; 

And  some  to  death  with  ponderous  clubs  would  beat, 
And  hide  from  fiercer  ones,  who  sought  their  blood: 

And  just  where  night,  with  noiseless  step  and  fleet, 
O'ertook  them,  like  the  dull  sow's  bristly  brood, 

Down  on  the  ground  without  a  thought  they  lay, 

And  burrowing  in  the  leaves  slept  sound  till  day. 

And  never  waking  in  the  dark,  with  fright 
Would  they  cry  out,  amazed  for  all  the  shade. 

And  beg  the  sun  to  bring  them  back  the  light. 
But  stolid  they  would  sleep,  and  undismayed, 


48  LUCRETIUS 

Till  rosy  morning  pleased  to  climb  the  height 

Of  heaven ;  for  they,  who  from  their  birth  surveyed 
The  light  and  dark  alternate  rise  and  fall, 
Trusted  the  world,  nor  feared  the  end  of  all. 

But  this  state  of  things  did  not  last  for  ever.  Progress 
began,  and  Lucretius  here  at  length  describes  its  advancing 
stages — the  gradual  discoveries  of  fire,  of  the  use  of  the  met- 
als, of  houses,  of  law,  of  monogamy,  and  all  the  other  ele- 
ments and  influences  of  civilisation.  And  he  then  goes  on  to 
account  for  the  rise  of  religion,  attributing  it,  as  has  been 
already  said,  to  two  different  causes — the  sight  of  the  wan- 
dering images  of  the  gods'  forms,  and  also  to  ignorance  of 
the  hidden  forces  of  nature.  Then  when  once  this  conception 
of  the  gods  was  formed — 

They  gave  them  dwellings  in  the  heavenly  light, 

Far  ofif  and  calm ;  because  for  aye  appear 
Through  the  high  heaven  to  roll  the  moon  and  night, 

Moon,  day,  and  night,  and  all  night's  stars  austere. 
And  trailing  meteors,  vagrant  things  of  light, 

And  flying  fires  that  wander  far  and  near ; 
And  because  snows  and  hail  and  wind  are  there. 
And  the  hoarse  threats  that  thunder  through  the  air. 

O  hapless  race  of  men,  exclaims  Lucretius,  when  first 
they  taxed  the  gods  with  having  anything  to  do  with  this 
world  of  ours  and  its  management!  Little  knew  they  the 
terror  of  the  chains  they  were  binding  about  themselves ;  what 
wounds,  what  tears  they  were  preparing  for  their  children's 
children!  For  still  as  we  gaze  at  the  vast  world  around  us, 
the  importunate  fear  will  at  times  steal  into  our  soul,  that  the 
power  of  the  gods  may  be  unlimited;  and  religion  begins  to 
raise  its  reawakening  head. 

Having  luade  this  digression,  Lucretius  again  returns  to 
his  account  of  human  progress,  describing  the  rude,  simple 
pleasures  of  our  earliest  ancestors,  and  warning  us  that  luxu- 
ries, though  inevitably  found  out  one  after  one,  and  inevita- 
bly making  us  discontented  with  what  went  before,  have  made 
us  no  better  pleased  with  the  present,  though  they  have  made 


THE    NATURE   OF    THINGS  49 

us  displeased  with  the  past,  and  that  with  splendour  and  re- 
finement have  come  envy  and  discontent,  from  which  the  sim- 
ple savage  early  world  was  free.  Mankind,  he  says,  there- 
fore, ever  toils  vainly  and  to  no  purpose,  and  wastes  life  in 
groundless  cares,  because  men  have  never  learnt  what  is  the 
true  end  of  getting,  and  up  to  what  point  true  pleasure  waxes. 
This  by  slow  degrees  has  carried  life  out  into  the  deep  sea, 
and  stirred  up  from  their  lowest  depth  the  mighty  billows  of 
war. 

And  now  all  has  been  told, — how  time  by  degrees  brings 
each  several  thing  before  men's  eyes,  and  reason  raises  it  up 
into  the  borders  of  the  light;  for  things  in  their  due  order 
must  be  thus  advanced  and  brought  forward,  until  they  have 
arrived  at  the  summit  beyond  which  they  can  go  no  further. 


BOOK  VI 

TO   EPICURUS 

Athens  it  was,  Athens,  most  famous  name, 
Who  first  gave  corn  to  us,  sick  sons  of  earth ; 

And  taught  us  countless  arts,  and  how  to  frame 
Laws;  but  she  gave  her  gift  of  chiefest  worth. 

When  into  life  she  sent  that  man  of  fame 
Out  of  whose  mouth  the  words  of  truth  welled  forth. 

Wherefore  his  glory  through  the  world  is  spread, 

And  still  he  speaks  though  dumb,  and  lives  being  dead. 

For  when  he  saw  that  each  most  sore  distress 

And  craving  of  the  flesh  was  satisfied. 
And  men  forbore  from  wrong  and  lawlessness, 

And  life  became  secure,  and  pomp  and  pride 
And  pleasures  multiplied,  yet  none  the  less 

Each  heart  in  secret  ached,  and  each  breast  sighed. 
And  that  for  ever  in  the  mind's  despite 
Were  tears  and  pain  our  guests  from  morn  to  night; 

He  plainly  saw  that  not  the  honeyed  draught 
Of  life  itself  did  all  this  teen  afford; 

But  'twas  the  vessel  out  of  which  'twas  quaffed 
That  spoiled  whatever  into  it  was  poured; 


50  LUCRETIUS 

Partly  that  through  the  potter's  careless  craft 

It  leaked;  in  part,  that  in  its  depths  were  stored 
Some  bitter  dregs,  that  sent  a  taint  through  all 
The  sweets  it  held,  of  wormwood  and  of  gall. 

He  therefore  cleansed  men's  hearts  with  his  truth-telling 
precepts,  and  placed  a  limit  to  lust  and  fear,  and  showed 
the  chief  good  we  should  all  strive  to  reach,  and  the  narrow 
track  that  led  to  it.  And  he  showed  that  the  ills  that  plague 
men  in  this  mortal  life  were  ills  that  came  from  nature — 
from  a  blind  chance  or  force,  call  it  what  we  will.  For  the 
terror  that  heretofore  had  held  men  in  bondage,  and  indeed 
still  holds  very  many  of  them,  is  to  be  dispelled  by  reason, 
and  by  reason  only : — 

And  now,  since  I  have  shown  the  ethereal  plains 
Of  heaven  are  mortal,  and  the  earth  below. 

And  of  all  things  that  heaven  or  earth  contains 
The  life  and  movement  I  have  striven  to  show. 

The  goal  draws  near.    But  something  yet  remains 
To  tell.    I  have  another  mile  to  go: 

And  in  the  Muse's  ear  must  mount  on  high, 

'Mid  storms  and  winds,  and  tell  you  how  they  fly. 

For  foolish  mortals,  one  and  all  together, 
Say  that  the  calm  high  gods,  by  each  caprice 

Of  fretful  temper  swayed,  ordain  the  weather. 
Venting  their  rage  in  storms;  and  when  they  cease 

From  rage,  relenting  with  a  cloudless  ether. 

But  in  order  that  reason  may  drive  from  us  the  very  re- 
membrance of  such  old-wives'  tales  as  these,  and  the  unman- 
ning of  senseless  fear  that  they  would  still,  if  they  could, 
beget  in  us,  I  will  sing  to  you  of  the  law  and  aspect  of  heaven, 
and  of  the  birth  of  the  storms  and  thunders,  and  of  the  bright 
lightnings,  that  you  may  see  how  all  goes  on  by  a  fixed  un- 
bending law,  that  has  no  thought  of  man,  nor  any  care  about 
him ;  and  that  you  may  spare  your  pains,  and  never  look  to 
the  skies  for  omens,  nor  heed  a  jot  from  what  quarter  the 
volant  fire  has  fallen. 


THE    NATURE  OF   THINGS  51 

Thunder,  in  the  first  place,  is  the  produce  of  clashing 
clouds,  which  either  flap  in  the  wind  like  canvas  stretched 
and  tossing  over  theatres,  or,  filled  full  of  wind  inside,  burst 
suddenly  as  a  distended  bladder  does. 

It  lightens,  too,  when  the  clouds  have  struck  out  by  their 
collisions  many  seeds  of  fire;  but  we  hear  the  thunder  after 
we  have  seen  the  lightning,  because,  though  the  two  are  really 
simultaneous,  the  sound  travels  more  slowly  than  the  light 
does.    There  are  also  other  ways  in  which  the  clouds 

Dye  all  the  landscape  with  their  winged  light. 

And  with  a  rapid  quivering  flashes  out 
The  sailing  storm. 

For  sometimes  the  fire  is  caused,  not  by  the  clouds  them- 
selves, but  by  the  wind  working  its  way  into  them,  and  grow- 
ing hot  by  its  own  velocity.  This  takes  place,  you  must  know, 
when  the  clouds  are  very  dense,  and  are  piled  up  into  the 
heaven  to  an  unimaginable  height : — 

For  do  but  note  what  time  the  storm-wind  wild 

Comes  carrying  clouds  like  mountains  through  the  air. 

Or  on  the  mountain's  selves  the  clouds  are  piled 
Motionless,  and  each  wind  is  in  its  lair. 

Then  may  you  mark  those  mountain-masses  proud, 

And  huge  caves  built  of  hanging  rocks  of  cloud. 

Well,  it  is  through  these  cloud-mountains  that  the  storm 
raves  and  prowls,  and  pent  amongst  the  caves  and  precipices, 
howls  like  a  pack  of  wild  beasts,  and,  seeking  a  way  out,  rolls 
together  seeds  of  fire,  and  at  last  comes  bursting  out  in  forky 
flashes. 

And  now  I  will  tell  you  another  thing ; — I  will  tell  you  by 
what  law 

The  mighty  thunderbolt 
Goes  through  the  walls  of  houses  like  a  shout; 

piercing  things  that  no  earthly  fire  can  pierce — ^nay,  not  even 
the  fire  of  the  sun  in  heaven. 

Lucretius  fulfils  his  promise  at  great  length,  and  devotes 
nearly  two  hundred  lines,  of  no  great  interest,  to  his  account 


52  LUCRETIUS 

of  these  thunderbolts ;  asking  in  the  middle,  not  without  perti- 
nence, why,  if  they  were  hurled,  as  was  said  commonly,  by 
the  gods,  to  execute  their  vengeance,  so  many  of  them  fell  in 
the  seas  and  deserts,  and  why  the  rest  so  rarely  hit  the  only 
people  for  whom  they  possibly  could  have  been  intended. 

From  these  subjects  he  passes  on  to  the  laws  of  earth- 
quakes, the  way  in  which  the  sea  is  still  supplied  with  water, 
although  so  much  is  being  constantly  evaporated  off  its  sur- 
face, the  action  of  volcanoes,  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  Nile, 
and  a  variety  of  other  minor  phenomena.  He  then  at  great 
length  gives  his  explanation  of  the  action  of  the  magnet;  and 
then  suddenly  leaps  from  this  to  a  very  short  passage  on  the 
laws  of  the  propagation  of  disease,  which  he  traces  to  various 
conditions  of  climate,  and  the  perpetual  flying  about  in  the 
air  of  particles  that  are  hurtful  to  life,  when  attacking  it 
under  certain  conditions.  And  it  makes,  he  says,  no  difference 
whether  we  travel  to  places  unfavourable  to  us,  and  change 
the  atmosphere  which  wraps  us  round,  or  whether  nature 
without  our  choice  brings  to  us  an  atmosphere  unsuited  to  us, 
or  something  to  the  use  of  which  we  have  not  been  accus- 
tomed, and  which  is  able  to  attack  us  on  its  first  arrival. 

He  then,  without  more  preface,  at  once  plunges  into  a  de- 
scription of  the  great  plague  at  Athens,  borrowed  from  the 
celebrated  account  given  by  Thucydides.  Such  a  form  of  dis- 
ease, he  says,  and  a  death-fraught  miasma,  once  within  the 
borders  of  Cecrops  defiled  the  whole  land  with  dead,  and  un- 
peopled the  streets,  and  drained  the  city  of  its  citizens.  Rising 
first  and  starting  from  the  innermost  borders  of  Egypt,  hav- 
ing travelled  through  long  reaches  of  air  and  over  floating 
fields  of  sea,  the  plague  pitched  at  last  on  the  whole  people  of 
Athens : — 

The  pestilence  would  first  the  head  assail, 

And  then  the  bloodshot  eyes,  wherein  there  stood 

A  dull  set  fire;  and  next  the  throat  grew  pale 
Inside,  and  all  its  passage  blotched  with  blood. 

Then  ulcers  formed,  anon  the  voice  would  fail ; 
The  tongue,  the  spirit's  spokesman,  would  exude 

Blood  also,  and  relaxed  in  every  string. 

Lolled  in  the  mouth  a  parched  and  listless  thing. 


THE    NATURE   OF   THINGS  53 

Next  down  the  throat  the  insidious  pest  would  glide, 
And  through  the  breast  assault  the  heart's  own  door; 

Then  slowly  would  the  vital  power  subside. 
And  through  the  mouth  a  stench  begin  to  pour 

With  the  decaying  breath. 

And  so  the  description  goes  on  for  about  a  hundred  and 
twenty  lines,  adding  detail  of  this  kind  to  detail,  touching  by 
the  way  on  the  agony  and  despair  of  the  sufferers — how  no 
remedy  could  be  found  anywhere — and  at  the  appalling  spec- 
tacle— 

How  medicine  muttered  low  with  voiceless  fear. 

And  this  above  all,  says  Lucretius,  heaped  death  on  death ; 
— whenever  any  refused  to  attend  their  own  sick,  killing  neg- 
lect soon  after  would  punish  them  for  their  too  great  love  of 
life,  by  visiting  them  in  their  turn  with  as  foul  an  end,  aban- 
doned in  their  turn,  and  forlorn  of  help. 

They  too  who  stayed  to  tend  the  beds  of  death, 
Themselves  anon  were  seen  to  droop  and  die, 

Drawing  contagion  from  the  tainted  breath 
That   thanked   them   for  their  kindness   piteously. 

And  at  length  so  great  was  the  mortality,  so  many  were 
the  bodies  in  vain  crying  for  burial,  that  the  old  rites  of  sep- 
ulture continued  no  more  in  the  city,  with  which  pious  folk  of 
old  had  been  always  wont  to  be  buried:  for  everything  was 
confusion  and  dismay,  and  each  man  would  sorrowfully  bury 
his  own,  in  any  way  the  present  moment  allowed. 

And  many  a  direful  deed  did  men  do  then. 

Urged  on  by  sudden  want  and  poverty; 
For  on  the  funeral  pyres  of  other  men 

They  thrust  their  own  poor  kin  uproariously; 
And  wranglings  rose,  and  oft  their  blood  they'd  shed, 
Dogged,  and  dying  ere  they'd  leave  their  dead. 

And  with  these  lines  the  poem  of  Lucretius  ends. 

XI— 5 


THE  POEMS 

OP 

CATULLUS 

TRANSLATED  IN  THE  METRES  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  BY 

ROBINSON  ELLIS 

FELLOW   OF  TRINITY   COLLEGE,  OXFORD, 
PROFESSOR  OF   LATIN    IN    UNIVERSITY   COLLEGE,  LONDON 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTORY 

LIFE  OF  CATULLUS 

BY  THE 
REV.  JAMES  DAVIES,  M.A. 

PREBENDARY   OF   HEREFORD   CATHEDRAL;   FORMERLY  SCHOLAR 
OF  LINCOLN   COLLEGE,   OXFORD 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  LIFE  OF  CATULLUS 

BY  THE  REV.  JAMES  DAVIES,  M.A. 

Valerius  Catullus — about  whose  prsenomen  there  is 
no  evidence  to  show  whether  it  was  Caius  or  Ouintus,  and 
need  be  still  less  concern,  as  wherever  the  poet  speaks  of 
himself  in  his  poems  it  is  by  his  surname  Catullus — was  born 
B.C.  87,  and  died,  it  is  probable,  in  B.C.  54  or  53.  His  life 
and  flower  were  brief;  but  there  is  internal  evidence  to  prove 
that  he  was  alive  after  B.C.  57,  his  death-date  in  the  Eusebian 
Chronicle;  and  the  silence  of  his  muse  as  to  public  events 
immediately  subsequent  to  54  B.C.,  the  death  of  Clodius  in 
52  B.C.,  and  the  civil  wars  in  49-47  B.C.  amongst  the  number, 
forbids  the  probability  that  he  attained  a  longer  span  than 
some  thirty- four  years. 

Beyond  the  birth-date,  we  have  literally  no  souvenirs  of 
the  childhood  or  early  youth  of  Catullus,  for  he  has  recorded 
scarcely  any  admonitus  locorum,  like  Horace,  and  does  not 
deal  in  playfully-described  miracles  to  herald  the  advent  of  a 
"  divine  poet."  Born  at  Verona,  an  important  town  of  Trans- 
padane  Gaul  on  the  river  Athesis,  which  became  a  Latin  colony 
in  89  B.C.,  and  one  of  the  finest  cities  in  that  part  of  Italy,  he 
was  by  family  and  antecedents  essentially  Roman,  and  in 
education  and  tastes  must  be  regarded  as  emphatically  a  town- 
bird.  There  is  nothing  to  lead  to  the  impression  that  he  had 
the  keen  eye  of  Virgil  for  the  natural  and  sylvan  beauties 
of  his  birthplace  and  its  environs,  no  special  mention  of  its 
wine,  apples,  or  spelt.  He  does  not  indeed  utterly  ignore  the 
locality,  for  one  of  his  most  graceful  pieces  is  a  rapture 
about  Sirmio  (xxxi.),  where  he  possessed  a  villa,  no  great 
distance  from  Verona,  on  the  shores  of  the  Lago  di  Garda. 
Hither  in  his  manhood  he  returned  for  solace  after  trouble 

57 


58  INTRODUCTION 

and  disappointment;  but  it  was  probably  rather  with  a  crav- 
ing for  rest  than  from  the  love  of  nature,  which  is  not  a  key- 
note of  his  life  or  poetry. 

His  removal  to  Rome  at  an  early  age  for  his  education 
must  have  begun  the  weaning  process;  and  though  Verona 
had  its  "  capital  in  little,"  its  importance,  still  witnessed  by 
the  remains  of  an  amphitheatre  more  perfect  though  smaller 
than  the  Colosseum,  its  medley  of  inhabitants  from  the  ^ast 
and  west,  with  a  fair  share  of  culture  and  urbanity,  in 
spite  of  the  infusion  of  barbarism  which  Cicero  complained 
had  reached  even  Rome  with  the  "  breeks "  of  the  peoples 
from  beyond  the  Alps,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  that  Catullus  soon 
contracted  a  preference  for  the  capital,  and  was  fain  to  quiz 
the  provincials  of  his  original  home,  though  he  seems  to 
have  retained  not  a  few  acquaintances  and  family  ties  amongst 
them.  Such  ties,  as  is  seen  in  the  cases  of  Catullus  and  Hor- 
ace, were  stronger  in  the  provinces  than  in  Rome;  and  we 
shall  see  anon  that  the  former  was  influenced  by  the  tenderest 
and  most  touching  fraternal  affection ;  but  the  charms  of  a 
residence  at  Rome,  from  the  schoolboy  period  up  to  his  brief 
life's  end,  asserted  a  power  which  was  rarely  interrupted  by 
rustication  or  foreign  travel ;  and  he  cannot  herein  be  accused 
of  the  volatility  or  changeableness  which  characterised  others 
of  his  craft  and  country.  This  would  be  a  power  certain  to 
grow  with  years,  and  the  more  so  as  books,  society,  culture, 
were  accumulated  in  the  capital.  "  At  Rome,"  wrote  the  poet 
to  Manlius — 

Alone  I  live,  alone  my  studies  ply, 

And  there  my  treasures  are,  my  haunts,  my  home. 

It  is  little  more  than  guess-work  to  speculate  on  the  rank 
and  calling  of  Catullus's  father.  From  the  life  of  Julius 
Caesar  by  Suetonius  we  gather  that  he  was  on  terms  of  inti- 
macy with,  and  a  frequent  host  of,  that  great  man ;  and  it  is 
not  improbable  that  he  and  the  son  who  died  in  Asia  Minor 
may  have  been  merchants,  though  the  death  in  question  would 
consist  as  well  with  the  surmise  that  Catullus's  brother  was 
on  some  praetor's  staff.     Attempts  have  been  made  to  estab- 


THE   LIFE   OF   CATULLUS  59 

lish  against  the  poet  himself  a  charge  of  impecuniousness  and 
wastefulness ;  but  "  the  cobwebs  in  his  purse  "  in  the  invita- 
tion to  Fabullus  (xiii.)  are  a  figure  of  speech  which  need  not 
be  literally  interpreted;  his  allusions  in  xi.,  *' Concerning 
Varus's  Mistress,"  to  a  scanty  exchequer  and  shabby  equip- 
ment whilst  in  the  suite  of  Memmius  in  Bithynia,  cut  rather 
at  that  ill-conditioned  and  illiberal  praetor  than  himself;  and 
as  to  the  jeu  d'esprit  about  the  "  Mortgage,"  it  makes  all  the 
difference  of  meum  and  tuum  whether  we  read  of  "  your  "  or 
"my"  country-seat  as  the  snug  tenement,  as  to  which  the 
poet  tells  Furius — 

That  there's  a  mortgage,  I've  been  told, 

About  it  wound  so  neatly, 
That,  ere  this  new  moon  shall  be  old, 

'Twill  sweep  it  off  completely. — (xxvi.) 

Some  possible  colour  for  the  suspicion  is  indeed  found  in 
the  fact  that  on  occasion — like  other  young  men  about  town — 
Catullus  sought  to  improve  his  finances,  and  so — like  other 
young  men — joined  the  suite  of  the  praetor,  Caius  Memmius, 
in  Bithynia,  attracted  by  the  literary  presage  of  that  gov- 
ernor, who  was  the  friend  and  patron  of  Lucretius.  From 
him,  however,  he  derived  nothing  but  disappointment.  Mem- 
mius did  not  enrich  his  own  coffers :  his  suite,  if  we  may  judge 
by  Catullus,  did  not  recoup  their  outfit;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
might  have  stood  as  a  warning  to  other  would-be  fortune- 
menders  for  the  nonce,  as  the  poet  points  the  simile — 

Like  me,  who  following  about 

My  praetor — was — in  fact,  cleaned  out. — (xxvii.) 

But  with  regard  to  the  poet's  general  finances  we  have 
certainly  no  reason,  from  his  remains,  to  suppose  that  he  was 
habitually  out  at  elbows.  On  the  contrary,  we  know  that  he 
had  two  country-houses, — one  at  the  Lago  di  Garda  (which 
some  have  thought  is  still  represented  by  the  ruins  of  a  con- 
siderable edifice  at  the  extremity  of  the  promontory  on  its 
southern  shore,  though  later  discoveries  show  that  these  are 


60  INTRODUCTION 

remains  of  baths  of  the  date  of  Constantine,  to  say  nothing 
of  their  extent  being  out  of  keeping  with  a  poet's  villa)  ;  and 
the  other  in  the  suburb  of  Tibur,  where  was  his  Tiburtine,  or, 
as  his  well-wishers  called  it,  to  tease  him,  his  Sabine  Farm 
(xliv.).  Add  to  these  a  house  and  library  at  Rome,  of  which 
he  wrote,  as  we  have  seen  above,  to  Manlius,  and  an  estate 
which  he  owed  to  the  bounty  of  a  friend,  and  of  which  little 
more  is  known  than  that  it  included  amongst  other  goods  and 
chattels  a  housekeeper;^  and  we  shall  determine  that  Catullus 
was  probably  in  nowise  amenable  to  the  charge  of  being  a 
spendthrift  or  "  distrest  poet,"  but  rather  a  man  of  good 
average  means,  in  fair  circumstances  and  good  society.  For 
the  latter  it  is  plain  that  his  education  would  have  fitted  him. 
Though  he  had  not,  like  Horace,  the  advantage  of  a  Greek 
sojourn  to  give  it  finish  and  polish,  he  had  enjoyed  what  was 
then  at  a  premium  in  Latin  towns  even  more  than  at  Rome,  a 
thorough  introduction  to  Greek  literature.  Herein  he  laid 
the  foundations  of  that  deep  familiarity  with  the  Alexandrian 
poets,  which,  in  common  with  his  brother  elegiast,  Propertius, 
but  perhaps  with  special  manipulation  all  his  own,  character- 
izes his  other  than  erotic  poetry.  It  is  possible  that  the  imi- 
tations of  Alexandrine  poetry  may  have  been  his  earliest 
poetic  efiforts,  but  the  more  natural  supposition  is  that  his 
earliest  verses  were  inspired  rather  by  the  taverns  and  lounges 
of  Roman  or  Veronese  resort  than  by  the  schools;  and  if  so, 
an  early  date  would  be  assigned  to  "  Colonia,  its  Old  Bridge, 
and  the  Stupid  Husband"  (xvii.),  the  poem  about  a  "Bab- 
bling Door,"  the  "  Mortgage,"  and  other  like  squibs  and  jeux 
d'esprit. 

The  lack  of  what,  to  the  accomplished  Roman  of  the 
highest  rank,  was  tantamount  to  a  college  education  at  Athens, 
Catullus  made  up  later  on  by  what  is  also  a  modern  equiva- 
lent— foreign  travel.  After  his  bootless  winter  in  Bithynia, 
he  chartered  a  yacht  and  started  on  a  tour  amidst  the  isles  of 
the  Archipelago,  after  having  first  done  the  cities  of  Asia. 
And  so  up  the  Ionian  and  Adriatic  he  sailed  home  to  the  Lago 


^  To  my  domains  he  set  an  ampler  bound. 
And  unto  me  a  home  and  mistress  gave. 


THE   LIFE   OF   CATULLUS  61 

di  Garda  and  Sirmio,  furnished,  doubtless,  with  poetic  mate- 
rial and  fancy  suggested  by  his  voyage,  and  fitted  more  than 
ever  for  the  intercourse  of  those  literary  men  at  Rome  whose 
friendship  he  enjoyed  in  his  mature  life, — if  we  may  use  such 
an  expression  of  one  who  died  at  thirty-four.  Among  these 
were  Pollio,  Calvus,  Cicero,  Cornelius  Nepos,  with  whom  to 
have  been  on  terms  of  intimacy  is  a  distinct  set-off  against  an 
acquaintance  with  some  scores  of  lighter  and  looser  asso- 
ciates. 

It  is  only  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the  poems  of  Catul- 
lus that  sets  up  his  image  as  that  of  a  mere  Anacreontic  poet, 
a  light  jester  and  voluptuary,  who  could  not  be  earnest  but 
when  his  jealousy  was  roused  by  his  beauteous  bane — his 
Lesbia.  The  finished  grace  of  his  poetic  comphments  to 
such  historic  Romans  as  those  we  have  just  named  may  be 
set  beside  the  touching  and  pathetic  poem  to  his  brother  as 
proofs  of  his  exquisite  command  of  very  different  veins,  al- 
though in  his  hours  of  youthful  gaiety  he  could  throw  off 
light  lays  on  passing  tittle-tattle,  or  chronicle  adventures  more 
or  less  scandalous  and  licentious. 

His  claim  to  permanent  honour  as  a  poet  rests  upon  the 
depths  of  intense  feeling  which,  whether  in  light  love  (if  his 
love  for  Lesbia  can  ever  be  so  called)  or  in  brotherly  affec- 
tion, as  shown  in  his  lament  for  his  brother's  death  in  the 
Troad,  well  up  to  the  sound  of  the  plaintive  lyre.  It  is  pretty 
fully  settled  that  his  brother's  death  did  not  synchronise  with 
the  poet's  voyage  to  Bithynia.  Had  it  been  so,  would  he  not 
surely,  as  Mr.  Theodore  Martin  has  observed,  have  linked  a 
fond  memory  of  their  joint  boyhood  with  his  ode  on  return  to 
Sirmio?  The  times  and  seasons  were  distinct,  but  Catullus 
made  a  set  pilgrimage  to  his  brother's  grave  on  the  Rhsetean 
headland;  and  to  this  landmark,  as  it  were,  of  his  life,  this 
heartbreaking  journey,  and  the  desolation  of  the  home  to 
which  he  returned,  must  be  referred  his  sad  lines  to  Hortalus, 
Manlius,  and  Cornificius. 

If  to  this  we  add  the  late  realisation  of  Lesbia's  utter 
wantonry  (a  chapter  in  the  poet's  history  which,  as  influenc- 
ing it  beyond  all  others,  deserves  to  be  treated  separately  and 
at  length),  it  is  made  clear  that  his  youthful  spirits  may  by 


62  INTRODUCTION 

this  time  have  been  deserting  the  sensitive  and  saddened  Ca- 
tallus;  and  though  there  is  no  distinct  record  of  his  death, 
the  inference  is  justifiable  that  accumulated  bereavements  and 
the  rupture  of  tenderest  ties,  rather  than  the  effects  of  habitual 
profligacy,  brought  to  a  premature  death  the  richly-gifted  and 
learned  Veronese  songster,  whom  Ovid  in  his  "  Amores " 
bids  meet  another  early-taken  bard — TibuUus — his  youthful 
temples  ivy-crowned,  in  the  Elysian  valley.  It  is  surely  with 
his  riper  years  (perhaps  about  6i  or  60  B.C.),  and  not  with 
those  when  he  was  more  fickle  and  in  the  heyday  of  young 
blood,  that  we  should  connect  his  passion  for  Lesbia.  Tired, 
perhaps,  of  light  loves,  which  left  only  their  bitterness  behind, 
he  had  dreamed — though  it  was  an  empty  and  ill-founded 
dream — of  a  more  enduring  connection  with  this  most  beau- 
tiful and  graceless  of  Roman  matrons.  This  idol  shattered, 
its  worshipper  undeceived,  and  the  brother  whom  he  loved 
with  a  pure  affection  torn  from  him  by  an  untimely  death, 
Catullus  has  little  more  in  the  way  of  a  landmark  for  the 
biographer. 

Between  these  events  and  his  death-date,  whether  we  take 
that  as  57  or  54  B.C.,  there  was  time  for  tender  regrets,  oc- 
casional alternations  between  palinodes  and  professions  of  for- 
giveness, presentiments  of  coming  fate,  and  more  direct  facing 
of  premature  death.  Time  also,  as  to  our  good  fortune  he 
discovered,  for  collecting  the  volume  of  his  poems,  which  he 
fitly  dedicated  to  Cornelius  Nepos,  and  forwarded  to  him  in  a 
highly-finished  dainty  copy,  "  purfled,"  as  one  translator  ex- 
presses it,  "  glossily,  fresh  with  ashy  pumice."  It  is  a  happy 
sample  of  his  ideal  of  poetic  compliment,  and  apologetically 
excuses  the  boldness  of  offering  so  slender  an  equivalent  for 
the  historian's  three  volumes  (which  have  not  survived)  of 
Italian  history.  The  first  verse  illustrates  the  binding  and 
preparing  of  a  Roman  presentation  copy.  The  last  points 
the  contrast  of  a  sort  of  Diomede  and  Glaucus  exchange  with 
a  lurking  esteem  for  his  own  professedly  inadequate  gift:— 

Great  Jove,  what  lore,  what  labour  there ! 
Then  take  this  little  book,  whate'er 
Of  good  or  bad  it  store; 


THE   LIFE   OF   CATULLUS  63 

And  grant,  oh  guardian  Muse,  that  it 
May  keep  the  flavour  of  its  wit 
A  century  or  more ! — M. 

A  few  words  should  be  said  in  deprecation  of  the  char- 
acter for  Hcentiousness  of  Hfe  and  poetry  under  which  it  has 
been  the  misfortune  of  Catallus  to  suffer  amongst  moderns. 
It  ought  to  be  taken  into  account  that  the  standard  of  morals 
in  his  day  was  extremely  low ;  vice  and  profligacy  walking 
abroad  barefaced,  and  some  fresh  scandal  in  high  places — 
amidst  the  consul's  suite  and  the  victorious  general's  retinue — 
being  bruited  abroad  as  day  succeeded  day.  A  poet  who 
moved  in  the  world  and  had  gained  the  repute  of  a  smart 
hitter  at  the  foibles  and  escapades  of  his  neighbours,  whilst 
himself  hot-blooded,  impetuous,  fearless,  and  impatient  of 
the  restraint  of  society,  was  not  unlikely  to  become  the 
object  of  some  such  general  charges  as  we  find  from  xvi., 
that  Aurelius  and  Furius  circulated  against  Catullus.  And 
to  our  apprehension  the  defence  of  the  poet — 

True  poets  should  be  chaste,  I  know. 
But  wherefore  should  their  lines  be  so? 

seems  like  begging  the  question,  and  scarcely  a  high  tone  of 
self-justification.  Indeed,  his  retort  is  not  simply  turning 
the  tables,  as  he  might  have  done,  on  his  maligners,  but  some- 
what unnecessarily  defending  his  life  at  the  expense  of  his 
writings.  This,  it  is  probable,  has  acted  in  his  disfavour. 
Excepting  a  few  extremely  personal  and  scurrilous  epigrams 
and  skits,  it  is  not  easy  to  pick  out  in  the  poetry  of  Catullus 
a  greater  looseness  of  language  than  in  that  of  his  Augustan 
successors :  whilst  as  compared  with  his  contemporaries  in 
high  places  and  public  life,  his  moral  conduct  might  have 
passed  for  fairly  decent.  What  most  concerns  the  modem 
reader  is  that  after  abatements  and  omissions  of  what  is  more 
or  less  unpresentable,  there  remains  so  much  of  a  more  re- 
fined standard  of  poetry  and  manners,  so  much  tenderness  in 
pure  affection  and  friendship,  so  much,  we  might  almost  say, 
chivalry  and  forgivingness  in  the  treatment  of  more  question- 


64  INTRODUCTION 

able  objects  of  his  passion,  that  we  are  won  to  condonation 
of  the  evil  which  is  that  of  the  time  and  society  for  the  charm 
and  ideal  refinement  of  the  genius  which  is  specially  his  own. 
The  standard  of  purity  and  morals  has,  we  know,  risen  and 
fallen  in  modern  times  and  nations ;  and  a  severe  "  index  ex- 
purgatorius  "  should  ban  our  Herricks,  Moores,  and  Byrons — 
nay,  even  Burns;  but  unless  a  sponge  is  to  wipe  out  for  the 
sake  of  a  few  blots  a  body  of  true  poetry,  rare  in  form  and 
singularly  rich  in  talent  and  grace,  and  a  hard  and  fast  rule  is 
to  condemn  bitter  and  sweet  alike,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  a  fairer 
insight  into  the  poetry  of  Catullus,  attainable  through  the 
blameless  medium  of  at  least  one  excellent  translation,  will 
enable  English  readers  to  judge  how  much  of  the  prejudice 
attaching  to  the  name  of  Catullus  is  without  foundation,  and 
how  rich  and  original  is  the  freshness  and  vivacity  of  his 
muse.  It  is  no  little  gain  to  feel  that  in  this  genius  we  have 
"  not  only  one  of  the  very  few  writers  who  on  one  or  two 
occasions  speaks  directly  from  the  heart,"  but  one  entitled  to 
the  much  more  comprehensive  praise,  as  has  been  shown  by 
Professor  Sellar  in  his  Roman  Poets  of  the  Republic,  of  "a 
wonderful  sincerity  in  all  the  poems,  by  means  of  which  the 
whole  nature  of  the  poet,  in  its  better  and  worse  features,  is 
revealed  to  us  as  if  he  were  our  contemporary." 


THE  POEMS  OF  CATULLUS 
I 

Who  shall  take  thee,  the  new,  the  dainty  volume, 
Purfled  glossily,  fresh  with  ashy  pumice? 

You,  Cornelius;  you  of  old  did  hold  them 
Something  worthy,  the  petty  witty  nothings, 

While  you  venture,  alone  of  all  Italians, 

Time's  vast  chronicle  in  three  books  to  circle, 
Jove!  how  arduous,  how  divinely  learned! 

Therefore  welcome  it,  yours  the  little  outcast, 
This  slight  volume.     O  yet,  supreme  awarder. 
Virgin,  save  it  in  ages  on  for  ever. 

II 

Sparrow,  favourite  of  my  own  beloved. 

Whom  to  play  with,  or  in  her  arms  to  fondle, 
She  delighteth,  anon  with  hardy-pointed 

Finger  angrily  doth  provoke  to  bite  her: 

When  my  lady,  a  lovely  star  to  long  for, 

Bends  her  splendour  awhile  to  tricksy  frolic; 
Peradventure  a  careful  heart  beguiling, 

Pardie,  heavier  ache  perhaps  to  lighten; 

Might  I,  like  her,  in  happy  play  caressing 
Thee,  my  dolorous  heart  awhile  deliver! 

I  would  joy,  as  of  old  the  maid  rejoiced 
Racing  fleetly,  the  golden  apple  eyeing, 
Late-won  loosener  of  the  wary  girdle. 

65 


66  CATULLUS 


III 


Weep  each  heavenly  Venus,  all  the  Cupids, 
Weep  all  men  that  have  any  grace  about  ye. 
Dead  the  sparrow,  in  whom  my  love  delighted, 
The  dear  sparrow,  in  whom  my  love  delighted. 

Yea,  most  precious,  above  her  eyes,  she  held  him, 
Sweet,  all  honey :  a  bird  that  ever  hail'd  her 
Lady  mistress,  as  hails  the  maid  a  mother. 

Nor  would  move  from  her  arms  away :  but  only 
Hopping  round  her,  about  her,  hence  or  hither, 
Piped  his  colloquy,  piped  to  none  beside  her. 

Now  he  wendeth  along  the  mirky  pathway. 
Whence,  they  tell  us,  is  hopeless  all  returning. 

Evil  on  ye,  the  shades  of  evil  Orcus, 

Shades  all  beauteous  happy  things  devouring, 
Such  a  beauteous  happy  bird  ye  took  him. 

Ah !  for  pity ;  but  ah !  for  him  the  sparrow. 
Our  poor  sparrow,  on  whom  to  think  my  lady's 
Eyes  do  angrily  redden  all  a-weeping. 


IV 


The  puny  pinnace  yonder  you,  my  friends,  discern. 
Of  every  ship  professes  agilest  to  be. 
Nor  yet  a  timber  o'er  the  waves  alertly  flew 
She  might  not  aim  to  pass  it;  oary-wing'd  alike 
To  fleet  beyond  them,  or  to  scud  beneath  a  sail. 

Nor  here  presumes  denial  any  stormy  coast 
Of  Adriatic  or  the  Cyclad  orbed  isles, 
A  Rhodos  immemorial,  or  that  icy  Thrace, 
Propontis,  or  the  gusty  Pontic  ocean-arm. 


POEMS  67 

Whereon,  a  pinnace  after,  in  the  days  of  yore 

A  leafy  shaw  she  budded;  oft  Cytorus'  height 
With  her  did  inly  whisper  airy  colloquy. 


Amastris,  you  by  Pontus,  you,  the  box-clad  hill 
Of  high  Cytorus,  all,  the  pinnace  owns,  to  both 
Was  ever,  is  familiar;  in  the  primal  years 
She  stood  upon  your  hoary  top,  a  baby  tree, 
Within  your  haven  early  dipt  a  virgin  oar: 

To  carry  thence  a  master  o'er  the  surly  seas, 
A  world  of  angry  water,  hail'd  to  left,  to  right 
The  breeze  of  invitation,  or  precisely  set 
The  sheets  together  op'd  to  catch  a  kindly  Jove. 

Nor  yet  of  any  power  whom  the  coasts  adore 

Was  heard  a  vow  to  soothe  them,  all  the  weary  way 
From  outer  ocean  unto  glassy  quiet  here. 
But  all  the  past  is  over ;  indolently  now 
She  rusts,  a  life  in  autumn,  and  her  age  devotes 
To  Castor  and  with  him  ador'd,  the  twin  divine. 

V 

Living,  Lesbia,  we  should  e'en  be  loving. 
Sour  severity,  tongue  of  eld  maligning, 
All  be  to  us  a  penny's  estimation. 

Suns  set  only  to  rise  again  to-morrow. 

We,  when  sets  in  a  little  hour  the  brief  light, 

Sleep  one  infinite  age,  a  night  for  ever. 

Thousand  kisses,  anon  to  these  an  hundred, 
Thousand  kisses  again,  another  hundred. 
Thousand  give  me  again,  another  hundred. 

Then  once  heedfully  counted  all  the  thousands. 
We'll  uncount  them  as  idly;  so  we  shall  not 


68  CATULLUS 

Know,  nor  traitorous  eye  shall  envy,  knowing 
All  those  myriad  happy  many  kisses. 

VI 

But  that,  Flavius,  hardly  nice  or  honest 
This  thy  folly,  methinks  Catullus  also 
E'en  had  known  it,  a  whisper  had  betray'd  thee. 

Some  she-malady,  some  unhealthy  wanton, 
Fires  thee  verily :  thence  the  shy  denial. 

Least,  you  keep  not  a  lonely  night  of  anguish; 
Quite  too  clamorous  is  that  idly-feigning 
Couch,  with  wreaths,  with  a  Syrian  odour  oozing ; 
Then  that  pillow  alike  at  either  utmost 
Verge  deep-dinted  asunder,  all  the  trembling 
Play,  the  strenuous  unsophistication ; 
All,  O  prodigal,  all  alike  betray  thee. 

Why  ?  sides  shrunken,  a  sullen  hip  disabled. 
Speak  thee  giddy,  declare  a  misdemeanour. 

So,  whatever  is  yours  to  tell  or  ill  or 

Good,  confess  it.    A  witty  verse  awaits  thee 
And  thy  lady,  to  place  ye  both  in  heaven. 

VII 

Ask  me,  Lesbia,  what  the  sum  delightful 
Of  thy  kisses,  enough  to  charm,  to  tire  me? 

Multitudinous  as  the  grains  on  even 
Lybian  sands  aromatic  of  Cyrene; 

'Twixt  Jove's  oracle  in  the  sandy  desert 
And  where  royally  Battus  old  reposeth ; 

Yea  a  company  vast  as  in  the  silence 
Stars  which  stealthily  gaze  on  happy  lovers ; 


POEMS  69 

E'en  so  many  the  kisses  I  to  kiss  thee 

Count,  wild  lover,  enough  to  charm,  to  tire  me; 

These  no  curious  eye  can  wholly  number, 
Tongue  of  jealousy  ne'er  bewitch  nor  harm  them. 

VIII 

Ah  poor  Catullus,  learn  to  play  the  fool  no  more. 
Lost  is  the  lost,  thou  know'st  it,  and  the  past  is  past. 

Bright  once  the  days  and  sunny  shone  the  light  on  thee, 
Still  ever  hasting  where  she  led,  the  maid  so  fair, 
By  me  belov'd  as  maiden  is  belov'd  no  more. 

Was  then  enacting  all  the  merry  mirth  within 
Thyself  delighted,  and  the  maid  she  said  not  nay. 
Ah  truly  bright  and  sunny  shone  the  days  on  thee. 

Now  she  resigns  thee ;  child,  do  thou  resign  no  less, 
Nor  follow  her  that  flies  thee,  or  to  bide  in  woe 
Consent,  but  harden  all  thy  heart,  resolve,  endure. 

Farewell,  my  love.    Catullus  is  resolv'd,  endures, 
He  will  not  ask  for  pity,  will  not  importune. 

But  thou'lt  be  mourning  thus  to  pine  unask'd  alway. 
O  past  retrieval  faithless!    Ah  what  hours  are  thine! 
When  comes  a  likely  wooer?  who  protests  thou'rt  fair? 

Who  brooks  to  love  thee  ?  who  decrees  to  live  thine  own  ? 
.Whose  kiss  delights  thee?  whose  the  lips  that  own  thy  bit©? 

Yet,  yet,  Catullus,  learn  to  bear,  resolve,  endure. 

IX 

Dear  Veranius,  you  of  all  my  comrades 

Worth,  you  only,  a  many  goodly  thousands, 

Speak  they  truly  that  you  your  hearth  revisit. 

Brothers  duteous,  homely  mother  aged? 
XI— 6 


70  CATULLUS 

Yes,  believe  them.     O  happy  news,  Catullus! 

I  shall  see  him  alive,  alive  shall  hear  him, 
Tribes  Iberian,  uses,  haunts,  declaring 
As  his  wont  is ;  on  him  my  neck  reclining 

Kiss  his  flowery  face,  his  eyes  delightful. 

Now,  all  men  that  have  any  mirth  about  you, 
Know  ye  happier  any,  any  blither? 


In  the  Forum  as  I  was  idly  roaming 
Varus  took  me  a  merry  dame  to  visit. 
She  a  lady,  methought  upon  the  moment. 
Of  some  quality,  not  without  refinement. 


So,  arrived,  in  a  trice  we  fell  on  endless 

Themes  colloquial ;  how  the  fact,  the  falsehood 
With  Bithynia,  what  the  case  about  it. 
Had  it  helped  me  to  profit  or  to  money. 

Then  I  told  her  a  very  truth ;  no  atom 

There  for  company,  praetor,  hungry  natives. 
Home  might  render  a  body  aught  the  fatter : 

Then  our  praetor  a  castaway,  could  hugely 
Mulct  his  company,  had  a  taste  to  jeer  them. 


Spoke  another,  *  Yet  anyw^ays,  to  bear  you 
Men  were  ready,  enough  to  grace  a  litter. 
They  grow  quantities,  if  report  belies  not.' 
Then  supremely  myself  to  flaunt  before  her, 

I  *  So  thoroughly  could  not  angry  fortune 
Spite,  I  might  not,  afflicted  in  my  province. 
Get  erected  a  lusty  eight  to  bear  me. 


POEMS  7U 

But  so  scrubby  the  poor  sedan,  the  batter'd 
Frame-work,  nobody  there  nor  here  could  ever 
Lift  it,  painfully  neck  to  nick  adjusting.' 


Quoth  the  lady,  belike  a  lady  wanton, 

*  Just  for  courtesy,  lend  me,  dear  Catullus, 
Those  same  nobodies.    I  the  great  Sarapis 
Go  to  visit  awhile.'    Said  I  in  answer, 

*  Thanks ;  but,  lady,  for  all  my  easy  boasting, 

'Twas  too  summary;  there's  a  friend  who  knows  me, 
Cinna  Gaius,  his  the  sturdy  bearers, 

*  Mine  or  Cinna's,  an  inch  alone  divides  us, 

I  use  Cinna's,  as  e'en  my  own  possession. 
But  you're  really  a  bore,  a  very  tiresome 
Dame  unmannerly,  thus  to  take  me  napping.* 

XI 

FuRius  and  Aurelius,  O  my  comrades. 
Whether  your  Catullus  attain  to  farthest 
Ind,  the  long  shore  lash'd  by  reverberating 

Surges  Eoan; 
Hyrcan  or  luxurious  horde  Arabian, 
Sacan  or  grim  Parthian  arrow-bearer. 
Fields  the  rich  Nile  discolorates,  a  seven-fold 

River  abounding; 
Whether  o'er  high  Alps  he  afoot  ascending 
Track  the  long  records  of  a  mighty  Caesar, 
Rhene,  the  Gauls'  deep  river,  a  lonely  Britain 

Dismal  in  ocean; 
This,  or  aught  else  haply  the  gods  determine, 
Absolute,  you,  with  me  in  all  to  part  not; 
Bid  my  love  greet,  bear  her  a  little  errand, 

Scarcely  of  honour. 


72  CATULLUS 

Say  *  Live  on  yet,  still  given  o'er  to  nameless 
Lords,  within  one  bosom,  a  many  wooers, 
Clasp'd,  as  unlov'd  each,  so  in  hourly  change  all 

Lewdly  disabled. 
*  Think  not  henceforth,  thou,  to  recal  Catullus* 
Love ;  thy  own  sin  slew  it,  as  on  the  meadow's 
Verge  declines,  ungently  beneath  the  plough-share 

Stricken,  a  flower.' 

XII 

Marrucinian  Asinius,  hardly  civil 

Left-hand  practices  o'er  the  merry  wine-cup. 
Watch  occasion,  anon  remove  the  napkin. 
Call  this  drollery  ?    Trust  me,  friend,  it  is  not. 
'Tis  most  beastly,  a  trick  among  a  thousand. 

Not  believe  me?  believe  a  friendly  brother, 
Laughing  Pollio ;  he  declares  a  talent 
Poor  indemnification,  he  the  parlous 
Child  of  voluble  humour  and  facetious. 

So  face  hendecasyllables,  a  thousand, 

Or  most  speedily  send  me  back  the  napkin ; 

Gift  not  prized  at  a  sorry  valuation, 

But  for  company ;  'twas  a  friend's  memento. 

Cloth  of  Sactabis,  exquisite,  from  utmost 
Iber,  sent  as  a  gift  to  me  Fabullus 
And  Veranius.    Ought  not  I  to  love  them 
As  Veranius  even,  as  Fabullus  ? 

XIII 

Please  kind  heaven,  in  happy  time.  Fabullus. 
We'll  dine  merrily,  dear  my  friend,  together. 

Promise  only  to  bring,  your  own,  a  dinner 
Rich  and  goodly ;  withal  a  lily  maiden. 
Wine,  and  banter,  a  world  of  hearty  laughing. 


POEMS  73 

Promise  only ;  betimes  we  dine,  my  gentle 

Friend,  most  merrily ;  but,  for  your  Catullus — 
Know  he  boasts  but  a  pouch  of  empty  cobwebs. 

Yet  take  the  contrary  fee,  the  quintessential 
Love,  or  sweeter  if  aught  is,  aught  supremer. 

Perfume  savoury,  mine ;  my  love  received  it 
Gift  of  every  Venus,  all  the  Cupids, 

Would  you  smell  it  ?  a  god  shall  hear  Fabullus 
Pray  unbody  him  only  nose  for  ever. 

XIV 

CalVus,  save  that  as  eyes  thou  art  beloved, 
I  could  verily  loathe  thee  for  the  morning's 
Gift,  Vatinius  hardly  more  devoutly. 

Slain  with  poetry !  done  to  death  with  abjects ! 

0  what  syllable  eam'd  it,  act  allow'd  it? 
Gods,  your  malison  on  the  sorry  client 

Sent  that  rascally  rabble  of  malignants. 

Yet,  if,  freely  to  guess,  the  gift  recherche 
Some  grammarian,  haply  Sulla,  sent  thee; 

1  repine  not ;  a  dear  delight  a  triumph 
This,  thy  drudgery  thus  to  see  rewarded. 

Gods!  an  horrible  and  a  deadly  volume! 

Sent  so  faithfully,  friend,  to  thy  Catullus, 

Just  to  kill  him  upon  a  day,  the  festive. 

Saturnalia,  best  of  all  the  season. 
Sure,  a  drollery  not  without  requital. 

For,  come  dawn,  to  the  cases  and  the  bookshops 
I;  there  gather  a  Caesius  and  Aquinus, 
With  Suffenus,  in  every  wretch  a  poison : 

Such  plague-prodigy  thy  remuneration ! 


74  CATULLUS 

Now  good-morrow !  away  with  evil  omen 
Whence  ill  destiny  lamely  bore  ye,  clumsy 
Poet-rabble,  an  age's  execration ! 


XIVb 

Readers,  any  that  in  the  future  ever 
Scan  my  fantasies,  haply  lay  upon  me 
Hands  adventurous  of  solicitation — 


XV 

Lend  thy  bounty  to  me,  to  my  beloved, 
Kind  Aurelius.    I  do  ask  a  favour 


Fair  and  lawful;  if  you  did  e'er  in  earnest 
Seek  some  virginal  innocence  to  cherish, 
Touch  not  lewdly  the  mistress  of  my  passion. 

Trust  the  people ;  avails  not  aught  to  fear  them, 
Such,  who  hourly  within  the  streets  repassing. 
Run,  good  souls,  on  a  busy  quest  or  idle. 

You,  you  only  the  free,  the  felon-hearted, 
Fright  me,  prodigal  you  of  every  virtue. 

Well,  let  luxury  run  her  heady  riot. 
Love  flow  over;  enough  abroad  to  sate  thee: 
This  one  trespass — a  tiny  boon — presume  not. 

But  should  impious  heat  or  humour  headstrong 
Drive  thee  wilfully  wretch,  to  such  profaning, 
In  one  folly  to  dare  a  double  outrage : 

Ah  what  misery  thine;  what  angry  fortune! 

Heels  drawn  tight  to  the  stretch  shall  open  inward 
Lodgment  easy  to  mullet  and  to  radish. 


POEMS  75 


XVI 


I'll  traduce  you,  accuse  you,  and  abuse  you. 

Soft  Aurelius,  e'en  as  easy  Furius. 

You  that  lightly  a  saucy  verse  resenting, 
Misconceit  me,  sophisticate  me  wanton. 

Know,  pure  chastity  rules  the  godly  poet. 
Rules  not  poesy,  needs  not  e'er  to  rule  it; 
Charms  some  verse  with  a  witty  grace  delightful? 

'Tis  voluptuous,  impudent,  a  wanton. 

It  shall  kindle  an  icy  thought  to  courage. 
Not  boy-fancies  alone,  but  every  frozen 
Flank  immovable,  all  amort  to  pleasure. 

You  my  kisses,  a  million  happy  kisses. 
Musing,  read  me  a  silky  thrall  to  softness? 
I'll  traduce  you,  accuse  you,  and  abuse  you. 

XVII 


Kind  Colonia,  fain  upon  bridge  more  lengthy  to  gambol, 
And  quite  ready  to  dance  amain,  fearing  only  the  rotten 
Legs  too  crazily  steadied  on  planks  of  old  resurrections. 
Lest  it  plunge  to  the  deep  morass,  there  supinely  to  welter ; 
So  surprise  thee  a  sumptuous  bridge  thy  fancy  to  pleasure. 
Passive  under  a  Salian  god's  most  lusty  procession; 
This  rare  favour,  a  laugh  for  all  time,  Colonia,  grant  me. 

In  my  own  township  a  citizen  lives :  Catullus  adjures  thee 
Headlong  into  the  mire  below  topsy-turvy  to  drown  him. 
Only,  where  the  superfluent  lake,  the  spongy  putrescence. 
Sinks  most  murkily  flushed,  descends  most  profoundly  the 
bottom. 


76  CATULLUS 

Such  a  ninny,  a  fool  is  he;  witless  even  as  any 

Two  years'  urchin,  across  papa's  elbow  drowsily  swaying. 


For  though  wed  to  a  maiden  in  spring-tide  youthfully  bud- 
ding. 
Maiden  crisp  as  a  petulant  kid,  as  airily  wanton, 
Sweets    more    privy    to    guard    than    e'er    grape-bunch 

shadowy-purpling ; 
He,  he  leaves  her  alone  to  romp  idly,  cares  not  a  fouter. 
Nor  leans  to  her  at  all,  the  man's  part ;  but  helpless  as  alder 
Lies,  new-fell'd  in  a  ditch,  beneath   axe  Ligurian   ham- 
strung, 
As  alive  to  the  world,  as  if  world  nor  wife  were  at  issue. 

Such  this  gaby,  my  own,  my  arch  fool ;  he  sees  not,  he  hears 
not 
Who  himself  is,  or  if  the  self  is,  or  is  not,  he  knows  not. 

Him  I'd  gladly  be  lowering  down  thy  bridge  to  the  bottom, 
H  from  stupor  inanimate  peradventure  he  wake  him, 
Leaving  muddy  behind  him  his  sluggish  heart's  hesitation. 
As  some  mule  in  a  glutinous  sludge  her  rondel  of  iron.^ 


XXI 

Sire  and  prince-patriarch  of  hungry  starvelings. 
Lean  Aurelius,  all  that  are,  that  have  been, 
That  shall  ever  in  after  years  be  famish'd; 

Wouldst  thou  lewdly  my  dainty  love  to  folly 
Tempt,  and  visibly?  thou  be  near,  be  joking 
Cling  and  fondle  a  hundred  arts  redouble? 


^  The  round  plate  of  iron  which  formed  the  lower  part  of  the  sock 
worn  by  horses,  mules,  &c.,  when  on  a  journey,  and,  unlike  our 
horse-shoes,  was  removable  at  the  end  of  it. 


POEMS  77 

O  presume  not :  a  wily  wit  defeated 
Pays  in  scandalous  incapacitation. 

Yet  didst  folly  to  fulness  add,  'twere  all  one ; 
Nor  shall  beauty  to  thirst  be  train'd  or  hunger's 
Grim  necessity;  this  is  all  my  sorrow. 

Then  hold,  wanton,  upon  the  verge ;  to-morrow 
Comes  preposterous  incapacitation. 


XXII 

SuFFENUS,  he,  dear  Varus,  whom,  methinks,  you  know, 
Has  sense  a  ready  tongue  to  talk,  a  wit  urbane. 
And  writes  a  world  of  verses,  on  my  life  no  less. 

Ten  times  a  thousand  he,  believe  me,  tien  or  more, 
Keeps  fairly  written ;  not  on  any  palimpsest, 
As  often,  enter'd,  paper  extra-fine,  sheets  new, 
New  every  roller,  red  the  strings,  the  parchment-case 
Lead-rul'd,  with  even  pumice  all  alike  complete. 

You  read  them :  our  choice  spirit,  our  refin'd  rare  wit, 
Suffenus,  O  no  ditcher  e'er  appeared  more  rude. 
No  looby  coarser ;  such  a  shock,  a  change  is  there. 

How  then  resolve  this  puzzle  ?    He  the  birthday-wit. 
For  so  we  thought  him — ^keener  yet,  if  aught  is  so — 
Becomes  a  dunce  more  boorish  e'en  than  hedgeborn  boor, 
If  e'er  he  faults  on  verses;  yet  in  heart  is  then 
Most  happy,  writing  verses,  happy  past  compare, 
So  sweet  his  own  self,  such  a  world  at  home  finds  he. 

Friend,  'tis  the  common  error ;  all  alike  are  wrong, 
Not  one,  but  in  some  trifle  you  shall  eye  him  true 
Sufifenus ;  each  man  bears  from  heaven  the  fault  they  send, 
None  sees  within  the  wallet  hung  behind,  our  own. 


78  CATULLUS 

XXIII 

Needy  Furius,  house  nor  hoard  possessing, 
Bug  or  spider,  or  any  fire  to  thaw  you, 
Yet  most  blest  in  a  father  and  a  step-dame, 
Each  for  penury  fit  to  tooth  a  flint-stone : 
Is  not  happiness  yours  ?  a  home  united  ? 
Son,  sire,  mother,  a  lathy  dame  to  match  him. 

Who  can  wonder?  in  all  is  health,  digestion, 
Pure  and  vigorous,  hours  without  a  trouble. 
Fires  ye  fear  not,  or  house's  heavy  downfal, 
Deeds  unnatural,  art  in  act  to  poison. 
Dangers  myriad  accidents  befalling. 

Then  your  bodies  ?  in  every  limb  a  shrivell'd 
Horn,  all  dryness  in  all  the  world  whatever, 
Tann'd  or  frozen  or  icy-lean  with  ages. 
Sure  superlative  happiness  surrounds  thee. 
Thee  sweat  frets  not,  an  o'er-saliva  frets  not. 

Frets  not  snivel  or  oozy  rheumy  nostril. 

Yet  such  purity  lacks  not  e'en  a  purer. 

White  those  haunches  as  any  cleanly-silver'd 
Salt,  it  takes  you  a  month  to  barely  dirt  them. 
Then  like  beans,  or  inert  as  e'er  a  pebble. 
Those  impeccable  heavy  loins,  a  finger's 

Breadth  from  apathy  ne'er  seduced  to  riot. 

Such  prosperity,  such  superb  profusion, 
Slight  not,  Furius,  idly  nor  reject  not. 
As  for  sesterces,  all  the  would-be  fortune. 
Cease  to  wish  it;  enough,  methinks,  the  present. 

XXIV 

O  THOU  blossom  of  all  the  race  Juventian 
Not  now  only,  but  all  as  yet  arisen, 
All  to  flower  in  after-years  arising; 


POEMS  79 

Midas'  treasury  better  you  presented 
Him  that  owns  not  a  slave  nor  any  coffer, 
Ere  you  suffer  his  alien  arm's  presuming. 

What?  you  fancy  him  all  refin'd  perfection? 
Perfect !  truly,  without  a  slave,  a  coffer. 

Slight,  reject  it,  away  with  it;  for  all  that 
He,  he  owns  not  a  slave  nor  any  coffer. 

XXV 

Smooth  Thallus,  inly  softer  you  than  any  furry  rabbit. 
Or  glossy  goose's  oily  plumes,  or  velvet  earlap  yielding, 
Or  feel  age's  heavy  thighs,  or  flimsy  filthy  cobweb ; 

And  Thallus,  hungry  rascal  you,  as  hurricane  rapacious, 
When  winks  occasion  on  the  stroke,  the  gulls  agape  declar- 
ing: 

Return  the  mantle  home  to  me,  you  watch'd  your  hour  to 

pilfer, 
The  fleecy  napkin  and  the  rings  from  Thynia  quaintly  graven, 
Whatever  you  parade  as  yours,  vain  fool,  a  sham  reversion : 

Unglue  the  nails  adroit  to  steal,  unclench  the  spoil,  deliver. 
Lest    yet    that    haunch    voluptuous,    those    tender    hands 

caressant. 
Should  take  an   ugly  print   severe,   the   scourge's  heavy 
branding ; 

And  strange  to  bruises  you  should  heave,  as  heaves  in  open 
Ocean, 
Some  little  hoy  surprised  adrift,  when  wails  the  windy 
water. 

XXVI 

Draughts,  dear  Furius,  if  my  villa  faces, 
*Tis  not  showery  south,  nor  airy  wester. 
North's  grim  fury,  nor  east;  'tis  only  fifteen 
Thousand  sesterces,  add  two  hundred  over. 
Draft  unspeakable,  icy,  pestilential! 


80  CATULLUS 


XXVII 


Boy,  young  caterer  of  Falernian  olden, 

'Brim  me  cups  of  a  fiercer  harsher  essence; 

So  Postumia,  queen  of  healths  presiding, 
Bids,  less  thirsty  the  thirsty  grape,  the  toper. 

But  dull  water,  avaunt.    Away  the  wine-cup's 
Sullen  enemy ;  seek  the  sour,  the  solemn ! 
Here  Thyonius  hails  his  own  elixir. 

XXVIII 

Starving  company,  troop  of  hungry  Piso, 
Light  of  luggage,  of  outfit  expeditious. 
You,  Veranius,  you,  my  own  Fabullus, 

Say,  what  fortune?  enough  of  empty  masters. 
Frost  and  famine,  a  lingering  probation? 

Stands  your  dairy  fair?  is  any  profit 
Enter'd  given?  as  I  to  serve  a  praetor 
Count  each  beggarly  gift  a  timely  profit. 

Trust  me,  Memmius,  you  did  aptly  finger 
My  passivity,  fool'd  me  most  supinely. 

Friends,  confess  it ;  in  e'en  as  hard  a  fortune 
You  stand  mulcted,  on  you  alike  abashless 
Rake  rides  heavily.    Court  the  great  who  wills  it ! 

Gods  and  goddesses  evil  heap  upon  ye. 
Rogues  to  Romulus  and  to  Remus  outcast. 

XXIX 

Can  any  brook  to  see  it,  any  tamely  bear — 
If  any,  gamester,  epicure,  a  wanton,  he — 
Mamurra's  own  whatever  all  the  curly  Gauls 
Did  else  inherit,  or  the  lonely  Briton  isle? 

Can  you  look  on,  look  idly,  filthy  Romulus? 


POEMS  81 

Shall  he,  in  o'er-assumption,  o'er-repletion  he, 
Sedately  saunter  every  dainty  couch  along, 

A  bright  Adonis,  as  the  snowy  dove  serene  ?  ^ 
Can  you  look  on,  look  idly,  filthy  Romulus? 

Look  idly,  gamester,  epicure,  a  wanton,  you. 

Unique  commander,  and  was  only  this  the  plea 
Detain'd  you  in  that  islet  angle  of  the  west, 
To  gorge  the  shrunk  seducer  irreclaimable 
"With  haply  twice  a  million,  add  a  million  yet  ? 

What  else  was  e'er  unhealthy  prodigality? 

The  waste?  to  lust  a  little?  on  the  belly  less? 
Begin ;  a  glutted  hoard  paternal ;  ebb  the  first. 
To  this,  the  booty  Pontic ;  add  the  spoil  from  out 
Iberia,  known  to  Tagus'  amber  ory  stream. 

Not  only  Gaul,  nor  only  quail  the  Briton  isles. 

What  help  a  rogue  to  fondle  ?  is  not  all  his  act 
To  swallow  monies,  empty  purses  heap  on  heap? 

But  you — to  please  him  only,  shame  to  Rome,  to  me ! 
Could  you  the  son,  the  father,  idly  ruin  all  ? 

XXX 

False  Alfenus,  in  all  amity  frail,  duty  a  prodigal, 
Doth  thy  pity  depart?     Shall  not  a  friend,  traitor,  a  friend 
recal 

Love  ?  what  courage  is  here  me  to  betray,  me  to  repudiate  ? 


Never  sure  did  a  lie,  never  a  sin,  please  the  celestials. 

This  you  heed  not ;  alas !  leave  me  to  new  misery,  desolate. 
O  where  now  shall  a  man  trust  ?  liveth  yet  any  fidelity  ? 


^  The  connexion  between  Adonis  and  the  dove  formed  part  of  the 
legends  of  Cyprus,  and  was  alluded  to  by  the  lyric  poet  Timocreon. 


82  CATULLUS 

You,  you  only  did  urge  love  to  be  free,  life  to  surrender,  you. 
Guiding  into  the  snare,  falsely  secure,  prophet  of  happiness. 

Now  you  leave  me,  retract,  every  deed,  every  v^ord  allow 
Into  nullity  winds  far  to  remove,  vapoury  clouds  to  bear. 

You  forget  me,  but  yet  surely  the  Gods,  surely  remembereth 
Faith;  hereafter  again  honour  awakes,  causeth  a  wretch  to 
rue. 

XXXI 

O  THOU  of  islands  jewel  and  of  half-islands, 
Fair  Sirmio,  whatever  o'er  the  lakes'  clear  rim 
Or  waste  of  ocean,  Neptune  holds,  a  two-fold  pow'r; 

What  joy  have  I  to  see  thee,  and  to  gaze  what  glee ! 

Scarce  yet  believing  Thunia  past,  the  fair  champaign 
Bithunian,  yet  in  safety  thee  to  greet  once  more. 
From  cares  to  part  us — where  is  any  joy  like  this? 

Then  drops  the  soul  her  fardel,  as  the  travel-tir'd 

World-weary  wand'rer  touches  home,  returns,  sinks  down 
In  joy  to  slumber  on  the  bed  desir'd  so  long. 

This  meed,  this  only  counts  for  e'en  an  age  all  toil. 

O  take  a  welcome,  lovely  Sirmio,  thy  lord's. 

And  greet  him  happy ;  greet  him  all  the  lake  Lydian ; 
Laugh  out  whatever  laughter  at  the  hearth  rings  clear. 


XXXII 

List,  I  charge  thee,  my  gentle  Ipsithilla, 
Lovely  ravisher  and  my  dainty  mistress, 
Say  we'll  linger  a  lazy  noon  together. 

Suits  my  company  ?  lend  a  farther  hearing : 
See  no  jealousy  make  the  gate  against  me. 
See  no  fantasy  lead  thee  out  a-roaming. 
Keep  close  chamber;  anon  in  all  profusion 
Count  me  kisses  again  again  returning. 


POEMS  83 

Bides  thy  will?  with  a  sudden  haste  command  me; 
Full  and  wistful,  at  ease  reclin'd,  a  lover 
Here  I  languish  alone,  supinely  dreaming. 


XXXIII 

MASTER-robber  of  all  that  haunt  the  bath-rooms. 
Old  Vibennius,  and  his  heir  the  wanton; 
(His  the  dirtier  hands,  the  greedy  father, 

Yours  the  filthier  heart,  his  heir  as  hungry;) 

Please  your  knaveries  hoist  a  sail  for  exile. 
Pains  and  privacy  ?  since  by  this  the  father's 
Thefts  are  palpable,  and  a  rusty  favour. 

Son,  picks  never  a  penny  from  the  people. 


XXXIV 

Great  Diana  protecteth  us, 
Maids  and  boyhood  in  innocence. 
Maidens  virtuous,  innocent 

Boys,  your  song  be  Diana. 
Hail,  Latonia,  thou  that  art 
Throned  daughter  of  enthronis'd 
Jove ;  near  Delian  olive  of 

Mighty  mother  y-boren. 
Queen  of  mountainous  heights,  of  all 
Forests  leafy,  delightable; 
Glens  in  bowery  depths  remote. 

Rivers  wrath  fully  sounding. 
Thee,  Lucina,  the  travailing 
Mother  haileth,  a  sovereign 
Juno;  Trivia  thou,  the  bright 

Moon,  a  glory  reflected. 
Thou  thine  annual  orb  anew. 
Goddess,  monthly  remeasuring, 
Farmsteads  lowly  with  affluent 

Corn  dost  fill  to  the  flowing. 


84  CATULLUS 

Be  thy  heavenly  name  whate'er 
Name  shall  please  thee,  in  hallowing ; 
Still  keep  safely  the  glorious 

Race  of  Romulus  olden. 

XXXV 

I 

Take  Caecilius,  him  the  tender-hearted 
Bard,  my  paper,  a  wish  from  his  Catullus. 
Come  from  Larius,  haste  to  leave  the  new-built 

Comum's  watery  city,  seek  Verona. 

Some  particular  intimate  reflexions 

One  would  tell  thee,  a  friend  we  love  together. 


So  he'll  quickly  devour  the  way,  if  only 
He's  no  booby ;  for  all  a  snowy  maiden 
Chide  imperious,  and  her  hands  around  him 

Both  in  jealousy  clasp'd,  refuse  departure. 

She,  if  only  report  the  truth  bely  not, 
Doats,  as  hardly  within  her  own  possession. 

3 

For  since  lately  she  read  his  high-preluding 
Queen  of  Dindymus,  all  her  heart  is  ever 
Melting  inly  with  ardour  and  with  anguish. 

Maiden,  laudable  is  that  high  emotion. 

Muse  more  rapturous,  you.  than  any  Sappho. 
The  Great  Mother  he  surely  sings  divinely. 

XXXVI 


Vilest  paper  of  all  dishonour,  annals 
Of  Volusius,  hear  my  lovely  lady's 


POEMS  85 

Vow,  and  pay  it;  awhile  she  swore  to  Venus 
And  fond  Cupid,  if  ever  I  returning 
Ceased  from  enmity,  left  to  launch  iambics, 

She  would  surely  devote  the  sorry  poet's 
Choicest  rarities  unto  sooty  Vulcan, 
The  lame  deity,  there  to  blaze  lamenting. 

With  such  drollery,  such  supreme  defiance. 

Swore  strange  oath  to  the  gods  the  naughty  wanton. 


Now,  O  heavenly  child  of  azure  Ocean, 
Queen  of  Idaly,  queen  of  Urian  highlands. 

Who  Ancona  the  fair,  the  reedy  Cnidos 
Hauntest,  Amathus  and  the  lawny  Golgi, 
Or  Dyrrhachium,  hostel  Adriatic; 

Hear  thy  votaress,  answer  her  petition; 

'Tis  most  graceful,  a  dainty  thought  to  charm  thee. 

But  ye  verses,  away  to  fire,  to  burning. 
Rank  rusticities,  empty  vapid  annals 
Of  Volusius,  heap  of  all  dishonour. 

XXXVII 


O  FROWSY  tavern,  frowsy  fellowship  therein, 

Ninth  post  in  order  next  beyond  the  twins  cap-crown'd. 

Shall  manly  service  none  but  you  alone  employ. 
Shall  you  alone  whatever  in  the  world  smiles  fair, 
Possess  it,  every  other  hold  to  lack  esteem? 

Or  if  in  idiot  impotence  arow  you  sit, 

One  hundred,  yes  two  hundred,  am  not  I,  think  you, 
A  man  to  bring  mine  action  on  your  whole  row  there? 

XI— 7 


86  CATULLUS 

So  think  not,  he  that  Hkes  not ;  answer  how  you  may, 
^With  scorpion  I,  with  emblem  all  your  haunt  will  scrawl. 


For  she  the  bright  one,  lately  fled  beyond  these  arms. 
The  maid  belov'd  as  maiden  is  belov'd  no  more, 
Whom  I  to  win,  stood  often  in  the  breach,  fought  long. 

Has  sat  amongst  you.    Her  the  grand,  the  great,  all,  all 
Do  dearly  love  her ;  yea,  beshrew  the  damned  wrong, 
Each  slight  seducer,  every  lounger  highway-born. 

You  chiefly,  peerless  paragon  of  the  tribe  long-lock'd, 
Rude  Celtiberia's  child,  the  bushy  rabbit-den, 

Egnatius,  so  modish  in  the  big  bush-beard. 

And  teeth  a  native  lotion  hardly  scours  quite  pure. 

XXXVIII 

CoRNiFicius,  ill  is  your  Catullus, 

111,  ah  heaven,  a  weary  weight  of  anguish. 
More  more  weary  with  every  day,  with  each  hour. 

You  deny  me  the  least,  the  very  lightest 

Help,  one  whisper  of  happy  thought  to  cheer  me. 

Nay,  I'm  sorrowful.    You  to  slight  my  passion? 
Ah !  one  word,  but  a  tiny  word  to  cheer  me, 
Sad  as  ever  a  tear  Simonidean. 

XXXIX 

I 

Egnatius,  spruce  owner  of  superb  white  teeth, 

Smiles  sweetly,  smiles  for  ever :  is  the  bench  in  view 
Where  stands  a  pleader  just  prepar'd  to  rouse  our  tears. 


POEMS  87 

Egnatius  smiles  sweetly ;  near  the  pyre  they  mourn 
Where  weeps  a  mother  o'er  the  lost,  the  kind  one  son, 
Egnatius  smiles  sweetly ;  what  the  time  or  place 

Or  thing  soe'er,  smiles  sweetly ;  such  a  rare  compliant 
Is  his,  not  handsome,  scarce  to  please  the  town,  say  I. 


So  take  a  warning  for  the  nonce,  my  friend ;  town-bred 
Were  you,  a  Sabine  hale,  a  pearly  Tiburtine, 
A  frugal  Umbrian  body,  Tuscan  huge  of  paunch, 

A  grim  Lanuvian  black  of  hue,  prodigious-tooth'd, 
A  Transpadane.  my  country  not  to  pass  untax'd. 
In  short  whoever  cleanly  cares  to  rinse  foul  teeth. 

Yet  sweetly  smiling  ever  I  would  have  you  not. 
For  silly  laughter,  it's  a  silly  thing  indeed. 


Well :  you're  a  Celtiberian ;  in  the  parts  thereby 

What  pass'd  the  night  in  water,  every  man,  came  dawn, 
Scours  clean  the  foul  teeth  with  it  and  the  gums  rose-red ; 

So  those  Iberian  snowy  teeth,  the  more  they  shine, 
So  much  the  deeper  they  proclaim  the  draught  impure. 

XL 

■    What  fatality,  what  chimera  drives  thee 
Headlong,  Ravidus,  on  to  my  iambics  ? 

What  fell  deity,  most  malign  to  listen. 
Fires  thy  fury  to  quarrel  unavailing? 

Wouldst  thou  busy  the  breath  of  half  the  people? 
Break  with  clamour  at  any  cost  the  silence  ? 


88  CATULLUS 

Thou  wilt  do  it;  a  wretch  that  hop'd  my  darling 
Love  to  fondle,  a  sure  retaliation. 


XLI 

Ameana,  the  maiden  of  the  people, 

Ask  me  sesterces,  all  the  many  thousands. 

Maiden  she  with  a  nose  not  wholly  faultless, 
Bankrupt  Formian,  your  declar'd  devotion. 

Wherefore  look  to  the  maiden,  her  relations: 
Call  her  family,  summon  all  the  doctors. 

Your  poor  maiden  is  oddly  touch'd :  a  mirror 
Sure  would  lend  her  a  soberer  reflexion. 


XLII 

I 

Come  all  hendecasyllables  whatever, 

Wheresoever  ye  house  you,  all  whatever. 

I  the  game  of  an  impudent  adultress? 
She  refuse  to  return  to  me  the  tablets 
Where  you  syllable?    O  ye  can't  be  silent. 

Up,  have  after  her,  ask  renunciation. 

Would  ye  know  her  ?  a  woman,  you  shall  eye  her 
Strutting  loftily,  whiles  she  laughs  a  loud  laugh 
Vast  and  vulgar,  a  Gaulish  hound  beseeming. 

Form  your  circle  about  her,  ask  her,  urge  her. 

*  Hark,  adultress,  hand  the  note-book  over. 
Hark,  the  note-book,  adultress,  hand  it  over.* 


What  ?  you  scorn  us  ?    O  ugly  filth,  detested 
Trull,  whatever  is  all  abomination. 


POEMS  89 

Nay  then,  louder.     Enough  as  yet  it  is  not. 
If  this  only  remains,  perhaps  the  dog-like 
Face  may  colour,  a  brassy  blush  may  yield  us. 
Swell  your  voices  in  higher  harsher  yellings, 

*  Hark,  adultress,  hand  the  note-book  over ; 

Hark,  the  note-book ;  adultress,  hand  it  over.' 

Look,  she  moves  not  at  all :  we  waste  the  moments. 
Change  your  quality,  try  another  issue. 
Such  composure  a  sweeter  air  may  alter. 

*  Pure  and  virtuous,  hand  the  note-book  over.* 


XLIII 

Hail,  fair  virgin,  a  nose  among  the  larger. 
Feet  not  dainty,  nor  eyes  to  match  a  raven. 
Mouth  scarce  tenible,^  hands  not  wholly  faultless. 
Tongue  most  surely  not  absolute  refinement. 

Bankrupt  Formian,  your  declar'd  devotion. 
Thou  the  beauty,  the  talk  of  all  the  province? 
Thou  my  Lesbia  tamely  think  to  rival? 

O  preposterous,  empty  generation ! 

XLIV 

O  THOU  my  Sabine  farmstead  or  my  Tiburtine, 

For  who  Catullus  would  not  harm,  avow,  kind  souls. 
Thou  surely  art  at  Tibur ;  and  who  quarrel  will 

Sabine  declare  thee,  stake  the  world  to  prove  their  say: 

But  be'st  a  Sabine,  be'st  a  very  Tiburtine, 
At  thy  suburban  villa  what  delight  I  knew 
To  spit  the  tiresome  cough  away,  my  lung's'  ill  guest, 
My  belly  brought  me,  not  without  a  sad  weak  sin. 

Because  a  costly  dinner  I  desir'd  too  much. 


^  I.  e.,  easily  running  over. 


90  CATULLUS 

For  I,  to  feast  with  Sestius,  that  host  unmatch'd, 
A  speech  of  his,  pure  poison,  every  hne  deep-drugg'd. 
His  speech  against  the  plaintiff  Antius,  read  through. 

Whereat  a  cold  chill,  soon  a  gusty  cough  in  fits, 
Shook,  shook  me  ever,  till  to  thy  retreat  I  fled, 
There  duly  dosed  with  nettle  and  repose  found  cure. 
So,  now  recruited,  thanks  superlative,  dear  farm, 

I  give  thee,  who  so  lightly  didst  avenge  that  sin. 

And  trust  me,  farm,  if  ever  I  again  take  up 

With  Sestius'  black  charges,  I'll  rebel  no  more; 
But  let  the  chill  things  damn  to  cold,  to  cough,  not  me 

That  read  the  volume — no,  but  him,  the  man's  vain  self. 

XLV 

I 

While  Septimius  in  his  arms  his  Acme 

Fondled  closely,  '  My  own,'  said  he,  *  my  Acme, 

If  I  love  not  as  unto  death,  nor  hold  me 
Ever  faithfully  well-prepar'd  to  largest 
Strain  of  fiery  wooer  yet  to  love  thee, 

Then  in  Libya,  then  may  I  alone  in 
Burning  India  face  a  sulky  lion.' 

Scarce  he  ended,  upon  the  right  did  eager 
Love  sneeze  amity;  'twas  before  to  leftward. 


Acme  quietly  back  her  head  reclining 

Towards  her  boy,  with  a  rosy  mouth  delightful 
Kissed  his  passionate  eyes  elately  swimming, 

Then  *  Septimius,  O  my  life  '  she  murmur' d, 
*  So  may  he  that  is  in  this  hour  ascendant 


POEMS  91 

Rule  us  ever,  as  in  me  burns  a  greater 
Fire,  a  fiercer,  in  every  vein  triumphing.' 

Scarce  she  ended,  upon  the  right  did  eager 
Love  sneeze  amity;  'twas  before  to  leftward. 


3 

So,  that  augury  joyous  each  possessing, 
Loves,  is  lov'd  with  an  even  emulation. 

Poor  Septimius,  all  to  please  his  Acme, 
Recks  not  Syria,  recks  not  any  Britain. 

In  Septimius  only  faithful  Acme 

Makes  her  softnesses,  holds  her  happy  pleasures. 

When  did  mortal  on  any  so  rejoicing 
Look,  on  union  hallow'd  as  divinely? 

XLVI 

Now  soft  spring  with  her  early  warmth  returneth, 
Now  doth  Zephyrus,  health  benignly  breathing, 
Still  the  boisterous  equinoctial  heaven. 

Leave  we  Phrygia,  leave  the  plains,  Catullus, 
Leave  Nicaea,  the  sultry  soil  of  harvest: 

On  for  Asia,  for  the  starry  cities. 

Now  all  flurry  the  soul  is  out  a-ranging, 

Now  with  vigour  aflame  the  feet  renew  them. 

Farewell  company  true,  my  lovely  comrades. 
You  so  joyfully  borne  from  home  together. 
Now  o'er  many  a  weary  way  returning. 

XLVII 

PoRCius,  Socration,  the  greedy  Piso's 
Tools  of  thievery,  rogues  to  famish  ages, 


92  CATULLUS 

So  that  filthy  Priapus  ousts  to  please  you 
My  Veranius  even  and  Fabullus? 

What?  shall  you  then  at  early  noon  carousing 
Lap  in  luxury?  they,  my  jolly  comrades, 
Search  the  streets  on  a  quest  of  invitation? 


XLVIII 

If,  Juventius/I  the  grace  win  ever 

Still  on  beauteous  honied  eyes  to  kiss  thee, 
I  would  kiss  them  a  million,  yet  a  million. 

Yea,  nor  count  me  to  win  the  full  attainment, 
Not,  tho'  heavier  e'en  than  ears  at  harvest. 
Fall  my  kisses,  a  wealthy  crop  delightful. 

XLIX 

Greatest  speaker  of  any  born  a  Roman, 
Marcus  Tullius,  all  that  are,  that  have  been. 
That  shall  ever  in  after-years  be  famous; 

Thanks  superlative  unto  thee  Catullus 
Renders,  easily  last  among  the  poets. 

He  is  easily  last  among  the  poets 

As  thou  surely  the  first  among  the  pleaders. 

L 

I 

Dear  Lucinius,  yestereve  we  linger'd 

Scrawling  fancies,  a  hundred,  in  my  tablets, 
Wits  in  combat;  a  treaty  this  between  us. 

Scribbling  drolleries  each  of  us  together 
Launched  one  arrowy  metre  and  another, 
Tenders  jocular  o'er  the  merry  wine-cup. 


POEMS  93 


So  quite  sorely  with  all  your  humour  heated 
Gay  Lucinius,  I  that  eve  departed. 

Food  my  misery  could  not  any  lighten, 
Sleep  nor  quiet  upon  my  eyes  descended. 

Still  untamable  o'er  the  couch  did  I  then 
Turn  and  tumble,  in  haste  to  see  the  day-light, 
Hear  your  prattle  again,  again  be  with  you. 

3 

Then,  when  weary  with  all  the  worry,  numb'd,  dead. 
Sank  my  body,  upon  the  bed  reposing. 
This,  O  humorous  heart,  did  I,  a  poem 
Write,  my  tedious  anguish  all  revealing. 

O  beware  then  of  hardihood ;  a  lover's 

Plea  for  charity,  dear  my  friend,  reject  not : 
What  if  Nemesis  haply  claim  repayment? 
She  is  tyrannous.     O  beware  offending. 

LI 

He  to  me  like  unto  the  Gods  appeareth. 
He,  if  I  dare  speak  it,  ascends  above  them, 
Face  to  face  who  toward  thee  attently  sitting 

Gazes  or  hears  thee 
Lovely  in  sweet  laughter;  alas  within  me 
Every  lost  sense  falleth  away  for  anguish; 
When  as  I  look'd  on  thee,  upon  my  lips  no 

Whisper  abideth, 
Straight  my  tongue  froze,  Lesbia;  soon  a  subtle 
Fire  thro'  each  limb  streameth  adown;  with  inward 
Sound  the  full  ears  tinkle,  on  either  eye  night's 

Canopy  darkens. 


94  CATULLUS 

Ease  alone,  Catullus,  alone  afflicts  thee; 
Ease  alone  breeds  error  of  heady  riot; 
Ease  hath  entomb'd  princes  of  old  renown  and 
Cities  of  honour. 


LII 

Enough,  Catullus!  how  can  you  delay  to  die? 
If  in  the  curule  chair  a  hump  sits,  Nonius ; 
A  would-be  consul  lies  in  hope,  Vatinius: 
Enough,  Catullus!  how  can  you  delay  to  die? 


LIII 

How  I  laughed  at  a  wag  amid  the  circle! 
He,  when  Calvus  in  high  denunciation 
Of  Vatinius  had  declaim'd  divinely, 
Hands  uplifted  as  in  supreme  amazement. 
Cried  *  God  bless  us !  a  wordy  cockalorum ! ' 


LIV 

Otho's  head  is  a  very  dwarf ;  a  rustic's 
Shanks  has  Herius,  only  semi-cleanly; 
Libo's  airs  to  a  fume  of  art  refine  them. 


Yet  thou  flee'st  not  above  my  keen  iambics. 


\^So  may  destiny  doom  me  quite  to  silence] 
As  I  care  not  if  every  line  offend  thee 
And  Sufficius,  age  in  youth's  revival. 


Thou  shalt  kindle  at  innocent  iambics, 
Mighty  general,  once  again  returning. 


POEMS  95 

LV 
I 

List,  I  beg,  provided  you're  in  humour. 

Speak  your  privacy,  show  what  alley  veils  you. 

You  I  sought  on  Campus,  I,  the  lesser. 

You  on  Circus,  in  all  the  bills  but  you,  sir. 

You  with  father  Jove  in  holy  temple. 

Then,  where  flocks  the  parade  to  Magnus'  arches, 

Friend,  I  hail'd  each  lady  promenader. 
Each,  I  found,  did  face  me  auite  sedately. 


What  ?  they  steal,  I  loudly  cried,  protesting, 
My  Camerius?  out  upon  the  wenches! 

Answer'd  one  and  lightly  bared  a  bosom, 
*  See !  what  bowery  roses ;  here  he  hides  him.' 

Yea  'twould  task  e'en  Hercules  to  bear  you. 
You  so  scornful,  friend,  in  your  refusing. 


3 

Not  tho'  I  were  warder  of  the  Cretans, 
Not  tho'  Pegasus  on  his  airy  pinion, 

Perseus  feathery- footed,  I  a  Ladas, 

Rhesus'  chariot  yok'd  to  snowy  coursers. 

Add  each  feathery  sandal,  every  flying 

Power,  ask  fleetness  of  all  the  winds  of  heaven. 

Mine,  Camerius,  and  to  me  devoted; 

Yet  with  drudgery  sorely  spent  should  I,  yet 

Worn,  outworn  with  languor  unto  languor 
Faint,  O  friend,  in  an  empty  quest  to  find  you. 


96  CATULLUS 


Say,  where  think  you  anon  to  be;  declare  it, 

Fair  and  free,  submit,  commit  to  dayHght. 
What  ?  still  thrall  to  the  lovely  lily  ladies  ? 

Keep  close  mouth,  lock  fast  the  tongue  within  it, 
Love's  felicity  falls  without  fruition; 

Venus  still  is  free  to  talk,  a  babbler. 
Yet  close  palate,  and  if  ye  will  it;  only 

In  my  love  some  part  to  bear  refuse  not. 

LVII 

O  RARE  sympathies !  happy  rakes  united ! 
There  Alamurra  the  woman,  here  a  Caesar. 

Who  can  wonder  ?     An  ugly  brand  on  either, 
His,  true  Formian,  his,  politely  Roman, 
Rests  indelible,  in  the  bone  residing. 

Either  infamous,  each  a  twin  dishonour, 
Bookish  brethren,  a  dainty  pair  pedantic ; 

One  adultrous,  as  hungry  he ;  with  equal 
Parts  in  women,  a  lusty  corporation. 
O  rare  sympathies!  happy  rakes  united! 

LVIII 

That  bright  Lesbia,  Caelius,  the  self-same 
Peerless  Lesbia,  she  than  whom  Catullus 
Self  nor  family  more  devoutly  cherish'd. 
By  foul  roads,  or  in  every  shameful  alley. 
Strains  the  vigorous  issue  of  the  people. 

LIX 

Poor  Rufa  from  Bononia  Rufulus  gallants, 
Menenius'  errant  lady,  she  that  in  grave-yards 


POEMS  97 

(You've  seen  her  often)  snaps  from  every  pile  her  meal, 

When  hotly  chasing  dusty  loaves  the  fire  rolls  down, 

She  felt  some  half-shorn  corpseman  and  his  hand's  big  blow. 


LX 

Hadst  thou  a  Libyan  lioness  on  heights  all  stone, 

A  Scylla,  barking  wolvish  at  the  loins'  last  verge, 

To  bear  thee,  O  black-hearted,  O  to  shame  forsworn. 

That  unto  supplication  in  my  last  sad  need 

Thou  mightst  not  barken,  deaf  to  ruth,  a  beast,  no  man? 


LXI 

God,  on  verdurous  Helicon 

Dweller,  child  of  Urania, 

Thou  that  draw'st  to  the  man  the  fair 
Maiden,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus: 

Wreathe  thy  brows  in  amaracus* 
Fragrant  blossom;  an  aureat 
Veil  be  round  thee ;  approach,  in  all 

Joy,  approach  with  a  luminous 
Foot,  a  sandal  of  amber. 

Come,  for  jolly  the  time,  awake. 
Chant  in  melody  musical 
Hymns  of  bridal ;  on  earth  a  foot 

Beating,  hands  to  the  winds  above 
Torches  oozily  swinging. 

Such,  as  she  that  on  Idaly 
Venus  dwelleth,  appear'd  before 
Him,  the  Phrygian  arbiter. 

So  with  Mallius  happily 
Happy  Junia  weddeth. 


98  CATULLUS 

Like  some  myrtle  of  Asia 
Bright  in  airily  blossoming 
Boughs,  the  wood  Hamadryades 

Nurse  with  showery  dew,  to  be 
Theirs,  a  tender  plaything. 

So  come  to  us  in  haste;  away, 
Leave  thy  Thespian  hollow-arch'd 
Rock,  muse-haunted,  Aonian, 

Drench'd  in  spray  from  aloft,  the  cold 
Drift  of  Nymph  Aganippe. 

Homeward  summon  a  sovereign 
Wife  most  passionate,  holden  in 
Love  fast  prisoner;  ivy  not 

Closer  closes  an  elm  around, 
Interchangeably  trailing. 

You  too  with  him,  O  you  for  whom 
Comes  as  joyous  a  time,  your  own. 
Virgins  stainless  of  heart,  arise. 

Chant  in  unison,  Hymen,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

That,  more  readily  listening, 
Whiles  your  song  to  familiar 
Duty  calls  him,  he  hie  apace, 

Lord  of  fair  paramours,  of  3-outh's 
Fair  affection  uniter. 

Who  more  worthy  than  he  to  list 
Lovers  wearily  languishing? 
Bends  from  heaven  a  sovereign 
God  adorabler?     Hymen,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus, 

You  the  father  in  years  for  his 

Child  beseecheth ;  a  virginal 
Zone  falls  slackly  to  earth  for  you, 


POEMS  99 

You  half-fear  in  his  hankering 
Lists  the  groomsman  approaching. 

You  from  motherly  lap  the  bright 

Girl  can  sever;  your  hands  divine 

Gives  dominion,  ushering 
Warm  the  lover.     O  Hymen,  O 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

Nought  delightful,  if  you  be  far, 
Nought  unharmed  of  envious 
Tongues,  Love  wins  him:  if  you  be  near 

Much  he  wins  him.     O  excellent 
God,  that  hath  not  a  rival. 

Houses  cannot,  if  you  be  far, 

Yield  their  children,  a  babe  renew 

Sire  or  mother :  if  you  be  near. 
Comes  renewal.     O  excellent 

God,  that  hath  not  a  rival. 

If  your  great  ceremonial 

Fail,  no  champion  yeomanry 

Guards  the  border.    If  you  be  near 
Arms  the  border.     O  excellent 

God,  that  hath  not  a  rival. 


Fling  the  portal  apart.    The  bride 
Waits.     O  see  ye  the  luminous 
Torch-flakes  ruddily  flickering? 


Nought  she  hears  us:  her  innocent 
Eyes  do  weep  to  be  going. 


100  CATULLUS 

Weep  not,  lady;  for  envious 

Tongue  no  lovelier  owneth,  Au- 
Runculeia ;  nor  any  more 

Fair  saw  rosily  bright  the  dawn 
Leave  his  chamber  in  Ocean. 

Such  in  many  a  flowering 

Garden,  trimm'd  for  a  lord's  delight. 
Stands  some  delicate  hyacinth. 

Yet  you  tarry.     The  day  declines. 
Forth,  fair  bride,  to  the  people. 

Forth,  fair  bride,  to  the  people,  if 
So  it  likes  you,  a-listening 
Words  that  please  us.    O  eye  ye  yon 

Torches  ruddily  flickering? 
Forth,  fair  bride,  to  the  people. 

Husband  never  of  yours  shall  haunt 
Stained  wanton,  a  mutinous 
Fancy  shamefully  following, 

Tire  not  ever,  or  e'en  from  your 
Dainty  bosom  unyoke  him. 

He  more  lithe  than  a  vine  amid 
Trees,  that,  mazily  folded,  it 
Clasps  and  closes,  in  amorous 

Arms  shall  clos-e  thee.     The  day  declines. 
Forth,  fair  bride,  to  the  people. 

Couch  of  pleasure.     O  odorous 

Couch,  whose  gorgeous  apparel  lings. 
Silver-purple,  on  Indian 

Woods  do  rest  them;  adozvn  the  bright 
Feet  in  ivory  glisten; 

When  thy  lord  in  his  hour  attains, 
What  large  extasy,  while  the  night 
Fleets,  or  noon  the  meridian 


POEMS  101 


XI- 6 


Passes  thoro'.     The  day  declines. 
Forth,  fair  bride,  to  the  people. 


Lift  the  torches  aloft  in  air, 
Boys :  the  fiery  veil  is  here. 
Come,  to  measure  your  hymn  rehearse. 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

Nor  withhold  ye  the  countryman's 

Ribald  raillery  Fescenine. 

Nor  if  happily  boys  declare 
Thy  dominion  attaint,  refuse, 

Youth,  the  nuts  to  be  flinging. 

Fling,  O  womanish  youth ;  the  boys 
Ask  thee  charity.    Time  agone 
Toys  and  folly:  to-day  begins 

Our  high  duty,  Talaspius. 

Hasten,  youth,  to  be  flinging. 

Thou  didst  surely  but  yestereve 
Mock  the  women,  a  favourite 
Far  above  them:  anon  the  first 

Beard,  the  razor.    Alack,  alas! 
Hasten,  youth,  to  be  flinging. 

You,  whom  odorous  oils  declare 
Bridegroom,  swerve  not ;  a  slippery 
Love  calls  lightly,  but  yet  refrain. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

Lawful  only  did  e'er  delight 

You,  we  know:  but  it  is  not,  O 
Husband,  lawful  as  heretofore. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 


102  CATULLUS 

Bride,  thou  also,  if  he  demand 
Aught,  refuse  not,  assent,  obey. 
Love  can  angrily  pipe  adieu. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

Look!  thy  mansion,  a  sovereign 
Home  most  goodly,  by  him  to  thee 
Given.     Reign  as  a  queen  within. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

Still  when  hoary  decrepitude, 
Shaking  wintery  brows  benign, 
Nods  a  tremulous  Yes  to  all. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 


With  fair  augury  smite  the  blest 
Threshold,  sunnily  glistening 
Feet :  yon  ivory  door  approach. 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

See  one  seated,  a  banqueter. 
'Tis  thy  lord  on  a  Tyrian 
Couch:  his  spirit  is  all  to  thee. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

Not  less  surely  in  him  than  in 
Thee  love  lighteth  a  bosoming 
Flame ;  but  deeper,  a  fire  within. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

[A  stanza  is  missing  here.l 


POEMS  103 

Thou,  whose  purple  her  arm,  the  slim 

Arm,  props  happily,  boy,  depart. 

Time  the  bride  be  at  entering. 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 

You  in  chastity  tried  the  long 
Years,  good  women  of  agedest 
Husbands,  lay  ye  the  bride  to-night. 

Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus,  O 
Hymen,  O  Hymenaeus. 


Husband,  stay  not:  a  bride  within 
Coucheth  ready,  the  flowering 
Spring  less  lovely;  a  countenance 
White  as  parthenice,  beyond 
Yellow  poppy  to  gaze  on. 

Thou,  so  help  me  the  favouring 
Gods  immortal,  as  heavenly 
Fair  art  also,  adorned  of 

Venus'  bounty.     The  day  declines. 
Come  nor  tarry  to  greet  her. 

Not  too  slothfully  tarrying, 
Thou  art  here.     Benediction  of 
Venus  help  thee,  a  man  without 

Shame,  a  blameless,  a  love  that  is 
Honest  frankly  revealing. 

Dust  of  infinite  Africa, 

Stars  that  sparkle,  a  myriad 

Host,  who  measureth,  your  delights 

He  shall  tell  them,  ineffable, 
Multitudinous,  over. 

Make  your  happy  delight,  renew'd 
Soon  in  children.    A  glorious 
Name  and  olden  is  ill  without ' 


104  CATULLUS 

Children,  unto  the  first  a  new 
Stock  as  goodly  begetting. 

Some  Torquatus,  a  beauteous 

Babe,  on  motherly  breasts  to  thee 
Stretching,  father,  his  innocent 
Hands,  smile  softly  from  inchoate 
Lips  half-open  a  welcome. 

Like  his  father,  a  Mallius 
New  presented,  of  every 
Eyeing  stranger  allowed  his  own; 

Mother's  chastity  moulded  in 
Features  childly  revealing. 

Glory  speak  of  him  issuing 
Child  of  mother  as  excellent 
She,  as  only  that  age-renown'd 

Wife,  whose  story  Telemachus 
Blazons,  Penelopea. 

Virgins,  close  ye  the  door.     Enough 
This  our  carol.    O  happiest 
Lovers,  jollity  live  with  you. 

Still  that  genial  youth  to  love's 
Consummation  attend  ye. 


LXII 

YOUTHS 

Hesper  is  here ;  rise  youths,  rise  all  of  you ;  high  on  Olympus 
Hesper  his  orb  long-look'd  for  aloft  'gins  slowly  to  kindle. 
Time  is  now  to  arise,  from  tables  costly  to  part  us ; 
Now  doth  a  virgin  approach,  now  soundeth  a  glad  Hyme- 
naeal. 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 


POEMS  105 


VIRGINS 


See  ye  yon  youthful  band?    O,  maidens,  rise  ye  to  meet  them. 
Comes  not  Night's  bright  bearer  a  fire  o'er  Oeta  revealing? 
Surely;  for  even  now,  in  a  moment  all  have  arisen, 
Not  for  nought  have  arisen;  a  song  waits,  goodly  to  gaze 
on. 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Plymen  come  Hymenaeus. 


YOUTHS 

No  light  victory  this,  O  comrades,  ready  before  us. 
Busy  the  virgins  muse,  their  practis'd  ditty  recalling, 
Muse  nor  shall  miscarry;  a  song  for  memory  waits  us. 
Rightly;  for  all  their  souls  do  inwards  labour  in  issue. 


We — our  thoughts  one  way,  our  ears  have  drifted  another. 
So  comes  worthy  defeat;  no  victory  calls  to  the  careless. 
Come  then,  in  even  race  let  thought  their  melody  rival; 
They  must  open  anon ;  'twere  better  anon  be  replying. 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 


VIRGINS 

Hesper,  moveth  in  heaven  a  light  more  tyrannous  ever? 

Thou  from  a  mother's  arms  canst  wrest  her  daughter 
asunder. 

Wrest  from  a  mother's  arms  her  daughter  woefully  cling- 
ing. 

Then  to  the  burning  youth  his  virgin  beauty  deliver. 

Foes  in  a  new-sack'd  town,  when  wrought  they  crueller 
ever? 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus, 


106  CATULLUS 


YOUTHS 


Hesper,  shineth  in  heaven  a  light  more  genial  ever? 
Thou  with  a  bridal  flame  true  lovers'  unity  crownest, 
All  which  duly  the  men,  which  plighted  duly  the  parents, 
Then  completed  alone,  when  thou  in  splendour  awakest. 
When  shone  an  happier  hour  than  thy  god-speeded  arriv- 
ing? 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 


VIRGINS 

Sisters,  Hesper  a  fellow  of  our  bright  company  taketh. 

l^Si.r  lines  of  this  stayiza  arc  here  missing] 
Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 

YOUTHS 


Hesper,  awaiting  thee  each  sentinel  holdeth  alarum. 

Night  veils  love's  false  thieves;  thieves  still  when,  Hesper, 
another 

Name,  but  unalter'd  still,  thou  tak'st  them  surely,  return- 
ing. 

Yet  be  the  maidens  pleas'd  in  woeful  fancy  to  chide  thee. 

Maybe  for  all  they  chide,  their  hearts  do  inly  desire  thee. 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 


VIRGINS 

Look  in  a  garden-croft  when  a  flower  privily  growing. 
Hide  from  grazing  kine,  by  ploughshare  never  y-broken. 


POEMS  107 

Strok'd  by  the  breeze,  by  the  sun  nurs'd  sturdily,  rear'd  by 

the  showers; 
Many  a  wistful  boy,  and  maidens  many  desire  it: 

Yet  if  a  slender  nail  hath  nipt  his  bloom  to  deflour  it, 
Never  a  wistful  boy,  nor  maidens  any  desire  it: 

Such  is  a  girl  untoy'd  with  as  yet,  yet  lovely  to  kinsmen ; 
Once  her  body  profan'd,  her  flow'r  of  chastity  blighted, 
Boys  no  more  she  delights,  nor  seems  so  lovely  to  maidens ; 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 

YOUTHS 

Look  as  a  lone  lorn  vine  in  a  bare  field  sorrily  growing, 
Never  an  arm  uplifts,  no  grape  to  maturity  ripens, 

Only  with  headlong  weight  her  tender  body  declining, 
Bows,  till  topmost  spray  and  roots  meet  feebly  together ; 
Her  no  peasant  swain,  nor  bullock  tendeth  her  ever: 

Yet  to  the  bachelor  elm  if  marriage- fortune  unite  her, 
Many  a  peasant  tills  and  bullocks  many  about  her; 

Such  is  a  maid  untoy'd  with  as  yet,  in  loneliness  aging; 

Wins  she  a  bridegroom  meet,  in  time's  warm  fulness  ar- 
riving, 
So  to  the  man  more  dear,  and  less  unlovely  to  parents. 

O  then,  clasp  thy  love,  nor  fight,  fair  maiden,  against  him. 
Sin  'twere  surely  to  fight ;  thy  father  gave  to  his  arms  thee, 
Father's  self  and  mother;  obey  nor  wrongly  defy  them. 


Virgin's  crown  thou  claim'st  not  alone,  but  partly  the  parents, 
Father's  one  whole  part,  one  goes  to  the  mother  allotted, 
Rests  one  only  to  thee ;  O  fight  not  with  them  alone  thou, 
Both  to  a  son  their  rights  and  both  their  dowry  deliver. 

Hymen  O  Hymenaeus,  O  Hymen  come  Hymenaeus. 


108  CATULLUS 

LXIII 

In  a  swift  ship  Attis  hasting  over  ocean  a  mariner 

When  he  gained  the  wood,  the  Phrygian,  with  a  foot  of 

agility, 
When  he  near'd  the  leafy  forest,  dark  sanctuary  divine; 
By  unearthly  fury  frenzied,  a  bewildered  agony, 
With  a  flint  of  edge  he  shatter'd  to  the  ground  his  hu- 
manity. 
Then  aghast  to  see  the  lost  limbs,  the  deform'd  inutility, 
While  still  the  gory  dabble  did  anew  the  soil  pollute, 
With  a  snowy  palm  the  woman  took  affrayed  a  taborine. 
Taborine,  the  trump  that  hails  thee,  Cybele,  thy  initiant. 
Then  a  dainty  finger  heaving  to  the  tremulous  hide  o'  the 

bull, 
He  began  this  invocation  to  the  company,  spirit-awed. 


"  To  the  groves,  ye  sexless  eunuchs,  in  assembly  to  Cybele, 
Lost  sheep  that  err  rebellious  to  the  lady  Dindymene ; 
Ye,  who  all  awing  for  exile  in  a  country  of  aliens. 
My  unearthly  rule  obeying  to  be  with  me,  my  retinue, 
Could  ably  the  surly  salt  seas'  mid  inexorability. 
Could  in  utter  hate  to  lewdness  your  sex  dishabilitate ; 

Let  a  gong  clash  glad  emotion,  set  a  giddy  fury  to  roam, 
All  slow  delay  be  banish'd,  thither  hie  ye  thither  away 
To  the   Phrygian   home,   the   wild  wood,   to   the   sanctuary 
divine ; 

Where  rings  the  noisy  cymbal,  taborines  are  in  echoing, 
On  a  curved  oat  the  Phrygian  deep  pipeth  a  melody. 
With  a  fury  toss  the  Maenads  clad  in  ivies  a  frolic  head. 
To  a  barbarous  ululation  the  religious  orgy  wakes, 
Where  fleets  across  the  silence  Cybele's  holy  family; 
Thither  hie  we,  so  beseems  us;  to  a  mazy  measure  away." 

Thus  as  Attis,  a  woman,  Attis,  not  a  woman,  urg'd  the  rest. 
On  a  sudden  yell'd  in  huddling  agitation  every  tongue. 


POEMS  109 

Taborines  give  airy  murmur,  give  a  clangorous  echo  gongs, 
With  a  rush  the  brotherhood  hastens  to  the  woods,  the 

bosom  of  Ide. 
Then  in  agony,  breathless,  errant,  flush'd  wearily,  cometh 

on 
Taborine  behind  him,  Attis,  thoro'  leafy  glooms  a  guide, 
As  a  restive  heifer  yields  not  to  the  cumbrous  onerous  yoke. 
Thither  hie  the  votaress  eunuchs  with  an  emulous  alacrity. 
Now  faintly  sickly  plodding  to  the  goddess's  holy  shrine, 
They  took  the  rest  which  easeth  long  toil,  nor  ate  withal. 
Slow  sleep  descends  on  eyelids  ready  drowsily  to  decline, 
In  a  soft  repose  departeth  the  devout  spirit-agony. 
When  awoke  the  sun,  the  golden,  that  his  eyes  heaven- 
orient 
Scann'd  lustrous  air,  the  rude  seas,  earth's  massy  solidity, 
When  he   smote   the  shadowy   twilight   with   his  healthy 

team  sublime. 
Then  arous'd  was  Attis ;  o'er  him  sleep  hastily  fled  away 
To  Pasithea's  arms  immortal  with  a  tremulous  hovering. 
But  awaked  from  his  reposing,  the  delirious  anguish  o'er, 
When  as  Attis'  heart  recalled  him  to  the  past  solitarily, 
Saw  clearly  where  he  stood,  what,  an  annihilate  apathy. 
With  a  soul  that  heaved  within  him,  to  the  water  he  fled 

again. 
Then  as  o'er  the  waste  of  ocean  with  a  rainy  eye  he  gazed 
To  the  land  of  home  he  murmur'd  miserably  a  soliloquy. 


"  Mother-home  of  all  affection,  dear  home,  my  nativity. 
Whom  in  anguish  I  deserting,  as  in  hatred  a  runaway 
From  a  master,  hither  have  hurried  to  the  lonely  woods 
of  Ide, 

To  be  with  the  snows,  the  wild  beasts,  in  a  wintry  domicile, 
To  be  near  each  savage  houser  that  a  surly  fury  provokes. 
What  horizon,  O  beloved,  may  attain  to  thee  anywhere? 

Yet  an  eyeless  orb  is  yearning  ineffectually  to  thee. 
For  a  little  ere  returneth  the  delirious  hour  again. 


no  CATULLUS 

Shall  a  homeless  Attis  hie  him  to  the  groves  vminhabited? 
Shall  he  leave  a  country,  wealth,   friends?  bid  a  sire,  a 

mother,  adieu? 
The  palaestra  lost,  the  forum,  the  gymnasium,  the  course? 

O  unhappy,  fall  a-weeping,  thou  unhappy  soul,  for  aye. 

For  is  honour  of  any  semblance,  any  oeauty  but  of  it  I? 
Who,  a  woman  here,  in  order  was  a  man,  a  youth,  a  boy. 
To  the  sinewy  ring  a  fam'd  flower,  the  gymnasium's  ap- 
plause. 

With  a  throng  about  the  portal,  with  a  populace  in  the  gate. 
With  a  flowery  coronal   hanging  upon   every  column  of 

home, 
When  anew  my  chamber  open'd,  as  awoke  the  sunny  morn. 

O  am  I  to  live  the  god's  slave?  feodary  be  to  Cybele? 
Or  a  Maenad  I,  an  eunuch?  or  a  part  of  a  body  slain? 

Or  am  I  to  range  the  green  tracts  upon  Ida  snowy-chill? 
Be  beneath  the  stately  caverns  colonnaded  of  Asia? 
Be  with  hind  that  haunts  the  covert,  or  in  hursts  that  house 
the  boar? 

Woe,  woe  the  deed  accomplish'd !  woe,  woe,  the  shame  to 
me!" 

From  rosy  lips  ascending  when  approached  the  gusty  cry 
To  celestial  ears  recording  such  a  message  inly  borne, 
Cybele,  the  thong  relaxing  from  a  lion-haled  yoke. 
Said,  ale  ft  the  goad  addressing  to  the  foe  that  awes  the 
flocks — 


"Come,  a  service;  haste,  my  brave  one;  let  a  fury  the  mad- 
man arm. 
Let  a  fury,  a  frenzy  prick  him  to  return  to  the  wood  again. 
This  is  he  my  best  declineth,  the  unheedy,  the  run-away. 


POEMS  111 

From  an  angry  tail  refuse  not  to  abide  the  sinewy  stroke, 
To  a  roar  let  all  the  regions  echo  answer  everywhere, 
On  a  nervy  neck  be  tossing  that  uneasy  tawny  mane." 


So  in  ire  she  spake,  adjusting  disunitedly  then  her  yoke 
At  his  own  rebuke  the  lion  doth  his  heart  to  a  fury  spur, 
With  a  step,  a  roar,  a  bursting  unarrested  of  any  brake. 
But  anear  the  foamy  places  when  he  came,  to  the  frothy 

beach. 
When  he  saw  the  sexless  Attis  by  the  seas'  level  opaline, 
Then  he  rushed  upon  him ;  affrighted  to  the  wintery  wood 

he  flew, 
Cybele's  for  aye,  for  all  years,  in  her  order  a  votaress 
Holy  deity,  great  Cybele,  holy  lady  Dindymene, 
Be  to  me  afar  for  ever  that  inordinate  agony. 
O  another  hound  to  madness,  O  another  hurry  to  rage! 

LXIV 

Born  on  Pelion  height,  so  legend  hoary  relateth, 

Pines  once  floated  adrift  on  Neptune  billowy  streaming 
On  to  the  Phasis  flood,  to  the  borders  vEaetean. 
Then  did  a  chosen  array,  rare  bloom  of  valorous  Argos, 
Fain  from  Colchian  earth  her  fleece  of  glory  to  ravish. 
Dare  with  a  keel  of  swiftness  adown  salt  seas  to  be  fleeting, 
Swept  with  fir-blades  oary  the  fair  level  azure  of  Ocean. 
Then  that  deity  bright,  who  keeps  in  cities  her  high  ward. 
Made  to  delight  them  a  car,  to  the  light  breeze  airily  scud- 
ding, 
Texture   of    upright    pine    with    a   keel's   curved  rondure 

uniting. 
That  first  sailer  of  all  burst  ever  on  Amphitrite. 

Scarcely  the  forward  snout  tore  up  that  wintery  water. 
Scarcely  the  wave  foamed  white  to  the  reckless  harrow  of 

oarsmen. 
Straight  from  amid  white  eddies  arose  wild  faces  of  Ocean, 
Nereid,  earnest-eyed,  in  wondrous  admiration. 


112  CATULLUS 

Then,  not  after  again,  saw  ever  mortal  unharmed 
Sea-born  Nymphs  unveil  limbs  flushing  naked  about  them, 
Stark  to  the  nursing  breasts  from  foam  and  billow  arising. 
Then,  so  stories  avow,  burn'd  Peleus  hotly  to  Thetis, 
Then  to  a  mortal  lover  abode  not  Thetis  unheeding, 
Then  did  a  father  agree  Peleus  with  Thetis  unite  him. 

O  in  an  aureat  hour,  O  born  In  bounteous  ages, 

God-sprung  heroes,  hail :  hail,  mother  of  all  benediction, 
You  my  song  shall  address,  you  melodies  everlasting. 
Thee  most  chiefly,  supreme  in  glory  of  heavenly  bridal, 
Peleus,  stately  defence  of  Thessaly.     luppiter  even 
Gave  thee  his  own  fair  love,  thy  mortal  pleasure  approving. 
Thee  could  Thetis  inarm,  most  beauteous  Ocean-daughter? 
Tethys  adopt  thee,  her  own  dear  grandchild's  wooer  usurp- 
ing? 
Ocean,  who  earth's  vast  globe  with  a  watery  girdle  in- 
orbeth  ? 

When  the  delectable  hour  those  days  did  fully  determine. 
Straightway  then  In  crowds   all  Thessaly  flock'd   to   the 

palace, 
Thronging  hosts  uncounted,  a  company  joyous  approach- 
ing. 
Many  a  gift  they  carry,  delight  their  faces  illumines. 
Left  Is  Scyros  afar,  and  Phthia's  bowery  Tempe, 
Vacant  Crannon's  homes,  unvlsited  high  Larsa, 
Towards  Pharsalla's  halls,  Pharsalla's  only  they  hie  them. 

Bides  no  tiller  afield;  necks  soften  of  oxen  in  idlesse; 

Feel  not  a  prong'd  crook'd  hoe  lush  vines  all  weedily  trail- 
ing; 

Tears  no  steer  deep  clods  with  a  downward  coulter  un- 
earthed ; 

Prunes  no  hedger's  bill  broad-verging  verdurous  arbours ; 

Steals  a  deforming  rust  on  ploughs  left  rankly  to  moulder. 

But  that  sovran  abode,  each  sumptuous  inly  retiring 
Chamber,  aflame  with  gold,  with  silver  is  all  resplendant ; 


POEMS  113 

Thrones  gleam  ivory-white;  cup-crown'd  blaze  brightly  the 

tables ; 
All  the  domain  with  treasure  of  empery  gaudily  flushes. 

There,  set  deeply  within  the  remotest  centre,  a  bridal 

Bed   doth   a   goddess   inarm;   smooth   ivory  glossy   from 

Indies, 
Robed  in  roseate  hues,  rich  seashells'  purple  adorning. 


It  was  a  broidery  freak'd  with  tissue  of  images  olden, 
One  whose  curious  art  did  blazon  valour  of  heroes. 
Gazing  forth  from  a  beach  of  Dia  the  billow-resounding, 
Look'd  on  a  vanish'd  fleet,  on  Theseus  quickly  departing. 
Restless  in  unquell'd  passion,  a  feverous  heart,  Ariadne. 
Scarcely  her  eyes  yet  seem  their  seeming  clearly  to  vision. 
You  might  guess  that  arous'd  from  slumber's  drowsy  be- 
trayal. 
Sand-engirded,  alone,  then  first  she  knew  desolation. 
He  the  betrayer — his  oars  with  fugitive  hurry  the  waters 
Beat,  each  promise  of  old  to  the  winds  given  idly  to  bear 
them. 

Him   from  amid  shore-weeds  doth  Minos'  daughter,  in  an- 
guish 
Rigid,  a  Bacchant- form,  dim-gazing  stonily  follow, 
Stonily  still,  wave-tost  on  a  sea  of  troublous  affliction. 
Holds  not  her  yellow  locks  the  tiara's  feathery  tissue ; 
Veils  not  her  hidden  breast  light  brede  of  drapery  woven ; 
Binds  not  a  cincture  smooth  her  bosom's  orbed  emotion. 
A\^idely  from  each  fair  limb  that  footward-fallen  apparel 
Drifts  its  lady  before,  in  billowy  salt  loose-playing. 

Not  for  silky  tiara  nor  amice  gustily  floating 

Recks  she  at  all  any  more ;  thee,  Theseus,  ever  her  earnest 
Heart,  all  clinging  thought,  all  chained  fancy  requireth. 
Ah  unfortunate!  whom  with  miseries  ever  crazing, 
Thorns  in  her  heart  deep  planted,  affray'd  Erycina  to  mad- 
ness, 


114  CATULLUS 

From  that  earlier  hour,  when  fierce  for  victory  Theseus 
Started  alert  from  a  beach  deep-inleted  of  Piraeus, 
Gain'd  Gortyna's  abode,  injurious  halls  of  oppression. 

Once,  'tis  sung  in  stories,  a  dire  distemper  atoning 

Death  of  an  ill-blest  prince,  Androgeos,  angrily  slaughter'd, 
Taxed  of  her  youthful  array,  her  maidenly  bloom  fresh- 
glowing, 
Feast  to  the  monster  bull,  Cecropia,  ransom-laden. 
Then,  when  a  plague  so  deadly,  the  garrison  under-mining, 
Spent  that  slender  city,  his  Athens  dearly  to  rescue. 
Sooner  life  Theseus  and  precious  body  did  offer, 
Ere  his  country  to  Crete  freight  corpses,  a  life  in  seeming. 
So  with  a  ship  fast-fleeted,  a  gale  blown  gently  behind  him, 

Push'd  he  his  onward  journey  to  Minos'  haughty  dominion. 

Him  for  very  delight  when  a  virgin  fondly  desiring 
Gazed  on,  a  royal  virgin,  in  odours  silkly  nestled. 
Pure   from  a  maiden's  couch,   from  a  mother's  pillowy 

bosom, 
Like  some  myrtle,  anear  Eurotas'  water  arising. 
Like  earth's  myriad  hues,  spring's  progeny,  rais'd  to  the 

breezes ; 
Droop'd  not  her  eyes  their  gaze  unquenchable,  ever-burning 
Save  when  in  each  charm'd  limb  to  the  depths  enfolded,  a 

sudden 
Flame  blazed  hotly  within  her,  in  all  her  marrow  abiding. 

O  thou  cruel  of  heart,  thou  madding  worker  of  anguish, 
Boy  immortal,  of  whom  joy  springs  with  misery  blending. 
Yea,  thou  queen  of  Golgi,  of  Idaly  leaf-embower'd, 
O'er  what  a  fire  love-lit,  what  billows  wearily  tossing, 
Drave  ye  the  maid,   for  a  guest  so  sunnily  lock'd   deep 

sighing. 
What  most  dismal  alarms  her  swooning  fancy  did  echo ! 
Oft  what  a  sallower  hue  than  gold's  cold  glitter  upon  her! 
Whiles,  heart-hungry  in  arms  that  monster  deadly  to  com- 
bat, 
Theseus  drew  towards  death  or  victory,  guerdon  of  honour. 


POEMS  115 

Yet  not  lost  the  devotion,  or  offer'd  idly  the  virgin's 
Gifts,    as    her    unvoic'd   lips    breathed   incense    faintly    to 
heaven. 

As  on  Taurus  aloft  some  oak  agitatedly  waving 

Tosses  his  arms,  or  a  pine  cone-mantled,  oozily  rinded. 
When  as  his  huge  gnarled  trunk  in  furious  eddies  a  whirl- 
wind 
Riving  wresteth  amain ;  down  falleth  he,  upward  hoven, 
Falleth  on  earth ;  far,  near,  all  crackles  brittle  around  him, 
So  to  the  ground  Theseus  his  fallen  foeman  abasing. 
Slew,  that  his  horned  front  toss'd  vainly,  a  sport  to  the 

breezes. 
Thence  in  safety,  a  victor,  in  height  of  glory  returned, 
Guiding  errant  feet  to  a  thread's  impalpable  order. 
Lest,  upon  egress  bent  thro'  tortuous  aisles  labyrinthine, 
Walls  of  blindness,  a  maze  unravell'd  ever,  elude  him. 

Yet,  for  again  I  come  to  the  former  story,  beseems  not 
Linger  on  all  done  there ;  how  left  that  daughter  a  gazing 
Father,  a  sister's  arms,  her  mother  woefully  clinging. 
Mother,  who  o'er  that  child  moan'd  desperate,  all  heart- 
broken ; 
How  not  in  home  that  maid,  in  Theseus  only  delighted  ; 
How  her  ship  on  a  shore  of  foaming  Dia  did  harbour; 
How,  when  her  eyes  lay  bound  in  slumber's  shadowy  prison. 
He  forsook,  forgot  her,  a  wooer  traitorous-hearted: 

Oft,  say  stories,  at  heart  with  frenzied  fantasy  burning, 

Pour'd  she,  a  deep-wrung  breast,  clear-ringing  cries  of  op- 
pression ; 

Sometimes  mournfully  clomb  to  the  mountain's  rugged  as- 
cension. 

Straining  thence  her  vision  across  wide  surges  of  ocean ; 

Now  to  the  brine  ran  forth,  upsplashing  freshly  to  meet 
her, 

Lifting  raiment  fine  her  thighs  which  softly  did  open; 

Last,  when  sorrow  had  end,  these  words  thus  spake  she 
lamenting. 


116  CATULLUS 

While  from  a  mouth  tear-stain'd  chill  sobs  gushed  dolorous 
ever. 


'Look,  is  it  here,  false  heart,  that  rapt  from  country,  from 
altar. 

Household  altar  ashore,  I  wander,  falsely  deserted  ? 

Ah !  is  it  hence,  Theseus,  that  against  high  heaven  a  traitor 
Homeward  thou  thy  vileness,  alas  thy  perjury  bearest? 

Might  not  a  thought,  one  thought,  thy  cruel  counsel  abating 
Sway  thee  tender  ?  at  heart  rose  no  compassion  or  any 
Mercy,  to  bend  thy  soul,  or  me  for  pity  deliver  ? 

Yet  not  this  thy  promise  of  old,  thy  dearly  remembered 
Voice,  not  these  the  delights  thou  bad'st  thy  poor  one  in- 
herit ; 
Nay,  but  wedlock  happy,  but  envied  joy  hymeneal ; 

All  now  melted  in  air,  with  a  light  wind  emptily  fleeting. 


Let  not  a  woman  trust,  since  the  first  treason,  a  lover's 
Desperate  oath,  none  hope  true  lover's  promise  is  earnest. 
They,  while  fondly  to  win  their  amorous  humour  essayeth, 
Fear  no  covetous  oath,  all  false  free-promises  heed  not ; 
They  if  once  lewd  pleasure  attain  unruly  possession, 

Lo  they  fear  not  promise,  of  oath  or  perjury  reck  not. 

Yet  indeed,  yet  I,  when  floods  of  death  were  around  thee. 
Set  thee  on  high,  did  rather  a  brother  choose  to  defend  not. 
Ere  I,  in  hate's  last  hour,  false  heart,  fail'd  thee  to  deliver. 
Now,  for  a  goodly  reward,  to  the  beasts  they  give  me,  the 
flying 
Fowls;  no  handful  of  earth  shall  bury  me,  pass'd  to  the 
shadows. 


What  grim  lioness  yeaned  thee,  aneath  what  rock's  desola- 
tion? 


POEMS  117 

What  wild  sea  did  bear,  what  billows  foamy  regorged  thee  ? 
Seething  sand,  or  Scylla  the  snare,  or  lonely  Charybdis? 
If  for  a  life's  dear  joy  comes  back  such  only  requital? 

Hadst  not  a  will  with  spousal  an  honour'd  wife  to  receive  me? 

Awed  thee  a  father  stern,  cross  age's  churlish  avising? 

Yet  to  your  household  thou,  your  kindred  palaces  olden, 

Might'st  have  led  me,  to  wait,  joy-filled,  a  retainer  upon 
thee, 

Now  in  waters  clear  thy  feet  like  ivory  laving, 
Clothing  now  thy  bed  with  crimson's  gorgeous  apparel. 

Yet  to  the  brutish  winds  why  moan  I  longer  unheeded, 
Crazy  with  an  ill  wrong?     They  senseless,  voiceless,  in- 
human 
Utter'd  cry  they  hear  not,  in  answers  hollow  reply  not. 
He  rides  far  already,  the  mid  sea's  boundary  cleaving, 
Strays  no  mortal  along  these  weeds  stretched  lonely  about 

me. 
Thus  to  my  utmost  need  chance,  spite  fuller  injury  dealing, 
Grudges  an  ear,  where  yet  might  lamentation  have  entry. 


Jove,  almighty,  supreme,  O  would  that  never  in  early 

Time  on  Gnossian  earth  great  Cecrops'  navies  had  har- 

bour'd, 
Ne'er  to  that  unquell'd  bull  with  a  ransom  of  horror  aton- 
ing, 
Moor'd  on  Crete  his  cable  a  shipman's  wily  dishonour. 
Never  in  youth's  fair  shape  such  ruthless  stratagem  hiding 
He,  that  vile  one,  a  guest  found  with  us  a  safe  habitation. 

Whither  flee  then  afar?  what  hope,  poor  lost  one,  upholds 
thee? 
Mountains  Idomenean  ?  alas,  broad  surges  of  ocean 
Part  us,  a  rough  rude  space  of  flowing  water,  asunder. 
Trust  in  a  father's  help?  how  trust,  whom  darkly  desert- 
ing. 
Him  I  turned  to  alone,  mv  brother's  bloody  defier? 
XI— 9 


118  CATULLUS 

Nay,  but  a  loyal  lover,  a  hand  pledg'd  surely,  shall  ease  me. 
Surely ;  for  o'er  wide  water  his  oars  move  flexibly  fleeting. 

Also  a  desert  lies  this  region,  a  tenantless  island, 

Nowhere  open  way,  seas  splash  in  circle  around  me, 
Nowhere  flight,  no  glimmer  of  hope;  all  mournfully  silent, 

Loneliness  all,  all  points  me  to  death,  death  only  remaining. 


Yet  these  luminous  orbs  shall  sink  not  feebly  to  darkness. 
Yet  from  grief-worn  limbs  shall  feeling  wholly  depart  not. 
Till  to  the  gods  I  cry,  the  betrayed,  for  justice  on  evil, 

Sue  for  life's  last  mercy  the  great  federation  of  heaven. 

Then,  O  sworn  to  requite  man's  evil  wrath  fully,  Powers 
Gracious,  on  whose  grim  brows,  with  viper  tresses  inorbed, 
Looks  red-breathing  forth  your  bosom's  feverous  anger ; 

Now,  yea  now  come  surely,  to  these  loud  miseries  barken, 
All  I  cry,  the  afflicted,  of  inmost  marrow  arising. 
Desolate,  hot  with  pain,  with  blinding  fury  bewilder'd. 

Yet,  for  of  heart  they  spring,  grief's  children  truly  begotten, 
Verily,  Gods,  these  moans  you  will  not  idly  to  perish. 
But  with  counsel  of  evil  as  he  forsook  me  deceiving. 

Death  to  his  house,  to  his  heart,  bring  also  counsel  of  evil. 


When  from  an  anguish'd  heart  these  words  stream'd  sorrow- 
ful upwards, 

Words  which  on  iron  deeds  did  sue  for  deadly  requital, 

Bow'd  with  a  nod  of  assent  almighty  the  ruler  of  heaven. 

With  that  dreadful  motion  aneath  earth's  hollow,  the  ruffled 

Ocean  shook,  and  stormy  the  stars  'gan  tremble  in  ether. 

Thereto  his  heart  thick-sown  with  blindness  cloudily 
dark'ning, 

Thought  not  of  all  those  words,  Theseus,  from  memory 
fallen. 

Words  which  his  heedful  soul  had  kept  immovable  ever. 


POEMS  119 

Nor  to  his  eager  sire  fair  token  of  happy  returning 
Rais'd,    when    his   eyes    safe-sighted    Erectheus'  populous 

haven. 
Once,  so  stories  tell,  when  Pallas'  city  behind  him 
Leaving,  Theseus'  fleet  to  the  winds  given  hopefully  parted, 
Clasping  then  his  son  spake  Aegeus,  straitly  commanding. 


Son,  mine  only  delight,  than  life  more  lovely  to  gaze  on, 
Son,  whom  needs  it  faints  me  to  launch  full-tided  on  haz- 
ards, 
Whom  my  winter  of  years  hath  laid  so  lately  before  me: 

Since  my  fate  unkindly,  thy  own  fierce  valour  unheeding. 
Needs  must  wrest  thee  away,  ere  yet  these  dimly-lit  eye- 
balls 
Feed  to  the  full  on  thee,  thy  worshipt  body  beholding ; 

Neither  in  exultation  of  heart  I  send  thee  a-warring; 

Nor  to  the  fight  shalt  bear  fair  fortune's  happier  earnest ; 
Rather,  first  in  cries  mine  heart  shall  lighten  her  anguish, 

When  greylocks  I  sully  with  earth,  with  sprinkle  of  ashes ; 

Next  to  the  swaying  mast  shall  a  sail  hang  duskily  swinging ; 
So  this  grief,  mine  own,  this  burning  sorrow  within  me. 
Want  not  a  sign,  dark  shrouds  of  Iberia,  sombre  as  iron. 

Then,  if  haply  the  queen,  lone  ranger  on  haunted  Itonus, 
Pleas'd  to  defend  our  people,  Erectheus'  safe  habitations. 
Frown  not,  allow  thine  hand  that  bull  all  redly  to  slaughter, 

Look  that  warily  then  deep-laid  in  steady  remembrance, 
These  our  words  grow  greenly,  nor  age  move  on  to  deface 
them ; 

Soon  as  on  home's  fair  hills  thine  eyes  shall  signal  a  welcome, 
See  that  on  each  straight  yard  down  droop  their  funeral 
housings, 


120  CATULLUS 

Whitely  the  tight-strung  cordage  a  sparkling  canvas  aloft 
swing, 

Which  to  behold  straightway  with  joy  shall  cheer  me,  with 
inward 
Joy,  when  a  prosperous  hour  shall  bring  to  thee  happy  re- 
turning. 


So  for  a  while  that  charge  did  Theseus  faithfully  cherish. 
Last,  it  melted  away,  as  a  cloud  which  riven  in  ether 
Breaks  to  the  blast,  high  peak  and  spire  snow-silvery  leav- 
ing. 
But  from  a  rock's  wall'd  eyrife  the  father  wistfully  gazing, 
Father  whose  eyes,  care-dimm'd,  wore  hourly  for  ever  a- 

weeping. 
Scarcely  the  wind-puff 'd  sail  from  afar  'gan  darken  upon 

him, 
Down  the  precipitous  heights  headlong  his  body  he  hurried, 
Deeming  Theseus  surely  by  hateful  destiny  taken. 
So  to  a  dim  death-palace,  alert  from  victory,  Theseus 
Came,  what  bitter  sorrow  to  Minos'  daughter  his  evil 
Perjury  gave,  himself  with  an  even  sorrow  atoning. 
She,  as  his  onward  keel  still  moved,  still  mournfully  fol- 
low'd  ; 
Passion-stricken,  her  heart  a  tumultuous  image  of  ocean. 

Also  upon  that  couch,  flush'd  youthfully,  breathless  lacchus 
Roam'd  with  a  Satyr-band,  with  Nisa-begot  Sileni ; 
Seeking  thee,  Ariadna,  aflame  thy  beauty  to  ravish, 
Wildly  behind  they  rushed  and  wildly  before  to  the  folly, 
Euhoe  rav'd,  Euhoe  with  fanatic  heads  gyrated; 
Some  in  womanish  hands  shook  rods  cone-wreathed  above 

them. 
Some  from  a  mangled  steer  toss'd  flesh  yet  gorily  stream- 
ing; 
Some  girt  round  them  in  orbs,  snakes  gordian,  intertwin- 
ing; 
Some  with  caskets  deep  did  blazon  mystical  emblems, 


POEMS  121 

Emblems  muffled  darkly,  nor  heard  of  spirit  unholy. 
Part  with  a  slender  palm  taborines  beat  merrily  jangling ; 
Now  with  a  cymbal  slim  would  a  sharp  shrill  tinkle  awaken ; 
Often   a   trumpeter  horn   blew  murmurous,   hoarsely   re- 
sounding. 
Rose  on  pipes  barbaric  a  jarring  music  of  horror. 

Such,  wrought  rarely,  the  shapes  this  quilt  did  richly  ap' 
parel, 
Where  to  the  couch  close-clasped  it  hung  thick  veils  of 

adorning. 
So  to  the  full  heart-sated  of  all  their  curious  eying, 
Thessaly's  youth  gave  place  to  the  Gods  high-throned  in 

heaven. 
As,  when  dawn  is  awake,  light  Zephyrus  even-breathing 
Brushes  a  sleeping  sea,  which  slant-wise  curved  in  edges 
Breaks,  while  mounts  Aurora  the  sun's  high  journey  to 

welcome ; 
They,  first  smitten  faintly  by  his  most  airy  caressing. 
Move  slow  on,  light  surges  a  plashing  silvery  laughter; 
Soon  with  a  waxing  wind  they  crowd  them  apace,  thick- 
fleeting. 
Swim  in  a  rose-red  glow  and  far  off  sparkle  in  Ocean ; 
So  thro'  column'd  porch  and  chambers  sumptuous  hieing. 
Thither  or  hither  away,  that  company,  stream'd,  home- 
wending. 

First  from  Pelion  height,  when  they  were  duly  departed, 

Chiron  came,  in  his  hand  green  gifts  of  flowery  forest, 

All  that  on  earth's  leas  blooms,  what  blossoms  Thessaly 
nursing 

Breeds  on  mountainous  heights,  what  near  each  showery 
river 

Swells  to  the  warm  west-wind,  in  gales  of  foison  alight- 
ing; 

These  did  his  own  hands  bear  in  girlonds  twined  of  all 
hues, 

That  to  the  perfume  sweet  for  joy  laugh'd  gaily  the  palace. 

Follow'd  straight  Penios,  awhile  his  bowery  Tempe, 


122  CATULLUS 

Tempe,  shrined  around  in  shadowy  woods  o'erhanging, 
Left  to  the  bare-limb'd  maids  Magnesian,  airily  ranging. 
No  scant  carrier  he;  tall  root-torn  beeches  his  heavy 
Burden,  bays  stemm'd  stately,  in  heights  exalted  ascending. 
Thereto  the  nodding  plane,  and  that  lithe  sister  of  yoitthful 
Phaethon  flame-en  wrapt,  and  cypress  in  air  upspringing: 
These  in  breadths  inwoven  he  heap'd  close-twin'd  to  the 

palace. 
Whereto  the  porch  wox  green,  with  soft  leaves  canopied 

over. 

Him  did  follow  anear,  deep  heart  and  wily,  Prometheus, 
Scarr'd  and  wearing  yet  dim  traces  of  early  dishonour. 
All  which  of  old  his  body  to  flint  fast-welded  in  iron, 
Bore  and  dearly  abied,  on  slippery  crags  suspended. 
Last   with   his   awful   spouse,    with   children   goodly,    the 

sovran 
Father  approach'd;  thou,   Phoebus,  alone,  his  warder  in 

heaven. 
Left,  with  that  dear  sister,  on  Idrus  ranger  eternal. 
Peleus  sister  alike  and  brother  in  high  misprison 
Held,  nor  lifted  a  torch  when  Thetis  wedded  at  even. 
So  when  on  ivory  thrones  they  rested,  snowily  gleaming. 
Many  a  feast  high-pil'd  did  load  each  table  about  them; 
Whiles  to  a  tremor  of  age  their  gray  infirmity  rocking. 
Busy  began  that  chant  which  speaketh  surely  the  Parcae. 

Round  them  a  folding  robe  their  weak  limbs  aguish  hiding, 

Fell  bright-white  to  the  feet,  with  a  purple  border  of  issue. 

Wreaths  sat  on  each  hoar  crown,  whose  snows  flush'd  rosy 
beneath  them; 

Still  each  hand  fulfilled  its  pious  labour  eternal. 

Singly  the  left  upbore  in  wool  soft-hooded  a  distaff. 

Whereto  the  right  large  threads  down  drawing  deftly,  with 
upturn'd 

Fingers  shap'd  them  anew;  then  thumbs  earth-pointed  in 
even 

Balance  twisted  a  spindle  on  orb'd  wheels  smoothly  ro- 
tating. 


POEMS  123 

So  clear'd  softly  between  and  tooth-nipt  even  it  ever 
Onward  moved;  still  clung  on  wan  lips,  sodden  as  ashes, 
Shreds  all  woolly  from  out  that  soft  smooth  surface  arisen. 
Lastly  before  their  feet  lay  fells,  white,  fleecy,  refulgent. 
Warily  guarded  they  in  baskets  woven  of  osier. 
They,  as  on  each  light  tuft  their  voice  smote  louder  ap- 
proaching, 
Pour'd  grave  inspiration,  a  prophet  chant  to  the  future, 
Chant  which  an  after-time  shall  tax  of  vanity  never. 


O  IN  valorous  acts  thy  wondrous  glory  renewing, 
Rich  Aemathia's  arm,  great  sire  of  a  goodlier  issue, 
Hark  on  a  joyous  day  what  prophet-story  the  sisters 
Open  surely  to  thee;  and  you,  what  followeth  after. 

Guide  to  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Soon  shall  approach,  and  bear  the  delight  long-wish'd  for  of 
husbands, 
Hesper,  a  bride  shall  approach  in  starlight  happy  presented, 
Softly  to  sway  thy  soul  in  love's  completion  abiding. 
Soon  in  a  trance  with  thee  of  slumber  dreamy  to  mingle, 
Making  smooth  round  arms  thy  clasp'd  throat  sinewy  pil- 
low. 
Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Never  hath  house  closed  yet  o'er  loves  so  blissful  uniting, 
Never  love  so  well  his  children  in  harmony  knitten, 
So  as  Thetis  agrees,  as  Peleus  bendeth  according. 

Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

You  shall  a  son  see  born  that  knows  not  terror,  Achilles, 
One  whose  back  no  foe,  whose  front  each  knoweth  in  onset ; 
Often  a  conqueror,  he,  where  feet  course  swiftly  together, 
Steps  of  a  fire-fleet  doe  shall  leave  in  his  hurry  behind  him. 

Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Him  to  resist  in  war,  no  champion  hero  ariseth, 

Then  on  Phrygian  earth  when  carnage  Trojan  is  utter'd ; 


124  CATULLUS 

Then  when  a  long  sad  strife  shall  Troy's  crown'd  city  be- 
leaguer, 
Waste  her  a  third  false  heir  from  Pelops  wary  descending. 
Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

His  unmatchable  acts,  his  deeds  of  glorious  honour. 
Oft  shall  mothers  speak  o'er  sons  untimely  departed; 
While  from  crowns  earth-bow'd  fall  loosen'd  silvery  tresses, 
Beat  on  shrivell'd  breasts  weak  palms  their  dusky  defac- 
ing. 

Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

As  some  labourer  ears  close-cluster'd  lustily  lopping, 
Under  a  flaming  sun,  mows  fields  ripe-yellow  in  harvest, 
So,  in  fury  of  heart,  shall  death's  stern  reaper,  Achilles, 
Charge  Troy's  children  afield  and  fell  them  grimly  with 
iron. 

Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Deeds  of  such  high  glory  Scamander's  river  avoucheth. 
Hurried  in  eddies  afar  thro'  boisterous  Hellespontus ; 
Then  when  a  slaughter'd  heap  his  pathway  watery  choking, 
Brimmeth  a  warm  red  tide  and  blood  with  water  allieth. 

Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Voucher  of  him  last  riseth  a  prey  untimely  devoted 

E'en  to  the  tomb,  which  mounded  in  heaps,  high,  spherical, 

earthen, 
Grants  to  the  snow-white  limbs,  to  the  stricken  maiden  a 
welcome. 
Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Scarcely  the  war-worn  Greeks  shall  win  such  favour  of 
heaven, 

Neptune's  bonds  of  stone  from  Dardan  city  to  loosen. 

Dankly  that  high-heav'd  grave  shall  gory  Polyxena  crim- 
son. 

She  as  a  lamb  falls  smitten  a  twin-edg'd  falchion  under. 


POEMS  125 

Boweth  on  earth  weak  knees,  her  hmbs  down  flingeth  un- 
heeding. 
Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Up  then,  fair  paramours,  in  fond  love  happily  mingle. 

Now  in  blessed  treaty  the  bridegroom  welcome  a  goddess; 

Now  give  a  bride  long-veil'd  to  her  husband's  passionate 
yearning. 
Trail  ye  a  long-drawn  thread  and  run  with  destiny,  spindles. 

Her  when  duly  the  nurse  with  day-light  early  revisits, 
.  Necklace  of  yester-night — she  shall  not  clasp  it  about  her. 
Trail    ye    a    long-drawn    thread    and    run    with    destiny 
spindles. 

Nor  shall  a  mother  fond,  o'er  brawls  unlovely  dishearten'd, 
Lay  her  alone,  or  cease  the  delight  of  children  awaiting. 
Trail    ye    a    long-drawn   thread    and    run    with    destiny 
spindles. 


In  such  prelude  old,  such  good-night  ditty  to  Peleus, 
Sang  their  deep  divination,  ineffably,  holy,  the  Parcae. 
Such  as  in  ages  past,  upon  houses  godly  descending, 
Houses  of  heroes  came,  in  mortal  company  present, 
Gods  high-throned  in  heaven,  while  yet  was  worship  in 
honour. 

Often  a  sovran  Jove,  in  his  own  bright  temple  appearing, 
Yearly,  whene'er  his  day  did  rites  ceremonial  usher, 
Gazed  on  an  hundred  slain,  on  strong  bulls  heavily  falling. 
Often  on  high  Parnassus  a  roving  Liber  in  hurried 
Frenzy  the  Thyiads  drave,  their  locks  blown  loosely,  before 

him. 
While  all  Delphi's  city  in  eager  jealousy  trooping, 
Blithely  receiv'd  their  god  on  fuming  festival  altars. 
Mavors  often  amidst  encounter  mortal  of  armies, 
Streaming  Triton's  queen,  or  maid  Ramnusian  awful. 
Stood  in  body  before  them,  a  fainting  host  to  deliver. 


126  CATULLUS 

Only  when  heinous  sin  earth's  wholesome  purity  blasted, 
When  from  covetous  hearts  fled  justice  sadly  retreating, 
Then  did  a  brother  his  hands  dye  deep  in  blood  of  a  brother, 
Lightly  the  son  forgat  his  parents'  piteous  ashes. 
Lightly  the  son's  young  grave  his  father  pray'd  for,  an 

unwed 
Maiden,  a  step-dame  fair  in  freer  luxury  clasping. 
Then  did  mother  unholy  to  son  that  knew  not  abase  her, 
Shamefully,  fear'd  not  unholy  the  blessed  dead  to  dishon- 
our. 
Human,  inhuman  alike,  in  wayward  infamy  blending, 
Turned  far  from  us  away  that  righteous  counsel  of  heaven. 
Therefore  proudly  the  Gods  such  sinful  company  view  not, 
Bear  not  day-light  clear  upon  immortality  breathing. 

LXV 

Though,  outworn  with  sorrow,  with  hours  of  torturous  an- 
guish, 
Ortalus,  I  no  more  tarry  the  Muses  among; 
Though  from  a  fancy  deprest  fair  blooms  of  poesy  budding 
Rise  not  at  all;  such  grief  rocks  me,  uneasily  stirr'd: 

Coldly  but  even  now  mine  own  dear  brother  in  ebbing 
Lethe  his  ice-wan  feet  laveth,  a  shadowy  ghost. 
He  whom  Troy's  deep  bosom,  a  shore   Rhoetean  above 
him. 
Rudely  denies  these  eyes,  heavily  crushes  in  earth. 

Ah !  no  more  to  address  thee,  or  hear  thy  kindly  replying, 
Brother!  O  e'en  than  life  round  me  delightfuller  yet, 
Ne'er  to  behold  thee  again!     Still  love  shall  fail  not  alone 
in 
Fancy  to  muse  death's  dark  elegy,  closely  to  weep. 
Closely  as  under  boughs  of  dimmest  shadow  the  pensive 
Daulian  ever  moans  Itys  in  agony  slain. 

Yet  mid  such  desolation  a  verse  I  tender  of  ancient 
Battiades,  new-drest,  Ortalus,  wholly  for  you. 


POEMS  127 

Lest  to  the  roving  winds  these  words  all  idly  deliver'd, 
Seem  too  soon  from  a  frail  memory  fallen  away. 

E'en  as  a  furtive  gift,  sent,  some  love-apple,  a-wooing, 
Leaps  from  breast  of  a  coy  maiden,  a  canopy  pure ; 
There  forgotten  alas,  mid  vestments  silky  reposing, — 
Soon  as  a  mother's  step  starts  her,  it  hurleth  adown : 
Straight  to  the  ground,   dash'd   forth  ungently,   the  gift 
shoots  headlong; 
She  in  tell-tale  cheeks  glows  a  disorderly  shame. 

LXVI 

He  whose  glance  scann'd  clearly  the  lights  uncounted  of  ether, 

Found  when  arises  a  star,  sinks  in  his  haven  again, 
How  yon  eclipsed  sun  glares  luminous  obscuration, 

How  in  seasons  due  vanishes  orb  upon  orb; 
How  'neath  Latmian  heights  fair  Trivia  stealthily  banish'd 

Falls,  from  her  upward  path  lured  by  a  lover  awhile; 
That  same  sage,  that  Conon,  lock  of  great  Berenice 

Saw  me,  in  heavenly-bright  deification  afar 
Lustrous,  a  gleaming  glory ;  to  gods  full  many  devoted. 

Whiles  she  her  arms  in  prayer  lifted,  as  ivory  smooth ; 
In  that  glorious  hour  when,  flush'd  with  a  new  hymeneal. 

Hotly  the  King  to  deface  outer  Assyria  sped, 
Bearing  ensigns  sweet  of  that  soft  struggle  a  night  brings, 

When  from  a  virgin's  arms  spoils  he  had  happily  won. 

Stands  it  an  edict  true  that  brides  hate  Venus  ?  or  ever 

Falsely  the  parents'  joy  dashes  a  showery  tear, 
When  to  the  nuptial  door  they  come  in  rainy  beteeming? 

Now  to  the  Gods  I  swear,  tears  be  hypocrisy  then. 
So  mine  own  queen  taught  me  in  all  her  weary  lamentings. 

Whiles  her  bridegroom  bold  set  to  the  battle  a  face. 
What  ?  for  an  husband  lost  thou  weptst  not  gloomily  lying  ? 

Rather  a  brother  dear,  forced  for  a  while  to  depart? 
This,  when  love's  sharp  grief  was  gnawing  inly  to  waste 
thee ! 

Ah  poor  wife!  whose  soul  steep'd  in  unhappiness  all. 


128  CATULLUS 

Fell  from  reason  away,  nor  abode  thy  senses!    A  nobler 
Spirit  had  I  erewhile  known  thee,  a  fiery  child. 

Pass'd  that  deed  forgotten,  a  royal  wooer  had  earn'd  thee  ? 

Deed  that  braver  none  ventureth  ever  again  ? 
Yet  what  sorrow  to  lose  thy  lord,  what  murmur  of  anguish ! 

Jove,  how  rain'd  those  tears  brush'd  from  a  passionate 
eye! 
Who  is  this  could  wean  thee,  a  God  so  mighty,  to  falter? 

May  not  a  lover  live  from  the  beloved  afar? 
Then  for  a  spouse  so  goodly,  before  each  spirit  of  heaven, 

Me  thou  vowd'st,  with  slain  oxen,  a  vast  hecatomb, 
Home  if  again  he  alighted.     Awhile  and  Asia  crouching 

Humbly  to  Egj-pt's  realm  added  a  boundary  new; 
I,  in  starry  return  to  the  ranks  dedicated  of  heaven, 

Debt  of  an  ancient  vow  sum  in  a  bounty  to-day. 

Full  of  sorrow  was  I,  fair  queen,  thy  brows  to  abandon, 

Full  of  sorrow;  in  oath  answer,  adorable  head. 
Evil  on  him  that  oath  who  sweareth  falsely  soever! 

Yet  in  a  strife  with  steel  who  can  a  victory  claim? 
Steel  could  a  mountain  abase,  no  loftier  any  thro'  heaven's 

Cupola  Thia's  child  lifteth  his  axle  above, 
Then,  when  a  new-born  sea  rose  Mede-uplifted;  in  Athos' 

Centre  his  ocean-fleet  floated  a  barbarous  host. 
What  shall  a  weak  tress  do,  when  powers  so  mighty  resist 
not? 

Jove!  may  Chalybes  all  perish,  a  people  accurst. 
Perish  who  earth's  hid  veins  first  labour'd  dimly  to  quarry, 

Clench'd  in  a  molten  mass  iron,  a  ruffian  heart! 

Scarcely  the  sister-locks  were  parted  dolefully  weeping, 

Straight  that  brother  of  young  Memnon,  in  Africa  born, 
Came,  and  shook  thro'  heaven  his  pennons  oary,  before  me. 

Winged,  a  queen's  proud  steed,  Locrian  Arsinoe. 
So  flew  with  me  aloft  thro'  darkening  shadow  of  heaven. 

There  to  a  god's  pure  breast  laid  me,  to  Venus's  arms. 
Him  Zephyritis'  self  had  sent  to  the  task,  her  servant. 

She  from  realms  of  Greece  borne  to  Canopus  of  yore. 


POEMS  129 

There,  that  at  heav'n's  high  porch,  not  one  sole  crown^ 
Ariadne's, 
Golden  above  those  brows  Ismaros'  youth  did  adore, 
Starry  should  hang,  set  alone ;  but  luminous  I  might  glisten, 
Vow'd  to  the  Gods,  bright  spoil  won  from  an  aureat 
head; 
While  to  the  skies  I  clomb  still  ocean-dewy,  the  Goddess 
Placed  me  amid  star-spheres  primal,  a  glory  to  be. 

Close  to  the  Virgin  bright,  to  the  Lion  sulkily  gleaming, 

Nigh  Callisto,  a  cold  child  Lycaonian,  I 
Wheel  obliquely  to  set,  and  guide  yon  tardy  Bootes 

Where  scarce  late  his  car  dewy  descends  to  the  sea. 
Yet  tho'  nightly  the  Gods*  immortal  steps  be  above  me, 

Tho'  to  the  white  waves  dawn  gives  me,  to  Tethys,  again ; 
(Maid  of  Ramnus,  a  grace  I  here  implore  thee,  if  any 

Word  should  offend ;  so  much  cannot  a  terror  alarm, 
I  should  veil  aught  true ;  not  tho'  with  clamorous  uproar 

Rend  me  the  stars;  I  speak  verities  hidden  at  heart)  : 
Lightly  for  all  I  reck,  so  more  I  sorrow  to  part  me 

Sadly  from  her  I  serve,  part  me  forever  away. 
With  her,  a  virgin  as  yet.  I  quaff'd  no  sumptuous  essence; 

With  her,  a  bride,  I  drain'd  many  a  prodigal  oil. 

Now,  O  you  whom  gladly  the  marriage  cresset  uniteth. 

See  to  the  bridegroom  fond  yield  ye  not  amorous  arms, 
Throw  not  back  your  robes,  nor  bare  your  bosom  assent- 
ing. 
Save  from  an  onyx  stream  sweetness,  a  bounty  to  me. 
Yours,  in  a  loyal  bed  which  seek  love's  privilege,  only; 

Yieldeth  her  any  to  bear  loathed  adultery's  yoke, 
Vile  her  gifts,  and  lightly  the  dust  shall  drink  them  un- 
heeding. 
Not  of  vile  I  seek  gifts,  nor  of  infamous,  I. 
Rather,  O  unstain'd  brides,  may  concord  tarry  for  ever 

With  ye  at  home,  may  love  with  ye  for  ever  abide. 

Thou,  fair  queen,  to  the  stars  if  looking  haply,  to  Venus 

Lights  thou  kindle  on  eves  festal  of  high  sacrifice. 


130  CATULLUS 

Leave  me  the  lock,  thine  own,  nor  blood  nor  bounty  re- 
quiring. 

Rather  a  largesse  fair  pay  to  me,  envy  me  not. 
Stars  dash  blindly  in  one!  so  might  I  glitter  a  royal 

Tress,  let  Orion  glow  next  to  Aquarius'  urn. 

LXVII 

CATULLUS 

O  TO  the  goodman  fair,  O  welcome  alike  to  the  father, 

Hail,  and  Jove's  kind  grace  shower  his  help  upon  you! 
Door,  that  of  old,  men  say,  wrought  Balbus  ready  obeisance, 

Once,  when  his  home,  time  was,  lodged  him,  a  master  in 
years ; 
Door,  that  again,  men  say,  grudg'd  aught  but  a  spiteful  obeis- 
ance. 

Soon  as  a  corpse  outstretch'd  starkly  declar'd  you  a  bride. 
Come,  speak  truly  to  me ;  what  shameful  rumour  avouches 

Duty  of  years  forsworn,  honour  in  injury  lost? 

DOOR 

So  be  the  tenant  new,  Caecilius,  happy  to  own  me, 

I'm  not  guilty,  for  all  jealousy  says  it  is  L 
Never  a  fault  was  mine,  nor  man  shall  whisper  it  ever; 

Only,  my  friend,  your  mob's  noisy  "  The  door  is  a  rogue." 
Comes  to  the  light  some  mischief,  a  deed  uncivil  arising. 

Loudly  to  me  shout  all,  "  Door,  you  are  wholly  to  blame." 

CATULLUS 

'Tis  not  enough  so  merely  to  say,  so  think  to  decide  it. 
Better,  w^ho  wills  should  feel,  see  it,  who  wills,  to  be  true. 

DOOR 

How  then?  if  here  none  asks,  nor  labours  any  to  know  it. 

CATULLUS 

Nay,  /  ask  it ;  away  scruple ;  your  hearer  is  I. 


POEMS  131 


DOOR 


First,  what  nimour  avers,  they  gave  her  to  us  a  virgin — 

They  he  on  her.    A  hght  lady!  be  sure,  not  alone 
Clipp'd  her  an  husband  first;  weak  stalk  from  a  garden,  a 
pointless 

Falchion,  a  heart  did  ne'er  fully  to  courage  awake. 
No ;  to  the  son's  own  bed,  'tis  said,  that  father  ascended, 

Vilely;  with  act  impure  stain'd  the  facinorous  house. 
Whether  a  blind  fierce  lust  in  his  heart  burnt  sinfully  flaming, 

Or  that  inert  that  son's  vigour,  amort  to  delight. 
Needed  a  sturdier  arm,  that  franker  quality  somewhere, 

Looser  of  youth's  fast-bound  girdle,  a  virgin  as  yet. 

CATULLUS 

Truly  a  noble  father,  a  glorious  act  of  affection! 

Thus  in  a  son's  kind  sheets  lewdly  to  puddle,  his  own. 


DOOR 

Yet  not  alone  of  this,  her  crag  Chinaean  abiding 

Under,  a  watch-tower  set  warily,  Brixia  tells, 
Brixia,  trails  whereby  his  waters  Mella  the  golden, 

Mother  of  her,  mine  own  city,  Verona  the  fair. 
Add  Postumius  yet,  Cornelius  also,  a  twice-told 

Folly,  with  whom  our  light  mistress  adultery  knew. 
Asks  some  questioner  here  "  What  ?  a  door,  yet  privy  to  lewd- 
ness? 

You,  from  your  owner's  gate  never  a  minute  away  ? 
Strange  to  the  talk  o'  the  town  ?  since  here,  stout  timber  above 
you. 

Hung  to  the  beam,  you  shut  mutely  or  open  again," 
Many  a  shameful  time  I  heard  her  stealthy  profession, 

While  to  the  maids  her  guilt  softly  she  hinted  alone. 
Spoke  unabash'd  her  amours  and  named  them  singly,  opin- 
ing 

Haply  an  ear  to  record  fail'd  me,  a  voice  to  reveal. 


132  CATULLUS 

There  was  another ;  enough ;  his  name  I  gladly  dissemble ; 

Lest  his  lifted  brows  blush  a  disorderly  rage. 
Sir,  'twas  a  long  lean  suitor ;  a  process  huge  had  assail'd  him ; 

'Twas  for  a  pregnant  womb  falsely  declar'd  to  be  true. 


LXVIII 

If,  when  fortune's  wrong  with  bitter  misery  whelms  thee, 
Thou  thy  sad  tear-scrawl'd  letter,  a  mark  to  the  storm, 
Send'st,  and  bid'st  me  to  succour  a  stranded  seaman  of 
Ocean, 
Toss'd  in  foam,  from  death's  door  to  return  thee  again ; 
Whom  nor  softly  to  rest  love's  tender  sanctity  suffers, 

Lost  on  a  couch  of  lone  slumber,  unhappily  lain ; 
Nor  with  melody  sweet  of  poets  hoary  the  Muses 

Cheer,  while  worn  with  grief  nightly  the  soul  is  awake : 
Well-contented  am  I,  that  thou  thy  friendship  avowest, 
Ask'st  the  delights  of  love  from  me,  the  pleasure  of 
hymns ; 
Yet  lest  all  unnoted  a  kindred  story  bely  thee. 

Deeming,  Mallius,  I  calls  of  humanity  shun; 
Hear  what  a  grief  is  mine,  what  storm  of  destiny  whelms 
me. 
Cease  to  demand  of  a  soul's  misery  joy's  sacrifice. 

Once,  what  time  white  robes  of  manhood  first  did  array  me, 
Whiles  in  jollity  life  sported  a  spring  holiday. 
Youth  ran  riot  enow;  right  well  she  knows  me,  the  God- 
dess, 
She  whose  honey  delights  blend  with  a  bitter  annoy. 
Henceforth    dies    sweet    pleasure,    in    anguish    lost    of    a 
brother's 
Funeral.    O  poor  soul,  brother,  O  heavily  ta'en. 
You  all  happier  hours,  you,  dying  brother,  effaced ; 
All  our  house  lies  low  mournfully  buried  in  you; 
Quench'd  untimely  with  you  joy  waits  not  ever  a  morrow, 
Joy  which  alive  your  love's  bounty  fed  hour  upon  hour; 


POEMS  133 

Now,  since  thou  liest  dead,  heart-banish'd  wholly  desert 
me 
Vanities  all,  each  gay  freak  of  a  riotous  heart. 

How  then  obey?    You  write  'Let  not  Verona,  Catullus, 

Stay  thee,  if  here  each  proud  quality,  Rome's  eminence, 
Freely  the  light  limbs  warms  thou  leavest  coldly  to  lan- 
guish,' 
Infamy  lies  not  there,  Mallius,  only  regret. 
So  forgive  me,  if  I,  whom  grief  so  rudely  bereaveth, 

Deal  not  a  joy  myself  know  not,  a  beggar  in  all. 
Books — if  they're  but  scanty,  a  store  full  meagre,  around 
me, 
Rome  is  alone  my  life's  centre,  a  mansion  of  home, 
Rome  my  abode,  house,  hearth;  there  wanes  and  waxes  a 
life's  span; 
Hither  of  all  those  choice  cases  attends  me  but  one. 
Therefore  deem  not  thou  aught  spiteful  bids  me  deny  thee; 

Say  not  *  his  heart  is  false,  haply,  to  jealousy  leans,' 
If  nor  books  I  send  nor  flatter  sorrow  to  silence. 

Trust  me,  were  either  mine,  either  unask'd  should  ap- 
pear. 

Goddesses,  hide  I  may  not  in  how  great  trial  upheld  me 
Allius,  how  no  faint  charities  held  me  to  life. 

Nor  shall  time  borne  fleetly  nor  years'  oblivion  ever 
Make  such  zeal  to  the  night  fade,  to  the  darkness,  away. 

As  from  me  you  learn  it,  of  you  shall  many  a  thousand 
Learn  it  again.    Grow  old,  scroll,  to  declare  it  anew. 


So  to  the  dead  increase  honour  in  year  upon  year. 
Nor  to  the  spider,  aloft  her  silk-slight  flimsiness  hanging, 
Allius  aye  unswept  moulder,  a  memory  dim. 

Well  you  wot,  how  sore  the  deceit  Amathusia  wrought  me, 
Well  what  a  thing  in  love's  treachery  made  me  to  fall ; 

XI— 10 


134  CATULLUS 

Ready  to  burst  in  flame,  as  burn  Trinacrian  embers, 

Burn  near  Thermopylae's  Oeta  the  fiery  springs. 
Sad,  these  piteous  eyes  did  waste  all  wearily  weeping. 

Sad,  these  cheeks  did  rain  ceaseless  a  showery  woe. 
Wakeful,  as  hill-born  brook,  which,  afar  off  silvery  gleam- 
ing, 

O'er  his  moss-grown  crags  leaps  with  a  tumble  a-down; 
Brook  which   awhile  headlong  o'er  steep   and  valley  de- 
scending, 

Crosses  anon  wide  ways  populous,  hastes  to  the  street ; 
Cheerer  in  heats  o'  the  sun  to  the  wanderer  heavily  fuming. 

Under  a  drought,  when  fields  swelter  agape  to  the  sky. 

Then  as  tossing  shipmen  amid  black  surges  of  Ocean, 

See  some  prosperous  air  gently  to  calm  them  arise, 
Safe  thro'  Pollux'  aid  or  Castor,  alike  entreated; 

Mallius  e'en  such  help  brought  me,  a  warder  of  harm. 
He  in  a  closed  field  gave  scope  of  liberal  entry ; 

Gave  me  an  house  of  love,  gave  me  the  lady  within, 
Busily  there  to  renew  love's  even  duty  together ; 

Thither  afoot  mine  own  mistress,  a  deity  bright. 
Came,  and  planted  firm  her  sole  most  sunny ;  beneath  her 

Lightly  the  polish'd  floor  creak'd  to  the  sandal  again. 

So  with  passion  aflame  came  wistful  Laodamia 

Into  her  husband's  home,  Protesilaus,  of  yore; 
Home  o'er-lightly  begun,  ere  slaughter'd  victim  atoning 

Waited  of  heaven's  high-thron'd  company  grace  to  agree. 
Nought  be  to  me  so  dear,  O  Maid  Ramnusian,  ever, 

I  should  against  that  law  match  me  with  opposite  L 
Bloodless  of  high  sacrifice,  how  thirsts  each  desolate  altar! 

This,  when  her  husband  fell,  Laodamia  did  heed, 
Rapt  from  a  bridegroom  new,  from  his  arms  forced  early 
to  part  her. 

Early;  for  hardly  the  first  winter,  another  again. 
Yet  in  many  a  night's  long  dream  had  sated  her  yearning. 

So  that  love  might  wear  cheerily,  the  master  away ; 
Which  not  long  should  abide,  so  presag'd  surely  the  Parcae, 

If  to  the  wars  her  lord  hurry,  for  Ilion  arm. 


POEMS  135 

Now  to  revenge  fair  Helen,  had  Argos'  chiefs,  her  puissance, 

Set  them  afield ;  for  Troy  roiis'd  them,  a  cry  not  of  home, 
Troy,  dark  death  universal,  of  Asia  grave  and  Europe, 
Altar  of  heroes  Troy,  Troy  of  heroical  acts. 
Now  to  my  own  dear  brother  abhorred  worker  of  ancient 

Death.    Ah  woeful  soul,  brother,  unhappily  lost, 
Ah  fair  light  unblest,  in  darkness  sadly  receding, 

AJl  our  house  lies  lov^,  brother,  inearthed  in  you, 
Quench'd  untimely  with  you,  joy  waits  not  ever  a  morrow, 

Joy  which  alive  your  love's  bounty  fed  hour  upon  hour. 
Nov/  on  a  distant  shore,  no  kind  mortality  near  him, 

Far  all  household  love,  every  familiar  urn, 
Tomb'd  in  Troy  the  malign,  in  Troy  the  unholy  reposing, 

Strangely  the  land's  last  verge  holds  him,  a  dungeon  of 
earth. 

Thither  in  haste  all  Greece,  one  armed  people  assembling, 
Flock'd  on  an  ancient  day,  left  the  recesses  of  home, 
Lest  in  a  safe  content,  unreach'd,  his  stolen  adultress 
Paris  inarm,  in  soft  luxury  quietly  lain. 

E'en  such  chance,  fair  queen,  such  misery,  Laodamia, 

Brought  thee  a  loss  as  life  precious,  as  heavenly  breath, 
Loss  of  a  bridegroom  dear ;  such  whirling  passion  in  eddies 

Suck'd  thee  adown,  so  drew  sheer  to  a  sudden  abyss. 
Deep  as  Graian  abyss  near  Pheneos  o'er  Cyllene, 

Strainer  of  ooze  impure  milk'd  from  a  watery  fen ; 
Hewn,  so  stories  avouch,  in  a  mountain's  kernel;  an  hero 

Hew'd  it,  falsely  declar'd  Amphytrionian,  he, 
When  those  monster  birds  near  grim  Stymphalus  his  arrow 

Smote  to  the  death ;  such  task  bade  him  a  dastardly  lord. 
So  that  another  God  might  tread  that  portal  of  heaven 

Freely,  nor  Hebe  fair  wither  a  chaste  eremite. 
Yet  than  abyss  more  deep  thy  love,  thy  depth  of  emotion ; 

Love  which  school'd  thy  lord,  made  of  a  master  a  thrall. 

Not  to  a  grandsire  old  so  priz'd,  so  lovely  the  grandson 
One  dear  daughter  alone  rears  i'  the  soft  of  his  years ; 
He,  long-wish'd  for,  an  heir  of  wealth  ancestral  arriving, — 


136  CATULLUS 

Scarcely  the  tablets'  marge  holds  him,  a  name  to  the  will, 

Straight  all  hopes  laugh'd  down,  each  baffled  kinsman 
usurping 

Leaves  to  repose  white  hairs,  stretches,  a  vulture  away; 
Not  in  her  own  fond  mate  so  turtle  snowy  delighteth, 

Tho'  unabash'd,  'tis  said,  she  the  voluptuous  hours 
Snatches  a  thousand  kisses,  in  amorous  extasy  biting. 

Yet,  more  lightly  than  all  ranges  a  womanly  will. 
Great  their  love,  their  frenzy;  but  all  their  frenzy  before 
thee 

Fail'd,  once  clasp'd  thy  lord  splendid  in  aureat  hair. 

Worthy  in  all  or  part  thee,  Laodamia,  to  rival, 

Sought  me  my  own  sweet  love,  journey'd  awhile  to  my 
arms. 
Round  her  playing  oft  ran  Cupid  thither  or  hither, 
Lustrous,  array'd  in  bright  broidery,  saffron  of  hue. 
What,  to  Catullus  alone  if  a  wayward  fancy  resort  not? 

Must  I  pale  for  a  stray  frailty,  the  shame  of  an  hour? 
Nay;  lest  all  too  much  such  jealous  folly  provoke  her. 

Juno's  self,  a  supreme  glory  celestial,  oft 
Crushes  her  eager  rage,  in  wedlock-injury  flaring. 

Knowing  yet  right  well  Jove,  what  a  losel  is  he. 

Yet,  for  a  man  with  Gods  shall  never  lawfully  match  him 
[Eighteen  lines  are  here  missing'] 

Lift  thy  father,  a  weak  burden,  upholpen,  abhorr'd. 
Not  that  a  father's  hand  my  love  led  to  me,  nor  odours 

Wafted  her  home  on  rich  airs,  of  Assyria  born; 
Stealthy  the  gifts  she  gave  me,  a  night  unspeakable  o'er  us, 

Gifts  from  her  husband's  dreams  verily  stolen,  his  own. 
Then  'tis  enough  for  me,  if  mine,  mine  only  remaineth 

That  one  day,  whose  stone  shines  with  an  happier  hue. 

So,  it  is  all  T  can,  take,  Allius,  answer,  a  little 

Verse  to  requite  thy  much  friendship,  a  contrary  boon. 


POEMS  137 

So  your  household  names  no  rust  nor  seamy  defacing 

Soil  this  day,  that  new  morrow,  the  next  to  the  last. 
Gifts  full  many  to  these  heaven  send  as  largely  requiting, 

Gifts  Themis  ever  wont  deal  to  the  pious  of  yore. 
Joys  come  plenty  to  thee,  to  thy  own  fair  lady  together, 

Come  to  that  house  of  mirth,  come  to  the  lady  within ; 
Joy  to  the  forward  friend,  our  love's  first  fashioner,  Anser, 

Author  of  all  this  fair  history,  founder  of  all. 
Lastly  beyond  them,  above  them,  on  her  more  lovely  than 
even 

Life,  my  lady,  for  whose  life  it  is  happy  to  be. 

LXIX 

RuFUS,  it  is  no  wonder  if  yet  no  woman  assenting 
Softly  to  thine  embrace  tender  a  delicate  arm. 
Not  tho'  a  gift  should  seek,  some  robe  most  filmy,  to  move 
her; 
Not  for  a  cherish'd  gem's  clarity,  lucid  of  hue. 

Deep  in  a  valley,  thy  arms,  such  evil  story  maligns  thee, 
Rufus,  a  villain  goat  houses,  a  grim  denizen. 
All  are  afraid  of  it,  all;  what  wonder?  a  rascally  creature. 
Verily!  not  with  such  company  dally  the  fair. 

Slay,  nor  pity  the  brute,  our  nostril's  rueful  aversion. 
Else  admire  not  if  each  ravisher  angrily  fly. 

LXX 

Saith  my  lady  to  me,  no  man  shall  wed  me,  but  only 
Thou;  no  other  if  e'en  Jove  should  approach  me  to  woo; 

Yea;  but  a  woman's  words,  when  a  lover  fondly  desireth, 
Limn  them  on  ebbing  floods,  write  on  a  wintery  gale. 

LXXII 

Lesbia,  thou  didst  swear  thou  knewest  only  Catullus, 

Cared'st  not,  if  him  thine  arms  chained,  a  Jove  to  retain. 
Then  not  alone  I  loved  thee,  as  each  light  lover  a  mistress, 
Lov'd  as  a  father  his  own  sons,  or  an  heir  to  the  name. 


138  CATULLUS 

Now  I  know  thee  aright;  so,  if  more  hotly  desiring, 

Yet  must  count  thee  a  soul  cheaper,  a  frailty  to  scorn. 
'Friend,'    thou    say'st    'you    cannot'     Alas!    such    injury 

leaveth 
Blindly  to  doat  poor  love's  folly,  malignly  to  will. 

LXXIII 

Never  again  think  any  to  work  aught  kindly  soever, 
Dream  that  in  any  abides  honour,  of  injury  free. 

Love  is  a  debt  in  arrear ;  time's  parted  service  avails  not ; 
Rather  is  only  the  more  sorrow,  a  heavier  ill : 

Chiefly  to  me,  whom  none  so  fierce,  so  deadly  deceiving 
Troubleth,  as  he  whose  friend  only  but  inly  was  L 

LXXIV 

Gellius  heard  that  his  uncle  in  ire  exploded,  if  any 
Dared,  some  wanton,  a  fault  practise,  a  levity  speak. 

Not  to  be  slain  himself,  see  Gellius  handle  his  uncle's 
Lady;  no  Harpocrates  muter,  his  uncle  is  hush'd. 

So  what  he  aim'd  at,  arriv'd  at,  anon  let  Gellius  e'en  this 
Uncle  abuse ;  not  a  word  yet  will  his  uncle  assay. 

LXXVIII 

Brothers  twain  has  Gallus,  of  whom  one  owns  a  delightful 
Son;  his  brother  a  fair  lady,  delight  fuller  yet. 

Gallant  sure  is  Gallus,  a  pair  so  dainty  uniting ; 
Lovel}'  the  lady,  the  lad  lovely,  a  company  sweet. 

Foolish  sure  is  Gallus,  an  o'er-incurious  husband; 
Uncle,  a  wife  once  taught  luxury,  stops  not  at  one. 

LXXIX 

Lesbius,  handsome  is  he.     Why  not?  if  Lesbia  loves  him 
Far  above  all  your  tribe,  angry  Catullus,  or  you. 

Only  let  all  your  tribe  sell  off,  and  follow,  Catullus, 
Kiss  but  his  handsome  lips  children,  a  plenary  three. 


POEMS  139 


LXXXI 


What?  not  in  all  this  city,  Juventitis,  ever  a  gallant 
Poorly  to  win  love's  fresh  favour  of  amorous  you, 

Only  the  lack-love  signor,  a  wretch  from  sickly  Pisaurum, 
Guest  of  your  hearth,  no  gilt  statue  as  ashy  as  he? 

Now  your  very  delight,  whose  faithless  fancy  Catullus 
Banisheth.     Ah  light-reck'd  lightness,  apostasy  vile! 


LXXXII 

WouLDST  thou,  Quintius,  have  me  a  debtor  ready  to  owe  thee 
Eyes,  or  if  earth  have  joy  goodlier  any  than  eyes? 

One  thing  take  not  from  me,  to  me  more  goodly  than  even 
Eyes,  or  if  earth  have  joy  goodlier  any  than  eyes, 

LXXXIII 

Lesbia  while  her  lord  stands  near,  rails  ever  upon  me. 

This  to  the  fond  weak  fool  seemeth  a  mighty  delight. 
Dolt,  you  see  not  at  all.     Could  she  forget  me,  to  rail  not. 

Nought  were  amiss ;  if  now  scold  she,  or  if  she  revile, 
'Tis  not  alone  to  remember;  a  shrewder  stimulus  arms  her. 

Anger;  her  heart  doth  burn  verily,  thus  to  revile. 

LXXXIV 

Stipends  Arrius  ever  on  opportunity  shtipends, 
Ambush  as  hamhush  still  Arrius  used  to  declaim. 

Then,  hoped  fondly  the  words  were  a  marvel  of  articulation. 
While  with  an  h  immense  '  Thamhush '  arose  from  his 
heart. 

So  his  mother  of  old,  so  e'en  spoke  Liber  his  uncle. 
Credibly;  so  grandsire,  grandam  alike  did  agree. 

Syria  took  him  away;  all  ears  had  rest  for  a  moment; 
Lightly  the  lips  those  words,  slightly  could  utter  again. 


140  CATULLUS 

None  was  afraid  any  more  of  a  sound  so  clumsy  returning ; 
Sudden  a  solemn  fright  seized  us,  a  message  arrives. 

*  News  from  Ionia  country ;  the  sea,  since  Arrius  enter'd, 

Changed;  'twas  Ionian  once,  now  'twas  Hionian  all.' 

LXXXV 

Half  I  hate,  half  love.     How  so?  one  haply  requireth. 
Nay,  I  know  not;  alas  feel  it,  in  agony  groan. 

LXXXVI 

Lovely  to  many  a  man  is  Quintia ;  shapely,  majestic, 
Stately,  to  me ;  each  point  singly  'tis  easy  to  grant. 

*  Lovely'  the  whole,  I  grant  not;  in  all  that  bodily  largeness, 

Lives  not  a  grain  of  salt,  breathes  not  a  charm  anywhere. 
Lesbia — she  is  lovely,  an  even  temper  of  utmost 
Beauty,  that  every  charm  stealeth  of  every  fair. 

LXXXVI  I  &  LXXV 

Ne'er  shall  woman  avouch  herself  so  rightly  beloved. 
Friend,  as  rightly  thou  art,  Lesbia,  lovely  to  me. 

Ne'er  was  a  bond  so  firm,  no  troth  so  faithfully  plighted, 
Such  as  against  our  love's  venture  in  honour  am  I. 

Now  so  sadly  my  heart,  dear  Lesbia,  draws  me  asunder, 
So  in  her  own  misspent  worship  uneasily  lost, 

Wert  thou  blameless  in  all,  I  may  not  longer  approve  thee, 
Do  anything  thou  wilt,  cannot  an  enemy  be. 

LXXVI 

If  to  a  man  bring  joy  past  service  dearly  remember'd, 

When  to  the  soul  her  thought  speaks,  to  be  blameless  of 
ill; 
Faith  not  rudely  profan'd,  nor  in  oath  or  charter  abused 
Heaven,  a  God's  mis-sworn  sanctity,  deadly  to  men. 
Then  doth  a  life-long  pleasure  await  thee  surely,  Catullus, 
Pleasure  of  all  this  love's  traitorous  injury  born. 


POEMS  141 

Whatso  a  man  may  speak,  whom  charity  leads  to  another, 
Whatso  enact,  by  me  spoken  or  acted  is  all. 
Waste  on  a  traitorous  heart,  nor  finding  kindly  requital. 
Therefore  cease,  nor  still  bleed  agoniz'd  any  more. 

Make  thee  as  iron  a  soul,  thyself  draw  back  from  affliction. 
Yea,  tho'  a  God  say  nay,  be  not  unhappy  for  aye. 
What  ?  it  is  hard  long  love  so  lightly  to  leave  in  a  moment  ? 

Hard ;  yet  abides  this  one  duty,  to  do  it :  obey. 
Here  lies  safety  alone,  one  victory  must  not  fail  thee. 
One  last  stake  to  be  lost  haply,  perhaps  to  be  won. 

O  great  Gods  immortal,  if  you  can  pity  or  ever 

Lighted  above  dark  death's  shadow,  a  help  for  the  lost; 
Ah!  look,  a  wretch,  on  me;  if  white  and  blameless  in  all  I 

Liv'd,  then  take  this  long  canker  of  anguish  away. 
If  to  my  inmost  veins,  like  dull  death  drowsily  creeping, 
Every  delight,  all  heart's  pleasure  it  wholly  benumbs. 

Not  anymore  I  pray  for  a  love  so  faulty  returning, 

Not  that  a  wanton  abide  chastely,  she  may  not  again. 
Only  for  health  I  ask,  a  disease  so  deadly  to  banish. 
Gods  vouchsafe  it,  as  I  ask,  that  am  harmless  of  ill. 


LXXVII 

RuFUS,  a  friend  so  vainly  believ'd,  so  wrongly  relied  in, 

(Vainly?  alas  the  reward  fail'd  not,  a  heavier  ill;) 
Could'st  thou  thus  steal  on  me,  a  lurking  viper,  an  aching 

Fire  to  the  bones,  nor  leave  aught  to  delight  any  more? 
Nought  to  delight  any  more!  ah  cruel  poison  of  equal 

Lives !  ah  breasts  that  grew  each  to  the  other  awhile ! 
Yet  far  most  this  grieves  me,  to  think  thy  slaver  abhorred 

Foully  my  own  love's  lips  soileth,  a  purity  rare. 
Thou  shalt  surely  atone  thine  injury:  centuries  harken. 

Know  thee  afar;  grow  old,  fame,  to  declare  him  anew. 


142  CATULLUS 

LXXXVIII 

Gellius,  how  if  a  man  in  lust  with  a  mother,  a  sister 
Rioteth,  one  uncheck'd  night,  to  iniquity  bare? 
How  if  a  man's  dark  passion  an  aunt's  own  chastity  spare 
not? 
Canst  thou  tell  what  vast  infamy  lieth  on  him? 

Infamy  lieth  on  him,  no  farthest  Tethys,  or  ancient 
Ocean,  of  hundred  streams  father,  abolisheth  yet. 
Infamy  none  o'ersteps,  nor  ventures  any  beyond  it. 
Not  tho'  a  scorpion  heat  melt  him,  his  own  paramour. 

LXXXIX 

Gellius — ^he's  full  meagre.    It  is  no  wonder,  a  friendly 
Mother,  a  sister  is  his  loveable,  healthy  withal. 

Then  so  friendly  an  uncle,  a  world  of  pretty  relations. 
Must  not  a  man  so  blest  meagre  abide  to  the  last? 

Yea,  let  his  hand  touch  only  what  hands  touch  only  to  tres- 
pass; 
Reason  enough  to  become  meagre,  enough  to  remain, 

xc 

Rise  from  a  mother's  shame  with  Gellius  hatefully  wedded, 
One  to  be  taught  gross  rites  Persic,  a  Magian  he. 

Weds  with  a  mother  a  son,  so  needs  should  a  Magian  issue, 
Save  in  her  evil  creed  Persia  determineth  ill. 

Then  shall  a  son,  so  born,  chant  down  high  favour  of  heaven, 
Melting  lapt  in  flame  fatly  the  slippery  caul. 

XCI 

Think  not  a  hope  so  false  rose,  Gellius,  in  me  to  find  thee 
Faithful  in  all  this  love's  anguish  ineffable  yet, 
For  that  in  heart  I  knew  thee,  had  in  thee  honour  imagin'd, 
Held  thee  a  soul  to  abhor  vileness  or  any  reproach. 


POEMS  143 

Only  in  her,  I  knew,  thou  found'st  not  a  mother,  a  sister. 
Her  that  awhile  for  love  wearily  made  me  to  pine. 
Yea  tho'  mutual  use  did  bind  us  straitly  together. 

Scarcely  methought  could  lie  cause  to  desert  me  therein. 

Thou  found'st  reason  enow;  so  joys  thy  spirit  in  every 
Shame,  wherever  is  aught  heinous,  of  infamy  born. 

XCII 

Lesbia  doth  but  rail,  rail  ever  upon  me,  nor  endeth 
Ever.     A  life  I  stake,  Lesbia  loves  me  at  heart. 

Ask  me  a  sign  ?    Our  scorn  runs  parallel.    I  that  abuse  her 
Ever,  a  life  to  the  stake,  Lesbia,  love  thee  at  heart. 

1 

XCIII 

Lightly  methinks  I  reck  if  Caesar  smile  not  upon  me: 
Care  not,  whether  a  white,  whether  a  swarth-skin,  is  he. 

XCIV 

Mentula — wanton  is  he;  his  calling  sure  is  a  wanton's. 
Herbs  to  the  pot,  'tis  said  wisely,  the  name  to  the  man. 

xcv 

Nine  times  winter  had  end,  nine  times  flush'd  summer  in 
harvest. 
Ere  to  the  world  gave  forth  Cinna,  the  labour  of  years, 
Zmyrna ;  but  in  one  month  Hortensius  hundred  on  hundred 
Verses,  an  unripe  birth  feeble,  of  hurry  begot. 

Zmyrna  to  far  Satrachus,  to  the  stream  of  Cyprus,  ascendeth ; 
Zmyrna  with  eyes  unborn  study  the  centuries  hoar. 
Padus  her  own  ill  child  shall  bury,  Volusius'  annals; 
In  them  a  mackerel  oft  house  him,  a  wrapper  of  ease. 

Dear  to  my  heart  be  a  friend's  unbulky  memorial  ever; 
Cherish  an  Antimachus,  weighty  as  empty,  the  mob. 


144  CATULLUS 

XCVI 

If  to  the  silent  dead  aught  sweet  or  tender  ariseth, 
Calvus,  of  our  dim  griefs  common  humanity  born ; 

When  to  a  love  long  cold  some  pensive  pity  recalls  us, 

When  for  a  friend  long  lost  wakes  some  unhappy  regret; 

Not  so  deeply,  be  sure,  Quintilia's  early  departing 
Grieves  her,  as  in  thy  love  dureth  a  plenary  joy. 

XCVIII 

Asks  some  booby  rebuke,  some  prolix  prattler  a  judgment? 

Vettius,  all  were  said  verily  truer  of  you. 
Tongue  so  noisome  as  yours,  come  chance,  might  surely  on 
order 

Bend  to  the  mire,  or  lick  dirt  from  a  beggarly  shoe. 
Would  you  on  all  of  us,  all,  bring,  Vettius,  utterly  ruin? 

Speak ;  not  a  doubt,  'twill  come  utterly,  ruin  on  all. 

XCIX 

Dear  one,  a  kiss  I  stole,  while  you  did  wanton  a-playing. 
Sweet  ambrosia,  love,  never  as  honily  sweet. 

Dearly  the  deed  I  paid  for ;  an  hour's  long  misery  waning 
Ended,  as  I  agoniz'd  hung  to  the  point  of  a  cross. 
Hoping  vain  purgation;  alas!  no  potion  of  any 

Tears  could  abate  that  fair  angriness,  youthful  as  you. 

Hardly  the  sin  was  in  act,  your  lips  did  many  a  falling 
Drop  dilute,  which  anon  every  finger  away 

Cleansed  apace,  lest  still  my  mouth's  infection  abiding 

Stain,  like  slaver  abhorr'd  breath'd  from  a  foul  frica- 
trice. 

Add,  that  a  booty  to  love  in  misery  me  to  deliver 
You  did  spare  not,  a  fell  worker  of  all  agonies, 

So  that,  again  transmuted,  a  kiss  ambrosia  seeming 

Sugary,  turn'd  to  the  strange  harshness  of  harsh  helle- 
bore. 


POEMS  145 

Then  such  dolorous  end  since  your  poor  lover  awaiteth, 
Never  a  kiss  will  I  venture,  a  theft  any  more. 


QuiNTius,  AuFiLENA ;  to  CacHus,  Aufilenus ; 

Lovers  each,  fair  flower  either  of  youths  Veronese. 
One  to  the  brother  bends,  and  one  to  the  sister.     A  noble 

Friendship,  if  e'er  was  true  friendship,  a  rare  brother- 
hood. 

Ask  me  to  which  I  lean  ?     You,  Caelius :  yours  a  devotion 
Single,  a  faith  of  tried  quality,  steady  to  me; 

Into  my  inmost  veins  when  love  sank  fiercely  to  burn  them. 
Mighty  be  your  bright  love,  Caelius,  happy  be  you ! 


cr 

Borne  o'er  many  a  land,  o'er  many  a  level  of  ocean, 
Here  to  the  grave  I  come,  brother,  of  holy  repose. 
Sadly  the  last  poor  gifts,  death's  simple  duty,  to  bring  thee; 
Unto  the  silent  dust  vainly  to  murmur  a  cry. 

Since  thy  form  deep-shrouded  an  evil  destiny  taketh 

From  me,  O  hapless  ghost,  brother,  O  heavenly  ta'en. 
Yet  this  bounty  the  while,  these  gifts  ancestral  of  usance 
Homely,  the  sad  slight  store  piety  grants  to  the  tomb; 
Drench'd  in  a  brother's  tears,  and  weeping  freshly,  receive 
them; 
Yea,  take,  brother,  a  long  Ave,  a  timeless  adieu. 


CII 

If  to  a  friend  sincere,  Cornelius,  e'er  was  a  secret 

Trusted,  a  friend  whose  soul  steady  to  honour  abides; 

Me  to  the  same  brotherhood  doubt  not  to  be  inly  devoted, 
Sworn  upon  oath,  to  the  last  secret,  an  Harpocrates. 


146  CATULLUS 


cm 


Briefly,  the  sesterces  all,  give  back,  full  quantity,  Silo, 

Then  be  a  bully  beyond  exorability,  you: 
Else,  if  money  be  all,  O  cease  so  lewdly  to  practise 

Bawd,  yet  bully  beyond  exorability,  you. 

CIV 

What?  should  a  lover  adore,  yet  cruelly  slander  adoring? 

I  my  lady,  than  eyes  goodlier  easily  she? 
Nay,  I  rail  not  at  all.     How  rail,  so  blindly  desiring? 

Tappo  alone  dare  brave  all  that  is  heinous,  or  you. 

cv 

Mentula  toils,  Pimplea,  the  Muses'  mountain,  ascending: 
They  with  pitchforks  hurl  Mentula  dizzily  down. 

CVI 

Walks  with  a  salesman  a  beauty,  your  eyes  that  beauty  dis- 
cerning? 
Doubt  not  your  eyes  speak  true ;  Sir,  'tis  a  beauty  to  sell. 

CVII 

If  to  delight  man's  wish,  joy  e'er  unlook'd  for,  unhop'd  for, 

Falleth,  a  joy  were  such  proper,  a  bliss  to  the  soul. 
Then  'tis  a  joy  to  the  soul,  like  gold  of  Lydia  precious, 

Lesbia  mine,  that  thou  com'st  to  delight  me  again. 
Com'st  yet  again  long-hop'd,  long-look'd  for  vainly,  returnest 

Freely  to  me.     O  day  white  with  a  luckier  hue! 
Lives  there  happier  any  than  I,  I  only?  a  fairer 

Destiny?     Life  so  sweet  know  ye,  or  aught  parallel? 

CVIII 

Loathly  Cominius,  if  e'er  this  people's  voice  should  arraign 
thee. 


POEMS  147 

Hoary  with  all  unclean  infamy,  worthy  to  die; 
First  should  a  tongue,  I  doubt  not,  of  old  so  deadly  to  good- 
ness, 
Fall  extruded,  of  each  vulture  a  hungry  regale ; 
Gouged  be  the  carrion  eyes  some  crow's  black  maw  to  re- 
plenish. 
Stomach  a  dog's  fierce  teeth  harry,  a  wolf  the  remains. 

CIX 

Think  you  truly,  belov'd,  this  bond  of  duty  between  us, 
Lasteth,  an  ever-new  jollity,  ne'er  to  decease? 

Grant  it,  Gods  immortal,  assure  her  promise  in  earnest; 
Yea,  be  the  lips  sincere ;  yea,  be  the  words  from  her  heart. 

So  still  rightly  remain  our  lovers'  charter,  a  life-long 

Friendship  in  us,  whose  faith  fades  not  away  to  the  last. 

cx 

AuFiLENA,  the  fair,  if  kind,  is  a  favourite  ever; 

Asks  she  a  price,  then  yields  frankly?  the  price  is  her 
own. 
You,  that  agreed  to  be  kind,  now  vilely  the  treaty  dishonour, 

Give  not  at  all,  nor  again  take ; — 'tis  a  wrong  to  a  wrong. 

Not  to  deceive  were  noble,  a  chastity  ne'er  had  assented, 
Aufilena ;  but  you — blindly  to  grasp  at  a  gain. 

Yet  to  withhold  the  effects, — 'tis  a  greed  more  loathly  than 
harlot's 
Vileness,  a  wretch  whose  limbs  ply  to  the  lusts  of  a  town. 

CXI 

One  lord  only  to  love,  one,  Aufilena,  to  live  for, 
Praise  can  a  bride  nowhere  goodlier  any  betide; 

Yet,  when  a  niece  with  an  uncle  is  even  mother  or  even 
Cousin — of  all  paramours  this  were  as  heinous  as  all. 

CXII 

Naso,  if  you  show  much,  your  company  shows  but  a  very 
Little;  a  man  you  show,  Naso,  a  woman  in  one. 


148  CATULLUS 

CXIII 

PoMPEY  the  first  time  consul,  as  yet  Maecilia  counted 
Two  paramours;  reappears  Pompey  a  consul  again, 

Two  still,  Cinna,  remain ;  but  grown,  each  unit  an  even 
Thousand.     Truly  the  stock's  fruitful :  adultery  breeds. 

CXIV 

Rightly  a  lordly  demesne  makes  Firman  Mentula  count  for 
Wealthy!  the  rich  fine  things,  then  the  variety  there! 

Game  in  plenty  to  choose,  fish,  field,  and  meadow  with  hunt- 
ing; 
Only  the  waste  exceeds  strangely  the  quantity  still. 

Wealthy?  perhaps  I  grant  it;  if  all,  wealth  asks  for,  is  absent. 
Praise  the  demesne?  no  doubt;  only  be  needy  the  man. 

cxv 

Acres  thirty  in  all,  good  grass,  own  Mentula  master ; 

Forty  to  plough ;  bare  seas,  arid  or  empty,  the  rest. 
Poorly  methinks  might  Croesus  a  man  so  sumptuous  equal. 

Counted  in  one  rich  park  owner  of  all  he  can  ask. 
Grass    or   plough,    big    woods,    much    mountain,    mighty 
morasses ; 
On  to  the  farthest  North,  on  to  the  boundary  main. 

Vastness  is  all  that  is  here ;  yet  Mentula  reaches  a  vaster — 
Man?  not  so;  'tis  a  vast  mountainous  ominous  He. 

CXVI 

Oft  with  a  studious  heart,  which  hunted  closely,  requiring 
Skill  great  Battiades'  poesies  haply  to  send. 

Laying  thus  thy  rage  in  rest,  lest  everlasting 

Darts  should  reach  me,  to  wound  still  an  assailable  head : 

Barren  now  I  see  that  labour  of  any  requital, 

Gellius ;  here  all  prayers  fall  to  the  ground,  nor  avail. 

No ;  but  a  robe  I  carry,  the  barbs,  thy  folly,  to  muffle ; 
Mine  strike  sure ;  thy  deep  injury  they  shall  atone. 


THE 

ELEGIES  OF  TIBULLUS 

INCLUDING  THE 

POEMS  OF  SULPICIA 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE  BY 

JAMES  GRAINGER,  M.  D. 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTORY  LIFE  OF  TIBULLUS 
BY  THE  SAME 


149 

XI— 11 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  LIFE  OF  TIBULLUS 

Albius  Tibullus,  the  prince  of  elegiac  poets,  was  born  at 
Rome,  B.C.  64,  being  descended  from  an  equestrian  branch  of 
the  Albian  family.  The  ancient  writers  of  Tibullus's  life  have 
favoured  us  with  no  particulars  of  his  infancy,  or  his  early 
education.  However,  as  his  father's  condition  was  consider- 
able, we  can  only  suppose  that  nothing  was  omitted  to  render 
our  poet  a  useful  and  elegant  member  of  society. 

In  the  year  of  Rome  705,  the  civil  war  broke  out  between 
Caesar  and  Pompey.  The  army  and  corrupt  part  of  the  legis- 
lature followed  Caesar;  while  the  majority  of  the  senate  and 
of  the  knights,  with  all  those  who  dreaded  a  perpetual  dictator, 
sided  with  Pompey;  as  the  person  from  whom  the  republic 
had  less  danger  to  apprehend.  Of  this  number  was  the  father 
of  Tibullus :  and  there  is  reason  to  suspect,  that  he  either  fell 
in  the  field,  or  was  butchered  by  proscription;  for  we  know 
that  a  considerable  part  of  his  estate  was  left  a  prey  to  the 
rapacious  soldiery.  These  events  probably  determined  our 
author's  public  attachments;  but  without  these  motive  to  re- 
venge, it  is  not  unlikely  that  Tibullus  had,  before  this  time, 
adopted  the  political  opinions  of  his  father. 

At  what  actions  in  the  civil  war  our  young  knight  was  pres- 
ent, as  it  was  not  prudent  in  him  to  mention  in  his  poems,  so 
historians  do  not  inform  us;  but  as  principle  and  revenge 
equally  conspired  to  rouse  his  courage  (and  courage  he  cer- 
tainly possessed^),  may  we  not  safely  infer,  that  Tibullus  did 
not  run  away,  like  his  friend  Horace,  from  Philippi ;  at  which 
battle  he  was  present  with  his  patron  the  illustrious  Messala 
Corvinus  ? 

But  the  fortune  of  Octavius  prevailing  over  the  better 
cause  of  Brutus  and  Cassius,  Messala  too  (who  was  next  in 

1  Tibull.  lib.  I.  El.  8. 

151 


152  INTRODUCTION 

command  to  these  patriot  citizens)  going  over  with  his  forces 
to  the  conqueror,  Tibullus,  although  he  paid  the  greatest  re- 
gard to  the  sentiments  of  that  excellent  soldier  and  orator, 
yet  determined  to  leave  the  army:  for  as  he  would  not  fight 
against  the  party  which  his  friends  had  now  espoused,  so 
neither  could  he  appear  in  arms  against  those  whom  his 
principle  taught  him  to  regard  as  the  assertors  of  liberty. 
Besides,  the  bad  success  of  the  patriot  party,  and  his  own  expe- 
rience, had  now  inspired  him  with  an  abhorrence  of  the  war: 
he  therefore  retired,  a.  u.  c.  712,  to  his  country  seat  at 
Pedum,  there,  by  an  honest  industry,  to  raise  his  impaired  for- 
tune to  its  ancient  splendor,  while  his  hours  of  leisure  were 
either  devoted  to  philosophy  or  the  muses. 

But  we  are  not  to  imagine  that  rural  objects  and  study 
solely  engaged  our  poet's  attention;  for  being  formed  with  a 
natural  tenderness  of  disposition,  he  began  to  enlarge  the 
sphere  of  his  pleasures  by  conversing  with  the  fair  sex.  The 
first  object  of  his  affection  was  probably  Glycera ;  and  we  have 
Horace  ^  on  our  side,  when  we  add,  that  she  at  first  gave  him 
hopes  of  success:  but  though  his  person  was  elegant,'^  his 
fortune  not  contemptible,  and  his  life  was  then  in  the  prime, 
Glycera  deserted  him  for  a  younger  lover.^  As  he  entertained 
a  real  affection  for  that  lady,  her  infidelity  gave  him  much 
uneasiness :  he  therefore  endeavoured,  by  exerting  his  elegiac 
genius,  to  reclaim  her.  But  his  poems  producing  in  Glycera 
no  change  to  his  advantage,  his  friend  and  old  fellow-soldier, 
Horace,  advised  him  to  abate  of  his  sorrow  for  her  loss,  and 
send  her  no  more  elegies. 

None  of  these  elegies  having  come  down  to  our  time, 
Lilio  Gyraldi  supposes  that  Nemesis  and  Glycera  were  the 
same: — but  the  poems  which  are  inscribed  to  Nemesis*  do 
not  favour  this  disposition;  and,  indeed,  it  seems  more  likely 
that  Tibullus  was  so  piqued  at  the  ill  success  of  his  first  amour, 
that  he  destroyed  all  those  elegies  which  it  gave  rise  to. 


1  Lib.  I.  Ode  33. 

2  Horat.  lib.  i.  Ep.  4. 

^  Horat.  lib.  i.  Ode  33. 
4  T  :u    XT 


THE    LIFE    OF   TIBULLUS  153 

Some  time  after  this  (a.  u.  c.  718)  the  fierce  inhabitants 
of  Pannonia  rebelHng  and  Messala  being  one  of  the  generals 
appointed  by  Augustus  to  reduce  them,  that  nobleman  invited 
Tibullus  to  attend  him  in  the  expedition.  As  this  service  was 
not  against  the  Pompeian  party  (to  whom  an  amnesty  was 
granted  by  the  triumvirate,  a.  u.  c.  715),  and  as  he  hoped 
in  the  hurry  of  a  mihtary  life  to  find  a  remedy  for  his  melan- 
choly, he  complied  with  his  noble  friend's  request,  and  in  every 
action  behaved  with  his  usual  bravery. 

In  this  manner  did  our  poet  subdue  his  passion  for  Glycera : 
but  being  by  nature  addicted  to  the  love  of  the  fair  sex,  at 
his  return  from  the  army  he  fixed  his  affections  on  Delia, 
which  Apuleius  tells  us  was  an  appellation  given  her  by  our 
poet,  her  real  name  being  Plania, 

It  would  seem,  that  some  time  after  his  attachment  to 
Delia,  Messala  invited  our  poet  to  accompany  him  in  some 
military  expedition ;  but  he  was  then  too  deeply  enamoured  of 
Delia  to  attend  the  call  of  honour.  Tibullus,  therefore,  com- 
posed his  first  elegy;  in  which,  as  he  prefers  a  country  retire- 
ment with  Delia,  and  a  moderate  income,  to  all  the  triumphs 
of  war  and  allurements  of  fortune,  so  Corvinus  could  not  well 
urge,  with  propriety,  our  poet's  departure. 

Messala  having  soon  after  obtained  the  consulship,  Tibul- 
lus composed  his  panegyric.  This  poem  is  in  heroic  numbers, 
and  though  not  destitute  of  poetical  beauties,  is  inferior  to 
his  elegies:  it  seems  rather  an  effusion  of  friendship  than  an 
effort  of  genius:  it  has,  therefore,  not  been  translated. 

In  the  year  of  Rome  725,  Messala  being  intrusted  by 
Augustus  Caesar  with  an  extraordinary  command  over  Syria, 
insisted  on  Tibullus's  accompanying  him  thither,  to  which  our 
poet  consented.  This  sacrifice  to  friendship  was  not,  however, 
obtained  without  much  reluctance.  Tibullus,  however,  had 
not  been  long  at  sea,  before  he  was  taken  so  ill,  that  Messala 
was  obliged  to  put  him  ashore,  and  leave  him  in  Phaeacia.  In 
this  island,  so  famous  for  the  gardens  of  Alcinous,  our  poet 
composed  the  third  elegy  of  the  first  book;  which  shows,  that 
whatever  effect  this  sickness  had  upon  his  constitution,  it  did 
not  in  the  least  impair  his  poetical  talents. 

From  the  sentiments  of  tenderness  expressed  in  that  beauti- 


154  INTRODUCTION 

ful  poem,  it  would  not  have  been  surprising,  had  Tibullus  on 
his  recovery  returned  to  Italy :  but  he  had  too  sincere  a  regard 
for  his  friend  to  desert  him.  He  therefore,  as  soon  as  he  was 
able  to  renew  his  voyage,  hastened  after  Messala,  and  with 
that  nobleman  travelled  through  Cilicia,  Syria,  Egypt,  and 
Greece ;  being  then  probably  initiated  into  the  Eleusinian  mys- 
teries at  Athens. 

What  were  the  political  consequences  of  this  expedition, 
historians  do  not  mention:  but  the  consequences  to  Tibullus 
were  highly  disagreeable;  for,  if  any  stress  in  this  point  is  to 
be  laid  on  his  elegies,  there  is  reason  to  suspect  that  Delia 
married  before  his  return. 

This,  doubtless,  occasioned  much  uneasiness  to,  and  ren- 
dered our  poet  the  less  unwilling  to  embrace  another  offer 
made  him  soon  after  by  Messala,  of  going  to  Aquitaine ;  which 
province  having  revolted  (a.  u.  c.  726)  Augustus  had  in- 
trusted that  excellent  officer  with  the  important  business  of 
its  reduction. 

The  Romans,  says  an  elegant  writer,  fought  with  other 
nations  for  glory,  but  with  the  Gauls  for  liberty.  This  obser- 
vation was  at  least  verified  at  this  time:  for  it  was  not  till 
after  many  sharp  actions,  in  which  both  the  general  and  his 
soldiers  distinguished  themselves,  that  Messala  completed  the 
service  he  was  sent  upon.  In  all  these  battles  our  poet  sig- 
nalized his  courage  in  so  remarkable  a  manner,  that  the  suc- 
cess of  the  expedition  was,  in  no  small  degree,  owing  to  him.^ 
For  which  reason,  he  had  military  honour  conferred  on  him. 

The  reduction  of  Aquitaine  was  so  acceptable  to  the  Em- 
peror, that  Messala  had  a  triumph  decreed  him  the  year  after: 
and  as  our  poet  had  borne  so  distinguished  a  share  in  the  war, 
it  is  not  to  be  supposed  but  he  was  present  at  that  superb 
solemnity;  which,  as  an  ancient  inscription  acquaints  us,  was 
celebrated  on  the  seventh  of  the  calends  of  October. 

But  his  Gallic  expedition  not  having  banished  Delia  from 
his  breast,  he  again  paid  his  addresses  to  her :  and,  from  some 
passages  in  the  second  and  seventh  elegies  of  the  first  book,  it 
would  seem  that  they  were  but  too  successful. 

1  Uh.  I.  El.  8. 


THE    LIFE   OF  TIBULLUS  155 

When  a  woman  has  once  so  far  forgot  herself,  as  to  bestow 
improper  favours  on  a  lover,  nothing  is  more  natural  than  for 
that  lover  to  suspect  he  is  not  the  only  favourite.  Our  poet 
is  an  instance  of  the  truth  of  this  observation;  for  to  such  a 
height  did  his  ungenerous  suspicions  of  Delia  arise  (notwith- 
standing all  her  protestations  of  innocence),  that  he  made  her 
husband  acquainted  with  his  intrigue/  Whether  Delia  was 
innocent  or  not,  she  could  never  forgive  this  discovery ;  or  had 
she  been  willing  to  forget  the  past,  we  cannot  suppose  that 
her  husband  would  ever  admit  Tibullus  again  into  his  house. 

Such,  then,  was  the  extraordinary  conclusion  of  our  poet's 
intimacy  with  Delia ;  and  therefore  the  poem  which  furnished 
these  particulars  is  justly  made  the  last  of  the  poems  inscribed 
to  that  beauty. 

Although  the  elegies  of  Tibullus  warrant,  in  some  sort, 
these  surmises,  yet  it  ought  to  be  considered,  that  poets  write 
from  imagination  more  frequently  than  from  reality,  because 
ideal  subjects  afford  greater  scope  to  their  faculties,  than 
occurrences  in  common  life: — and  indeed,  if  what  Ovid  tells 
us  may  be  depended  on,  Delia  was  again  enamoured  with  our 
poet  at  the  time  of  his  decease,  when  probably  her  husband  was 
dead. 

Some  time  elapsed,  before  Tibullus  entered  into  any  new 
engagements.  In  this  interval,  he  composed  his  famous  elegy 
on  Messala's  Birthday,  the  ninth  and  the  following  elegies  of 
the  first  book,  with  the  first  and  second  of  the  second  book; 
endeavouring  to  forget  his  disasters,  by  dividing  his  time 
between  his  country-seat  and  Rome ;  but  chiefly  by  conversing, 
more  than  ever,  with  the  learned  and  polite:  of  these  the  most 
eminent  among  his  acquaintances  were  Messala,  Valgius, 
IMacer,  and  Horace. 

Messala  was  now  in  the  height  of  his  reputation:  in  elo- 
quence and  military  knowledge,  he  was  excelled  by  none  of 
his  contemporaries;  and  yet  the  goodness  of  his  heart  sur- 
passed his  abilities.  His  house  was  the  rendezvous  of  the 
learned ;  and  his  patronage,  as  an  admirable  poet  [Dr.  Young] 
expresses  it,  was 

1  Lib.  I.  El.  7. 


156  INTRODUCTION 

The  surest  passport  to  the  gates  of  fame. 

Happy  in  the  approbation  of  all  parties,  Messala's  siding 
with  Augustus,  after  the  defeat  at  Philippi,  did  not  lose  him 
the  esteem  of  his  old  friends;  and  his  interesting  himself  in 
their  behalf,  to  the  honour  of  that  emperor,  made  him  not  the 
less  beloved  by  Augustus. 

J.  Valgius  Rufus  was  eminent,  not  only  for  heroic  poetry, 
but  also  for  his  elegies,  especially  those  on  the  death  of  his 
son  Mystes.  He  also  wrote  some  excellent  epigrams.  But 
all  his  poems  are  now  lost.  As  Tibullus  thought  him  the  best 
poet  next  to  Homer,  posterity  has  suffered  much  in  their  loss. 

Of  Macer,  all  that  is  known  is  mentioned  in  the  notes  to 
the  sixth  Elegy  of  the  second  book. 

But  although  Tibullus  himself  informs  us  of  his  acquaint- 
ance with  these  eminent  scholars;  yet  shguld  we  not  have 
known  of  the  friendship  which  Horace  and  he  entertained  for 
one  another,  had  it  not  been  for  Horace,  who  probably  about 
this  time  sent  our  poet  an  epistle.     [Lib.  i.  Ep.  4.] 

When  such  were  the  friends  of  Tibullus,  and  his  poetical 
abilities  had  long  since  obtained  him  universal  applause,  he 
could  have  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  admission  to  the 
learned  court  of  Augustus.  "  How  then  (ask  the  commenta- 
tors) has  it  come  to  pass,  that  he  never  once  mentions  either 
that  emperor  or  Maecenas,  both  whom  his  brother  poets  cele- 
brated with  such  a  lavishness  of  praise?  And  yet  (add  they) 
there  are  many  parts  of  his  writings  where  those  patrons  of 
genius  might  have  been  introduced  with  uncommon  pro- 
priety." 

True  to  the  principles  of  the  republic,  and  a  real  friend  to 
the  liberties  of  the  people,  Tibullus  never  could  prevail  upon 
himself  to  flatter  those,  whatever  affection  they  expressed  for 
the  muses,  whom  his  principles  taught  him  to  detest  as  the 
enslavers  of  his  country. 

This,  as  Pope  emphatically  expresses  it,  "kept  him  sacred 
from  the  great,"  who,  doubtless,  perceived  with  secret  dis- 
pleasure (for  Augustus  and  Maecenas  well  knew  the  impor- 
tance of  having  the  poets  on  their  side)  that  no  loss  of  for- 
tune, and  no  allurement  of  ambition,  could  induce  Tibullus 


THE    LIFE   OF   TIBULLUS  157 

to  join  in  the  general  chorus  of  their  praise.  Although  both 
the  emperor  and  his  favourite  must  in  their  hearts  have  ap- 
plauded our  poet's  integrity;  yet  that  mental  applause,  in  all 
probability,  would  not  have  secured  Tibullus  from  the  effects 
of  their  displeasure,  had  it  not  been  for  the  interest  which  he 
had  with  Messala. 

Soon  after  this,  Tibullus  fell  in  love  with  Neaera.  It  is 
true,  that  the  Elegies  he  wrote  to  Nesera,  in  every  edition  of 
our  poet,  follow  those  in  which  he  celebrates  Nemesis :  yet,  as 
Ovid  (who  could  not  well  be  mistaken  in  what  related  to 
one  whom  he  regarded  so  much  as  Tibullus)  says  that  Nem- 
esis was  his  last  mistress,  and  as  it  is  probable  that  the  fifth 
Elegy  of  the  second  book  (our  poet  being  then  certainly  very 
fond  of  Nemesis)  was  written  between  the  years  732  and 
734,  when  Augustus  wintered  in  Samos,  (that  is,  a  short 
time  before  our  poet's  death)  we  suppose  that  Neaera  was 
the  third  object  of  his  affections. 

Fabricius  conjectures,  from  her  name,  that  she  was  a 
woman  of  the  town;  Neaera,  in  the  declension  of  the  Roman 
empire,  being  a  synonimous  term  for  a  courtezan :  but  Fabri- 
cius should  have  considered  that  Tibullus  wrote  in  the  Au- 
gustan age.  Besides,  it  appears  from  Homer,^  from  a  Vale- 
rius Flaccus,  and  from  an  old  marble  statue  preserved  by  Pig- 
norius,  that  women  of  the  first  rank,  and  most  unsuspected 
modesty,  were  called  by  that  name.  Without,  however,  these 
authorities,  Tibullus  himself  screens  this  favourite  from  the 
imputation  of  libertinism,  by  bestowing  on  her  the  epithet 
casta.^  He  also  characterizes  her  parents  as  people  of  virtue 
and  fortune. 

It  appears  from  the  second  and  third  Elegy  of  the  third 
book,  that  Neaera,  after  a  long  courtship,  having  consented  to 
marry  Tibullus,  was  somehow  or  other  forced  away  from 
him.  This  gave  our  poet  an  uncommon  concern ;  which  was 
redoubled,  when  he  discovered,  that  she  herself  had  not  only 
been  accessory  to  her  being  carried  off,  but  meant  also  to 
marry  his  rival. 


1  Odyss.  lib.  xii.  ver.  133. 

2  Lib.  III.  El.  4. 


158  INTRODUCTION 

Tibullus,  who  had  hitherto  been  unsuccessful  in  his  ad- 
dresses to  the  fair,  was  not  more  fortunate  in  his  last  mis- 
tress; for,  if  Nemesis  (for  so  was  she  called)  possessed  beau- 
ties of  mind  and  person  equal  to  those  of  Delia  and  Neaera, 
her  extreme  avarice  obscured  them  all.  And  though  Martial 
founds  Tibullus's  chief  claim  to  poetical  reputation  on  the 
Elegies  he  addressed  to  that  lady,  we  have  our  poet's  authority 
for  asserting,  that  they  produced  no  effect  upon  her. 

Whether  Nemesis  ever  abated  of  her  rigour  to  Tibullus, 
his  elegies  do  not  inform  us.  It  is  indeed  probable  she  did, 
especially  since  Ovid  represents  her  as  sincerely  grieved  at 
Tibullus's  death;  which,  according  to  Marsus,  a  contempo- 
rary poet,  happened  soon  after  that  of  Virgil : 

Thee !  young  Tibullus,  to  the'  Elysian  plain 
Death  bid  accompany  great  Maro's  shade; 

Determin'd  that  no  poet  should  remain. 
Or  to  sing  wars,  or  weep  the  cruel  maid. 

For  Tibullus  died  either  a.  u.  c.  735,  the  year  of  Virgil's 
death,  or  the  year  after,  in  the  forty-fourth  or  forty-fifth 
year  of  his  age. 

Nor  was  Marsus  the  only  poet  who  celebrated  this  mel- 
ancholy event.  Ovid,  who  had  no  less  friendship  than  ad- 
miration for  Tibullus,  has  immortalized  both  himself  and  his 
friend  in  the  following  beautiful  elegy;  which,  containing 
some  further  particulars  relating  to  our  poet,  will  make  a 
proper  conclusion  to  this  life,  which,  from  the  scantiness  as 
well  as  the  little  authority  of  many  of  the  materials,  the  au- 
thor is  sorry  he  cannot  render  more  complete. 


ON   TIBULLUS 
By  Ovid 

If  Thetis,  if  the  blushing  queen  of  morn, 
If  mighty  goddesses  could  taste  of  woe 

For  mortal  sons;  come.  Elegy  forlorn! 

Come,  weeping  dame!  and  bid  thy  tresses  flow 


THE    LIFE   OF  TIBULLUS      ^  159 

Thou  bear'st,  soft  mistress  of  the  tearful  eye, 
From  grief  thy  name ;  now  name,  alas,  too  just ! 

For  see  thy  favourite  bard,  thy  glory,  lie 

Stretch'd  on  yon  funeral  pile;  ah!  lifeless  dust! 

See  Venus'  son,  his  torch  extinguish'd  brings, 
His  quiver  all  revers'd,  and  broke  his  bow ; 

See  pensive  how  he  droops  his  flagging  wings. 
And  strikes  his  bared  bosom  many  a  blow : 

Loose  and  neglected,  scatter'd  o'er  his  neck. 
His  golden  locks  drink  many  a  falling  tear: 

What  piteous  sobs,  as  if  his  heart  would  break. 
Shake  his  swoln  cheek  ?    Ah,  sorrow  too  severe  1 

Thus,  fair  lulus!  for  thy  godlike  sire, 

'Tis  said,  he  weeping  from  thy  roof  withdrew: 
Nor  deeper  mourn'd  the  queen  of  soft  desire, 
When  the  grim  boar  her  lov'd  Adonis  slew. 

And  yet,  we  bards  are  fondly  call'd  divine, 
Are  sacred  held,  the  gods'  peculiar  care: 

There  are  that  deem  us  of  the  ethereal  line. 
That  something  of  the  deity  we  share. 

But  what  can  death's  abhorred  stroke  withstand! 

Say,  what  so  sacred  he  will  not  profane? 
On  all  the  monster  lays  his  dusky  hand, 
And  poets  are  immortal  deem'd  in  vain? 

Thee,  Orpheus,  what  avail'd  thy  heavenly  sire? 

Thy  mother-muse,  and  beast-enchanging  song? 
The  god  for  Linus  swept  his  mournful  lyre, 

And  with  a  father's  woes  the  forests  rung. 

Great  Homer  see,  from  whose  eternal  spring 
Pierian  draughts  the  poet-train  derive; 

Not  he  could  'scape  the  fell  remorseless  king,^ 
His  lays  alone  the  greedy  flames  survive. 


Pluto. 


160  INTRODUCTION 

Still  live  the  work  of  ages,  Ilion's  fame, 
And  the  slow  web  by  nightly  craft  unwove: 

So  Nemesis  shall  live,  and  Delia's  name; 
This  his  first  passion,  that  his  recent  love. 

Now  what  avails,  ye  fair!  each  holy  rite. 
Each  painful  service  for  your  lover  paid? 

Recluse  and  lonely  that  you  pass'd  the  night? 
Or  sought  the'  Egyptian  cymbal's  fruitless  aid? 

When  partial  fate  thus  tears  the  good  away, 
(Forgive,  ye  just!  th'  involuntary  thought) 

I'm  led  to  doubt  of  Jove's  eternal  sway. 

And  fear  that  gods  and  heaven  are  words  of  nought. 

Live  pious,  you  must  die:  religion  prize. 

Death  to  the  tomb  will  drag  you  from  the  fane: 

Confide  in  verse;  lo!  where  Tibullus  lies! 
His  all  the  little  urn  will  now  contain! 

Thee,  sacred  bard !  could  then  funereal  fires 

Snatch  from  us?  on  thy  bosom  durst  they  feed? 

Not  fanes  were  safe,  not  Jove's  refulgent  spires/ 
From  flames  that  ventur'd  on  this  impious  deed. 

The  beauteous  queen  that  reigns  in  Eryx'  towers, 
From  the  sad  sight  averts  her  mournful  face ; 

There  are,  that  tell  of  soft  and  pearly  showers 
Which  down  her  lovely  cheeks  their  courses  trace. 

Yet  better  thus,  than  on  Phseacia's  strand. 

Unknown,  unpitied,  and  unseen  to  die: 
His  closing  eyes  here  felt  a  mother's  hand, 

Her  tender  hands  each  honour'd  rite  supply. 

His  parting  shade  here  found  a  sister's  care. 
Who  sad  attends,  with  tresses  loose  and  torn : 

The  fair  he  lov'd  his  dying  kisses  share. 
Nor  quit  the  pyre  afflicted  and  forlorn. 

*  The  Capitol. 


THE   LIFE   OF  TIBULLUS  161 

"Farewell,  dear  youth!  (thus  Delia  parting  cried) 
How  bless'd  the  time,  when  I  inspir'd  the  lay? 

You  liv'd,  were  happy;  every  care  defied, 
While  I  possess'd  your  heart,  untaught  to  stray." 

To  whom  thus  Nemesis,  in  scornful  mood, 

"  Mine  was  the  loss,  then  why  art  thou  distress'd  ? 

Me,  only  me,  with  parting  life  he  view'd; 
My  hand  alone  with  dying  ardor  press'd."  ' 

And  yet,  if  ought  beyond  this  mouldering  clay 
But  empty  name  and  shadowy  form  remain, 

Thou  liv'st,  dear  youth !  for  ever  young  and  gay ; 
For  ever  bless'd,  shalt  range  the'  Elysian  plain. 

And  thou,  Catullus !  learned,  gallant  mind, 

(Fast  by  thy  side  thy  Calvus  will  attend) 
With  ivy  wreaths  thy  youthful  temples  twin'd, 

Shalt  spring  to  hail  the'  arrival  of  thy  friend. 
"  Oh,  may  I  view  thee  with  life's  parting  ray, 

And  thy  dear  hand  with  dying  ardor  press !  " 

And  Callus,  too  profuse  of  life  and  blood. 

If  no  sad  breach  of  friendship's  law  deprive. 
This  b^d  immortal  of  the  bless'd  and  good. 

Thy  shade  shall  join,  if  shades  at  all  survive. 

Thou  polish'd  bard !  thy  loss  though  here  we  mourn. 
Hast  swell'd  the  sacred  number  of  the  bless'd ; 

Safe  rest  thy  gentle  bones  within  their  urn! 
Nor  heavy  press  the  earth  upon  thy  breast! 


1  Alluding   ironically  to   the   following  passage   in   the   first   Elegy, 
\rhich  Tibullus  there  applies  to  Delia. 


THE  ELEGIES  OF  TIBULLUS 

BOOK  I 

ELEGY  I 

The  glittering  ore  let  others  vainly  heap, 

O'er  fertile  vales  extend  the  enclosing  mound; 

With  dread  of  neighbouring  foes  forsake  their  sleep, 
And  start  aghast  at  every  trumpet's  sound. 

Me  humbler  scenes  delight,  and  calmer  days; 

A  tranquil  life  fair  poverty  secure! 
Then  boast,  my  heart,  a  small  but  cheerful  blaze. 

And  riches  grasp  who  will,  let  me  be  poor. 

Nor  yet  be,  Hope,  a  stranger  to  my  door, 

But  o'er  my  roof,  bright  goddess,  still  preside! 

With  many  a  bounteous  autumn  heap  my  floor, 
And  swell  my  vats  with  must,  a  purple  tide. 

My  tender  vines  I'll  plant  with  early  care, 

And  choicest  apples,  with  a  skilful  hand; 
Nor  blush,  a  rustic,  oft  to  guide  the  share, 

Or  goad  the  tardy  ox  along  the  land. 

Let  me  a  simple  swain,  with  honest  pride, 

If  chance  a  lambkin  from  its  dam  should  roam. 

Or  sportful  kid,  the  little  wanderer  chide. 
And  in  my  bosom  bear  exulting  home. 

Here  Pales  *  I  bedew  with  milky  show'rs. 

Lustrations  yearly  for  my  shepherd  pay, 
Revere  each  antique  stone  bedeck'd  with  flow'rs, 

That  bound  the  field,  or  points  the  doubtful  way.^ 

^  Goddess  of  shepherds.  Her  festival  [Palilia]  was  celebrated  on 
the  eleventh  or  twelfth  calends  of  May,  the  day  that  Rome  was 
founded. 

2  The  Romans  revered  boundary  and  guide  stones. 

162 


ELEGIES  163 

My  grateful  fruits,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 
Before  the  rural  god  ^  shall  duly  wait ; 
From  Ceres'  gifts  I'll  cull  each  browner  ear, 
And  hang  a  wheaten  wreath  before  her  gate. 

The  ruddy  god^  shall  save  my  fruit  from  stealth. 
And  far  away  each  little  plunderer  scare: 

And  you,  the  guardians  once  of  ampler  wealth, 

My  household  gods,^  shall  still  my  offerings  share. 

My  numerous  herds,  that  wanton'd  o'er  the  mead. 
The  choicest  fatling  then  could  richly  yield; 

Now  scarce  I  spare  a  little  lamb  to  bleed, 
A  mighty  victim  for  my  scanty  field : 

And  yet  a  lamb  shall  bleed,  while  rang'd  around, 
The  village  youths  shall  stand  in  order  meet ; 

With  rustic  hymns,  ye  gods,  your  praise  resound, 
And  future  crops  and  future  wines  entreat. 

Then  come,  ye  powers,  nor  scorn  my  frugal  board. 
Nor  yet  the  gifts  clean  earthen  bowls  convey; 

With  these  the  first  of  men  the  gods  ador'd, 
And  form'd  their  simple  shape  of  ductile  clay. 

My  little  flock,  ye  wolves,  ye  robbers,  spare; 

Too  mean  a  plunder  to  deserve  your  toil; 
For  wealthier  herds  the  nightly  theft  prepare, 

There  seek  a  nobler  prey  and  richer  spoil. 

For  treasur'd  wealth,  nor  stores  of  golden  wheat, 
The  hoard  of  frugal  sires,  I  vainly  call; 

A  little  farm  be  mine,  a  cottage  neat, 

And  wonted  couch  where  balmy  sleep  may  fall. 


^  Vertumnus. 

^  Priapus,  statues  of  whom  were  set  up  in  gardens  to  warn  ma- 
rauders away. 
*  The  Lares. 


164  TIBULLUS 

What  joy  to  hear  the  tempest  howl  in  vain, 
And  clasp  a  fearful  mistress  to  my  breast : 

Or  liill'd  to  slumber  by  the  beating  rain, 
Secure  and  happy,  sink  at  last  to  rest. 

These  joys  be  mine ! — O  grant  me  only  these, 
And  give  to  others  bags  of  shining  gold, 

Whose  steely  hearts  can  brave  the  boisterous  seas, 
The  storm  wide-wasting,  or  the  stiffening  cold. 

Content  with  little,  I  would  rather  stay 

Than  spend  long  months  amid  the  watery  waste ; 

In  cooling  shades  elude  the  scorching  ray, 

Beside  some   fountain's  gliding  waters  plac'd. 

O  perish  rather  all  that's  rich  and  rare, 
The  diamond  quarry,  and  the  golden  vein, 

Than  that  my  absence  cost  one  precious  tear, 
Or  give  some  gentle  maid  a  moment's  pain. 

W^ith  glittering  spoils,  Messala,^  gild  thy  dome, 
Be  thine  the  noble  task  to  lead  the  brave ; 

A  lovely  foe  me  captive  holds  at  home, 

Chain'd  to  her  scornful  gate,  a  watchful  slave. 

Inglorious  post !  and  yet  I  heed  not  fame : 

The'  applause  of  crowds  for  Delia  I'd  resign: 

To  live  with  thee  I'd  bear  the  coward's  name, 
Nor  'midst  the  scorn  of  nations  once  repine. 

With  thee  to  live,  I'd  mock  the  ploughman's  toil, 
Or  on  some  lonely  mountain  tend  my  sheep ; 

At  night  I'd  lay  me  on  the  flinty  soil, 

And  happy  'midst  thy  dear  embraces  sleep. 

What  drooping  lover  heeds  the  Tyrian  bed. 

While  the  long  night  is  pass'd  with  many  a  sigh : 

Nor  softest  down  with  richest  carpets  spread, 
Nor  whispering  rills  can  close  the  weeping  eye. 


^  The  "  Maecenas  "  of  Tibullus.     See  introduction. 


ELEGIES  165 

Of  threefold  iron  were  his  rugged  frame, 

Who  when  he  might  thy  yielding  heart  obtain, 

Could  yet  attend  the  calls  of  empty  fame, 
Or  follow  arms  in  quest  of  sordid  gain. 

Unenvied  let  him  drive  the  vanquish'd  host. 

Through  captive  lands  his  conquering  armies  lead ; 

Unenvied  wear  the  robe  with  gold  emboss'd, 
And  guide  with  solemn  state  his  foaming  steed. 

Oh  may  I  view  thee  with  life's  parting  ray. 
And  thy  dear  hand  with  dying  ardor  press : 

Sure  thou  wilt  weep — and  on  thy  lover's  clay. 
With  breaking  heart,  print  many  a  tender  kiss : 

Sure  thou  wilt  wtep — and  woes  unutter'd  feel. 
When  on  the  pile  thou  seest  thy  lover  laid ! 

For  well  I  know,  nor  flint,  nor  ruthless  steel. 
Can  arm  the  breast  of  such  a  gentle  maid. 

From  the  sad  pomp,  what  youth,  what  pitying  fair, 
Returning  slow,  can  tender  tears  refrain? 

O  Delia,  spare  thy  cheeks,  thy  tresses  spare, 
Nor  give  my  lingering  shade  a  world  of  pain. 

But  now,  while  smiling  hours  the  fates  bestow. 
Let  love,  dear  maid,  our  gentle  hearts  unite! 

Soon  death  will  come  and  strike  the  fatal  blow, 
Unseen  his  head,  and  veil'd  in  shades  of  night. 

Soon  creeping  age  will  bow  the  lover's  frame, 
And  tear  the  myrtle-chaplet  from  his  brow: 

With  hoary  locks  ill  suits  the  youthful  flame. 
The   soft  persuasion,  or  the  ardent  vow. 

Now  the  fair  queen  of  gay  desire  is  ours. 
And  lends  our  follies  an  indulgent  smile: 

'Tis  lavish  youth's  to'  enjoy  the  frolic  hours, 
The  wanton  revel  and  the  midnight  broil. 

XI— 12 


166  TIBULLUS 

Your  chief,  my  friends,  and  fellow-soldier,  I 
To  these  light  wars  will  lead  you  boldly  on: 

For  hence,  ye  trumpets  sound,  and  banners  fly. 
To  those  who  covet  wounds,  and  fame  begone : 

And  bear  them  fame  and  wounds,  and  riches  bear ; 

There  are  that  fame  and  wounds  and  riches  prize 
For  me,  while  I  possess  one  plenteous  year, 

I'll  wealth  and  meagre  want  alike  despise. 

ELEGY  II 

With  wine,  more  wine,  my  recent  pains  deceive, 
Till  creeping  slumber  send  a  soft  reprieve : 
Asleep,  take  heed  no  whisper  stirs  the  air. 
For  wak'd,  my  boy,  I  wake  to  heartfelt  care. 
Now  is  my  Delia  watch'd  by  ruthless  spies. 
And  the  gate,  bolted,  all  access  denies. 
Relentless  gate ;  may  storms  of  wind  and  rain, 
With  mingled  violence  avenge  my  pain ! 
May  forky  thunders,  hurl'd  by  Jove's  red  hand, 
Burst  every  bolt,  and  shatter  every  band! 
Ah,  no !  rage  turns  my  brain ;  the  curse  recal ; 
On  me,  devoted,  let  the  thunder  fall ! 
Then  recollect  my  many  wreaths  of  yore. 
How  oft  you've  seen  me  weep,  insensate  door ! 
No  longer  then  our  interview  delay, 
And,  as  you  open,  let  no  noise  betray. 

In  vain  I  plead :  dare  then  my  Delia  rise ! 
Love  aids  the  dauntless,  and  will  blind  your  spies ! 
Those  who  the  godhead's  soft  behests  obey. 
Steal  from  the  pillows  unobserv'd  away; 
On  tiptoe  traverse  unobserv'd  the  floor ; 
The  key  turn  noiseless,  and  unfold  the  door: 
In  vain  the  jealous  each  precaution  take, 
Their  speaking  fingers  assignations  make. 
Nor  will  the  god  impart  to  all  his  aid; 
Love  hates  the  fearful,  hates  the  lazy  maid; 
But  through  sly  windings,  and  unpractis'd  ways, 


ELEGIES  167 

His  bold  night-errants  to  their  wish  conveys : 
For  those  whom  he  with  expectation  fires, 
No  ambush  frightens,  and  no  labour  tires ; 
Sacred  the  dangers  of  the  dark  they  dare, 
No  robbers  stop  them,  and  no  bravos  scare. 
Though  wintry  tempests  howl,  by  love  secure. 
The  howling  tempest  I  with  ease  endure : 
No  watching  hurts  me,  if  my  Delia  smile. 
Soft  turn  the  gate,  and  beckon  me  the  while. 

She's  mine.     Be  blind,  ye  ramblers  of  the  night. 
Lest  angry  Venus  snatch  your  guilty  sight: 
The  goddess  bids  her  votaries'  joys  to  be 
From  every  casual  interruption  free : 
With  prying  steps  alarm  us  not,  retire ; 
Nor  glare  your  torches,  nor  our  names  inquire : 
Or  if  ye  know,  deny,  by  Heaven  above. 
Nor  dare  divulge  the  privacies  of  love. 
From  blood  and  seas  vindictive  Venus  sprung, 
And  sure  destruction  waits  the  blabbing  tongue ! 
Nay,  should  they  prate,  you,  Delia,  need  not  fear ; 
Your  lord  (a  sorceress  swore)  should  give  no  ear! 
By  potent  spells  she  cleaves  the  sacred  ground. 
And  shuddering  spectres  wildly  roam  around! 
I've  seen  her  tear  the  planets  from  the  sky; 
Seen  lightning  backward  at  her  bidding  fly. 
She  calls!  from  blazing  pyres  the  corse  descends, 
And,  re-enliven'd,  clasps  his  wondering  friends! 
The  fiends  she  gathers  with  a  magic  yell. 
Then,  with  aspersions,  frights  them  back  to  hell! 
She  wills, — glad  summer  gilds  the  frozen  pole! 
She  wills, — in  summer  wintry  tempests  roll! 
She  knows  ('tis  true)  Medea's  awful  spell! 
She  knows  to  vanquish  the  fierce  guards  of  hell ! 
To  me  she  gave  a  charm  for  lovers  meet, 
("Spit  thrice,  my  fair,  and  thrice  the  charm  repeat") 
Us,  in  soft  dalliance  should  your  lord  surprise; 
By  this  impos'd  on,  he'd  renounce  his  eyes ! 
But  bless  no  rival,  or  the'  affair  is  known; 
This  incantation  me  befriends  alone. 


168  TIBULLUS 

Nor  stopp'd  she  here;  but  swore,  if  I'd  agree, 
By  charms  or  herbs  to  set  thy  lover  free. 
With  dire  lustrations  she  began  the  rite ! 
(Serenely  shone  the  planet  of  the  night) 
The  magic  gods  she  call'd  with  hellish  sound, 
A  sable  sacrifice  distain'd  the  ground — 
I  stopp'd  the  spell :  I  must  not,  cannot  part ; 
I  begg'd  her  aid  to  gain  a  mutual  heart. 

ELEGY  III 

While  you,  Messala,  plough  the'  ^Egean  sea, 
O  sometimes  kindly  deign  to  think  of  me: 
Me,  hapless  me,  Phaeacian  shores  detain. 
Unknown,  unpitied,  and  oppress'd  with  pain. 
Yet  spare  me.  Death  !  ah,  spare  me  and  retire : 
No  weeping  mother's  here  to  light  my  pyre; 
Here  is  no  sister,  with  a  sister's  woe, 
Rich  Syrian  odours  on  the  pile  to  throw : 
But  chief,  my  soul's  soft  partner  is  not  here. 
Her  locks  to  loose,  and  sorrow  o'er  my  bier. 

What  though  fair  Delia  my  return  implor'd, 
Each  fane  frequented,  and  each  god  ador'd : 
What  though  they  bade  me  every  peril  brave ; 
And  fortune  thrice  auspicious  omens  gave: 
All  could  not  dry  my  tender  Delia's  tears. 
Suppress  her  sighs,  or  calm  her  anxious  fears; 
E'en  as  I  strove  to  minister  relief. 
Unconscious  tears  proclaim'd  my  heartfelt  grief: 
Urg'd  still  to  go,  a  thousand  shifts  I  made, 
Birds  now,  now  festivals  my  voyage  staid: 
Or,  if  I  struck  my  foot  against  the  door, 
Straight  I  return'd,  and  wisdom  was  no  more. 
Forbid  by  Cupid,  let  no  swain  depart, 
Cupid  is  vengeful,  and  will  wring  his  heart. 

What  do  your  offerings  now,  my  fair,  avail? 
Your  Isis  heeds  not,  and  your  cymbals  fail ! 
What,  though  array'd  in  sacred  robes  you  stood. 
Fled  man's  embrace  and  sought  the  purest  flood? 


ELEGIES  169 

While  this  I  write,  I  sensibly  decay, 
"Assist  me,  Isis,  drive  my  pains  away: 
That  you  can  every  mortal  ill  remove, 
Tlie  numerous  tablets  in  your  temple  prove : 
So  shall  my  Delia,  veil'd  in  votive  white. 
Before  your  threshold  sit  for  many  a  night; 
And  twice  a  day  her  tresses  all  unbound, 
Amid  your  votaries  fanvd,  your  praises  sound : 
Safe  to  my  household  gods  may  I  return, 
And  incense  monthly  on  their  altars  burn." 

How  bless'd  man  liv'd  in  Saturn's  golden  days, 
Ere  distant  climes  were  join'd  by  lengthen'd  ways, 
Secure  the  pine  upon  the  mountain  grew, 
Nor  yet  o'er  billows  in  the  ocean  flew ; 
Then  every  clime  a  wild  abundance  bore ; 
And  man  liv'd  happy  on  his  natal  shore. 
For  then  no  steed  to  feel  the  bit  was  broke, 
Then  had  no  steer  submitted  to  the  yoke; 
No  house  had  gates,  (bless'd  times!)  and,  in  the  grounds 
No  scanty  landmarks  parcell'd  out  the  bounds : 
From  every  oak  redundant  honey  ran, 
And  ewes  spontaneous  bore  their  milk  to  man : 
No  death ful  arms  were  forg'd,  no  war  was  wag'd, 
No  rapine  plunder'd,  no  ambition  rag'd. 
How  chang'd,  alas! — Now  cruel  Jove  commands; 
Gold  fires  the  soul,  and  falchions  arm  our  hands : 
Each  day,  the  main  unnumber'd  lives  destroys; 
And  slaughter,  daily,  o'er  her  myriads  joys. 
Yet  spare  me,  Jove ;  I  ne'er  disown'd  thy  sway, 
I  ne'er  was  perjur'd;  spare  me,  Jove,  I  pray. 

But,  if  the  sisters  have  pronounc'd  my  doom, 
Inscrib'd  be  these  upon  my  humble  tomb: 
"Lo!  here  inurn'd  a  youthful  poet  lies, 
Far  from  his  Delia,  and  his  native  skies ! 
Far  from  the  lov'd  Messala,  whom  to  please 
Tibullus  follow'd  over  land  and  seas." 

Then  Love  my  ghost  (for  Love  I  still  obey'd) 
Will  grateful  usher  to  the'  Elysian  shade: 
There  joy  and  ceaseless  revelry  prevail ; 


170  TIBULLUS 

There  soothing  music  floats  on  every  gale ; 
There  painted  warblers  hop  from  spray  to  spray, 
And,  wildly  pleasing,  swell  the  general  lay: 
There  every  hedge,  untaught,  with  cassia  blooms. 
And  scents  the  ambient  air  with  rich  perfumes : 
There  every  mead  a  various  plenty  yields. 
There  lavish  Flora  paints  the  purple  fields : 
With  ceaseless  light  a  brighter  Phoebus  glows, 
No  sickness  tortures,  and  no  ocean  flows ; 
But  youths  associate  with  the  gentle  fair. 
And  stung  with  pleasure,  to  the  shade  repair : 
With  them  Love  wanders  wheresoe'er  they  stray, 
Provokes  to  rapture,  and  inflames  the  play : 
But  chief,  the  constant  few,  by  death  betray'd. 
Reign  crown'd  with  myrtle,  monarchs  of  the  shade. 

Not  so  the  wricked;  far  they  drag  their  chains, 
By  black  lakes  sever'd  from  the  blissful  plains; 
Those  should  they  pass,  impassable  the  gate 
Where  Cerberus  howls,  grim  sentinel  of  fate ! 
There  snake-hair'd  fiends  wnth  w^hips  patrole  around, 
Rack'd  anguish  bellows,  and  the  deeds  resound : 
There  he,  who  dar'd  to  tempt  the  queen  of  heaven. 
Upon  an  ever-turning  wheel  is  driven: 
The  Danaids  there  still  strive  huge  casks  to  fill. 
But  strive  in  vain ;  the  casks  elude  their  skill : 
There  Pelops'  sire,  to  quench  his  thirsty  fires. 
Still  tries  the  flood,  and  still  the  flood  retires : 
There  vultures  tear  the  bow'ls,  and  drink  the  gore. 
Of  Tityus,  stretch'd  enormous  on  the  shore. 
Dread  Love!  as  vast  as  endless  be  their  pain 
Who  tempt  my  fair,  or  wish  a  long  campaign. 

O  let  no  rival  your  affections  share, 
Long  as  this  bosom  beats,  my  lovely  fair ! 
Still  on  you  let  your  prudent  nurse  attend ; 
She'll  guard  your  honour,  she's  our  common  friend. 
Her  tales  of  love  your  sorrowings  will  allay. 
And,  in  my  absence,  make  my  Delia  gay : 
Let  her  o'er  all  your  virgin  train  preside, 
She'll  praise  the'  industrious,  and  the  lazy  chide. 


ELEGIES  171 

But  see!  on  all  enfeebling  languors  creep; 

Their  distaffs  drop,  they  yawn,  they  nod,  they  sleep. 

Then,  if  the  destinies  propitious  prove, 

Then  will  I  rush,  all  passion,  on  my  love: 

My  wish'd  return  no  messenger  shall  tell, 

I'll  seem,  my  fair,  as  if  from  heaven  I  fell. 

A  soft  confusion  flushes  all  your  charms. 

Your  graceful  deshabille  my  bosom  warms, 

You,  Delia,  fly  and  clasp  me  in  your  arms. 

For  this  surprise,  ye  powers  of  love,  I  pray; 
Post  on,  Aurora,  bring  the  rosy  day. 

ELEGY   IV  ^ 

Poet 

So  round,  my  god,  may  shady  coverings  bend, 
No  sunbeams  scorch  thy  face,  no  snows  offend! 
Whence  are  the  fair  so  proud  to  win  thy  heart. 
Yet  rude  thy  beard,  and  guiltless  thou  of  art? 
Naked  thou  stand'st,  expos'd  to  wintry  snows ! 
Naked  thou  stand'st  when  burning  Sirius  glows? 
Thus  I — and  thus  the  garden-power  replied, 
A  crooked  sickle  glittering  by  his  side. 

Priapus 

Take  no  repulse — at  first,  what  though  they  fly ! 

O'ercome  at  last,  reluctance  will  comply. 

The  vine  in  time  ripen'd  clusters  bears, 

And  circling  time  brings  back  the  rolling  spheres : 

In  time  soft  rains  through  marble  sap  their  way, 

And  time  taught  man  to  tame  fierce  beasts  of  prey. 


*  Those  who  understand  the  original,  need  not  to  be  told  the  rea- 
sons which  obliged  the  translator  to  alter  and  omit  many  passages 
of  this  Elegy,  which,  with  some  few  others  of  the  same  stamp,  were 
probably  those  parts  of  Tibullus  which  made  the  pious  Anthony 
Possevin  apply  to  heaven  in  prayer,  to  preserve  him  from  tempta- 
tion, whenever  he  purposed  to  read  our  poet. 


172  TIBULLUS 

Nor,  avv'd  by  conscience,  meanly  dread  to  swear ; 

Love-oaths,  unratified,  wild  tempests  bear! 

Banish  then  scruples,  if  you'd  gain  a  heart; 

Swear,  swear  by  Pallas'  locks,  Diana's  dart ; 

By  all  that's  most  rever'd — if  they  require : 

(Oaths  bind  not  eager  love,  thank  heaven's  good  sire!) 

Nor  be  too  slow ;  your  slowness  you'll  deplore ; 

Time  posts;  and,  oh!  youth's  raptures  soon  are  o'er: 

Now  forests  bloom,  and  purple  earth  looks  gay ; 

Bleak  winter  blows,  and  all  her  charms  decay : 

How  soon  the  steed  to  age's  stiffness  yields. 

So  late  a  victor  in  the  Olympic  fields ! 

I've  seen  the  aged  oft  lament  their  fate, 

That,  senseless,  they  had  learn'd  to  live  too  late. 

Ye  partial  gods,  and  can  the  snake  renew 

His  youthful  vigour  and  his  burnish'd  hue? 

But  youth  and  beauty  pass'd ;  is  art  in  vain 

To  bring  the  coy  deserters  back  again? 

Poet 

Jove  gives  alone  the  powers  of  wit  and  wine. 
In  youth  immortal,  spite  of  years  to  shine. 

Priapus 

Yield  prompt  compliance  to  the  maid's  desires ; 

A  prompt  compliance  fans  the  lover's  fires  • 

Go  pleas'd  where'er  she  goes,  though  long  the  way, 

Though  the  fierce  dog-star  dart  his  sultry  ray; 

Though  painted  Iris  gird  the  bluish  sky, 

And  sure  portends  that  rattling  storms  are  nigh: 

Or,  if  the  fair-one  pant  for  silvan  fame. 

Gay  drag  the  meshes,  and  provoke  the  game : 

Nay,  should  she  choose  to  risk  the  driving  gale ; 

Or  steer,  or  row  or  agile  hand  the  sail : 

No  toil,  though  weak,  though  fearful,  thou  forbear : 

No  toils  should  tire  you,  and  no  dangers  scare : 

Occasion  smiles,  then  snatch  an  ardent  kiss; 


ELEGIES  173 

The  coy  may  struggle,  but  will  grant  the  bliss : 
The  bliss  obtain'd,  the  fictious  struggle  pass'd ; 
Unbid,  they'll  clasp  you  in  their  arms  at  last. 

Poet 

Alas!  in  such  degenerate  days  as  these, 

No  more  love's  gentle  wiles  the  beauteous  please ! 

If  poor,  all  gentle  stratagems  are  vain : 

The  fair-ones  languish  now  alone  for  gain. 

Oh  may  dishonour  be  the  wretch's  share, 

Who  first  with  hateful  gold  seduc'd  the  fair! 

Priapus 

Ye  charming  dames,  prefer  the  tuneful  quire. 
Nor  meanly  barter  heavenly  charms  for  hire. 
What  cannot  song?     The  purple  locks  that  glow'd 
On  Nissus'  head,  harmonious  song  bestow'd ! 
What  cannot  strains?     By  tuneful  strains  alone 
Fair  ivory,  Pelops,  on  thy  shoulder  shone! 
While  stars  with  nightly  radiance  gild  the  pole. 
Earth  boasts  her  oaks,  or  mighty  waters  roll, 
The  fair  w^hose  beauty  poets  deign  to  praise. 
Shall  bloom  uninjur'd  in  poetic  lays : 
While  she  who  hears  not  when  the  muses  call, 
But  flies  their  favourites,  gold's  inglorious  thrall, 
Shall  prove  (believe  the  bard  or  soon  or  late,) 
A  dread  example  of  avenging  fate ! 

Soft  flattering  songs  the  Cyprian  queen  approves; 
And  aids  the  suppliant  swain  with  all  her  loves. 

Poet 

The  god,  no  novice  in  the  intriguing  trade, 
This  answer,  Titius,^  to  my  question  made : 
But  caution  bids  you  fly  the  insidious  fair, 


^  Titius  Septimius,  a  man  no  less  eminent   for  his  friendship  with 
Horace,  than  for  his  real  poetical  abilites. 


174  TIBULLUS 

And  paints  the  perils  of  their  eyes  and  air; 
Nor  these  alone  devoted  man  subdue, 
Devoted  man  their  slightest  actions  woo. 

Be  cautious  those  who  list — but  ye  who  know 
Desire's  hot  fever,  and  contempt's  chill  woe ; 
Me  grateful  praise — contempt  shall  pain  no  more; 
But  wish  meet  wish,  instructed  by  my  lore. 
By  various  means,  while  others  seek  for  fame. 
Scorn'd  love  to  counsel  be  my  noblest  aim. 
Wide  stands  my  gate  for  all — I  rapt  foresee 
The  time  when  I  Love's  oracle  shall  be ! 
When  round  my  seat  shall  press  the'  enamour'd  throng. 
Attend  my  motions  and  applaud  my  song. 

Alas !  my  hopes  are  fled,  my  wiles  are  vain ; 
The  fair  I  doat  on  treats  me  with  disdain : 
Yet  spare  me,  charmer,  your  disdain  betrays 
To  witty  laughter  my  too  boastful  lays. 

ELEGY   V 

Of  late  I  boasted  I  could  happy  be. 

Resume  the  man,  and  not  my  Delia  see ! 

And  boasts  of  manhood  and  of  bliss  are  vain; 

Back  to  my  bondage  I  return  again: 

And  like  a  top  am  whirl'd,  which  boys,  for  sport. 

Lash  on  the  pavement  of  a  level  court. 

What  can  atone,  my  fair,  for  crimes  like  these? 
I'll  bear  with  patience,  use  me  as  you  please ! 
Yet,  by  Love's  shafts,  and  by  your  braided  hair, 
By  all  the  joys  we  stole,  your  suppliant  spare. 
When  sickness  dimm'd  of  late  your  radiant  eyes, 
My  restless,  fond  petitions  won  the  skies. 
Thrice  I  with  sulphur  purified  you  round. 
And  thrice  the  rite  with  songs  the'  enchantress  bound : 
The  cake,  by  me  thrice  sprinkled,  put  to  flight 
The  death-denouncing  phantoms  of  the  night: 
And  I  nine  times,  in  linen  garbs  array'd. 
In  silent  night,  nine  times  to  Trivia  ^  pray'd. 

1  Diana. 


ELEGIES  175 

What  did  I  not  ?     Yet  what  reward  have  I  ? 
You  love  another,  your  preserver  fly ! 
He  tastes  the  sweet  effects  of  all  my  cares, 
My  fond  lustrations,  and  my  solemn  prayers. 

Are  these  the  joys  my  madding  fancy  drew, 
If  young-eyed  Health  restor'd  your  rosy  hue? 
I  fondly  thought,  sweet  maid;  oh,  though  in  vain! 
With  you  to  live  a  blithesome  village-swain. 
When  yellow  Ceres  asks  the  reaper's  hand, 
"  Delia  (said  I)  will  guard  the  reaper's  band; 
Delia  will  keep,  when  hinds  unload  the  vine, 
The  choicest  grapes  for  me,  the  richest  wine: 
My  flocks  she'll  count,  and  oft  will  sweetly  deign 
To  clasp  some  prattler  of  my  menial  train: 
With  pious  care  will  load  each  rural  shrine, 
For  ripen'd  crops  a  golden  sheaf  assign, 
Gates  for  my  fold,  rich  clusters  for  my  vine : 
No,  no  domestic  care  shall  touch  my  soul ; 
You,  Delia,  reign  despotic  o'er  the  whole! 
And  will  Messala  fly  from  pomp  of  state, 
And  deign  to  enter  at  my  lowly  gate  ? 
The  choicest  fruitage  that  my  trees  afford, 
Delia  will  cull  herself,  to  deck  the  board; 
And  wondering,  such  transcendent  worth  to  see. 
The  fruit  present,  thy  blushing  handmaid  she. 

Such  were  the  fond  chimeras  of  my  brain. 
Which  now  the  winds  have  wafted  o'er  the  main. 

0  power  of  love!  whom  still  my  soul  obey'd, 
What  has  my  tongue  against  thy  mother  said? 
Guiltless  of  ill,  unmark'd  with  incest's  stain, 

1  stole  no  garland  from  her  holy  fane : 

For  crimes  like  these  I'd  abject  crawl  the  ground, 
Kiss  her  dread  threshold,  and  my  forehead  wound. 

But  ye  who,  falsely  wise,  deride  my  pains. 
Beware ;  your  hour  approaches — ^Love  has  chains. 
I've  known  the  young,  who  ridicul'd  his  rage. 
Love's  humblest  vassals,  when  oppress'd  with  age: 
Each  art  I've  known  them  try,  to  win  the  fair, 
Smooth  their  hoarse  voice,  and  dress  their  scanty  hair; 


176  TIBULLUS 

I've  known  them,  in  the  street,  her  maid  detain. 
And  weeping,  beg  her  to  assist  their  pain. 
At  such  preposterous  love  each  schoolboy  sneers. 
Shuns,  as  an  omen,  or  pursues  with  fleers. 

Why  do  you  crush  your  slave,  fair  queen  of  joy? 
Destroying  me,  your  harvest  you  destroy! 

ELEGY   VI 

With  wine  I  strove  to  soothe  my  love-sick  soul. 
But  vengeful  Cupid  dash'd  with  tears  the  bowl : 
All  mad  with  rage,  to  kinder  nymphs  I  flew; 
But  vigour  fled  me,  when  I  thought  on  you. 
Balk'd  of  the  rapture,  from  my  arms  they  run, 
Swear  I'm  devoted,  and  my  converse  shun ! 

By  what  dire  witchcraft  am  I  thus  betray'd? 
Your  face  and  hair  unnerve  me,  matchless  maid! 
Not  more  celestial  look'd  the  sea-born  fair, 
Receiv'd  by  Peleus  from  her  pearly  chair. 

A  rich  admirer  his  addresses  paid. 
And  brib'd  my  mistress  by  a  beldam's  aid. 
From  you  my  ruin,  curs'd  procuress,  rose; 
What  imprecations  shall  avenge  my  woes? 
May  heaven  in  pity  to  my  sufferings,  shed 
Its  keenest  mischief  on  your  plotting  head! 
The  ghosts  of  those  you  robb'd  of  love's  delight. 
In  horrid  visions  haunt  your  irksome  night! 
And,  on  the  chimney,  may  the  boding  owl 
Your  rest  disturb,  and  terrify  your  soul! 
By  famine  stung,  to  churchyards  may  you  run : 
There  feast  on  offals,  hungry  wolves  would  shun! 
Or  howling  frantic,  in  a  tatter'd  gown. 
Fierce  mastiffs  bate  you  through  each  crowded  town! 

'Tis  done !  a  lover's  curse  the  gods  approve ; 
But  keenest  vengeance  fires  the  queen  of  love. 
Leave  then,  my  fair,  the  crafty  venal  jade: 
What  passion  yields  not,  when  such  foes  invade? 

Your  hearts,  ye  fair,  does  modest  merit  claim  ? 
Though  small  his  fortunes,  feed  his  gentle  flame : 


ELEGIES  177 

For,  genuine  love's  soft  raptures  would  you  know? 

These  raptures  merit  can  alone  bestow: 

The  sons  of  opulence  are  folly's  care, 

But  want's  rough  child  is  sense,  and  honour's  heir. 

In  vain  we  sing — the  gate  still  bolted  stands : 
Come,  vengeance !  let  us  burst  its  sullen  bands. 
Learn,  happy  rival,  by  my  wrongs  to  know 
Your  fate  since  fortune  governs  all  below. 

ELEGY   VII 

Love  still  invites  me  with  a  smiling  eye ! 
Beneath  his  smiles,  what  pains  and  anguish  lie? 
Yet  since  the  gods,  dread  power,  must  yield  to  thee : 
What  laurels  canst  thou  gain  from  conquering  me? 
Me  Delia  lov'd ;  but  by  thy  subtle  wiles. 
The  fair,  in  secret,  on  another  smiles: 
That  my  suspicion's  false,  'tis  true,  she  swears ; 
And  backs  her  imprecations  with  her  tears. 
False  fair!  your  oaths  and  syren  tears  refrain; 
Your  syren  tears  and  oaths  no  credit  gain; 
For  when  your  lord  suspected  me  of  yore. 
As  much  you  wept,  as  many  oaths  you  swore. 

Yet  wherefore  blame  I  Love  ?  the  blame  is  mine ; 
I,  wretched  I,  first  taught  her  to  design! 
I  first  instructed  her,  her  spies  to  foil ! 
Back  on  myself  my  wanton  arts  recoil : 
Herbs  of  rare  energy  my  skill  supplied, 
All  marks  of  too  fond  gallantry  to  hide! 
More  artful  now,  al©ne  the  wanton  lies; 
And  new  pretexts  her  cezening  brains  devise. 

Uncautious  lord  of  a  too  cunning  spouse ! 
Admittance  grant  me,  she  shall  keep  her  vows ! 
Be  warn'd,  my  friend,  observe  her  when  her  tongue 
Commends  in  wanton  phrase  the  gay-dress'd  young ; 
Oh !  let  her  not  her  heaving  bosom  bare, 
Expos'd  to  every  fop's  immodest  stare. 
When  leaning  on  the  board,  with  flowing  wine ; 
She  seems  to  draw  some  inconsiderate  line; 


178  TIBULLUS 

Take  heed,  take  heed  (I  know  the  warning  true) 
These  random  hnes  assign  an  interview. 
Nor  let  your  wife  to  fanes  so  frequent  roam, 
A  modest  wife's  best  temple  is  at  home; 
But  if  your  prohibitions  are  all  vain, 
Give  me  the  hint,  I'll  dodge  her  to  the  fane: 
What  though  the  goddess  snatch  my  curious  sight, 
I'll  bring  her  wanton  privacies  to  light. 

Some  gem  she  wore  I'd  oft  pretend  to  view. 
But  squeez'd  her  fingers,  unperceiv'd  of  you: 
Oft  with  full  racy  bowls  I  seal'd  your  eyes. 
Water  my  beverage,  and  obtain'd  the  prize. 
Yet  since  I  tell,  forgive  the  pranks  I  play'd, 
Love  prompted  all,  and  Love  must  be  obey'd! 

Nay,  'twas  at  me  (be  now  the  truth  avow'd) 
Your  watchful  mastiff  us'd  to  bark  so  loud; 
But  now  some  other,  with  insidious  wait, 
Intent  observes  each  creaking  of  your  gate, 
At  which,  whoever  of  the  house  appears. 
Passing,  the  mien  of  quick  dispatch  he  wears; 
But  comes  again,  the  minute  they  remove. 
And  coughs, — sure  signal  of  impatient  love! 

What  boots,  though  marriage  gave  a  wife  so  fair. 
If  careless  you,  or  she  eludes  your  care? 
While  men  are  artful,  and  your  wife  can  feign, 
Vain  are  your  brazen-bolts,  your  mastiffs  vain. 

Cold  to  the  raptures  of  the  genial  bed. 
She  lays  the  fault  upon  an  aching  head : 
'Tis  false;  the  wanton  for  some  other  sighs; 
From  this  her  coolness,  this,  her  aches  arise. 

Then,  then  be  warn'd,  intrust  her  to  my  care: 
Whips,  chains  I  laugh  at,  if  you  grant  my  prayer. 
"  Hence  from  my  ward,  ye  sparkish  essenc'd  beaux ; 
Illegal  love  oft  springs  from  essenc'd  clothes." 
Where'er  she  walks,  not  distant  I'll  attend : 
And  guard  your  honour  from  the  casual  friend ! 
"  Off,  gallants,  off :  for  so  the  gods  ordain ; 
So,  the  dread  priestess  in  unerring  strain !  '* 
(When  holy  fury  fires  the  frantic  dame, 


ELEGIES  179 

She  mocks  all  torture/  and  exults  in  flame ; 

Her  snow-white  arms  and  heaving  breast  she  tears. 

And  with  the  gushing  gore  Bellona  smears; 

Deep  in  her  side  she  plants  the  glittering  sword; 

And  the  dread  goddess  prompts  each  fateful  word.) 

"  Ye  youths,  beware ;  nor  touch  whom  Cupid  guards ; 

Unpunish'd  none  attempt  his  gentle  wards : 

As  my  blood  flows,  and  as  these  ashes  fly. 

Their  wealth  shall  perish,  and  their  manhood  die.'' 

She  menac'd  then  the  fair,  with  dreadful  pain ; 
E'en  were  you  guilty,  may  her  threats  be  vain : 
Not  on  your  own  account ;  your  mother's  age, 
Your  worthy  mother,  deprecates  my  rage: 
When  love  and  fortune  smil'd,  her  gentle  aid 
Oft  me  conducted  to  the  blooming  maid ; 
My  footsteps,  wakeful,  from  afar  she  knew, 
Unbarr'd  the  gate,  nor  fear'd  the  nightly  dew : 
Half  of  my  life's  long  thread  I'd  pleas'd  resign. 
My  sweet  conductress,  could  I  lengthen  thine ! 
Still,  still  though  much  abus'd,  I  Delia  prize; 
She's  still  thy  daughter,  and  enchants  my  eyes. 

Yet  though  no  coy  cimar  invest  the  fair ; 
Nor  vestal  fillet  bind  her  auburn  hair; 
Teach  her  what  decent  modesty  requires ; 
To  crown  my  fire,  alone,  with  equal  fires. 
Me  too  confine;  and  if,  in  wanton  praise 
Of  other  maids,  my  tongue  luxuriant  strays; 
Let  thy  suspicion  then  no  limits  know. 
Insult  me,  spurn  me,  as  thy  greatest  foe ; 
But  if  your  jealousies  are  built  in  air, 
And  patient  love  your  usage  cannot  bear ; 
What  wrath  may  perpetrate,  my  soul  alarms ; 
For,  wrath,  I  warn  you,  heeds  not  female  charms. 
Nor  yet  be  chaste,  from  mean  unamorous  fear ; 
Be  still  most  modest,  when  I  am  not  near. 

For  those,  whom  neither  wit  nor  worth  secure. 


*  Literally,  "  She  dreads  not  the  twisted  lash,"  the  ^agellum  with 
which  the  goddess  Bellona  used  to  flog  her  votaries  into  madness. 


180  TIBULLUS 

Grow  old,  unpitied,  palsied,  worthless,  poor; 

Yet  with  each  servile  drudgery  they  strive 

To  keep  their  being's  wretchedness  alive ! 

The  gay  regard  their  woe  with  laughing  eyes ; 

Swear  they  deserve  it,  and  absolve  the  skies : 

Nor  Venus  less  exults — "  May  such  a  fate, 

(From  heaven  she  prays)  upon  the'  inconstant  wait! " 

The  same  my  wish !  but  oh !  may  we  two  prove, 
In  age,  a  pattern  of  unalter'd  love! 


ELEGY   VIII 

"This  day  (the  Fates  foretold  in  sacred  song. 

And  singing  drew  the  vital  twine  along,) 

He  comes,  nor  shall  the  gods  the  doom  recal, 

He  comes,  whose  sword  shall  quell  the  rebel  Gaul.^ 

With  all  her  laurels,  him  shall  conquest  crown. 

And  nations  shudder  at  his  awful  frown; 

Smooth  Atur,^  now  that  flows  through  peaceful  lands. 

Shall  fly  affrighted  at  his  hostile  bands." 

'  Tis  done!  this  prophecy  Rome  joys  to  see, 

Far-fam'd  Messala,  now  fulfill'd  in  thee : 

Long  triumphs  ravish  the  spectators'  eyes, 

And  fetter'd  chieftains  of  enormous  size; 

An  ivory  car,  with  steeds  as  w^hite  as  snow. 

Sustains  thy  grandeur  through  the  pompous  show. 

Some  little  share  in  those  exploits  I  bore ; 
Witness  Tarbella,'  and  the  Santoigne  shore ;  * 
Witness  the  land,  w^here  steals  the  silent  Soane ; 
Where  rush  the  Garonne;  and  the'  impetuous  Rhone; 
Where  Loire,  enamour'd  of  Carnutian  bounds. 
Leads  his  blue  water  through  the  yellow  grounds. 

Or  shall  his  other  acts  adorn  mv  theme? 


^  Tibullus  accompanied  Messala  upon  this  expedition,  the  conquest 

of  Aquitain. 

2  A  river  of  Aquitain,  now  L'Ador. 

'  A  town  in  Gascony,  now  Tarbe. 

*A  maritime  province  of  Aquitain. 


ELEGIES  181 

Fair  Cydnus,  winding  with  a  silver  stream  ; 

Taurus,  that  in  the  clouds  his  forehead  hides, 

And  rich  Cilicia  from  the  world  divides ; 

Taurus,  from  which  unnumber'd  rivers  spring. 

The  savage  seat  of  tempests,  shall  I  sing? 

Why  should  I  tell,  how  sacred  through  the  skies 

Of  Syrian  cities,  the  white  pigeon  flies? 

Why  sing  of  Tyrian  towers,  w^hich  Neptune  laves; 

Whence  the  first  vessel,  venturous,  stem'd  the  waves? 

How  shall  the  bard  the  secret  source  explore, 

Whence,  Father  Nile,  thou  draw'st  thy  watery  store? 

Thy  fields  ne'er  importune  for  rain  the  sky ; 

Thou  dost  benignly  all  their  wants  supply : 

As  Egypt,  Apis  mourns  in  mystic  lays, 

She  joins  thy  praises  to  Osiris'  praise. 

Osiris  first  contriv'd  the  crooked  plough. 
And  pull'd  ripe  apples  from  the  novice  bough ; 
He  taught  the  swains  the  savage  mould  to  wound, 
And  scatter'd  seed-corn  in  the'  unpractis'd  ground : 
He  first  w^ith  poles  sustain'd  the  reptile  vine, 
And  show'd  its  infant  tendrils  how  to  twine; 
Its  wanton  shoots  instructed  man  to  shear, 
Subdue  their  wildness,  and  mature  the  year ; 
Then  too,  the  ripen'd  cluster  first  was  trod; 
Then  in  gay  streams  its  cordial  soul  bestow'd ; 
This  as  swains  quaff'd,  spontaneous  numbers  came. 
They  prais'd  the  festal  cask,  and  hymn'd  thy  name; 
All  ecstasy !  to  certain  time  they  bound. 
And  beat  in  measur'd  aukwardness  the  ground. 
Gay  bowls  serene  the  wrinkled  front  of  care; 
Gay  bowls  the  toil-oppressed  swain  repair! 
And  let  the  slave  the  laughing  goblet  drain; 
He  blythsome  sings,  though  manacles  enchain. 

Thee  sorrow  flies,  Osiris,  god  of  wine! 
But  songs,  enchanting  love,  and  dance  are  thine: 
But  flowers  and  ivy  thy  fair  head  surround. 
And  a  loose  saffron  mantle  sweeps  the  ground. 
With  purple  robes  invested,  now  you  glow: 
The  shrine  is  shown,  and  flutes  melodious  blow : 

XI— 13 


182  TIBULLUS 

Come  then,  my  god,  but  come  bedew'd  with  wine! 
Attend  the  rites,  and  in  the  dance  combine; 
The  rites  and  dances  are  to  Genius  ^  due: 
Benign  Osiris,  stand  confess'd  to  view! 
Rich  unguents  drop  already  from  his  hair, 
His  head  and  neck  soft  flowery  garlands  share: 
O  come,  so  shall  my  grateful  incense  rise, 
And  cates  of  honey  meet  thy  laughing  eyes! 

On  thee,  Messala,  ('tis  my  fervent  prayer) 
May  heaven  bestow  a  wise,  a  warlike  heir ; 
In  whom,  increas'd,  paternal  worth  may  shine, 
Whose  acts  may  add  a  lustre  to  thy  line. 
And  transports  give  thee  in  thy  life's  decline! 

But  should  the  gods  my  fervent  prayer  deny, 
Thy  fame,  my  glorious  friend,  shall  never  die. 
Long  as  (thy  bounteous  work)  the  well-made  way* 
Shall  its  broad  pavement  to  the  sun  display, 
The  bards  of  Alba  shall,  in  lofty  rhyme. 
Transmit  thy  glory  down  the  tide  of  time ! 
They  sing  from  gratitude :  nor  less  the  clown 
Whom  love  or  business  have  detain'd  in  town 
Till  late,  as  home  he  safely  plods  along, 
Thee  chants,  Messala,  in  his  village-song. 

Bless'd  morn,  which  still  my  grateful  muse  shall  sing, 
Oft  rise,  and  with  you  greater  blessings  bring! 


ELEGY    IX 

In  vain  would  lovers  hide  their  infant  smart 
From  me,  a  master  in  the  amorous  art ; 
I  read  their  passion  in  their  mien  and  eyes, 
O'erhear  their  whispers,  and  explain  their  sighs. 
This  skill  no  Delphian  oracles  bestow'd. 
No  augurs  taught  me,  and  no  victims  show'd  ; 
But  love  my  wrists  with  magic  fillets  bound. 


*  The  guardian  of  a  man  from  the  hour  of  his  birth  to  his  death. 
2  Messala  had  charge  of  the  construction  of  a  branch  of  the  "  Latin 
Road." 


ELEGIES  183 

Lash'd  me,  and,  lashing,  mutter'd  many  a  sound. 
No  more  then,  Marathus,^  indifference  feign. 
Else  vengeful  Venus  will  enhance  your  pain! 

What  now,  sweet  youth,  avails  your  anxious  care, 
So  oft  to  essence,  oft  to  change  your  hair? 
What  though  cosmetic  all  their  aid  supply, 
And  every  artifice  of  dress  you  try ; 
She's  not  oblig'd  to  braids,  to  gems,  to  clothes. 
Her  charms  to  nature  Pholoe  ^  only  owes. 

What  spells  devote  you?  say,  what  philters  bind? 
What  midnight  sorceress  fascinates  your  mind  ? 
Spells  can  seduce  the  corn  from  neighbouring  plains, 
The  headlong  serpent  halts  at  magic  strains; 
And  did  not  cymbals  stop  thy  prone  career, 
A  spell  thee,  Luna,  from  thy  orb  would  tear !  * 

Why  do  I  magic  for  your  passion  blame; 
Magic  is  useless  to  a  perfect  frame : 
You  squeez'd  her  hands,  your  arms  around  her  threw, 
Join'd  lip  to  lip,  and  hence  your  passion  grew. 
Cease  then,  fair  maid,  to  give  your  lover  pain ; 
Love  hates  the  haughty,  will  avenge  the  swain 
See  youth  vermilions  o'er  his  modest  face ! 
Can  riches  equal  such  a  boy's  embrace  ? 
Then  ask  no  bribe — when  age  affects  the  gay, 
Your  every  smile  let  hoary  dotage  pay ; 
But  you  your  arms  around  the  stripling  throw, 
And  scorn  the  treasure  monarchs  can  bestow. 
But  she  who  gives  to  age  her  charms,  for  pay. 
May  her  wealth  perish,  and  her  bloom  decay ! 
Then  when  impatience  thrills  in  every  vein, 
May  manhood  shun  her,  and  the  young  disdain ! 

Alas !  when  age  has  silver'd  o'er  the  head. 


^  One  of  Tibullus'  friends. 
'  Mentioned  by  Horace  in  his  Ode  to  Tibullus. 
*When  the  moon  was  eclipsed,  the  ancients  imagined  that  she  strug- 
gled  with   witchcraft;   and,   therefore,   to   relieve   her,   struck   upon 
instruments  of  brass  and  other  sonorous  bodies,  thinking  that  sounds 
would  accomplish  her  deliverance. 


184  TIBULLUS 

And  youth,  that  feeds  the  lamp  of  love,  is  fled, 
In  vain  the  toilette  charms ;  'tis  vain  to  try, 
Gray  scanty  locks  with  yellow  nuts  to  dye ; 
You  strip  the  tell-tales  vainly  from  their  place, 
And  vainly  strive  to  mend  an  aged  face. 

Then  in  thine  eyes  while  youth  triumphant  glows, 
And  with  his  flowers  thy  cheeks  my  fair  one  sows, 
Incline  thine  heart  to  love,  and  gentle  play ; 
Youth,  youth  has  rapid  wings,  and  flies  away ! 
The  fond  old  lover,  vilify,  disdain; 
What  praise  can  crown  you  from  a  stripling's  pain  ? 
Spare  then  the  lovely  boy ;  his  beauties  die ; 
By  no  dire  sickness  sent  him  from  the  sky : 
The  gods  are  just;  you,  Pholoe,  are  to  blame; 
His  sallow  colour  from  your  coyness  came. 

O  wretched  youth!  how  oft,  when  absent  you, 
Groans  rend  his  breast,  and  tears  his  cheeks  bedew? 
"  Why  dost  thou  rack  me  with  contempt?  (he  cries) 
The  willing  ever  can  elude  their  spies. 
Had  you,  O  had  you  felt  what  now  I  feel, 
Venus  would  teach  you  from  your  spies  to  steal. 
I  can  breathe  low,  can  snatch  the  melting  kiss, 
And  noiseless  ravish  love's  enchanting  bliss ; 
At  midnight  can  securely  grope  my  way ; 
The  floor  tread  noiseless,  noisless  turn  the  key. 
Poor,  fruitless  skill!  my  skill  if  she  despise; 
And  cruel  from  the  bed  of  rapture  flies. 
Or  if  a  promise  haply  I  obtain. 
That  she  v^-ill  recompense  at  night  my  pain ; 
How  am  I  dup'd?     I  wakeful  listen  round, 
And  think  I  hear  her  in  each  casual  sound. 
Perish  the  wiles  of  love,  and  arts  of  dress ! 
In  russet  weeds  I'll  shrowd  my  wretchedness. 
The  wiles  of  love,  and  arts  of  dress  are  vain. 
My  fair  to  soften,  and  admittance  gain." 

Youth,  weep  no  more ;  your  eyes  are  swoln  with  tears ; 
No  more  complain ;  for,  oh !  she  stops  her  ears. 

The  gods,  I  warn  you,  hate  the  haughty  fair. 


ELEGIES  185 

Reject  their  incense,  and  deny  their  prayer. 
This  youth,  this  Marathus,  who  wears  your  chains, 
Late  laugh'd  at  love,  and  ridicul'd  its  pains. 
The'  impatient  lover  in  the  street  would  stay, 
Nor  dreamt  that  vengeance  would  his  crimes  repay. 
Now,  now  he  moans  his  past  misdeeds  with  tears, 
A  prey  to  love,  and  all  its  frantic  fears: 
Now  he  exclaims  at  female  scorn  and  hate; 
And  from  his  soul  abhors  a  bolted  gate. 

Like  vengeance  waits  you ;  trust  the'  unerring  muse, 
If  still  you're  coy,  and  still  access  refuse: 
Then,  how  you'll  wish,  when  old,  contemn'd  of  all, 
But  vainly  wish,  these  moments  to  recall 

ELEGY  X' 

Why  did  you  swear  by  all  the  powers  above, 
Yet  never  meant  to  crow^n  my  longing  love? 
Wretch !  though  at  first  the  perjur'd  deed  you  hide. 
Wrath  comes  with  certain,  though  with  tardy  stride ; 
Yet,  yet,  offended  gods,  my  charmer  spare : 
Yet  pardon  the  first  fault  of  one  so  fair! 

For  gold  the  careful  farmer  ploughs  the  plain. 
And  joins  his  oxen  to  the  cumbrous  wain; 
For  gold,  through  seas  that  stormy  winds  obey. 
By  stars,  the  sailor  steers  his  watery  way : 
Yet,  gracious  gods,  this  gold  from  man  remove. 
That  wicked  metal  brib'd  the  fair  I  love. 

Soon  shall  you  suffer  greatly  for  your  crime, 
A  weary  wanderer  in  a  foreign  clime: 
Your  hair  shall  change,  and  boasted  bloom  decay. 
By  wintry  tempests,  and  the  solar  ray. 

"Beware  of  gold,  how  oft  did  I  advise? 
From  tempting  gold  what  mighty  mischiefs  rise? 
Love's  generous  power,  I  said,  with  tenfold  pain 
The  wretch  will  rack,  who  sells  her  charms  for  gain. 


^  The  translator  has  been  obliged  to  use  the  same  freedom  with  this 
Elegy  as  with  the  fourth. 


186  TIBULLUS 

Let  torture  all  her  cruelties  exert; 
Torture  is  pastime  to  a  venal  heart. 

"  Nor  idly  dream  your  gallantries  to  hide, 
The  gods  are  ever  on  the  sufferer's  side. 
With  sleep  or  wine  o'ercome,  so  fate  ordains, 
You'll  blab  the  secret  of  your  impious  gains." 

Thus  oft  I  warn'd  you;  this  augments  my  shame; 
My  sighs,  tears,  homage,  henceforth  I  disclaim. 

"  No  wealth  shall  bribe  my  constancy,  you  swore. 
Be  mine  the  bard,  you  sigh'd,  I  crave  no  more : 
Not  all  Campania  shall  my  heart  entice. 
For  thee  Campania's  autumns  I  despise. 
Let  Bacchus  in  Falernian  vineyards  stray. 
Not  Bacchus'  vineyards  shall  my  faith  betray." 

Such  strong  professions,  in  so  soft  a  strain, 
Might  well  deceive  a  captivated  swain; 
Such  strong  professions  might  aversion  charm. 
Slow  doubt  determine,  and  indifference  warm. 
Nay  more,  you  wept,  unpractis'd  to  betray; 
I  kiss'd  your  cheeks,  and  wip'd  the  tears  away. 

But  if  I  tempting  gold  unjustly  blame. 
And  you  have  left  me  for  another  flame; 
May  he,  like  you,  seem  kind ;  like  you,  deceive ; 
And  oh  may  you,  like  cheated  me,  believe! 

Oft  I  by  night  the  torch  myself  would  bear. 
That  none  our  tender  converse  might  o'erhear; 
When  least  expected,  oft  some  youth  I  led, 
A  youth  all  beauty,  to  the  genial  bed; 
And  tutor'd  him  your  conquest  to  complete. 
By  soft  enticements,  and  a  fond  deceit. 

By  these  I  foolish  hop'd  to  gain  your  love : 
Who  than  Tibullus  could  more  cautious  prove? 
Fir'd  with  uncommon  powers,  I  swept  the  lyre, 
And  sent  you  melting  strains  of  soft  desire: 
The  thought  o'erspreads  my  face  with  conscious  shame. 
Doom,  doom  them  victims  to  the  seas  or  flame. 
No  verse  be  their's,  w^ho  love's  soft  fires  profane, 
And  sell  inestimable  joys  for  gain. 

But  you  who  first  the  lovely  maid  decoy'd. 


ELEGIES  187 

By  each  adulterer  be  your  wife  enjoy'd. 

And  when  each  youth  has  rifled  all  her  charms, 

May  bed-gowns  guard  her  from  your  loathed  arms ! 

May  she,  oh  may  she  like  your  sister  prove. 

As  fam'd  for  drinking,  far  more  fam'd  for  love! 

'Tis  true,  the  bottle  is  her  chief  delight. 

She  knows  no  better  way  to  pass  the  night; 

Your  wife  more  knowing  can  the  night  improve. 

To  joys  of  Bacchus  joins  the  joys  of  love, 

Think'st  thou  for  thee,  the  toilet  is  her  care? 
For  thee,  that  fillets  bind  her  well-dress'd  hair? 
For  thee,  that  Tyrian  robes  her  charms  enfold? 
For  thee,  her  arms  are  deck'd  with  burnish'd  gold  ? 
By  these,  some  youth  the  wanton  would  entice. 
For  him  she  dresses,  and  for  him  she  sighs; 
To  him  she  prostitutes,  unaw'd  by  shame. 
Your  house,  your  pocket,  and  your  injur'd  fame : 
Nor  blame  her  conduct ;  say,  ye  young,  what  charms 
Can  beauty  taste  in  gout  and  age's  arms  ? 

Less  nice  my  fair  one,  she  for  money  can 
Caress  a  gouty,  impotent,  old  man : 
O  thou  by  generous  love,  too  justly  blam'd! 
All,  all  that  love  could  give,  my  passion  claim'd. 
Yet  since  thou  couldst  so  mercenary  prove. 
The  more  deserving  shall  engross  my  love; 
Then  thou  wilt  weep  when  these  ador'd  you  see: 
Weep  on,  thy  tears  will  transport  give  to  me. 
To  Venus  I'll  suspend  a  golden  shield. 
With  this  inscription  grav'd  upon  the  field: 

"  Tibullus,  freed  at  last  from  amorous  woes. 
This  offering,  queen  of  bliss!  on  thee  bestows: 
And  humbly  begs,  that  henceforth  thou  wilt  guard 
From  such  a  passion  thy  devoted  bard." 

ELEGY  XI 

Who  was  the  first  that  f org'd  the  deadly  blade  ? 
Of  rugged  steel  his  savage  soul  was  made: 
By  him,  his  bloody  flag  ambition  wav'd ; 


188  TIBULLUS 

And  grisly  carnage  through  the  battle  rav'd. 
Yet  wherefore  blame  him?  we're  ourselves  to  blame; 
Arms  first  were  forg'd  to  kill  the  savage  game: 
Death-dealing  battles  were  unknown  of  old ; 
Death-dealing  battles  took  their  rise  from  gold: 
When  beachen  bowls  on  oaken  tables  stood, 
When  temperate  acorns  were  our  fathers'  food; 
The  swain  slept  peaceful  with  his  flocks  around, 
No  trench  was  open'd,  and  no  fortress  frown'd. 

Oh !  had  I  liv'd  in  gentle  days  like  these, 
To  love  devoted,  and  to  home-felt  ease; 
Compell'd  I  had  not  been  those  arms  to  wear, 
Nor  had  the  trumpet  forc'd  me  from  the  fair : 
But  now  I'm  drag'd  to  war,  perhaps  my  foe 
E'en  now  prepares  the'  inevitable  blow ! 

Come  then,  paternal  gods,  whose  help  I've  known 
From  birth  to  manhood,  still  protect  your  own : 
Nor  blush,  my  gods,  though  carv'd  of  ancient  wood; 
So  carv'd  in  our  forefathers'  times  you  stood: 
And  though  in  no  proud  temples  you  were  prais'd. 
Nor  foreign  incense  on  your  altars  blaz'd : 
Yet  white-rob'd  faith  conducted  every  swain; 
Yet  meek-ey'd  piety  seren'd  the  plain ; 
While  clustering  grapes,  or  wheat-wreaths  round  your  hair, 
Appeas'd  your  anger,  and  engag'd  your  care; 
Or  dulcet  cakes  himself  the  farmer  paid, 
When  crown'd  his  wishes  by  your  powerful  aid ; 
While  his  fair  daughter  brought  with  her  from  home 
The  luscious  offering  of  a  honey-comb : 
If  now  you'll  aid  me  in  the  hour  of  need. 
Your  care  I'll  recompense — a  boar  shall  bleed. 
In  white  array'd,  I'll  myrtle  baskets  bear. 
And  myrtle  foliage  round  my  temples  wear : 
In  arms  redoubtable  let  others  shine. 
By  Mars  protected,  mow  the  martial  line ; 
You  let  me  please ;  my  head  with  roses  crown 
And  every  care  in  flowing  goblets  drown : 
Then,  when  I'm  joyous,  let  the  soldier  tell, 
What  foes  were  captur'd,  and  what  leaders  fell ; 


ELEGIES  189 

Or  on  the  boar  describe  with  flowing  wine, 

The  furious  onset,  and  the  flying  Hne. 

For  reason  whispers,  "  Why  will  short-liv'd  man 

By  war  contract  his  too  contracted  span? 

Yet  when  he  leaves  the  cheerful  realms  of  light, 

No  laughing  bowls,  no  harvests  cheer  the  sight; 

But  howl  the  damn'd,  the  triple  monster  roars, 

And  Charon  grumbles  on  the  Stygian  shores: 

By  fiery  lakes  the  blasted  phantoms  yell, 

Or  shrowd  their  anguish  in  the  depths  of  hell. 

In  a  thatch'd  cottage  happier  he,  by  far. 
Who  never  hears  of  arms,  of  gold,  or  war ; 
His  chaste  embrace  a  numerous  offspring  crown, 
He  courts  not  fortune's  smile,  nor  dreads  her  frown ; 
While  lenient  baths  at  home  his  wife  prepares, 
He,  and  his  sons,  attend  their  fleecy  cares : 
As  old,  as  poor,  as  peaceful  may  I  be, 
So  guard  my  flocks,  and  such  an  offspring  see. 

Meantime,  soft  peace,  descend: — O!  bless  our  plains! 
Soft  peace  to  plough  with  oxen  taught  the  swains. 
Peace  plants  the  orchard,  and  matures  the  vine, 
And  first  gay-laughing  press'd  the  ruddy  wine : 
The  father  quaffs,  deep  quaff  his  joyous  friends. 
Yet  to  his  son  a  well-stor'd  vault  descends. 

Bright  shine  the  ploughshare,  our  support  and  joy; 
But  rust,  deep  rust,  the  veteran's  arms  destroy. 

The  villager  (his  sacred  offerings  paid 
In  the  dark  grove,  and  consecrated  shade), 
His  wife  and  sons,  now  darkness  parts  the  throng. 
Drives  home,  and  w^histles,  as  he  reels  along. 
Then  triumphs  Venus ;  then  love- feuds  prevail ; 
The  youth  all  jealous  then  the  fair  assail; 
Doors,  windows  fly;  no  deference  they  pay, 
The  chastest  suffer  in  the'  ungentle  fray: 
These  beat  their  breasts,  and  melt  in  moving  tears ; 
The  lover  weeps,  and  blames  his  rage  and  fears; 
Love  sits  between,  unmov'd  with  tears  and  sighs, 
And  with  incentives  sly  the  feud  supplies. 

Ye  youths,  though  stung  with  taunts,  of  blows  beware; 


190  TIBULLUS 

They,  they  are  impious,  who  can  beat  the  fair: 
If  much  provok'd,  or  rend  their  silken  zone, 
Or  on  their  tresses  be  your  anger  shown : 
But  if  nor  this  your  passion  can  appease, 
Until  the  charmer  weep,  the  charmer  tease. 
Bless'd  anger,  if  the  fair  dissolves  in  tears! 
Bless'd  youth,  her  fondness  undisguis'd  appears! 
But  crush  the  wretch,  O  War!  with  all  thy  woes, 
Who  to  rough  usage  adds  the  crime  of  blows. 

Bland  peace,  descend,  with  plenty  on  our  plains, 
And  bless  with  ease  and  laughing  sport  the  swains. 

BOOK   II 

ELEGY  I' 

Attend  !  and  favour !  as  our  sires  ordain ; 

The  fields  we  lustrate,  and  the  rising  grain : 

Come,  Bacchus,  and  thy  horns  with  grapes  surround; 

Come,  Ceres,  with  thy  wheaten  garland  crown'd ; 

This  hallow'd  day  suspend  each  swain  his  toil, 

Rest  let  the  plough,  and  rest  the'  uncultur'd  soil: 

Unyoke  the  steer,  his  racks  heap  high  with  hay, 

And  deck  with  wreaths  his  honest  front  to-day. 

Be  all  your  thoughts  to  this  grand  work  applied ! 

And  lay,  ye  thrifty  fair,  your  wool  aside! 

Hence  I  command  you  mortals  from  the  rite. 

Who  spent  in  amorous  blandishment  the  night. 

The  vernal  powers  in  chastity  delight. 

But  come,  ye  pure,  in  spotless  garbs  array'd. 

For  you  the  solemn  festival  is  made ! 

Come !  follow  thrice  the  victim  round  the  lands ; 

In  running  water  purify  your  hands. 

See !  to  the  flames  the  willing  victim  come : 

Ye  swains  with  olive  crown'd,  be  dumb !  be  dumb ! 

"  From  ills,  O  sylvan  gods,  our  limits  shield, 

Fo-day  we  purge  the  farmer  and  the  field ; 

1  A  description  of  the  Ambarvalia,  a  festival  instituted  by  Acca  Lau- 
rentia  for  procuring  a  blessing  on  the  fields. 


ELEGIES  191 

Oh !  let  no  weeds  destroy  the  rising  grain ; 

By  no  fell  prowler  be  the  lambkin  slain ; 

So  shall  the  hind  dread  penury  no  more ; 

But,  gaily  smiling  o'er  his  plenteous  store, 

With  liberal  hand  shall  larger  billets  bring, 

Heap  the  broad  hearth,  and  hail  the  genial  spring. 

His  numerous  bond-slaves  all  in  goodly  rows. 

With  wicker  huts  your  altars  shall  enclose. 

That  done,  they'll  cheerly  laugh,  and  dance,  and  play. 

And  praise  your  goodness  in  their  uncouth  lay." 

The  gods  assent:  see!  see!  those  entrails  show. 
That  heaven  approves  of  what  is  done  below! 
Now  quaff  Falernian;  let  my  Chian  wine, 
Pour'd  from  the  cask,  in  massy  goblets  shine ! 
Drink  deep,  my  friends ;  all,  all  be  madly  gay, 
'Twere  irreligion  not  to  reel  to-day! 
Health  to  Messala ;  every  peasant  toast. 
And  not  a  letter  of  his  name  be  lost!^ 

O  come,  my  friend,  whom  Gallic  triumphs  grace. 
Thou  noblest  splendour  of  an  ancient  race; 
Thou,  whom  the  arts  all  emulously  crown, 
Sword  of  the  state,  and  honour  of  the  gown ; 
My  theme  is  gratitude,  inspire  my  lays ! 
O,  be  my  genius !  while  I  strive  to  praise 
The  rural  deities,  the  rural  plain; 
The  use  of  foodful  corn  they  taught  the  swain. 
They  taught  man  first  the  social  hut  to  raise. 
And  thatch  it  o'er  with  turf,  or  leafy  sprays : 
They  first  to  tame  the  furious  bull  essay'd. 
And  on  rude  wheels  the  rolling  carriage  laid. 
Man  left  his  savage  ways;  the  garden  glowed, 
Fruits,  not  their  own,  admiring  trees  bestow'd, 
While  through  the  thirsty  ground  meandering  runnels  flow'd. 
There  bees  of  sweets  despoil  the  breathing  spring. 
And  to  their  cells  the  dulcet  plunder  bring. 


^  Upon  certain  occasions  the  Romans  drank  a  bumper  for  every 
letter  of  their  friend  or  mistress's  name.  They  received  this  cus- 
tom from  the  Grecians. 


192  TIBULLUS 

The  ploughman  first,  to  soothe  the  toilsome  day, 
Chanted  in  measur'd  feet  his  sylvan  lay: 
And,  seed-time  o'er,  he  first  in  blithsome  vein 
Pip'd  to  his  household  gods  the  hymning  strain. 
Then  first  the  press  with  purple  wine  o'er-ran, 
And  cooling  water  made  it  fit  for  man. 
The  village-lad  first  made  a  wreath  of  flowers, 
To  deck  in  spring  the  tutelary  powers. 
Bless'd  be  the  country !  yearly  there  the  plain 
Yields,  when  the  dog-star  burns,  the  golden  grain : 
Thence  too  thy  chorus,  Bacchus,  first  began ; 
The  painted  clown  first  laid  the  tragic  plan. 
A  goat,  the  leader  of  the  shaggy  throng. 
The  village  sent  it,  recompens'd  the  song.^ 
There  too  the  sheep  his  woolly  treasure  wears; 
There  too  the  swain  his  woolly  treasure  shears ; 
This  to  the  thrifty  dame  long  work  supplies; 
The  distaff  hence  and  basket  took  their  rise. 
Hence  too,  the  various  labours  of  the  loom. 
Thy  praise,  Minerva,  and  Arachne's  doom ! 
Mid  mountain  herds  love  first  drew  vital  air. 
Unknown  to  man,  and  man  had  nought  to  fear ; 
'Gainst  herds,  his  bow  the'  unskilful  archer  drew; 
Ah !  my  pierc'd  heart,  an  archer  now  too  true ! 
Now  herds  may  roam  untouch'd ;  'tis  Cupid's  joy, 
The  brave  to  vanquish,  and  to  fix  the  coy. 
The  youth  whose  heart  the  soft  emotion  feels. 
Nor  sighs  for  wealth,  nor  waits  at  grandeur's  heels ; 
Age,  fir'd  by  love,  is  touch'd  by  shame  no  more. 
But  blabs  its  follies  at  the  fair-one's  door. 
Led  by  soft  love,  the  tender  trembling  fair 
Steals  to  her  swain,  and  cheats  suspicion's  care. 
With  outstretch'd  arms  she  wins  her  darkling  way. 
And  tiptoe  listens,  that  no  noise  betray. 

Ah !  wretched  those,  on  whom  dread  Cupid  frowns 
How  happy  they,  whose  mutual  choice  he  crowns! 


^  The  etymology  of  the  words  tragedy   ("goat  song")   and  comedy 
("  village  song  ")  indicates  the  origin  of  these  forms  of  drama. 


ELEGIES  193 

Will  love  partake  the  banquet  of  the  day? 
O  come — but  throw  thy  burning  shafts  away. 

Ye  swains,  begin  to  mighty  love  the  song; 
Your  songs,  ye  swains,  to  mighty  love  belong! 
Breathe  out  aloud  your  wishes  for  my  fold, 
Your  own  soft  vows  in  whispers  may  be  told. 
But  hark!  loud  mirth  and  music  fire  the  crowd — • 
Ye  now  may  venture  to  request  aloud. 

Pursue  your  sports;  Night  mounts  her  curtain'd  wane; 
The  dancing  Stars  compose  her  filial  train ; 
Black  muffled  Sleep  steals  on  with  silent  pace, 
And  Dreams  flit  last,  Imagination's  race. 

ELEGY  II 

Rise,  happy  morn,  without  a  cloud  arise! 

This  morn,  Cornutus^  bless'd  his  mother's  eyes! 

Hence  each  unholy  wish,  each  adverse  sound, 

As  we  his  altar's  hallow'd  verge  surround. 

Let  rich  Arabian  odours  scent  the  skies, 

And  sacred  incense  from  his  altar  rise ; 

Implor'd,  thou  tutelary  god,  descend ! 

And,  deck'd  with  flowery  wreaths,  the  rites  attend! 

Then  as  his  brows  with  precious  unguents  flow. 

Sweet  sacred  cakes,  and  liberal  wine  bestow. 

O  Genius !  grant  whate'er  my  friend  desires : 
The  cake  is  scatter'd,  and  the  flame  aspires ! 
Ask  then,  my  noble  friend,  whate'er  you  want: 
What  silent  still?  your  prayer  the  god  will  grant: 
Uncovetous  of  rural  wide  domains, 
You  beg  no  woody  hills,  no  cultur'd  plains: 
Not  venal,  you  request  no  eastern  stores. 
Where  ruddy  waters  lave  the  gemmy  shores : 
Your  wish  I  guess;  you  wish  a  beauteous  spouse, 
Joy  of  your  joy,  and  faithful  to  your  vows. 
'Tis  done,  my  friend :  see  nuptial  love  appears ! 
See,  in  his  hand  a  yellow  ^  zone  he  bears  I 

^  Probably  the  Praetor  of  that  name. 
*  The  color  consecrated  to  Hymen. 


194  TIBULLUS 

A  yellow  zone,  that  spite  of  years  shall  last, 
And  heighten  fondness,  ev'n  when  beauty's  pass'd. 

With  happy  sighs,  great  power,  confirm  our  prayer ; 
With  endless  concord  bless  the  married  pair. 
O  grant,  dread  Genius!  that  a  numerous  race 
Of  beauteous  infants  crown  their  fond  embrace : 
Their  beauteous  infants  round  thy  feet  shall  play, 
And  keep  with  custom'd  rites  this  happy  day. 

ELEGY   III 

My  fair,*  Cornutus,  to  the  country's  flown; 
Oh,  how  insipid  is  the  city  grown! 
No  taste  have  they  for  elegance  refin'd ; 
No  tender  bosoms,  who  remain  behind : 
Now  Cytherea  glads  the  laughing  plain, 
And  smiles  and  sports  compose  her  silvan  train. 
Now  Cupid  joys  to  learn  the  ploughman's  phrase, 
And,  clad  a  peasant,  o'er  the  fallows  strays. 
Oh !  how  the  weighty  prong  I'll  busy  wield, 
Should  the  fair  wander  to  the  labour'd  field; 
A  farmer  then,  the  crooked  ploughshare  hold, 
Whilst  the  dull  ox  prepares  the  vigorous  mould: 
I'd  not  complain  though  Phoebus  burnt  the  lands, 
And  painful  blisters  swell'd  my  tender  hands. 

Admetus'  herds  the  fair  Apollo  drove, 
In  spite  of  med'cine's  power,  a  prey  to  love ; 
Nor  aught  avail'd  to  soothe  his  amorous  care, 
His  lyre  of  silver  sound,  or  waving  hair. 
To  quench  their  thirst,  the  kine  to  streams  he  led, 
And  drove  them  from  their  pasture  to  the  shed. 
The  milk  to  curdle,  then,  the  fair  he  taught ; 
And  from  the  cheese  to  strain  the  dulcet  draught. 
Oft,  oft,  his  virgin-sister  blush'd  for  shame, 
As  bearing  lambkins  o'er  the  field  he  came: 
Oft  would  he  sing,  the  listening  vales  among, 
Till  lowing  oxen  broke  the  plaintive  song, 

^  Nemesis,   the  sweetheart   to   whom   the   remaining  elegies   in   this 
book  are  addressed. 


ELEGIES  195 

To  Delphi,  trembling  anxious  chiefs  repair. 

But  got  no  answer ;  Phoebus  was  not  there. 

Thy  curling  locks  that  charm'd  a  step-dame's  eye, 

A  jealous  step-dame,  now  neglected  fly. 

To  see  thee,  Phcebus,  thus  disfigur'd  stray! 

Who  could  discover  the  fair  god  of  day? 

Constrain'd  by  Cupid  in  a  cot  to  pine, 

Where  was  thy  Delos,  where  the  Pythian  shrine? 

Thrice  happy  days !  when  love  almighty  sway'd, 

And  openly  the  gods  his  will  obey'd. 

Now  love's  soft  powers  became  a  common  jest — 

Yet  those,  who  feel  his  influence  in  their  breast. 

The  prude's  contempt,  the  wise  man's  sneer  despise. 

Nor  would  his  chains  forego  to  rule  the  skies. 

Curs'd  farm !  that  forc'd  my  Nemesis  from  town. 
Blasts  taint  thy  vines,  and  rains  thy  harvests  drown. 
Though  hymns  implore  your  aid,  great  god  of  wine! 
Assist  the  lover,  and  neglect  the  vine; 
To  shades,  unpunish'd,  ne'er  let  beauty  stray ; 
Not  all  your  vintage  can  its  absence  pay; 
Rather  than  harvest  should  the  fair  detain, 
Alay  rills  and  acorns  feed  the'  unactive  swain ! 
The  swains  of  old,  no  golden  Ceres  knew ; 
And  yet  how  fervent  was  their  love  and  true! 
Their  melting  vows  the  Paphian  queen  approv'd, 
And  every  valley  witness'd  how  they  lov'd. 
Then  lurk'd  no  spies  to  catch  the  willing  maid; 
Doorless  each  house ;  in  vain  no  shepherd  pray'd. 
Once  more,  ye  simple  usages  obtain! 
No — lead  me,  drive  me  to  the  cultur'd  plain! 
Enchain  me,  whip  me,  if  the  fair  command : 
Whip'd  and  enchain'd,  I'll  plough  the  stubborn  land! 

ELEGY    IV 

Chains,  and  a  haughty  fair,  I  fearless  view: 
Hopes  of  paternal  freedom,  all  adieu! 
Ah,  when  will  love  compassionate  my  woes? 
In  one  sad  tenor  my  existence  flows : 


196  TIBULLUS 

Whether  I  kiss  or  bite  the  galHng  chain, 
Alike  my  pleasure,  and  alike  my  pain. 
I  burn,  I  burn,  O  banish  my  despair ! 
Oh,  ease  my  torture,  too  too  cruel  fair! 
Rather  than  feel  such  vast,  such  matchless  woe, 
I'd  rise  some  rock  o'erspread  with  endless  snow: 
Or  frown  a  cliff  on  some  disastrous  shore. 
Where  ships  are  wreck'd,  and  tempests  ever  roar! 

In  pensive  gloominess  I  pass  the  night. 
Nor  feel  contentment  at  the  dawn  of  light. 
What  though  the  god  of  verse  my  woes  indite, 
What  though  I  soothing  elegies  can  write. 
No  strains  of  elegy  her  pride  control ; 
Gold  is  the  passport  to  her  venal  soul. 
I  ask  not  of  the  nine  the  epic  lay; 
Ye  nine !  or  aid  my  passion,  or  away. 
I  ask  not  to  describe  in  lofty  strain 
The  sun's  eclipses,  or  the  lunar  wane ; 
To  win  admission  to  the  haughty  maid, 
Alone  I  crave  your  elegiac  aid ; 
But  if  she  still  contemns  the  tearful  lay. 
Ye,  and  your  elegies,  away,  away! 
In  vain  I  ask,  but  gold  ne'er  asks  in  vain ; 
Then  will  I  desolate  the  world  for  gain ! 
For  gold,  I'll  impious  plunder  every  shrine; 
But  chief,  O  Venus !  will  I  plunder  thine. 
By  thee  compell'd,  I  love  a  venal  maid. 
And  quit  for  bloody  fields  my  peaceful  shade : 
By  thee  compell'd,  I  rob  the  hallow'd  shrine. 
Then  chiefly,  Venus,  will  I  plunder  thine! 

Perish  the  man!  whose  curs'd  industrious  toil 
Or  finds  the  gem,  or  dyes  the  woolly  spoil; 
Hence,  hence,  the  sex's  avarice  arose. 
And  art  with  nature  not  enough  bestows: 
Hence  the  fierce  dog  was  posted  for  a  guard, 
The  fair  grew  venal,  and  their  gates  were  barr'd. 
But  weighty  presents  vigilance  o'ercome, 
The  gate  bursts  open,  and  the  dog  is  dumb. 

■From  venal  charms,  ye  gods !  what  mischiefs  flow ! 


ELEGIES  197 

The  joy,  how  much  o'er-balanc'd  by  the  woe! 
Hence,  hence,  so  few,  sweet  love,  frequent  thy  fane ; 
Hence,  impious  slander  loads  thy  guiltless  reign. 

But  ye,  who  sell  your  heavenly  charms  for  hire, 
Your  ill-got  riches  be  consum'd  with  fire! 
May  not  one  lover  strive  to  quench  the  blaze, 
But  smile  malicious,  as  o'er  all  it  preys! 
And  when  ye  die,  no  gentle  friend  be  near, 
To  catch  your  breath,  or  shed  a  genuine  tear; 
Behind  the  corpse,  to  march  in  solemn  show. 
Or  Syrian  odours  on  the  pile  bestow. 
Far  other  fates  attend  the  generous  maid. 
Though  age  and  sickness  bid  her  beauties  fade, 
Still  she's  rever'd ;  and  when  death's  easy  call 
Has  freed  her  spirit  from  life's  anxious  thrall, 
The  pitying  neighbours  all  her  loss  deplore. 
And  many  a  weeping  friend  besets  the  door; 
While  some  old  lover,  touch'd  with  grateful  woe, 
Shall  yearly  garlands  on  her  tomb  bestow; 
And,  home  returning,  thus  the  fair  address, 
"  Light  may  the  turf  thy  gentle  bosom  press." 

'Tis  truth ;  but  what  has  truth  with  love  to  do  ? 
Imperious  Cupid,  I  submit  to  you! 
To  sell  my  father's  seat  should  you  command ; 
Adieu  my  father's  gods,  my  father's  land ! 
From  madding  mares,  whate'er  of  poison  flows. 
Or  on  the  forehead  of  their  offspring  grows ;  ^ 
Whate'er  Medea  brew'd  of  baleful  juice, 
What  noxious  herbs  Emathian  hills  -  produce ; 
Of  all,  let  Nemesis  a  draught  compose. 
Or  mingle  poisons,  feller  still  than  those; 
If  she  but  smile,  the  deadly  cup  I'll  drain. 
Forget  her  avarice,  and  exult  in  pain! 


^  The  herb  coltsfoot  was  supposed  to  inflame  the  sexual  desire  of 
horses ;  see  Theocritus,  Idyl  ii.    A  fig-like  excrescence,  appearing  on 
the  forehead  of  a  foal,  and  bitten  off  by  the  mother,  was  supposed 
to  make  the  mare  passionately  fond  of  the  offspring. 
2  In  Thrace,  the  seat  of  enchantment. 
XI— 14 


198  TIBULLUS 


ELEGY   V 


To  hear  our  solemn  vows,  O  Phoebus !  deign : 

A  novel  pontiff^  treads  thy  sacred  fane; 

Nor  distant  hear,  dread  power!  'tis  Rome's  request. 

That  with  thy  golden  lyre  thou  stand'st  confess'd : 

Deign,  mighty  bard!  to  strike  the  vocal  string. 

And  praise  thy  pontiff;  we,  his  praises  sing: 

Around  thy  brows  triumphant  laurels  twine, 

Thine  altar  visit,  and  thy  rites  divine : 

New  flush  thy  charms,  new  curl  thy  waving  hair; 

O  come  the  god,  in  vestment  and  in  air! 

When  Saturn  was  dethron'd ;  so  crown'd  with  bays. 

So  rob'd,  thou  sungst  the'  almighty  victor's  praise." 

What  fate,  from  gods  and  man,  has  wrapt  in  night, 

Prophetic  flashes  on  thy  mental  sight: 

From  thee,  diviners  learn  their  prescient  lore, 

On  reeking  bowels,  as  they  thoughtful  pore: 

The  seer  thou  teachest  the  success  of  things, 

As  flies  the  bird,  or  feeds,  or  screams,  or  sings : 

The  sibyl-leaves  if  Rome  ne'er  sought  in  vain; 

Thou  gav'st  a  meaning  to  the  mystic  strain : 

Thy  sacred  influence  may  this  pontiff  know. 

And  as  he  reads  them,  with  the  prophet  glow. 

When  great  ^Eneas  snatch'd  his  aged  sire. 
And  burning  Lares,  from  the  Grecian  fire ; 


^  Messalinus,  to  whom  the  following  noble  Elegy  is  addressed,  was 
the  son  of  the  illustrious  Messala.  This  young  nobleman,  whom 
both  historians  and  poets  represent  as  inheriting  his  father's  elo- 
quence, had  been  appointed  one  of  the  quindecemviral  priests,  to 
whose  care  the  keeping  and  interpretation  of  the  Sibylline  oracles 
were  intrusted.  As  these  venerable  writings  had  been  deposited  by 
Augustus  under  the  statue  of  Apollo,  in  his  new  temple,  erected  on 
Mount  Palatine;  and  as  Apollo  was  supposed  to  preiide  over  vati- 
cination, and  in  a  particular  manner  over  these  mysterious  volumes; 
the  poet  begins  his  poem  with  an  address  to  Apollo,  whom  he 
earnestly  implores  to  be  present  at  the  inauguration  of  the  new 
pontiff. 
2  Augustus. 


ELEGIES  199 

She,^  she  foretold  this  empire  fix'd  by  fate, 
And  all  the  triumphs  of  the  Roman  state ; 
Yet  when  he  saw  his  Ilion  wrap'd  in  flame, 
He  scarce  could  credit  the  mysterious  dame. 

(Quirinus  had  not  plan'd  eternal  Rome, 
Nor  had  his  brother  met  his  early  doom ; 
Where  now  Jove's  temple  swells,  low  hamlets  stood, 
And  domes  ascend,  where  heifers  crop'd  their  food. 
Sprinkled  with  milk,^  Pan  grac'd  an  oak's  dun  shade, 
And  scythe-arm'd  Pales  watch'd  the  mossy  glade ; 
For  help  from  Pan,  to  Pan  on  every  bough 
Pipes  hung,  the  grateful  shepherd's  vocal  vow, 
Of  reeds,  still  lessening,  was  the  gift  compos'd, 
And  friendly  wax  the'  unequal  junctures  clos'd. 
So  where  Velabrian  streets  like  cities  seem, 
One  little  wherry  plied  the  lazy  stream, 
O'er  which  the  wealthy  shepherd's  favourite  maid 
Was  to  her  swain,  on  holidays,  convey'd; 
The  swain,  his  truth  of  passion  to  declare. 
Or  lamb,  or  cheese,  presented  to  the  fair.) 

The  Cumaean  Sibyl  speaks 
"Fierce  brother  of  the  power  of  soft  desire, 
Who  fly'st,  with  Trojan  gods,  the  Grecian  fire ! 
Now  Jove  assigns  thee  Laurentine  abodes. 
Those  friendly  plains  invite  thy  banish'd  gods : 
There  shall  a  nobler  Troy  herself  applaud, 
Admire  her  wanderings,  and  the  Grecian  fraud! 
There,  thou  from  yonder  sacred  stream  shalt  rise 
A  god  thyself,  and  mingle  with  the  skies ! ' 
No  more  thy  Phrygians  for  their  country  sigh. 
See  conquest  o'er  your  shatter'd  navy  fly! 
See  the  Rutulian  tents,  a  mighty  blaze ! 
Thou,  Turnus,  soon  shalt  end  thy  hateful  days ! 


1  The  Sibyl. 

2  It  was  customary  to  sprinkle  the  sylvan  gods.  Pan  and  Pales,  with 
milk. 

*  See  Ovid's  Metam.  book  xiv. 


200  TIBULLUS 

The  camp  I  see,  Lavinium  greets  my  view, 
And  Alba,  brave  Ascanius !  built  by  you : 
I  see  thee,  Ilia !  leave  the  vestal  fire ; 
And,  clasp'd  by  Mars,  in  amorous  bliss  expire! 
On  Tyber's  bank,  thy  sacred  robes  I  see, 
And  arms  abandon'd,  eager  god !  by  thee. 
Your  hills  crop  fast,  ye  herds !  while  fate  allows ; 
Eternal  Rome  shall  rise,  where  now  ye  brouze : 
Rome,  that  shall  stretch  her  irresistless  reign, 
Wherever  Ceres  views  her  golden  grain: 
Far  as  the  east  extends  his  purple  ray, 
And  where  the  west  shuts  up  the  gates  of  day. 
The  truth  I  sing:  so  may  the  laurels  prove 
Safe  food,^  and  I  be  screen'd  from  guilty  love." 

Thus  sung  the  Sibyl,  and  address'd  her  prayer, 
Phoebus!  to  thee:  and,  madding,  loos'd  her  hair. 
Nor,  Phoebus!  give  him  only  these  to  know, 
A  further  knowledge  on  thy  priest  bestow : 
Let  him  interpret  w^hat  thy  favourite  maid, 
What  Amalthea,  what  Mermessia  said : 
Let  him  interpret  what  Albuna  bore 
Through  Tyber's  waves,  unwet,  to  Tyber's  furthest  shore. 

When  stony  tempests  fell,  when  comets  glar'd, 
Intestine  wars  their  oracles  declar'd : 
The  sacred  groves  (our  ancestors  relate) 
Foretold  the  changes  of  the  Roman  state : 
To  charge  the  clarion  sounded  in  the  sky, 
Arms  clash'd,  blood  ran,  and  warriors  seem'd  to  die : 
With  monstrous  prodigies  the  year  began; 
An  annual  darkness  the  whole  globe  o'erran; 
Apollo,  shorn  of  every  beamy  ray. 
Oft  strove,  but  strove  in  vain,  to  light  the  day: 
The  statues  of  the  gods  wept  tepid  tears; 
And  speaking  oxen  fill'd  mankind  with  fears! 

These  were  of  old :  no  more,  Apollo !  frown ; 
But  in  the  waves  each  adverse  omen  drown. '^ 


^  A   frequent  chewing  of  the  laurel  was  supposed  to  be  of  great 

efficacy  in  raising  a  spirit  of  divination  and  poetry. 

2  Monstrous  births,  by  way  of  expiation,  were  thrown  into  the  sea. 


ELEGIES  201 

O!  let  thy  bays,  in  crackling  flames  ascend; 

So  shall  the  year  with  joy  begin  and  end! 

The  bays  give  prosperous  signs;  rejoice,  ye  swains! 

Propitious  Ceres  shall  reward  your  pains. 

With  must  the  jolly  rustic  purpled  o'er, 

Shall  squeeze  rich  clusters,  which  their  tribute  pour, 

Till  vats  are  wanting,  to  contain  their  store. 

Far  hence,  ye  wolves!  the  mellow  shepherds  bring 

Their  gifts  to  Pales,  and  her  praises  sing. 

Now,  fir'd  with  wine,  they  solemn  bonfires  raise, 

And  leap,  untimorous,  through  the  strawy  blaze! 

From  every  cot  unnumber'd  children  throng. 

Frequent  the  dance,  and  louder  raise  the  song: 

And  while  in  mirth  the  hours  they  thus  employ. 

At  home  the  grandsire  tends  his  little  boy ; 

And,  in  each  feature  pleas'd  himself  to  trace, 

Foretels  his  prattler  will  adorn  the  race. 

The  sylvan  youth,  their  grateful  homage  paid, 
Where  plays  some  streamlet,  seek  the'  embowering  shade ; 
Or  stretch'd  on  soft  enamell'd  meadows  lie, 
Where  thickest  umbrage  cools  the  summer  sky: 
With  roses,  see!  the  sacred  cup  is  crown'd, 
Hark !  music  breathes  her  animating  sound : 
The  couch  of  turf,  and  festal  tables  stand 
Of  turf,  erected  by  each  shepherd-hand ; 
And  all  well-pleas'd,  the  votive  feast  prepare, 
Each  one  his  goblet,  and  each  one  his  share. 
Now  drunk,  they  blame  their  stars,  and  curse  the  maid ; 
But  sober,  deprecate  whate'er  they  said. 

Perish  thy  shafts,  Apollo!  and  thy  bow! 
If  love  unarmed  in  our  forests  go. 
Yet  since  he  learn'd  to  wing  the'  unerring  dart. 
Much  cause  has  man  to  curse  his  fatal  art ; 
But  most  have  I : — the  sun  has  wheel'd  his  round 
Since  first  I  felt  the  deadly  festering  wound ; 
Yet,  yet  I  fondly,  madly,  wish  to  burn, 
Abjure  indifference,  and  at  comfort  spurn; 
And  though  from  Nemesis  my  genius  flows, 
Her  scarce  I  sing,  so  weighty  are  my  woes ! 


202  TIBULLUS 

O  cruel  love!  how  joyous  should  I  be, 
Your  arrows  broke,  and  torch  extinct,  to  see ! 
From  you,  my  want  of  reverence  to  the  skies ! 
From  you,  my  woes  and  imprecations  rise ! 
Yet  I  advise  you,  too  relentless  fair, 
(As  heaven  protects  the  bards)  a  bard  to  spare! 

E'en  now,  the  pontiff  claims  my  loftiest  lay, 
In  triumph,  soon  he'll  mount  the  sacred  way. 
Then  pictur'd  towns  shall  show  successful  war, 
And  spoils  and  chiefs  attend  his  ivory  car: 
Myself  will  bear  the  laurel  in  my  hand; 
And,  pleas'd,  amid  the  pleas'd  spectators  stand : 
While  war-worn  veterans,  with  laurels  crown'd. 
With  lo-triumphs  shake  the  streets  around. 
His  father  hails  him,  as  he  rides  along, 
And  entertains  with  pompous  shows  the  throng. 

O  Phcebus!  kindly  deign  to  grant  my  prayer; 
So  may' St  thou  ever  wave  thy  curled  hair; 
So  ever  may  thy  virgin-sister's  name 
Preserve  the  lustre  of  a  spotless  fame. 

ELEGY  VI 

Macer  campaigns;  who  now  will  thee  obey, 
O  Love!  if  Macer^  dare  forego  thy  sway? 
Put  on  the  crest,  and  grasp  the  burnish'd  shield, 
Pursue  the  base  deserter  to  the  field : 
Or  if  to  winds  he  gives  the  loosen'd  sail. 
Mount  thou  the  deck,  and  risk  the  stormy  gale : 
To  dare  desert  thy  sweetly-pleasing  pains. 
For  stormy  seas,  or  sanguinary  plains! 
'Tis,  Cupid!  thine,  the  wonderer  to  reclaim. 
Regain  thy  honour,  and  avenge  thy  name. 

i^milius  Macer,  famous  for  his  gallantry  and  wit,  had  been  in- 
trusted by  the  successor  of  Julius  with  the  execution  of  some  mili- 
tary enterprise.  At  his  departure  from  Rome,  it  is  probable,  he 
boasted  to  our  poet,  that  however  deeply  he  seemed  engaged  in 
love,  yet  was  his  heart  his  own,  and  now  only  panted  for  military 
fame. 


ELEGIES  203 

If  such  thou  spar'st,  a  soldier  I  will  be, 
The  meanest  soldier,  and  abandon  thee. 
Adieu,  ye  trifling  loves!  farewell,  ye  fair! 
The  trumpet  charms  me,  I  to  camps  repair; 
The  martial  look,  the  martial  garb  assume, 
And  see  the  laurel  on  my  forehead  bloom. 
My  vaunts  how  vain !  debar'd  the  cruel  maid, 
The  warrior  softens,  and  my  laurels  fade. 
Piqu'd  to  the  soul,  how  frequent  have  I  swore, 
Her  gate  so  servile  to  approach  no  more  ? 
Unconscious  what  I  did,  I  still  return'd. 
Was  still  denied  access;  and  yet,  I  bum'd! 

Ye  youths,  whom  love  commands  with  angry  sway, 
Attend  his  wars,  like  me,  and  pleas'd  obey. 
This  iron  age  approves  his  sway  no  more ; 
All  fly  to  camps  for  gold,  and  gold  adore : 
Yet  gold  clothes  kindred  states  in  hostile  arms; 
Hence  blood  and  death,  confusion  and  alarms! 
Mankind  for  lust  of  gold,  at  once  defy 
The  naval  combat,  and  the  stormy  sky! 
The  soldier  hopes,  by  martial  spoils,  to  gain 
Flocks  without  number,  and  a  rich  domain: 
His  hopes  obtain'd  by  every  horrid  crime, 
He  seeks  for  marble  in  each  foreign  clime : 
A  thousand  yoke  sustain  the  pillar'd  freight, 
And  Rome,  surpris'd,  beholds  the  enormous  weight. 
Let  such  with  moles  the  furious  deep  enclose. 
Where  fish  may  swim  unhurt,  though  winter  blows : 
Let  flocks  and  villas  call  the  spoiler,  lord ! 
And  be  the  spoiler  by  the  fair  ador'd ! 
Let  one  we  know,  a  whip'd  barbarian  slave,^ 
Live  like  a  king,  with  kingly  pride  behave: 
Be  ours  the  joys  of  economic  ease, 
From  bloody  fields  remote,  and  stormy  seas. 

In  gold,  alas !  the  venal  fair  delight : 
Since  beauty  sighs  for  spoil,  for  spoil  I'll  fight. 


1  Demetrius,  the  freed-man  of  Pompey,  by  attending  that  general  in 
his  conquests,  amassed  greater  wealth  than  his  master  himself. 


204  TIBULLUS 

In  all  my  plunder  Nemesis  shall  shine ; 

Yours  be  the  profit,  be  the  peril  mine : 

To  deck  your  heavenly  charms  the  silk-worm  dies, 

Embroidery  labours,  and  the  shuttle  flies. 

For  you,  be  rifled  ocean's  pearly  store ; 

To  you  Pactolus  send  his  golden  ore. 

Ye  Indians,  blacken'd  by  the  nearer  sun, 

Before  her  steps  in  splendid  liveries  run; 

For  you  shall  wealthy  Tyre  and  Afric  vie, 

To  yield  the  purple,  and  the  scarlet  dye. 

ELEGY  VII 

Thousands  in  death  would  seek  an  end  of  woe; 
But  hope,  deceitful  hope!  prevents  the  blow, 
Hope  plants  the  forest,  and  she  sows  the  plain ; 
And  feeds,  with  future  granaries,  the  swain : 
Hope  snares  the  winged  vagrants  of  the  sky, 
Hope  cheats  in  reedy  brooks  the  scaly  fry ; 
By  hope,  the  fetter'd  slave,  the  drudge  of  fate. 
Sings,  shakes  his  irons,  and  forgets  his  state ; 
Hope  promis'd  you;  you,  haughty,  still  deny; 
Yield  to  the  goddess;  O  my  fair!  comply. 
Hope  whisper'd  me,  "Give  sorrow  to  the  wind! 
The  haughty  fair-one  shall  at  last  be  kind." 
Yet,  yet,  you  treat  me  with  the  same  disdain : 
O  let  not  hope's  soft  whispers  prove  in  vain ! 

Untimely  fate  your  sister  snatch'd  away; 
Spare  me,  O  spare  me ;  by  her  shade  I  pray ! 
So  shall  my  garlands  deck  her  virgin-tomb ; 
So  shall  I  weep,  no  hypocrite,  her  doom! 
So  may  her  grave  with  rising  flowers  be  dress'd. 
And  the  green  turf  lie  lightly  on  her  breast. 

Ah  me,  will  nought  avail  ?  the  world  I'll  fly, 
And,  prostrate  at  her  tomb,  a  suppliant  sigh ! 
To  her  attentive  ghost  of  you  complain; 
Tell  my  long  sorrowing,  tell  of  your  disdain. 
Oft,  when  alive,  in  my  behalf  she  spoke : 
Your  endless  coyness  must  her  shade  provoke; 


ELEGIES  205 

With  ugly  dreams  she'll  haunt  your  hour  of  rest, 
And  weep  before  you,  an  unwelcome  guest ! 
Ghastly  and  pale,  as  when  besmear'd  with  blood. 
Oh,  fatal  fall!  she  pass'd  the  Stygian  flood. 

No  more,  my  strains !  your  eyes  with  tears  o'erflow, 
This  moving  object  renovates  your  woe: 
You,  you  are  guiltless !  I  your  maid  accuse ; 
You  generous  are !  she,  she  has  selfish  views. 
Nay,  were  you  guilty,  I'll  no  more  complain; 
One  tear  from  you  o'erpays  a  life  of  pain. 
She,  Phryne,  promised  to  promote  my  vows : 
She  took,  but  never  gave  my  billet-doux. 
You're  gone  abroad,  she  confidently  swears. 
Oft  when  your  sweet-ton'd  voice  salutes  mine  ears: 
Or,  when  you  promise  to  reward  my  pains, 
That  you're  afraid,  or  indispos'd,  she  feigns: 
Then  madding  jealousy  inflames  my  breast; 
Then  fancy  represents  a  rival  bless'd : 
I  wish  thee,  Phryne!  then  a  thousand  woes; — 
And  if  the  gods  with  half  my  wishes  close, 
Phryne !  a  wretch  of  wretches  thou  shalt  be. 
And  vainly  beg  of  death  to  set  thee  free. 

BOOK   III 

ELEGY  I 

Poet 

Thy  calends,  Mars!  are  come,  from  whence  of  old 
The  year's  beginning  our  forefathers  told : 
Now  various  gifts  through  every  house  impart 
The  pleasing  tokens  of  the  friendly  heart. 
To  my  Nesera,  tuneful  virgins!  say, 
What  shall  I  give,  what  honour  shall  I  pay  ? 
Dear,  e'en  if  fickle;  dearer,  if  my  friend! 
To  the  lov'd  fair,  what  present  shall  I  send? 

Muses 

Gold  wins  the  venal,  verse  the  lovely  maid : 
In  your  smooth  numbers  be  her  charms  display'd. 


206  TIBULLUS 

On  polish'd  ivory  let  the  sheets  be  roll'd. 

Your  name  in  signature,  the  edges  gold. 

No  pumice  spare,  to  smooth  each  parchment  scroll ; 

In  a  gay  wrapper  then  secure  the  whole. 

Thus,  to  adorn  your  poems  be  your  care; 

And,  thus  adorn'd,  transmit  them  to  the  fair. 

Poet 

Fair  maids  of  Pindus !  I  your  counsel  praise : 
As  you  advise  me,  I'll  adorn  my  lays : 
But  by  your  streams,  and  by  your  shades,  I  pray, 
Yourselves  the  volume  to  the  fair  convey. 
O  let  it  lowly  at  her  feet  be  laid. 
Ere  the  gilt  wrapper  or  the  edges  fade ; 
Then  let  her  tell  me,  if  her  flames  decline, 
If  quite  extinguish'd,  or  if  still  she's  mine. 
But  first,  your  graceful  salutations  paid, 
In  terms  submissive  thus  address  the  maid : 
"  Chaste  fair !  the  bard,  who  doats  upon  your  charms. 
And  once  could  clasp  them  in  his  nuptial  arms, 
This  volume  sends;  and  humbly  hopes  that  you, 
With  kind  indulgence,  will  the  present  view. 
You,  you!  he  prizes  more,  he  vows,  than  Hfe; 
Still  a  lov'd  sister,  or  again  his  wife. 
But  oh !  may  Hymen  bless  his  virtuous  fire, 
And  once  more  grant  you  to  his  fond  desire ! 
Fix'd  in  this  hope,  he'll  reach  the  dreary  shore, 
Where  sense  shall  fail,  and  memory  be  no  more." 

ELEGY  II 

Hard  was  the  first,  who  ventur'd  to  divide 
The  youthful  bridegroom  and  the  tender  bride: 
More  hard  the  bridegroom,  who  can  bear  the  day, 
When  force  has  torn  his  tender  bride  away. 
Here  too  my  patience,  here  my  manhood  fails ; 
The  brave  grow  dastards  when  fierce  grief  assails : 
Die,  die  I  must !  the  truth  I  freely  own ; 
My  life  too  burdensome  a  load  is  grown. 


ELEGIES  207 

Then,  when  I  flit  a  thin,  an  empty  shade; 
When  on  the  mournful  pile  my  corse  is  laid; 
With  melting  grief,  with  tresses  loose  and  torn, 
Wilt  thou,  Neaera !  for  thy  husband  mourn  ? 
A  parent's  anguish  will  thy  mother  show, 
For  the  lost  youth,  who  liv'd,  who  died  for  you  ? 

But  see  the  flames  o'er  all  my  body  stray ! 
And  now  my  shade  ye  call,  and  now  ye  pray, 
In  black  array'd :  the  flame  forgets  to  soar ; 
And  now  pure  water  on  your  hands  ye  pour. 
My  lov'd  remains  next  gather'd  in  a  heap. 
With  wine  ye  sprinkle,  and  in  milk  ye  steep. 
The  moisture  dry'd,  within  the  urn  ye  lay 
My  bones,  and  to  the  monument  convey. 
Panchaian  odours  thither  ye  will  bring, 
And  all  the  produce  of  an  eastern  spring: 
But  what  than  eastern  springs  I  hold  more  dear, 

0  wet  my  ashes  with  a  genuine  tear ! 
Thus,  by  you  both  lamented,  let  me  die ; 

Be  thus  perform'd  my  mournful  obsequy! 

Then  shall  these  lines,  by  some  throng'd  way,  relate 

The  dear  occasion  of  my  dismal  fate : 

"Here  lies  poor  Lygdamus;  a  lovely  wife. 

Torn  from  his  arms,  cut  short  his  thread  of  life." 

ELEGY  III 

Why  did  I  supplicate  the  powers  divine? 

Why  votive  incense  burn  at  every  shrine  ? 

Not  that  I  marble  palaces  might  own, 

To  draw  spectators,  and  to  make  me  known ; 

Not  that  my  teams  might  plough  new  purchas'd  plains. 

And  bounteous  autumn  glad  my  countless  swains : 

1  beg'd  with  you  my  youthful  days  to  share, 
I  beg'd  in  age  to  clasp  the  lovely  fair ; 
And  when  my  stated  race  of  life  was  o'er, 
I  beg'd  to  pass  alone  the  Stygian  shore. 

Can  treasur'd  gold  the  tortur'd  breast  compose? 
Or  plains,  wide  cultur'd,  soothe  the  lover's  woes  ? 


208  TIBULLUS 

Can  marble-pillar'd  domes,  the  pride  of  art, 
Secure  from  sorrow  the  possessor's  heart? 
Not  circHng  woods,  resembling  sacred  groves, 
Nor  Parian  pavements,  nor  gay  gilt  alcoves, 
Not  all  the  gems  that  load  an  eastern  shore, 
Not  whatever  else  the  greedy  great  adore, 
Possess'd,  can  shield  the  owner's  breast  from  woe. 
Since  fickle  fortune  governs  all  below : 
Such  toys,  in  little  minds,  may  envy  raise; 
Still  little  minds  improper  objects  praise. 
Poor  let  me  be ;  for  poverty  can  please 
With  you ;  without  you,  crowns  could  give  no  ease. 

Shine  forth,  bright  morn !  and  every  bliss  impart, 
Restore  Neaera  to  my  doating  heart! 
For  if  her  glad  return  the  gods  deny. 
If  I  solicit  still  in  vain  the  sky. 
Nor  power,  nor  all  the  wealth  this  globe  contains, 
Can  ever  mitigate  my  heartfelt  pains: 
Let  others  these  enjoy ;  be  peace  my  lot. 
Be  mine  Neaera,  mine  an  humble  cot ! 
Saturnia!  grant  thy  suppliant's  timid  prayer; 
And  aid  me,  Venus !  from  thy  pearly  chair. 

Yet,  if  the  sisters,  who  o'er  fate  preside, 
My  vows  contemning,  still  detain  my  bride; 
Cease,  breast,  to  heave !  cease,  anxious  blood,  to  flow ! 
Come,  death !  transport  me  to  the  realms  below. 

ELEGY  IV 

Last  night's  ill-boding  dreams,  ye  gods,  avert ! 
Nor  plague,  with  portents,  a  poor  lover's  heart. 
But  why?     From  prejudice  our  terrors  rise; 
Vain  visions  have  no  commerce  with  the  skies : 
The  event  of  things  the  gods  alone  foresee. 
And  Tuscan  priests^  foretel  what  they  decree. 
Dreams  flit  at  midnight  round  the  lover's  head. 
And  timorous  man  alarm  with  idle  dread : 


^  The  practice  of  augury  originated  in  Tuscany. 


ELEGIES  209 

And  hence  oblations,  to  divert  the  woe, 
Weak  superstitious  minds  on  heaven  bestow. 
But  since  whate'er  the  gods  foretel  is  true, 
And  man's  oft  warn'd,  mysterious  dreams!  by  you: 
Dread  Juno !  make  my  nightly  visions  vain, 
Vain  make  my  boding  fears,  and  calm  my  pain. 
The  blessed  gods,  you  know,  I  ne'er  revil'd, 
And  nought  iniquous  e'er  my  heart  defil'd. 

Now  Night  had  lav'd  her  coursers  in  the  main, 
And  left  to  dewy  dawn  a  doubtful  reign; 
Bland  sleep,  that  from  the  couch  of  sorrow  flies, 
(The  wretch's  solace)  had  not  clos'd  my  eyes. 
At  last,  when  morn  unbarr'd  the  gates  of  light, 
A  downy  slumber  shut  my  labouring  sight : 
A  youth  appear'd,  with  virgin-laurel  crown'd, 
He  mov'd  majestic,  and  I  heard  the  sound. 
Such  charms,  such  manly  charms,  were  never  seen, 
As  fir'd  his  eyes,  and  harmoniz'd  his  mien: 
His  hair,  in  ringlets  of  an  auburn  hue, 
Shed  Syrian  sweets,  and  o'er  his  shoulders  flew. 
As  white  as  thine,  fair  Luna,  was  his  skin, 
So  vein'd  with  azure,  and  as  smoothly  thin ; 
So  soft  a  blush  vermilion'd  o'er  his  face. 
As  when  a  maid  first  melts  in  man's  embrace ; 
Or  when  the  fair  with  curious  art  unite 
The  purple  amaranth  and  lily  white. 
A  bloom  like  his,  when  ting'd  by  autumn's  pride, 
Reddens  the  apple  on  the  sunny  side ; 
A  Tyrian  tunic  to  his  ancles  flow'd, 

Which  through  its  sirfled  plaits  his  godlike  beauties  show'd. 
A  lyre,  the  present  Mulciber  bestow'd, 
On  his  left  arm  with  easy  grandeur  glow'd; 
The  peerless  work  of  virgin  gold  was  made, 
With  ivory,  gems,  and  tortoise  interlaid; 
O'er  all  the  vocal  strings  his  fingers  stray, 
The  vocal  strings  his  fingers  glad  obey, 
And,  harmoniz'd,  a  sprightly  prelude  play: 
But  when  he  join'd  the  music  of  his  tongue, 
These  soft,  sad  elegiac  lays  he  sung: 


210  TIBULLIJS 

"All  hail,  thou  care  of  Heaven!  (a  virtuous  bard, 
The  god  of  wine,  the  muses,  I  regard)  ; 
But  neither  Bacchus,  nor  the  Thespian  nine. 
The  sacred  will  of  destiny  divine : 
The  secret  book  of  destiny  to  see, 
Heaven's  awful  sire  has  given  alone  to  me; 
And  I,  unerring  god,  to  you  explain 
(Attend  and  credit)  what  the  fates  ordain. 

"  She  who  is  still  your  ever  constant  care, 
Dearer  to  you  than  sons  to  mothers  are, 
Whose  beauties  bloom  in  every  soften'd  line. 
Her  sex's  envy,  and  the  love  of  thine : 
Not  with  more  warmth  is  female  fondness  mov'd, 
Not  with  more  warmth  are  tenderest  brides  belov'd. 
For  whom  you  hourly  importune  the  sky, 
For  whom  you  wish  to  live,  nor  fear  to  die. 
Whose  form,  when  night  has  wrap'd  in  black  the  pole. 
Cheats  in  soft  vision  your  enamour'd  soul : 
Nesera !  whose  bright  charms  your  verse  displays. 
Seeks  a  new  lover,  and  inconstant  strays ! 
For  thee  no  more  with  mutual  warmth  she  burns. 
But  thy  chaste  house,  and  chaste  embrace,  she  spurns. 

"O  cruel,  perjur'd,  false,  intriguing  sex! 
O  born  with  woes,  poor  wretched  man  to  vex! 
Whoe'er  has  learn'd  her  lover  to  betray, 
Her  beauty  perish,  and  her  name  decay ! 

"Yet,  as  the  sex  will  change,  avoid  despair; 
A  patient  homage  may  subdue  the  fair. 
Fierce  love  taught  man  to  suffer,  laugh  at  pain ; 
Fierce  love  taught  man,  with  joy,  to  drag  the  chain; 
Fierce  love  (nor  vainly  fabulous  the  tale) 
Forc'd  me,  yes  f orc'd  me,  to  the  lonely  dale : 
There  I  Admetus'  snowy  heifers  drove. 
Nor  tun'd  my  lyre,  nor  sung,  absorb'd  in  love. 
The  favourite  son  of  Heaven's  almighty  sire 
Prefer'd  a  straw-pipe  to  his  golden  lyre. 

"Though  false  the  fair,  though  love  is  wild,  obey; 
Or,  youth!  you  know  not  love's  tyrannic  sway. 


ELEGIES  211 

In  plaintive  strains  address  the  haughty  fair ; 
The  haughty  soften  at  the  voice  of  prayer. 
If  ever  true  my  Delphian  answers  prove, 
Bear  this  my  message  to  the  maid  you  love : 

"Pride  of  your  sex,  and  passion  of  the  age! 
No  more  let  other  men  your  love  engage; 
A  bard  on  you  the  Delian  god  bestows, 
This  match  alone  can  warrant  your  repose." 

He  sung.    When  Morpheus  from  my  pillow  flew. 
And  plung'd  me  in  substantial  griefs  anew. 

Ah !  who  could  think  that  thou  hadst  broke  thy  vows, 
That  thou,  Neaera !  sought'st  another  spouse  ? 
Such  horrid  crimes,  as  all  mankind  detest, 
Could  they,  how  could  they,  harbour  in  thy  breast  ? 
The  ruthless  deep,  I  know,  was  not  thy  sire ; 
Nor  fierce  chimaera,  belching  floods  of  fire; 
Nor  didst  thou  from  the  triple  monster  spring, 
Round  whom  a  coil  of  kindred  serpents  cling; 
Thou  art  not  of  the  Lybian  lions'  seed, 
Of  bajking  Scylla's,  nor  Charybdis'  breed: 
Nor  Afric's  sands,  nor  Scythia  gave  thee  birth; 
But  a  compassionate,  benignant  earth. 
No:  thou,  my  fair!  deriv'st  thy  noble  race 
From  parents  deck'd  with  every  human  grace.^ 

Ye  gods !  avert  the  woes  that  haunt  my  mind, 
And  give  the  cruel  phantoms  to  the  wind. 

ELEGY  V 

While  you  -  at  Tuscan  baths  for  pleasure  stay, 
(Too  hot  when  Sirius  darts  his  sultry  ray. 
Though  now  the  purple  spring  adorns  the  trees, 
Not  Baia's^  more  medicinal  than  these,) 


1  Tibullus  here  very  cannily  ingratiates  himself  with  the  father  and 

mother  of  his  beloved. 

-  Unknown  friends  of  the  poet. 

'  Baia  was  the  most  remarkable  warm  bath  in  Italy.     The  name  of 

it  came  in  time  to  stand  for  thermce  in  general. 


212  TIBULLUS 

Me  harder  fates  attend,  my  youth  decays: 
Yet  spare,  Persephone !  my  blameless  days : 
With  secret  wickedness  unstung  my  soul ; 
I  never  mix'd  nor  gave  the  baneful  bowl; 
I  ne'er  the  holy  mysteries  proclaim'd; 
I  fir'd  no  temple,  and  no  god  defam'd  : 
Age  has  not  snow'd  my  jetty  locks  with  white, 
Nor  bent  my  body,  nor  decay'd  my  sight : 
(When  both  the  consuls^  fell,  ah  fatal  morn! 
Fatal  to  Roman  freedom!    I  was  born) 
Apples  unripe,  what  folly  'tis  to  pull. 
Or  crush  the  cluster  ere  the  grapes  are  full! 

Ye  gloomy  gods!  whom  Acheron  obeys, 
Dispel  my  sickness,  and  prolong  my  days. 
Ere  to  the  shades  my  dreary  steps  I  take. 
Or  ferry  o'er  the  irremeable  lake. 
Let  me  (with  age  when  wrinkled  all  my  face) 
Tell  ancient  stories  to  my  listening  race : 
Thrice  five  long  days  and  nights  consum'd  with  fire, 
(O  soothe  its  rage!)  I  gradually  expire: 
While  you  the  Naiad  of  your  fountain  praise. 
Or  lave,  or  spend  in  gentle  sport  your  days: 
Yet,  O  my  friends!  whate'er  the  Fates  decree, 
Joy  guide  your  steps,  and  still  remember  me! 

Meantime,  to  deprecate  the  fierce  disease, 
And  hasten  glad  returns  of  vigorous  ease ; 
Milk,  mix'd  with  wine,  O  promise  to  bestow, 
And  sable  victims,  on  the  gods  below. ^ 


*  Hirtius   and   Pansa   were  killed   on   the   tenth   of   the    calends   of 

April,  A.u.c.  710  (B.C.  43). 

2  Black  cattle  were  the  only  victims  sacrificed  to  the  dit  inferni 


ELEGIES  213 

ELEGY   VP 

Lover 

Come,  Bacchus,  come !  so  may  the  mystic  vine 
And  verdant  ivy  round  thy  temples  twine! 
My  pains,  the  anguish  I  endure,  remove: 
Oft  hast  thou  vanquish'd  the  fierce  pangs  of  love. 
Haste,  boy ;  with  old  Falernian  crown  the  bowl ; 
In  the  gay  cordial  let  me  drench  my  soul. 
Hence,  gloomy  care !  I  give  you  to  the  wind : 
The  god  of  fancy  frolics  in  my  mind. 
My  dear  companions !  favour  my  design ; 
Let's  drown  our  senses  all  in  rosy  wine! 

Companion 

Those  may  the  fair  with  practis'd  guile  abuse, 
Who,  sourly  wise,  the  gay  dispute  refuse : 
The  jolly  god  can  cheerfulness  impart. 
Enlarge  the  soul,  and  pour  out  all  the  heart. 

Lover 

But  Love  the  monsters  of  the  wood  can  tame, 
The  wildest  tigers  own  the  powerful  flame : 
He  bends  the  stubborn  to  his  awful  sway, 
And  melts  insensibility  away: 
So  wide  the  reign  of  Love !  # 

Companion 

Wine,  wine,  dear  boy! 
Can  any  here  in  empty  goblets  joy? 
No,  no ;  the  god  can  never  disapprove. 
That  those  who  praise  him  should  a  bumper  love. 


^  This  poem,  which  is  one  continued  struggle  between  the  powers  of 
love  and  wine,  but  in  which  the  latter  triumphs  over  the  former, 
the  translator  has  thrown   into  a  dialogue  between  the  lover  and 
one  of  his  boon  companions. 
XI— 15 


214  TIBULLUS 

What  terrors  arm  his  brow?  the  goblet  drain: 
To  be  too  sober  is  to  be  profane ! 
Her  son,  who  mock'd  his  rites,  Agave  tore,^ 
And  furious  scatter'd  round  the  yelling  shore. 
Such  fears  be  far  from  us,  dread  god  of  wine! 
Thy  rites  we  honour,  we  are  wholly  thine. 
But  let  the  sober  wretch  thy  vengeance  prove : 

Lover 

Or  her  whom  all  my  sufferings  cannot  move ! 
— What  pray'd  I  rashly  for  ?  my  madding  prayer. 
Ye  winds,  disperse,  unratified,  in  air: 
For  though,  my  love !  I'm  blotted  from  your  soul, 
Serenely  rise  your  days,  serenely  roll! 

Companion 

The  lovesick  struggle  past,  again  be  gay : 
Come  crown'd  with  roses,  let's  drink  down  the  day! 

Lover 

Ah  me !  loud-laughing  mirth  how  hard  to  feign ! 
When  doom'd  a  victim  to  love's  dreadful  pain. 
How  forc'd  the  drunken  catch,  the  smiling  jest, 
When  black  solicitude  annoys  the  breast! 

Companion 

Complaints,  away!  the  blithsome  god  of  wine 
Abhors  to  hear  his  genuine  votaries  whine. 


Lover 

You,  Ariadne !  on  a  coast  unknown, 
The  perjur'd  Theseus  wept,  and  wept  alone; 

^  Penthus,  King  of  Thebes,  was  torn  in  pieces  by  his  mother  and 
the  other  Maenades,  for  having  ridiculed  the  newly-introduced  orgies 
of  Bacchus.     See  Ovid,  Met.  lib.  iii.,  and  Theocritus,  Idyll,  xxvi. 


ELEGIES  215 


But  learn'd  Catullus,  in  immortal  strains, 

Has  sung  his  baseness,  and  has  wept  your  pains. 


Companion 

Thrice  happy  they,  who  hear  experience  call. 
And  shun  the  precipice  where  others  fall. 
When  the  fair  clasps  you  to  her  breast,  beware, 
Nor  trust  her,  by  her  eyes  although  she  swear ; 
Not  though,  to  drive  suspicion  from  your  breast, 
Or  love's  soft  queen,  or  Juno  she  attest: 
No  truth  the  women  know;  their  looks  are  lies. 

Lover 

Yet  Jove  connives  at  amorous  perjuries. 
Hence,  serious  thoughts!  then  why  do  I  complain? 
The  fair  are  licens'd  by  the  gods  to  feign. 
Yet  would  the  guardian-powers  of  gentle  love. 
This  once  indulgent  to  my  wishes  prove, 
Each  day  we  then  should  laugh,  and  talk,  and  toy; 
And  pass  each  night  in  Hymeneal  joy. 
O  yet  my  passion  fix  thy  faithless  heart! 
For  still  I  love  thee,  faithless  as  thou  art. 
Bacchus  the  Naiad  loves ;  ^  then  haste,  my  boy  I 
My  wine  to  temper  cooler  streams  employ. 
What  though  the  smiling  board  Neaera  flies. 
And  in  a  rival's  arms  perfidious  lies; 
The  live-long  night,  all  sleepless,  must  I  whine? 
Not  I— 

Companion 

Quick,  servants!  bring  us  stronger  wine. 


3  Bacchus  was  brought  up  by  the  nymphs ;  which,  says  Vulpius,  is  a 
poetical  figment,  signifying  that  wine  ought  to  be  mixed  with  water. 


216  TIBULLUS 


Lover 


Now  Syrian  odours  scent  the  festal  room, 
Let  rosy  garlands  on  our  foreheads  bloom. 


ELEGY  VII 

To  you  my  tongue  eternal  fealty  swore, 

My  lips  the  deed  with  conscious  rapture  own; 

A  fickle  libertine  I  rove  no  more, 

You  only  please,  and  lovely  seem  alone. 

The  numerous  beauties  that  gay  Rome  can  boast. 
With  you  compar'd,  are  ugliness  at  best ; 

On  me  their  bloom  and  practis'd  smiles  are  lost, 
Drive  then,  my  fair !  suspicion  from  your  breast. 

Ah,  no!  suspicion  is  the  test  of  love: 

I  too  dread  rivals,  I'm  suspicious  grown; 

Your  charms  the  most  insensate  heart  must  move ; 
Would  you  were  beauteous  in  my  eyes  alone ! 

I  want  not  man  to  envy  my  sweet  fate, 
I  little  care  that  others  think  me  bless'd ; 

Of  happy  conquests  let  the  coxcomb  prate! 
Vain-glorious  vaunts  the  silent  wise  detest. 

Supremely  pleas'd  with  you,  my  heavenly  fair! 

In  any  trackless  desert  I  could  dwell ; 
From  our  recess  your  smiles  would  banish  care, 

Your  eyes  give  lustre  to  the  midnight  cell. 

For  various  converse  I  should  long  no  more. 
The  blithe,  the  moral,  witty,  and  severe ; 

Its  various  arts  are  her's  whom  I  adore : 
She  can  depress,  exalt,  instruct,  and  cheer. 


POEMS  217 

Should  mighty  Jove  send  down  from  heaven  a  maid. 
With  Venus'  cestus  zon'd,  my  faith  to  try; 

(So,  as  I  truth  declare,  me  Juno  aid!) 
For  you  I'd  scorn  the  charmer  of  the  sky. 

But  hold: — you're  mad  to  vow,  unthinking  fool! 

Her  boundless  sway  you're  mad  to  let  her  know : 
Safe  from  alarms,  she'll  treat  you  as  a  tool — • 

Ah,  babbling  tongue!  from  thee  what  mischiefs  flow. 

Yet  let  her  use  me  with  neglect,  disdain ; 

In  all,  subservient  to  her  will  I'll  prove : 
Whate'er  I  feel,  her  slave  I'll  still  remain, 

Who  shrinks  from  sorrow  cannot  be  in  love ! 

Imperial  queen  of  bliss!  with  fetters  bound, 

I'll  sit  me  down  before  your  holy  fane ; 
You  kindly  heal  the  constant  lover's  wound, 

The'  inconstant  torture  with  increase  of  pain. 


BOOK  IV 

[POEMS    OF   SULPICIA?] 

Some  of  the  best  modern  commentators  contend,  that  the  little 
poems  which  compose  this  fourth  book,  are  not  the  work  of  Tibullus. 
Their  chief  arguments  are  derived  from  the  language  and  sentiment; 
in  both  which,  it  is  said  (and  with  more  justice  than  is  common 
on  such  occasions),  that  they  bear  no  resemblance  to  our  poet's 
productions. 

But  if  the  following  little  pieces  are  not  the  composition  of 
Tibullus,  to  whom  shall  we  impute  them?  Shall  we,  with  Caspar 
Barthius  and  Broekhusius,  ascribe  them  to  Sulpicia,  the  wife  of 
Calenus,  who  flourished  in  the  reign  of  Domitian?  This  opinion  is 
by  no  means  improbable;  for  we  know  from  Martial  and  Sidonius 
Apolinaris,  that  Sulpicia  was  eminent  in  those  days  for  her  poetry. 

But  if  the  fourth  book  was  composed  by  Sulpicia,  how  comes  it 
(objects  Vulpius)  to  be  found  in  all  the  ancient  MSS.  of  Tibullus? 
To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  the  old  librarians  used  commonly, 


218  SULPICIA 

in  order  to  enhance  the  price  of  their  MSS.,  to  join  to  an  author, 
who  had  not  left  many  works  behind  him,  any  writer  who  com- 
posed in  what  they  thought  a  similar  taste.  By  this  means,  a  satire, 
which  our  Sulpicia  certainly  wrote,  was  long  ascribed  by  some  to 
Juvenal,  and  by  others  to  Ausonius,  from  having  been  found  in  the 
MS.  works  of  those  two  poets;  till  some  critics  of  more  understand- 
ing [Scaliger,  etc.]  proved  to  the  learned,  neither  Juvenal,  nor  Auso- 
nius, but  Martial's  Sulpicia  wrote  it.  [This  Satire  is  given  in  vol- 
ume three.] 

The  reader  must  determine  the  question  for  himself.  But  if 
the  translator  might  be  permitted  to  pronounce  on  the  subject,  he 
would  say,  that  if  any  weight  might  be  laid  on  difference  of  style, 
and  especially  of  thought,  the  following  poems  cannot  be  the  work 
of  Tibullus: — but  whether  Martial's  Sulpicia,  or  who  else  wrote 
them,  is  not  in  his  power  to  determine. 

POEM  I 

Great  god  of  war !  Sulpicia,  lovely  maid, 

To  grace  your  calends,  is  in  pomp  array'd. 

If  beauty  warms  you,  quit  the'  ethereal  height, 

E'en  Cytherea  will  indulge  the  sight : 

But  while  you  gaze  o'er  all  her  matchless  charms, 

Beware  your  hands  should  meanly  drop  your  arms ! 

When  Cupid  would  the  gods  with  love  surprise. 

He  lights  his  torches  at  her  radiant  eyes. 

A  secret  grace  her  every  act  improves, 

And  pleasing  follows  wheresoe'er  she  moves. 

If  loose  her  hair  upon  her  bosom  plays, 

Unnumbered  charms  that  negligence  betrays ; 

Or  if  'tis  plaited  with  a  labour'd  care. 

Alike  the  labour'd  plaits  become  the  fair, 

WTiether  rich  Tyrian  robes  her  charms  invest. 

Or  all  in  snowy  white  the  nymph  is  drest, 

AH,  all  she  graces,  still  supremely  fair, 

Still  charms  spectators  with  a  fond  despair. 

A  thousand  dresses  thus  Vertumnus  wears, 

And  beauteous  equally  in  each  appears. 

The  richest  tints  and  deepest  Tyrian  hue, 
To  thee,  O  wondrous  maid!  are  solely  due: 


POEMS  219 

To  thee  the'  Arabian  husbandman  should  bring 
The  spicy  produce  of  his  eastern  spring: 
Whatever  gems  the  swarthly  Indians  boast, 
Their  shelly  treasures,  and  their  golden  coast, 
Alone  thou  merit'st :  come,  ye  tuneful  choir! 
And  come,  bright  Phcebus!  with  thy  plausive  lyre: 
This  solemn  festival  harmonious  praise. 
No  theme  so  much  deserves  harmonious  lays. 

POEM  II 

Whether,  fierce  churning  boars!  in  meads  ye  stray, 
Or  haunt  the  shady  mountain's  devious  way, 
Whet  not  your  tusks ;  my  lov'd  Cerinthus  *  spare ! 
Know,  Cupid !  I  consign  him  to  your  care. 
What  madness  'tis,  shag'd  trackless  wilds  to  beat. 
And  wound,  with  pointed  thorns,  your  tender  feet. 

O!  why  to  savage  beasts  your  charms  oppose? 
With  toils  and  blood-hounds  why  their  haunts  enclose? 
The  lust  of  game  decoys  you  far  away: 
Ye  blood-hounds  perish,  and  ye  toils  decay! 

Yet,  yet  could  I  with  lov'd  Cerinthus  rove 
Through  dreary  desarts,  and  the  thorny  grove : 
The  cumbrous  meshes  on  my  shoulders  bear, 
And  face  the  monsters  with  my  barbed  spear : 
Could  track  the  bounding  stags  through  tainted  grounds, 
Beat  up  their  cover,  and  unchain  the  hounds. 

But  most  to  spread  our  artful  toils  I'd  joy, 
For  while  we  watch'd  them,  I  could  clasp  the  boy! 
Then,  as  entranc'd  in  amorous  bliss  we  lay, 
Mix'd  soul  with  soul,  and  melted  all  away : 
Snar'd  in  our  nets,  the  boar  might  safe  retire, 
And  owe  his  safety  to  our  mutual  fire, 

O!  without  me  ne'er  taste  the  joys  of  love; 
But  a  chaste  hunter  in  my  absence  prove. 
And  O I  my  boars  the  wanton  fair  destroy, 
Who  would  Cerinthus  to  their  arms  decoy! 


^  A  feigned  name,  applied  only  to  a  handsome  youth. 


220  SULPICIA 

Yet,  yet  I  dread. — Be  sports  your  father's  care; 
But  you,  all  passion !  to  my  arms  repair ! 

POEM  III 

Come,  Phoebus !  with  your  loosely  floating  hair, 
O  soothe  her  torture,  and  restore  the  fair! 
Come,  quickly  come!  we  supplicant  implore. 
Such  charms  your  happy  skill  ne'er  sav'd  before! 
Let  not  her  frame,  consumptive,  pine  away. 
Her  eyes  grow  languid,  and  her  bloom  decay; 
Propitious  come !  and  with  you  bring  along 
Each  pain-subduing  herb,  and  soothing  song; 
Or  real  ills,  or  whate'er  ills  we  fear, 
To  ocean's  furthest  verge  let  torrents  bear. 
O!  rack  no  more,  with  harsh,  unkind  delays, 
The  youth,  who  ceaseless  for  her  safety  prays ; 
'Twixt  love  and  rage  his  tortur'd  soul  is  torn; 
And  now  he  prays,  now  treats  the  gods  with  scorn. 

Take  heart,  fond  youth !  you  have  not  vainly  pray'd 
Still  persevere  to  love  the'  enchanting  maid : 
Sulpicia  is  your  own !  for  you  she  sighs. 
And  slights  all  other  conquests  of  her  eyes : 
Dry  then  your  tears ;  your  tears  would  fitly  flow 
Did  she  on  others  her  esteem  bestow. 

O  come!  w^hat  honour  will  be  yours,  to  save 
At  once  two  lovers  from  the  doleful  grave  ? 
Then  both  will,  emulous,  exalt  your  skill ; 
With  grateful  tablets,  both  your  temples  fill: 
Both  heap  with  spicy  gums  your  sacred  fire : 
Both  sing  your  praises  to  the'  harmonious  lyre : 
Your  brother  gods  will  prize  your  healing  powers, 
Lament  their  attributes,  and  envy  yours. 

POEM  IV 

On  my  account,  to  grief  a  ceaseless  prey. 
Dost  thou  a  sympathetic  anguish  prove  ? 

I  would  not  wish  to  live  another  day. 
If  my  recovery  did  not  charm  my  love: 


POEMS  221 

For  what  were  life,  and  health,  and  bloom  to  me, 
Were  they  displeasing,  beauteous  youth!  to  thee? 

POEM  V 

With  feasts  I'll  ever  grace  the  sacred  morn, 
When  my  Cerinthus,  lovely  youth,  was  born. 
At  birth,  to  you  the'  unerring  sisters  sung 
Unbounded  empire  o'er  the  gay  and  young  : 
But  I,  chief  I,  (if  you  my  love  repay). 
With  rapture  own  your  ever-pleasing  sway. 
This  I  conjure  you,  by  your  charming  eyes, 
Where  love's  soft  god  in  wanton  ambush  lies: 
This  by  your  genius,  and  the  joys  we  stole, 
Whose  sweet  remembrance  still  enchants  my  soul. 
Great  natal  genius !  grant  my  heart's  desire, 
So  shall  I  heap  with  costly  gums  your  fire. 
Whenever  fancy  paints  me  to  the  boy. 
Let  his  breast  pant  with  an  impatient  joy: 
But  if  the  libertine  for  others  sigh, 
(Which  love  forbid)  O  love!  your  aid  deny. 
Nor,  love!  be  partial,  let  us  both  confess 
The  pleasing  pain;  or  make  my  passion  less. 
But  O !  much  rather  'tis  my  soul's  desire, 
That  both  may  feel  an  equal,  endless  fire. 
In  secret  my  Cerinthus  begs  the  same, 
But  the  youth  blushes  to  confess  his  flame : 
Assent,  thou  god !  to  whom  his  heart  is  known, 
Whether  he  public  ask,  or  secret  own. 

POEM  VI    - 

Accept,  O  natal  queen!  with  placent  air. 

The  incense  oflfer'd  by  the  learned  fair. 

She's  rob'd  in  cheerful  pomp,  O  power  divine! 

She's  rob'd  to  decorate  your  matron-shrine: — 

Such  her  pretence ;  but  well  her  lover  knows 

Whence  her  gay  look,  and  whence  her  finery  flows. 

Thou,  who  dost  o'er  the  nuptial  bed  preside, 
Oh !  let  not  envious  night  their  joys  divide. 


222  SULPICIA 

But  make  the  bridegroom  amorous  as  the  bride! 
So  shall  they  tally,  matchless  lovely  pair! 
A  youth  all  transport,  and  a  melting  fair ! 
Then  let  no  spies  their  secret  haunts  explore, 
Teach  them  thy  wiles,  O  love!  and  guard  the  door. 

Assent,  chaste  queen !  in  purple  pomp  appear ; 
Thrice  wine  is  pour'd,  and  cakes  await  you,  here. 
Her  mother  tells  her  for  what  boon  to  pray; 
Her  heart  denies  it,  though  her  lips  obey. 
She  burns,  that  altar  as  the  flames  devour ; 
She  burns,  and  slights  the  safety  in  her  power. 
So  may  the  boy,  whose  chains  you  proudly  wear, 
Through  youth  the  soft  indulgent  anguish  bear; 
And  when  old  age  has  chill'd  his  every  vein, 
The  dear  remembrance  may  he  still  retain ! 

POEM  VII 

At  last  the  natal  odious  morn  draws  nigh, 
When  to  your  cold,  cold  villa  ^  I  must  go ; 

There,  far,  too  far  from  my  Cerinthus  sigh : 
Oh  why,  Messala!  will  you  plague  me  so? 

Let  studious  mortals  prize  the  silvan  scene; 

And  ancient  maidens  hide  them  in  the  shade; 
Green  trees  perpetually  give  me  the  spleen ; 

For  crowds,  for  joy,  for  Rome,  Sulpicia's  made; 

Your  too  officious  kindness  gives  me  pain. 

How  fall  the  hailstones !  hark !  how  howls  the  wind ! 
Then  know,  to  grace  your  birth-day  should  I  deign, 

My  soul,  my  all,  I  leave  at  Rome  behind. 

POEM  VIII 

At  last  the  fair's  determin'd  not  to  go: 

My  lord  1  you  know  the  whimsies  of  the  sex. 


*  Situated  on  a  high  hill  (now  Monte  Ritondo). 


POEMS  223 

Then  let  ns  gay  carouse,  let  odours  flow; 

Your  mind  no  longer  with  her  absence  vex. 
For  oh !  consider,  time  incessant  flies ; 
But  every  day's  a  birth-day  to  the  wise ! 

POEM  IX 

That  I,  descended  of  Patrician  race, 

With  charms  of  fortune,  and  with  charms  of  face, 

Am  so  indifferent  grown  to  you  of  late, 

So  little  car'd  for,  now  excites  no  hate. 

Rare  taste,  and  worthy  of  a  poet's  brain; 

To  prey  on  garbage,  and  a  slave  adore! 
In  such  to  find  out  charms  a  bard  must  feign 

Beyond  what  fiction  ever  feign'd  of  yore. 
Her  friends  may  think  Sulpicia  is  disgrac'd ; 
No!  no!  she  honours  your  transcendent  taste. 

POEM  X 

If  from  the  bottom  of  my  lovesick  heart. 
Of  last  night's  coyness  I  do  not  repent; 
May  I  no  more  your  tender  anguish  hear, 
No  longer  see  you  shed  the'  impassiond'd  tear. 

You  grasp'd  my  knees,  and  yet  to  let  you  part — 
O  night  more  happy  with  Cerinthus  spent ! 
My  flame  with  coyness  to  conceal  I  thought, 
But  this  concealment  was  too  dearly  bought. 

POEM  XI       . 

Fame  says,  my  mistress  loves  another  swain; 
Would  I  were  deaf,  when  Fame  repeats  the  wrong! 
All  crimes  to  her  imputed,  give  me  pain, 
Not  change  my  love :  Fame,  stop  your  saucy  tongue ! 

POEM  XII 

Let  other  maids,  whose  eyes  less  prosperous  prove, 
Publish  my  weakness,  and  condemn  my  love : 


224  SULPICIA 

Exult,  my  heart !  at  last  the  queen  of  joy, 
Won  by  the  music  of  her  votary's  strain, 

Leads  to  the  couch  of  bliss  herself  the  boy, 
And  bids  enjoyment  thrill  in  every  vein : 
Last  night  entranc'd  in  ecstasy  we  lay, 
And  chid  the  quick,  too  quick  return  of  day ! 
But  stop  my  hand!  beware  what  loose  you  scrawl, 
Lest  into  curious  hands  the  billet  fall. 
No — the   remembrance  charms ! — begone,   grimace ! 
Matrons!  be  yours  formality  of  face. 
Know,  with  a  youth  of  worth,  the  night  I  spent. 
And  cannot,  cannot,  for  my  soul  repent ! 


THE   ELEGIES  OF 
PROPERTIUS 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE  BY 

SIR  CHARLES  ABRAHAM  ELTON 


WITH  A  LIFE  OF  PROPERTIUS 

BY  THE  SAME 


INTRODUCTION 

LIFE   OF   PROPERTIUS 

The  general  opinion  of  the  birth-place  of  Sextus  Aurelius 
Propertius  has  been  formed  from  a  passage  in  the  first  elegy 
of  the  fourth  book  on  Rome:  where  he  supposes  himself  ad- 
dressed by  an  astrologer,  who  dissuades  him  from  the  higher 
walk  of  historic  poetry. 

Thy  seat  is  ancient  Umbria:  do  I  feign? 
Or  touch  I  not  upon  thy  native  plain? 
Where  dank  Mevania  drips  with  hollow  vale, 
And  Umber's  lake  feels   warm  the  summer  gale; 
Where  on  a  rising  cliff  ascends  the  town, 
That  from  thy  genius  borrows  its  renown. 

Scaliger,  however,  was  of  opinion,  that  the  Mevania  of  the 
above  passage  was  not  a  town,  but  tract  of  country:  and 
thought  the  place  meant  was  Ameria.  The  dispute  has  been 
agitated  between  no  fewer  than  nine  cities :  so  that  Propertius 
has,  in  this  respect,  received  a  higher  compliment  than  Homer. 
But  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Thaddaeus 
Donnola,  in  his  "  Dissertationes  de  Patria  Propertii,"  argued 
in  favour  of  Hispellum,  now  Spello,  also  in  Umbria;  and  the 
sagacity  of  his  conjecture  has  been  confirmed  by  a  singular 
discovery.  In  1722,  some  workmen  who  were  employed  by  a 
lady  of  the  name  of  Theresa  Pamphylia,  to  make  some  altera- 
tions in  her  villa  at  Spello,  dug  up  a  flint-stone  tablet,  with 
this  inscription  in  antique  letters :  "  Sextus  Aurelius  Proper- 
tius, son  of  Sextus,  Lemonian  tribe:"  above  the  inscription 
is  the  sculpture  of  a  head,  with  flowing  hair,  and  above  this 
again,  at  the  top  of  the  stone,  is  the  name  of  "  Lucius  Comin- 
ius,  son  of  Lucius,  Lemonian  tribe."  The  latter  inscription 
is  in  more  recent  characters  than  the  name  of  Propertius,  and 
the  probability  is  that  Cominius  succeeded  to  the  villa,  which 

227 


228  INTRODUCTION 

had  been  that  of  Propertius,  and  engraved  his  name  over 
that  of  the  former  owner. 

There  is  a  spot  planted  with  oHve-trees,  near  the  gate  of 
St.  Barbara,  or  the  Mountain,  in  the  suburbs  of  Spello,  which 
has  been  known  from  time  immemorial  by  the  name  of  "  The 
Poet:"  and  tradition  has  placed  here  the  villa  of  Propertius: 
of  which  some  bricks,  still  remaining  in  the  ground,  are 
pointed  out  as  the  ruins.  A  Latin  inscription  is  found  on  the 
same  spot,  to  the  following  effect: 

Stranger !  behold  Propertius'  fields  appear : 
The  rising  cliff,  the  poet's  name,  are  here. 

From  this  spot  the  stone  tablet  had  been,  in  all  probability, 
removed  to  the  place,  where  it  was  found. 

The  father  of  Propertius  was  a  Roman  knight,  who  served 
with  Lucius  Antonius :  and  it  has  been  usually  thought  that  he 
was  one  of  the  garrison  of  Perusium,  who,  according  to  Sue- 
tonius, were  massacred  after  their  surrender  by  order  of  Octa- 
vius,  at  an  altar  erected  to  Caesar.  Appian,  however,  relates 
that  they  were  the  senators  of  Perusium  only,  with  some  few 
of  his  more  inveterate  enemies,  whom  Octavius  put  to  death; 
and  that  he  was  urged  to  this  by  the  importunity  of  his  own 
army,  who  made  a  special  exception  in  favour  of  the  soldiery. 
Propertius  indeed  mentions  having  buried  his  father  at  an  un- 
timely age ;  but  the  words  "  thou  didst  gather  his  bones  "  seem 
to  imply  that  he  buried  him  in  peace.  His  estates  were  cur- 
tailed by  the  division  of  the  lands  among  the  veterans. 

The  poet  informs  us  that  he  had  scarcely  assumed  the 
manly  gown,  when  he  wrote  verses ;  and  that  he  preferred  this 
occupation  to  the  oratory  of  the  bar.  It  appears  from  his  own 
account  that  he  visited  Athens,  the  fashionable  resort  of  well- 
educated  Romans;  and  his  style  bears  evident  traces  of  his 
fondness  for  the  Greek  language  and  poesy.  His  residence  at 
Rome  was  on  the  Esquiline  hill.  We  learn  from  Apuleius, 
that  the  real  name  of  his  mistress,  Cynthia,  was  Hostia,  the 
daughter  of  Hostius,  who  wrote  a  poem  on  the  "  Istrian  War." 
She  was  dissolute  and  luxurious,  but  accomplished:  an  ele- 
gant dancer;  of  a  critical  taste,  and  herself  a  poetess.     She 


LIFE   OF   PROPERTIUS  229 

appears  to  have  died  before  him :  as  in  the  seventh  elegy,  fourth 
book,  beginning, 

Ghosts  are  not  air:  not  all  with  death  expires, 
The  lucid  shade  escapes  the  vanquished  fires: 

he  supposes  her  apparition  to  visit  her  shimbers.  He  himself 
is  said,  I  know  not  on  what  authority,  to  have  died  at  the  age 
of  forty. 

Propertius  has  been  supposed  by  some  critics  to  be  the 
original  of  the  prattling  fop,  described  by  Horace  as  pestering 
him  through  the  streets  [Sat.  9.  1.  i]. — 


HORACE   AND   THE    BORE 

Sauntering  down  the  Sacred  Way 

(My  usual  stroll)  the  other  day, 

Absorbed  in  personal  affairs 

And  fancies  trifling  as  my  cares, 

I  met  a  chap  (I  knew  the  man 

Only  by  name)  who  forward  ran 

And  grabbed  my  hand:    "  Why,  how  d'  y'  do? 

How  is  the  world  a-treating  you  ?  " 

"  As  times  go,  fairly  well,"  said  I, 

"  Obliged,  I'm  sure.    Fine  day.    Good-bye  I  " 

But  following  after  me  he  came. 

Till  I,  to  block  his  little  game. 

Growled,  "Well,  what  is  it?"  gruff  and  surly. 

Squelched  ?    Not  a  bit.    "  You  know  me,  surely  I 

Why,  I'm  a  fellow  litterateur  I " 

"  I  like  you  none  the  less,  dear  sir ! " 

I  quickly  say,  and  hurry  on. 

Horribly  anxious  to  be  gone. 

Awhile  I  stride  along,  then  stand. 

Whisper  a  slave  some  faked  command, 

And  swear, — the  while  the  sweat  I  feel 

Go  trickling  down  from  head  to  heel. 

"  O  blessed  Bolanus,"  I  said, 

"  With  temper  as  thy  top-not  red ! 

Why  was  I  cursed  with  spirit  civil?" 

The  while  the  toady  spewed  his  drivel, 
XI— 16 


230  INTRODUCTION 

And  slimed  the  town  with  slavering  tone 

From  pinnacle  to  paving  stone. 

To  all  his  observations  dumb, 

I  stalked  along  in  silence  glum. 

Until  at  length  he  said :    "  I  say. 

You're  mighty  keen  to  get  away. 

For  quite  a  while  I've  noticed  it, 

But  you  gain  nothing, — not  a  bit ! 

I'll  stick  it  out  and  follow  through. 

Where  is  this  precious  rendezvous? " 

"  A  place  where  I  must  go  alone ; 

I  visit  one  to  you  unknown : 

Across  the  Tiber  sick  he  lies. 

Near  Caesar's  Gardens."     He  replies, 

"  I've  nothing  on  and  am  not  slow ; 

I'll  toddle  after  where  you  go." 

He'll  tag  along !    O  suffering  Bacchus ! 

I  drop  my  ears  down  as  a  jackass 

That  finds  himself,  already  freighted 

With  ugly  mood,  by  wares  o'erweighted. 

The  bore  begins :    "  If  you  would  make 

A  good  exchange,  for  me  you'd  shake 

Viscus,  your  friend,  or  even  Varius; 

My  talents  are  so  multifarious. 

Write  ?    You  can  bet  your  life  upon  it ! 

You  ought  to  see  me  sling  a  sonnet. 

Or  rattle  off  an  epic.    Sing? 

Say,  would  you  know  the  real  thing, 

Behold  me  warble  like  a  linnet ! 

And  dance?    Hermogenes  ain't  in  it!" 

A  chance  to  interrupt  was  here: 

"  Have  you  no  kindred,  parents  dear, 

Of  whom  you  are  the  single  stay  ?  " 

"  Not  one ;  all  dead  this  many  a  day." 

"  Thrice  happy  folks ;  now,  here  I  stand ; 

Finish  the  job !    The  hour's  at  hand 

Of  which,  when  yet  a  boy,  an  old 

Sabellian  witch  of  me  foretold. 

The  scrolls  were  shaken;  this  unrolled: 

Him  shall  no  post-sent  poison  kill. 

Billy  nor  sandbag  work  him  ill. 

No  pains  rheumatic,  gout  nor  cough, 

Nor  patent  nostrums  hear  him  off; 


LIFE   OF   PROPERTIUS  231 

A  gabbler  shall,  sometime,  destroy 
Him  utterly,  so  let  the  boy. 
If  wise,  when  grown  to  man's  estate. 
Shun  every  fool  and  rattle-pate." 

When  Vesta's  shrine  we  reached  at  last 

A  quarter  of  the  day  had  passed. 

He  was  defendant  in  a  case, 

It  seems,  and  here  at  justice'  place 

He  needs  must  stop  or  jump  his  bail. 

"  You  wouldn't  see  me  go  to  jail? 

It's  only  just  a  step  aside — 

Come,  help  me  out !  "    And  I  replied : 

"If  I  can  stay  or  know  a  jot 

Of  civil  law,  may  I  be  shot! 

Must  hurry  on.    Man  sick,  you  know." 

The  fellow  pondered.    "  Here's  a  go ! 

I  hardly  know  the  thing  to  do — 

Which  shall  I  leave — the  case  or  you?" 

"  Me,  please  !  "    "  No,  that  I  won't,"  he  said. 

And  then  began  to  forge  ahead. 

I,  as  to  strive  with  who  wins 

Is  useless,  follow.    He  begins: 

"  Stand  in  with  old  Maecenas,  eh? 

A  foxy  man,  as  I  should  say. 

To  see  the  way  he  picks  his  friends; 

No  one  has  worked  to  better  ends 

Dame  Fortune's  purse  strings !    If  you'd  make 

A  friend  at  court,  one  who  would  take 

A  second  place,  why,  here  am  I ! 

Just  introduce  me;  may  I  die, 

But  you'd  supplant  'em,  one  and  all !  " 

"  We  live  not  at  Maecenas'  hall 

In  such  a  wrangle.    Search  all  Rome, 

You  cannot  find  a  purer  home. 

Or  happier;  and,"  I  reply, 

"  That  he  has  chosen  nearer  friends. 

Concerns  me  not,  nor  does  it  you. 

Each  has  his  place,  and  keeps  it,  too !  " 

"  That  beats  my  time ;  the  thing  you  tell. 

It  has  a  rather  fishy  smell !  " 

"It's  straight."    "You're  adding  oil  to  fire. 

Inflaming  doubly  my  desire 


232  INTRODUCTION 

To  warm  up  to  him  as  a  friend." 

"  Your  simple  wish  should  win  that  end ; 

Such  is  your  all-transcendent  worth, 

From  his  reserve  'twill  draw  him  forth. 

He's  easy,  but  he  knows  it;  so 

He  makes  the  first  approaches  slow." 

"  Trust  me  to  manage  that !     With  fees 

His  porter's  hands  I'll  slyly  grease, 

Nor,  if  I  am  shut  out  one  day, 

Will  I  give  up  and  go  away. 

I'll  seek  occasions,  plan  to  greet 

Him  often  on  the  public  street 

With  all  the  people  by  to  know  it. 

And  see  him  home.    What  says  the  poet? 

Life  gave  naught  to  mortals  ever 

But  with  strife  and  great  endeavor. 

He  is  still  spouting  when  we  come 
On  Fuscus,  my  particular  chum; 
A  rascal  rounder;  knows  the  bore 
Most  beautifully.    The  greetings  o'er. 
That  he  may  free  me,  I  begin 
To  pinch  his  most  unfeeling  skin, 
To  nod,  to  nudge,  to  wink,  to  grin. 
The  wicked  wag  feigns  with  a  smile 
He  doesn't  see.  and  all  the  while 
My  liver  boils  with  angry  bile. 
"  I'm  ready,  Fuscus,  now  to  chat 

About  the  little  business  that " 

"  To  times  less  sacred,  my  dear  sir. 
My  worldly  matters  I  defer; 
This  is  the  thirtieth  Sabbath  Day! 
Would  you  offend  the  Jews,  I  pray?  " 
"Religion  doesn't  bother  me," 
"  But  I'm  rather  weak,  you  see, 
One  of  the  common  herd  of  men; 
Beg  pardon,  but  I'll  talk  again." 
Woe  worth  the  unpropitious  day! 
The  heartless  rascal  slips  away. 
And,  like  a  toad  beneath  the  harrow, 
I'm  left  to  writhe  in  quarters  narrow. 
However,  here  we're  overtaken 
By  plaintiff  in  the  case  forsaken, 


LIFE   OF   PROPERTIUS  233 

Who,  hot  and  angry,  at  us  flies. 
"  You  welcher ! "  to  the  bore  he  cries ; 
Then  turns  to  me.    "  Will  you  appear 
As  witness?"    I  present  my  ear  ^ 
Right  heartily.     A  fight's  begun, 
A  mob  collects  to  see  the  fun. 
At  last  he's  dragged  to  chancery. 
And  so  Apollo  rescued  me. 

Translated  by  M.  M.  M.. 


It  is  said  that  Horace  has  mentioned  Tibullus;  but  it  is 
strange  he  should  not  have  mentioned  Propertius  also;  that 
therefore  he  must  have  disliked  him  ;  that  the  fop  made  verses : 
therefore  the  fop  could  be  no  other  than  Propertius.  Had 
Horace  no  friends  or  acquaintances  but  those  whom  he  names 
in  his  writings  ?  or  could  Rome  produce  but  one  fop  who  wrote 
verses?  To  give  substance  to  this  shadowy  possibility,  we 
have  an  appeal  to  the  works  of  Propertius,  in  proof  of  his 
boastful  character.  This  is  to  lose  sight  of  the  ancient  man- 
ners, and  of  the  taste  and  style  of  Roman  poetry  itself.  If 
Propertius  call  himself  "  the  Roman  Callimachus,"  Horace 
boasts  that  he  is  the  "  Prince  of  ^olic  verse."  Ovid  is  full  of 
these  boastings :  yet  we  hear  nothing  of  the  arrogance  of  Ovid 
and  Horace.  There  is  indeed  one  circumstance  which  would 
seem  to  impeach  the  modesty  of  Propertius:  he  appears  to 
claim  the  honour  of  having  first  introduced  the  elegy  in 
Roman  poetry :  he  speaks  of  treading  a  new  path :  and  of 
culling  the  flowers  of  his  verse  from  untrodden  recesses  of 
Helicon.  Now  Ovid  would  not  have  wronged  the  just  fame 
of  Propertius,  for  he  speaks  of  their  close  intimacy:  Trist. 
b.  4,  el.  10. 

To  me  Propertius  would  his  flames  recite: 

Whose  heart  was  mine  by  friendship's  equal  right: 

Yet  he  distinctly  ranks  Tibullus  as  preceding  Propertius  in  the 
chronological  order  of  amatory  poets: 


^  The  Roman  legal  summons  was  served  by  touching  the  ear. 


234  INTRODUCTION 

Virgil  I  but  beheld:  and  greedy  fate 
Denied  TibuUus'  friendship;   wished  too  late: 
He  followed  Gallus:  next  Propertius  came: 
The  last  was  I:  the  fourth  successive  name. 


The  pretensions  of  originality  are  here,  certainly,  contra- 
dicted by  such  evidence  of  simple  facts  as  must  have  appealed 
to  the  knowledge  of  every  man  in  Rome ;  and  it  is  but  reason- 
able to  ask,  whether,  if  the  contradiction  were  so  easy,  it  is 
likely  that  Propertius  would  have  risked  the  ridicule  of  the 
exposure?  for  though  we  are  told,  with  sentimental  pomp, 
that  Tibullus  repaid  this  unworthy  attempt  to  rob  him  of  the 
glory  of  invention  with  the  silent  disdain  which  it  deserved, 
there  is  no  shadow  of  proof  of  this :  beyond  what  is  less  than 
a  shadow,  the  omission  of  Tibullus  of  his  name.  Why  Tibul- 
lus and  Propertius  ought,  in  the  course  of  things,  to  have  been 
bosom  friends,  and  to  have  talked  incessantly  of  each  other,  I 
can  find  no  reason,  except  that  these  poets  are  usually  bound 
together  in  one  volume.  The  notion  that  Horace  would  natur- 
ally be  the  friend  of  Propertius,  because  he  was  the  friend  of 
Tibullus,  seems  to  rest  on  no  better  foundation ;  and  therefore 
I  cannot  see  the  necessity  of  the  alternative,  that  they  were  at 
variance.  Their  acquaintance  is  probable,  as  they  must  have 
met  at  the  levees  and  entertainments  of  their  common  patron 
Maecenas :  but  if  the  omission  of  the  name  of  Propertius  by 
Horace  and  Tibullus  be  a  proof  of  their  contempt  for  him, 
half  the  poets  in  Rome  are  in  the  same  predicament. 

I  think  the  nature  of  the  claim,  preferred  by  Propertius, 
has  been  misunderstood.  From  his  genius  we  may  fairly  con- 
clude that  he  was  not  deficient  in  understanding ;  that  he  was 
respected  at  the  Roman  court  is  evident  from  the  notice  and 
encouragement  of  Maecenas ;  and  it  is  plain  that  Ovid  men- 
tions his  friendship,  as  something  of  which  to  be  proud.  As 
a  gentleman,  a  scholar,  and  a  man  of  sense,  it  is  utterly  in- 
credible that  he  should  have  arrogated  to  himself  the  invention 
of  the  Latin  elegy,  in  the  face  of  all  the  wits  of  Rome,  who 
had  the  elegies  of  Tibullus  by  heart,  and  would  have  laughed 
down  his  pretensions  at  the  corner  of  every  street.  I  am  of 
opinion  that  Propertius  alludes  to  his  imitation  of  the  Greek 


LIFE   OF    PROPERTIUS  235 

elegiac  poets;  and  that  he  claims  only  the  merit  of  having 
introduced  their  style  of  elegy.  He  distinctly  says,  that  he 
came  from  the  fountain  head,  and  taught  the  orgies  of  Greek 
poesy  to  the  choir  of  Italian  Muses.  He  frequently  adverts 
to  Callimachus  and  Philetas  as  his  masters  and  inspirers ;  and 
we  should  probably  find,  were  we  in  possession  of  their  elegies, 
that  he  was  their  imitator,  if  not  their  translator.  That  the 
Romans  did  not  consider  translation  as  detracting  from  the 
praise  of  genius  appears  from  the  instance  of  the  comedies  of 
Terence,  copied  from  Menander;  and  from  the  passages  in 
Virgil's  yEneid  and  Georgics,  which  are  borrowed  from 
Homer  and  Aratus. 

Considered  as  a  writer  of  amorous  elegy,  Propertius  has 
not  the  unstudied  easy  elegance  of  Tibullus.  His  compositions 
have  an  air  of  labour  and  ostentatious  erudition :  he  affects  a 
close  and  obscure  style ;  delights  in  Grecisms  and  remote  terms ; 
and  clogs  his  subject  by  thick-sown  allusions  to  the  fables  of 
heroic  mythology.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this  appearance  of 
art,  a  vehemence  of  feeling  continually  breaks  out,  which  par- 
takes strongly  of  the  enthusiasm  of  true  poetry ;  and  his  starts 
and  transitions,  though  they  have  been  blamed,  without  con- 
sideration, as  irregularly  digressive,  naturally  express  the  emo- 
tions of  love.  It  is  in  the  stormier  moments  of  passion,  in  the 
pangs  of  jealousy,  and  the  torments  of  despair,  that  the  ex- 
cellence of  Propertius  mostly  consists :  a  vein  of  sarcasm  and 
bitter  irony  runs  through  many  of  his  elegies;  and  this  is  the 
cause,  why  his  poems  have  more  of  spirit  and  variety  than 
the  smoother  elegies  of  Tibullus.  Compared  generally  as 
poets,  the  genius  of  Propertius  is  of  a  more  lofty  stamp  than 
that  of  Tibullus.  He  has  a  greater  depth  of  thought,  and  a 
higher  reach  of  fancy.  There  are  several  hints  in  his  poems 
of  his  having  been  urged  by  Maecenas  to  undertake  an  epic 
work.  From  the  Elegy  on  Rome  he  appears  to  have  contem- 
plated a  poem  on  the  Roman  Antiquities,  sacred  and  profane : 
an  intimation  which  was,  probably,  the  origin  of  Ovid's  Fasts 
or  Festivals :  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Epistolary  Elegy,  from 
Arethusa  to  Lycotas,  was  undoubtedly  the  forerunner  of  that 
poet's  heroical  and  amatory  epistles.  Propertius,  however, 
seems  to  have  shrunk  from  any  great  undertaking,  either  from 


236  INTRODUCTION 

diffidence  or,  more  probably,  indolence  and  a  love  of  pleas- 
ure. That  his  natural  genius  was  equal  to  higher  attempts, 
the  occasional  sublimity  of  his  sentiments  will  attest;  but 
to  judge  from  his  usual  strain  of  poetry,  he  was  the  slave  of 
voluptuous  and  debasing  habits:  and  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  he  had  sufficient  solidity  of  reflection  and  constancy 
of  application  for  a  work  which  Milton  speaks  of,  as  "  not 
to  be  realised  from  the  heat  of  youth,  or  the  vapours  of  wine, 
like  that,  which  flows  at  will  from  the  pen  of  some  vulgar 
amourist." 


THE  ELEGIES  OF  PROPERTIUS 
TO  TULLUS 

Cynthia^s  ensnaring  eyes  my  bondage  tied : 

Ah  wretch !  no  loves,  till  then,  had  touched  my  breast : 

Love  bent  to  earth  these  looks  of  steadfast  pride, 
And  on  my  neck  his  foot  triumphant  pressed. 

He  taught  me,  then,  to  loathe  the  virtuous  fair. 
And  shameless  waste  my  wild  and  driftless  hours: 

Twelve  moons  this  madness  lasts ;  and  yet  my  prayer 
Is  breathed  in  hopeless  love  to  adverse  powers. 

Minalion,  erst,  could  all  adventures  brave. 
Till  Atalanta's  barbarous  heart  grew  mild : 

Love-crazed  he  trod  each  drear  Parthenian  cave, 
And  looked  on  shaggy  beasts  in  forests  wild. 

Struck  by  the  branch  the  monstrous  Centaur  swayed, 
Midst  shrill  Arcadia's  rocks  he  groaning  fell ; 

And  thus  he  tamed  the  nimble-footed  maid ; 

Thus  love-prayers  speed,  and  acts  that  merit  well. 

In  me  no  arts  can  tardy  Love  devise; 

His  foot  can  track  no  more  the  beaten  ways : 
Come  ye !  that  draw  the  moon  from  charmed  skies ! 

That  bid  the  hearth  in  magic  orgies  blaze ! 

Come !  turn  a  haughty  mistress'  marble  heart. 
And  change  her  cheek,  still  paler  than  my  own : 

Then  will  I  trust,  that  stars  obey  your  art. 
And  rivers  rush,  by  muttered  verse  alone. 

237 


238  PROPERTIUS 

Friends !  that  too  late  my  sliding  feet  recall, 
Some  antidote  to  this  my  frenzy  bear: 

Bring  steel ;  bring  flames  and  racks :  I  brave  them  all : 
But  let  me  freely  vent  my  fierce  despair. 

Oh  snatch  me  to  the  world's  remotest  shore ! 

Oh  waft  me  o'er  the  immeasurable  main ! 
Where  never  woman  may  behold  me  more, 

Nor  trace  my  way,  to  sting  with  her  disdain ! 

Stay  ye,  to  whom  the  listening  God  consents^ 
Safe  in  an  equal  yoke  of  fondness  move; 

But  Venus  all  my  bitter  nights  torments : 
No — not  a  single  hour  is  free  from  love. 

Beware  my  sufferings :  hold  the  mistress  dear 

Whose  faith  is  tried,  nor  shift  the  accustomed  sway; 

If  to  my  voice  ye  bend  a  slothful  ear. 

What  pangs  shall  my  remembered  words  convey ! 


TO  A   FRIEND 

Why  ceaselessly  my  fancied  sloth  upbraid, 

As  still  at  conscious  Rome  my  love  delayed  ? 

Wide  as  the  Po  from  Hypanis  is  spread 

The  distance  that  divides  her  from  my  bed. 

No  more  with  fondling  arms  she  folds  me  round. 

Nor  in  my  ear  her  dulcet  whispers  sound. 

Once  I  was  dear :  nor  e'er  could  lover  burn 

With  such  a  tender  and  a  true  return. 

Yes — I  was  envied — hath  some  God  above 

Crushed  me  ?  or  magic  herb,  that  severs  love. 

Gathered  on  Caucasus,  bewitched  my  flame? 

Njnnphs  change  by  distance:  I'm  no  more  the  same. 

Oh  what  a  love  has  fleeted  like  the  wind. 

And  left  no  vestige  of  its  trace  behind! 

Now  sad  I  count  the  lingering  nights  alone 

And  my  own  ears  are  startled  by  my  groan. 


ELEGIES  239 

Happy !  the  youth  who  weeps,  his  mistress  nigh ; 

Love  with  such  tears  has  mingled  ecstasy : 

Blest,  who,  when  scorned,  can  change  his  passing  heat; 

The  pleasures  of  translated  bonds  are  sweet. 

I  can  no  other  love :  nor  hence  depart : 

For  Cynthia,  first  and  last,  is  mistress  of  my  heart. 


ON   HIMSELF 

Ah  !  thou,  that  vaunted'st,  nought  could  harm  thy  breast, 
Art  caught :  that  haughty  spirit  crouches  tame : 

Scarce  one  short  month  art  thou  content  to  rest. 
And  lo!  another  love-book  speaks  thy  shame. 

Late  I  was  free :  my  sleep  without  a  thorn : 

In  widowed  bed,  and  single  quiet  laid : 
I  trusted  to  the  peace  which  Love  had  sworn, 

But  false  and  hollow  was  the  truce  he  made. 

I  sought  if  fishes  on  the  sands  might  live. 

Or  the  wild  boar  through  seas  accustomed  stray : 

If  wakeful  studies  might  abstraction  give: 
Love,  though  deferred,  is  never  chased  away. 

Ais  from  his  neck  the  bull  shakes  fierce  the  plough; 

But  soon  bends  mildly  to  the  wonted  yoke : 
Young  lovers  blustering  chafe;  but  humbled  bow; 

And  tamely  bear  each  light  and  heavy  stroke. 

Inglorious  chains  Melampus  patient  took. 
Who  stole  from  Iphiclus  his  herds  away: 

Not  gain  compelled,  but  Pero's  lovely  look : 
Thus  in  his  brother's  arms  a  bride  she  lay. 

Twas  not  her  face,  though  fair,  that  caught  my  sight ; 

Less  fair  the  lily's  bell :  as  Scythian  snows 
Should  blend  Ebro's  red  their  virgin  white. 

Or  in  pure  cream  as  floats  the  scattered  rose : 


240  PROPERTIUS 

Not  tresses,  that  enringed  in  crisped  twine, 
Flow  loose  with  their  accustomed  careless  art 

Down  her  smooth  marble  neck ;  nor  eyes  that  shine 
Torches  of  passion:  load-stars  of  my  heart: 

Not  that  through  silken  folds  of  Araby 

The  nymph's  fine  limbs  with  lucid  motion  gleam : 

(For  no  ideal  beauties  heaves  my  sigh 
Nor  airy  nothings  prompt  my  amorous  dream:) 

Not  all  so  charms,  as  when  aside  she  lays 
The  mantling  cup,  and  glides  before  my  view : 

Graceful  as  Ariadne  through  the  maze 

Of  choral  dance  with  Bacchic  revellers  flew: 

Or  when  inspired  by  Aganippe's  stream, 

O'er  Sappho's  lyre  with  sportive  touch  she  strays ; 

And  challenges  Corinna's  ancient  theme, 
And  coldly  listens  to  Erinne's  lays. 

When  first,  sweet  soul!  you  saw  the  light  of  Heaven 
Did  love  with  clear,  shrill-echoed  omen  sneeze  ? 

The  Gods  have  all  thy  rare  endowments  given : 
The  Gods  have  given,  nor  from  thy  mother  these. 

Not  these  the  fruit  of  merely  human  birth, 

Nor  ten  short  moons  matured  thy  every  grace: 

Thou  art  the  glory  of  our  Roman  earth, 
A  bride  for  Jove,  the  first  of  Roman  race: 

Not  always  on  my  mortal  couch  to  lie : 
A  second  Helen  treads  this  earthly  ball : 

.What  wonder,  that  our  youth  in  ardour  sigh  ? 
For  her,  oh  Troy !  more  splendid  were  thy  fall. 

I  once  admired,  that  for  a  woman's  eyes 

Round  Ilium's  ramparts  Europe,  Asia,  strove : 
Wise  Paris  was,  and  Menelaus  wise : 

Who  claimed,  and  who  refused,  the  cause  of  love. 


ELEGIES  241 

But  hers  are  charms  that  might  Achilles  bend, 
Might  warm  old  Priam,  and  might  sanction  war ; 

Hers  ancient  painting's  breathing  forms  transcend : 
To  all  of  pictured  fame  superior  far. 

To  west  and  east  her  blooming  portrait  show, 
Both  east  and  west  she  shall  inflame  with  love : 

Why  tarries  she  in  human  form  below? 
Thy  ancient  gallantries  I  pardon,  Jove! 

Yellow  her  hair ;  her  shapely  hands  are  long ; 

Tall  her  fine  form,  and  Juno-like  she  treads : 
So  Pallas  walks  Dulichian  shrines  among, 

While  her  broad  breast  the  snaky  mail  o'erspreads. 

Such  as  Ischomache,  the  heroine-bride. 

When  rape  of  wine-flushed  Centaurs  dared  her  charms; 
Such  virgin  Brimo,  nothing  loth,  beside 

Beboeis'  fountain,  sank  in  Hermes'  arms. 

Yield  Goddesses!  whom  erst  the  shepherd  saw 
Disrobe  your  limbs  in  Ida's  mountain-glade : 

May  never  age  its  lines  transforming  draw, 
Through  hers  the  lustres  of  the  Sybil  Maid. 

TO   CYNTHIA 

Then  wide  through  Rome — and  is  it,  Cynthia,  true? 

Thy  name  is  blown ;  thy  wanton  actions  fly : 
Looked  I  for  this  ? — this,  traitress !  thou  shalt  rue  ; 

The  northern  wind  shall  teach  me  constancy. 

One,  whom  thy  sex's  treachery  less  inspires, 
I'll  seek ;  who  from  my  song  will  covet  fame ; 

Whose  shamelessness  will  not  insult  my  fires ; 
Whose  nimble  tongue  shall  scandalize  thy  name. 

Oh  long  beloved !  too  late  thy  tears  will  flow ! 
Now  fresh  my  fury ;  let  me  now  depart ; 


242  PROPERTIUS 

When  anger  cools,  alas !  too  well  I  know, 
Love  will  resume  its  influence  o'er  my  heart. 

Not  so  the  north-wind  turns  Carpathian  tides, 
Nor  blackening  clouds  the  veering  south  obey ; 

As,  at  a  word,  the  lover  soothed  subsides ; 

Loose,  then,  the  unequal  yoke,  while  yet  we  may. 

And  thou,  not  wholly  from  compunction  free. 
Wilt  somewhat  grieve ;  but  only  on  the  night 

When  thy  late  lover  first  is  missed  by  thee ; 
All  ills  of  love  become,  by  patience,  light. 

But  oh !  by  Juno's  dear,  protecting  name. 

Harm  not  thyself,  nor  give  these  passions  rein; 

Not  the  horned  bull,  alone,  will  wrongs  inflame ; 
E'en  the  mild  sheep,  if  injured,  turns  again. 

I  will  not  from  thy  perjured  bosom  tear 
The  vest  away ;  thy  bolted  chamber  storm ; 

Pluck  with  infuriate  grasp  thy  braided  hair. 
Nor  with  hard  nails  thy  tender  cheeks  deform; 

Thus  let  the  rustic  churl  his  anger  show ; 

To  such  these  base  revenges  I  resign ; 
For  whom  no  garlands  of  the  Muses  grow. 

Round  whose  rude  brow  no  ivy  tendrils  twine ; 

But  I  will  write — what  thou  wouldst  blot  in  vain : 
O  Cynthia — Cynthia,  beautiful,  and  frail: 

Fame's  busy  murmurs  thou  may'st  still  disdain, 
Yet  this  my  verse  shall  dye  thy  cheek  with  pale ! 

TO   CYNTHIA 

Not  such  Corinthian  Lais'  sighing  train 
Before  whose  gates  all  prostrate  Greece  had  lain : 
Not  such  a  crowd  Menander's  Thais  drew. 
Whose  charms  the  Athenian  people  joyed  to  woo : 


ELEGIES  243 

Nor  she,  who  could  the  Theban  towers  rebuild, 

When  hosts  of  suitors  had  their  coffers  filled. 

Nay — by  false  kinsmen  are  thy  lips  carest : 

By  sanctioned,  simulated,  kisses  prest. 

The  forms  of  youth  and  beauteous  Gods,  that  rise 

Around  thy  pictured  roof,  offend  mine  eyes. 

Tlie  tender  lisping  babe,  by  thee  carest 

Within  its  cradle,  wounds  my  jealous  breast. 

I  fear  thy  mother's  kiss ;  thy  sister  dread ; 

Suspect  the  virgin  partner  of  her  bed : 

All  wakes  my  spleen;  a  very  coward  grown: 

Forgive  the  fears,  that  spring  from  thee  alone. 

Wretched  in  jealous  terror,  to  my  eyes 

Beneath  each  female  robe  a  lover  lies. 

Blest  was  Admetus'  spouse ;  and  blest  the  dame 

Who  shared  Ulysses'  couch  in  modest  fame : 

Oh !  ever  happy  shall  the  fair-one  prove. 

Who  by  her  husband's  threshold  bounds  her  love. 

Ah !  why  should  Modesty's  pure  fane  ascend : 

Why  at  her  shrine  the  blushing  maiden  bend : 

If,  when  she  weds,  her  passions  spurn  control: 

If  the  bold  matron  sates  her  wishful  soul? 

The  hand,  that  first  in  naked  colours  traced 

Groups  of  loose  loves,  on  walls  that  once  were  chaste: 

And  full  exposed,  broad  burning  on  the  light. 

The  shapes  and  postures  that  abash  the  sight ; 

Made  artless  minds  in  crime's  refinements  wise. 

And  flashed  enlightening  vice  on  virgin  eyes. 

Woe  to  the  wretch !  who  thus  insidious  wove 

!Mute  rapture's  veil  o'er  wrath  and  tears  of  love! 

Not  thus  the  roofs  were  deck,ed  in  olden  time, 

Nor  the  stained  walls  were  painted  with  a  crime: 

Then,  for  some  cause,  the  desert  fanes  of  Rome 

Wave  with  rank  grass,  while  spiders  veil  the  dome. 

What  guards,  oh  Cynthia!  shall  thy  path  confine? 

What  threshold  bound  that  wilful  foot  of  thine? 

Weak  is  constraint,  if  women  loth  obey. 

And  she  is  safe,  who^  blushing,  fears  to  stray. 


244  PROPERTIUS 


ON   A  RIVAL 

Twice  ten  long  years  Penelope  was  wooed, 

Yet  chaste  remained,  by  countless  lovers  sued : 

With  fictious  woof  her  wedlock  could  delay, 

And  rent  by  night  the  threads  she  wove  by  day : 

Hopeless  Ulysses  to  behold  again. 

Yet  tarrying,  saw  her  youthful  beauties  wane. 

Briseis'  arms  the  dead  Achilles  pressed ; 

With  frantic  hand  she  smote  her  snowy  breast, 

Mourning  her  bleeding  lord ;  and,  though  a  slave. 

Washed  his  strained  corse  in  Simois'  shallower  wave: 

Soiled  her  fair  locks ;  and  in  her  slender  hold 

Culled  from  the  pile  those  bones  of  giant  mould : 

No  sire,  no  blue-haired  mother  of  the  sea. 

Nor  widowed  Deidamia  mourned  for  thee. 

Then  her  true  sons  did  Grecia's  glory  wield. 

When  modest  love  could  bless  the  tented  field. 

Thou  not  a  single  night  alone  canst  stay: 

No — shameless  woman !  not  a  single  day. 

Now  thy  gay  laugh  midst  circling  goblets  flies : 

Myself,  perchance,  thy  raillery's  sacrifice. 

E'en  him  thou  <seek'st,  who  late  forsook  thy  charms : 

Then,  may  the  Gods  consign  him  to  thy  arms ! 

But,  when  in  tears  we  stood  around  thy  bed ; 

When  Styx  had  nigh  o'erwhelmed  thy  sinking  head  ; 

When  my  fond  vows  were  silent  breathed  for  thee. 

Where  then,  perfidious !  where,  and  what  was  he  ? 

Would' st  thou  for  me  thus  fondly  breathe  the  prayer. 

Did  I  to  farthest  Ind  the  standard  bear ; 

Or  in  mid-ocean  were  my  galley  placed, 

A  lonely  speck  amidst  the  watery  waste? 

Yes — words  and  smooth  deceits  are  thine  at  will : 

This  task  is  easy  to  a  woman  still. 

Not  Afric's  sands  so  fluctuate  to  the  blast. 

Or  quivering  leaves  on  wintry  gales  are  cast ; 

As  passion's  gust  bids  woman's  promise  fly, 

Be  rage  the  cause,  or  be  it  levity. 


ELEGIES  245 

Since  'tis  thy  pleasure,  I  no  more  contend : 
Ye  cruel  Loves !  yet  keener  arrows  bend ; 
Right-aiming  at  my  heart,  dissolve  my  life ; 
My  blood  the  palm  of  this  your  glorious  strife. 
And  must  thou,  thus,  Propertius !  in  the  bloom 
Of  opening  youth,  descend  into  the  tomb? 
Must  thou  then  die?  yes,  die — that  she  may  view 
Thy  corse  with  smiles :  they  fleeting  ghost  pursue 
With  her  tormenting  scorn;  disturb  thee  dead; 
Leap  on  thy  pyre,  and  on  thy  ashes  tread. 
What?   did  not  Haemon  on  his  bloody  glaive 
Fall,  by  Antigone's  untimely  grave; 
And  mix  his  ashes  in  the  maiden's  urn, 
Nor  would,  without  her,  to  his  Thebes  return? 
Thou  shalt  not  scape :  yes,  thou  my  death  shalt  feel : 
Our  mingled  blood  shall  trickle  from  the  steel. 
Yes — though  thy  death  to  ages  brand  my  name, 
That  death  shall  reach  thee,  and  I  brave  the  shame. 
Witness  the  stars !  the  dews  of  morning's  hour ! 
The  stealthy  door,  which  opened  to  thy  bower : 
That  naught  in  life  more  precious  was  to  me, 
And  still  I  love  thee :  yes,  in  spite  of  thee ! 
No  other  nymph  shall  on  my  couch  recline 
Alone  and  loveless,  since  no  longer  thine. 
Ah!  if  my  life  some  virtuous  years  have  known, 
May  he  thy  arms  enfold  be  turned  to  stone ! 
Not  with  some  horrid  zest  and  thirst  of  blood, 
Thebes'  princes  fought,  while  near  their  mother  stood : 
Than  I,  if  Cynthia's  presence  fired  tlie  strife. 
Would  yield  my  own  to  snatch  my  rival's  life. 

TO   CYNTHIA 

Be  praised  by  others,  or  unknown  remain : 

Who  sings  thy  praise  will  sow  a  barren  plain. 

The  funeral  couch,  that  last,  that  gloomy  day. 

Shall  bear  those  offerings,  with  thyself,  away: 

The  traveller  o'er  thy  slighted  bones  shall  tread 

With  heedless  foot,  unconscious  of  the  dead; 
XI— 17 


246  PROPERTIUS 

Nor,  lingering  at  thy  nameless  grave,  declare, 
**  This  heap  of  dust  was  an  accomplished  fair." 

EFFIGY  OF  LOVE 

Had  he  not  hands  of  rare  device,  whoe'er 
First  painted  Love  in  figure  of  a  boy? 

He  saw  what  thoughtless  beings  lovers  were. 
Who  blessings  lose,  whilst  lightest  cares  employ. 

Nor  added  he  those  airy  wings  in  vain. 

And  bade  through  human  hearts  the  godhead  fly; 

For  we  are  tost  upon  a  wavering  main ; 
Our  gale,  inconstant,  veers  around  the  sky. 

Nor,  without  cause,  he  grasps  those  barbed  darts. 
The  Cretan  quiver  o'er  his  shoulder  cast; 

Ere  we  suspect  a  foe,  he  strikes  our  hearts ; 
And  those  inflicted  wounds  for  ever  last. 

In  me  are  fixed  those  arrows,  in  my  breast ; 

But  sure  his  wings  are  shorn,  the  boy  remains; 
For  never  takes  he  flight,  nor  knows  he  rest ; 

Still,  still  I  feel  him  warring  through  my  veins. 

In  these  scorched  vitals  dost  thou  joy  to  dwell  ? 

Oh  shame !  to  others  let  thy  arrows  flee ; 
Let  veins  untouched  with  all  thy  venom  swell ; 

Not  me  thou  torturest,  but  the  shade  of  me. 

Destroy  me — who  shall  then  describe  the  fair  ? 

This  my  light  Muse  to  thee  high  glory  brings : 
When  the  njniph's  tapering  fingers,  flowing  hair. 

And  eyes  of  jet,  and  gliding  feet  she  sings. 

ON   HIS  POETRY 

Fewer  the  Persic  darts  in  Susa's  bands 

Than  in  my  breast  those  arrows  sheathed  by  Love : 


ELEGIES  247 

He  not  to  scorn  the  tender  Muse  commands. 
And  bids  my  dwelling  be  the  Ascrsean  grove. 

Not  that  Pierian  oaks  may  seek  my  lyre, 

Nor  savage  beasts  from  vales  Ismarian  throng ; 

But  that  my  Cynthia  may  the  strain  admire. 
And  I  than  Linus  rise  more  famed  in  song. 

Not  an  engaging  form  so  charms  mine  eye ; 

Not  so  the  fair  one's  noble  lineage  moves ; 
As  on  the  accomplished  nymph's  soft  breast  to  lie. 

And  read  what  she  with  chastened  ear  approves. 

Be  this  my  lot,  and  henceforth  I  despise 

The  mingled  babblings  of  the  vulgar  throng : 

iWhat  are  to  me  e'en  Jove's  dread  enmities. 
If  she  appeased  relent,  and  love  my  song? 

TO  CYNTHIA 

Then,  soon  as  night  o'ershades  my  dying  eyes, 
Hear  my  last  charge :  let  no  procession  trail 

Its  lengthened  pomp,  to  grace  my  obsequies, 
No  trump  with  empty  moan  my  fate  bewail. 

Let  not  the  ivory  stand  my  bier  sustain, 
Nor  on  embroidered  vests  my  corse  recline ; 

Nor  odour-breathing  censers  crowd  the  train : 
The  poor-man's  mean  solemnities  be  mine. 

Enough  of  state — enough,  if  of  my  verse 
Three  slender  rolls  be  borne  with  pious  care : 

No  greater  gift,  attendant  on  my  hearse. 
Can  soothe  the  breast  of  hell's  imperial  fair. 

But  thou,  slow- following,  beat  thy  naked  breast, 
Nor  weary  faint  with  calling  on  the  dead : 

Be  thy  last  kisses  to  my  cold  lips  prest, 
(While  alabaster  vases  unguents  shed. 


248  PROPERTIUS 

When  flames  the  pyre,  and  I  am  embers  made, 

My  relics  to  an  earthen  shell  convey : 
Then  plant  a  laurel,  which  the  tomb  may  shade, 

Where  my  quenched  ashes  rest,  and  grave  the  lay : 

"  What  here  a  heap  of  shapeless  ashes  lies, 
Was  once  the  faithful  slave  of  Love  alone : " 

Then  shall  my  sepulchre  renowned  arise 
As  the  betrothed  Achilles'  blood-stained  stone. 

And  thou,  whene'er  thou  yieldest  thus  to  fate, 
Oh  dear  one !  seek  the  memorable  way 

Already  trod ;  the  mindful  stones  await 

Thy  second  coming,  and  for  thee  they  stay. 

Meantime,  whilst  life  endures,  oh,  warned  beware 
Lest  thou  the  buried  lover  should'st  despise : 

Some  conscious  spark  e'en  mouldering  ashes  share : 
The  senseless  clay  is  touched  by  injuries. 

Ah !  would  some  kinder  Fate  while  yet  I  lay 
In  cradled  sleep,  had  bid  me  breathe  my  last ! 

What  boots  the  breath  of  our  precarious  day? 
Nestor  is  dead,  his  three  long  ages  past. 

On  Ilium's  rampart  had  the  Phrygian  spear 
Abridged  his  age,  and  sent  a  swifter  doom: 

He  ne'er  had  seen  his  sons'  untimely  bier, 

Nor  cried,  "  Oh  death !  why  art  thou  slow  to  come  ? ' 

Thou  thy  lost  friend  shalt  many  a  time  deplore ; 

And  love  may  ever  last  for  those  who  die : 
Witness  Adonis,  when  the  ruthless  boar 

Smote  in  the  Idalian  brake  his  snowy  thigh: 

*Tis  said,  that  Venus  wept  her  lover  lost. 

Trod  the  dank  soil,  and  spread  her  streaming  hair: 

Thou  too  in  vain  would'st  call  upon  my  ghost: 
These  mouldered  bones  are  dumb  to  thy  despair. 


ELEGIES  249 


ON  VENAL'   INFIDELITY 

The  Praetor  from  Illyria  comes  again : 

Thy  spoil  and  prey ;  my  torment  and  my  bane : 

Could  not  Ceraimian  rocks  his  barks  have  wrecked  ? 

What  gifts,  oh  Neptune !  had  thy  altars  decked ! 

Now  is  thy  table  filled ;  thy  midnight  door 

Left  soft  ajar;  but  ah!  for  me  no  more. 

Yes — now  if  wise,  the  inviting  harvest  reap; 

Fleece  with  no  sparing  hand  the  silly  sheep : 

Then,  when  his  gifts  run  dry  command  him  sail 

To  new  Illyrias  with  a  prosperous  gale. 

No  wreathes,  no  fasces  draw  my  Cynthia's  gaze ; 

But  evermore  her  lover's  purse  she  weighs. 

Aid,  Venus !  aid  my  anguish !  quick — dispense 

The  unnerving  plagues  of  blasting  impotence! 

Then  bartered  gifts  can  now  a  mistress  move? 

For  gifts,  oh  Jupiter!  she  pines  in  love. 

For  lucid  gems  she  sends  me  o'er  the  main. 

And  bids  me  seek  in  Tyre  the  purple  grain : 

Oh  that  in  Rome  no  lords  of  wealth  we  saw ; 

That  e'en  the  palace-roof  were  thatched  with  straw ! 

No  venal  mistress  then  would  melt  to  gold : 

Beneath  one  roof  the  bride  would  then  grow  old. 

Not  that  seven  nights,  while  I  apart  recline, 

The  snowy  arms  round  that  vile  reptile  twine : 

Not  bear  me  witness,  am  I  wroth  with  thee : 

I  curse  the  fair's  proverbial  levity. 

A  stranger  tracks  the  traces  of  my  kiss. 

And  sudden  blest  usurps  my  throne  of  bliss. 

Ah!  Eriphyle's  bitter  gifts  survey! 

On  Jason's  bride  see  fiery  torments  prey ! 

Can  then  no  wrongs  forbid  my  tears  to  flow, 

Nor  I  the  vice  forsake,  that  feel  the  woe  ? 

Whole  days  have  fled ;  nor  longer  Mars's  field. 

The  theatre,  the  Muse,  delight  can  yield: 

Shame !  where  is  now  thy  blush  ?  but  ah !  I  fear 

That  a  disgraceful  passion  cannot  hear. 


250  PROPERTIUS 

Look  on  the  chief,  who  late  with  treason's  host 

Raised  empty  uproar  on  the  Actian  coast : 

Love  ignominious  turned  his  flying  prores, 

And  drove  him  to  the  world's  remotest  shores : 

Augustus'  brow  a  double  glory  wreathes : 

The  hand  that  conquered  now  the  falchion  sheathes. 

Oh !  may  those  robes,  those  emeralds  which  he  gave. 

Be  snatched  by  storms  through  air  or  o'er  the  wave : 

Those  chrysolites,  that  gleam  with  yellow  light, 

Be  turned  to  earth  and  water  in  thy  sight ! 

Not  always  Jove  whom  perjured  lovers  swear 

Complacent  laughs,  nor  deaf  rejects  the  prayer, 

Heard'st  thou  yon  roll  of  thunder,  muttering  deep? 

Sawest  thou  from  ether's  vault  the  light'nings  leap? 

No  Pleiads — no  Orion's  clouds  are  here ; 

Nor  casual  falls  the  fiery  atmosphere. 

On  nymphs  forsworn  wrath  lightens  from  above, 

For  e'en  the  God  has  wept,  betrayed  in  love. 

Is  Sidon's  crimson  garment  still  thy  care  ? 

But  tremble,  false  one !  at  the  darkened  air ! 


TO  CYNTHIA,  WHEN  IN  THE  COUNTRY 

Though,  with  unwilling  eyes,  from  Rome  I  see 
Thy  mourned  departure,  my  regretted  love ! 

Yet  I  rejoice  that,  e'en  remote  from  me. 
Thy  feet  the  solitary  woodlands  rove. 


In  the  chaste  fields  no  soft  seducer  sighs 

With  blandishments,  that  force  thee  to  thy  shame ; 

No  wanton  brawls  before  thy  windows  rise ; 

Nor  scared  thy  sleep  with  those  that  call  ttiy  name. 

Thou  art  in  solitude — and  all  around 

Lone  hills,  and  herds,  and  humble  cots  appear ; 

No  theatres  can  here  thy  virtue  wound. 

No  fanes,  the  cause  of  sin,  corrupt  thee  here. 


ELEGIES  251 

Thou  shalt  behold  the  steers  the  furrows  turn ; 

The  curved  knife,  dexterous,  prune  the  foliaged  vine; 
Thy  grains  of  incense  in  rude  chapel  burn, 

And  see  the  goat  fall  at  a  rustic  shrine ; 

Or,  with  bare  leg,  the  rural  dance  essay, 

But  safe  from  each  strange  lover's  prying  sight : 

And  I  will  seek  the  chase :  alternate  pay 
To  Venus  vows,  and  join  Diana's  rite. 

Chide  the  bold  hound ;  in  woodland  covert  lie, 
And  hang  the  antlered  spoil  on  pine-tree  boughs ; 

But  no  huge  lion  in  his  lair  defy, 

Nor  savage  boar,  with  nimble  onset,  rouse. 

My  prowess  be  to  seize  the  timid  hare. 

Or  from  my  reedy  quiver  pierce  the  bird ; 
Nigh  where  Clitumnus  winds  his  waters  fair 

Through  arching  trees,  and  laves  the  snow-w^hite  herd. 

Whate'er  thy  sports,  remember,  sweetest  soul ! 

A  few  short  days  will  bring  me  to  thy  side ; 
For  not  the  lonely  woods,  the  rills  that  roll 

Down  mossy  crags  in  smooth,  meandering  tide. 

Can  so  divert  the  jealousy  of  fear, 

But  that  I  name  thee  by  some  fancied  name. 

While  earnest  in  thy  praise ;  lest  they,  that  hear, 
Should  seek  thee  absent,  and  seduce  to  shame. 


DEFENCE  OF  INCONSTANCY 

"  Framest  thou  excuse,  who  art  a  tale  to  all  ? 

Whose  Cynthia  long  is  read  at  every  stall  ?  " 

Tliese  words  might  damp  a  deaf  man's  brow,  and  move 

A  candid  blush  for  mean  and  nameless  love. 

But  did  my  Cynthia  breathe  a  melting  sigh, 

I  were  not  called  the  head  of  levity : 


252  PROPERTIUS 

Nor  broad  town-scandal  should  traduce  my  fame : 

Then  would  I  speak,  though  branded  thus  by  name. 

Wonder  not  thou  that  meaner  nymphs  invite : 

They  less  defame  me :  are  the  causes  light  ? 

She'll  now  a  fan  of  peacock's  plumes  demand ; 

And  now  a  crystal  ball  to  cool  her  hand  : 

Tease  me  to  death  for  ivory  dice,  and  pray 

For  glittering  baubles  of  the  sacred  w^ay. 

Ah  !  let  me  die  if  I  regard  the  cost : 

A  jilting  fair-one's  mockery  stings  me  most. 

Was  this  the  favour  to  transport  my  heart  ? 

Thou  feel'st  no  blush,  thus  chamiing  as  thou  art : 

Scarce  two  short  nights  in  tender  joys  are  sped, 

And  I  am  called  intruder  on  thy  bed. 

Yet  would'st  thou  praise  my  person :  read  my  lay : 

Has  this  thy  love  then  flown  so  sw'ift  away? 

The  race  of  genius  may  my  rival  run : 

But  let  him  learn  from  me  to  love  but  one. 

What!  he  forsooth  will  Lerna's  snake  enfold; 

Snatch  from  the  Hesperian  dragon  fruits  of  gold; 

Drain  poisonous  juice ;  or  shipwrecked  gulp  the  sea ; 

And  from  no  miseries  shrink,  for  sake  of  thee? 

Ah !  would,  my  life !  these  tasks  were  proved  in  me ! 

Then  should  we  find  this  gallant,  now  so  proud, 

Skulk  his  mean  head  among  the  coward  crowd. 

Let  the  vain  braggart  vaunt  his  puffed  success : 

One  short  year  shall  divorce  your  tenderness. 

No  Sibyl's  years,  Herculean  toils  avail. 

Nor  that  last  gloomy  day  to  make  my  fondness  fail. 

Yes — thou  shalt  cull  my  bones,  which  tears  bedew : 

"  Propertius !  these  were  thine :  ah  tried  and  true ! 

Ah  me !  most  true !  though  not  through  noble  veins 

Flowed  thy  rich  blood,  nor  ample  thy  domains." 

Yes — I  will  all  endure :  all  wrongs  are  slight : 

A  beauteous  woman  makes  the  burthen  light. 

Many  for  thee,  I  well  believe,  have  sighed ; 

But  few  of  men  in  constancy  are  tried. 

Brief  time  for  Ariadne  Theseus  burned : 

Demophoon  from  his  Phillis  ingrate  turned : 


ELEGIES  253 

In  Jason's  bark  the  sea  Medea  braved, 

Yet,  lone  abandoned,  cursed  the  man  she  saved : 

Hard  too  the  woman's  heart,  whose  feigned  desire 

For  many  lovers  fans  the  ready  fire. 

Not  to  the  suitors,  vain  of  noble  race. 

Not  to  the  wealthy,  yield  thy  bribed  embrace : 

Of  these  scarce  one  would  shed  a  tear  for  thee, 

Or  near  thy  urn  be  found,  as  I  shall  be. 

Yet  rather  thou  for  me,  grant  heaven !  the  prayer : 

Smite  on  thy  naked  breast,  and  strew  thy  streaming  hair. 

ON  HIS  JEALOUSY  OF  A   RIVAL 

Oh  lovely  torment !  for  my  anguish  born, 

Since  oft  excluded  from  thy  door  in  scorn : 

Come  to  these  arms ;  my  verse  renown  can  give ; 

Here  thou  the  fairest  of  thy  sex  shalt  live : 

Let  not  my  boast  Catullus'  ear  offend ; 

Let  gentle  Calvus  too  his  pardon  lend. 

The  veteran,  gray  with  service,  quits  the  field ; 

Their  necks  no  more  the  age-worn  oxen  yield ; 

On  the  waste  sands  the  mouldering  barks  remain, 

And  the  cleft  shield  hangs  idle  in  the  fane. 

Were  it  not  better  crouch,  a  tyrant's  slave, 

And  in  thy  brazen  bulls,  Perillus !  rave ; 

At  Gorgon's  visage  stiffen  into  stone. 

Or  under  Caucasus'  keen  vultures  groan. 

Still  I  persist :  lo!  rust  can  steel  decay. 

And  gentle  droppings  wear  the  flint  away. 

Love  to  the  marble  threshold  clings,  nor  feels 

The  wearing  stone ;  though  threatened,  patient  kneels ; 

Though  wronged,  pleads  guilt ;  implores  the  foot  that  spurns ; 

And,  loth  returning,  yet,  when  called,  returns. 

And  thou,  full-flushed  with  bliss !  be  taught  from  me, 

Fond  rival !  woman's  light  inconstancy. 

In  the  mid-storm  who  pays  his  thanks  to  heaven, 

When  oft,  in  port,  the  floating  wreck  is  driven  ? 

Who  claims  the  prize,  ere  seven-times  round  the  goal 

With  grazing  wheel,  the  kindling  chariot  roll  ? 


254  PROPERTIUS 

In  love's  fair  sky  fallacious  breezes  blow, 

And  heavy  comes  the  storm,  when  threatening  slow. 

E'en  though  she  love  thee,  be  thy  joy  supprest, 

And  lock  the  secret  in  thy  silent  breast. 

The  boastings  of  successful  passion  prove, 

I  know  not  how,  injurious  oft  in  love. 

Go  once,  for  many  times  that  she  invites; 

Short  is  the  bliss,  which  prying  envy  blights. 

Oh,  if  the  ages  past  could  votaries  find. 

And  if  our  nymphs  were  of  that  ancient  kind, 

What  now  thou  art,  should  I,  unrivalled,  be ; 

The  time's  corruption  hath  supplanted  me. 

Not  from  this  age  my  nature  takes  its  hue ; 

Each  has  his  path,  and  I  my  own  pursue. 

But  thou,  whose  courtship  thus  promiscuous  roves. 

How  must  thine  eyes  be  tortured  by  thy  loves ! 

Thou  seest  the  skin  with  lunar  clearness  white. 

Thou  seest  the  brown  of  tint,  and  both  delight ; 

Charmed  by  the  shape  through  Grecian  robes  displayed, 

By  vestures  ravished  of  the  Roman  maid. 

Be  russet  garments,  or  the  purple,  worn. 

By  both  alike  thy  tender  breast  is  torn. 

One  only  nymph  might  well  employ  thy  dreams ; 

One  nymph  variety  of  torment  seems. 

THE   LOVER 

Mortals!  ye  fain  would  search  with  curious  eyes, 
Death's  hovering  hour,  and  ever-varied  way ; 

Scan  with  Phoenician  art  the  starlit  skies, 
And,  kind  or  adverse,  read  each  planet's  ray. 

Britons  our  fleets,  and  Parths  our  legions,  fear, 
Yet  still  blind  perils  haunt  the  earth  and  main ; 

Anxious  ye  rue  the  tumult  thickening  near, 
When  Mars  joins  havoc  on  the  dubious  plain. 

Ye  dread,  lest  flames  your  crashing  roofs  devour. 
Or  livid  poison  lurk  within  your  bowl : 


ELEGIES  255 

The  lover  only  knows  his  fated  hour ; 

Nor  blasts,  nor  arms,  give  terror  to  his  soul. 

Though  now  on  reedy  Styx  the  oar  he  ply, 
E'en  now,  the  murky  sail  of  Hell  survey; 

Let  her  he  loves  recall  him  with  a  sigh. 
He  shall  retrace  that  unpermitted  way. 


TO   CYNTHIA 

As  yesternight,  my  life!  I  roamed  the  street, 

Flushed  with  the  grape,  no  slave  to  guide  my  feet: 

A  tiny  multitude  of  boys  drew  near: 

I  could  not  count  them  from  my  wildering  fear. 

Some  torches  shook;  some  brandished  darts  in  air; 

Some  rattled  chains;  their  rosy  limbs  were  bare. 

Till  one,  more  petulant  in  mischief,  cried, 

"  Seize,  bind  him ;  he  is  known  to  us,  and  tried : 

'Tis  he,  marked  out  by  an  offended  fair." 

Instant  my  neck  was  noosed  in  knotted  snare : 

One  shouts  to  drag  me  forth ;  another  cries, 

"  Wretch!  if  he  doubts  that  we  are  Gods,  he  dies. 

For  thee,  all  undeserving  as  thou  art. 

She  wakeful  counts  the  hours,  that  slow  depart : 

And  still  expectant  sighs ;  while  some  strange  fair 

Attracts  thee  to  her  door :  we  know  not  where. 

Fond  fool !  when,  disentangled  from  her  head 

Her  nightly  turban's  purple  fillet's  spread. 

As,  drooping  with  moist  sleep,  she  lifts  her  eyes. 

Such  odours  from  her  locks  dishevelled  rise. 

As  ne'er  Arabia's  breathing  balms  diffuse ; 

For  Love's  own  hands  extract  those  essenced  dews. 

But  spare  him,  brothers!  the  repentant  youth 

Gives  his  free  promise  now  of  amorous  truth: 

And  see,  we  reach  the  appointed  house,"  he  said: 

Then  my  stript  mantle  o'er  my  shoulders  spread. 

And  led  me  in :  "  Go  now :  no  longer  roam : 

But  learn  from  this  to  pass  thy  nights  at  home." 


256  PROPERTIUS 

PREDICTION   OF   POETIC    IMMORTALITY 

Sprite  of  Callimachus !  and  thou  blest  shade, 
Coan  Philetas !  I  your  grove  would  tread ; 

Me,  Love's  vowed  priest,  have  Grecia's  choirs  obeyed, 
From  their  pure  fount  in  Latian  orgies  led. 

Say,  Spirits!  what  inspiriting  grotto  gave 

Alike  to  both  that  subtly  tender  strain : 
Which  foot  auspicious  entered  first  the  cave. 

Or  from  what  spring  ye  drank  your  flowing  vein  ? 

Who  lists,  may  din  with  arms  Apollo's  ear : 

Smooth  let  the  numbers  glide,  whose  fame  on  high 

Lifts  me  from  earth :  behold  my  muse  appear ! 
And  on  wreathed  coursers  pass  in  triumph  by! 

With  me  the  little  Loves  the  car  ascend ; 

My  chariot-wheels  a  throng  of  bards  pursues; 
Why,  with  loose  reins,  in  idle  strife  contend? 

Narrow  the  course  which  Heaven  assigns  the  Muse. 

Full  many  Rome  shall  bid  thy  annals  shine. 
And  Asian  Bactra  rise  thy  empire's  bound ; 

Mine  are  the  lays  of  peace,  and  flowers  are  mine 
Gathered  on  Helicon's  untrodden  ground. 

Maids  of  the  sacred  fount!  with  no  harsh  crown, 
But  with  soft  garland  wreathe  your  poet's  head ! 

Those  honours,  which  the  invidious  crowd  disown 
While  yet  I  live,  shall  doubly  grace  me  dead. 

Whatever  the  silent  tomb  has  veiled  in  shade 
Shines  more  august  through  venerable  fame; 

Time  has  the  merits  of  the  dead  displayed, 
And  rescued  from  the  dust  a  glorious  name. 


ELEGIES  257 

Who,  else,  would  know,  that  e'er  Troy-towers  had  bowed 
To  the  pine-steed?   that  e'er  Achilles  strove 

With  grappling  rivers?  that  round  Ida  flowed 
The  stream  of  Simois,  cradling  infant  Jove? 

If  Hector's  blood  dyed  thrice  the  wheel-tracked  plain? 

Polydamas,  Deiphobus,  once  fell, 
Or  Helenus  was  numbered  with  the  slain? 

Scarce  his  own  soil  could  of  her  Paris  tell. 

Shrunk  were  thy  record,  Troy!  whose  captured  wall 
Felt  twice  the  ^tasan  God's  resistless  rage: 

Nor  he,  the  bard  that  registered  thy  fall, 
Had  left  his  growing  song  to  every  age. 

Me  too  shall  Rome,  among  her  last,  revere ; 

But  that  far  day  shall  on  my  ashes  rise ; 
No  stone  a  worthless  sepulchre  shall  rear, 

The  mean  memorial  where  a  poet  lies. 

So  may  the  Lycian  God  my  vows  approve ! 

Now  let  my  verse  its  wonted  sphere  regain; 
That,  touched  with  sympathies  of  joy  and  love, 

The  melting  nymph  may  listen  to  my  strain. 

*Tis  sung  that  Orpheus,  with  his  Thracian  tones. 
Stayed  the  wild  herd,  and  stayed  the  troubled  flood; 

Moved  by  Amphion's  lute  Cythaeron's  stones 
Leaped  into  form,  and  Thebes  aspiring  stood. 

Beneath  rude  i^tna's  crag,  oh  Polypheme! 

On  the  smooth  deep,  did  Galatea  rein 
Her  horses,  dropping  with  the  briny  stream, 

And  wind  their  course  to  catch  thy  floating  strain. 

Then,  if  the  God  of  Verse,  the  God  of  wine, 
Look  down  propitious,  and  with  smiles  approve ; 

What  wonder,  if  the  fair's  applause  be  mine. 
If  thronging  virgins  list  the  lays  of  love? 


258  PROPERTIUS 

Though  no  green  marble,  from  Taenarian  mines, 
Swells  in  the  columns  that  my  roof  uphold; 

No  ceiling's  arch  with  burnished  ivory  shines, 
And  intersecting  beams  that  blaze  with  gold ; 

My  orchards  vie  not  with  Phoeacian  groves, 

Through  my  carved  grot  no  Marcian  fountains  play ; 

With  me  the  Muse  in  breathless  dances  roves; 
Nymphs  haunt  my  dwelling ;  readers  love  my  lay. 

Oh  fortunate,  fair  maid!  whoe'er  thou  art, 
That,  in  my  gentle  song,  shall  honoured  be! 

This  to  each  charm  shall  lasting  bloom  impart; 
Each  tender  verse  a  monument  of  thee! 

The  sumptuous  pyramids,  that  stately  rise 
Among  the  stars,  the  Mausolean  tomb. 

The  Olympic  fane,  expanded  like  the  skies — 
Not  these  can  scape  the  irrevocable  doom. 

The  force  of  rushing  rains,  or  wasting  flame. 
The  weight  of  years  may  bow  their  glories  down ; 

But  Genius  wins  an  undecaying  name, 

Through  ages  strong,  and  deathless  in  renown. 

THE  DREAM  OF  PROPERTIUS 

Methought  I  lay  by  Pegasus'  fresh  fount, 
On  pleasant  Helicon's  umbrageous  mount: 
The  feats,  oh  Alba!  of  thy  storied  kings 
Already  trembled  on  my  murmuring  strings: 
Venturous  I  stooped  that  mightier  stream  to  sip, 
Whence  father  Ennius  slaked  his  thirsty  lip; 
The  Curian  and  Horatian  spears  he  sung ; 
The  -^milian  bark  with  regal  trophies  hung; 
Fabius'  slow  conquests;  Cannse's  fatal  plain; 
And  Heaven  by  pious  offerings  turned  again : 
Rome's  Gods  that  forth  the  Punic  spoiler  drove. 
And  the  shrill  bird  that  saved  the  fane  of  Jove. 


ELEGIES  259 

When,  from  a  laurel  by  Castalia's  wave, 
Propt  on  his  golden  harp  before  a  cave, 
Apollo  saw :  he  fixed  his  glance,  and  cried, 
"  What  wouldst  thou,  madman!  with  so  vast  a  tide? 
Who  bade  thee  thus  heroic  numbers  claim? 
Not  hence,  Propertius !  hope  the  wreath  of  fame. 
Rather  with  slender  track  thy  chariot  lead 
To  print  the  verdure  of  the  velvet  mead : 
While  careless  on  the  couch  thy  page  is  thrown, 
Where  she,  that  waits  a  lover,  sighs  alone. 
Why  quit  the  ring  that  bounds  thy  lay's  renown ; 
Or  weigh  the  pinnace  of  thy  genius  down? 
One  oar  the  sea  and  one  the  sand  should  sweep: 
Be  safe,  for  stormiest  rolls  the  midmost  deep." 

Then  with  his  ivory  quill  he  showed  a  seat. 
And  path  of  springing  moss,  by  foot  unbeat: 
Studding  the  grot,  stones  green  with  lichens  clung ; 
And  timbrels  from  the  rock's  worn  vault  were  hung: 
Silenus  old  with  clay- formed  Muses  stood ; 
And  piping  Pan  from  his  Arcadian  wood: 
My  darling  doves,  light-hovering  round  their  Queen, 
Dipped  their  red  beaks  in  rills  from  Hippocrene. 
The  sculptured  Sisters,  ranged  on  either  side, 
In  various  tasks  their  yielding  fingers  plied: 
This  culls  for  Bacchic  spears  the  ivy  sprays ; 
That  tunes  the  stringed  lyre,  and  sets  the  lays: 
Another's  hands  the  braided  garland  bind 
With  roses,  white  and  red,  alternate  twined. 
One,  rising  from  the  group,  drew  near  to  me. 
Her  air,  methought,  bespoke  Calliope: 

"  Let  snow -plumed  swans  for  ever  waft  thy  car : 
Nor  steeds  strong-thundering  whirl  thee  to  the  war. 
Blow  not  the  dismal  trumpet's  hoarse  alarms. 
Nor  stern  beset  the  Aonian  bowers  with  arms; 
Bid  not  the  Marian  banners  flout  the  sky; 
From  Rome's  firm  shock  the  broken  Teutons  fly; 
Or  barbarous  Rhine  along  his  wailing  flood 
Roll  heaps  of  Suevian  slain,  and  blush  with  blood. 


260  PROPERTIUS 

Sing  thou  the  lovers  that,  with  garlands  crowned. 
Another's  doors  with  amorous  siege  surround ; 
Sing  of  the  torches  glaring  through  the  night. 
And  riot-ensigns  of  inebriate  flight; 
To  him  the  secrets  of  thy  lore  impart, 
Who  aims  to  dupe  a  rigid  keeper's  art ; 
And  teach  him,  by  the  magic  of  a  lay, 
Through  bars  and  bolts  to  lure  the  nymph  away." 
She  said:  and  on  my  brow  the  waters  threw. 
Drawn  from  the  fountain,  whence  Philetas  drew. 


PRAISE  OF  A  LIFE  OF  EASE 

Love  is  the  God  of  peace :  we  lovers  know 

But  love's  hard  combats,  and  a  mistress-foe: 

Not  gold's  devouring  want  my  soul  has  curst ; 

Not  from  a  jewelled  cup  I  slake  my  thirst ; 

I  plough  not  wide  Campania's  mellowed  soil, 

Nor  for  thy  brass  in  ships,  oh  Corinth !  toil : 

Ah !  hapless  clay  that  erst  Prometheus  pressed, 

Moulding  a  rash  and  un foreseeing  breast: 

The  skill,  that  knit  the  frame,  o'erlooked  the  heart : 

An  upright  reasoning  soul  escaped  his  art. 

Now  tost  by  winds  we  roam  the  troubled  flood, 

Link  foe  to  foe,  and  restless  pant  for  blood. 

Fool !  not  on  Acheron  thy  wealth  shall  float, 

All  naked  drifting  in  the  infernal  boat. 

The  conqueror  with  the  captive  skims  the  tide. 

And  chained  Jugurtha  sits  at  Marius'  side : 

Robed  Craesus  shares  the  tattered  Irus'  doom, 

And  owns  that  death  the  best,  which  soon  shall  come. 

Me  in  youth's  flower  could  Helicon  entrance, 

My  hands  with  Muses  linked  in  mazy  dance: 

Me  has  it  charmed  to  bathe  my  soul  in  wine. 

And  vernal  roses  round  my  temples  twine : 

When  irksome  age  hath  stolen  on  loves  delight, 

And  strewn  my  sable  locks  with  sprinkled  white: 

Then  may  it  please  to  search  in  Nature's  ways. 

And  learn  what  God  the  world's  vast  fabric  sways; 


ELEGIES  261 

How  dawns  the  rising  east  and  fades  again; 

How  the  round  moon  repairs  her  crescent  wane; 

How  winds  the  salt  sea  sweep,  and  the  eastern  blast 

The  billows  warps,  and  clouds  their  ceaseless  waters  cast. 

Whether  a  day  shall  come,  when  headlong  hurled 

Shall  fall  the  tottering  pillars  of  the  world ; 

Why  drinks  the  purpling  bow  the  rainy  cloud; 

Why  Pindus'  summits  reel  in  earthquake  bowed ; 

Why  shines  the  sun's  wheeled  orb  with  umbered  light, 

His  golden  coursers  palled  in  morning  night; 

Why  turns  Bootes  slow  his  starry  wain. 

Why  sparkling  throng  the  Pleiads'  clustered  train; 

Why  bounded  roll  the  deepening  ocean's  tides; 

Why  the  full  year  in  parted  seasons  glides; 

If  under  earth  Gods  judge,  and  giants  rave; 

Tisiphone's  fierce  ringlets  snaky  wave; 

Furies  Alcmaeon  scourge,  and  Phinaes  hungering  crave 

Thirst  burn  in  streams,  wheels  whirl,  rocks  backward  leap. 

Or  hell's  dark  mouth  three-headed  Cerberus  keep: 

If  Tityos'  straitened  limbs  nine  acres  press; 

Or  fables  mock  man's  credulous  wretchedness 

Through  long  tradition's  age:  nor  terror's  strife 

Survive  the  pyre: — be  such  my  close  of  life. 

Go  ye  who  list,  the  Parthian  overcome. 

Bring  Crassus'  wrested  standards  back  to  Rome. 


THE  BIRTH-DAY  OF  CYNTHIA 

I  MARVELLED  what  the  smiling  Muses  led, 

While  blushed  the  rising  sun,  beside  my  bed. 

My  fair  one's  birth-day  shone ;  and,  standing  round, 

Thrice  with  clapped  hands  they  gave  the  signal  sound. 

May  this  day  cloudless  pass,  winds  breathe  no  more ; 

And  raging  waves  roll  smoothly  to  the  shore. 

Let  no  sad  looks  on  this  blest  day  appear: 

Ev'n  Niobe  suppress  the  marble  tear: 

The  Halcyon's  bills  lay  now  their  moans  aside, 

Nor  on  her  son  devoured  let  Progne  chide. 

XI— 18 


262  PROPERTIUS 

And,  dear-one !  thou,  in  light-winged  moments  born. 

Rise,  pray  the  Heavens  for  blessings  on  thy  morn. 

Disperse  the  dews  of  sleep  with  waters  fair, 

With  parting  fingers  sleek  thy  glossy  hair; 

The  robe,  that  first  allured  Propertius'  eyes. 

Assume,  nor  for  thy  brow  the  flower  despise. 

Pray  that  those  powerful  beauties  ne'er  may  fade, 

And  still  my  neck  may  bow,  by  Cynthia  swayed. 

When  smoke  of  purifying  incense  streams 

From  the  wreathed  altar,  and  its  broadening  gleams 

Fill  all  the  gilt  saloon  with  happy  light, 

Arrange  the  board;  let  goblets  speed  the  night. 

From  box  of  yellow  agate  sweet  dispense 

The  liquid  nard  moist  breathing  on  the  sense : 

Let  the  sighed  flute  sob  hoarse  in  midnight  dance ; 

Thy  wit  in  libertine  gay  sallies  glance; 

From  jocund  feast  unwelcome  sleep  retreat, 

And  ringing  echo  din  the  neighbouring  street. 

Let  the  dice  rattle  and  the  throw  denote 

Whom  that  winged  boy  with  heaviest  pinions  smote, 

When  many  an  hour  has  flowed  in  bumpers  by, 

Let  Venus  lend  her  nightly  ministry : 

Let  us  the  yearly  solemn  love-rites  pay. 

And  crown  the  pleasures  of  thy  natal  day. 


THE 

METAMORPHOSES 

OF 

OVID 

[books  I  TO  IV  inclusive] 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  PROSE  BY 
HENRY  T.  RILEY,  B.A. 

OF  CLARE   HALL,  CAMBRIDGE 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  UPON 

THE  LIFE  OF  OVID 

BY  THE  REV.   ALFRED  CHURCH,  M.A. 


INTRODUCTION 

LIFE  OF   OVID 

By  the  Rev.  Alfred  Church,  M.A. 

Early     Life 

Ovid,  like  Horace,  is  his  own  biographer.  In  some 
respects  he  is  even  more  communicative  than  his  fellow-poet. 
Horace,  for  instance,  is  reticent,  as  a  rule,  about  his  own 
compositions.  The  writer  of  the  Odes  might,  for  all  we 
know,  be  a  different  man  from  the  author  of  the  Satires 
or  the  author  of  the  Epistles.  Ovid,  on  the  contrary,  takes 
good  care  that  his  readers  should  be  well  acquainted  with 
the  list  of  his  works.  And  he  also  gives  us  the  most  copious 
and  exact  information  about  his  birthplace,  his  family,  his  ed- 
ucation, his  marriage,  his  fortunes  in  general.  Yet,  for  all 
this,  the  personality  of  the  man  himself  seems  to  elude  us. 
The  real  Ovid  is  almost  as  unknown  to  us  as  is  the  real  Virgil. 

PuBLius  OviDius  Naso  was  born  at  Sulmo,  a  town  in 
Peligni,  a  district  of  Northern  Italy  which  took  its  name  from 
one  of  the  Samnite  tribes.  The  poet  speaks  more  than  once  of 
the  fertility  and  health  fulness  of  his  native  district.  These 
blessings  it  chiefly  owed  to  its  copious  and  unfailing  streams. 
Its  pastures  never  dried  up,  even  under  the  scorching  suns  of 
an  Italian  summer.  Its  water-meadows  are  especially  men- 
tioned. It  produced  wheat  in  abundance;  and  its  light  fine 
soil  was  even  better  adapted  for  the  vine  and  the  olive. 

The  town  of  Sulmo  boasted  a  high  antiquity.  It  took  the 
side  of  the  vanquished  party  in  the  struggle  between  Marius 
and  Sulla,  and  suffered  cruelly  in  consequence.  More  fortu- 
nate in  the  next  civil  war,  it  opened  its  gates  to  Julius  Caesar. 
Ovid  (he  always  called  himself  Naso)  belonged  to  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  this  town.    It  was  of  equestrian  or  knightly 

266 


266  INTRODUCTION 

rank,  and  had  possessed  this  distinction  for  many  generations. 
"In  my  family,"  he  says,  "you  will  find  knights  np  through 
an  endless  line  of  ancestry;"  and  he  looks  down,  just  as 
among  ourselves  a  baronet  looks  down  on  a  knight,  on  men 
who  had  won  that  honour  for  themselves. 

I  never  climbed,  not  I,  from  step  to  step. 
And  he  complains  loudly  to  the  faithless  Corinna — 

Some  knight,  with  wealth  by  wounds  but  newly  earned. 
Full-fed  on  slaughter,  is  preferred  to  me! 

The  poet  was  born  on  March  the  20th,  43  b.c.  He  marks  the 
year  by  speaking  of  it  as  that 

In  which  both  consuls  met  an  equal  fate. 

These  consuls  were  Hirtius  and  Pansa,  both  of  whom  perished 
at  the  siege  of  Mutina,  fighting  against  Mark  Antony.  The 
Roman  Republic  virtually  perished  with  them,  though  we 
may  be  sure  that  had  they  lived  they  could  not  have  prolonged 
its  existence. 

Ovid  had  a  brother  who  was  his  elder  by  exactly  a  year — 

A  double  birthday-offering  kept   the   day. 

The  brothers  were  carefully  educated,  and  were  sent  at  an 
early  age  to  the  best  teachers  in  Rome.  Their  father  intended 
that  both  should  follow  the  profession  of  an  advocate.  The 
intention  suited  the  inclinations  of  the  elder;  the  heart  of  the 
youngest  was  otherwise  inclined.  He  wrote  verses  "by 
stealth."  Ovid's  father  was  contemptuous  of  the  unprofitable 
pursuit,  and,  moved  by  the  paternal  admonitions — admoni- 
tions which  indeed  there  were  obvious  ways  of  enforcing — the 
young  poet  applied  himself  seriously  to  the  business  of  learn- 
ing his  profession. 

The  best  known  of  those  who  have  been  mentioned  as  his 
teachers  were  Porcius  Latro,  by  birth  a  Spaniard,  who  had 
migrated  to  Rome  under  the  patronage  of  Augustus,  and  Arel- 


LIFE   OF   OVID  267 

Hus  Fuscus,  a  rival  professor  of  the  rhetorical  art.  It  was 
Latro's  practice  to  teach  his  pupils  by  declaiming  before  them ; 
Fnscus,  with  what  we  may  conjecture  to  have  been  a  more 
effective  method,  made  the  youths  themselves  declaim.  The 
Elder  Seneca  speaks  of  having  heard  Ovid  perform  such  an 
exercise  before  Fuscus.  "His  speech,"  he  says,  "could  not 
then  be  called  anything  else  than  poetry  out  of  metre."  But 
he  adds  that  the  poet  had  while  a  student  a  high  reputation  as 
a  declaimer;  and  he  speaks  strongly  in  praise  of  the  particu- 
lar discourse  which  he  had  himself  happened  to  hear,  de- 
scribing it  as  one  of  marked  ability,  though  somewhat  want- 
ing in  order.  The  poetical  character  of  the  young  student's 
oratory — a  character  quite  out  of  keeping,  it  should  be  re- 
marked, with  the  genius  of  Latin  eloquence — exactly  suits 
what  Ovid  says  of  himself — 

Whate'er  I  sought  to  say  was  still  in  verse; 

which  may  be  paraphrased  by  Pope's  famous  line — • 

I  lisped   in   numbers,   for   the   numbers   came. 

Seneca  further  tells  us  that  he  had  a  special  fondness  for 
dealing  with  moral  themes,  and  he  gives  some  interesting  in- 
stances of  expressions  in  the  poems  which  were  borrowed 
from  the  declamations  of  his  master,  Latro. 

The  brothers  assumed,  in  due  time,  the  toga,  or  distin- 
guishing dress  of  manhood.  This  robe,  as  sons  of  a  knight  of 
ancient  family,  and  aspirants,  it  was  presumed,  to  public  life, 
they  were  permitted  to  wear  with  the  broad  edge  of  purple 
which  distinguished  the  senator.  The  elder  brother  died  im- 
mediately after  completing  his  twentieth  year,  and  this  event 
removed  the  objection  which  the  father  had  made  to  the  in- 
dulgence of  Ovid's  poetical  tastes.  The  family  property, 
which  was  not  of  more  than  moderate  extent,  would  not  have 
to  be  divided,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  necessity  why  the 
only  son  should  follow  a  lucrative  profession. 

About  this  time  we  may  place  Ovid's  visit  to  Athens.  A 
single  line  contains  all  the  mention  that  he  makes  of  it,  but 


268  INTRODUCTION 

this  informs  us  that  he  went  there  for  purposes  of  study.  Pos- 
sibly his  stay  at  Athens  was  followed  or  interrupted  by  a  tour 
which  he  made  in  company  with  the  poet  Macer,  the  younger 
of  that  name,  whose  friendship  he  retained  until  the  end  of  his 
life.  This  tour  included  the  famous  Greek  cities  of  western 
Asia  Minor.  It  was  probably  on  this  journey  that  Ovid  vis- 
ited the  site  of  Troy.  From  Asia  Minor  they  passed  to  Sicily, 
where  they  spent  the  greater  part  of  a  year ; — a  happy  time,  to 
which  Ovid,  addressing  his  old  companions,  in  one  of  the  let- 
ters of  his  exile,  turns  with  pathetic  regret. 

Returning  to  the  capital,  he  did  not  at  once  give  up  the 
prospect  of  a  public  career.  On  the  contrary,  he  sought  some 
of  the  minor  offices  in  which  the  aspirant  for  promotion  com- 
monly began  his  course.  We  find  him  filling  a  post  which 
seems  singularly  incongruous  with  his  tastes  and  pursuits.  He 
was  made  one  of  the  Triumviri  Capitales,  officials  who  com- 
bined, to  a  certain  degree,  the  duties  of  our  police  magistrates 
and  under-sheriffs.  They  took  the  preliminary  examination  in 
cases  of  serious  crimes,  exercised  a  summary  jurisdiction,  both 
civil  and  criminal,  in  causes  where  slaves,  or  other  persons  not 
citizens,  were  concerned,  inspected  prisons,  and  superintended 
the  execution  of  criminals.  He  also  afterwards  became  a 
member  of  the  "  Court  of  the  Hundred,"  which  had  an  ex- 
tensive and  important  jurisdiction  in  both  civil  and  criminal 
matters.  In  this  he  was  promoted  to  be  one  of  the  ten  su- 
perintendents {decemviri)  who  formed  the  council  of  the  pre- 
siding judge.  He  seems  also  to  have  occasionally  acted  as  an 
arbitrator  or  referee.  The  profession  of  an  advocate  he  never 
followed. 

Ovid  was  now  one  of  the  "  Twenty  "  who  were  regarded 
as  candidates  for  the  higher  offices  in  the  state,  and  for  seats 
in  the  senate,  and  who  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  sitting 
among  senators  in  the  orchestra  seats  of  the  circus  and  the 
amphitheatre.  Members  of  the  "  Twenty,"  on  attaining  their 
twenty-fourth  year,  became  eligible  for  the  qusetorship,  an 
office  connected  with  the  revenue — the  lowest  in  grade  of  the 
magistracies,  properly  so  called,  but  giving  a  seat  in  the  sen- 
ate. Ovid  declined  to  become  a  candidate  for  the  office.  He 
exchanged  the  broad  purple  stripe  which  he  had  worn  as  a 


LIFE   OF    OVID  269 

possible  senator,  for  the  narrower  stripe  which  belonged  to 
his  hereditary  rank  as  a  knight.  We  must  now  regard  him  as 
a  private  gentleman  of  Rome,  well-born,  and  of  respectable 
but  not  ample  means.  His  parents  were  still  living,  and  he 
hints  in  one  place  that  he  had  to  content  himself  with  a  mod- 
erate allowance. 

Very  early  in  life,  when,  as  he  says  himself,  he  was  "al- 
most a  boy,"  Ovid  was  married  to  a  wife  probably  chosen  for 
him  by  his  father.  The  match,  he  gives  us  to  understand, 
brought  him  neither  honour  nor  profit.  Probably  her  con- 
duct was  not  without  reproach,  and  her  fortune  did  not  an- 
swer his  expectations.  She  was  speedily  divorced.  Another 
wife  was  soon  found  by  him  or  for  him.  All  that  we  know 
of  her  is,  that  she  was  a  native  of  the  Etrurian  town  of  Fa- 
lisci.  He  confesses  that  he  had  no  fault  to  find  with  her;  but 
the  second  marriage  was,  nevertheless,  of  as  short  duration  as 
the  first.  It  is  easy  to  gather  the  cause  from  the  poet's  own 
confessions  about  himself. 

The  literary  society  of  which  the  young  poet  now  found 
himself  a  recognised  member,  was  perhaps  the  most  brilliant 
which  has  ever  been  collected  in  one  place.  The  Athens  of 
Pericles  in  one  print  surpassed  it  in  the  magnitude  of  individ- 
ual genius.  But  in  extent,  variety  of  literary  power,  the 
Rome  of  Augustus  stands  pre-eminent  in  the  history  of  letters. 
Virgil,  Livy,  Horace,  Sallust,  the  greatest  of  the  names  which 
adorned  the  so-called  "  Augustan  "  age,  had  grown  to  man- 
hood while  the  Republic  still  stood ;  Ovid,  who  may  be  said  to 
close  the  period,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  born  on  the  last  day  of 
Roman  freedom.  But,  indeed,  the  best  days  of  the  Augustan 
age  had  almost  passed  when  Ovid  became  a  member  of  the 
literary  society  of  the  capital.  Maecenas,  who  made  the  im- 
perial court  the  abode  of  letters,  no  longer  shared,  or  indeed 
could  have  desired  to  share — so  bitter  was  the  wrong  which 
he  had  suffered  from  his  master — the  emperor's  friendship. 
Though  still  nominally  a  Councillor  of  State,  he  had  actually 
retired  into  private  life.  Ovid  never  mentions  his  name.  Nor 
was  the  young  poet  ever  admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  Augus- 
tus, whose  court  probably  somewhat  changed  its  tone  after 
the  retirement  of  the  great  literary  minister. 


270  INTRODUCTION 

For  the  older  poets,  whom  he  was  privileged  to  see  or 
know,  Ovid  describes  himself  as  having  felt  an  unbounded 
veneration : — 

In   every  bard   I   saw   a   form   divine. 

"Virgil  I  did  but  see"  (a  phrase  which  has  become  almost 
proverbial^),  he  says,  in  his  interesting  account  of  his  poeti- 
cal acquaintance  and  friends.  Virgil's  habits — for  he  loved 
the  country  as  truly  as  did  Horace — and  the  feebleness  of  his 
health,  seem  to  have  made  him  a  stranger  at  Rome  during  the 
latter  years  of  his  life. 

Another  great  contemporary  Ovid  mentions  in  these 
words — 

The  tuneful  Horace  held  our  ears  enchained. 

"Tuneful,"  indeed,  is  a  word  which  but  feebly  expresses  the 
original  epithet  (numerosus).  "That  master  of  melody"  is 
a  more  adequate  rendering,  and  it  is  fit  praise  for  one  who 
had  no  predecessor  or  successor  among  his  countrymen  in  his 
power  of  versification.  There  is  nothing  to  indicate  the  exist- 
ence of  any  friendship  between  the  two  poets.  Horace  was 
by  more  than  twenty  years  the  elder,  and  was  beginning  to 
weary  of  the  life  of  pleasure  upon  which  the  younger  man  was 
just  entering. 

Not  a  single  line  has  been  preserved  of  three  other  of  the 
poets  whom  Ovid  regarded  with  such  reverence.    Ponticus — 

For  epic  song  renowned — 

wrote  a  poem  in  heroic — i.e.,  hexameter — verse  on  the  war  of 
the  "  Seven  against  Thebes."  Time  has  been  peculiarly  cruel 
to  the  world  in  not  suffering  it  to  survive,  if  we  are  to  trust 
Propertius,  who  affirms,  "  as  he  hopes  to  be  happy,"  that 
Ponticus  was  a  match  for  Homer  himself.  Of  Bassus  we 
absolutely  know  nothing  but  what  Ovid  tells  us,  that  he  was 
famous  for  his  dramatic  verse,  ^milius  Macer,  of  Verona, 
a  fellow-countryman,  and,  as  Ovid  expressly  mentions  that  he 
was  much  his  own  junior,  probably  a  contemporary  of  Catul- 


^  "  yirgilium  tantum  vidi. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  271 

lus,  wrote  poems,  doubtless  modelled  after  Greek  originals, 
on  birds,  and  noxious  serpents,  and  the  healing  qualities  of 
herbs.  Another  Macer,  who  has  been  mentioned  already  as 
Ovid's  companion  in  travel,  wrote  about  the  Trojan  war.  Of 
DoMiTius  Marsus,  an  elegiac  poet,  time  has  spared  a  beauti- 
ful epigram  commemorating  the  death  of  Tibullus.  It  would 
be  easy  to  prolong  the  list.  In  the  last  of  his  "  Letters  from 
the  Pontus,"  Ovid  names,  each  with  a  phrase  descriptive  of 
his  genius  or  his  work,  the  poets  contemporary  with  himself. 
There  are  about  thirty  of  them.  Of  some  we  do  not  know 
even  the  names,  the  poet  having  thought  it  sufficient  to  men- 
tion or  allude  to  their  principal  works.  Many  of  these  who 
are  named  we  do  not  find  mentioned  elsewhere,  and  Ovid's 
brief  phrase  is  all  that  is  left  of  them.  The  works  of  all  have 
either  perished  altogether  or  survive  in  insignificant  frag- 
ments.^ Burmann,  the  most  learned  of  Ovid's  editors,  says 
of  Maximus  Cotta,  the  last  on  the  list, — "  Him  and  Capella 
and  others  oblivion  has  overwhelmed  with  inexorable  night. 
Would  that  these  poets,  or,  at  least,  the  best  part  of  them, 
had  come  down  to  us,  and  other  foolish  and  useless  books  had 
remained  sunk  in  eternal  darkness ! " 

Happily  for  us,  a  kinder  fate  has  spared  the  works  of  twQ 
out  of  the  three  poets  whom  Ovid  has  named  as  his  predeces- 
sors and  teachers  in  his  own  peculiar  art  of  amatory  verse. 
"  He,"  says  the  poet,  speaking  of  the  untimely  death  of  Tibul- 
lus, "  was  thy  successor,  Gallus ;  Propertius  was  his ;  I  was  my- 
self the  fourth  in  the  order  of  time."  The  same  collocation  of 
names  is  repeated  more  than  once,  and  never  without  expres- 
sions that  indicate  the  pride  which  Ovid  felt  in  being  associ- 
ated with  men  of  such  genius. 

One  reflection  strikes  us  forcibly  as  we  compare  Ovid  with 
his  predecessors  and  contemporaries — a  reflection  which, 
whatever  the  qualities  in  which  they  may  be  allowed  to  have 
excelled  him,  explains  and  justifies  the  higher  rank  which  he 
has  received  in  the  judgment  of  posterity.    He  was  cast,  so 


*The  reader  will  be  glad  to  see  a  noble  utterance  that  has  been 
preserved  of  one  of  their  number :  "  All  that  I  once  have  given  still 
is  mine  "   (Hoc  habeo  quodcunque  dedi) . 


272  INTRODUCTION 

to  speak,  in  a  large  mould,  and  made  of  stronger  stuff.  Noth- 
ing is  more  significant  of  this  than  the  very  superiority  of  his 
physical  constitution.  They  almost  without  exception  (we  are 
not  speaking  now  of  Horace  and  Virgil)  passed  away  in  the 
very  prime  of  their  youth.  The  fiery  passion  which  shines 
through  their  verse,  and  which  often  gives  it  a  more  genuine 
ring  than  we  find  in  Ovid's  smoother  song,  consumed  them. 
Ovid  was  more  master  of  himself.  Nor  was  his  intellectual 
life  limited  to  the  expression  of  passion.  His  mind  was  braced 
by  the  severe  studies  that  produced  the  "  Transmutations " 
and  the  "  Roman  Calendar."  With  this  stronger,  more  prac- 
tical, more  varied  intellect  went  along  the  more  enduring 
physical  frame.  He  had  nearly  reached  his  sixtieth  year  be- 
fore he  succumbed  to  the  miseries  and  privations  of  a  pro- 
tracted exile.  And  sixty  years  of  Roman  life  correspond,  it 
must  be  remembered,  to  at  least  seventy  among  those  who, 
like  ourselves,  date  the  beginning  of  manhood  not  from  six- 
teen, but  only  nominally  even  from  twenty-one.  We  may  per- 
haps find  a  parallel,  at  least  partially  appropriate,  in  the  con- 
trast between  Shakespeare  and  his  more  sturdy  and  healthful 
soul  and  frame,  and  his  short-lived  predecessors  in  the  dra- 
matic art,  Marlowe  and  Greene,  men  of  genius  both,  but  con- 
sumed, as  it  were,  by  the  fire  with  which  he  was  inspired. 

The  Love-Poems 

Under  this  title  are  included  four  productions  which — to 
speak  of  those  works  alone  which  have  come  down  to  us — 
formed  the  literary  occupation  of  Ovid  from  his  twentieth  to 
his  forty-second  year.  These  four  are  "  The  Epistles  of  the 
Heroines,"  "  The  Loves,"  "  The  Art  of  Love,"  and  "  Reme- 
dies for  Love."  It  is  in  the  second  of  these,  doubtless,  that 
we  have  the  earliest  of  the  poet's  productions  that  sur\'ive. 
He  tells  us  that  he  recited  his  juvenile  poems  to  a  public  audi- 
ence, for  the  first  time,  when  his  beard  had  been  twice  or 
thrice  shaved.  He  also  tells  us  that  of  these  poems  Corinna 
had  been  the  inspiring  subject. 

"The  Epistles  of  the  Heroines"  consists  of  twenty-one 
letters,  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  women  famous  in 


OVID 
Front  an  old  engraving 

PUBLIUS  OVIDIUS  NaSO  WAS  THE  STRONGEST,  PHYSICALLY  AND  IN- 
TELLECTUALLY, OF  THE  POETS  OF  HIS  GENERATION.  CaTULLUS,  TiBULLUS 
AND   PrOPEKTIUS   PASSED   AWAY   IN   THE  PRIME   OF   YOUTH.      OviD,    LIKE 

Shakespeare  with  respect  to  his  short-lived  predecessors,  Mar- 
lowe AND  Greene,  was  vitalized  by  the  fire  of  genius  that  con- 
sumed  HIS  FELLOWS.      SeE  PaGE  2^2. 


INTROr-'TTli 
^c  moitld,  n- 


heir  youth.     Tb 
was  more  master  of  hims< 


and  the  "  Roma! 

f-    ' 

V  . 

fore  he  succumi 

t  * 


like  ourselves,  date  the  beginning  oi 
trast  between  Shakespeare  and  1 
sumed,  as  it  weri 


for  tht 


3.Aid   ^ilV/O      .HIUOY    dO    'dSAiH'i  JikiJ    rii    ihiit-.   lUtidA'i   iSUii/iJ  i\*/»' i    U/:/. 

-eaM  .sfloaaaDaaaa?  aavu-TnoHa  am  ox  TDa^aaa  htiw  aaAasisaxAHri 
-MOD  TAHT  auiviao  ^o  a«iH  SHT  Ya  aasiJATiv  8AW  ^awaaaO  qma  awoj 

.s;^  aoA^  aaS    .swo.ua'?  aiH  a3Mu« 


LIFE  OF  OVID  273 

legend,  to  absent  husbands  or  lovers.  Penelope,  the  faithful 
wife,  whom  the  twenty  years'  absence  of  her  lord  has  not  been 
able  to  estrange,  writes  to  the  wandering  Ulysses;  Phyllis, 
daughter  of  the  Thracian  king  Sithon,  complains  of  the  long 
delay  of  her  Athenian  lover,  Demophoon,  in  the  land  whither 
he  had  gone  to  prepare,  as  he  said,  for  their  marriage ;  the  de- 
serted Ariadne  sends  her  reproaches  after  Theseus;  Medea, 
with  mingled  threats  and  entreaties,  seeks  to  turn  Jason  from 
the  new  marriage  which  he  is  contemplating;  and  Dido,  a  fig- 
ure which  Ovid  has  borrowed  from  the  beautiful  episode  of 
the  "  ^neid,"  alternately  appeals  to  the  pity  and  denounces 
the  perfidy  of  her  Trojan  lover. 

There  is  a  wearying  monotony  of  subject-matter  in  the 
Epistles.  The  names  are  different,  the  circumstances  are 
changed  according  as  the  several  stories  demand,  but  the 
theme  is  ever  the  same — love,  now  angry  and  full  of  re- 
proaches, now  tender  and  condescending  to  entreaty.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  though  the  theme  is  the  same,  the  variety  of 
expression  is  endless.  The  skill  with  which  Ovid  continues, 
again  and  again,  to  say  the  same  thing  without  repeating  him- 
self, is  astonishing.  In  this  respect  no  poet  has  ever  shown 
himself  more  thoroughly  a  master  of  his  art.  Feeling,  too, 
real  though  not  elevated,  often  makes  itself  felt  in  the  midst 
of  the  artificial  sentiment;  if  the  style  is  disfigured  with  con- 
ceits, it  is  always  exquisitely  polished;  the  language  is  uni- 
versally easy  and  transparent,  and  the  verse  an  unbroken  flow 
of  exquisite  melody. 

The  most  celebrated  of  the  Epistles  is  the  letter  of  Sappho, 
the  famous  poetess  of  Lesbos,  to  Phaon,  a  beautiful  youth 
who  had  betrayed  her  love.  It  has  been  admirably  translated 
by  Pope,  whose  polished  antithetical  style  is  as  suitable,  it 
should  be  said,  to  the  artificial  and  rhetorical  verse  of  Ovid, 
as  it  is  incongruous  with  the  simple  grandeur  of  Homer.  It 
is  thus  that  he  renders  the  passage  in  which  Sappho  announces 
her  intention  to  try  the  famous  remedy  for  hopeless  love,  the 
leap  from  the  Leucadian  rock: — 

A  spring  there  is,  where  silver  waters  show, 
Clear  as  a  glass,  the  shining  sands  below; 


274  INTRODUCTION 

A  flowery  lotus  spreads  its  arms  above, 
Shades  all  the  banks,  and  seems  itself  a  grove: 
Eternal  greens  the  mossy  margin  grace. 
Watched  by  the  sylvan  genius  of  the  place. 
Here  as  I  lay,  and  swelled  with  tears  the  flood. 
Before  my  sight  a  watery  virgin  stood: 
She  stood  and  cried,  "  Oh,  you  that  love  in  vain. 
Fly  hence,  and  seek  the  fair  Leucadian  main ! 
There  stands  a  rock,  from  whose  impending  steep 
Apollo's  fane  surveys  the  rolling  deep; 
There  injured  lovers,  leaping  from  above, 
Their  flames  extinguish  and  forget  to  love. 
Deucalion  once  with  hopeless  fury  burned. 
In  vain  he  loved,  relentless  Pyrrha  scorned: 
But  when  from  hence  he  plunged  into  the  main, 
Deucalion  scorned  and  Pyrrha  loved  in  vain. 
Hence,  Sappho,  haste !  from  high  Leucadia  throw 
Thy  wretched  weight,  nor  dread  the  deeps  below." 
She  spoke,  and  vanished  with  the  voice — I  rise. 
And  silent  tears  fall  trickling  from  my  eyes. 
I  gO)  ye  nymphs,  those  rocks  and  seas  to  prove: 
And  much  I  fear ;  but  ah !  how  much  I  love ! 
I  go>  ye  nymphs,  where  furious  love  inspires; 
Let  female  fears  submit  to  female  fires. 
To  rocks  and  seas  I  fly  from  Phaon's  hate. 
And  hope  from  seas  and  rocks  a  milder  fate. 
Ye  gentle  gales,  below  my  body  blow. 
And  softly  lay  me  on  the  waves  below ! 
And  then,  kind  Love,  ray  sinking  limbs  sustain. 
Spread  thy  soft  wings,  and  waft  me  o'er  the  main, 
Nor  let  a  lover's  death  the  guiltless  flood  profane ! 
On  Phcebus'  shrine  my  harp  I'll  then  bestow. 
And  this  inscription  shall  be  placed  below — 
"  Here  she  who  sung  to  him  that  did  inspire, 
Sappho  to  Phoebus  consecrates  her  lyre; 
What  suits  with  Sappho,  Phoebus,  suits  with  thee — 
The  gift,  the  giver,  and  the  god  agree ! "  ^ 

We  have  "  The  Loves,"  in  a  second  edition.  "  Five  books," 
says  the  poet  in  his  prefatory  quatrain,  "have  been  reduced 

^  This,  and  the  following  incidental  translations,  except  where  ac- 
credited to  others  writers,  are  by  Henry  King. 


LIFE   OF  OVID  275 

to  three."  "  Though  you  find  no  pleasure  in  reading  us,"  the 
volumes  are  made  to  say  to  the  reader,  "we  shall  at  least, 
when  thus  diminished  by  two,  vex  you  less." 

A  question  immediately  presents  itself,  Who  was  the  Cor- 
inna  whom  Ovid  celebrates  in  these  poems?  It  has  often  been 
argued,  and  that  by  critics  of  no  small  authority,  that  she  was 
no  less  famous  a  personage  than  Julia,  daughter  of  the  Em- 
peror Augustus  by  his  first  wife  Scribonia.  Of  Julia  the 
briefest  account  will  be  the  best.  She  was  wife  successively 
of  Marcus  Marcellus,  nephew  to  Augustus ;  of  Marcus  Vipsa- 
nius  Agrippa;  and  of  Tiberius,  afterwards  emperor.  Th^ 
last  union  was  most  unhappy.  Tiberius  had  been  compelled 
to  divorce  a  wife  whom  he  dearly  loved,  and  he  found  himself 
bound  to  a  woman  whose  profligacy  was  conspicuous  even  in 
a  profligate  age.  After  a  short  union  he  retired  into  a  volun- 
tary exile ;  and  Augustus  then  became  aware  of  what  all  Rome 
had  long  known,  that  his  daughter  was  an  abandoned  woman. 
He  banished  her  from  Italy,  and  kept  her  in  a  rigorous  im- 
prisonment, which  was  never  relaxed  till  her  death.  There  is 
nothing,  therefore,  in  the  character  of  Julia  that  is  inconsist- 
ent with  her  being  the  Corinna  of  Ovid's  poems.  References 
in  them  indicate  that  she  was  a  lady  of  wealth  and  high  social 
position.  That  she  was  married  the  poet  expressly  states.  Ahd 
a  curious  coincidence  has  been  pointed  out  which,  though  it 
does  not  go  very  far,  may  be  allowed  to  make  for  the  identi- 
fication with  Julia.  This  princess  had  lost  much  of  her  hair 
through  the  unsparing  use  of  dyes.  And  we  find  Ovid  re- 
monstrating with  Corinna  on  her  folly  in  producing  in  the 
same  way  the  same  disfigurement. 

Of  the  subject-matter  of  "  The  Loves  "  there  is  little  to  be 
said.  The  passion  which  inspires  the  verse  is  coarser  and 
more  brutal  than  that  of  his  rival  poets,  even  when  this  shows 
itself  in  its  worst  phases.  It  has  nothing  of  the  fervour  of 
Propertius,  the  tenderness  of  Tibullus.  It  does  not  spring 
from  any  depth  of  feeling.  It  is  real,  but  its  reality  is  of 
the  basest,  most  literal  sort.  That  he  describes  an  actual 
amour  is  only  too  manifest,  but  that  this  was  in  any  true  sense 
of  the  words  "an  afTair  of  the  heart"  may  well  be  doubted. 
But  then,  again,  he  shows  an  incomparable  skill  in  expres- 


276  INTRODUCTION 

sion;  he  invests  even  the  lowest  things  with  a  certain  grace. 
His  wit  and  fancy  "  sparkle  on  the  stye."  If  he  lets  us  get 
away  for  a  moment  from  the  mire — if,  with  the  delicate  fancy 
that  never  fails  him,  he  tells  us  some  legend  that  "  boys  and 
virgins "  need  not  blush  to  read — he  is  charming.  There 
never  was  a  more  subtle  and  ingenious  master  of  language, 
and  it  is  a  grievous  pity  that  he  should  so  often  have  used  it 
so  ill.  Our  specimen  of  his  "  Loves "  must  be  taken  from 
the  episodes  rather  than  from  the  ordinary  course  of  the 
poems.     The  following  poem,  however,  will  not  offend. 

It  has  been  elegantly  paraphrased  and  adapted  to  modern 
manners  by  Mr.  A.  A.  Brodribb.  It  will  remind  the  reader  of 
a  pretty  passage  in  Mr.  Tennyson's  "  Miller's  Daughter : " — 

The    Ring 
Sign  of  my  too  presumptuous  flame, 

To  fairest  Celia  haste,  nor  linger. 
And  may  she  gladly  breathe  my  name. 

And  gaily  put  thee  on  her  finger ! 

Suit  her  as  I  myself,  that  she 
May   fondle  thee  with  murmured  blessing; 

Caressed  by  Celia !     Who  could  be 
Unenvious  of  such  sweet  caressing? 

Had  I  Nedea's  magic  art. 

Or  Proteus'  power  of  transformation, 
Then  would  I  blithely  play  thy  part, 

The  happiest  trinket  in  creation ! 

Oh !  on  her  bosom  I  would  fall. 

Her  finger  guiding  all  too  lightly; 
Or  else  be  magically  small, 

Fearing  to  be  discarded  nightly. 

And  I  her  ruby  lips  would  kiss 

(What  mortal's  fortune  could  be  better?) 

As  oft  allowed  to  seal  my  bliss 
As  she  desires  to  seal  a  letter. 

Now  go,  these  are  delusions  bright 

Of  idle  Fancy's  idlest  scheming; 
Tell  her  to  read  the  token  right — 

Tell   her  how   sweet   is  true   love's   dreaming. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  277 

The  book  also  contains  an  elegy  upon  the  death  of  Tibul- 
lus,  which  will  be  found  in  the  introduction  to  that  poet. 

Of  the  "Art  of  Love"  the  less,  perhaps,  that  is  said  the 
better.  The  poet  himself  warns  respectable  persons  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  his  pages,  and  the  warning  is  amply  jus- 
tified by  their  contents.  It  has,  however,  some  of  the  bril- 
liant episodes  which  Ovid  introduces  wMth  such  effect.  His 
own  taste,  and  the  taste,  we  may  hope,  of  his  readers,  de- 
manded that  the  base  level  of  sensuality  should  sometimes  be 
left  for  a  higher  flight  of  fancy.  The  description  of  Ariadne 
in  Naxos  is  as  brilliant  as  Titian's  picture ;  equally  vivid  is 
the  story  of  the  flight  of  Daedalus  and  his  son  Icarus  on  the 
wings  which  the  matchless  craftsman  had  made,  and  of  the 
fate  which  followed  the  over-daring  flight  of  the  youth 
through  regions  too  near  to  the  sun.  Then,  again,  we  find 
ever  and  anon  pictures  of  Roman  manners  which  may  amuse 
without  offence.  Among  such  are  Ovid's  instructions  to  his 
fair  readers  how  they  may  most  becomingly  take  their  part 
in  the  games  of  chance  and  skill  which  were  popular  in  the 
polite  circles  of  Rome.  Ovid,  after  recommending  his  read- 
ers to  practise  a  graceful  playing  at  the  games,  wisely 
warns  them  that  it  is  still  more  important  that  they  should 
learn  to  keep  their  temper.  The  suitor  he  advises  to  allow  his 
fair  antagonist  to  win.  Equally  familiar  will  be  the  device 
of  a  present  of  fruit  brought  by  a  slave-boy  in  a  rustic  basket, 
which  the  lover  will  declare  has  been  conveyed  from  a  country 
garden,  though  he  will  probably  have  bought  it  in  the  neigh- 
bouring street.  A  certain  sagacity  must  be  allowed  to  the 
counsel  that  the  lover,  when  his  lady  is  sick,  must  not  take 
upon  himself  the  odious  office  of  forbidding  her  a  favourite 
dish;  and  will,  if  possible,  hand  over  to  a  rival  the  office, 
equally  odious,  of  administering  a  nauseous  medicine.  The 
recommendation  not  to  be  too  particular  in  inquiring  about 
age  is  equally  sagacious.  It  is  curious  to  observe  that  Lord 
Byron's  expressed  aversion  to  seeing  women  eat  was  not  un- 
known to  the  Roman  youth. 

The  "  Remedies  of  Love"  may  be  dismissed  with  a  still 
briefer  notice.  Like  the  "  Art  of  Love,"  it  is  relieved  by  some 
beautiful  digressions.     When  it  keeps  close  to  its  subject,  it 

XI— 19 


278  INTRODUCTION 

is,  to  say  the  least,  not  edifying.  The  "Remedies,"  indeed, 
are  for  the  most  part  as  bad  as  the  disease,  though  we  must 
except  that  most  respectable  maxim  that  "  idleness  is  the 
parent  of  love,"  with  the  poet's  practical  appHcation  of  it. 
One  specimen  of  these  two  books  shall  suffice.  It  is  of  the 
episodical  kind, — a  brilliant  panegyric  on  the  young  Caesar, 
Caius,  son  of  Augustus's  daughter  Julia,  who  was  then  pre- 
paring to  take  the  command  of  an  expedition  against  the 
Parthians.  Gross  as  is  the  flattery,  it  is  perhaps  less  offen- 
sive than  usual.  The  young  Caius  died  before  his  abilities 
could  be  proved;  but  the  precocious  genius  of  the  family  was 
a  fact.  Caius  was  then  of  the  very  same  age  at  which  his 
grandfather  had  first  commanded  an  army. 

Once  more  our  Prince  prepares  to  make  us  glad. 
And  the  remaining  East  to  Rome  will  add. 
Rejoice,  ye  Roman  soldiers,  in  your  urn; 
Your  ensigns  from  the  Parthians  shall  return; 
And  the  slain  Crassi  shall  no  longer  mourn! 
A  youth  is  sent  those  trophies  to  demand, 
And  bears  his  father's  thunder  in  his  hand: 
Doubt  not  th'  imperial  boy  in  wars  unseen; 
In  childhood  all  of  Caesar's  race  are  men. 
Celestial  seeds  shoot  out  before  their  day, 
Prevent  their  years,  and  brook  no  dull  delay. 
Thus  infant  Hercules  the  snakes  did  press. 
And  in  his  cradle  did  his  sire  confess. 
Bacchus,  a  boy,  yet  like  a  hero  fought. 
And  early  spoils  from  conquered  India  brought. 
Thus  you  your  father's  troops  shall  lead  to  fight. 
And  thus  shall  vanquish  in  your  father's  sight. 
These  rudiments  you  to  your  lineage  owe; 
Born  to  increase  your  titles  as  you  grow. 
Brethren  you  lead,  avenge  your  brethren  slain; 
You  have  a  father,  and  his  right  maintain. 
Armed  by  your  country's  parent  and  your  own. 
Redeem  your  country  and  restore  his  throne. 

— Translated  by  Dryden. 

Domestic  Life 
About    Ovid's    private    life    between    his    twentieth    and 
fiftieth  years  there  is  little  to  be  recorded.     He  married  for 


LIFE   OF   OVID  279 

the  third  time.  He  had  a  daughter,  probably  by  his  second 
wife,  although  many  commentators  say  it  was  by  his  third. 
This  daughter  had  been  twice  married  at  the  time  of  his 
banishment,  when  he  was  in  his  fifty-second  year,  and  had 
borne  a  child  to  each  husband.  There  is  a  letter  addressed 
to  one  Perilla,  written  by  Ovid  in  exile.  Dr.  Dyer,  the 
learned  author  of  the  article  "  Ovidius  "  in  the  "Dictionary 
of  Biography  and  Mythology,"  takes  it  for  granted  that  this 
Perilla  was  Ovid's  daughter,  by  his  third  wife,  but  the  letter 
does  not  bear  out  the  supposition,  for,  while  the  writer  en- 
larges on  the  fact  that  he  had  instructed  Perilla  in  the  art 
of  poetry,  he  does  not  say  a  word  which  indicates  a  closer 
relationship  than  that  of  master  and  pupil. 

The  poet's  third  wife  was  a  lady  of  good  position  at  Rome. 
In  early  years  she  had  been  what  may  be  called  a  lady-in- 
waiting  to  the  aunt  of  Augustus.  The  union  lasted  till  his 
death,  with  much  mutual  affection.  When  it  has  been  added 
that  Ovid's  town  mansion  was  close  to  the  Capitol,  and  that 
he  had  a  suburban  residence,  where  he  amused  himself  with 
the  pleasures  of  gardening,  nothing  remains  to  be  told  about 
this  portion  of  his  life. 

Banishment 

The  cause  of  the  banishment  of  Ovid,  like  the  personality 
of  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  and  the  authorship  of  "Junius," 
is  one  of  the  unsolved  problems  of  history.  The  facts 
absolutely  known  are  very  soon  related.  Ovid  was  in  his 
fifty-second  year.  His  fame  as  a  poet  was  at  its  height.  Any 
scandal  that  may  have  arisen  from  some  of  his  publications 
had  gradually  passed  away.  Suddenly  there  fell  on  him  "a 
bolt  from  the  blue."  A  rescript  in  the  emperor's  hand  was 
delivered  to  him,  ordering  him  to  leave  Rome  within  a  cer- 
tain time,  and  to  repair  to  Tomi,  a  desolate  settlement  on  the 
western  shore  of  the  Black  Sea,  near  the  very  outskirts  of  the 
empire.  No  decree  of  the  senate  had  been  passed  to  authorise 
the  infliction  of  the  banishment.  It  was  simply  an  act  of 
arbitrary  power  on  the  part  of  the  emperor.  The  cause 
alleged  was  the  publication  of  works  corrupting  to  public 
morals,  and  the  "Art  of  Love"  was  specified.     The  punish- 


280  INTRODUCTION 

ment  was  not  of  the  severest  kind.  The  place  of  exile,  hate- 
ful as  it  was  to  the  banished  man,  was  at  least  preferable  to 
that  which  many  offenders  had  to  endure — some  desolate  rock 
in  the  ^gean,  where  the  victim  was  kept  from  starvation  only 
by  the  charity  of  his  friends.  Ovid  was  also  permitted  to  re- 
tain and  enjoy  his  property. 

That  the  cause  alleged  was  not  the  actual  cause  of  the 
banishment  may  be  considered  certain.  It  is  sufficient  to  say 
that  the  guilty  work  had  been  published  at  least  ten  years  be- 
fore. The  offence  .was  such  as  to  afford  a  pretext  of  the  bar- 
est kind  to  an  absolute  ruler  who  felt  the  force  of  public 
opinion  just  enough  to  make  him  shrink  from  a  wholly  arbi- 
trary act,  but  was  not  careful  to  make  any  complete  justifica- 
tion. But  it  did  not,  we  may  be  sure,  wholly  sway  his  mind. 
We  know,  indeed,  that  there  was  another  cause.  To  such  a 
cause  Ovid  frequently  alludes.  And  it  is  in  this  lies  the 
mystery  of  the  event. 

Augustus  had  felt  the  unutterable  shame  of  discovering 
that  his  own  daughter  Julia  was  the  most  profligate  woman 
in  Rome.  This  unhappy  woman  had  inherited  the  vicious 
propensities  of  her  mother  Scribonia.  One  of  many  lovers 
was  Decius  Julius  Silanus,  member  of  a  family  which  had 
been  distinguished  in  Rome  since  the  second  Punic  war.  The 
intrigue  was  too  notorious  to  escape  observation,  and  Livia 
had  the  opportunity  which  she  desired.  Julia  was  banished; 
her  paramour  went  into  voluntary  exile. 

So  far  we  are  on  firm  historical  ground.  It  may  be  added 
also,  that  the  same  year  which  saw  the  disgrace  of  Julia,  wit- 
nessed also  the  banishment  of  Ovid,  Were  the  two  events 
in  any  way  connected? 

Let  us  see  what  Ovid  says  on  the  subject : — 

"Two  faults  overthrew  me — my  verses  and  my  wrongdoing; 
but  about  the  guilt  of  one  of  them  I  must  keep  silence." 

"  Because  my  eyes  unknowingly  beheld  a  crime,  I  am  punished. 
To  have  had  the  power  of  sight — this  is  my  sin." 

"  I  am  not  worth  so  much  as  to  renew  thy  wound,  O  Csesar ; 
it  is  far  too  much  that  you  should  once  have  felt  the  pang." 

"  You  [Augustus]  avenged  on  me,  as  is  right,  a  quarrel  of  your 
own." 


LIFE   OF   OVID  281 

That  he  became  acquainted  with  some  crime  which  touched 
nearly  the  honour  of  Augustus;  that  he  concealed  it;  that  in 
some  sense  he  made  himself  an  accomplice  in  it;  that  this 
crime  was  not  an  isolated  act,  but  a  line  of  conduct  pursued 
for  some  time;  that  Ovid  was  afraid  or  thought  it  better  not 
to  reveal  his  knowledge  of  it, — are,  it  seems,  inferences  that 
may  fairly  be  drawn  from  the  language  which  he  uses.  They 
harmonise  with  the  supposition  that  Ovid  became  involun- 
tarily acquainted  with  the  intrigue  of  the  younger  Julia  with 
Silanus, — that  he  helped  to  conceal  it,  possibly  assisted  in  its 
being  carried  on.  The  emperor,  for  a  second  time,  is  struck 
to  the  heart  by  the  discovery  of  the  darkest  profligacy  in  one 
very  near  to  himself.  In  his  capacity  as  ruler  he  is  terrified 
by  the  corruption  which  his  laws  are  powerless  to  stay.  The 
poems  which  the  severer  moralists  of  his  court  had  possibly 
criticised,  come  to  his  recollection,  and  he  finds  that  the 
author  has  actually  abetted  the  guilty  intrigues  of  his  grand- 
daughter.    Accordingly  he  banished  Ovid. 

Ovid's  account  of  his  leaving  Rome  is  eminently  graphic 
and  not  a  little  pathetic: 

When  there  starts  up  before  me  the  sad,  sad  picture  of  that 
night  which  was  the  last  of  my  life  in  Rome,  when  I  remember 
the  night  on  which  I  left  so  many  of  my  treasures,  even  now  the 
tear  falls  from  my  eyes.  The  day  had  almost  come  on  which 
Caesar  had  bid  me  pass  beyond  the  farthest  limits  of  Italy.  But  I 
had  not  had  the  thought  of  preparation.  Nay,  the  very  time  had 
been  against  me:  so  long  the  delay,  that  my  heart  had  grown  sloth- 
ful at  the  thought  of  it.  I  had  taken  no  pains  to  select  my  slaves, 
or  to  choose  a  companion,  or  to  procure  the  clothing  or  the  money 
that  a  banished  man  required.  I  was  as  dazed  as  one  who,  struck 
by  the  bolts  of  Jupiter,  lives,  but  is  all  unconscious  of  his  life. 
But  when  my  very  grief  had  cleared  away  the  mist  from  my  soul, 
and  I  was  at  last  myself  again,  I  addressed  for  the  last  time  ere 
my  departure  my  sorrowing  friends, — there  were  but  one  or  two 
out  of  all  the  crowd.  My  loving  wife  clasped  me  close;  bitter  my 
tears,  still  bitterer  hers,  as  they  ever  poured  down  her  innocent  cheeks. 
My  daughter  was  far  away  on  African  shores,  and  could  not  have 
heard  of  her  father's  fate.  Look  where  you  would,  there  was  wail- 
ing and  groaning,  and  all  the  semblance  of  a  funeral,  clamorous  in 
its  grief.    My  funeral  it  was;  husband  and  wife  and  the  very  slaves 


282  INTRODUCTION 

were  mourners;  every  corner  of  my  house  was  full  of  tears.  Such 
— if  one  may  use  a  great  example  for  a  little  matter — such  was  the 
aspect  of  Troy  in  its  hour  of  capture. 

And  now  the  voices  of  men  and  dogs  were  growing  still,  and 
the  moon  was  guiding  high  in  heaven  the  steeds  of  night.  As  I 
regarded  it,  and  saw  in  its  light  the  two  summits  of  the  Capitol, — 
the  Capitol  that  adjoined  but  did  not  protect  my  home, — "  Powers," 
I  cried,  "  who  dwell  in  these  neighbouring  shrines,  and  temples  that 
my  eyes  may  never  look  upon  again,  and  ye  gods,  dwelling  in  the 
lofty  city  of  Romulus,  gods  whom  now  I  must  leave,  take  my  fare- 
well for  ever !  Too  late,  indeed,  and  already  wounded,  I  snatch  up 
the  shield;  yet  acquit,  I  pray,  my  banishment  of  an  odious  crime; 
and  tell  the  human  denizen  of  heaven  [Augustus]  what  was  the 
error  that  deceived  me,  lest  he  think  it  a  crime  rather  than  a  mis- 
take; tell  it  that  the  author  of  my  punishment  may  see  the  truth 
which  you  know.  My  god  once  propitiated,  I  shall  be  wretched  no 
longer." 

These  were  the  prayers  that  I  addressed  to  heaven;  my  wife, 
with  sobs  that  stopped  her  words  half-way,  spoke  many  more.  She, 
too,  before  our  home-gods  threw  herself  with  dishevelled  hair,  and 
touched  with  trembling  lips  our  extinguished  hearth.  Many  a 
prayer  she  poured  out  in  vain  to  their  hostile  deity,  words  that 
might  avail  naught  for  the  husband  whom  she  mourned. 

And  now  night,  hurrying  down  the  steep,  forbade  further  de- 
lay, and  the  Bear  of  Arcady  had  traversed  half  the  sky.  What 
could  I  do?  Tender  love  for  my  country  held  me  fast;  but  that 
night  was  the  last  before  my  doom  of  banishment.  Ah !  how  often 
would  I  say,  when  some  one  would  bid  me  haste,  "  Why  hurry  me  ? 
think  whither  you  ^^ould  hasten  my  steps,  and  whither  I  must  go !  " 
Ah !  how  often  did  I  pretend  to  have  settled  on  some  certain  hour 
which  would  suit  my  purposed  voyage !  Thrice  I  touched  the 
threshold,^  thrice  I  was  called  back;  my  very  feet,  as  if  to  indulge 
my  heart,  lingered  on  their  way.  Often,  farewell  once  spoken,  I 
said  many  a  word;  often,  as  if  I  was  really  departing,  I  bestowed 
my  last  kisses.  Often  I  gave  the  same  commands;  I  cheated  my 
own  self,  as  I  looked  on  the  pledges  so  dear  to  my  eyes.  And  then, 
"Why  do  I  hasten?  It  is  Scythia  to  which  I  am  being  sent;  it  is 
Rome  which  I  have  to  leave;  both  justify  delay.  My  wife  is  re- 
fused to  me  for  ever,  and  yet  we  both  live;  my  family  and  the  dear 


^  To  touch  the  threshold  with  the  foot  in  crossing  it  was  considered 
unlucky. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  283 

member  of  that  faithful  family;  yes,  and  you,  my  companions,  whom 
I  loved  with  a  brother's  love,  hearts  joined  to  mine  with  the  loy- 
alty of  a  Theseus !  while  I  may,  I  embrace  you ;  perchance  I  may 
never  do  so  again;  the  hour  that  is  allowed  me  is  so  much  gain." 

It  is  the  end:  I  leave  my  words  unfinished,  while  I  embrace  in 
heart  all  that  is  dearest  to  me.  While  I  speak,  and  we  all  weep, 
bright  shining  in  the  height  of  heaven,  Lucifer,  fatal  star  to  us, 
had  risen;  I  am  rent  in  twain,  as  much  as  if  I  were  leaving  my 
limbs  behind;  one  part  of  my  very  frame  seemed  to  be  torn  from 
the  other.  Such  was  the  agony  of  Mettus  when  he  found  the 
avengers  of  his  treachery  in  the  steeds  driven  opposite  ways.  Then 
rose  on  high  the  cries  and  the  groanings  of  my  household,  then  the 
hands  of  mourners  beat  uncovered  breasts,  and  then  my  wife,  cling- 
ing to  my  shoulder  as  I  turned  away,  mingled  with  her  tears  these 
mournful  words :  "  You  cannot  be  torn  from  me ;  together,  ah ! 
together  will  we  go.  I  will  follow  you;  an  exile  myself,  I  will  be 
an  exile's  wife.  For  me  too  is  the  journey  settled;  me  too  that 
distant  land  shall  receive;  'tis  but  a  small  burden  that  will  be  added 
to  the  exile's  bark.  'Tis  the  wrath  of  Caesar  that  bids  thee  leave 
thy  country — 'tis  love  that  bids  me ;  love  shall  be  in  Caesar's  place." 
Such  was  her  endeavour, — such  had  been  her  endeavour  before; 
scarcely  would  she  surrender,  overpowered  by  expediency. 

I  go  forth;  it  was  rather  being  carried  forth  without  the  fu- 
neral pomp;  I  go  all  haggard,  with  hair  drooping  over  unshaven 
face;  and  she,  they  tell  me,  as  in  her  grief  for  me  the  mist  rose 
all  before  her,  fell  fainting  in  the  midst  of  the  dwelling;  and  when, 
her  hair  all  smirched  with  the  unseemly  dust,  she  rose  again,  lift- 
ing her  limbs  from  the  cold  ground,  she  bewailed  now  herself,  now 
her  deserted  hearth,  and  called  again  and  again  the  name  of  her 
lost  husband,  and  groaned,  not  less  than  had  she  seen  the  high- 
built  funeral  pile  claim  her  daughter's  body  or  mine.  Gladly  would 
she  have  died,  and  lost  all  feeling  in  death;  and  yet  she  lost  it  not, 
out  of  thought  for  me.  Long  may  she  live;  live,  and  ever  help  with 
her  aid  her  absent — so  the  Fates  will  have  it — her  absent  husband. 
— The  "  Sorrows,"  i.  3. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  December  that  the  poet  left  Rome. 
One  faithful  friend,  Fabius  Alaximus  by  name,  accompanied 
him.  Following  the  Appian  road  to  Brundusium,  then,  as 
after  many  centuries  it  has  become  again,  the  usual  route 
of  western  travellers  bound  eastward,  he  crossed  the 
Adriatic.     A  fearful  storm,  not  unusual  at  this  season,  en- 


284  INTRODUCTION 

countered  him  on  his  way;  and  the  indefatigable  poet  describes 
it  in  his  most  elegant  verse — too  elegant,  indeed,  to  allow  us 
to  suppose  that  it  was  written,  as  it  claims  to  be,  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  peril. 

The  tempest  abated,  and  the  poet  reached  his  destination, 
Lechaeum,  the  eastern  harbour  of  "  Corinth  on  the  two  seas." 
Traversing  the  isthmus  to  the  western  port,  Cenchrea,  he  em- 
barked again  in  a  vessel  which,  he  tells  us,  was  called  The 
Helmet,  and  bore  on  its  deck  an  image  of  "  Minerv-a  of  the 
Yellow  Locks."  It  took  him  to  Samothrace,  whence  Ovid 
took  passage  in  a  coasting  vessel  to  the  neighbouring  shore  of 
Thrace,  and  made  the  rest  of  his  journey  overland. 

Tomi,  or,  as  Ovid  himself  calls  it,  Tomis,  was  a  city  of 
Greek  origin  (it  was  a  colony  of  Miletus),  situated  on  the 
western  coast  of  the  Black  Sea,  about  two  hundred  miles  to 
the  north  of  Byzantium.  The  name  may  be  rendered  in  Eng- 
lish by  The  Cuts.  Possibly  it  was  derived  from  a  canal  or 
fosse  cut  to  the  nearest  point  of  the  Danube,  which  here  ap- 
proaches, just  before  making  its  last  bend  to  the  north,  within 
the  distance  of  fifty  miles.  The  lively  fancy  of  the  poet 
found  in  the  legend  of  Medea  a  more  romantic  origin.  The 
wicked  princess,  who  embodied  the  poet's  conception  of  the 
wild  unscrupulous  passion  of  the  oriental  character,  had  re- 
sorted, when  closely  pursued  in  her  flight,  to  a  terrible  ex- 
pedient. She  slew  her  young  brother  Absyrtus,  the  darling 
of  the  angry  father  who  was  following  her.  His  head  she 
fixed  on  a  prominent  rock  where  it  could  not  escape  the  notice 
of  the  pursuers.  His  limbs  she  scattered  about  the  fields.  She 
hoped,  and  not  in  vain,  that  the  parent's  head  would  bid  him 
delay  his  voyage  till  he  had  collected  the  human  remains.  It 
was  said  that  Tomi  was  the  place  where  the  deed  was  done, 
and  that  its  name  preserved  the  tradition  of  its  horrible 
details. 

The  town  is  now  called  Kostendje,  a  corruption  of  Con- 
stantina,  a  name  which  it  received  for  the  same  reason 
which  changed  Byzantium  into  Constantinople.  It  was 
situated  in  the  province  of  Lower  Moesia.  Though  not 
exactly  on  the  frontier,  which  was  here,  nominally  at  least,  the 
Danube,  it  was  practically  an  outpost  of  the  empire.     The 


LIFE   OF    OVID  285 

plain  between  it  and  that  river  was  open  to  the  incursions  of 
the  unsubdued  tribes  from  the  further  side  of  the  Danube, 
who,  when  they  had  contrived  to  effect  the  passage  of  the 
river,  found  nothing  to  hinder  them  till  they  came  to  the  walls 
of  Tomi. 

Ovid  describes  the  place  of  his  exile  in  the  gloomiest  lan- 
guage. Such  language,  indeed,  was  natural  in  the  mouth  of  a 
Roman.  To  him  no  charm  of  climate,  no  beauty  of  scenery, 
no  interest  of  historical  association,  could  make  a  place  en- 
durable, while  Rome,  the  one  place  in  the  world  which  was 
worth  dwelling  in,  was  forbidden  to  him.  But  Tomi,  if  its 
unfortunate  inhabitant  is  to  be  believed,  combined  in  itself 
every  horror.  It  was  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  savage 
and  barbarous  tribes.  The  climate  was  terrible ;  the  snow  lay 
often  unmelted  for  two  years  together.  The  north  wind 
blew  with  such  fury  that  it  levelled  buildings  with  the  ground, 
or  carried  aw^ay  their  roofs.  The  natives  w^ent  about  clad  in 
garments  of  skin,  with  their  faces  only  exposed  to  the  air. 
Their  hair,  their  beards,  were  covered  with  icicles.  The  very 
wine  froze :  break  the  jar  and  it  stood  a  solid  lump ;  men  took 
not  draughts  but  bites  of  it.  The  rivers  were  covered  with 
ice;  the  Danube  itself,  though  it  w^as  as  broad  as  the  Nile, 
was  frozen  from  shore  to  shore,  and  became  a  highway  for 
horses  and  men.  The  sea  itself,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  is 
frozen.     "I,"  says  the  poet,  "have  myself  walked  on  it. 

"  Had  such,  Leander,  been  the  sea 
That  flowed  betwixt  thy  love  and  thee, 
Never  on  Helles'  narrow  strait 
Had  come  the  scandal  of  thy  fate. 

"  The  dolphins  cannot  leap  after  their  wont :  let  the  north 
wind  rage  as  it  will,  it  raises  no  weaves.  The  ships  stand 
firmly  fixed  as  in  stone,  and  the  oar  cannot  cleave  the  waters. 
You  may  see  the  very  fish  bound  fast  in  the  ice,  imprisoned 
but  still  alive.  But  the  worst  of  all  the  horrors  of  winter 
is  the  easy  access  which  it  gives  to  the  barbarian  foe.  Their 
vast  troops  of  cavalry,  armed  with  the  far-reaching  bow, 
scour  the  whole  country.     The  rustics  fly  for  their  lives,  and 


286  INTRODUCTION 

leave  their  scanty  provisions  to  be  plundered.  Some,  more 
unlucky,  are  carried  off  into  captivity;  some  perish  by  the 
arrows  which  this  cruel  enemy  dips  in  poison.  And  all  that 
the  enemy  cannot  carry  or  drive  off,  he  burns." 

It  is  difficult  to  suppose  that  some  of  these  statements 
are  not  exaggerated.  The  climate  of  Bulgaria  (the  name 
which  Lower  Mcesia  has  had  since  its  invasion  by  the  Bul- 
garians in  the  seventh  century)  bears  little  resemblance  to 
that  which  Ovid  describes.  It  has  a  temperature  not  unlike 
that  of  northern  Spain,  and  its  soil  is  described  as  fertile, 
the  vine  being  one  of  its  chief  products.  It  is  quite  possible 
that  the  climate  may  have  materially  changed  since  Ovid's 
time.  On  more  than  one  occasion  the  classical  poets  speak 
of  severities  of  cold  such  as  are  not  now  experienced  in  Italy 
and  Greece.  If  we  allow  something  for  such  change,  and 
something  also  for  the  exaggeration  which  not  only  expressed 
a  genuine  feeling  of  disgust,  but  might  possibly  have  the  effect 
of  moving  compassion,  we  shall  probably  be  right. 

Ovid's  life  in  exile  lasted  about  eight  years.  He  left 
Rome  in  the  month  of  December  following  his  fifty-first 
birthday;  he  died  some  time  before  the  beginning  of  the 
September  after  his  fifty-ninth. 

The  Metamorphoses,  or  Transformations 

Ovid  tells  us  that  before  he  was  banished  he  had  written, 
but  not  corrected,  the  fifteen  books  of  the  "  Metamorphoses," 
and  had  also  composed  twelve  books  (only  six  have  been 
preserved)  of  the  "Fasti"  or  Roman  Calendar.  The  former 
he  revised,  the  latter  he  greatly  amplified  in  his  exile. 

In  the  "  Metamorphoses "  w-e  have  the  largest  and  most 
important  of  Ovid's  works;  and,  if  we  view  it  as  a  whole,  the 
greatest  monument  of  his  poetical  genius.  The  plan  of  the 
book  is  to  collect  together,  out  of  the  vast  mass  of  Greek 
mythology  and  legend,  the  various  stories. which  turn  on  the 
change  of  men  and  women  from  the  human  form  into  ani- 
mals, plants,  or  inanimate  objects.  Nor  are  the  tales  merely 
collected.  Such  a  collection  would  have  been  inevitably 
monotonous  and  tiresome.     With  consummate  skill  the  poet 


LIFE  OF  OVID  287 

arranges  and  connects  them  together.  The  thread  of  connec- 
tion is  often  indeed  sHght;  sometimes  it  is  broken  altogether. 
But  it  is  sufficiently  continuous  to  keep  alive  the  reader's  in- 
terest; which  is,  indeed,  often  excited  by  the  remarkable  in- 
genuity of  the  transition  from  one  tale  to  another.  But  it 
did  not  escape  the  author's  perception,  that  to  repeat  over  and 
over  again  the  story  of  a  marvel  which  must  have  been  as  in- 
credible to  his  own  contemporaries  as  it  is  to  us,  would  have 
been  to  insure  failure.  Hence  the  metamorphoses  themselves 
occupy  but  a  small  part  of  the  book,  which  finds  its  real  charm 
and  beauty  in  the  brilliant  episodes,  for  the  introduction  of 
which  they  supply  the  occasion. 

[Four  books  of  the  Metamorphoses  are  given  in  the  trans- 
lation following  this  introduction.  Books  five  to  eleven 
inclusive  treat  largely  of  the  adventures  of  heroes  and  demi- 
gods, such  as  Perseus,  Jason,  Hercules,  Minos,  and  Theseus, 
and  of  episodes,  such  as  the  Brand  of  Meleager,  Philemon 
and  Baucis,  Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  Pygmalion  and  Galatea, 
Venus  and  Adonis,  and  Ceyx  and  Halcyone,  as  well  as  va- 
rious transmutations.  Ceyx  and  Halcyone  is  one  of  the  most 
representative  tales  of  Ovid,  because  of  his  transfusion  of  so 
much  of  Roman  spirit  and  feeling  into  the  Greek  original. 
The  essential  portion  of  the  story  is  here  presented  in  the 
translation  of  the  editor  of  the  present  work.] 

THE   HALCYON   BIRDS 

[OVID,    METAMM.    XI.,    65O-748] 

Ceyx,  the  King  of  Trachyn,  has  been  drowned  at  sea.  Mor- 
pheus, the  God  of  Dreams,  assumes  his  form,  and  sets  out  to  apprise 
his  wife  Halcyone,  in  a  vision,  of  her  husband's  death. 

So  Morpheus,  spreading  his  silent  wings, 
Forthwith  into  the  gulf  of  aether  flings. 
And,  through  the  midnight  softly  gliding  down. 
Comes  very  shortly  to  far  Trachyn  town 
Within  the  land  Hsemonian.*     Laying  by 
Its  mighty  wings,  his  body  wondrously 

^Haemonia  was  an  ancient  name  for  Thessaly. 


288  INTRODUCTION 

Takes  on  the  shape  of  Ceyx.    Vestureless 

And  wan  and  bloodless  in  his  nakedness, 

He  stands  beside  her  couch,  unhappy  one, 

Who  was  the  wife  of  Ceyx.    Thickly  run 

The  oozy  drops  down  matted  beard  and  hair. 

Soon  whelmed  with  sudden  tears,  as  leaning  there 

Above  her  couch,  "  O  poor,  poor  wife,"  he  cries ; 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  thy  lord  ?     Dear,  startled  eyes. 

Hath  death  so  changed  me?    Look,  be  not  afraid, 

And  for  thy  husband,  see  thy  husband's  shade !  " 

Naught  have  availed  thy  prayers,  Halcyone, 

Hope  not  that  I  shall  e'er  return  to  thee. 

I  perished  in  the  mid  ^gean;  fast 

Driving  his  rack  of  storm-clouds,  Auster's  blast 

Dashed  all  in  pieces  our  devoted  boat; 

Thy  name  I  strove  to  call,  but  in  my  throat 

Wave-choked,  the  utterance  died.    Believe  me,  dear. 

This  is  no  empty  rumor  thou  dost  hear. 

Nor  doth  a  lying  courier  tell  it  thee. 

But  thine  own  Ceyx,  shipwreck  of  the  sea. 

Arise  to  tears  and  weeds  of  them  that  mourn 

And  save  my  ghost  from  Tartarus'  dim  bourn." 

Spake  thus  in  Ceyx'  voice  the  God  of  Dreams; 

Shedding  true  tears,  her  husband's  self  he  seems 

In  every  well-known  gesture.     Bound  in  sleep, 

Halcyone  can  only  moan,  and  weep. 

And  grasp  with  slumber-heavy  arms  to  stay 

The  airy  vision.     "Husband,  where  away? 

We  twain  will  go  together."     In  affright. 

By  her  own  voice  awakened,  and  the  sight 

Of  her  dead  lord,  from  sleep  she  struggles  free 

And  gazes  round  the  woful  Shape  to  see 

(For  the  roused  slaves  had  hurried  in  with  lights)  ; 

And  when  she  finds  him  not,  her  face  she  smites 

And  strips  the  garments  from  her  bosom  bare. 

And  beats  her  breast,  nor  stops  to  loose  her  hair. 

But  madly  tears  it  in  her  anguish  wild. 

Spake  then  her  nurse :    "  Halcyone,  my  child " 

"Halcyone?     She  lives  no  more,  she  died 

When  died  her  Ceyx;  comfort  me  not,"  she  cried; 


LIFE   OF   OVID  289 

"  No  more,  no  more  is  there  Halcyone; 

I  saw  his  body,  battered  by  the  sea, 

I  saw,  and  knew,  and  wide  my  arms  I  spread, — 

The  presence  shunned  them,  and  I  kenned  him  dead; 

Not  with  his  cheerful  face  and  wonted  air. 

But  wan,  and  naked,  and  with  dripping  hair. 

Ah,  woful  me !  upon  this  very  place 

His  poor  ghost  stood."    And  then  she  stoops  to  trace 

Prints  of  his  feet,  if  any  such  remain. 

"  This  was  the  fate  that  my  bewildered  brain 

Divined  so  darkly,  when  upon  the  wind 

Thy  thoughts  were  flown,  and  I  was  left  behind. 

Sweet  had  it  been  to  go  with  thee,  and  good 

To  know  in  life  or  death  no  widowhood. 

Apart  we  toss  upon  the  selfsame  wave 

That  grants  me  death,  but  not  to  share  thy  grave. 

More  cruel  than  the  deep  would  be  my  heart, 

If  I  should  longer  strive  to  live  apart, 

Or  seek,  through  dragging  years,  a  vain  relief 

In  contest  with  unconquerable  grief. 

I  will  not  strive,  nor  thus  abandon  thee. 

Poor  mateless  body,  tossing  on  the  sea; 

If  in  the  tomb  bone  may  not  rest  with  bone, 

We  yet  shall  be  united  on  the  stone; 

If  on  the  pyre,  flame  mingles  not  with  flame. 

Still  in  the  legend  name  shall  touch  with  name  " — 

Here  utterance  died  in  mingled  word  and  moan. 

And  grief  found  vent  in  racking  sobs  alone. 

Day  dawns.    Her  sad  form  moves  along  the  strand 
Seeking  the  place  where  last  he  touched  the  land. 
"  Here,  while  he  lingered,  loosing  slow  the  ship. 
Here,  where  upon  the  shore  the  wavelets  lip. 
He  gave  me  kisses."    While  in  memory 
She  views  the  scene,  gazing  upon  the  sea. 
She  spies,  far  out  upon  the  ocean's  rim, 
An  object,  shapeless  in  the  distance  dim. 
Which,  as  the  billow  brings  it  nearer  land 
Shows  somewhat  like  a  corpse,  till,  close  at  hand, 
A  shipwrecked  mariner  it  plain  appears. 
She,  witless  who  it  is,  bursts  into  tears. 


290  INTRODUCTION 

Moved  by  the  omen  of  her  own  great  woe. 
"  Oh  wretched  one,  whoe'er  thou  art,  and  oh. 
Thy  wife,  if  such  there  be,  more  wretched  still !  " 
Nearer  it  drifts,  clearer  she  sees,  until 
Her  senses  reel.    "  Ceyx !  "  she  cries,  "  'tis  thou  !  " 
And  tears  her  hair  and  garments,  beats  her  brow 
And  lifts  her  trembling  hands:     "O  husband  dear, 
And  is  it  thus  thou  comest  home  ?  " 

A  pier 
There   is,  built  out  into  the  sea,  which  takes 
The  first  shock  of  the  ocean  surge,  and  breaks 
The  fury  of  its  onset.     Hither  springs 
Halcyone,  and  wondrous  new-formed  wings 
Beat  the  light  air,  and  bear  her  o'er  the  wave 
A  wretched  bird.    And  as  she  flew,  she  gave 
Forth  from  her  slender  bill  a  wailing  cry. 
Like  to  a  prisoned  soul  in  agony. 
Reaching  the  mute,  pale  body  of  her  love. 
In  vain  with  pinions  strange  the  poor  bird  strove 
Unto  her  breast  his  dear,  dead  limbs  to  fold. 
The  while  her  hardened  bill  rained  kisses  cold. 
Now  be  it  by  these  kisses  which  she  gave, 
Or  be  it  by  the  motion  of  the  wave, 
Certes  it  is,  as  those  who  saw  it  said. 
The  dead  man  seemed  to  know,  and  raised  his  head. 
And  I  believe  he  knew, — so  strong  is  Love. 
And  so,  through  pity  of  the  gods  above 
To  birds  they  both  were  changed,  and  so  abide. 
At  one  in  death,  e'en  Death  could  not  divide 
Their  married  love,  and  so  the  tie  remains. 
Still  do  they  mate,  and,  mid  the  winter  rains, 
Through  seven  summer  days  Halcyone 
Broods  on  her  nest,  hanging  above  the  sea. 
For  winds  and  waves  the  Storm  God  doth  subdue 
For  his  dear  children  and  their  love  so  true. 

The  twelfth,  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  books  are  con- 
cerned largely  with  the  events  of  the  Trojan  War,  and  with 
the  adventures  of  ^neas. 

The  fifteenth  or  last  book  of  the  "  Metamorphoses  "  con- 
tains an  eloquent  exposition  of  the  Pythagorean  philosophy. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  291 

Pythagoras,  a  Greek  by  birth,  had  made  Italy,  the  southern 
coasts  of  whifh  were  indeed  thickly  studded  with  the  colonies 
of  his  nation,  the  land  of  his  adoption,  and  the  traditions  of 
his  teaching  and  of  his  life  had  a  special  interest  for  the  peo- 
ple to  which  had  descended  the  greatness  of  all  the  races — 
Oscan,  Etruscan,  Greek — which  had  inhabited  the  beautiful 
peninsula. 

The  doctrine  most  commonly  connected  with  Pythago- 
ras's  name  was  that  of  metempsychosis,  or  transmigration  of 
souls  frpm  one  body  to  another,  whether  of  man  or  of  the 
lower  animals.  It  was  an  old  belief  of  the  Aryan  race,  and  it 
had  a  practical  aspect  which  commended  it  to  the  Roman 
mind,  always  more  inclined  to  ethical  than  to  metaphysical 
speculations.  Ovid  saw  in  it  the  philosophical  explanation  of 
the  marvels  which  he  has  been  relating,  and,  as  it  were,  their 
vindication  from  the  possible  charge  of  being  childish  fables, 
vacant  of  any  real  meaning,  and  unworthy  of  a  serious  pen. 
The  passage  which  follows  refers  to  a  practical  rule  in  which 
we  may  see  a  natural  inference  from  the  philosophical  dogma. 
If  a  man  is  so  closely  allied  to  the  lower  animals — if  their 
forms  are  made,  equally  with  his,  the  receptacles  of  the  one 
divine  animating  spirit — then  there  is  a  certain  impiety  in  his 
slaughtering  them  to  satisfy  his  wants.  Strangely  enough, 
the  progress  or  revolution  of  human  thought  has  brought 
science  again  to  the  doctrine  of  man's  kindred  with  the  ani- 
mals, though  it  seems  altogether  averse  to  the  merciful  con- 
clusion which  Pythagoras  drew  from  it. 

What  had  ye  done,  ye  flocks,  ye  peaceful  race 

Created  for  Man's  blessing,  that  provide 

To  slake  his  thirst  your  udder's  nectarous  draught, 

That  with  your  fleece  wrap  warm  his  shivering  limbs. 

And  serve  him  better  with  your  life  than  death? — 

What  fault  was  in  the  Ox,  a  creature  mild 

And  harmless,  docile,  born  with  patient  toil 

To  lighten  half  the  labour  of  the  fields? — 

Ungrateful  he,  and  little  worth  to  reap 

The  crop  he  sowed,  that,  from  the  crooked  share 

Untraced,  his  ploughman  slew,  and  to  the  axe 

Condemned  the  neck  that,  worn  beneath  his  yoke, 


292  INTRODUCTION 

For  many  a  spring  his  furrows  traced,  and  home 
With  many  a  harvest  dragged  his  Autumn-wain ! 
Nor  this  is  all: — but  Man  must  of  his  guilt 
Make  Heaven  itself  accomplice,  and  believe 
The  Gods  with  slaughter  of  their  creatures  pleased  I 
Lo!  at  the  altar,  fairest  of  his  kind, — 
And  by  that  very  fairness  marked  for  doom, — 
The  guiltless  victim  stands, — bedecked  for  death 
With  wreath  and  garland ! — Ignorant  he  hears 
The  muttering  Priest, — feels  ignorant  his  brows 
White  with  the  sprinkling  of  salted  meal 
To  his  own  labour  owed, — and  ignorant 
Wonders,  perchance,  to  see  the  lustral  urn 
Flash  back  the  glimmer  of  the  lifted  knife 
Too  soon  to  dim  its  brightness  with  his  blood ! 
And  Priests  are  found  to  teach,  and  men  to  deem 
That  in  the  entrails,  from  the  tortured  frame 
Yet  reeking  torn,  they  read  the  best  of  Heaven ! — 
O  race  of  mortal  men  I  what  lust,  what  vice 
Of  appetite  unhallowed,  makes  ye  bold 
To  gorge  your  greed  on  Being  like  your  own  ? 
Be  wiselier  warned : — forbear  the  barbarous  feast, 
Nor  in  each  bloody  morsel  that  ye  chew 
The  willing  labourer  of  your  fields  devour! 


All  changes: — nothing  perishes! — Now  here, 
Now  there,  the  vagrant  spirit  roves  at  will. 
The  shifting  tenant  of  a  thousand  homes: — 
Now,  elevate,  ascends  from  beast  to  man, — 
Now,  retrograde,  descends  from  man  to  beast; — 
But  never  dies! — Upon  the  tablet's  page 
Erased,  and  written  fresh,  the  characters 
Take  various  shape, — the  wax  remains  the  same: — 
So  is  it  with  the  Soul  that,  migrating 
Through  all  the  forms  of  breathing  life,  retains 
Unchanged  its  essence.    Oh,  be  wise,  and  hear 
Heaven's  warning  from  my  prophet-lips,  nor  dare 
With  impious  slaughter,  for  your  glutton-greed. 
The  kindly  bond  of  Nature  violate. 
Nor  from  its  home  expel  the  Soul,  perchance 
Akin  to  yours,  to  nourish  blood  with  blood ! 


LIFE   OF   OVID  293 

It  has  been  handed  down  to  us  on  good  authority  that 
Virgil,  in  his  last  illness,  desired  his  friend  to  commit  his 
"  iEneid  "  to  the  flames.  It  had  not  received  his  final  correc- 
tions, and  he  was  unwilling  that  it  should  go  down  to  pos- 
terity less  perfect  than  he  could  have  made  it.  The  desire, 
though  it  doubtless  came  from  a  mind  enfeebled  by  morbid 
conditions  of  the  body,  was  probably  sincere.  We  can  hardly 
believe  as  much  of  what  Ovid  tells  us  of  his  own  intentions 
about  the  "  Metamorphoses :  "  "  As  for  the  verses  which  told 
of  the  changed  forms — an  unlucky  work,  which  its  author's 
banishment  interrupted — these  in  the  hour  of  my  departure 
I  put,  sorrowing,  as  I  put  man}'  other  of  my  good  things, 
into  the  flames  with  my  own  hands."  Doubtless  he  did  so; 
nothing  could  have  more  naturally  displayed  his  vexation. 
But  he  could  hardly  have  been  ignorant  that  in  destroying 
his  manuscript  he  was  not  destroying  his  work.  "  As  they 
did  not  perish  altogether,"  he  adds,  "  but  still  exist,  I  suppose 
that  there  were  several  copies  of  them."  But  it  is  scarcely 
conceivable  that  a  poem  containing  as  nearly  as  possible  twelve 
thousand  lines  should  have  existed  in  several  copies  by  chance, 
or  without  the  knowledge  of  the  author. 

Ovid's  masterpiece  has  been  accepted  by  posterity  as  sec- 
ond in  rank — second  only  to  Virgil's  epic — among  the  great 
monuments  of  Roman  genius.  It  has  been  translated  into 
every  language  of  modem  Europe  that  possesses  a  literature. 
Its  astonishing  ingenuity,  the  unfailing  variety  of  its  colours, 
the  flexibility  with  which  its  style  deals  alike  with  the  sub- 
lime and  the  familiar,  and  with  equal  facility  is  gay  and  pa- 
thetic, tender  and  terrible,  have  well  entitled  it  to  the  honour, 
and  justify  the  boast  with  which  the  poet  concludes : — 

So  crown  I  here  a  work  that  dares  defy 
The  wrath  of  Jove,  the  fire,  the  sword,  the  tooth 
Of  all-devouring  Time ! — Come  when  it  will 
The  day  that  ends  my  life's  uncertain  term, — 
That  on  this  corporal  frame  alone  hath  power 
To  work  extinction, — high  above  the  Stars 
My  nobler  part  shall  soar, — my  Name  remain 
Immortal, — wheresoe'er  the  might  of  Rome 
XI— 20 


204  INTRODUCTION 

O'erawes  the  subject  Earth  mj'  Verse  survive 
Familiar  in  the  mouths  of  men ! — and,  if 
A  Bard  may  prophesy,  while  Time  shall  last 
Endure,  and  die  but  with  the  dying  World ! 


The  Fasti,  or  Roman  Calendar 

Augustus  not  only  swayed  the  armies  of  Rome — he  was 
also  supreme  pontiff.  It  was  the  dream  of  his  life  to  reawaken 
the  old  Roman  patriotism,  and  to  kindle  in  the  men  of  his 
own  day  something  like  the  sentiments  of  the  past.  The  age 
might  be  frivolous  and  luxurious;  but  he  knew  well  that 
the  Roman  mind  was  profoundly  religious.  The  gods 
had  been  neglected,  and  their  temples  had  fallen  into  decay 
during  the  civil  wars;  and  we  may  well  believe  that  Horace 
expressed  what  was  in  the  minds  of  many  when  he  prophe- 
sied dire  judgments  on  the  State  unless  the  sacred  buildings 
were  restored.^  To  this  work  the  emperor  assiduously  ap- 
plied himself.  He  built  temple  after  temple,  established 
priesthoods,  and  revived  old  religious  ceremonials.  Every- 
where in  the  capital  were  now  to  be  seen  the  outward  signs 
of  piety  and  devotion.  Religion,  in  fact — its  history,  its 
ritual,  all  its  ancient  associations — became  subjects  of  popu- 
lar interest;  and,  as  might  be  expected,  a  fashionable  poet 
could  not  do  otherwise  than  recognise  in  his  verses  the  growth 
of  this  new  taste  among  his  countrymen.  Nor  would  he  find 
any  difficulty  in  doing  so.  A  Roman  could  seldom  be  origi- 
nal, but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  scarcely  anything  for 
which  a  model  could  not  be  found  in  Greek  literature.  Alex- 
andria had  long  been  a  famous  literary  centre,  and  its  schol- 
ars and  authors  had  handled  every  conceivable  subject,  hu- 
man and  divine.  There,  in  the  third  century  B.C.,  in  the  reigns 
of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus  and  Ptolemy  Euergetes,  had  flour- 
ished Callimachus,  specially  distinguished  by  his  attainments 
as  a  grammarian  and  critic.  He  was  at  the  head,  as  he  no 
doubt  well  deserved  to  be,  of  the  great  library  of  Alexandria. 
Unfortunately,  of  his  more  learned  works,  which  were  on  a 

^  Odes,  in.  6 


LIFE   OF   OVID  295 

vast  scale,  nothing  but  the  titles  and  a  few  meagre  fragments 
have  come  down  to  us.  He  was,  however,  a  poet  as  well  as 
a  scholar,  and  some  of  his  poems,  hymns,  and  epigrams  have 
survived.  It  appears  that  they  were  singularly  popular, 
though,  it  must  be  admitted,  they  remind  us  of  the  familiar 
proverb,  "A  poet  is  born,  not  made."  However,  it  is  certain 
that  the  Roman  poets  of  the  Augustan  age  liked  them,  and 
thought  it  worth  their  while  to  imitate  them.  Catullus  has 
done  this  in  his  famous  poem  on  the  "  Hair  of  Berenice." 
Propertius  even  made  it  his  aim  to  be  a  Roman  Callimachus, 
and  sometimes  became  intolerably  obscure  and  affected  in  the 
attempt. 

It  need  not  surprise  us  that  Ovid  followed  in  the  wake  of 
two  such  eminent  men.  He  knew  the  public  for  whom  he 
was  writing;  he  knew,  too,  what  sort  of  poems  would  be  ap- 
proved by  the  emperor  and  the  court.  A  learned  poem,  dwell- 
ing on  the  old  worship  of  his  country,  and  commemorating 
the  glories  of  its  great  families,  would  appeal  successfully  to 
a  wide  circle  of  readers.  For  such  a  work  he  had  a  model 
ready  to  his  hand  in  an  epic  of  Callimachus,  which  appears 
to  have  given  in  detail  a  multitude  of  myths  and  legends,  with 
some  account  of  old  customs  and  religious  rites.  This  poem, 
which  has  not  come  down  to  as,  was  entitled  "  Causes,"  and 
was,  it  may  be  supposed,  a  learned  poetical  dissertation  on 
the  cause  or  origin  of  the  various  beliefs  current  among  man- 
kind, and  of  the  outward  forms  in  which  they  had  embodied 
themselves.  It  was  this  elaborate  work  which  Ovid  under- 
took to  imitate,  and  perhaps  to  popularise.  The  result  is  the 
poem  commonly  known  as  the  "  Fasti." 

We  may  describe  this  work  as  a  sort  of  handbook  of  the 
Roman  Calendar,  or  as  a  poetical  almanac,  or  as  a  ritual  in 
verse.  It  gives,  as  Dean  Merivale  says,  "  the  seasons  and 
reasons"  of  every  special  religious  worship  and  ceremonial. 
The  mythology  of  old  Rome  and  the  legends  of  her  heroes 
are  worked,  and  worked  with  wonderful  success,  into  the  tex- 
ture of  the  poem.  What  in  the  hands  of  a  mere  Dryasdust 
would  have  been  intolerably  wearisome  and  dull,  becomes 
under  Ovid's  treatment  the  lightest  and  pleasantest  of  read- 
ing.   The  marvellous  ease  and  dexterity  with  which  he  turns 


296  INTRODUCTION 

his  not  always  very  plastic  materials  into  the  smoothest  and 
most  graceful  verse,  perpetually  strikes  a  scholar  with  amaze- 
ment. He  takes  a  story  or  a  legend  from  some  old  annalist, 
and  tells  it  with  a  neatness  and  a  finish  which,  in  its  own 
way,  has  never  been  rivalled.  This  was  a  charm  which  a 
Roman  must  have  appreciated  better  than  we  can,  but  there 
were  many  other  things  which  tended  to  make  the  "  Fasti " 
a  thoroughly  popular  poem.  It  must  have  been  pleasant  to  an 
ordinary  reader  to  have  picked  up  a  good  deal  of  antiqua- 
rian lore  in  a  few  hours  of  easy  and  delightful'  reading.  The 
book  would  continually  have  been  in  the  hands  of  the  fash- 
ionable lady,  who  would  think  that  it  became  her  position  to 
know  something  about  the  meaning  and  rationale  of  her  re- 
ligious observances.  And  we  may  take  for  granted  it  would 
please  Augustus,  Anything  which  familiarised  the  people 
with  old  beliefs  and  traditions  would  be  certain  to  have  his 
hearty  sympathies.  The  poet  too,  of  course,  took  care  to 
extol  and  magnify  the  great  family  of  the  Julii,  and  to  hint 
every  now  and  then  that  Roman  grandeur  was  providentially 
connected  with  their  supremacy. 

Such  is  the  general  idea  and  purpose.  The  poem,  as  we 
have  it,  is  in  six  books;  originally  (of  this  there  can  hardly 
be  a  doubt)  it  consisted  of  twelve,  each  month  of  the  Roman 
calendar  having  a  book  devoted  to  it.  The  calendar,  like  our 
own  week,  had  a  religious  basis.  Some  of  the  months  took 
their  names  from  Roman  divinities.  March  had  been  the  first 
month  in  the  old  calendar,  according  to  which  the  year  was 
divided  into  ten  months.  The  first  Caesar,  who  laid  his  re- 
forming hand  on  everything,  brought  his  universal  knowledge 
to  bear  on  this  intricate  subject,  and  introduced  a  new  ar- 
rangement by  which  the  year  was  henceforth  to  be  made  up 
of  twelve  months,  January  being  the  first.  Ovid  represents 
the  god  Janus  as  visibly  appearing  to  him,  and  explaining  his 
origin  and  attributes.  A  key  is  in  his  left  hand,  as  a  symbol 
of  his  august  of^ce  as  the  Beginner  and  Opener  of  all  things. 
He  addresses  Ovid  as  the  *'  laborious  poet  of  the  Days,"  and 
then  unfolds  his  various  mysterious  functions,  and  the  mean- 
ing of  the  two  faces  which  were  regarded  as  his  appropriate 
representation. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  297 

The  poet  describes  himself  as  encouraged  to  continue  the 
dialogue.  He  wants  to  know  why  the  year  should  begin  with 
cold,  rather  than  what  might  seem  a  more  appropriate  com- 
mencement, the  warmth  of  spring.  He  is  told  that  it  follows 
the  sun,  which  now,  gathering  strength  and  lengthening  its 
course,  begins  a  new  existence.  "  Why  should  not  New- 
year's  day  be  a  holiday?"  "We  must  not  begin  by  setting 
an  example  of  idleness,"  Then,  after  other  questions,  "  What 
is  the  meaning  of  the  customary  gift  of  palm,  and  dried  figs, 
and  honey  in  the  white  comb?"  "It  is  well  that  the  year,  if 
it  is  to  be  sweet,  should  begin  with  sweets."  "  But  why  pres- 
ents of  money?  "  Janus  then  explains  the  significance  of  the 
emblems  on  the  coins  that  w^ere  given  on  his  festival.  The 
double  head  on  one  side  was  his  own  likeness ;  the  ship  on  the 
reverse  was  the  memorial  of  that  which  in  old  time  had  borne 
Saturn,  expelled  from  the  throne  of  heaven,  to  his  kingdom 
in  Italy.  A  description  of  his  happy  reign,  "  The  Golden 
Age,"  as  the  ancients  fondly  called  it,  follows. 

Five  other  days  of  the  month  are  similarly  distinguished. 
On  the  eleventh  of  January  occurs  the  festival  of  the 
Agonalia,  and  Ovid  takes  the  opportunity  to  display  his 
etymological  learning  in  accounting  for  the  name.  Was  it 
not  the  word  Agnalia,  "  the  sacrifice  of  lambs,"  with  the  "  o  " 
inserted  ? 

With  characteristic  ingenuity  he  then  digresses  into  an 
elegant  history  of  the  growth  of  sacrifice.  Meal  and  salt 
sufficed  for  the  simple  offerings  of  early  days.  No  spices 
then  had  come  from  across  the  sea.  Savin  and  the  crackling 
bay-leaf  gave  perfume  enough;  and  it  was  only  the  wealthy 
who  could  add  violets  to  the  garlands  of  wild  flowers.  The 
earliest  victim  was  the  pig,  which  was  sacrificed  to  Ceres,  in 
punishment  for  the  injury  that  he  did  to  the  crops  under  her 
protection.  Warned  by  his  fate,  the  goat  should  have  spared 
the  vine-shoots ;  but  he  offended,  and  fell  a  victim  to  the  wrath 
of  Bacchus.  The  pig  and  the  goat  were  guilty.  But  how  had 
the  ox  and  the  sheep  offended?  The  ox  first  suffered  at  the 
bidding  of  Proteus,  from  whom  the  shepherd  Aristaeus,  dis- 
consolate at  the  loss  of  his  bees,  learnt  that  a  carcass  buried 
in  the  ground  would  furnish  him  with  a  new  supply.     The 


298  INTRODUCTION 

sheep  was  guilty,  it  would  seem,  of  eating  the  sacred  herb 
vervain.  What  animal  could  hope  to  escape,  when  the  ox 
and  the  sheep  perished?  The  Sun-god  demanded  the  horse, 
swiftest  of  animals;  Diana,  the  hind,  which  once  had  been 
made  the  substitute  for  the  maiden  Iphigenia.  "I  myself," 
says  Ovid,  "  have  seen  the  wild  tribes  who  dwell  near  the  snow 
of  Haemus  sacrifice  the  dog  to  Hecate."  Even  the  ass  falls 
a  victim  to  Silenus,  who  could  never  forgive  him  for  an  un- 
timely bray.  Birds  suffer  because  they  reveal  the  counsels  of 
gods  by  the  indications  of  the  future  which  soothsayers  detect 
in  their  movements  and  their  cries.  The  goose  is  not  pro- 
tected by  the  service  which  he  did  to  Rome  in  wakening  the 
defenders  of  the  Capitol.  And  the  cock,  who  summons  the 
day,  is  made  an  offering  to  the  Goddess  of  Night. 

The  thirteenth  of  the  month  introduces  the  story  of 
Evander,  one  of  the  graceful  narrations  with  which  Ovid  re- 
lieves the  antiquarian  details  of  the  *'  Fasti."  Evander  is  in- 
deed a  conspicuous  personage  in  Italian  legend.  An  Arcadian 
prince,  banished  in  early  youth  from  his  native  land,  but  not 
for  any  fault  of  his  own,  he  had  settled  in  Italy  many  years 
before  the  Trojan  war.  He  was  in  extreme  old  age  when 
.(Eneas,  carrying  with  him  the  fortunes  of  the  future  Rome, 
landed  on  the  Latian  shore;  and  he  gave  to  the  struggle  the 
support  of  his  first  alliance.  Virgil  in  his  great  epic  has  made 
a  copious  use  of  the  story.  The  voyage  of  the  Trojan  chief 
up  the  unknown  stream  of  Tiber  to  the  homely  court  of  the 
Arcadian  king,  his  hospitable  reception,  the  valour  and  un- 
timely death  of  the  young  Pallas,  who  leads  his  father's  troops 
to  fight  by  the  side  of  the  destined  heirs  of  Italy,  furnish  some 
of  the  most  striking  scenes  in  the  "^neid."  Ovid,  in  de- 
scribing Evander's  arrival  in  Italy,  puts  into  his  mouth  a 
prophecy  of  the  future  greatness  of  Rome,  which  with  char- 
acteristic dexterity  he  turns  into  elaborate  flattery  of  Tiberius 
and  Livia,  the  emperor's  mother.  This  passage,  which,  it  is 
evident,  was  written  after  the  death  of  Augustus,  is  one  of 
the  many  proofs  that  the  Fasti  were  kept  under  revision 
until  close  upon  the  end  of  the  poet's  life.  To  the  legend  of 
Evander  is  attached  the  story  of  Hercules  and  Cacus. 
Roman  writers  were  anxious  to  make  their  own  country  the 


LIFE   OF   OVID  299 

scene  of  some  of  the  wondrous  exploits  of  the  great  *'  knight- 
errant"  of  antiquity.     The  tale  ran  as  follows: — • 

Somewhere  near  the  strait  which  joins  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Inner  Sea  dwelt  Geryones,  a  hideous  monster  with  triple 
body,  master  of  a  herd  of  oxen  of  fabulous  beauty.  Him 
the  wandering  Hercules  slew,  and  driving  the  cattle  home- 
wards to  Argos,  found  himself — having,  it  would  seem,  some- 
what lost  his  way — near  Evander's  city,  on  the  banks  of 
Tiber.  He  was  hospitably  entertained  by  the  Arcadian;  and 
his  cattle  meanwhile  wandered  at  their  will  over  the  fields. 
Next  morning  he  missed  two  of  the  bulls.  It  seemed  in  vain 
to  search  for  them.  They  had  been  stolen,  indeed,  but  the 
robber  had  dragged  them  tail-foremost  into  his  cave,  and  the 
device  was  sufficient  to  puzzle  the  simple-minded  hero.  The 
robber  was  Cacus,  the  terror  of  the  Aventine  forest,  a  son  of 
Vulcan,  huge  of  frame,  and  strong  as  he  was  huge,  whose 
dwelling  was  in  a  cave,  which  even  the  wild  beasts  could 
hardly  find,  its  entrance  hideous  with  limbs  and  heads  of  men, 
and  its  floor  white  with  human  bones.  Hercules  was  about 
to  depart,  when  the  bellowing  of  the  imprisoned  oxen  reached 
him.  Guided  by  the  sound,  he  found  the  cave.  Cacus  had 
blocked  the  entrance  with  a  large  mass  of  rock,  which  even 
five  yoke  of  oxen  could  scarcely  have  stirred.  But  the 
shoulders  that  had  supported  the  heavens  were  equal  to  the 
task.  The  rock  gave  way,  and  the  robber  had  to  fight  for 
his  prey  and  his  life.  First  with  fists,  then  with  stones  and 
sticks  he  fought,  and  finding  himself  worsted,  had  recourse 
to  his  father's  aid,  and  vomited  forth  fire  in  the  face  of  the 
foe.  All  was  in  vain;  the  knotted  club  descended,  and  the 
monster  fell  dying  on  the  ground.  The  victor  sacrificed  one 
of  the  cattle  to  Jupiter,  and  left  a  memorial  of  himself  in  the 
ox-market,  the  name  of  which  was  traced,  not  to  the  common- 
place explanation  of  its  use,  but  to  the  animal  which  the  vic- 
torious son  of  Jupiter  had  there  sacrificed  to  his  sire. 

W^hat  remains  in  the  book  may  be  passed  over  with  brief 
notice.  The  thirteenth  of  the  month  was  distinguished  as  the 
day  on  which  Augustus  had  amused  the  Roman  people,  and 
gratified  his  own  passion  for  veiling  despotism  under  republi- 
can  forms,   by   restoring  to  the  senate  the  control   of  the 


300  INTRODUCTION 

provinces  in  which  peace  had  been  restored.  On  the  eigh- 
teenth was  commemorated  the  dedication  of  the  Temple  of 
Concord,  first  made  when  Camillus  had  reconciled  contending 
orders  in  the  State,  and  renewed  by  Tiberius  after  completing 
his  German  conquests.  A  memorable  holiday,  that  of  the 
"sowing  day,"  was  fixed  at  the  discretion  of  the  pontiff,  near 
the  end  of  the  month.  The  thirtieth  commemorated  the  dedi- 
cation of  the  altar  to  Peace,  and  afforded  the  poet  yet  another 
opportunity  of  offering  his  homage  to  the  house  of  Au- 
gustus : — 

Her  tresses  bound  with  Actium's  *  crown  of  bay, 
Peace  comes ;  in  all  the  world,  sweet  goddess,  stay ! 
Her  altar  flames,  ye  priests,  with  incense  feed. 
Bid  'neath  the  axe  the  snow-white  victim  bleed! 
Pray  willing  heaven,  that  Caesar's  house  may  stand. 
Long  as  the  peace  it  gives  a  wearied  land ! 

It  would  weary  the  reader,  even  did  space  permit,  to  go 
in  like  detail  through  the  poet's  account  of  each  month.  He 
begins  each  with  an  attempt  to  determine  the  etymology  of  its 
name.  That  of  February,  he  tells  us,  was  to  be  found  in  the 
word  februa,  a  name  given  by  the  Romans  of  old  to  certain 
offerings  of  a  purifying  and  expiatory  nature  used  at  this 
time.  The  purification  of  the  flocks  and  herds,  as  well  as  of 
human  beings,  was  a  very  important  element  in  the  religious 
life  of  Rome ;  and  the  words  lustrum  and  lustratio,  which  de- 
note certain  forms  of  purification,  are  well  known  to  every 
student  of  Roman  history.  February  is  therefore  the  "pur- 
ifying" month;  and  its  name  thus  testifies  to  a  widespread 
belief  in  the  need  of  cleansing  and  expiation.  March,  of 
course,  takes  its  name  from  the  god  Mars,  the  father  of 
Rome's  legendary  founder.  For  April  the  poet  gives  a  fanci- 
ful etymology.  "Spring,"  he  says,  "opens"  (aperit)  "all 
things;"  and  so,  he  adds,  "April,  according  to  tradition, 
means  the  'open'  time"  {apertum  tempus).     It  is  the  time 


^At  the  battle  of  Actium  (fought  B.C.  31)  the  civil  wars  which  had 
raged  at  intervals  for  more  than  sixty  years  were  brought  to  a  final 
close  by  the  victory  of  Octavius  Caesar  over  his  rival  Antony. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  301 

of  love;  and  Venus  during  this  month  is  in  the  ascendant, 
"the  goddess  who  is  all-powerful  in  earth,  in  heaven,  in  sea." 
For  the  next  month,  May,  Ovid  confesses  that  he  had  no  satis- 
factory theory  to  offer  as  to  its  name.  He  suggests  that  it  is 
formed  from  the  root  of  major  and  majestas.  "  May,"  he 
says,  "  is  the  month  for  old  men ;  and  its  special  function  is 
to  teach  the  young  reverence  for  age.  "  Majestas,"  indeed, 
was  regarded,  after  Roman  fashion — which  delighted  in  real 
personifications — as  a  divinity,  whom  Romulus  and  Numa 
worshipped  as  the  upholder  of  filial  reverence  and  obedience, 
and  also  as  the  rightful  disposer  of  the  offices  and  honours 
of  the  State  in  their  due  order.  With  this  divinity  the  month 
of  May  was  associated.  June  is  Juno's  month,  though  Ovid 
admits  that  the  explanation  is  doubtful.  He  represents  the 
goddess  as  appearing  to  him  in  a  secluded  grove  when  he  w  as 
pondering  within  himself  on  the  origin  of  the  name.  She 
tells  him  that,  as  he  has  undertaken  to  celebrate  in  his  verse 
the  religious  festivals  of  Rome,  he  has  thereby  won  for  him- 
self the  privilege  of  beholding  the  divine  essence.  As  she 
was  both  the  wife  and  sister  of  Jupiter,  her  month  would 
speak  to  the  public  of  Rome  of  the  marriage-tie  and  of 
family-bonds.  With  the  sixth  book  the  Fasti,  as  we  have 
them,  come  to  an  end. 

The  name  having  been  thus  accounted  for,  astronomical 
occurrences,  religious  ceremonies,  matters  of  ritual,  the  anni- 
versaries of  the  dedications  of  temples  and  altars,  and  the 
like,  are  duly  recorded,  the  poet  availing  himself  of  every  op- 
portunity to  introduce  some  historical  or  mythological  legend. 
They  are  the  most  attractive  part  of  the  work,  for  Ovid  is 
always  happy  in  narrative.  Among  the  most  noticeable  of 
the  historical  class  is  the  tale  of  the  three  hundred  and  six 
Fabii  who  fell  on  the  plains  of  Veii,  in  the  battle  of  the 
Cremera,  fighting  with  an  heroic  courage,  in  which  Roman 
patriotism  found  a  match  for  the  great  deed  of  Leonidas  and 
his  three  hundred  Spartans  at  Thermopylae.  Indeed,  though 
it  would  be  rash  to  deny  altogether  the  genuineness  of  the 
narrative,  there  is  something  suspicious  about  the  Roman 
legend.  The  historians  of  Rome  had  indeed  a  singular  power 
of  embellishment  and  invention,  and  it  is  not  doing  them  any 


302  INTRODUCTION 

injustice  to  suppose  that  the  original  story,  whatever  it  may 
have  been,  grew  somewhat  beneath  their  hands.  The  legend, 
to  which  the  reader  may  give  such  credence  as  he  pleases, 
runs  thus: — 

In  the  early  days  of  the  Commonwealth,  Rome  was 
troubled  much  by  dissension  at  home,  and  by  the  attacks  of 
her  Etruscan  neighbours  on  the  north.  The  great  house  of 
the  Fabii  had  fallen  into  disfavour  with  their  countrymen. 
What  could  they  do  better  than  at  once  rid  the  city  of  a  pres- 
ence which  was  no  longer  welcome,  while  they  served  their 
country  by  attacking  its  enemies  abroad?  So  they  go  forth, 
a  little  band,  wholly  composed  of  men  of  the  Fabian  race. 
"One  house,"  says  the  poet,  "had  taken  on  itself  the  whole 
might  and  burden  of  Rome :  any  one  of  them  was  worthy  to 
be  a  commander."  They  cross  the  Cremera,  one  of  the  tribu- 
taries of  the  Tiber,  a  little  stream  then  swollen  by  the  melting 
of  the  snows  of  winter.  The  enemy  fly  before  them;  they 
penetrate  into  a  wooded  plain  well  fitted  for  the  treacherous 
ambuscade.  "Whither  do  ye  rush,  O  noble  house?  to  your 
peril  do  you  trust  the  foe.  Simple-hearted  nobility,  beware 
of  the  weapons  of  treachery ! "  All  in  a  moment  the  enemy 
issue  from  the  woods,  and  escape  is  utterly  cut  off.  "What 
can  a  few  brave  heroes  do  against  so  many  thousands  ?  What 
resource  is  left  them  in  so  dire  a  crisis?  "  But  the  Fabii  did 
not  die  unavenged :  "  as  the  boar  in  the  forests  of  Laurentum, 
when  at  last  brought  to  bay,  deals  havoc  among  the  hounds," 
so  these  intrepid  warriors  fall  amid  a  multitude  of  slain  foes. 
"  Thus,"  as  the  poet  says,  "  a  single  day  sent  forth  all  the 
Fabii  to  the  war;  a  single  day  destroyed  them  all."  But 
one  of  the  family  was  left,  a  stripling,  who  could  not  as 
yet  bear  arms.  This  was  a  special  providence.  The  gods 
took  care  that  the  house  descended  from  Hercules  should  not 
be  utterly  extinguished.  It  had  a  great  destiny  before  it. 
"The  striphng  was  preserved,"  the  poet  says,  "that  he  who 
was  surnamed  Maximus,  as  Hannibal's  formidable  antagonist, 
might  hereafter  be  born,"  the  man  who,  by  his  policy  of  de- 
lay {cunctando,  whence  his  surname  of  Cunctator),  was  to 
restore  the  fortunes  of  Rome. 

Another  well-told  legend  is  that  of  the  translation  and 


LIFE   OF   OVID  303 

deification  of  Romulus.  "WHien  his  father,  mighty  in  arms, 
saw  the  new  walls  of  the  city  completed,  and  many  a  war 
ended  by  his  son's  prowess,  he  uttered  this  prayer  to  Jupiter: 
*  Rome's  power  now  is  firmly  planted ;  she  needs  not  my 
child's  help.  Restore  the  son  to  the  father;  though  one  has 
perished,  I  shall  still  have  one  left  me  in  his  own  stead  and 
in  the  stead  of  Remus.  There  wilj  be  one  for  thee  to  raise 
to  the  azure  vault  of  heaven:  thou  hast  spoken  the  word; 
Jove's  word  must  be  fulfilled.' "  The  prayer  was  at  once 
granted,  and,  amid  parting  clouds,  the  king,  while  he  was  in 
the  act  of  administering  justice  to  his  people,  was  carried  up 
with  peals  of  thunder  and  lightning-flashes  into  the  heavens, 
on  his  father's  steeds.  The  grief  of  Rome  was  solaced  by  a 
vision  of  the  departed  hero,  who  appeared  to  one  of  the  Julii 
as  he  was  on  his  w^ay  from  Alba  Longa.  "  Suddenly,  with  a 
crash,  the  clouds  on  his  left  hand  parted  asunder;  he  drew 
back,  and  his  hair  stood  on  end.  Romulus  seemed  to  stand 
before  him — a  grand  and  more  than  human  figure,  adorned 
with  the  robe  of  state.  He  seemed  to  say,  Forbid  Rome's 
citizens  to  mourn;  their  tears  must  not  insult  my  divinity. 
Let  them  offer  incense  and  worship  a  new  god,  Quirinus,  and 
pursue  their  country's  arts  and  the  soldier's  work." 

Sometimes  the  poet  takes  his  readers  into  the  obscurer 
bypaths  of  the  old  Italian  mythology.  We  meet  with  the 
names  of  divinities  which,  to  the  ordinary  reader,  are  alto- 
gether unfamiliar.  Such  a  name  is  that  of  Anna  Perenna,  a 
deified  sister  of  the  Phoenician  Dido,  according  to  the  accounts 
both  of  Virgil  and  Ovid.  She  was  a  river-nymph,  and  to  this 
her  name  Perenna  (everlasting)  was  meant  to  point.  Her 
story  is  related  at  great  length  by  Ovid.  Her  yearly  festival, 
it  appears,  was  celebrated  on  the  Ides  of  March,  and  was  a 
somewhat  grotesque  ceremony.  The  populace  had  a  sort  of 
picnic  on  the  grassy  banks  of  the  Tiber,  and  indulged  them- 
selves very  freely.  Indeed  there  was  a  distinct  motive  to 
drink  without  stint,  as  it  was  the  custom  to  pray  for  as  many 
years  of  life  as  they  had  drunk  cups  of  wine.  The  connection 
between  the  two  is  not  to  us  very  obvious;  but,  if  we  may 
trust  Ovid,  there  w^ere  those  who  would  drink  out  the  years 
of  long-lived  Nestor  in  the  hope  of  attaining  that  worthy's 


304  INTRODUCTION 

age.  The  celebrants  sang  all  the  songs  they  had  heard  at  the 
theatre,  and,  having  drunk  and  sung  to  their  heart's  content, 
they  had  a  merry  dance. 

Ovid  ends  his  account  of  this  Anna  Perenna  with  an  amus- 
ing little  story  about  her.  When  she  had  been  made  a  goddess, 
Mars  paid  her  a  visit,  and  had  some  private  conversation  with 
her.  "You  are  worshipped,"  he  said,  "in  my  month;  I 
have  great  hopes  from  your  kind  assistance.  I  am  on  fire 
with  love  of  Minerva;  we  both  of  us  bear  arms,  and  long 
have  I  been  cherishing  my  passion.  Contrive  that,  as  we 
follow  the  same  pursuit,  we  may  be  united.  The  part  well 
becomes  you,  O  good-natured  old  woman! "  Anna  professed 
her  willingness  to  help  the  god  of  war,  and  undertook  the 
delicate  business  of  arranging  a  meeting.  However,  for  a 
time  she  put  him  off  with  promises;  but  at  last  the  ardent 
lover  was,  as  he  thought,  to  be  gratified.  So  the  god  hurried 
off  to  meet  the  object  of  his  affections ;  but  when  in  his  impa- 
tience he  raised  her  veil,  and  was  about  to  snatch  a  kiss,  he 
found  that  Anna  had  played  him  a  trick,  and  had  dressed  her- 
self up  as  Minerva.  He  was  naturally  angry  and  ashamed 
of  himself,  all  the  more  so  as  the  new  goddess  laughed  him  to 
scorn,  and  as  his  old  flame  Venus  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  joke. 
It  appears  that  this  legendary  hoax,  which  Ovid  tells  in  his 
best  way,  gave  occasion  to  a  number  of  sly  and  humorous  say- 
ings among  the  merry  people  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber.  It 
was,  no  doubt,  great  fun  for  them  to  think  of  the  august  deity 
to  whom  their  city  owed  its  founder  and  first  king,  having 
been  "  sold  "  in  such  a  fashion. 


The  Tristia,  or  the  "  Sorrows  " 

Ovid's  pen  was  not  idle  during  the  melancholy  years  of 
exile  which  closed  his  life.  In  addition  to  revising  the 
"  Metamorphoses  "  and  adding  to  the  "  Fasti,"  he  composed 
in  their  entirety  the  "  Sorrows,"  the  "Letters  from  the  Pon- 
tus,"  and  the  "Ibis." 

In  the  "  Sorrows  "  and  the  "  Letters  from  the  Pontus " 
Ovid  pours  forth  in  an  increasing  stream  his  complaints  against 
the  cruelty  of  fate  and  the  miseries  of  his  exile;  his  supplica- 


LIFE   OF   OVID  305 

tions  for  the  removal,  or  at  least  the  mitigation  of  his  sen- 
tence ;  and  his  entreaties  to  those  who  had  known  him  in  his 
prosperity,  that  they  would  help,  or,  if  help  was  impossible, 
would  at  least  remember  their  fallen  friend.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  they  lack  the  brilliancy  of  the  earlier  poems.  The 
genius  of  the  poet  stagnated,  as  he  says  himself,  in  the  incle- 
ment climate,  and  amidst  the  barbarous  associations  of  his 
place  of  exile.  And  the  reader  is  wearied  by  the  garrulous 
monotony  of  nearly  six  thousand  verses,  in  which  the  absorb- 
ing subject  of  the  poet's  own  sorrows  is  only  exchanged  for 
flattery — all  the  more  repulsive  because  we  know  it  to  have 
been  unavailing — of  the  ruler  from  whose  anger  or  policy  he 
was  suffering.  Yet  there  are  not  wanting  points  of  interest. 
There  are  graphic  sketches  of  scenery  and  character  touches 
of  pathos,  here  and  there  even  a  gleam  of  humour,  and  some- 
times, when  the  occasion  brings  him  to  speak  of  his  own 
genius,  and  of  the  fame  to  which  he  looked  forward,  an 
assertion  of  independence  and  dignity,  which  is  infinitely 
refreshing  amidst  his  unmanly  repining  against  his  fate,  and 
the  yet  more  unmanly  adulations  by  which  he  hoped  ,to 
escape  it. 

The  first  book  of  the  "  Sorrows  "  w-as  written  and  des- 
patched to  Rome  before  Ovid  had  reached  his  allotted  place 
of  banishment..  A  preface  commends  to  all  who  still  remem- 
bered him  at  Rome  the  little  volume,  which  w^ould  remind 
them  of  the  banished  Ovid.  It  was  to  go  in  the  guise  that 
became  an  exile's  book.  It  was  to  be  without  the  ornaments 
which  distinguished  more  fortunate  volumes.  A  character- 
istic passage  tells  us  what  these  ornaments  were,  and  gives 
us  as  good  an  idea  as  we  can  anywhere  get  of  the  appearance 
of  a  Roman  book.  The  parchment  or  paper,  on  the  inner 
side  of  which  was  the  writing,  was  tinted  on  the  outer  of  a 
warm  and  pleasing  colour,  by  means  of  saffron  or  cedar-oil. 
The  title  of  the  book  was  written  in  vermilion  letters.  The 
stick  round  which  the  roll  was  made  had  bosses  of  ivory,  or 
some  other  ornamental  material,  and  the  ends  of  the  roll  were 
polished  and  coloured  black.  Any  erasure  was  considered  to 
be  a  great  disfigurement:  of  such  disfigurement  the  poet's 
book  was  not  to  be  ashamed.     Every  reader  would  understand 


306  INTRODUCTION 

that  sufficient  cause  was  found  in  the  author's  tears,  and  for 
that  excuse  the  blots. 

Nowhere  throughout  the  "  Sorrows  "  does  Ovid  venture 
to  name  any  one  of  his  friends  to  whom  he  addressed  the 
various  poems  of  which  the  several  books  are  composed.  His 
wife  only  is  excepted.  If  any  peril  had  ever  threatened  her, 
it  had  now  passed.  Indeed,  if  the  poet  is  to  be  believed,  she 
desired  nothing  more  than  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  share 
her  husband's  exile.  But  it  was  evidently  a  perilous  thing 
for  friends  of  the  banished  man  to  be  supposed  to  keep  up  any 
intercourse  with  him.  Time,  though  it  brought  no  relaxation 
to  the  severity  of  the  punishment,  seemed  to  have  removed 
something  of  the  bitterness  with  which  the  poet's  name  was 
regarded  at  Rome.  The  "  Letters  from  the  Pontus "  are 
addressed  by  name  to  various  friends,  and  we  find  from  them 
that,  instead  of  the  two  or  three  faithful  hearts  who  alone 
were  left  to  the  fallen  man  in  the  early  days  of  his  ruin,  he 
had  during  the  latter  years  of  his  exile  a  goodly  number  of 
correspondents. 

Of  the  second  poem  in  the  book,  describing  the  imminent 
peril  of  shipwreck  in  which  he  found  himself  on  his  voyage 
from  Italy,  mention  has  already  been  made.  He  returns  to 
the  same  subject  in  the  fourth  elegy,  mentioning,  not  without 
a  certain  pathos,  that  the  adverse  winds  had  driven  him  back 
within  sight  of  that  Italy  on  which  it  was  forbidden  him  again 
to  set  foot. 

The  fourth  poem  describes  his  departure  from  his  home. 
The  fifth  makes  one  of  the  many  fruitless  appeals  for  help 
which  Ovid  continued  throughout  the  weary  years  of  his 
banishment  to  address  to  any  friend  whom  he  thought  suffi- 
ciently bold  to  intercede  on  his  behalf  with  the  offended  Caesar. 
An  elegy  addressed  to  his  wife, — the  first  of  many  poems  in 
which  he  warmly  expresses  his  gratitude  for  the  devotion  with 
which  she  was  defending  his  interests  against  enemies  and 
faithless  friends;  another,  addressed  to  a. friend,  commending 
to  his  notice  the  book  of  the  Metamorphoses,  and  excusing, 
on  the  ground  of  the  sudden  interruption  caused  by  the 
author's  banishment,  its  many  imperfections ;  and  a  pathetic 
remonstrance  with  one  who  had  once  professed  a  great  friend- 


LIFE   OF   OVID  307 

ship  for  him,  but  had  deserted  him  in  his  hour  of  need, — 
these,  with  two  other  poems,  complete  the  first  book  of  the 
"  Sorrows." 

It  may  be  noticed,  as  a  proof  of  the  popularity  which  the 
poet  had  attained,  that  the  friend  whom  Ovid  addresses  was 
accustomed  to  wear  in  a  ring  a  gem  engraved  with  Ovid's 
portrait.  Gems  were  in  one  sense  what  miniatures  were  to 
the  last  generation,  and  what  photographs  are  to  ourselves; 
but  both  the  material  and  the  process  of  engraving  were  costly, 
and  it  is  probable  that  it  was  only  persons  of  some  note  who 
enjoyed  the  distinction  of  having  their  features  thus  per- 
petuated. There  is  a  traditionary  likeness  of  Ovid,  which  may 
possibly  have  come  down  to  us  in  this  way.  It  is  a  curious 
fact  that,  thanks  to  this  art  of  gem-engraving,  we  are  well 
acquainted  with  the  faces  of  men  separated  from  us  by  twenty 
centuries  and  more,  while  the  outward  semblance  of  those  who 
are  within  three  or  four  hundred  years  of  our  own  time  has 
been  irrecoverably  lost. 

The  second  book  of  the  "  Sorrows  "  is  an  elaborate  Apolo- 
gia pro  vita  sua  [Defence  of  his  life] ,  addressed  to  Augustus, 
He  hopes  that,  as  verse  had  been  his  ruin,  so  verse  might 
help  ameliorate  his  condition.  "  The  emperor  himself  had 
acknowledged  its  power.  At  his  bidding  the  Roman  matrons 
had  chanted  the  song  of  praise  to  Cybele;  and  he  had  ordered 
the  hymns  which  at  Secular  Games  had  been  raised  to  Phcebus. 
Might  he  not  hope  that  the  wrath  of  the  terrestrial  god  might 
be  propitiated  in  the  same  way  ?  To  pardon  was  the  preroga- 
tive of  deity.  Jupiter  himself,  when  he  had  hurled  his  thun- 
ders, allowed  the  clear  sky  again  to  be  seen.  And  who  had 
been  more  merciful  than  Augustus  ?  Ovid  had  seen  many  pro- 
moted to  wealth  and  power  who  had  borne  arms  against  him. 
No  such  guilt  had  been  the  poet's.  He  had  never  forgotten 
to  offer  his  prayers  for  the  ruler  of  Rome,  had  never  failed 
to  sing  his  praises.  And  had  he  not  received  the  emperor's 
approval?  When  the  knights  had  passed  in  review  before 
him,  the  poet's  horse  had  been  duly  restored  to  him.^     Nay, 


^  A   knight   disgraced   by   the    censor    (the    emperor  was   perpetual 
censor)  had  his  horse  taken  from  him. 


308  INTRODUCTION 

he  had  filled  high  stations  of  responsibility,  had  been  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Court  of  the  Hundred,  and  even  of  the  Council 
of  Ten,  which  presided  over  it.  And  all  had  been  ruined  by 
an  unhappy  mistake!  Yet  the  emperor  had  been  merciful. 
Life  had  been  spared  to  him,  and  his  paternal  property.  No 
decree  of  the  senate  or  of  any  judge  had  condemned  him  to 
banishment.  The  emperor  had  avenged  his  own  wrongs  by 
an  exercise  of  his  own  power,  but  avenged  them  with  a  pun- 
ishment so  much  milder  than  it  might  have  been,  as  to  leave 
him  hopes  for  the  future." 

These  hopes  he  proceeds  to  commend  to  the  emperor  by 
elaborate  flattery.  He  appeals  successively  to  the  gods,  who, 
if  they  loved  Rome,  would  prolong  the  days  of  its  lord;  to 
the  country,  which  would  always  be  grateful  for  the  bless- 
ings of  his  rule;  to  Livia,  the  one  wife  who  was  worthy  of 
him,  and  for  whom  he  was  the  one  worthy  husband;  to  the 
triumphs  which  his  grandsons  ^  were  winning  in  his  name  and 
under  his  auspices;  and  implores  that  if  return  may  not  be 
granted  to  him,  at  least  some  milder  exile  may  be  conceded. 
Here  he  was  on  the  very  verge  of  the  empire,  and  within 
reach  of  its  enemies.  Was  it  well  that  a  Roman  citizen  should 
be  in  peril  of  captivity  among  barbarous  tribes?  Ovid  then 
proceeds  to  set  forth  an  apology  for  his  offending  poems.  To 
the  real  cause  of  his  banishment  he  makes  one  brief  allusion. 
More  he  dared  not  say.  "  I  am  not  worth  so  much  as  that 
I  should  renew  your  wounds,  O  Caesar :  it  is  far  too  much  that 
you  should  once  have  felt  the  pang." 

It  is  needless  to  examine  the  Apology  in  detail.  The  sum 
and  substance  of  it  is,  that  the  poems  were  written  for  those 
to  whom  they  could  not  possibly  do  any  harm ;  that  readers  to 
whose  modesty  they  might  be  likely  to  do  an  injury  had  been 
expressly  warned  off  from  them;  that  a  mind  perversely  dis- 
posed would  find  evil  anywhere,  even  in  the  most  sacred 
legends ;  that,  if  everything  whence  the  opportunity  for  wTong 
might  arise  was  to  be  condemned,  the  theatre,  the  circus,  the 
temples  with  their  porticoes  so  convenient  for  forbidden  meet- 


^  Drusus,  the  son,  and  Germanicus  the  nephew  and  adopted  son  of 
Tiberius,  Augustus's  step-son. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  309 

ings,  and  their  associations  so  strangely  tinged  with  Hcence, 
would  share  the  same  fate.  As  for  himself,  his  life  had 
been  pure  but  for  this  one  fault ;  and  this  fault  how  many  had 
committed  before  him!  Then  follows  a  long  list  of  poets, 
who,  if  to  sing  of  love  was  an  offence,  had  been  grievous 
offenders.  Then  there  had  been  poems  on  dice-playing,  and 
dice  had  been  a  grievous  offence  in  the  old  days.  All  verses 
that  taught  men  how  to  waste  that  precious  thing  time, — 
verses  about  swimming,  about  ball-playing,  about  the  trundling 
of  hoops  (a  favourite  amusement,  it  would  seem,  even  with 
middle-aged  Romans),  about  the  furnishings  of  the  table 
and  its  etiquette,  about  the  different  kinds  of  earthenware 
(the  fancy  for  curious  pots  and  pans  was,  it  will  be  seen,  in 
full  force  among  the  wealthy  Romans  of  Ovid's  time), — 
might  be  condemned.  Plays,  too,  and  pictures  were  grievous 
offenders  in  the  same  way.  Why  should  Ovid  be  the  only 
one  to  suffer? — Ovid,  too,  who  had  written  grave  and  serious 
works  which  no  one  could  censure,  and  who  had  never 
wronged  any  man  by  slanderous  verses,  over  whose  fall  no 
one  rejoiced,  but  many  had  mourned. 

"  Permit  these  pleas  thy  mighty  will  to  sway, 
Great  Lord,  thy  country's  Father,  Hope,  and  Stay! 
Return  I  ask  not;  though  at  last  thy  heart, 
Touched  by  long  suffering,  may  the  boon  impart; 
Let  not  the  penalty  the  fault  exceed: 
Exile  I  bear;  for  peace,  for  life  I  plead." 

It  is  probable  that  the  poem  was  despatched  to  Rome 
immediately  after  its  author  had  reached  Tomi.  He  would 
not  have  ventured  to  put  in  a  plea  for  the  mitigation  of  pun- 
ishment before  he  had  at  least  begun  to  suffer  it;  but  it  is 
equally  certain  that  the  plea  would  not  be  long  delayed.  The 
third  book  of  the  "  Sorrows  "  was  likewise  composed  and  sent 
off  during  the  first  year  of  his  banishment.  The  twelfth  out 
of  its  fourteen  elegies  speaks  of  the  return  of  spring.  The 
winter  of  the  Pontus,  longer  than  any  that  he  had  known 
before,  had  passed  away;  lads  and  lasses  in  happier  lands 
were  gathering  violets ;  the  swallow  was  building  under  the 
eaves ;  vineyard  and   forest — strangers,  alas  I  both  of  them, 

XI— 21 


310  INTRODUCTION 

to  the  land  of  the  Getse — were  bursting  into  leaf.  And  in 
Rome's  happier  place,  which  he  might  never  see  again,  all 
the  athletic  sports  of  the  Campus,  all  the  gay  spectacles  of  tlie 
theatre,  were  being  enjoyed.  The  poet's  only  solace  was  that, 
as  even  in  these  dismal  regions  spring  brought  some  relief, 
and  opened  the  sea  to  navigation,  some  ship  might  reach  the 
shore  and  bring  news  of  Italy  and  of  Caesar's  triumphs. 

The  next  elegy  must  have  been  written  about  the  same 
time.  Ovid's  birthday  (we  know  it  to  have  been  the  20th  of 
March)  came,  the  first  that  had  visited  him  in  his  exile. 
"  Would  that  thou  hadst  brought,"  he  says,  "  not  an  addition 
but  an  end  to  my  pain! 

"  What  dost  thou  here  ?    Has  angry  Caesar  sent 
Thee  too  to  share  my  hopeless  banishment? 
Think'st  thou  to  find  the  customary  rite — 
To  see,  the  while  I  stand  in  festive  white. 
With  flowery  wreaths  the  smoking  altars  crowned, 
And  hear  in  spicy  flames  the  salt  meal's  crackling  sound? 
Shall  honeyed  cakes  do  honour  to  the  day, 
While  I  in  words  of  happy  omen  pray? 
Not  such  my  lot.    A  cruel  fate  and  stern 
Forbids  me  thus  to  welcome  thy  return; 
With  gloomy  cypress  be  my  altars  dight, 
And  flames  prepared  the  funeral  flames  to  light! 
I  burn  no  incense  to  unheeding  skies, — 
From  heart  so  sad  no  words  of  blessing  rise; 
If  yet  for  me  one  ntting  prayer  remain, 
'Tis  this :   Return  not  to  these  shores  again !  " 

The  gloom  of  his  lot  was  aggravated  by  causes  of  which 
he  bitterly  complains  in  more  than  one  of  his  poems.  In  the 
third  elegy,  which  he  addressed  to  his  wife,  she  must  not 
wonder  that  the  letter  was  written  in  a  strange  hand.  He 
had  been  grievously,  even  dangerously,  ill.  The  climate  did 
not  suit  him;  nor  the  water  (Ovid  seems  to  have  been  a 
water-drinker),  nor  the  soil.  He  had  not  a  decent  house  to 
cover  his  head;  there  was  no  food  that  could  suit  a  sick 
man's  appetite.  No  physician  could  be  found  to  prescribe 
for  his  malady.     There  was  not  even  a  friend  who  could 


LIFE   OF   OVID  311 

while  away  the  time  by  conversation  or  reading.  He  felt, 
he  complains  in  another  letter,  a  constant  lassitude,  which 
extended  from  his  body  to  his  mind.  Perpetual  sleeplessness 
troubled  him;  his  food  gave  him  no  nourishment;  he  was 
wasted  away  almost  to  a  skeleton. 

Writing  about  two  years  after  this  time,  he  assumes  a 
more  cheerful  tone.  His  health  was  restored.  He  had  be- 
come hardened  to  the  climate.  If  it  were  not  for  his  mental 
trouble,  all  would  be  w^ell.  Another  pressing  matter  was 
anxiety  about  his  literary  reputation,  which  the  offended 
authorities  at  home  were  doing  their  best  to  extinguish.  He 
imagines  his  little  book  making  its  way  with  trembling  steps 
through  the  well-known  scenes  of  the  capital.  It  goes  to  the 
temple  of  Apollo,  where  the  works  of  authors  old  and  new 
were  open  for  the  inspection  of  readers.  There  it  looks  for 
its  brothers, — not  the  luckless  poem  which  had  excited  the 
wrath  of  Caesar,  and  which  their  father  wished  he  had  never 
begotten,  but  the  unoffending  others.  Alas!  they  were  all 
absent;  and  even  while  it  looked,  the  guardian  of  the  place 
bade  it  begone.  Nor  was  it  more  successful  in  the  neighbour- 
ing library  of  the  temple  of  Liberty.  Banished  from  public, 
its  only  resource  was  to  find  shelter  from  private  friendship. 
To  such  shelter,  accordingly,  the  volume  is  commended  in 
the  last  elegy  of  the  book.  This  friend  was,  it  seems,  a  patron 
of  literature, — "  a  lover  of  new  poets,"  Ovid  calls  him.  And 
the  author  begs  his  favour  and  care  for  his  latest  work. 
Only  he  must  not  look  for  too  much.  Everything  was  against 
him  in  that  barbarous  land.  The  wonder  was  that  he  could 
write  at  all.  "  There  is  no  supply  of  books  here  to  rouse  and 
nurture  my  mind;  instead  of  books,  there  is  the  clash  of 
swords  and  the  bow.  There  is  no  one  in  the  country  to  give 
me,  should  I  read  to  him  my  verses,  an  intelligent  hearing. 
There  is  no  place  to  which  I  can  retire.  The  closely-guarded 
walls  and  fast-shut  gate  keep  out  the  hostile  Getse,  Often  I 
look  for  a  word,  for  a  name,  for  a  place,  and  there  is  no  one 
to  help  me  to  it;  often  (I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it)  when  I 
try  to  say  something,  words  fail  me ;  I  find  that  I  have  forgot- 
ten how  to  speak.  On  every  side  of  me  I  hear  the  sound  of 
Thracian  and   Scythian  tongues.     I  almost   believe  that   I 


312  INTRODUCTION 

could  write  in  Getic  measures.  Nay,  believe  me,  I  sometimes 
fear  lest  Pontic  words  should  be  found  mixed  with  my  Latin." 
We  have  the  same  complaints  and  fears  repeated  in  the 
fifth  book.  After  some  uncomplimentary  expressions  about 
the  savage  manners  of  the  people,  and  their  equally  savage 
dress  and  appearance, — the  furs  and  loose  trousers  by  which 
they  sought,  but  with  ill  success,  to  keep  out  the  cold,  and  their 
long  and  shaggy  beards, — he  goes  on  to  speak  about  the  lan- 
guage :— 

"  Among  a  few  remain  traces  of  the  Greek  tongue,  but  even 
these  corrupted  with  Getic  accent.  There  is  scarcely  a  man  among 
the  people  who  by  any  chance  can  give  you  an  answer  on  any  matter 
in  Latin.  I,  the  Roman  bard,  am  compelled — pardon  me,  O  Muses ! 
— to  speak  for  the  most  part  after  Sarmatian  fashion.  I  am  ashamed 
of  it,  and  I  own  it;  by  this  time,  from  long  disuse,  I  myself  can 
scarcely  recall  Latin  words.  And  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  there 
are  not  a  few  barbarisms  in  this  little  book.  It  is  not  the  fault 
of  the  writer,  but  of  the  place." 

One  of  the  elegies  in  the  third  book  has  been  already 
noticed.  It  is  addressed  to  Perilla,  and  the  question  whether 
this  lady  was,  as  some  commentators  suppose,  the  daughter 
of  the  poet,  has  been  briefly  discussed.  It  begins :  "  Go,  let- 
ter, hastily  penned,  to  salute  Perilla,  the  faithful  messenger  of 
my  words;  you  will  find  her  either  sitting  with  her  dear 
mother,  or  among  her  books  and  Muses."  He  reminds  her 
of  how  he  had  been  her  teacher  in  the  art  of  verse,  and  tells 
her  that  if  her  genius  remained  still  as  vivid  as  of  old,  only 
Sappho  W'Ould  excel  her.  Let  her  not  be  terrified  by  his  own 
sad  fate;  only  she  must  beware  of  perilous  subjects.  Then 
follows  a  noble  vindication  of  his  art,  and  of  the  dignity  which 
it  gave  to  him,  its  humble  follower : — 

Long  years  will  mar  those  looks  so  comely  now. 
And  age  will  write  its  wrinkles  on  thy  brow. 
Mark  how  it  comes  with  fatal,  noiseless  pace. 
To  spoil  the  blooming  honours  of  thy  face ! 
Soon  men  will  say,  and  thou  wilt  hear  with  pain, 
"  Surely  she  once  was  lovely ;"  and  in  vain. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  313 

That  thy  too  faithful  glass  is  false,  complain. 

Small  are  thy  riches,  though  the  loftiest  state 

Would  suit  thee  well ;  but  he  they  small  or  great, 

Chance  takes  and  brings  them  still  with  fickle  wing — 

To-day  a  beggar,  yesterday  a  king. 

Why  name  each  good?     Each  has  its  little  day; 

Gifts  of  the  soul  alone  defy  decay, 

I  live  of  friends,  of  country,  home,  bereft, — 

All  I  could  lose,  but  genius  still  is  left ; 

This  is  my  solace,  this  my  constant  friend ; 

Ere  this  be  reached  e'en  Caesar's  power  must  end. 

It  is  needless  to  go  on  in  detail  through  what  remains  of 
the  "  Sorrows."  The  tenth  poem  of  the  fourth  book  should 
be  mentioned  as  being  a  brief  autobiography  of  the  poet. 
Elsewhere  he  pursues,  with  an  iteration  which  would  be  weary- 
ing in  the  extreme  but  for  his  marvellous  power  of  saying  the 
same  thing  in  many  ways,  the  old  subjects.  The  hardships 
of  his  lot,  the  fidelity  or  faithfulness  of  his  friends,  the  solace 
which  art  supplied  him,  and  the  effort  to  discover  some  way 
of  propitiating  those  who  held  his  fate  in  their  hands, — these 
topics  occupy  in  turn  his  pen.  The  following  elegant  transla- 
tion by  the  late  Mr.  Philip  Stanhope  Worsley,  of  one  of  the 
latest  poems  of  the  book,  may  serve  as  a  good  specimen  of 
his  verse : — 

"  Study  the  mournful  hours  away, 

Lest  in  dull  sloth  thy  spirit  pine;" 
Hard  words  thou  writest:  verse  is  gay, 

And  asks  a  lighter  heart  than  mine. 

No  calms  my  stormy  life  beguile, 

Than  mine  can  be  no  sadder  chance; 
You  bid  bereaved  Priam  smile. 

And  Niobe,  the  childless,  dance. 

Is  grief  or  study  more  my  part. 

Whose  lief  is  doomed  to  wilds  like  these? 

Though  you  should  make  my  feeble  heart 
Strong  with  the  strength  of  Socrates, 


314  INTRODUCTION 

Such  ruin  would  crush  wisdom  down ; 

Stronger  than  man  is  wrath  divine. 
That  sage,  whom  Phoebus  gave  the  crown. 

Never  could  write  in  grief  like  mine. 

Can  I  ray  land  and  thee  forget, 
Nor  the  felt  sorrow  wound  my  breast? 

Say  that  I  can — but  foes  beset 
This  place,  and  rob  me  of  all  rest. 

Add  that  my  mind  hath  rusted  now, 
And  fallen  far  from  what  it  was. 

The  land,  though  rich,  that  lacks  the  plough 
Is  barren,  save  of  thorns  and  grass. 

The  horse,  that  long  hath  idle  stood. 
Is  soon  o'ertaken  in  the  race ; 

And,  torn  from  its  familiar  flood. 
The  chinky  pinnace  rots  apace. 

Nor  hope  that  I,  before  but  mean. 
Can  to  my  former  self  return; 

Long  sense  of  ills  hath  bruised  my  brain. 
Half  the  old  fires  no  longer  burn. 

Yet  oft  I  take  the  pen  and  try, 
As  now,  to  build  the  measured  rhyme. 

Words  come  not,  or,  as  meet  thine  eye. 
Words  worthy  of  their  place  and  time. 

Last,  glory  cheers  the  heart  that  fails. 
And  love  of  praise  inspires  the  mind — 

I  followed  once  Fame's  star,  my  sails 
Filled  with  a  favourable  wind: 

But  now  'tis  not  so  well  with  me. 
To  care  if  fame  be  lost  or  won: 

Nay,  but  I  would,  if  that  might  be. 
Live  all  unknown  beneath  the  sun. 


The  Letters  from  the  Pontus 

The  "  Letters  "  number  forty-four  in  all,  and  are  con- 
tained in  four  books.     They  are  arranged  in  chronological 


LIFE   OF   OVID  315 

order — an  order,  however,  which  is  not  absolutely  exact.  The 
earliest  of  them  dates  from  the  same  year  to  which  the  fifth 
book  of  the  "  Sorrows  "  is  to  be  attributed.  In  the  prefatory 
epistle,  addressed  to  Brutus — a  relative,  it  is  probable,  of  the 
famous  tyrannicide — the  poet  tells  his  friend  that  he  will  find 
the  new  book  as  full  of  sorrows  as  its  predecessor.  It  con- 
tains, however,  not  a  few  indications  that  his  position  had 
been  somewhat  changed — and  changed  for  the  better. 

He  had  not  ventured  to  prefix  to  the  various  poems  of 
which  the  "  Sorrows  "  were  made  up  the  names  of  those  to 
whom  they  were  addressed.  This  he  does  not  now  scruple  to 
do ;  and  we  find  accordingly  that,  instead  of  the  two  or  three 
who,  he  complains  in  the  earlier  book,  had  alone  been  left  to 
him  out  of  a  crowd  of  companions,  there  was  no  inconsider- 
able number  of  friends  who  were  willing  to  remember,  and 
even,  if  it  might  be,  to  help  him.  We  may  count  as  many 
as  twenty  names ;  not  reckoning  Germanicus  Caesar,  to  whom 
Ovid  addresses  a  complimentary  letter,  and  Cotys,  a  tribu- 
tary king,  the  boundaries  of  whose  dominions  were  not  far 
from  Tomi. 

While  the  revival  of  these  old  friendships  consoled  the 
poet,  and  even  buoyed  him  up  with  hopes  that  his  banishment 
might  be  terminated,  or  at  least  mitigated,  by  a  change  of 
scene,  the  place  itself  was  becoming  (though,  indeed,  he  is 
scarcely  willing  to  allow  it)  less  odious  to  him:  its  semi-bar- 
barous inhabitants  were  not  insensible  to  the  honour  of  hav- 
ing so  distinguished  a  resident  among  them;  and  his  own 
behaviour,  as  he  tells  one  of  his  correspondents,  had  made  a 
favourable  impression  on  them.  "They  would  rather  that  I 
left  them,"  he  says,  "  because  they  see  that  I  wish  to  do  so ; 
but  as  far  as  regards  themselves,  they  like  me  to  be  here.  Do 
not  take  all  this  on  my  word ;  you  may  see  the  decrees  of  the 
town,  which  speak  in  my  praise,  and  make  me  free  of  all 
taxes.  Such  honours  are  scarcely  suitable  to  a  miserable  fugi- 
tive like  myself;  but  the  neighbouring  towns  have  bestowed 
on  me  the  same  privilege."  The  sympathising  people  might 
well  complain  that  their  kindness  was  repaid  with  ingratitude, 
when  their  fellow-townsman  continued  to  speak  with  unmiti- 
gated abhorrence  of  the  place  to  which  he  had  been  con- 


316  INTRODUCTION 

demned.  "I  care  for  nothing,"  he  says,  still  harping  on  the 
constant  theme  of  his  verse,  to  one  of  his  distant  friends, 
"but  to  get  out  of  this  place.  Even  the  Styx — if  there  is  a 
Styx — would  be  a  good  exchange  for  the  Danube;  yes,  and 
anything,  if  such  the  world  contain,  that  is  below  the  Styx 
itself.  The  plough-land  less  hates  the  weed,  the  swallow  less 
hates  the  frost,  than  Naso  hates  the  regions  which  border  on 
the  war-loving  Getse.  Such  words  as  these  make  the  people 
of  Tomi  wroth  with  me.  The  public  anger  is  stirred  up  by 
my  verse.  Shall  I  never  cease  to  be  injured  by  my  song? 
Shall  I  always  suffer  from  my  imprudent  genius?  Why  do 
I  hesitate  to  lop  off  my  fingers,  and  so  make  writing  impos- 
sible? why  do  I  take  again,  in  my  folly,  to  the  warfare  which 
has  damaged  me  before?  Yet  I  have  done  no  wrong.  It  is 
no  fault  of  mine,  men  of  Tomi ;  you  I  love,  though  I  cordially 
hate  your  country.  Let  any  one  search  the  record  of  my  toils 
— there  is  no  letter  in  complaint  of  you.  It  is  the  cold — it  is 
the  attack  that  we  have  to  dread  on  all  sides — it  is  the  assaults 
that  the  enemy  make  on  our  walls,  that  I  complain  of.  It 
was  against  the  place,  not  against  the  people,  that  I  made  the 
charge.  You  yourselves  often  blame  your  own  country. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  malicious  interpreter  that  stirs  up  the  anger 
of  the  people  against  me,  and  brings  a  new  charge  against 
my  verse.  I  wish  that  I  was  as  fortunate  as  I  am  honest  in 
heart.  There  does  not  live  a  man  whom  my  words  have 
wronged.  Nay,  were  I  blacker  than  Illyrian  pitch,  I  could 
not  wrong  so  loyal  a  people  as  you.  The  kindness  with  which 
you  have  received  me  in  my  troubles  shows,  men  of  Tomi, 
that  a  people  so  gentle  must  be  genuine  Greeks.^  My  own 
people,  the  Peligni,  and  Sulmo,  the  land  of  my  home,  could 
not  have  behaved  more  kindly  in  my  troubles.  Honours  which 
you  would  scarcely  give  to  the  prosperous  and  unharmed, 
you  have  lately  bestowed  upon  me.  I  am.  the  only  inhabitant 
— one  only  excepted,  who  held  the  privilege  of  legal  right — 
that  has  been  exempted  from  public  burdens.  My  temples 
have  been  crowned  with  the  sacred  chaplet.  lately  voted  to 


1  This  was  a  compliment  which  would  be  certain  to  please  a  half- 
bred  population  like  that  of  the  old  colony. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  317 

me,  against  my  will,  by  the  favour  of  the  people.  Dear,  then, 
as  to  Latona  was  that  Delian  land,  the  only  spot  which  gave 
a  safe  refuge  to  the  wanderer,  so  dear  is  Tomi  to  me — Tomi 
which  down  to  this  day  remains  a  faithful  host  to  one  who 
has  been  banished  from  his  native  land !  If  only  the  gods 
had  granted  that  it  might  have  some  hope  of  peace  and  quiet, 
and  that  it  were  a  little  further  removed  from  the  frosts  of 
the  pole ! " 

The  poet,  though  he  could  not  restrain  or  moderate  his 
complaints  about  the  miseries  of  his  exile,  did  his  best  to  make 
a  return  for  these  honours  and  hospitalities,  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  it,"  he  writes  to  Carus,  a  scholar  of  distinction,  who 
had  been  appointed  tutor  to  the  children  of  Germanicus,  **  but 
I  have  written  a  book  in  the  language  of  the  Getae;  I  have 
arranged  their  barbarous  words  in  Roman  measures.  I  was 
happy  enough  to  please  (congratulate  me  on  the  success) ; 
nay,  I  begin  to  have  the  reputation  of  a  poet  among  these 
uncivilised  Getae.  Do  you  ask  me  my  subject?  I  sang  the 
praises  of  Csesar.  I  was  assisted  in  my  novel  attempt  by  the 
power  of  the  god.  I  told  them  how  that  the  body  of  Father 
Augustus  was  mortal,  while  his  divinity  had  departed  to  the 
dwellings  of  heaven.  I  told  them  how  there  was  one  equal 
in  virtue  to  his  father,  who,  under  compulsion,  had  assumed 
the  reigns  of  an  empire  which  he  had  often  refused.  I  told 
them  that  thou,  Livia,  art  the  Vesta  of  modest  matrons,  of 
whom  it  cannot  be  determined  whether  thou  art  more  worthy 
of  thy  husband  or  thy  son,  I  told  them  that  there  were  two 
youths,  firm  supporters  of  their  father,  who  have  given  some 
pledges  of  their  spirit.  When  I  had  read  this  to  the  end, 
written  as  it  was  in  the  verse  of  another  tongue,  and  the  last 
page  had  been  turned  by  my  fingers,  all  nodded  their  heads, 
all  shook  their  full  quivers,  and  a  prolonged  murmur  of  ap- 
plause came  from  the  Getic  crowd ;  and  some  cried,  *  Since 
you  write  such  things  about  Csesar,  you  should  have  been  re- 
stored to  Caesar's  empire.'  So  he  spake ;  but  alas,  my  Carus ! 
the  sixth  winter  sees  me  still  an  exile  beneath  the  snowy  sky." 

It  is  to  this  subject  of  his  exile  that  in  the  "  Letters,"  as 
in  the  "  Sorrows,"  he  returns  with  a  mournful  and  wearisome 
iteration.    The  greater  number  of  them  belong  to  the  fifty-fifth 


318  INTRODUCTION 

and  fifty-sixth  years  of  the  poet's  life.  The  fifth  of  the  last 
book,  for  instance,  is  addressed  to  "  Sextus  Pompeius,  now 
Consul."  Pompeius,  who  was  collaterally  related  to  the  great 
rival  of  Caesar,  entered  on  his  consulship  on  January  ist, 
A.D.  14.  "Go,  trivial  elegy,  to  our  consul's  learned  ears! 
take  words  for  that  honoured  man  to  read.  The  way  is  long, 
and  you  go  with  halting  feet.^  And  the  earth  lies  hidden, 
covered  with  snows  of  winter.  When  you  shall  have  crossed 
frosty  Thrace,  and  Hsenus  covered  with  clouds,  and  the  wa- 
ters of  the  Ionian  Sea,  you  will  come  to  the  imperial  city  in 
less  than  ten  days,  even  though  you  do  not  hasten  your 
journey." 

The  letter  marks  the  time  at  which  Ovid's  hopes  of  par- 
don had  risen  to  their  highest.  Powerful  friends  had  inter- 
ceded for  him ;  with  one  of  them  advanced  to  the  consulship — 
a  token  of  high  favour,  though  nothing  but  a  shadow  of 
power — he  might  hope  for  the  best.  And  it  is  probable,  as 
has  been  before  explained,  that  Augustus  was  at  this  very 
time  meditating  nothing  less  than  another  disposition  of  the 
imperial  power, — a  disposition  which  would  have  reinstated 
in  their  position  his  own  direct  descendants,  and  with  them 
have  restored  the  fortunes  of  Ovid.  These  hopes  were  to  be 
disappointed.  On  the  29th  of  August  in  the  same  year,  Au- 
gustus died  at  Nola,  in  Campania.  There  were  some  who 
declared  that  his  end  was  at  least  hastened  by  Livia,  deter- 
mined to  secure  at  any  price  the  prospects  of  her  son  Tibe- 
rius. As  the  emperor  had  completed  his  seventy-sixth  year, 
it  is  unnecessary  thus  to  account  for  a  death  which,  though 
it  may  have  been  opportune,  was  certainly  to  be  expected. 

On  Ovid's  fortunes  the  effect  v,^as  disastrous.  The  very 
next  letter  is  that  which  has  been  already  quoted  as  deplor- 
ing the  death  of  Augustus  at  the  very  time  when  he  was  be- 
ginning to  entertain  milder  thoughts,  and  the  ruin  which  had 
overtaken  his  old  friend  and  patron,  Fabius  Maximus.  Ovid, 
however,  did  not  yet  abandon  all  hope.     To  address  directly 


^  This  is  a  favourite  witticism  with  Ovid.  The  elegiac  couplet  was 
made  up  of  two  feet  of  unequal  length — the  hexameter  or  six-foot, 
and  the  pentameter  or  five-foot  verse.     Hence  it  was  said  to  halt. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  319 

Tiberius  or  Livia  seemed  useless.  His  thoughts  turned  to 
the  young  Germanicus,  Tiberius's  nephew,  whose  wife  was 
Agrippina,  daughter  of  the  elder  and  sister  of  the  younger 
Julia.  Among  the  friends  of  this  prince,  who  was  then  in 
command  of  the  armies  of  the  Rhine — and,  though  an  object 
of  suspicion  to  his  uncle  and  adopting  father,  high  in  popular 
favour — was  P.  Suillius  Rufus.  Suillius  was  closely  con- 
nected with  Ovid,  whose  step-daughter  (the  daughter  of  his 
third  wife)  he  had  married.  He  must  then  have  been  a  young 
man,  as  it  is  more  than  forty  years  afterwards  that  we  hear 
of  his  being  banished  by  Nero ;  and  he  filled  the  part  of  quaes- 
tor (an  office  of  a  financial  kind)  on  the  staff  of  Germanicus. 
"  If  you  shall  feel  a  hope,"  Ovid  writes,  "  that  anything  can 
be  done  by  prayer,  entreat  with  suppliant  voice  the  gods  whom 
you  worship.  Thy  gods  are  the  youthful  Caesar;  make  pro- 
pitious these  by  deities.  Surely  no  altar  is  more  familiar  to 
you  than  this.  That  does  not  allow  the  prayers  of  any  of  its 
ministers  to  be  in  vain;  from  hence  seek  thou  help  for  my 
fortunes.  If  it  should  help,  with  however  small  a  breeze,  my 
sinking  boat  will  rise  again  from  the  midst  of  the  waters. 
Thou  wilt  bring  due  incense  to  the  devouring  flames,  and 
testify  how  strong  the  gods  can  be."  The  writer  then  ad- 
dresses, and  continues  to  address  throughout  the  rest  of  the 
letter,  Germanicus  himself,  for  whose  eye  it  was  of  course  in- 
tended, and  before  whom  Suillius  is  entreated  in  the  conclud- 
ing couplet  by  his  "  almost  father-in-law,"  as  Ovid  quaintly 
calls  himself,  to  bring  it. 

Another  friend,  whose  intercession  in  the  same  quarter 
the  poet  entreats,  is  Cams — tutor,  as  has  been  said  before,  to 
the  sons  of  Germanicus.  This  letter  was  written  in  "  the  sixth 
winter  of  exile  " — i.e.,  about  the  end  of  a.d.  14  or  the  begin- 
ning of  15 — the  time  to  which  we  are  to  ascribe  the  poem  in 
the  Getic  language,  on  the  death  and  deification  of  Augustus. 
Shortly  afterwards  must  have  been  written  a  letter  addressed 
to  Grsecinus,  who  filled  the  office  of  consul  during  the  second 
half  of  the  latter  year.  Here  we  see  the  most  humiliating 
phase  of  Ovid's  servility.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how 
little  more  than  fifty  years  after  the  republic  had  ceased  to 
exist,  an  Italian  of  the  Italians,  one  of  that  hardy  Samnite 


320  INTRODUCTION 

race  which  had  so  long  contended  on  equal  terms  with  Rome 
itself,  could  be  found  descending  to  such  depths  of  degrada- 
tion. The  servile  multitudes  of  Egypt  and  Assyria  had  never 
prostrated  themselves  more  ignobly  before  Sesostris  or  Nim- 
rod  than  did  this  free-born  citizen  before  the  men  who  were 
so  relentlessly  persecuting  him.  He  tells  his  powerful  friend 
that  his  piety  was  known  to  the  whole  country.  "  This  stran- 
ger land  sees  that  there  is  in  my  dwelling  a  chapel  to  Caesar. 
There  stand  along  with  him  his  pious  son  and  his  priestess 
spouse,  powers  not  inferior  to  the  already  perfected  deity. 
And  that  no  part  of  the  family  should  be  wanting,  there  stand 
both  his  grandsons,  the  one  close  to  his  grandmother's,  and 
the  other  to  his  father's  side.  To  these  I  address  words  of 
prayer  with  an  offering  of  incense  as  often  as  the  day  arises 
from  the  eastern  sky."  ^ 

Two  years  before,  we  find  him  thanking  his  friend  Maxi- 
mus  Cotta  for  a  present  of  the  statues  which  this  chapel  en- 
shrined. He  mentions  three  as  the  number  which  had  been 
sent.  (The  images  of  the  two  young  princes  had  since  been 
added.)  In  this  letter  he  seems  to  lose  himself  in  transports 
of  gratitude.  "  He  is  no  longer  an  exile  at  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  He  is  a  prosperous  dweller  in  the  midst  of  the  capital. 
He  sees  the  faces  of  the  Caesars.  Such  happiness  he  had  never 
ventured  to  hope  for."  And  so  he  treads  the  well-worn  round 
of  customary  adulation.  A  short  specimen  will  be  enough  to 
show  to  what  depths  he  could  descend.  "  Happy  they  who 
look  not  on  the  likenesses  but  on  the  reality;  who  see  before 
their  eyes  the  very  bodies  of  the  god!  Since  a  hard  fate  has 
denied  me  this  privilege,  I  worship  those  whom  art  has  granted 
to  my  prayer — the  likeness  of  the  true.  'Tis  thus  men  know 
the  gods,  whom  the  heights  of  heaven  conceal ;  'tis  thus  that 
the  shape  of  Jupiter  is  worshipped  for  Jupiter  himself."  And 
then,  anxious  not  to  forget  the  practical  object  to  which  all 

^It  may  be  as  well  to  explain  that  by  Caesar  is  meant  Augustus 
(who  is  now  dead),  and  by  the  "pious  son  "  Tiberius.  Livia,  as  the 
widow  of  the  deified  prince,  was  the  priestess  of  his  worship;  the 
two  grandsons  are  Drusus,  son  of  Tiberius,  who  stands  by  his  grand- 
mother Livia — and  Germanicus,  who  stands  by  his  adopting  father 
Tiberius. 


LIFE   OF   OVID  321 

these  elaborate  flatteries  are  directed,  he  goes  on :  "  Take 
care  that  this  semblance  of  yours  which  is  with  me,  shall  ever 
be  with  me,  be  not  found  in  a  hostile  spot.  My  head  shall 
sooner  part  from  the  neck,  the  eye  shall  sooner  leave  the  man- 
gled cheeks,  than  I  should  bear  your  loss,  O  Deities  of  the 
Commonwealth!  you  shall  be  the  harbour  and  the  sanctuary 
of  my  banishment.  You  will  embrace,  if  I  be  surrounded  by 
Getic  arms.  You,  as  my  eagles  and  my  standards,  I  will  fol- 
low. If  I  am  not  deceived  and  cheated  by  too  powerful  a 
desire,  the  hope  of  a  happier  place  of  exile  is  at  hand.  The 
look  upon  your  likeness  is  less  and  less  gloomy ;  the  face  seems 
to  give  assent  to  my  prayer.  I  pray  that  the  presages  of  my 
anxious  heart  may  be  true,  and  that  the  anger  of  my  god, 
however  just  it  is,  may  yet  be  mitigated." 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  a  more  pitiable  sight  than  that 
of  the  wretched  exile  day  after  day  going  through,  with  sink- 
ing hopes  and  failing  spirits,  this  miserable  pretence  of  wor- 
ship; prostrating  himself  before  men  whose  baseness  and 
profligacy  no  one  knew  better  than  himself,  and,  while  he 
crushed  down  the  curses  that  rose  naturally  to  his  lips,  reiter- 
ating the  lying  prayer,  for  which  he  must  have  now  despaired 
of  an  answer.  That  he  should  have  performed  this  elaborate 
hypocrisy,  not  in  public  but  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  home, 
merely  for  the  sake  of  being  able  to  say  that  he  had  done  it, 
and  with  but  the  very  dimmest  hope  of  getting  any  good  from 
it,  is  inexpressibly  pitiable;  and  that  it  should  be  possible  for 
a  man  of  genius  to  stoop  to  such  degradation,  and  for  great 
princes,  as  Augustus  and  Tiberius  certainly  were,  to  be  swayed 
in  their  purpose  by  such  an  exhibition — and  that  they  might 
be  swayed  by  it  Ovid  certainly  believed — is  a  warning  against 
the  evils  of  despotic  power  such  as  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
match. 

Of  the  literary  merits  of  the  "  Letters  from  the  Pontus  " 
there  is  little  to  be  said.  The  monotony  of  its  subject  was 
fatal  to  excellence.  Ovid  knew,  at  least  as  well  as  any  man 
who  ever  wrote,  how  to  say  the  same  thing  over  and  over 
again  in  different  ways ;  but  even  his  genius  could  not  indefi- 
nitely vary  his  constant  complaint  that  he  was  living  among 
savages,  and  under  an  inhospitable  sky;  his  constant  prayer 


322  INTRODUCTION 

that  he  might  be  released  from  his  gloomy  prison,  or,  at  least, 
transferred  to  a  more  genial  spot.  Nor  does  he  vary  his  sub- 
ject with  the  episodical  narratives  in  the  telling  of  which  he 
so  much  excelled.  The  story  of  Orestes  and  Pylades  is  the 
only  specimen  of  the  kind  that  occurs  in  the  four  books.  It 
is  so  well  known  that  a  very  few  words  may  suffice  for  it. 
Orestes  and  Pylades  land  at  Tauri,  and,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  place,  are  seized  and  taken  to  the  temple  of  Diana. 
There  one  of  them  must  be  offered  to  the  goddess.  Each  is 
anxious  to  be  the  object  of  the  fatal  choice.  While  they  are 
contending,  they  find  that  the  priestess  is  the  sister  of  Orestes, 
Iphigenia,  who  had  been  transported  hither  from  the  altar  at 
Aulis,  where  she  had  been  about  to  suffer  a  similar  fate.  By 
her  help  they  escape. 

Ovid  put  this  story  into  the  mouth  of  an  old  native  of  the 
country,  who  speaks  of  having  himself  seen  the  temple  where 
the  incident  happened,  towering  high  with  its  vast  columns, 
and  approached  by  an  ascent  of  twelve  steps. 

The  Ibis 

The  "  Ibis  "  is  a  poem  of  between  six  and  seven  hundred 
lines  in  length,  containing  almost  as  many  imprecations,  dis- 
playing in  their  variety  an  amazing  fertility  of  imagination, 
which  are  directed  against  a  personal  enemy  who  had  spoken 
ill  of  the  poet  in  his  banishment,  had  persecuted  his  wife  with 
his  attentions,  and  had  endeavoured  to  snatch  some  plunder 
from  his  property.  The  person  whom  Ovid  attacked  under 
the  name  of  Ibis  is  said  to  have  been  one  Hyginus,  a  freedman 
of  the  Emperor  Augustus,  and  chief  of  the  Palatine  Library. 

The  poem  is  modelled,  as  Ovid  himself  states,  on  a  poem 
of  the  same  name  which  Callimachus  wrote  against  a  poet  who 
had  been  his  pupil,  and  afterwards  became  a  rival — Apollo- 
nius  Rhodius. 

The  "  Ibis"  has  the  look  of  being  a  literary  tour  de  force. 
Callimachus  was  a  favourite  model  with  Roman  authors,  and 
Ovid  probably  amused  some  of  the  vacant  hours  of  his  exile 
with  paraphrasing  his  poem.  Every  story  of  Greek  myth- 
ology, legend,  and  history  is  ransacked  to  furnish  the  curses 


LIFE   OF   OVID  323 

which  are  heaped  on  the  head  of  the  luckless  man.  "  May  he 
fall  over  a  staircase,  as  did  Elpenor,  the  companion  of 
Ulysses!  May  he  be  torn  to  pieces  by  a  lioness,  as  was 
Phayllus,  tyrant  of  Ambracia!  May  he  be  killed  by  a  bee- 
sting  in  the  eye,  as  was  the  poet  Achaeus!  May  he  be  de- 
voured, as  Glaucus  was  devoured,  by  his  horses;  or  leap,  as 
did  another  Glaucus,  into  the  sea !  May  he  drink,  with  trem- 
bling mouth,  the  same  draught  that  Socrates  drank,  all  undis- 
turbed !  May  he  perish  caught  b}'  the  hands,  as  was  Milo  in 
the  oak  which  he  tried  to  rend ! "  These  are  a  few,  but,  it 
will  probably  be  thought,  sufficient,  examples  of  the  "  Ibis." 

Fragments  and  Lost  Poems 

In  his  "Art  of  Love,"  Ovid  tells  his  readers  that  he  had 
written  a  book  on  "  Cosmetics,"  which  was  small  in  size,  but 
had  cost  him  much  pains.  Of  this  book  we  have  remaining 
a  fragment  of  about  a  hundred  lines.  His  instructions  are 
eminently  practical  in  character, — giving  the  ingredients,  the 
proper  weight,  and  the  right  manner  of  mixing  them.  His 
first  recipe  is  for  brightening  the  complexion.  Take  two 
pounds  of  barley,  as  much  of  bitter  lupine,  and  ten  eggs;  dry 
and  then  grind  the  substance.  Add  a  sixth  of  a  pound  of 
stag's-horns ;  they  must  be  those  shed  by  the  animal  for  the 
first  time.  The  mixture  is  to  be  passed  through  a  sieve. 
Twelve  narcissus-roots  with  the  rind  stripped  off  are  to  be 
pounded  in  a  marble  mortar;  add  the  sixth  of  a  pound  of 
gum,  and  as  much  spelt,  with  a  pound  and  a  half  of  honey. 
"  Dress  your  face,"  says  the  poet,  "  with  this,  and  you  will 
have  a  complexion  brighter  than  your  mirror  itself."  What 
other  secrets  of  beauty  Ovid  may  have  unfolded  cannot  be 
known,  for  here  the  fragment  breaks  off. 

About  a  hundred  and  thirty  lines  of  a  poem  on  "Fishing" 
have  also  survived;  but  they  are  in  a  very  broken  condition, 
and  a  passage  descriptive  of  land  animals  has  somehow  found 
its  way  into  the  midst  of  them. 

A  poem  called  the  "  Walnut,"  in  which  the  tree  complains, 
among  other  things,  of  its  hard  lot  in  being  pelted  with  stones 
by  passers-by,  has  been   attributed   to  Ovid.     Some  critics 


324  INTRODUCTION 

have  supposed  it  to  be  a  juvenile  production,  but  the  weight 
of  authority  is  against  its  authenticity. 

In  the  tragedy  of  "Medea"  the  world  has  suffered  a 
serious  loss.  Quintilian,  a  severe  critic,  says  of  it  that  it 
seemed  to  him  to  prove  how  much  its  author  could  have 
achieved,  if  he  had  chosen  to  moderate  rather  than  to  in- 
dulge his  cleverness.  He  mentions  in  the  same  context  the 
"  Thyestes "  of  Varius,  which  might  challenge  comparison, 
he  says,  with  any  of  the  Greek  tragedies.  The  two  dramas 
are  also  coupled  together  by  Tacitus  in  his  "  Dialogue  about 
Famous  Orators,"  where  he  compares  the  popularity  of 
dramatic  and  oratorical  works,  just  as  we  might  couple  to- 
gether "Hamlet"  and  "King  Lear."  The  "Medea"  has 
been  altogether  lost,  but  we  may  gather  some  idea  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  poet  treated  his  subject  from  the  seventh 
book  of  the  "Metamorphoses,"  the  first  half  of  which  is  de- 
voted to  the  legend  of  the  great  Colchian  sorceress.  What 
portion  of  it  was  chosen  for  the  subject  of  the  drama  we  do 
not  know;  but  it  may  be  conjectured  that  while  the  "Medea" 
of  Euripides  depicted  the  last  scenes  of  her  career,  when  she 
avenged  the  infidelity  of  Jason  by  the  murder  of  her  children, 
Ovid  represents  her  at  an  earlier  time,  when,  as  the  daughter 
of  King  ^etes,  she  loved  and  helped  the  gallant  leader  of  the 
Argonauts. 

Death  of  Ovid 

The  last  lines  written  by  Ovid  are  probably  some  which 
we  find  in  the  "  Fasti "  under  the  first  of  June,  praising  Tibe- 
rius for  the  pious  work  which  he  had  accomplished  in  re- 
building and  dedicating  various  temples  at  Rome.  These 
temples  were  dedicated,  as  we  learn  from  Tacitus,  in  a.d.  17. 
The  poet  died,  St.  Jerome  tells  us,  in  the  same  year,  some 
time  before  September,  from  which  month,  in  Jerome's 
chronicle,  the  years  are  reckoned.  It  had  been  his  earnest 
wish  that  the  sentence  which  had  been  so  rigorously  executed 
against  him  during  his  life  might  at  least  be  relaxed  after  his 
death,  and  that  his  bones  might  be  permitted  to  rest  in  his 
native  Italy.  The  desire  was  not  granted:  he  was  buried  at 
Tomi.     A  pretended  discovery  of  his  tomb  was  made  early 


LIFE   OF   OVID  325 

in  the  sixteenth  century  at  Stainz,  in  Austria, — a  place  far  too 
remote  from  Tomi  to  make  the  story  at  all  probable.  If  his 
body  could  have  been  transported  so  far,  why  not  to  Italy? 
The  story  appeared  in  another  edition;  the  tomb  and  its 
epitaph  were  the  same,  as  was  also  the  year  of  the  discovery, 
but  the  place  was  now  Sawar,  in  Lower  Hungary,  It  may 
probably  be  put  down  as  one  of  the  impostures,  more  or  less 
ingenious,  with  which  scholars  have  often  amused  themselves, 
and  of  which  the  period  following  the  revival  of  learning — a 
period  during  which  genuine  discoveries  of  classical  remains 
were  frequently  made — was  particularly  fertile.  As  recently 
as  the  beginning  of  this  century,  it  was  announced  in  some  of 
the  Parisian  papers  that  the  Russian  troops,  while  engaged 
in  building  a  fortress  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  had  opened 
the  poet's  sepulchre,  and  had  named  the  place  Ovidopol,  in 
his  honour.  Unfortunately  it  turned  out  that  the  fortress 
had  never  been  built,  or  even  commenced ;  and  that  the  local 
name  of  Lagone  Ovidouloni  (which,  to  give  a  colour  to  the 
story,  had  been  changed  into  Lacus  Ovidoli)  owed  its  origin, 
not  to  any  remembrance  of  Ovid,  but  to  the  practice  of  wash- 
ing there  the  sheep  (Lat.  ovis)  which  were  exported  in  large 
numbers  from  Moldavia  for  the  consumption  of  Constanti- 
nople. We  may  dismiss  as  equally  apocryphal  the  story  of 
the  silver  writing-style  of  the  poet,  which  was  shown  in  1540 
to  Isabella,  Queen  of  Hungary,  as  having  been  recently  dis- 
covered at  Belgrade,  the  ancient  Taurunum. 


General  Observations 

Quintilian  says  that  Ovid  was  too  much  in  love  with  his 
own  cleverness,  but  that  he  was  in  some  respects  worthy  of 
commendation.  Lord  Macaulay  confirms,  or  perhaps  am- 
plifies, tliis  judgment,  when  he  says  that  Ovid  "had  two  in- 
supportable faults:  the  one  is,  that  he  will  always  be  clever; 
the  other,  that  he  never  knows  when  to  have  done."  Of  the 
"  Metamorphoses  "  the  same  great  critic  wrote :  "  There  are 
some  very  fine  things  in  this  poem;  and  in  ingenuity,  and  the 
art  of  doing  difficult  things  in  expression  and  versification  as 
if  they  were  the  easiest  in  the  world,  Ovid  is  quite  incom- 

XI— 22 


326  INTRODUCTION 

parable."  He  thought  that  the  best  parts  of  the  work  were 
the  second  book,  and  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  book, 
where,  in  the  oratorical  contest  between  Ajax  and  Ulysses 
for  the  arms  of  Achilles,  his  own  tastes  were  doubtless  sat- 
isfied. The  severest  criticism  which  he  passes  upon  the  poet 
is  when  he  pronounces  the  "Art  of  Love"  to  be  his  best 
poem. 

If  popularity  is  a  test  of  merit,  Ovid  must  be  placed  very 
high  among  the  writers  of  antiquity.  No  classical  poet  has 
been  so  widely  and  so  continuously  read.  He  seems  not  to 
have  been  forgotten  even  when  learning  and  the  taste  for 
literature  were  at  their  lowest  ebb.  Among  the  stories  which 
attest  the  favour  in  which  he  was  held  may  be  quoted  the 
words  which  are  reported  to  have  been  used  by  Alphonso, 
surnamed  the  Magnanimous.  That  eccentric  prince,  who 
may  be  called  the  Pyrrhus  of  modern  history,  while  prose- 
cuting his  conquests  in  Italy,  came  to  the  town  of  Sulmo, 
which  has  been  mentioned  as  Ovid's  birthplace.  "Willingly 
would  I  yield  this  region,  which  is  no  small  or  contemptible 
part  of  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  could  it  have  been  granted  to 
my  times  to  possess  this  poet.  Even  dead  I  hold  him  to  be 
of  more  account  than  the  possession  of  the  whole  of  Apulia." 

The  bibliography  of  Ovid,  as  a  writer  in  the  "  Nouvelle 
Biographie  Universelle"  remarks,  is  immense.  Two  folio 
volumes  of  the  "  New  Catalogue  of  the  British  Museum  "  are 
devoted  to  an  enumeration  of  editions  and  translations  of  the 
whole  or  various  parts  of  his  works. 

It  was  not  altogether  a  bad  character  which  has  been 
thus  summed  up  by  Lord  Macaulay :  "  He  seems  to  have 
been  a  very  good  fellow ;  rather  too  fond  of  women ;  a  flatterer 
and  a  coward :  but  kind  and  generous ;  and  free  from  envy, 
though  a  man  of  letters,  and  though  sufficiently  vain  of  his 
own  performances." 


THE  METAMORPHOSES 
BOOK  THE  FIRST 

THE  ARGUMENT 

My  design  leads  me  to  speak  of  forms  changed  into  new  bodies. 
Ye  Gods  (for  you  it  was  who  changed  them),  favour  my  attempts, 
and  bring  down  the  lengthened  narrative  from  the  very  beginning 
of  the  world,  even  to  my  own  times. 

FABLE   I 

God  reduces  Chaos  into  order.  He  separates  the  four  ele- 
ments, and  disposes  the  several  bodies,  of  which  the  universe 
is  formed,  into  their  proper  situations. 

At  first,  the  sea,  the  earth,  and  the  heaven,  which  covers 
all  things,  were  the  only  face  of  nature  throughout  the  whole 
universe,  which  men  have  named  Chaos;  a  rude  and  undi- 
gested mass,  and  nothing  more  than  an  inert  weight,  and  the 
discordant  atoms  of  things  not  harmonizing,  heaped  together 
in  the  same  spot.  No  Sun  as  yet  gave  light  to  the  world ;  nor 
did  the  Moon,  by  increasing,  recover  her  horns  anew.  The 
Earth  did  not  as  yet  hang  in  the  surrounding  air,  balanced 
by  its  own  weight,  nor  had  Amphitrite  ^  stretched  out  her 
arms  along  the  lengthened  margin  of  the  coasts.  Wherever, 
too,  was  the  land,  there  also  was  the  sea  and  the  air ;  and  thus 
was  the  earth  without  firmness,  the  sea  unnavigable,  the  air 
void  of  light;  in  no  one  of  them  did  its  present  form  exist. 
And  one  was  ever  obstructing  the  other ;  because  in  the  same 
body  the  cold  was  striving  with  the  hot,  the  moist  with  the  dry. 


^  She  was  the  daughter  of  Oceanus  and  Doris,  and  the  wife  of  Nep- 
tune, God  of  the  Sea.  Being  the  Goddess  of  the  Ocean,  her  name  is 
here  used  to  signify  the  ocean  itself. 

337 


328  OVID 

the  soft  with  the  hard,  things  having  weight  with  those  devoid 
of  weight. 

To  this  discord  God  and  bounteous  Nature  put  an  end; 
for  he  separated  the  earth  from  the  heavens,  and  the  waters 
from  the  earth,  and  distinguished  the  clear  heavens  from  the 
gross  atmosphere.  And  after  he  had  unravelled  these  ele- 
ments, and  released  them  from  that  confused  heap,  he  com- 
bined them,  thus  disjoined,  in  harmonious  unison,  each  in  its 
proper  place.  The  element  of  the  vaulted  heaven,^  fiery  and 
without  weight,  shone  forth,  and  selected  a  place  for  itself  in 
the  highest  region :  next  after  it,  both  in  lightness  and  in  place, 
was  the  air ;  the  Earth  was  more  weighty  than  these,  and  drew 
with  it  the  more  ponderous  atoms,  and  was  pressed  together 
by  its  own  gravity.  The  encircling  waters  sank  to  the  lower- 
most place,  and  surrounded  the  solid  globe. 


FABLE   II 

After  the  separation  of  matter,  God  gives  form  and  regularity 
to  the  universe;  and  all  other  living  creatures  iieing  pro- 
duced, Prometheus  moulds  earth  tempered  zvith  water,  into 
a  human  form,  which  is  animated  by  Minerva. 

When  thus  he,  whoever  of  the  Gods  he  was,  had  divided 
the  mass  so  separated,  and  reduced  it,  so  divided,  into  dis- 
tinct members ;  in  the  first  place,  that  it  might  not  be  unequal 
on  any  side,  he  gathered  it  up  into  the  form  of  a  vast  globe ; 
then  he  commanded  the  sea  to  be  poured  around  it,  and  to 
grow  boisterous  with  the  raging  winds,  and  to  surround  the 
shores  of  the  Earth,  encompassed  by  it ;  he  added  also  springs, 
and  numerous  pools  and  lakes,  and  he  bounded  the  rivers  as 
they  flowed  downwards,  with  slanting  banks.  These,  different 
in  different  places,  are  some  of  them  swallowed  up  by  the 


^  This  is  a  periphrasis,  signifying  the  empyrean,  or  region  of  the 
firmament  or  upper  air,  in  which  the  sun  and  stars  move ;  which  was 
supposed  to  be  of  the  purest  fire  and  the  source  of  all  flame.  The 
heavens  are  called  "  convex,"  from  being  supposed  to  assume  the 
same  shape  as  the  terrestrial  globe  which  they  surround. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  329 

Earth  itself;  some  of  them  reach  the  ocean,  and,  received  in 
the  expanse  of  waters  that  take  a  freer  range,  beat  against 
shores  instead  of  banks. 

He  commanded  the  plains,  too,  to  be  extended,  the  valleys 
to  sink  down,  the  woods  to  be  clothed  with  green  leaves,  the 
craggy  mountains  to  arise;  and,  as  on  the  right-hand  side, 
two  Zones  intersect  the  heavens,  and  as  many  on  the  left;  and 
as  there  is  a  fifth  hotter  than  these,^  so  did  the  care  of  the 
Deity  distinguish  this  enclosed  mass  of  the  Earth  by  the  same 
number,  and  as  many  climates  are  marked  out  upon  the 
Earth,  Of  these,  that  which  is  the  middle  one  is  not  habitable 
on  account  of  the  heat;  deep  snow  covers  two  of  them.  Be- 
tween either  these  he  placed  as  many  more,  and  gave  them  a 
temperate  climate,  heat  being  mingled  with  cold. 

Over  these  hangs  the  air,  which  is  heavier  than  fire,  in 
the  same  degree  that  the  weight  of  water  is  lighter  than  the 
weight  of  the  Earth,  Here  he  ordered  vapours,  here  too,  the 
clouds  to  take  their  station;  the  thunder,  too,  to  terrify  the 
minds  of  mortals,  and  with  the  lightnings,  the  winds  that 
bring  on  cold.  The  Contriver  of  the  World  did  not  allow 
these  indiscriminately  to  take  possession  oT  the  sky.  Even 
now,  (although  they  each  of  them  govern  their  own  blasts 
in  a  distinct  tract)  they  are  with  great  difficulty  prevented 
from  rending  the  world  asunder,  so  great  is  the  discord  of 
the  brothers."  Eurus  took  his  way  towards  the  rising  of 
Aurora  and  the  realms  of  Nabath  [Arabia]  and  Persia,  and 
the  mountain  ridges  exposed  to  the  rays  of  the  morning. 
The  Evening  star,  and  the  shores  which  are  warm  with  the 
setting  sun,  are  bordering  upon  Zephyrus.  The  terrible 
Boreas  invaded  Scythia,  and  the  regions  of  the  North,  The 
opposite  quarter  is  wet  with  continual  clouds,  and  the  driz- 

^  The  "  right  hand  "  here  refers  to  the  northern  part  of  the  globe, 
and  the  "  left  hand  "  to  the  southern.  He  here  speaks  of  the  five 
zones  into  which  astronomers  have  divided  the  heavens :  the  tropical 
zone,  the  northern  and  southern  equinoctial  zones,  and  the  northern 
and  southern  polar  zones.  These  severally  correspond  to  the  torrid, 
temperate,  and  frigid  zones  on  the  earth, 

2  That  is,  the  winds,  who,  according  to  the  Theogony  of  Hesiod, 
were  the  sons  of  Astreus,  the  giant,  and  Aurora. 


330  OVID 

zHng  South  Wind.  Over  these  he  placed  the  firmament, 
clear  and  devoid  of  gravity,  and  not  containing  anything  of 
the  dregs  of  earth. 

Scarcely  had  he  separated  all  these  by  fixed  limits,  when  the 
stars,  which  had  long  lain  hid,  concealed  beneath  that  mass  of 
Chaos,  began  to  glow  through  the  range  of  the  heavens. 
And  that  no  region  might  be  destitute  of  its  own  peculiar  ani- 
mated beings,  the  stars  ^  and  the  forms  of  the  Gods  ^  possess 
the  tract  of  heaven;  the  waters  fell  to  be  inhabited  by  the 
smooth  fishes;  the  Earth  received  the  wild  beasts,  and  the 
yielding  air  the  birds. 

But  an  animated  being,  more  holy  than  these,  more  fitted 
to  receive  higher  faculties,  and  which  could  rule  over  the 
rest,  was  still  wanting.  Then  Man  was  formed.  Whether 
it  was  that  the  Artificer  of  all  things,  the  original  of  the  world 
in  its  improved  state,  framed  him  from  divine  elements;  or 
whether,  the  Earth,  being  newly  made,  and  but  lately  divided 
from  the  lofty  aether,  still  retained  some  atoms  of  its  kin- 
dred heaven,  which,  tempered  with  the  waters  of  the  stream, 
the  son  of  lapetus  fashioned  after  the  image  of  the  Gods,  who 
rule  over  all  things.  And,  whereas  other  animals  bend  their 
looks  downwards  upon  the  Earth,  to  Man  he  gave  a  counte- 
nance to  look  on  high  and  to  behold  the  heavens,  and  to  raise 
his  face  erect  to  the  stars.  Thus,  that  which  had  been  lately 
rude  earth,  and  without  any  regular  shape,  being  changed, 
assumed  the  form  of  Man,  till  then  unknown. 

FABLE   III 

The  formation  of  man  is  follozved  by  a  succession  of  the  four 
ages  of  the  zvorld.  The  first  is  the  Golden  Age,  during 
which  Innocence  and  Justice  alone  govern  the  world. 

The  Golden  Age  was  first  founded,  which,  without  any 
avenger,  of  its  own  accord,  without  laws,. practised  both  faith 
and  rectitude.  Punishment,  and  the  fear  of  it,  did  not  exist, 
and  threatening  decrees  were  not  read  upon  the  brazen  tables, 

^  According  to  the  Platonic  philosophers,  stars  were  either  intelligent 
beings,  or  guided  and  actuated  by  such. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  331 

fixed  up  to  view,  nor  yet  did  the  suppliant  multitude  dread 
the  countenance  of  its  judge;  but  all  were  in  safety  without 
any  avenger.  The  pine-tree,  cut  from  its  native  mountains, 
had  not  yet  descended  to  the  flowing  waves,  that  it  might 
visit  a  foreign  region;  and  mortals  were  acquainted  with  no 
shores  beyond  their  own.  Not  as  yet  did  deep  ditches  sur- 
round the  towns;  no  trumpets  of  straightened,  or  clarions  of 
crooked  brass,  no  helmets,  no  swords  then  existed.  With- 
out occasion  for  soldiers,  the  minds  of  men,  free  from  care, 
enjoyed  an  easy  tranquillity. 

The  Earth  itself,  too,  in  freedom,  untouched  by  the  har- 
row, and  wounded  by  no  ploughshares,  of  its  own  accord  pro- 
duced everything;  and  men,  contented  with  the  food  created 
under  no  compulsion,  gathered  the  fruit  of  the  arbute-tree, 
and  the  strawberries  of  the  mountain,  and  cornels,  and  black- 
berries adhering  to  the  prickly  bramble-bushes,  and  acorns 
which  had  fallen  from  the  wide-spreading  tree  of  Jove.  Then 
it  was  an  eternal  spring;  and  the  gentle  Zephyrs,  with  their 
soothing  breezes,  cherished  the  flowers  produced  without 
any  seed.  Soon,  too,  the  Earth  unploughed  yielded  crops  of 
grain,  and  the  land,  without  being  renewed,  was  whitened  with 
the  heavy  ears  of  corn.  Then,  rivers  of  milk,  then,  rivers  of 
nectar  were  flowing,  and  the  yellow  honey  was  distilled  from 
the  green  holm  oak. 

FABLE   IV 

In  the  Silver  Age,  men  begin  not  to  he  so  just,  nor,  conse- 
quently, so  happy,  as  in  the  Golden  Age.  In  the  Brazen 
Age,  which  succeeds,  they  become  yet  less  virtuous;  but 
their  wickedness  does  not  rise  to  its  highest  pitch  until  the 
Iron  Age,  zvhen  it  makes  its  appearance  in  all  its  deformity. 

Afterwards  (Saturn  being  driven  into  the  shady  realms 
of  Tartarus),  the  world  was  under  the  sway  of  Jupiter;  then 
the  Silver  Age  succeeded,  inferior  to  that  of  gold,  but  more 
precious  than  that  of  yellow  brass.  Jupiter  shortened  the 
duration  of  the  former  spring,  and  divided  the  year  into  four 
periods  by  means  of  winters,  and  summers,  and  unsteady  au- 
tumns, and  short  springs.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  did  the 
parched  air  glow  with  sultry  heat,  and  the  ice,  bound  up  by  the 


332  OVID 

winds,  was  pendant.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  did  men  enter 
houses ;  those  houses  were  caverns,  and  thick  shrubs,  and 
twigs  fastened  together  with  bark.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
were  the  seeds  of  Ceres  buried  in  long  furrows,  and  the  oxen 
groaned,  pressed  by  the  yoke  of  the  ploughshare. 

The  Age  of  Brass  succeeded,  as  the  third  in  order,  after 
these;  fiercer  in  disposition,  and  more  prone  to  horrible  war- 
fare, but  yet  free  from  impiety.  The  last  Age  was  of  hard 
iron.  Immediately  every  species  of  crime  burst  forth,  in 
this  age  of  degenerated  tendencies ;  modesty,  truth,  and  honour 
took  flight;  in  their  place  succeeded  fraud,  deceit,  treachery, 
violence,  and  the  cursed  hankering  for  acquisition.  The 
sailor  now  spread  his  sails  to  the  winds,  and  with  these,  as 
yet,  he  was  but  little  acquainted;  and  the  trees,  which  had 
long  stood  on  the  lofty  mountains,  now,  as  ships,  bounded 
through  the  unknown  waves.  The  ground,  too,  hitherto  com- 
mon as  the  light  of  the  sun  and  the  breezes,  the  cautious  meas- 
urer marked  out  with  his  lengthened  boundary. 

And  not  only  was  the  rich  soil  required  to  furnish  corn 
and  due  sustenance,  but  men  even  descended  into  the  entrails 
of  the  Earth ;  and  riches  were  dug  up,  the  incentives  to  vice, 
which  the  Earth  had  hidden,  and  had  removed  to  the  Stygian 
shades.  Then  destructive  iron  came  forth,  and  gold,  more 
destructive  than  iron ;  then  War  came  forth,  the  fights  through 
the  means  of  both,  and  that  brandishes  in  his  blood-stained 
hands  the  clattering  arms.  Men  live  by  rapine;  the  guest  is 
not  safe  from  his  entertainer,  nor  the  father-in-law  from  the 
son-in-law;  good  feeling,  too,  between  brothers  is  a  rarity. 
The  husband  is  eager  for  the  death  of  the  wife,  she  for  that 
of  her  husband.  Horrible  step-mothers  then  mingle  the 
ghastly  wolfsbane;  the  son  prematurely  makes  inquiry  of 
astrologers  into  the  years  of  his  father.  Piety  lies  vanquished, 
and  the  virgin  Astraea  ^  is  the  last  of  the  heavenly  Deities  to 
abandon  the  Earth,  now  drenched  in  slaughter. 


*  The  daughter  of  Astrasus  and  Aurora,  or  of  Jupiter  and  Themis, 
and  was  the  Goddess  of  Justice.  On  leaving  the  earth,  she  was 
supposed  to  have  taken  her  place  among  the  stars  as  the  Constel- 
lation of  the  Virgin. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  333 

FABLE    V 

The  Giants  having  attempted  to  render  themselves  masters  of 
heaven,  Jupiter  buries  them  under  the  mountains  zvhich  they 
have  heaped  together  to  facilitate  their  assault;  and  the 
Earth,  animating  their  blood,  forms  out  of  it  a  crude  and 
fierce  generation  of  men. 

And  that  the  lofty  realms  of  aether  might  not  be  more  safe 
than  tlie  Earth,  they  say  that  the  Giants  aspired  to  the  sov- 
ereignty of  Heaven,  and  piled  the  mountains,  heaped  together, 
even  to  the  lofty  stars.  Then  the  omnipotent  Father,  hurling 
his  lightnings,  broke  through  Olympus,  and  struck  Ossa  away 
from  Pelion,  that  lay  beneath  it/  While  the  dreadful  car- 
casses lay  overwhelmed  beneath  their  own  structure,  they 
say  that  the  Earth  was  wet,  drenched  with  the  plenteous  blood 
of  her  sons,  and  that  she  gave  life  to  the  warm  gore;  and 
that,  lest  no  memorial  of  this  ruthless  race  should  be  surviv- 
ing, she  shaped  them  into  the  form  of  men.  But  that  gener- 
ation, too,  was  a  despiser  of  the  Gods  above,  and  most  greedy 
of  ruthless  slaughter,  and  full  of  violence :  you  might  see  that 
they  derived  their  origin  from  blood. 

FASLE  VI 

Jupiter,  having  seen  the  crimes  of  this  impious  race  of  men, 
calls  a  council  of  the  Gods,  and  determines  to  destroy 
the  world. 

When  the  Father  of  the  Gods,  the  son  of  Saturn,  beheld 
this  from  his  loftiest  height,  he  groaned  aloud ;  and  recalling 
to  memory  the  polluted  banquet  on  the  table  of  Lycaon,  not 
yet  publicly  known,  from  the  crime  being  but  lately  com- 
mitted, he  conceives  in  his  mind  vast  wrath,  and  such  as  is 


^  Olympus  was  a  mountain  between  Thessaly  and  Macedonia.  Pelion 
was  a  mountain  of  Thessaly,  towards  the  Pelasgic  gulf;  and  Ossa 
was  a  mountain  between  Olympus  and  Pelion.  These  the  Giants  are 
said  to  have  heaped  one  on  another,  in  order  to  scale  heaven. 


334  OVID 

worthy  of  Jove,  and  calls  together  a  council ;  no  delay  detains 
them,  thus  summoned. 

There  is  a  way  on  high,  easily  seen  in  a  clear  sky,  and 
which,  remarkable  for  its  very  whiteness,  receives  the  name  of 
the  Milky  Way.  Along  this  is  the  way  for  the  Gods  above  to 
the  abode  of  the  great  Thunderer  and  his  royal  palace.  On 
the  right  and  on  the  left  side  the  courts  of  the  ennobled 
Deities^  are  thronged,  with  open  gates.  The  Gods  of  lowc* 
rank  inhabit  various  places;  in  front  of  the  Way,  the  powerful 
and  illustrious  inhabitants  of  Heaven  have  established  their 
residence.  This  is  the  place  which,  if  boldness  may  be  al- 
lowed to  my  expressions,  I  should  not  hesitate  to  style  the 
palatial  residence  of  Heaven.  When,  therefore,  the  Gods 
above  had  taken  their  seats  in  the  marble  hall  of  assembly; 
he  himself,  elevated  on  his  seat,  and  leaning  on  his  sceptre  of 
ivory,  three  or  four  times  shook  the  awful  locks  of  his  head, 
with  which  he  makes  the  Earth,  the  Seas,  and  the  Stars  to 
tremble.  Then,  after  such  manner  as  this,  did  he  open  his 
indignant  lips; — 

"  Not  even  at  that  time  was  I  more  concerned  for  the 
empire  of  the  universe,  when  each  of  the  snake-footed 
monsters  was  endeavouring  to  lay  his  hundred  arms  on  the 
captured  skies.  For  although  that  was  a  dangerous  enemy, 
yet  that  war  was  with  but  one  stock,  and  sprang  from  a 
single  origin.  Now  must  the  race  of  mortals  be  cut  off  by 
me,  wherever  Nereus '  roars  on  all  sides  of  the  earth ;  this  I 
swear  by  the  Rivers  of  Hell,  that  glide  in  the  Stygian  grove 
beneath  the  earth.  All  methods  have  been  already  tried ;  but 
a  wound  that  admits  of  no  cure,  must  be  cut  away  with  the 
knife,  that  the  sound  parts  may  not  be  corrupted.  I  have  as 
subjects.  Demigods,  and  I  have  the  rustic  Deities,  the  Nymphs, 
and  the  Fauns,  and  the  Satyrs,  and  the  Sylvans,  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  mountains;  these,  though  as  yet,  we  have  not 


1  These  were  the  superior  Deities,  who  formed  the  privy  councillors 
of  Jupiter.    Reckoning  Jupiter,  they  were  twelve  in  number,  and  are 
enumerated  by  Ennius  in  two  limping  hexameter  lines: — 
"  Juno,  Vesta,  Minerva,  Ceres,  Diana,  Venus,  Mars, 
Mercurius,  Jovis,  Neptunis,  Vulcanus,  Apollo." 
3  The  son  of  Oceanus  and  Tethys,  here  representing  the  ocean. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  335 

thought  them  worthy  of  the  honour  of  Heaven,  let  us,  at  least, 
permit  to  inhabit  the  earth  which  we  have  granted  them. 
And  do  you,  ye  Gods  of  Heaven,  believe  that  they  will  be  in 
proper  safety,  when  Lycaon,  remarkable  for  his  cruelty,  has 
formed  a  plot  against  even  me,  who  own  and  hold  sway  over 
the  thunder  and  yourselves?" 

All  shouted  their  ascent  aloud,  and  with  ardent  zeal  they 
called  for  vengeance  on  one  who  dared  such  crimes.  Thus, 
when  an  impious  band  ^  madly  raged  to  extinguish  the  Roman 
name  in  the  blood  of  Csesar,  the  human  race  was  astonished 
with  sudden  terror  at  ruin  so  universal,  and  the  whole  earth 
shook  with  horror.  Nor  was  the  affectionate  regard,  Augus- 
tus, of  thy  subjects  less  grateful  to  thee,  than  that  was  to 
Jupiter.  Who,  after  he  had,  by  means  of  his  voice  and  his 
hand,  suppressed  their  murmurs,  all  of  them  kept  silence. 
Soon  as  the  clamour  had  ceased,  checked  by  the  authority  of 
their  ruler,  Jupiter  again  broke  silence  in  these  words: 

"He,  indeed,  (dismiss  your  cares)  has  suffered  dire  pun- 
ishment; but  what  was  the  offence  and  what  the  retribution, 
I  will  inform  you.  The  report  of  the  iniquity  of  the  age  had 
reached  my  ears;  wishing  to  find  this  not  to  be  the  truth,  I 
descended  from  the  top  of  Olympus,  and,  a  God  in  a  human 
shape,  I  surveyed  the  earth.  'Twere  an  endless  task  to  enu- 
merate how  great  an  amount  of  guilt  was  everywhere  dis- 
covered; the  report  itself  was  below  the  truth." 

FABLE  Vn 

Lycaon,  king  of  Arcadia,  in  order  to  discover  if  it  is  Jupiter 
hiiuself  who  has  come  to  lodge  in  his  palace,  orders  the 
body  of  an  hostage,  who  had  been  sent  to  him,  to  be  dressed 
and  served  tip  at  a  feast.  The  God,  as  a  punishment, 
changes  him  into  a  wolf. 

I  HAD  now  passed  Msenalus,  to  be  dreaded  for  its  dens  of 
beasts  of  prey,  and  the  pine-groves  of  cold  Lycaeus,^  together 

1  Ovid  here  refers  to  the  conspiracy  against  Augustus,  which  is  men- 
tioned by  Suetonius. 

2  A  mountain  of  Arcadia,  sacred  to  Pan. 


336  OVID 

with  Cyllene.^  After  this,  I  entered  the  realms  and  the  inhos- 
pitable abode  of  the  Arcadian  tyrant,  just  as  the  late  twilight 
was  bringing  on  the  night.  I  gave  a  signal  that  a  God  had 
come,  and  the  people  commenced  to  pay  their  adorations.  In 
the  first  place,  Lycaon  derided  their  pious  supplications. 
Afterwards,  he  said,  I  will  make  trial,  by  a  plain  proof, 
whether  this  is  a  God,  or  whether  he  is  a  mortal;  nor  shall 
the  truth  remain  a  matter  of  doubt.  He  then  makes  prepara- 
tions to  destroy  me,  when  sunk  in  sleep,  by  an  unexpected 
death ;  this  mode  of  testing  the  truth  pleases  him.  And  not 
content  with  that,  with  the  sword  he  cuts  the  throat  of  an 
hostage  that  had  been  sent  from  the  nation  of  the  Molossians," 
and  then  softens  part  of  the  quivering  limbs  in  boiling  water, 
and  part  he  roasts  with  fire  placed  beneath.  Soon  as  he  had 
placed  these  on  the  table,  I,  with  avenging  flames,  overthrew 
the  house  upon  the  household  Gods,^  w-orthy  of  the  master. 
Alarmed,  he  himself  takes  to  flight,  and  having  reached  the 
solitude  of  the  country,  he  howls  aloud,  and  in  vain  attempts 
to  speak;  his  mouth  gathers  rage  from  himself,  and  through 
its  usual  desire  for  slaughter,  it  is  directed  against  the  sheep, 
and  even  still  delights  in  blood.  His  garments  are  changed 
into  hair,  his  arms  into  legs;  he  becomes  a  wolf,  and  he 
still  retains  vestiges  of  his  ancient  form.  His  hoariness  is 
still  the  same,  the  same  violence  appears  in  his  features;  his 
eyes  are  bright  as  before ;  he  is  still  the  same  image  of  ferocity. 
"  Thus  fell  one  house ;  but  one  house  alone  did  not  deserve 
to  perish ;  wherever  the  earth  extends,  the  savage  Erinnys  * 
reigns.     You  would  suppose  that  men  had  conspired  to  be 


^  A  mountain  of  Arcadia,  sacred  to  Mercury,  who  was  hence  called 

by  the  poets  Cyllenius. 

2  The  Molossi  were  a  people  of  Epirus,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 

Ambracian  gulf.     Ovid  here  commits  an  anachronism,  as  the  name 

was  derived  from  Molossus,  the  son  of  Neoptolemus,  long  after  the 

time  of  Lycaon. 

' »'.  e.,  for  taking  such  a  miscreant  under  their  protection. 

*  Erinnys  was  a  general  name  given  to  the  Furies  by  the  Greeks. 

They  were  three  in  number — ^Alecto,  Tisiphon,  and  Megsera.    These 

were  so  called  from  the  Greek  eris  nou,  "  the  discord  of  the  mind," 

because  they  punished  wrong-doers  with  remorse  and  insanity. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  337 

wicked;  let  all  men  speedily  feel  that  vengeance  which  they 
deserve  to  endure,  for  such  is  my  determination." 


FABLE  VIII 

Jupiter,  not  thinking  the  punishment  of  Lycaon  sufficient  to 
sirif^e  terror  into  the  rest  of  manJzind,  resolves,  on  account 
of  the  universal  corruption,  to  extirpate  them  by  a  uni- 
versal deluge. 

Some,  by  their  words  approve  the  speech  of  Jupiter,  and 
give  spur  to  him,  indignantly  exclaiming;  others,  by  silent 
assent  fulfil  their  parts.  Yet  the  entire  destruction  of  the 
human  race  is  a  cause  of  grief  to  them  all,  and  they  enquire 
what  is  to  be  the  form  of  the  earth  in  future,  when  destitute 
of  mankind?  who  is  to  place  frankincense^  on  the  altars?  and 
whether  it  is  his  design  to  give  up  the  nations  for  a  prey  to 
the  wild  beasts  ?  The  ruler  of  the  Gods  forbids  them  making 
these  enquiries,  to  be  alarmed  ( for  that  the  rest  should  be  his 
care)  ;  and  he  promises,  that  from  a  wondrous  source  he  will 
raise  a  generation  unlike  the  preceding  race. 

And  now  he  was  about  to  scatter  his  thunder  over  all 
lands;  but  he  was  afraid  lest,  perchance,  the  sacred  aether 
might  catch  fire,  from  so  many  flames,  and  the  extended  sky 
might  become  enflamed.  He  remembers,  too,  that  it  was  in 
the  decrees  of  Fate,  that  a  time  should  come,"  at  which  the 
sea,  the  earth,  and  the  palace  of  heaven,  seized  by  the  flames, 
should  be  burned,  and  the  laboriously-wrought  fabric  of  the 
universe  should  be  in  danger  of  perishing.  The  weapons 
forged  by  the  hands  of  the  Cyclops  are  laid  aside ;  a  different 
mode  of  punishment  pleases  him :  to  destroy  mankind  beneath 
the  waves,  and  to  let  loose  the  rains  from  the  whole  tract  of 
Heaven.  At  once  he  shuts  the  North  Wind  in  the  caverns  of 
i^olus,  and  all  those  blasts  which  dispel  the  clouds  drawn  over 

^  An  anachronism.     In  those  early  ages,  corn,  or  wheaten  flour,  was 
the  customary  offering  to  the  Deities,  and  not  frankincense,  which 
was  introduced  among  the  luxuries  of  more  refined  times. 
2  The  Sibyls  predicted  that  the  world  should  perish  by  fire. 


338  OVID 

the  Earth:  and  then  he  sends  forth  the  South  Wind.  With 
soaking  wings  the  South  Wind  flies  abroad,  having  his  terrible 
face  covered  with  pitchy  darkness;  his  beard  is  loaded  with 
showers,  the  water  streams  down  from  his  hoary  locks,  clouds 
gather  upon  his  forehead,  his  wings  and  the  folds  of  his  robe 
drip  with  wet;  and,  as  with  his  broad  hand  he  squeezes  the 
hanging  clouds,  a  crash  arises,  and  thence  showers  are  poured 
in  torrents  from  the  sky.  Iris,^  the  messenger  of  Juno, 
clothed  in  various  colours,  collects  the  waters,  and  bears  a 
supply  upwards  to  the  clouds. 

The  standing  corn  is  beaten  down,  and  the  expectations  of 
the  husbandman,  now  lamented  by  him,  are  ruined,  and  the 
labours  of  a  long  year  prematurely  perish.  Nor  is  the  wrath 
of  Jove  satisfied  with  his  own  heaven;  but  Neptune,  his 
azure  brother,  aids  him  with  his  auxiliary  waves.  He  calls 
together  the  rivers,  which,  soon  as  they  had  entered  the  abode 
of  their  ruler,  he  says,  "  I  must  not  now  employ  a  lengthened 
exhortation ;  pour  forth  all  your  might,  so  the  occasion  re- 
quires. Open  your  abodes,  and,  each  obstacle  removed,  give 
full  rein  to  your  streams."  Thus  he  commanded;  they  re- 
turn, and  open  the  mouths  of  their  fountains,  and  roll  on 
into  the  ocean  with  unobstructed  course.  He  himself  struck 
the  Earth  with  his  trident,  on  which  it  shook,  and  with  a 
tremor  laid  open  the  sources  of  its  waters.  The  rivers,  break- 
ing out,  rush  through  the  open  plains,  and  bear  away,  together 
with  the  standing  corn,  the  groves,  flocks,  men,  houses,  and 
temples,  together  with  their  sacred  utensils.  If  any  house  re- 
mained, and,  not  thrown  down,  was  able  to  resist  ruin  so  vast, 
yet  the  waves,  rising  aloft,  covered  the  roof  of  that  house, 
and  the  towers  tottered,  overwhelmed  beneath  the  stream. 
And  now  sea  and  land  had  no  mark  of  distinction :  everything 
now  was  ocean ;  and  to  that  ocean  shores  were  wanting.  One 
man  takes  possession  of  a  hill,  another  sits  in  a  curved  boat, 
and  plies  the  oars  there  where  he  had  lately  ploughed ;  another 
sails  over  the  standing  corn,  or  the  roof  of  his  country-house 
under  water ;  another  catches  a  fish  on  the  top  of  an  elm-tree. 
An  anchor  (if  chance  so  directs)  is  fastened  in  a  green  mea- 

^  Goddess  of  the  rainbow. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK  I  339 

dow,  or  the  curving  keels  come  in  contact  with  the  vine- 
yards, now  below  them ;  and  where  of  late  the  slender  goats 
had  cropped  the  grass,  there  unsightly  sea-calves  are  now  re- 
posing their  bodies. 

The  Nereids  wonder  at  the  groves,  the  cities,  and  the 
houses  under  water;  dolphins  get  into  the  woods,  and  run 
against  the  lofty  branches,  and  beat  against  the  tossed  oaks. 
The  wolf  swims  among  the  sheep;  the  wave  carries  along  the 
tawny  lions ;  the  wave  carries  along  the  tigers.  Neither  does 
the  powers  of  his  lightning-shock  avail  the  wild  boar,  nor 
his  swift  legs  the  stag,  now  borne  away.  The  wandering 
bird,  too,  having  long  sought  for  land,  where  it  may  be  al- 
lowed to  light,  its  wings  failing,  falls  down  into  the  sea.  The 
boundless  range  of  the  sea  had  overwhelmed  the  hills,  and  the 
stranger  waves  beat  against  the  heights  of  the  mountains. 
The  greatest  part  is  carried  off  by  the  water:  those  whom 
the  water  spares,  long  fastings  overcome,  through  scantiness 
of  food. 


FABLE  IX 

Neptune  appeases  the  angry  waves;  and  he  commands  Triton 
to  sound  his  shell,  that  the  sea  may  retire  within  its  shores, 
and  the  rivers  zvithin  their  banks.  Deucalion  and  Pyrrha 
are  the  only  persons  saved  from  the  deluge. 

Phocis  separates  the  Aonian  from  the  Actsean  region ;  *  a 
fruitful  land  while  it  was  a  land;  but  at  that  time  it  had  be- 
come a  part  of  the  sea,  and  a  wide  plain  of  sudden  waters. 
There  a  lofty  mountain  rises  towards  the  stars,  with  two  tops, 
by  name  Parnassus,^  and  advances  beyond  the  clouds  with  its 
summit.  When  here  Deucalion  (for  the  sea  had  covered  all 
other  places),  borne  in  a  little  ship,  with  the  partner  of  his 


^  Aonia  was  a  mountainous  region  of  Boeotia ;  and  Actaea  was  an 
ancient  name  of  Attica,  from  akte,  the  sea-shore. 
-  Mount   Parnassus   has  two  peaks,   of   which   the   one   was  called 
"  Tichoreum,"  and  was  sacred  to  Bacchus ;  and  the  other  "  Hyparo- 
peum,"  and  was  devoted  to  Apollo  and  the  Muses. 


340  OVID 

couch,  first  rested ;  they  adored  the  Corycian  Nymphs/  and 
the  Deities  of  the  mountain,  and  the  prophetic  Themis,^  who 
at  that  time  used  to  give  out  oracular  responses.  No  man 
was  there  more  upright  than  he,  nor  a  greater  lover  of  justice, 
nor  was  any  w^oman  more  regardful  of  the  Deities  than  she. 

Soon  as  Jupiter  beholds  the  world  overflowed  by  liquid 
waters,  and  sees  that  but  one  man  remains  out  of  so  many 
thousands  of  late,  and  sees  that  but  one  woman  remains  out 
of  so  many  thousands  of  late,  both  guiltless,  and  both  wor- 
shippers of  the  Gods,  he  disperses  the  clouds ;  and  the  showers 
being  removed  by  the  North  Wind,  he  both  lays  open  the  earth 
to  the  heavens,  and  the  heavens  to  the  earth.  The  rage,  too, 
of  the  sea  does  not  continue;  and  his  three-forked  trident 
now  laid  aside,  the  ruler  of  the  deep  assuages  the  waters,  and 
calls  upon  the  azure  Triton  standing  above  the  deep,  and  hav- 
ing his  shoulders  covered  with  the  native  purple  shells ;  and 
he  bids  him  blow  his  resounding  trumpet,  and,  the  signal 
being  given,  to  call  back  the  waves  and  the  streams.  The 
hollow-wreathed  trumpet  ^  is  taken  up  by  him,  which  grows 
to  a  great  width  from  its  lowest  twist ;  the  trumpet,  which, 
soon  as  it  receives  the  air  in  the  middle  of  the  sea,  fills  with 
its  notes  the  shores  lying  under  either  sun.  Then,  too,  as 
soon  as  it  touched  the  lips  of  the  God  dripping  with  his  wet 
beard,  and  being  blown,  sounded  the  bidden  retreat;  it  was 
heard  by  all  the  waters  both  of  earth  and  sea,  and  stopped 
all  those  waters  by  which  it  was  heard.  Now  the  sea  again 
has  a  shore;  their  channels  receive  the  full  rivers;  the  rivers 
subside;  the  hills  are  seen  to  come  forth.  The  ground  rises, 
places  increase  in  extent  as  the  waters  decrease;  and  after  a 
length  of  time,  the  woods  show  their  naked  tops,  and  retain 
the  mud  left  upon  their  branches. 

^  So  called  from  inhabiting  the  Corycian  cavern  in  Mbunt  Parnas- 
sus; they  were  fabled  to  be  the  daughters  of  Plistus,  a  river  near 
Delphi. 

^  Themis  is  said  to  have  preceded  Apollo  in  giving  oracular  responses 
at  Delphi.     She  was  the  daughter  of  Coelus  and  Terra,  and  was  the 
first  to  instruct  men  to  ask  of  the  Gods  "  that  which  was  lawful  and 
right,"  whence  her  name,  which  has  this  significance. 
*  The  conch  shell. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  341 

The  world  was  restored :  which  when  Deucalion  beheld  to 
be  empty,  and  how  the  desolate  Earth  kept  a  profound  silence, 
he  thus  addressed  Pyrrha,  with  tears  bursting  forth : — "  O 
sister,  O  wife,  O  thou,  the  only  woman  surviving,  whom  a 
common  origin,^  and  a  kindred  descent,  and  afterwards  the 
marriage  tie  has  united  to  me,  and  whom  now  dangers  them- 
selves unite  to  me ;  we  two  are  the  whole  people  of  the  earth, 
whatever  both  the  East  and  the  West  behold ;  of  all  the  rest, 
the  sea  has  taken  possession.  And  even  now  there  is  no  cer- 
tain assurance  of  our  lives;  even  yet  do  the  clouds  terrify  my 
mind.  What  would  now  have  been  thy  feelings,  if  without 
me  thou  hadst  been  rescued  from  destruction,  O  thou  de- 
serving of  compassion?  In  what  manner  couldst  thou  have 
been  able  alone  to  support  this  terror?  With  whom  for  a 
consoler,  to  endure  these  sorrows?  For  I,  believe  me,  my 
wife,  if  the  sea  had  only  carried  thee  off,  should  have  followed 
thee,  and  the  sea  should  have  carried  me  off  as  well.  Oh  that 
I  could  replace  the  people  that  are  lost  by  the  arts  of  my 
father,"  and  infuse  the  soul  into  the  moulded  earth!  Now 
the  mortal  race  exists  in  us  two  alone.  Thus  it  has  seemed 
good  to  the  Gods,  and  we  remain  as  mere  samples  of  man- 
kind." 

FABLE  X 

Deucalion  and  Pyrrha  re-people  the  earth  by  casting  stones 
behind  them,  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  the  Goddess 
Themis,  whose  oracle  they  had  consulted. 

He  thus  spoke,  and  they  wept.  They  resolved  to  pray  to 
the  Deities  of  Heaven,  and  to  seek  relief  through  the  sacred 
oracles.     There  is  no  delay ;  together  they  repair  to  the  waters 


^  Prometheus  was  the  father  of  Deucalion  and  Epimetheus  of  Pyrrha ; 

Prometheus  and  Epimetheus  being  the  sons  of  lapetus.     It  is  in  an 

extended  sense  that  he  styles  her  "  sister " ;   she  being  really  his 

cousin. 

2  He  alludes  to  the  story  of  his  father,  Prometheus,  having  formed 

men  of  clav,  and  animated  them  with  fire  stolen  from  heaven. 
XI— 23 ' 


342  OVID 

of  Cephisus,^  though  not  yet  clear,  yet  now  cutting  their 
wonted  channel.  Then,  when  they  have  sprinkled  the  waters 
poured  on  their  clothes^  and  their  heads,  they  turn  their  steps 
to  the  temple  of  the  sacred  Goddess,  the  roof  of  which  was 
defiled  with  foul  moss,  and  whose  altars  were  standing  with- 
out fires.  Soon  as  they  reached  the  steps  of  the  temple,  each 
of  them  fell  prostrate  on  the  ground,  and,  trembling,  gave 
kisses  to  the  cold  pavement.     And  thus  they  said : 

"If  the  Deities,  prevailed  upon  by  just  prayers,  are  to  be 
mollified,  if  the  wrath  of  the  Gods  is  to  be  averted;  tell  us, 
O  Themis,  by  what  art  the  loss  of  our  race  is  to  be  repaired, 
and  give  thy  assistance,  O  most  gentle  Goddess,  to  our  ruined 
fortunes."  The  Goddess  was  moved,  and  gave  this  response : 
"Depart  from  my  temple,  and  cover  your  heads,  and  loosen 
the  garments  girt  around  you,  and  throw  behind  your  backs 
the  bones  of  your  great  mother."  For  a  long  time  they  are 
amazed;  and  Pyrrha  is  the  first  by  her  words  to  break  the 
silence,  and  then  refuses  to  obey  the  commands  of  the  God- 
dess; and  begs  her,  with  trembling  lips,  to  grant  her  pardon, 
and  dreads  to  offend  the  shades  of  her  mother  by  casting  her 
bones.  In  the  meantime  they  reconsider  the  words  of  the 
response  given,  but  involved  in  dark  obscurity,  and  they 
ponder  them  among  themselves.  Upon  that,  the  son  of  Pro- 
metheus soothes  the  daughter  of  Epimetheus  with  these  gentle 
words,  and  says,  "  Either  is  my  discernment  fallacious,  or 
the  oracles  are  just,  and  advise  no  sacrilege.  The  earth  is  the 
great  mother;  I  suspect  that  the  stones  in  the  body  of  the 
earth  are  the  bones  meant;  these  we  are  ordered  to  throw 
behind  our  backs."  Although  she,  descended  from  Titan,  is 
moved  by  this  interpretation  of  her  husband,  still  her  hope  is 
involved  in  doubt;  so  much  do  they  both  distrust  the  advice 
of  heaven;  but  what  harm  will  it  do  to  try? 

They  go  down,  and  they  veil  their  heads,  and  ungird  their 
garments,  and  cast  stones,  as- ordered,  behind  their  footsteps. 


^  The   river   Cephisus   rises   on   Mount   Parnassus,   and   flows   near 
Delphi. 

^  It  was  the  custom  of  the  ancients,  before  entering  a  temple,  either 
to  sprinkle  themselves  with  water,  or  to  wash  the  body  all  over. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  343 

The  stones  (who  could  have  believed  it,  but  that  antiquity  is 
a  witness  of  the  thing?)  began  to  lay  aside  their  hardness 
and  their  stiffness,  and  by  degrees  to  become  soft ;  and  when 
softened,  to  assume  a  new  form.  Presently  after,  when  they 
were  grown  larger,  a  milder  nature,  too,  was  conferred  on 
them,  so  that  some  shape  of  man  might  be  seen  in  them,  yet 
though  but  imperfect;  and  as  if  from  the  marble  commenced 
to  be  wrought,  not  sufficiently  distinct,  and  very  like  to  rough 
statues.  Yet  that  part  of  them  which  was  humid  with  any 
moisture,  and  earthy,  was  turned  into  portions  adapted  for 
the  use  of  the  body.  That  which  is  solid,  and  cannot  be  bent, 
is  changed  into  bones;  that  which  was  just  now  a  vein,  still 
remains  under  the  same  name.  And  in  a  little  time,  by  the 
interposition  of  the  Gods  above,  the  stones  thrown  by  the 
hands  of  the  man,  took  the  shape  of  a  man,  and  the  female 
race  was  renewed  by  the  throwing  of  the  woman.  Thence 
are  we  a  hardy  generation,  and  able  to  endure  fatigue,  and 
we  give  proofs  from  what  original  we  are  sprung. 


FABLE  XI 

The  Earth,  being  zvarmed  by  the  heat  of  the  sun,  produces 
many  monsters;  among  others,  the  serpent  Python,  which 
Apollo  kills  with  his  arrows.  To  establish  a  memorial  of 
this  event,  he  institutes  the  Pythian  games,  and  adopts  the 
surname  of  Pythius. 

The  Earth  of  her  own  accord  brought  forth  other  ani- 
mals of  different  forms;  after  that  the  former  moisture  was 
thoroughly  heated  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  mud  and 
the  wet  fens  fermented  with  the  heat;  and  the  fruitful  seeds 
of  things  nourished  by  the  enlivening  soil,  as  in  the  womb  of 
a  mother,  grew,  and,  in  lapse  of  time,  assumed  some  regular 
shape.  Thus,  when  the  seven-streamed  Nile*  has  forsaken 
the  oozy  fields,  and  has  returned  its  waters  to  their  ancient 
channel,  and  the  fresh  mud  has  been  heated  with  the  aethereal 


*  The  river  Nile  discharges  itself  into  the  sea  by  seven  mouths. 


344  OVID 

sun,  the  labourers,  on  turning  up  the  clods,  meet  with  very 
many  animals,  and  among  them,  some  just  begun  at  the  very 
moment  of  their  formation,  and  some  they  see  still  imperfect, 
and  as  yet  destitute  of  some  of  their  limbs;  and  often,  in  the 
same  body,  as  one  part  animated,  the  other  part  is  coarse 
earth.  For  when  moisture  and  heat  have  been  subjected  to  a 
due  mixture,  they  conceive;  and  all  things  arise  from  these 
two. 

And  although  fire  is  the  antagonist  of  heat,  yet  a  moist  va- 
pour creates  all  things,  and  this  discordant  concord  is  suited 
for  generation ;  when,  therefore,  the  Earth,  covered  with  mud 
by  the  late  deluge,  was  thoroughly  heated  by  the  aethereal 
sunshine  and  a  penetrating  warmth,  it  produced  species  of 
creatures  innumerable;  and  partly  restored  the  former  shapes, 
and  partly  gave  birth  to  new  monsters.  She,  indeed,  might 
have  been  unwilling,  but  then  she  produced  thee  as  well,  thou 
enormous  Python ;  and  thou,  unheard  of  serpent,  wast  a  source 
of  terror  to  this  new  race  of  men,  so  vast  a  part  of  a  mountain 
didst  thou  occupy. 

The  God  that  bears  the  bow,  and  that  had  never  before 
used  such  arms,  but  against  the  deer  and  the  timorous  goats, 
destroyed  him,  overwhelmed  with  a  thousand  arrows,  his  quiver 
being  well-nigh  exhausted,  as  the  venom  oozed  forth  through 
the  black  wounds;  and  that  length  of  time  might  not  efface 
the  fame  of  the  deed,  he  instituted  sacred  games,^  with  con- 
tests famed  in  story,  called  "  Pythia,"  from  the  name  of  the 
serpent  so  conquered.  In  these,  whosoever  of  the  young  men 
conquered  in  boxing,  in  running,  or  in  chariot-racing,  received 
the  honour  of  a  crown  of  beechen  leaves.     As  yet  the  laurel 


^  Yet  Pausanias  tells  us  that  they  were  instituted  by  Diomedes ; 
others,  again,  say  by  Eurylochus  the  Thessalian;  and  others,  by  Am- 
phictyon,  or  Adrastus.  The  Pythian  games  were  celebrated  near 
Delphi,  on  the  Crissaean  plain,  which  contained  a  race-course,  a 
stadium  of  looo  feet  in  length,  and  a  theatre,  in  which  the  musical 
contests  took  place.  Previously  to  the  48th  Olympiad,  the  Pythian 
games  had  been  celebrated  at  the  end  of  every  eighth  year;  after 
that  period,  they  were  held  at  the  end  of  every  fourth  year.  When 
they  ceased  to  be  solemnized  is  unknown ;  but  in  the  time  of  the 
Emperor  Julian  they  still  continued  to  be  held. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  345 

existed  not,  and  Phoebus  used  to  bind  his  temples,  graceful 
with  long  hair,  with  garlands  from  any  tree. 


FABLE   XII 

Apollo,  falling  in  love  zvith  Daphne,  the  daughter  of  the  river 
Peneiis,  she  Hies  from  him.  He  pursues  her;  on  which,  the 
Nymph,  imploring  the  aid  of  her  father,  is  changed  into  a 
laurel. 

Daphne,  the  daughter  of  Peneus,*  was  the  first  love  of 
Phoebus;  whom,  not  blind  chance,  but  the  vengeful  anger  of 
Cupid  assigned  to  him. 

The  Delian  God,^  proud  of  having  lately  subdued  the  ser- 
pent, had  seen  him  bending  the  bow  and  drawing  the  string, 
and  had  said,  "  What  hast  thou  to  do,  wanton  boy,  with  gal- 
lant arms  ?  Such  a  burden  as  that  better  befits  my  shoulders ; 
I,  who  am  able  to  give  unerring  wounds  to  the  wild  beasts, 
wounds  to  the  enemy ;  who  lately  slew  with  arrows  innumer- 
able the  swelling  Python,  that  covered  so  many  acres  of  land 
with  his  pestilential  belly.  Do  thou  be  contented  to  excite  I 
know  not  what  flames  with  thy  torch;  and  do  not  lay  claim 
to  praises  properly  my  own." 

To  him  the  son  of  Venus  replies,  "  Let  thy  bow  shoot 
all  things,  Phoebus ;  my  bow  shall  shoot  thee ;  and  as  much  as 
all  animals  fall  short  of  thee,  so  much  is  thy  glory  less  than 
mine."  He  thus  said;  and  cleaving  the  air  with  his  beating 
wings,  with  activity  he  stood  upon  the  shady  heights  of  Par- 
nassus, and  drew  two  weapons  out  of  his  arrow-bearing  quiver, 
of  different  workmanship;  the  one  repels,  the  other  excites 
desire.  That  which  causes  love  is  of  gold,  and  is  brilliant, 
with  a  sharp  point ;  that  which  repels  it  is  blunt,  and  contains 
lead  beneath  the  reed.  This  one  the  God  fixed  in  the  Nymph, 
the  daughter  of  Peneus,  but  with  the  other  he  wounded  the 


^  The  Peneus  was  a  river  of  Thessaly. 

2  Apollo  is  so  called,  from  having  been  born  in  the  Isle  of  Delos,  in 

the  ^gean  Sea. 


346  OVID 

very  marrow  of  Apollo,  through  his  bones  pierced  by  the 
arrow.  Immediately  the  one  is  in  love;  the  other  flies  from 
the  very  name  of  a  lover,  rejoicing  in  the  recesses  of  the 
woods,  and  in  the  spoils  of  wild  beasts  taken  in  hunting,  and 
becomes  a  rival  of  the  virgin  Phoebe.  A  fillet  tied  together  ^ 
her  hair,  put  up  without  any  order.  Many  a  one  courted  her ; 
she  hated  all  wooers;  not  able  to  endure,  and  quite  unac- 
quainted with  man,  she  traverses  the  solitary  parts  of  the 
woods,  and  she  cares  not  what  Hymen,  what  love,  or  what 
marriage  means.  Many  a  time  did  her  father  say,  "  My 
daughter,  thou  owest  me  a  son-in-law ; "  many  a  time  did 
her  father  say,  "  My  daughter,  thou  owest  me  grandchildren," 
She,  utterly  abhorring  the  nuptial  torch,  as  though  a  crime, 
has  her  beateous  face  covered  with  the  blush  of  modesty ;  and 
clinging  to  her  father's  neck,  with  caressing  arms,  she  says, 
"Allow  me,  my  dearest  father,  to  enjoy  perpetual  virginity; 
her  father,  in  times  bygone,  granted  this  to  Diana." 

He  indeed  complied.  But  that  very  beauty  forbids  thee 
to  be  what  thou  wishest,  and  the  charms  of  thy  person  are  an 
impediment  to  thy  desires.  Phoebus  falls  in  love,  and  he 
covets  an  alliance  with  Daphne,  now  seen  by  him,  and  what 
he  covets  he  hopes  for,  and  his  own  oracles  deceive  him; 
and  as  the  light  stubble  is  burned,  when  the  ears  of  corn  are 
taken  off,  and  as  hedges  are  set  on  fire  by  the  torches,  which 
perchance  a  traveller  has  either  held  too  near  them,  or  has  left 
there,  now  about  the  break  of  day,  thus  did  the  God  burst 
into  a  flame;  thus  did  he  burn  throughout  his  breast,  and 
cherish  a  fruitless  passion  with  his  hopes.  He  beholds  her 
hair  hanging  unadorned  upon  her  neck,  and  he  says,  "  And 
what  would  it  be  if  it  were  arranged?"  He  sees  her  eyes, 
like  stars,  sparkling  with  fire ;  he  sees  her  lips,  which  it  is  not 
enough  to  have  merely  seen ;  he  praises  both  her  fingers  and 
her  hands,  and  her  arms  and  her  shoulders  naked,  from  be- 


^  A  band  encircling  the  head,  and  serving  to  confine  the  tresses  of 
the  hair.  A  different  kind  was  worn  by  maidens  from  that  by  mar- 
ried women.  It  was  not  worn  by  women  of  light  character,  or  even 
by  the  female  slaves  who  had  been  liberated;  so  that  it  was  not  only 
an  emblem  of  chastity,  but  of  freedom  also. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  347 

yond  the  middle;  whatever  is  hidden  from  view,  he  thinks 
to  be  still  more  beauteous.  Swifter  than  the  light  wind 
she  flies,  and  she  stops  not  at  these  words  of  his,  as  he  calls 
her  back; 

"  O  Nymph,  daughter  of  Peneus,  stay,  I  entreat  thee !  I 
am  not  an  enemy  following  thee.  In  this  way  the  lamb  flies 
from  the  wolf;  thus  the  deer  flies  from  the  lion;  thus  the 
dove  flies  from  the  eagle  with  trembling  wing;  in  this  way 
each  creature  flies  from  its  enemy :  love  is  the  cause  of  my  fol- 
lowing thee.  Ah !  wretched  me !  shouldst  thou  fall  on  thy 
face,  or  should  the  brambles  tear  thy  legs,  that  deserve  not 
to  be  injured,  and  should  I  prove  the  cause  of  pain  to  thee. 
The  places  are  rugged,  through  which  thou  art  thus  hasten- 
ing ;  run  more  leisurely,  I  entreat  thee,  and  restrain  thy  flight ; 
I  myself  will  follow  more  leisurely.  And  yet,  enquire  whom 
thou  dost  please;  I  am  not  an  inhabitant  of  the  mountains, 
I  am  not  a  shepherd;  I  am  not  here,  in  rude  guise,  watching 
the  herds  or  the  flocks.  Thou  knowest  not,  rash  girl,  thou 
knowest  not  from  whom  thou  art  flying,  and  therefore  it  is 
that  thou  dost  fly.  The  Delphian  land,  Claros  and  Tenedos, 
and  the  Patarsean  palace  pays  service  to  me.^  Jupiter  is  my 
sire;  by  me,  what  shall  be,  what  has  been,  and  what  is,  is 
disclosed;  through  me,  songs  harmonize  with  the  strings. 
My  own  arrow,  indeed,  is  unerring ;  yet  one  there  is  still  more 
unerring  than  my  own,  which  has  made  this  w^ound  in  my 
heart,  before  unscathed.  The  healing  art  is  my  discovery, 
and  throughout  the  world  I  am  honoured  as  the  bearer  of 
help,  and  the  properties  of  simples  are  subjected  to  me.  Ah, 
wretched  me !  that  love  is  not  to  be  cured  by  any  herbs ;  and 
that  those  arts  which  afford  relief  to  all,  are  of  no  avail  for 
their  master." 

The  daughter  of  Peneus  flies  from  him,  about  to  say  still 
more,  with  timid  step,  and  together  with  him  she  leaves  his 
unfinished  address.  Then,  too,  she  appeared  lovely ;  the  winds 
exposed  her  form  to  view,  and  the  gusts  meeting  her,  flut- 


^  Claros  was  a  city  of  Ionia.  Tenedos  was  an  island  of  the  ^Egean 
Sea,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Troy.  Patara  was  a  city  of  Lycia, 
where  Apollo  gave  oracular  responses  during  six  months  of  the  year. 


348  OVID 

tered  about  her  garments,  as  they  came  in  contact,  and  the 
Hght  breeze  spread  behind  her  her  careless  locks ;  and  thus,  by 
her  flight,  was  her  beauty  increased.  But  the  youthful  God 
has  not  patience  any  longer  to  waste  his  blandishments;  and 
as  love  urges  him  on,  he  follows  her  steps  with  hastening  pace. 
As  when  the  greyhound  has  seen  the  hare  in  the  open  field, 
and  the  one  by  the  speed  of  his  legs  pursues  his  prey,  the 
other  seeks  her  safety;  the  one  is  like  as  if  just  about  to 
fasten  on  the  other,  and  now,  even  now,  hopes  to  catch  her, 
and  with  nose  outstretched  plies  upon  the  footsteps  of  the  hare. 
The  other  is  in  doubt  whether  she  is  caught  already,  and  is 
delivered  from  his  very  bite,  and  leaves  behind  the  mouth 
just  touching  her.  And  so  is  the  God,  and  so  is  the  virgin; 
he  swift  with  hopes,  she  with  fear. 

Yet  he  that  follows,  aided  by  the  wings  of  love,  is  the 
swifter,  and  denies  her  any  rest ;  and  is  now  just  at  her  back  as 
she  flies,  and  is  breathing  upon  her  hair  scattered  upon  her  neck. 
Her  strength  being  now  spent,  she  grows  pale,  and  being  quite 
faint,  with  the  fatigue  of  so  swift  a  flight,  looking  upon 
the  waters  of  Peneus,  she  says,  "  Give  me,  my  father,  thy 
aid,  if  you  rivers  have  divine  power.  Oh  Earth,  either  yawn 
to  swallow  me,  or  by  changing  it,  destroy  that  form,  by  which 
I  have  pleased  too  much,  and  which  causes  me  to  be  injured." 

Hardly  had  she  ended  her  prayer,  when  a  heavy  torpor 
seizes  her  limbs ;  and  her  soft  breasts  are  covered  with  a 
thin  bark.  Her  hair  grows  into  green  leaves,  her  arms  into 
branches;  her  feet,  the  moment  before  so  swift,  adhere  by 
sluggish  roots;  a  leafy  canopy  overspreads  her  features;  her 
elegance  alone  remains  in  her.  This,  too,  Phoebus  admires, 
and  placing  his  right  hand  upon  the  stock,  he  perceives  that 
the  breast  still  throbs  beneath  the  new  bark;  and  then,  em- 
bracing the  branches  as  though  limbs  in  his  arms,  he  gives 
kisses  to  the  wood,  and  yet  the  wood  shrinks  from  his  kisses. 
To  her  the  God  said:  "  But  since  thou  canst  not  be  my  wife, 
at  least  thou  shalt  be  my  tree;  my  hair,  my  lyre,  my  quiver 
shall  always  have  thee,  oh  laurel!  Thou  shalt  be  presented 
to  the  Latian  chieftains,  when  the  joyous  voice  of  the  soldiers 
shall  sing  the  song  of  triumph,  and  the  long  procession  shall 
resort  to  the  Capitol.     Thou,  the  same,  shalt  stand  as  a  most 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  349 

faithful  guardian  at  the  gate-posts  of  Augustus  before  his 
doors,  and  shah  protect  the  oak  placed  in  the  centre;^  and 
as  my  head  is  ever  youthful  with  unshorn  locks,  do  thou,  too, 
always  wear  the  lasting  honours  of  thy  foliage." 

Paean  had  ended  his  speech ;  the  laurel  nodded  assent  with 
its  new-made  boughs,  and  seemed  to  shake  its  top  just  like  a 
head. 

FABLE   XIII 

Jupiter,  pursuing  lo,  the  daughter  of  Inachus,  covers  the  earth 
with  darkness,  and  ravishes  the  Nymph. 

There  is  a  grove  of  Hsemonia,^  which  a  w^ood  placed  on  a 
craggy  rock,  encloses  on  every  side.  They  call  it  Tempe; 
through  this  the  river  Peneus,  flowing  from  the  bottom  of 
mount  Pindus,  rolls  along  with  its  foaming  waves,  and  in  its 
mighty  fall,  gathers  clouds  that  scatter  a  vapour  like  thin 
smoke,  and  with  its  spray  besprinkles  the  tops  of  the  woods, 
and  wearies  places,  far  from  near  to  it,  with  its  noise.  This 
is  the  home,  this  the  abode,  these  are  the  retreats  of  the 
great  river ;  residing  here  in  a  cavern  formed  by  rocks,  he  gives 
law  to  the  waters,  and  to  the  Nymphs  that  inhabit  those 
waters.  The  rivers  of  that  country  first  repair  thither,  not 
knowing  whether  they  should  congratulate,  or  whether  console 
the  parent;  the  poplar-bearing  Spercheus,'  and  the  restless 
Enipeus,*  the  aged  Apidanus,*  the  gentle  Amphrysus,'  and 


*  Ovid  here  alludes  to  the  civic  crown  of  oak  leaves  which,  by  order 
of  the  senate,  was  placed  before  the  gate  of  the  Palatium,  where 
Augustus  Caesar  resided,  with  branches  of  laurel  on  either  side  of  it. 
2  An  ancient  name  of  Thessaly. 

'  A  rapid  stream,  flowing  at  the  foot  of  Mount  ^tna  into  the  Malian 
Gulf. 

*  The  Enipeus  rises  in  Mount  Othrys,  and  runs  through  Thessaly. 
'^  The  Apidanus,  receiving  the  stream  of  the  Enipeus  at  Pharsalia, 
flows  into  the  Peneus.  It  is  probably  called  "  senex,"  as  having  been 
known  and  celebrated  by  the  poets  from  of  old. 

*  This  river  ran  through  that  part  of  Thessaly  known  by  the  name  of 
Phthiotis. 


350  OVID 

^as/  and,  soon  after,  the  other  rivers,  which,  as  their  current 
leads  them,  carry  down  into  the  sea  their  waves,  wearied  by 
wanderings.  Inachus  ^  alone  is  absent,  and,  hidden  in  his 
deepest  cavern,  increases  his  waters  with  his  tears,  and  in 
extreme  wretchedness  bewails  his  daughter  lo  as  lost;  he 
knows  not  whether  she  now  enjoys  life,  or  whether  she  is 
among  the  shades  below ;  but  her,  whom  he  does  not  find  any- 
where, he  believes  to  be  nowhere,  and  in  his  mind  he  dreads 
the  worst. 

Jupiter  had  seen  lo  as  she  was  returning  from  her  father's 
stream,  and  had  said,  "  O  maid,  worthy  of  Jove,  and  destined 
to  make  I  know  not  whom  happy  in  thy  marriage,  repair  to 
the  shades  of  this  lofty  grove  (and  he  pointed  at  the  shade  of 
the  grove)  while  it  is  warm,  and  while  the  Sun  is  at  his  height, 
in  the  midst  of  his  course.  But  if  thou  art  afraid  to  enter  the 
lonely  abodes  of  the  wild  beasts  alone,  thou  shalt  enter  the 
recesses  of  the  groves,  safe  under  the  protection  of  a  God, 
and  that  a  God  of  no  common  sort ;  but  with  me,  who  hold  the 
sceptre  of  heaven  in  my  powerful  hand;  me,  who  hurl  the 
wandering  lightnings — Do  not  fly  from  me ; "  for  now  she 
w^as  flying.  And  now  she  had  left  behind  the  pastures  of 
Lerna,®  and  the  Lircaean  plains  planted  with  trees,  when  the 
God  covered  the  earth  far  and  wide  with  darkness  over- 
spreading, and  arrested  her  flight,  and  forced  her  modesty. 


^  A  small  limpid  stream,  running  through  Epirus  and  Thessaly,  and 
discharging  itself  into  the  Ionian  Sea. 

*  A  river  of  Argolis,  now  known  as  the  Naio. 

*  A  swampy  spot  on  the  Argive  territory,  where  the  poets  say  that 
the  dragon  with  seven  heads,  called  Hydra,  which  was  slain  by  Her- 
cules, had  made  his  haunt.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  pestilential 
vapours  of  this  spot  were  got  rid  of  by  means  of  its  being  drained 
under  the  superintendence  of  Hercules,  on  which  fact  the  story 
was  founded. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  351 

FABLE    XIV 

Jupiter,  havijtg  changed  lo  into  a  cow,  to  conceal  her  front 
the  jealousy  of  Juno,  is  obliged  to  give  her  to  that  Goddess, 
zvho  commits  her  to  the  charge  of  the  watchful  Argus. 
Jupiter  sends  Mercury  with  an  injunction  to  cast  Argus 
into  a  deep  sleep,  and  to  take  azuay  his  life. 

In  the  meantime  Juno  looked  down  upon  the  midst  of  the 
fields,  and  wondering  that  the  fleeting  clouds  had  made  the 
appearance  of  night  under  bright  day,  she  perceived  that  they 
were  not  the  vapours  from  a  river,  nor  were  they  raised 
from  the  moist  earth,  and  then  she  looked  around  to  see 
where  her  husband  was,  as  being  one  who  by  this  time  was 
full  well  acquainted  with  the  intrigues  of  a  husband  who  had 
been  so  often  detected.  After  she  had  found  him  not  in 
heaven,  she  said,  *'  I  am  either  deceived,  or  I  am  injured ;  '* 
and  having  descended  from  the  height  of  heaven,  she  alighted 
upon  the  earth,  and  commanded  the  mists  to  retire.  He  had 
foreseen  the  approach  of  his  wife,  and  had  changed  the  fea- 
tures of  the  daughter  of  Inachus  into  a  sleek  heifer.  As  a 
cow,  too,  she  is  beautiful.  The  daughter  of  Saturn,  though 
unwillingly,  extols  the  appearance  of  the  cow;  and  likewise 
enquires,  whose  it  is,  and  whence,  or  of  what  herd  it  is, 
as  though  ignorant  of  the  truth.  Jupiter  falsely  asserts  that 
it  was  produced  out  of  the  earth,  that  the  owner  may  cease 
to  be  inquired  after.  The  daughter  of  Saturn  begs  her  of 
him  as  a  gift.  What  can  he  do?  It  is  a  cruel  thing  to  de- 
liver up  his  own  mistress,  and  not  to  give  her  up  is  a  cause  of 
suspicion.  It  is  shame  which  persuades  him  on  the  one  hand, 
love  dissuades  him  on  the  other.  His  shame  would  have  been 
subdued  by  his  love;  but  if  so  trifling  a  gift  as  a  cow  should 
be  refused  to  the  sharer  of  his  descent  and  his  couch,  she  might 
well  seem  not  to  be  a  cow. 

The  rival  now  being  given  up  to  her,  the  Goddess  did  not 
immediately  lay  aside  all  apprehension ;  and  she  was  still  afraid 
of  Jupiter,  and  was  fearful  of  her  being  stolen,  until  she 
gave  her  to  Argus,  the  son  of  Aristor,  to  be  kept  by  him. 
Argus  had  his  head  encircled  with  a  hundred  eyes.     Two  of 


352  OVID 

them  used  to  take  rest  in  their  turns,  the  rest  watched,  and 
used  to  keep  on  duty.  In  whatever  manner  he  stood,  he 
looked  towards  lo;  aUhough  turned  away,  he  still  used  to 
have  lo  before  his  eyes.  In  the  day  time  he  suffers  her  to 
feed ;  but  when  the  sun  is  below  the  deep  earth,  he  shuts  her 
up,  and  ties  a  cord  round  her  neck  undeserving  of  such  treat- 
ment. She  feeds  upon  the  leaves  of  the  arbute  tree,  and  bit- 
ter herbs,  and  instead  of  a  bed  the  unfortunate  animal  lies 
upon  the  earth,  that  does  not  always  have  grass  on  it,  and 
drinks  of  muddy  streams.  And  when,  too,  she  was  desirous, 
as  a  suppliant,  to  stretch  out  her  arms  to  Argus,  she  had  no 
arms  to  stretch  out  to  Argus;  and  she  uttered  lowings  from 
her  mouth,  when  endeavouring  to  complain.  And  at  this 
sound  she  was  terrified,  and  was  affrighted  at  her  own  voice. 
She  came,  too,  to  the  banks  where  she  was  often  wont  to 
sport,  the  banks  of  her  father,  Inachus;  and  soon  as  she  be- 
held her  new  horns  in  the  water,  she  was  terrified,  and,  aston- 
ished, she  recoiled  from  herself.  The  Naiads  knew  her  not, 
and  Inachus  himself  knew  her  not,  who  she  was;  but  she 
follows  her  father,  and  follows  her  sisters,  and  suffers  herself 
to  be  touched,  and  presents  herself  to  them,  as  they  admire 
her.  The  aged  Inachus  held  her  some  grass  he  had  plucked ; 
she  licks  his  hand,  and  gives  kisses  to  the  palms  of  her 
father.  Nor  does  she  restrain  her  tears;  and  if  only  words 
would  follow,  she  would  implore  his  aid,  and  would  declare 
her  name  and  misfortunes.  Instead  of  words,  letters,  which 
her  foot  traced  in  the  dust,  completed  the  sad  discovery  of  the 
transformation  of  her  body.  "  Ah,  wretched  me !  "  exclaims 
her  father  Inachus;  and  clinging  to  the  horns  and  the  neck 
of  the  snow-white  cow,  as  she  wept,  he  repeats,  "  Ah,  wretched 
me!  and  art  thou  my  daughter,  that  hast  been  sought  for  by 
me  throughout  all  lands?  While  undiscovered,  thou  wast  a 
lighter  grief  to  me,  than  now,  when  thou  art  found.  Thou  art 
silent,  and  no  words  dost  thou  return  in  answer  to  mine ;  thou 
only  heavest  sighs  from  the  depth  of  thy  breast,  and  what 
alone  thou  art  able  to  do,  thou  answerest  in  lowings  to  my 
words.  But  I,  in  ignorance  of  this,  was  preparing  the  bridal 
chamber,  and  the  nuptial  torches  for  thee;  and  my  chief  hope 
was  that  of  a  son-in-law,  my  next  was  that  of  grandchildren. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  353 

But  now  must  thou  have  a  mate  from  the  herd,  now,  too,  an 
offspring  of  the  herd.  Nor  is  it  possible  for  me  to  end  grief 
so  great  by  death ;  but  it  is  a  detriment  to  be  a  God ;  and  the 
gate  of  death  being  shut  against  me,  extends  my  grief  to 
eternal  ages." 

While  thus  he  lamented,  the  starry  Argus  removed  her 
away,  and  carried  the  daughter,  thus  taken  from  her  father,  to 
distant  pastures.  He  himself,  at  a  distance,  occupies  the  lofty 
top  of  a  mountain,  whence,  as  he  sits,  he  may  look  about  on 
all  sides. 

Nor  can  the  ruler  of  the  Gods  above,  any  longer  endure  so 
great  miseries  of  the  granddaughter  of  Phoroneus;^  and  he 
calls  his  son  Mercury,  whom  the  bright  Pleiad,  Maia,^  brought 
forth,  and  orders  him  to  put  Argus  to  death.  There  is  but 
little  delay  to  take  wings  upon  his  feet,  and  his  soporiferous 
wand  ^  in  his  hand,  and  a  cap  for  his  hair.*  After  he  had 
put  these  things  in  order,  the  son  of  Jupiter  leaps  down  from 
his  father's  high  abode  upon  the  earth,  and  there  he  takes  off 
his  cap,  and  lays  aside  his  wings;  his  wand  alone  was  re- 
tained. With  this,  as  a  shepherd,  he  drives  some  she  goats 
through  the  pathless  country,  taken  up  as  he  passed  along, 
and  plays  upon  oaten  straws  joined  together. 

The  keeper  appointed  by  Juno,  charmed  by  the  sound  of 
this  new  contrivance,  says,  "  Whoever  thou  art,  thou  mayst 
be  seated  with  me  upon  this  stone;  for,  indeed,  in  no  other 
place  is  the  herbage  more  abundant  for  thy  flock;  and  thou 
seest,  too,  that  the  shade  is  convenient  for  the  shepherds." 
The  son  of  Atlas  sat  down,  and  with  much  talking  he  occu- 
pied the  passing  day  with  his  discourse,  and  by  playing  upon 
his  joined  reeds  he  tried  to  overpower  his  watchful  eyes.    Yet 

^  The  father  of  Jasius  and  of  Inachus,  the  parent  of  lo. 

2  One  of  the  seven  daughters  of  Atlas,  who  were  styled  Pleiades 

after  they  were  received  among  the  constellations. 

2  The  "  caduceus,"  or  staff,  with  which  Mercury  summoned  the  souls 

of  the  departed  from  the  shades,  induced  slumber,   and  did  other 

offices  pertaining  to  his  capacity  as  the  herald  and  messenger  of 

Jupiter.     It  was  represented  as  an  olive  branch,  wreathed  with  two 

snakes. 

*  Called  "  Petasus."    It  had  broad  brims. 


354  OVID 

the  other  strives  hard  to  overcome  soft  sleep;  and  although 
sleep  was  received  by  a  part  of  his  eyes,  yet  with  a  part  he 
still  keeps  watch.  He  enquires  also,  (for  the  pipe  had  been 
but  lately  invented)  by  what  method  it  had  been  found  out. 


FABLE  XV 

Pan,  falling  in  love  with  the  Nymph  Syrinx,  she  Hies  from 
him;  on  which  he  pursues  her.  Syrinx,  arrested  in  her 
■flight  by  the  ivaves  of  the  river  Ladon,  invokes  the  aid  of 
her  sisters,  the  Naiads,  zvho  change  her  into  reeds.  Pan 
unites  them  into  an  instrument  with  seven  pipes,  which 
hears  the  name  of  the  Nymph. 

Then  the  God  says,  "  In  the  cold  mountains  of  Arcadia, 
among  the  Hamadryads  of  Nonacris,^  there  was  one  Naiad 
very  famous;  the  Nymphs  called  her  Syrinx.  And  not  once 
alone  had  she  escaped  the  Satyrs  as  they  pursued,  and  what- 
ever Gods  either  the  shady  grove  or  the  fruitful  fields  have  in 
them.  In  her  pursuits  and  her  virginity  itself  she  used  to  de- 
vote herself  to  the  Ortygian  Goddess,^  and  being  clothed  after 
the  fashion  of  Diana,  she  might  have  deceived  one,  and  might 
have  been  supposed  to  be  the  daughter  of  Latona,  if  she  had 
not  had  a  bow  of  cornel  wood,  the  other,  a  bow  of  gold ;  and 
even  then  did  she  sometimes  deceive  people.  Pan  spies  her  as 
she  is  returning  from  the  hill  of  Lycaeus,  and  having  his  head 
crowned  with  sharp  pine  leaves,  he  utters  such  words  as 
these ; "  it  remained  for  Mercury  to  repeat  the  words,  and 
how  that  the  Nymph,  slighting  his  suit,  fled  through  pathless 
spots,  until  she  came  to  the  gentle  stream  of  sandy  Ladon ; ' 
and  that  here,  the  waters  stopping  her  course,  she  prayed  to 
her  watery  sisters,  that  they  would  change  her;  and  how  that 
Pan,  when  he  was  thinking  that  Syrinx  was  now  caught  by 


^  Nonacris  was  the  name  of  both  a  mountain  and  a  city  of  Arcadia, 

in  the  Peloponnesus. 

2  Diana  is  called  "  Ortygian,"  from  the  isle  of  Delos,  where  she  was 

born,  one  of  whose  names  was  Ortygia,  from  the  quantity  of  quails, 

ortuges,  there  found. 

^  A  beautiful  river  of  Arcadia,  flowing  into  the  Alpheus. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  355 

him,  had  seized  hold  of  some  reeds  of  the  marsh,  instead  of 
the  body  of  the  Nymph ;  and  how,  while  he  was  sighing  there, 
the  winds  moving  amid  the  reeds  had  made  a  murmuring 
noise,  and  like  one  complaining;  and  how  that,  charmed  by 
this  new  discovery  and  the  sweetness  of  the  sound,  he  had  said, 
"This  mode  of  converse  with  thee  shall  ever  remain  with 
me ; "  and  that  accordingly,  unequal  reeds  being  stuck  together 
among  themselves  by  a  cement  of  wax,  had  since  retained  the 
name  of  the  damsel. 

FABLE  XVI 

Mercury,  having  lulled  Argus  to  sleep,  cuts  off  his  head,  and 
Juno  places  his  eyes  in  the  peacock's  tail. 

The  Cyllenian  God^  being  about  to  say  such  things,  per- 
ceived that  all  his  eyes  were  sunk  in  sleep,  and  that  his  sight 
was  wrapped  in  slumber.  At  once  he  puts  an  end  to  his 
song,  and  strengthens  his  slumbers,  stroking  his  languid  eyes 
with  his  magic  wand.  There  is  no  delay;  he  wounds  him, 
as  he  nods,  with  his  crooked  sword,  where  the  head  is  joined 
to  the  neck ;  and  casts  him,  all  blood-stained,  from  the  rock, 
and  stains  the  craggy  cliff  with  his  gore. 

Argus,  thou  liest  low,  and  the  light  which  thou  hadst  in 
so  many  eyes  is  now  extinguished;  and  one  night  takes  pos- 
session of  a  whole  hundred  eyes.  The  daughter  of  Saturn 
takes  them,  and  places  them  on  the  feathers  of  her  own  bird, 
and  she  fills  its  tail  with  starry  gems. 

FABLE  XVII 

lo,  terrified  and  maddened  with  dreadfid  visions,  runs  over 
many  regions,  and  stops  in  Egypt,  zvhen  Juno,  at  length, 
being  pacified,  restores  her  to  her  former  shape,  and  per- 
mits her  to  be  worshipped  there,  under  the  name  of  Isis. 

Immediately,  she  was  inflamed  with  rage,  and  deferred 
not  the  time  of  expressing  her  wrath ;  and  she  presented  a 
dreadful  Fury  before  the  eyes  and  thoughts  of  the  Argive 

^  Mercury  is  so  called  from  Cyllene,  in  Arcadia,  where  he  was  born. 


356  OVID 

mistress,  and  buried  in  her  bosom  invisible  stings,  and  drove 
her,  in  her  fright,  a  wanderer  tlirough  the  whole  earth.  Thou, 
O  Nile,  didst  remain,  as  the  utmost  boundary  of  her  long 
wanderings.  Soon  as  she  arrived  there,  she  fell  upon  her 
knees,  placed  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  raising  herself  up, 
with  her  neck  thrown  back,  and  casting  to  Heaven  those  looks 
which  tlien  alone  she  could,  by  her  groans,  and  her  tears, 
and  her  mournful  lowing,  she  seemed  to  be  complaining  of 
Jupiter,  and  to  be  begging  an  end  of  her  sorrows. 

He,  embracing  the  neck  of  his  wife  with  his  arms,  entreats 
her,  at  length,  to  put  an  end  to  her  punishment;  and  he  says, 
"  Lay  aside  thy  fears  for  the  future ;  she  shall  never  more  be 
the  occasion  of  any  trouble  to  thee ; "  and  then  he  bids  the  Sty- 
gian waters  to  hear  this  oath.  As  soon  as  the  Goddess  is 
pacified,  lo  receives  her  former  shape,  and  she  becomes  what 
she  was  before ;  the  hairs  flee  from  off  her  body,  her  horns 
decrease,  and  the  orb  of  her  eye  becomes  less ;  the  opening  of 
her  jaw  is  contracted;  her  shoulders  and  her  hands  return, 
and  her  hoof,  vanishing,  is  disposed  of  into  five  nails;  nothing 
of  the  cow  remains  to  her,  but  the  whiteness  of  her  appear- 
ance ;  and  the  Nymph,  contented  with  the  service  of  two  feet, 
is  raised  erect  on  them;  and  yet  she  is  afraid  to  speak,  lest  she 
should  low  like  a  cow,  and  timorously  tries  again  the  words  so 
long  interrupted.  Now,  as  a  Goddess,  she  is  worshipped  by  the 
linen-wearing  throng  of  Egypt.^ 

To  her,  at  length,  Epaphus  "^  is  believed  to  have  been  born 
from  the  seed  of  great  Jove,  and  throughout  the  cities  he  pos- 
sesses temples  joined  to  those  of  his  parent.  Phaeton,  sprung 
from  the  Sun,  was  equal  to  him  in  spirit  and  in  years ;  whom 
formerly,  as  he  uttered  great  boasts,  and  yielded  not  at  all  to 
him,  and  proud  of  his  father,  Phoebus,  the  grandson  of  Ina- 
chus  could  not  endure ;  and  said,  "  Thou,  like  a  madman,  be- 


^  The  priests,  and  worshippers  of  Isis,  with  whom  lo  is  here  said  to 
be  identical,  paid  their  adoration  to  her  clothed  in  linen  vestments. 
.Probably,  Isis  was  the  first  to  teach  the  Egyptians  the  cultivation 
of  flax. 

2  Herodotus,  in  his  second  book,  tells  us,  that  this  son  of  Jupiter, 
by  lo,  was  the  same  as  the  Egyptian  God,  Apis- 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   I  357 

lievest  thy  mother  in  all  things,  and  art  puffed  up  with  conceit 
of  an  imaginary  father." 

Phaeton  blushed,  and  in  shame  repressed  his  resentment; 
and  he  reported  to  his  mother,  Clymene,^  the  reproaches  of 
Epaphus;  and  said,  "Mother,  to  grieve  thee  still  more,  I,  the 
free,  the  bold  youth,  was  silent ;  I  am  ashamed  both  that  these 
reproaches  can  be  uttered  against  us,  and  that  they  cannot 
be  refuted;  but  do  thou,  if  only  I  am  born  of  a  divine  race, 
give  me  some  proof  of  so  great  a  descent,  and  claim  me  for 
heaven."  Thus  he  spoke,  and  threw  his  arms  around  the  neck 
of  his  mother;  and  besought  her,  by  his  own  head  and  by  that 
of  Merops,^  and  by  the  nuptial  torches  of  his  sisters,  that  she 
would  give  him  some  token  of  his  real  father. 

It  is  a  matter  of  doubt  whether  Clymene  was  more  moved 
by  the  entreaties  of  Phaeton,  or  by  resentment  at  the  charge 
made  against  her;  and  she  raised  both  her  arms  to  heaven, 
and,  looking  up  to  the  light  of  the  Sun,  she  said,  "  Son,  I 
swear  to  thee,  by  this  beam,  bright  with  shining  rays,  which 
both  hears  and  sees  us,  that  thou,  that  thou,  I  say,  wast  be- 
gotten by  this  Sun,  which  thou  beholdst;  by  this  Sun,  which 
governs  the  world.  If  I  utter  an  untruth,  let  him  deny  him- 
self to  be  seen  by  me,  and  let  this  light  prove  the  last  for  my 
eyes. 

Nor  will  it  be  any  prolonged  trouble  for  thee  to  visit  thy 
father's  dwelling;  the  abode  where  he  arises  is  contiguous  to 
our  regions.'  If  only  thy  inclination  disposes  thee,  go  forth, 
and  thou  shalt  inquire  of  himself." 

Phaeton  immediately  springs  forth,  overjoyed,  upon  these 
words  of  his  mother,  and  reaches  the  skies  in  imagination; 
and  he  passes  by  his  own  ^Ethiopians,  and  the  Indians  situate 
beneath  the  rays  of  the  Sun,  and  briskly  wends  his  way  to  the 
rising  of  his  sire. 


^  A  Nymph  of  the  sea,  the  daughter  of  Oceanus  and  Tethys. 
*King  of  Ethiopia,  and,  marrying  the  Nymph  Clymene,  the  step- 
father of  Phaeton. 

*  Ethiopia,  which,  in  the  time  of  Ovid,  was  looked  upon  as  one  of 
the  regions  of  the  East. 


XI— 24 


358  OVID 

BOOK  THE  SECOND 

FABLE  I 

Phaeton,  insulted  by  Epaphus,  goes  to  the  Palace  of  Apollo, 
to  beseech  him  to  give  some  token  that  he  is  his  son.  Apollo 
having  sworn,  by  the  river  Styx,  to  refuse  him  nothing  that 
he  should  desire,  he  immediately  asks  to  guide  his  chariot 
for  one  day.  He  is  unsuccessful  in  the  attempt,  and,  the 
horses  running  away,  the  world  is  in  danger  of  being  con- 
sumed. 

The  palace  of  the  Sun  was  raised  high,  on  stately  columns, 
bright  with  radiant  gold,  and  carbuncle  that  rivals  the  flames ; 
polished  ivory  covered  its  highest  top,  and  double  folding 
doors  shone  with  the  brightness  of  silver.  The  work- 
manship even  exceeded  the  material;  for  there  Mulciber 
had  carved  the  sea  circling  round  the  encompassed  Earth ;  and 
the  orb  of  the  Earth,  and  the  Heavens  which  hang  over  that 
orb.  There  the  waves  have  in  them  the  azure  Deities,  both 
Triton,  sounding  with  his  shell,  and  the  changing  Proteus, 
and  ^geon,^  pressing  the  huge  backs  of  whales  with  his  arms ; 
Doris,^  too,  and  her  daughters,  part  of  whom  appear  to  be 
swimming,  part,  sitting  on  the  bank,  to  be  drying  their  green 
hair;  some  are  seen  borne  upon  fishes.  The  features  in  all 
are  not  the  same,  nor,  however,  remarkably  different ;  they  are 
such  as  those  of  sisters  ought  to  be.  The  Earth  has  upon  it 
men  and  cities,  and  woods,  and  wild  beasts,  and  rivers,  and 
Nymphs,  and  other  Deities  of  the  country.  Over  these  is 
placed  the  figure  of  the  shining  Heaven,  and  there  are  six 
Signs  of  the  Zodiac  on  the  right  door,  and  as  many  on  the 
left. 

Soon  as  the  son  of  Clymene  had  arrived  thither  by  an  as- 
cending path,   and  entered  the  house  of  his  parent,  thus 

^  Homer  makes  him  to  be  the  same  with  Briareus.  According  to 
another  account,  which  Ovid  here  follows,  he  was  a  sea  God,  the 
son  of  Oceanus  and  Terra. 

2  The  daughter  of  Oceanus,  the  wife  of  Nereus,  and  the  mother  of 
the  fifty  Nereids. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  359 

doubted  of;  he  immediately  turned  his  steps  to  the  presence 
of  his  father,  and  stood  at  a  distance,  for  he  could  not  bear 
the  refulgence  nearer.  Arrayed  in  a  purple  garment,  Phoebus 
was  seated  on  a  throne  sparkling  with  brilliant  emeralds.  On 
his  right  hand,  and  on  his  left,  the  Days,  the  Months,  the 
Years,  the  Ages,  and  the  Hours  were  arranged,  at  correspond- 
ing distances,  and  the  fresh  Spring  was  standing,  crowned 
with  a'chaplet  of  blossoms;  Summer  was  standing  naked,  and 
wearing  garlands  made  of  ears  of  corn;  Autumn,  too,  was 
standing  besmeared  with  the  trodden-out  grapes;  and  icy 
Winter,  rough  with  his  hoary  hair. 

Then  the  Sun,  from  the  midst  of  this  place,  with  those 
eyes  with  which  he  beholds  all  things,  sees  the  young  man 
struck  with  fear  at  the  novelty  of  these  things,  and  says, 
"What  is  the  occasion  of  thy  journey  hither?  What  dost 
thou  seek.  Phaeton,  in  this  my  palace,  a  son  not  to  be  denied  by 
his  parent?" 

He  answers,  "O  thou  universal  Light  of  the  unbounded 
World,  Phoebus,  my  father,  if  thou  grantest  me  the  use  of 
that  name;  and  if  Clymene  is  not  concealing  an  error  under  a 
false  pretext,  give  me,  my  parent,  some  token,  by  which  I  may 
be  believed  to  be  really  thy  progeny ;  and  remove  this  uncer- 
tainty from  my  mind."  Thus  he  spoke;  but  his  parent  took 
off  the  rays  shining  all  around  his  head,  and  commanded  him 
to  come  nearer;  and,  having  embraced  him,  he  says,  "And 
neither  art  thou  deserving  to  be  denied  to  be  mine,  and 
Clymene  has  told  thee  thy  true  origin;  and  that  thou  mayst 
have  the  less  doubt,  ask  any  gift  thou  mayst  please,  that  thou 
mayst  receive  it  from  me  bestowing  it.  Let  the  lake,  by 
which  the  Gods  are  wont  to  swear,  and  which  is  unseen,  even 
by  my  eyes,  be  as  a  witness  of  my  promise." 

Hardly  had  he  well  finished,  when  he  asks  for  his  father's 
chariot,  and  for  the  command  and  guidance  of  the  wing- 
footed  horses  for  one  day.  His  father  repented  that  he  had 
so  sworn,  and  shaking  his  splendid  head  three  or  four  times, 
he  said,  "  By  thine  have  my  words  been  made  rash.  I  wish  I 
were  allowed  not  to  grant  what  I  have  promised !  I  confess, 
my  son,  that  this  alone  I  would  deny  thee.  Still,  I  may  dis- 
suade thee :  thy  desire  is  not  attended  with  safety.    Thou  de- 


360  OVID 

sirest,  Phaeton,  a  gift  too  great,  and  one  which  is  suited 
neither  to  thy  strength,  nor  to  such  youthful  years.  Thy  lot  is 
that  of  a  mortal ;  that  which  thou  desirest,  belongs  not  to  mor- 
tals. Nay,  thou  aimest,  in  thy  ignorance,  at  even  more  than 
it  is  allowed  the  Gods  above  to  obtain.  Let  every  one  be  self- 
satisfied,  if  he  likes;  still,  with  the  exception  of  myself,  no  one 
is  able  to  take  his  stand  upon  the  fire-bearing  axle-tree.  Even 
the  Ruler  of  vast  Olympus,  who  hurls  the  ruthless  bolts  with 
his  terrific  right  hand,  cannot  guide  this  chariot ;  and  yet,  what 
have  we  greater  than  Jupiter?  The  first  part  of  the  road  is 
steep,  and  such  as  the  horses,  though  fresh  in  the  morning, 
can  hardly  climb.  In  the  middle  of  the  heavens  it  is  high  aloft, 
from  whence  it  is  often  a  source  of  fear,  even  to  myself,  to 
look  down  upon  the  sea  and  earth,  and  my  breast  trembles 
with  fearful  apprehensions.  The  last  stage  is  a  steep  descent, 
and  requires  a  sure  command  of  the  horses.  Then,  too, 
Tethys^  herself,  who  receives  me  in  her  waves,  extended  be- 
low, is  often  wont  to  fear,  lest  I  should  be  borne  headlong 
from  above.  Besides,  the  heavens  are  carried  round  with  a 
constant  rotation,  and  carry  with  them  the  lofty  stars,  and 
whirl  them  with  rapid  revolution.  Against  this  I  have  to  con- 
tend; and  that  force  which  overcomes  all  other  things,  does 
not  overcome  me;  and  I  am  carried  in  a  contrary  direction  to 
the  rapid  world.  Suppose  the  chariot  given  to  thee;  what 
couldst  thou  do  ?  Couldst  thou  proceed,  opposed  to  the  whirl- 
ing poles,  so  that  the  rapid  heavens  should  not  carry  thee 
away?  Perhaps,  too,  thou  dost  fancy  in  thy  mind  that  there 
are  groves,  and  cities  of  the  Gods,  and  temples  enriched  with 
gifts;  whereas,  the  way  is  through  dangers,  and  the  forms  of 
wild  beasts ;  ^  and  though  thou  shouldst  keep  on  thy  road,  and 
be  drawn  aside  by  no  wanderings,  still  thou  must  pass  amid 
the  horns  of  the  threatening  Bull,  and  the  Hsemonian  bow,* 
and  before  the  visage  of  the  raging  Lion,  and  the  Scorpion, 


*  Daughter  of   Coelus  and  Terra,   and  the  wife  of   Oceanus.     Her 

name  is  here  used  to  signify  the  ocean  itself. 

^  The  signs  of  the  Zodiac. 

2  Ovid  here  alludes  to  the  Thessalian  Chiron,  the  Centaur,  who  was 

placed  in  the  Zodiac  as  the  Constellation  Sagittarius. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  361 

bending  his  cruel  claws  with  a  wide  compass,  and  the  Crab, 
that  bends  his  claws  in  a  different  manner;  nor  is  it  easy  for 
thee  to  govern  the  steeds  spirited  by  those  fires  which  they 
have  in  their  breasts,  and  which  they  breathe  forth  from  their 
mouths  and  their  nostrils.  Hardly  are  they  restrained  by 
me,  when  their  high-mettled  spirit  is  once  heated,  and  their 
necks  struggle  against  the  reins.  But  do  thou  have  a  care,  my 
son,  that  I  be  not  the  occasion  of  a  gift  fatal  to  thee,  and  while 
the  matter  still  permits,  alter  thy  intentions.  Thou  askest, 
forsooth,  a  sure  proof  that  thou  mayst  believe  thyself  sprung 
from  my  blood  ?  I  give  thee  a  sure  proof  in  thus  being  alarmed 
for  thee ;  and  by  my  paternal  apprehensions,  I  am  shown  to  be 
thy  father.  Lo,  behold  my  countenance!  I  wish,  too,  that 
thou  couldst  direct  thy  eyes  into  my  breast,  and  discover  my 
fatherly  concern  within!  Finally,  look  around  thee,  upon 
whatever  the  rich  world  contains,  and  ask  for  anything  out 
of  the  blessings,  so  many  and  so  great,  of  heaven,  of  earth, 
and  of  sea,  and  thou  shalt  suffer  no  denial.  In  this  one  thing 
alone  I  beg  to  be  excused,  which,  called  by  its  right  name,  is  a 
penalty,  and  not  an  honour;  thou  art  asking.  Phaeton,  a  pun- 
ishment instead  of  a  gift.  Why,  in  thy  ignorance,  art  thou 
embracing  my  neck  with  caressing  arms?  Doubt  not;  what- 
ever thou  shalt  desire  shall  be  granted  thee  (by  the  Stygian 
waves  I  have  sworn  it)  ;  but  do  thou  make  thy  desire  more 
considerately." 

He  had  finished  his  admonitions;  and  yet  Phaeton  resists 
his  advice,  and  presses  his  point,  and  burns  with  eagerness 
for  the  chariot.  Wherefore,  his  parent  having  delayed  as 
long  as  he  could,  leads  the  young  man  to  the  lofty  chariot,  the 
gift  of  Vulcan.  The  axle-tree  was  of  gold,  the  poles  were  of 
gold ;  the  circumference  of  the  exterior  of  the  wheel  was  of 
gold ;  the  range  of  the  spokes  was  of  silver.  Chrysolites  and 
gems  placed  along  the  yoke  in  order,  gave  a  bright  light  from 
the  reflected  sun.  Atid  while  the  aspiring  Phaeton  is  admir- 
ing these  things,  and  is  examining  the  workmanship,  behold! 
the  watchful  Aurora  opened  her  purple  doors  in  the  ruddy 
east,  and  her  halls  filled  with  roses.  The  stars  disappear,  the 
troops  whereof  Lucifer  gathers,  and  moves  the  last  from  his 
station  in  the  heavens.    But  the  father  Titan,  when  he  beheld 


362  OVID 

the  earth  and  the  universe  growing  red,  and  the  horns  of  the 
far-distant  Moon,  as  if  about  to  vanish,  orders  the  swift 
Hours  to  yoke  the  horses.  The  Goddesses  speedily  perform 
his  commands,  and  lead  forth  the  steeds  from  the  lofty  stalls, 
snorting  forth  flames,  and  filled  with  the  juice  of  Ambrosia; 
and  then  they  put  on  the  sounding  bits. 

Then  the  father  touched  the  face  of  his  son  with  a  hal- 
lowed drug,  and  made  it  able  to  endure  the  burning  flames, 
and  placed  the  rays  upon  his  locks,  and  fetching  from  his 
troubled  heart  sighs  presaging  his  sorrow,  he  said:  "If  thou 
canst  here  at  least,  my  boy,  obey  the  advice  of  thy  father,  be 
sparing  of  the  whip,  and  use  the  bridle  with  nerve.  Of  their 
own  accord  they  are  wont  to  hasten  on ;  the  difficulty  is  to 
check  them  in  their  full  career.  And  let  not  the  way  attract 
thee  through  the  five  direct  circles.^  There  is  a  track  cut  ob- 
liquely, with  a  broad  curv^ature,  and  bounded  by  the  extremi- 
ties of  three  zones,  and  so  it  shuns  the  South  pole,  and  the 
Bear  united  to  the  North.  Let  thy  way  be  here;  thou  wilt 
perceive  distinct  traces  of  the  wheels.  And  that  heaven  and 
earth  may  endure  equal  heat,  neither  drive  too  low,  nor  urge 
the  chariot  along  the  summit  of  the  sky.  Going  forth  too  high, 
thou  wilt  set  on  fire  the  signs  of  the  heavens;  too  low,  the 
earth ;  in  the  middle  course  thou  wilt  go  most  safely.  Neither 
let  the  right  wheel  bear  thee  off  towards  the  twisted  Serpent, 
not  let  the  left  lead  thee  to  the  low  Altar;  hold  thy  course 
between  them.  The  rest  I  leave  to  Fortune,  who,  I  pray,  may 
aid  thee,  and  take  more  care  of  thee,  than  thou  dost  of  thy- 
self. Whilst  I  am  speaking,  the  moist  Night  has  touched  the 
goals  placed  on  the  Western  shores ;  delay  is  not  allowed  me. 
I  am  required ;  the  Morning  is  shining  forth,  the  darkness  be- 
ing dispersed.  Seize  the  reins  with  thy  hands;  or  if  thou  hast 
a  mind  capable  of  change,  make  use  of  my  advice,  and  not 
my  chariot,  while  thou  art  still  able,  and  art  even  yet  standing 
upon  solid  ground ;  and  while  thou  art  not  yet  in  thy  ignorance 
filling  the  chariot  that  thou  didst  so  unfortunately  covet." 

The  other  leaps  into  the  light  chariot  with  his  youthful 

^  Phoebus  here  counsels  Phaeton  what  track  to  follow,  and  tells  him 
to  pursue  his  way  by  an  oblique  path,  and  not  directly  in  the  plane 
of  the  equator. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  363 

body,  and  stands  aloft,  and  rejoices  to  take  in  his  hand  the 
reins  presented  to  him,  and  then  gives  thanks  to  his  reluctant 
parent.  In  the  meantime  the  swift  Pyroeis,  and  Eoiis  and 
^thon,  the  horses  of  the  sun,  and  Phlegon,  making  the  fourth, 
fill  the  air  with  neighings,  sending  forth  flames,  and  beat  the 
barriers  with  their  feet.  After  Tethys,  ignorant  of  the  destiny 
of  her  grandson,  had  removed  these,  and  the  scope  of  the 
boundless  universe  was  given  them,  they  take  the  road,  and 
moving  their  feet  through  the  air,  they  cleave  the  resisting 
clouds,  and  raised  aloft  by  their  wings,  they  pass  by  the  East 
winds  that  had  arisen  from  the  same  parts.  But  the  weight 
was  light;  and  such  as  the  horses  of  the  sun  could  not  feel; 
and  the  yoke  was  deficient  of  its  wonted  weight.  And  as 
the  curving  ships,  without  proper  ballast,  are  tossed  about,  and 
unsteady,  through  their  too  great  lightness,  are  borne  through 
the  sea,  so  does  the  chariot  give  bounds  in  the  air,  unimpeded 
by  its  usual  burden,  and  is  tossed  on  high,  and  is  just  like  an 
empty  one. 

Soon  as  the  steeds  have  perceived  this,  they  rush  on,  and 
leave  the  beaten  track,  and  run  not  in  the  order  in  which  they 
did  before.  He  himself  becomes  alarmed;  and  knows  not 
which  way  to  turn  the  reins  entrusted  to  him,  nor  does  he 
know  where  the  way  is,  nor,  if  he  did  know,  could  he  control 
them.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  did  the  cold  Triones  grow 
warm  with  sunbeams,  and  attempt,  in  vain,  to  be  dipped  in 
the  sea  that  was  forbidden  to  them.  And  the  Serpent  which 
is  situate  next  to  the  icy  pole,  being  before  torpid  with  cold, 
and  formidable  to  no  one,  grew  warm,  and  regained  new  rage 
from  the  heat.  They  say,  too,  that  thou,  Bootes,  being  dis- 
turbed, took  to  flight;  although  thou  wast  but  slow,  and  thy 
wain  impeded  thee.  But  when,  from  the  height  of  the  skies, 
the  unhappy  Phaeton  looked  down  upon  the  earth,  lying  far, 
very  far  beneath,  he  grew  pale,  and  his  knees  shook  with  a 
sudden  terror ;  and  in  a  light  so  great,  darkness  overspread  his 
eyes.  And  now  he  could  wish  that  he  had  never  touched  the 
horses  of  his  father;  and  now  he  is  sorry  that  he  knew  his 
descent,  and  that  he  prevailed  in  his  request;  now  desiring  to 
be  called  the  son  of  Merops.  He  is  borne  along,  just  as  a  ship 
driven  by  the  furious  Boreas,  to  which  its  pilot  has  given  up 


364  OVID 

the  overpowered  helm,  and  which  he  has  resigned  to  the  Gods 
and  the  effect  of  his  supphcations.  What  can  he  do?  much 
of  heaven  is  left  behind  his  back ;  still  more  is  before  his  eyes. 
Either  space  he  measures  in  his  mind ;  and  at  one  moment  he 
is  looking  forward  to  the  West,  which  it  is  not  allowed  him 
by  fate  to  reach ;  and  sometimes  he  looks  back  upon  the  East. 
Ignorant  what  to  do,  he  is  stupified;  and  he  neither  lets  go 
the  reins,  nor  is  he  able  to  retain  them ;  nor  does  he  know  the 
names  of  the  horses.  In  his  fright,  too,  he  sees  strange  objects 
scattered  everywhere  in  various  parts  of  the  heavens,  and  the 
forms  of  huge  wild  beasts.  There  is  a  spot  where  the  Scor- 
pion bends  his  arms  into  two  curves,  and  with  his  tail  and 
claws  bending  on  either  side,  he  extends  his  limbs  through  the 
space  of  two  signs  of  the  Zodiac.  As  soon  as  the  youth  be- 
held him  wet  with  the  sweat  of  black  venom,  and  threatening 
wounds  with  the  barbed  point  of  his  tail,  bereft  of  sense,  he 
let  go  the  reins  in  a  chill  of  horror.  Soon  as  they,  falling 
down,  have  touched  the  top  of  their  backs,  the  horses  range 
at  large;  and  no  one  restraining  them,  they  go  through  the 
air  of  an  unknown  region ;  and  where  their  fury  drives  them 
thither,  without  check,  do  they  hurry  along,  and  they  rush  on 
to  the  stars  fixed  in  the  sky,  and  drag  the  chariot  through 
pathless  places.  One  while  they  are  mounting  aloft,  and  now 
they  are  borne  through  steep  places,  and  along  headlong  paths 
in  a  tract  nearer  to  the  earth. 

The  Moon,  too,  wonders  that  her  brother's  horses  run 
lower  than  her  own,  and  the  scorched  clouds  send  forth  smoke. 
As  each  region  is  most  elevated,  it  is  caught  by  the  flames,  and 
cleft,  it  makes  vast  chasms,  and  becomes  dry,  its  moisture  be- 
ing carried  away.  The  grass  grows  pale ;  the  trees,  with  their 
foliage,  are  burnt  up ;  and  the  dry  standing  corn  affords  fuel 
for  its  own  destruction.  But  I  am  complaining  of  trifling  ills. 
Great  cities  perish,  together  with  their  fortifications,  and  the 
flames  turn  whole  nations,  with  their  populations,  into  ashes ; 
woods,  together  with  mountains,  are  on  fire.  Athos  burns, 
and  the  Cilician  Taurus,  and  Tmolus,  and  (Eta,  and  Ida,  now 
dry,  but  once  most  famed  for  its  springs;  and  Helicon,  the 
resort  of  the  Virgin  Muses,  and  Hoemus,^  not  yet  called  CEa- 

^  This,  which  is  now  called  the  Balkan  range,  was  a  lofty  chain  of 
mountains  running  through  Thrace.     Orpheus,  the  son  of  CEagrus 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK    II  365 

grian.  ^tna  ^  burns  intensely  with  redoubled  flames,  and  Par- 
nassus, with  its  two  summits,  and  Eryx,  and  Cynthus.  and 
Othrys,  and  Rhodope,^  at  length  to  be  despoiled  of  its  snows, 
and  Mimas,  and  Dindyma,  and  Mycale,  and  Cithaeron,^  cre- 
ated for  the  performance  of  sacred  rites.  Nor  does  its  cold 
avail  even  Scythia ;  Caucasus  is  on  fire,  and  Ossa  with  Pindus, 
and  Olympus,  greater  than  them  both,  and  the  lofty  Alps,  and 
the  cloud-bearing  Apennines. 

Then,  indeed,  Phaeton  beholds  the  world  set  on  fire  on  all 
sides,  and  he  cannot  endure  heat  so  great,  and  he  inhales  with 
his  mouth  scorching  air,  as  though  from  a  deep  furnace,  and 
perceives  his  own  chariot  to  be  on  fire.  And  neither  is  he 
able  now  to  bear  the  ashes  and  the  emitted  embers;  and,  on 
every  side,  he  is  involved  in  heated  smoke.  Covered  with  a 
pitchy  darkness,  he  knows  not  whither  he  is  going,  nor  where 
he  is,  and  is  hurried  away  at  the  pleasure  of  the  winged  steeds. 
They  believe  that  it  was  then  that  the  nations  of  the  Ethio- 
pians contracted  their  black  hue,  the  blood  being  attracted 
into  the  surface  of  the  body.  Then  was  Libya  *  made  dry  by 
the  heat,  the  moisture  being  carried  off ;  then,  with  dishevelled 
hair,  the  Nymphs  lamented  the  springs  and  the  lakes.  Bceotia 
bewails  Dirce,°  Argos  Amymone,®  and  Ephyre,^  the  waters  of 


and  Calliope,  was  there  torn  in  pieces  by  the  Maenades,  or  Baccha- 
nalian women,  whence  the  mountain  obtained  the  epithet  of  "  CEa- 
grian." 

^  This  is  the  volcanic  mountain  of  Sicily ;  the  flames  caused  by  the 
fall  of  Phaeton,  added  to  its  own,  caused  them  to  be  redoubled. 
^A  high  mountain,   capped  with  perpetual  snows,  in  the  northern 
part  of  Thrace. 

*A  mountain  of  Bceotia,  famous  for  the  orgies  of  Bacchus,  there 
celebrated. 

*  A  region  between  Mauritania  and  Gyrene,  here  used  for  the  whole 
of  Africa. 

^  Dirce  was  a  celebrated  foimtain  of  Bceotia,  into  which  it  was  said 
that  Dirce,  the  wife  of  Lycus,  king  of  Thebes,  was  transformed. 

*  It  was  a  fountain  of  Argos,  near  Lerna,  into  which  the  Nymph, 
Amymone,  the  daughter  of  Lycus,  king  of  the  Argives,  was  said  to 
have  been  transformed. 

'  It  was  the  most  ancient  name  of  Corinth,  in  the  citadel  of  which, 
or  the  Acrocorinthus,  was  the  spring  Pyrene,  of  extreme  bright- 
ness and  purity,  and  sacred  to  the  Muses. 


366  OVID 

Pirene.  Nor  do  rivers  that  have  got  banks  distant  in  situa- 
tion, remain  secure ;  Tanais  smokes  in  the  midst  of  its  waters, 
and  the  aged  Peneus,  and  Teuthrantian  Caicus,^  and  rapid 
Ismenus,  with  Phocean  Erymanthus,  and  Xanthus  ^  again  to 
burn,  and  yellow  Lycormas,  and  Maeander,^  which  sports  with 
winding  streams,  and  the  Mygdonian  Melas,*  and  the  Taena- 
rian  Eurotas.'  The  Babylonian  Euphrates,  too,  was  on  fire, 
Orontes  was  in  flames,  and  the  swift  Thermodon  and  Ganges, 
and  Phasis,  and  Ister."  Alpheus  boils;  the  banks  of  Sper- 
cheus  burn ;  and  the  gold  which  Tagus  carries  with  its  stream, 
melts  in  the  flames.  The  river  birds  too,  which  made  famous 
the  Maeonian '  banks  of  the  river  with  their  song,  grew  hot  in 
the  middle  of  Cayster,  The  Nile,  affrighted,  fled  to  the  re- 
motest parts  of  the  earth,  and  concealed  his  head,  which  still 
lies  hid ;  his  seven  last  months  are  empty,  become  seven  mere 
channels,  without  any  stream.  The  same  fate  dries  up  the  Is- 
marian  rivers,  Hebrus  together  with  Strymon,  and  the  Hes- 
perian streams,  the  Rhine,  and  the  Rhone,  and  the  Po,  and  the 
Tiber,  to  which  was  promised  the  sovereignty  of  the  world. 

All  the  ground  bursts  asunder;  and  through  the  chinks, 
the  light  penetrates  into  Tartarus,  and  startles  the  Infernal 
King  with  his  spouse.  The  Ocean  too,  is  contracted,  and  that 
which  lately  was  sea,  is  a  surface  of  parched  sand;  and  the 
mountains  which  the  deep  sea  had  covered,  start  up,  and  in- 


1  A  river  of  Mysia,  here  called  "  Teuthrantian,"  from  Mount  Teu- 
thras,  in  its  vicinity. 

2  A  river  of  Troy ;  here  spoken  of  as  destined  to  behold  flames  a 
second  time,  in  the  conflagration  of  that  city. 

^  A  river  of  Phrygia,  flowing  between  Lydia  and  Caria ;  it  was  said 
to  have  6oo  windings  in  its  course. 
*  i.  e..  Black. 

'^A  river  of  Laconia,  which  flowed  under  the  walls  of  the  city  of 
Sparta,  and  discharged  itself  into  the  sea  near  the  promontory  of 
Taenarus,  now  called  Cape  Matapan. 

«  The  Danube  had  that  name  from  its  source  to  the  confines  of  Ger- 
many; and  thence,  in  its  course  through  Scythia  to  the  sea,  it  was 
called  by  the  name  of  "  Ister." 

''  Maeonia  was  so  called  from  the  River  Maeon,  and  wa^  another  name 
of  Lydia.    The  Cayster,  famous  for  its  swans,  flowed  through  Lydia. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  367 

crease  the  number  of  the  scattered  Cyclades/  The  fishes 
sink  to  the  bottom,  and  the  crooked  Dolphins  do  not  care  to 
raise  themselves  on  the  surface  into  the  air,  as  usual.  The 
bodies  of  sea  calves  float  lifeless  on  their  backs,  on  the  top  of 
the  water.  The  story,  too,  is,  that  even  Nereus  himself,  and 
Doris  and  their  daughters,  lay  hid  in  the  heated  caverns. 
Three  times  had  Neptune  ventured,  with  a  stern  countenance, 
to  thrust  his  arms  out  of  the  water;  three  times  he  was  unable 
to  endure  the  scorching  heat  of  the  air.  However,  the  genial 
Earth,  as  she  was  surrounded  with  sea,  amid  the  waters  of 
the  main,  and  the  springs,  dried  up  on  every  side,  which  had 
hidden  themselves  in  the  bowels  of  their  cavernous  parent, 
burnt-up,  lifted  up  her  all-productive  face  as  far  as  her  neck, 
and  placed  her  hands  to  her  forehead,  and  shaking  all  things 
with  a  vast  trembling,  she  sank  down  a  little,  and  retired  be- 
low the  spot  where  she  is  wont  to  be,  and  thus  she  spoke,  with 
a  parched  voice :  "  O  sovereign  of  the  Gods,  if  thou  approvest 
of  this,  if  I  have  deserved  it,  why  do  thy  lightnings  linger? 
Let  me,  if  doomed  to  perish  by  the  force  of  fire,  perish 
by  thy  flames;  and  alleviate  my  misfortune,  by  being  the 
author  of  it.  With  difficulty,  indeed,  do  I  open  my  mouth 
for  these  very  words;"  (the  vapour  had  oppressed  her  utter- 
ance). "Behold  my  scorched  hair,  and  such  a  quantity  of 
ashes  over  my  eyes,  so  much,  too,  over  my  features.  And 
dost  thou  give  this  as  my  recompense?  this,  as  the  reward  of 
my  fertility  and  of  my  duty,  in  that  I  endure  wounds  from 
the  crooked  plough  and  harrows,  and  am  harassed  all  the  year 
through?  In  that  I  supply  green  leaves  for  the  cattle,  and 
corn,  a  wholesome  food  for  mankind,  and  frankincense  for 
yourselves?  But  still,  suppose  that  I  am  deserving  of  destruc- 
tion, why  have  the  waves  deserved  this?  Why  has  thy  brother 
deserved  it?  Why  do  the  seas,  delivered  to  him  by  lot,  de- 
crease, and  why  do  they  recede  still  further  from  the  sky  ?  But 
if  regard  for  neither  thy  brother  nor  for  myself  influences 
thee,  still  have  consideration  for  thy  own  skies;  look  around, 
on  either  side,  how  each  pole  is  smoking;  if  the  fire  shall  in- 


^  The  Cyclades  were  a  cluster  of  islands  in  the  JEgean   Sea,  sur- 
rounding Delos  as  though  with  a  circle,  whence  their  name. 


368  OVID 

jure  them,  thy  palace  will  fall  in  ruins.  See!  Atlas  ^  himself 
is  struggling,  and  hardly  can  he  bear  the  glowing  heavens  on 
his  shoulders.  If  the  sea,  if  the  earth  perishes,  if  the  palace 
of  heaven,  we  are  thrown  into  the  confused  state  of  ancient 
chaos.  Save  it  from  the  flames,  if  aught  still  survives,  and 
provide  for  the  preservation  of  the  universe." 

Thus  spoke  the  Earth;  nor,  indeed,  could  she  any  longer 
endure  the  vapour,  nor  say  more ;  and  she  withdrew  her  face 
within  herself,  and  the  caverns  neighbouring  to  the  shades 
below. 

FABLE   II 

Jupiter,  to  save  the  universe  from  being  consumed,  hurls  his 
thunder  at  Phaeton,  on  which  he  falls  headlong  into  the 
river  Eridamis. 

But  the  omnipotent  father,  having  called  the  Gods  above  to 
witness,  and  him,  too,  who  had  given  the  chariot  to  Phaeton, 
that  unless  he  gives  assistance,  all  things  will  perish  in  dire- 
ful ruin,  mounts  aloft  to  the  highest  eminence,  from  which  he 
is  wont  to  spread  the  clouds  over  the  spacious  earth;  from 
which  he  moves  his  thunders,  and  hurls  the  brandished  light- 
nings. But  then,  he  had  neither  clouds  that  he  could  draw 
over  the  earth,  nor  showers  that  he  could  pour  down  from  the 
sky.  He  thundered  aloud,  and  darted  the  poised  lightning 
from  his  right  ear  against  the  charioteer,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment deprived  him  both  of  his  life  and  his  seat,  and  by  his 
ruthless  fires  restrained  the  flames.  The  horses  are  affrighted, 
and  making  a  bound  in  an  opposite  direction,  they  shake  the 
yoke  from  off  their  necks,  and  disengage  themselves  from  the 
torn  harness.  In  one  place  lie  the  reins;  in  another,  the 
axle-tree  wrenched  away  from  the  pole;  in  another  part  are 
the  spokes  of  the  broken  wheels;  and  the  fragments  of  the 
chariot  torn  in  pieces  are  scattered  far  and  wide.  But  Phaeton, 
the  flames  consuming  his  yellow  hair,  is  hurled  headlong,  and 
is  borne  in  a  long  tract  through  the  air;  as  sometimes  a  star 


^  A  mountain  of  Mauritania,  which,  by  reason  of  its  height,   was 
said  to  support  the  heavens. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  369 

from  the  serene  sky  may  appear  to  fall,  although  it  really  has 
not  fallen.  Him  the  great  Eridanus  receives,  in  a  part  of  the 
world  far  distant  from  his  country,  and  bathes  his  foaming 
face. 


FABLE    III 

The  sisters  of  Phaeton  are  changed  into  poplars,  and  their 
tears  become  amber  distilling  from  those  trees. 

The  Hesperian  Naiads^  commit  his  body,  smoking  from 
the  three-forked  flames,  to  the  tomb,  and  inscribe  these  verses 
on  the  stone : — "  Here  is  Phaeton  buried,  the  driver  of  his 
father's  chariot,  which  if  he  did  not  manage,  still  he  mis- 
carried in  a  great  attempt."  But  his  wretched  father  had 
hidden  his  face,  overcast  with  bitter  sorrow,  and,  if  only  we 
can  believe  it,  they  say  that  one  day  passed  without  the  sun. 
The  flames  afforded  light ;  and  so  far,  there  was  some  advan- 
tage in  that  disaster.  But  Clymene,  after  she  had  said  what- 
ever things  were  to  be  said  amid  misfortunes  so  great,  tra- 
versed the  whole  earth,  full  of  woe,  and  distracted,  and  tear- 
ing her  bosom.  And  first  seeking  his  lifeless  limbs,  and  then 
his  bones,  she  found  his  bones,  however,  buried  on  a  foreign 
bank.  She  laid  herself  down  on  the  spot;  and  bathed  with 
tears  the  name  she  read  on  the  marble,  and  warmed  it  with 
her  open  breast.  The  daughters  of  the  Sun  mourn  no  less, 
and  give  tears,  an  unavailing  gift,  to  his  death;  and  beating 
their  breasts  with  their  hands,  they  call  Phaeton  both  night  and 
day,  who  is  doomed  not  to  hear  their  sad  complaints ;  and  they 
lie  scattered  about  the  tomb. 

The  Moon  had  four  times  filled  her  disk,  by  joining  her 
horns;  they,  according  to  their  custom,  (for  use  had  made 
custom)  uttered  lamentations;  among  whom  Phaethusa,  the 
eldest  of  the  sisters,  when  she  was  desirous  to  lie  on  the 
ground,  complained  that  her  feet  had  grown  stiff;  to  whom 
the  fair  Lampetie  attempting  to  come,  was  detained  by  a  root 


^  These  were  the  Naiads  of  Italy.     They  were  by  name  Phaethusa, 
Lampetie,  and  Phoebe. 


370  OVID 

suddenly  formed.  A  third,  when  she  is  endeavouring  to  tear 
her  hair  with  her  hands,  tears  off  leaves;  one  complains  that 
her  legs  are  held  fast  by  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  another  that  her 
arms  are  become  long  branches.  And  while  they  are  won- 
dering at  these  things,  bark  closes  upon  their  loins;  and  by 
degrees,  it  encompasses  their  stomachs,  their  breasts,  their 
shoulders,  and  their  hands;  and  only  their  mouths  are  left 
uncovered,  calling  upon  their  mother.  What  is  their  mother 
to  do?  but  run  here  and  there,  whither  frenzy  leads  her,  and 
join  her  lips  with  theirs,  while  yet  she  may?  That  is  not 
enough ;  she  tries  to  pull  their  bodies  out  of  the  trunks  of  the 
trees,  and  with  her  hands  to  tear  away  the  tender  branches; 
but  from  whence  drops  of  blood  flow  as  from  a  wound. 
Whichever  of  them  is  wounded,  cries  out,  "  Spare  me,  mother, 
O  spare  me,  I  pray ;  in  the  tree  my  body  is  being  torn.  And 
now  farewell."    The  bark  came  over  the  last  words. 

Thence  tears  flow  forth;  and  amber  distilling  from  the 
new-formed  branches,  hardens  in  the  sun ;  which  the  clear  river 
receives  and  sends  to  be  worn  by  the  Latian  matrons. 


FABLE    IV 

Cycnus,    king   of   Liguria,   inconsolable  for    the   death    of 
Phaeton,  is  transformed  into  a  swan. 

Cycnus,  the  son  of  Sthenelus,  was  present  at  this  strange 
event;  who,  although  he  was  related  to  thee.  Phaeton,  on  his 
mother's  side,  was  yet  more  nearly  allied  in  affection.  He 
having  left  his  kingdom,  (for  he  reigned  over  the  people  and 
the  great  cities  of  the  Ligurians  ^)  was  filling  the  verdant 
banks  of  the  river  Eridanus,  and  the  wood,  now  augmented 
by  the  sisters,  with  his  complaints;  when  the  man's  voice 
became  shrill,  and  grey  feathers  concealed  his  hair.  A  long 
neck,  too,  extends  from  his  breast,  and  a  membrane  joins  his 
reddening  toes ;  feathers  clothe  his  sides,  and  his  mouth  holds 

^  A  people  situate  on  the  eastern  side  of  Etruria,  between  the  rivers 
Var  and  Macra.  The  Grecian  writers  were  in  the  habit  of  styling 
the  whole  of  the  north  of  Italy  Liguria. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  371 

a  bill  without  a  point.  Cycnus  becomes  a  new  bird;  but  he 
trusts  himself  not  to  the  heavens  or  the  air,  as  being  mindful 
of  the  fire  unjustly  sent  from  thence.  He  frequents  the  pools 
and  the  wide  lakes,  and  abhorring  fire,  he  chooses  the  streams, 
the  very  contrary  of  flames. 

Meanwhile,  the  father  of  Phaeton,  in  squalid  garb,  and  des- 
titute of  his  comeliness,  just  as  he  is  wont  to  be  when  he 
suffers  an  eclipse  of  his  disk,  abhors  both  the  light,  himself, 
and  the  day ;  and  gives  his  mind  up  to  grief,  and  adds  resent- 
ment to  his  sorrow,  and  denies  his  services  to  the  world.  **  My 
lot,"  says  he,  "  has  been  restless  enough  from  the  very  begin- 
ning of  time,  and  I  am  tired  of  labours  endured  by  me,  with- 
out end  and  without  honour.  Let  any  one  else  drive  the 
chariot  that  carries  the  light.  If  there  is  one,  and  all  the  Gods 
confess  that  they  cannot  do  it,  let  Jupiter  himself  drive  it; 
that,  at  least,  while  he  is  trying  my  reins,  he  may  for  a  time 
lay  aside  the  lightnings  that  bereave  fathers.  Then  he  will 
know,  having  made  trial  of  the  strength  of  the  flame-footed 
steeds,  that  he  who  did  not  successfully  guide  them,  did  not 
deserve  death," 

All  the  Deities  stand  around  the  Sun,  as  he  says  such 
things;  and  they  entreat  him  with  suppliant  voice,  not  to  de- 
termine to  bring  darkness  over  the  world.  Jupiter,  as  well, 
excuses  the  hurling  of  his  lightnings,  and  imperiously  adds 
threats  to  entreaties.  Phcebus  calls  together  his  steeds,  mad- 
dened and  still  trembling  with  terror,  and  subduing  them, 
vents  his  fury  both  with  whip  and  lash ;  for  he  is  furious,  and 
upbraids  them  with  his  son,  and  charges  his  death  upon  them. 

FABLE    V. 

Jupiter,  while  taking  a  survey  of  the  world,  to  extinguish  the 
remains  of  the  iire,  falls  in  love  with  Calisto,  whom  he  sees 
in  Arcadia;  and,  in  order  to  seduce  that  Nymph,  he  assumes 
the  form  of  Diana.  Her  sister  Nymphs  disclose  her  mis- 
fortune before  the  Goddess,  who  drives  her  from  her  com- 
pany, on  account  of  the  violation  of  her  vow  of  chastity. 

But  the  omnipotent  father  surveys  the  vast  walls  of  heaven, 
and  carefully  searches,  that  no  part,  impaired  by  the  violence 


372  OVID 

of  the  fire,  may  fall  to  ruin.  After  he  has  seen  them  to  be 
secure  and  in  their  own  full  strength,  he  examines  the  earth, 
and  the  works  of  man ;  yet  a  care  for  his  own  Arcadia  is  more 
particularly  his  object.  He  restores,  too,  the  springs  and  the 
rivers,  that  had  not  yet  dared  to  flow,  he  gives  grass  to  the 
earth;  green  leaves  to  the  trees;  and  orders  the  injured  forests 
again  to  be  green.  While  thus  he  often  went  to  and  fro,  he 
stopped  short  on  seeing  a  virgin  of  Nonacris,  and  the  fires  en- 
gendered w^ithin  his  bones  received  fresh  heat.  It  was  not 
her  employment  to  soften  the  wool  by  teasing,  nor  to  vary  her 
tresses  in  their  arrangement ;  while  a  buckle  fastened  her  gar- 
ment, and  a  white  fillet  her  hair,  carelessly  flowing;  and  at  one 
time  she  bore  in  her  hand  a  light  javelin,  at  another,  a  bow\ 
She  was  a  warrior  of  Phoebe ;  nor  did  any  Nymph  frequent 
Maenalus,  more  beloved  by  Trivia,^  than  she ;  but  no  influence 
is  of  long  duration.  The  lofty  Sun  had  now  obtained  a  posi- 
tion beyond  the  mid  course,  when  she  enters  a  grove  which  no 
generation  has  ever  cut.  Here  she  puts  her  quiver  off  from 
her  shoulders,  and  unbends  her  pliant  bow,  and  lies  down  on 
the  ground,  which  the  grass  had  covered,  and  presses  her 
painted  quiver,  with  her  neck  laid  on  it.  When  Jupiter  saw 
her  thus  weary,  and  without  a  protector,  he  said,  "  For  certain, 
my  wife  will  know  nothing  of  this  stolen  embrace;  or,  if  she 
should  chance  to  know,  is  her  scolding,  is  it,  I  say,  of  such 
great  consequence  ?  " 

Immediately  he  puts  on  the  form  and  dress  of  Diana,  and 
says,  "  O  Virgin !  one  portion  of  my  train,  upon  what  moun- 
tains hast  thou  been  hunting?"  The  virgin  raises  herself 
from  the  turf,  and  says,  "Hail,  Goddess!  that  art,  in  my 
opinion,  greater  than  Jove,  even  if  he  himself  should  hear  it." 
He  both  smiles  and  he  hears  it,  and  is  pleased  at  being  pre- 
ferred to  himself;  and  he  gives  her  kisses,  not  very  moderate, 
nor  such  as  would  be  given  by  a  virgin.     He  stops  her  as  she 


^  An  epithet  of  Diana,  as  presiding  over  and  worshipped  in  the 
places  where  three  roads  met,  which  were  called  "  trivia."  Being 
known  as  Diana  on  earth,  the  Moon  in  the  heavens,  and  Proserpine 
in  the  infernal  regions,  she  was  represented  at  these  places  with 
three  faces;  those  of  a  horse,  a  female,  and  a  dog. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  373 

is  preparing  to  tell  him  in  what  wood  she  has  been  hunting,  by 
an  embrace,  and  he  does  not  betray  himself  without  the  com- 
mission of  violence.  She,  indeed,  on  the  other  hand,  as  far 
as  a  woman  could  do,  (would  that  thou  hadst  seen  her,  daugh- 
ter of  Saturn,  then  thou  wouldst  have  been  more  merciful) 
she,  indeed,  I  say,  resists;  but  what  damsel,  or  who  besides, 
could  prevail  against  Jupiter?  Jove,  now  the  conqueror,  seeks 
the  heavens  above;  the  grove  and  the  conscious  wood  is  now 
her  aversion.  Making  her  retreat  thence,  she  is  almost  for- 
getting to  take  away  her  quiver  with  her  arrows,  and  the  bow 
which  she  had  hung  up. 

Behold,  Dictynna,^  attended  by  her  train,  as  she  goes  along 
the  lofty  Msenalus,  and  exulting  in  the  slaughter  of  the  wild 
beasts,  beholds  her,  and  calls  her,  thus  seen.  Being  so  called, 
she  drew  back,  and  at  first  was  afraid  lest  Jupiter  might  be  un- 
der her  shape;  but  after  she  saw  the  Nymphs  walking  along 
with  her,  she  perceived  there  was  no  deceit,  and  she  approached 
their  train.  Alas !  how  difficult  it  is  not  to  betray  a  crime  by 
one's  looks.  She  scarce  raises  her  eyes  from  the  ground,  nor, 
as  she  used  to  do,  does  she  walk  by  the  side  of  the  Goddess, 
nor  is  she  the  foremost  in  the  whole  company;  but  she  is 
silent,  and  by  her  blushes  she  gives  sign  of  her  injured  honour. 
And  Diana,  but  for  the  fact,  that  she  is  a  virgin,  might  have 
perceived  her  fault  by  a  thousand  indications :  the  Nymphs  are 
said  to  have  perceived  it. 

The  horns  of  the  Moon  were  now  rising  again  in  her  ninth 
course,  when  the  hunting  Goddess,  faint  from  her  brother's 
flames,  lighted  on  a  cool  grove,  out  of  which  a  stream  ran, 
flowing  with  its  murmuring  noise,  and  borne  along  the  sand 
worn  fine  by  its  action.  When  she  had  approved  of  the  spot, 
she  touched  the  surface  of  the  water  with  her  foot ;  and  com- 
mending it  as  well,  she  says,  "All  overlookers  are  far  off;  let 
us  bathe  our  bodies,  with  the  stream  poured  over  them."  She 
of  Parrhasia  -  blushed ;  they  all  put  off  their  clothes ;  she  alone 


1  Diana  was  so  called  from  the  Greek  word  diktus,  "  a  net,"  which 
was  used  by  her  for  the  purposes  of  hunting. 

2  Calisto  is  so  called  from   Parrhasia,  a  region  of  Arcadia,   whose 
name  was  derived  from  Parrhasus,  a  son  of  Lycaon. 

XI— 25 


374  OVID 

sought  an  excuse  for  delay.  Her  garment  was  removed  as  she 
hesitated,  which  being  put  off,  her  fault  was  exposed  with  her 
naked  body.  Cynthia  said  to  her,  in  confusion,  and  endeav- 
ouring to  conceal  her  stomach  with  her  hands,  *'  Begone  afar 
hence!  and  pollute  not  the  sacred  springs;"  and  she  ordered 
her  to  leave  her  train. 

FABLES   VI   AND    VII 

Juno,  being  jealous  that  Calisto  has  attracted  Jupiter,  trans- 
forms her  into  a  Bear.  Her  son,  Areas,  not  recognising 
his  mother  in  that  shape,  is  about  to  kill  her;  but  Jupiter 
removes  them  both  to  the  skies,  where  they  form  the  Con- 
stellations of  the  Great  and  the  Little  Bear.  The  raven,  as  a 
punishment  for  his  garridity,  is  changed  from  zvhite  to 
black. 

The  spouse  of  the  great  Thunderer  had  perceived  this 
some  time  before,  and  had  put  off  the  severe  punishment  de- 
signed for  her,  to  a  proper  time.  There  is  now  no  reason  for 
delay;  and  now  the  boy  Areas  (that,  too,  was  a  grief  to  Juno) 
was  born  of  the  mistress  of  her  husband.  Wherefore,  she 
turned  her  thoughts,  full  of  resentment,  and  her  eyes  upon 
her,  and  said,  "  This  thing,  forsooth,  alone  was  wanting,  thou 
adulteress,  that  thou  shouldst  be  pregnant,  and  that  my  injury 
should  become  notorious  by  thy  labours,  and  that  thereby  the 
disgraceful  conduct  of  my  husband,  Jupiter,  should  be  openly 
declared.  Thou  shalt  not  go  unpunished ;  for  I  will  spoil  that 
shape  of  thine,  on  which  thou  pridest  thyself,  and  by  which 
thou,  mischievous  one,  dost  charm  my  husband." 

Thus  she  spoke;  and  seizing  her  straight  in  front  by  the 
hair,  threw  her  on  her  face  to  the  ground.  She  suppliantly 
stretched  forth  her  arms;  those  arms  began  to  grow  rough 
with  black  hair,  and  her  hands  to  be  bent,  and  to  increase  to 
hooked  claws,  and  to  do  the  duty  of  feet,  and  the  mouth,  that 
was  once  admired  by  Jupiter,  to  become  deformed  with  a 
wide  opening;  and  lest  her  prayers,  and  words  not  heeded, 
should  influence  her  feelings,  the  power  of  speech  is  taken 
from  her;  an  angry  and  threatening  voice,  and  full  of  terror. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  375 

is  uttered  from  her  hoarse  throat.  Still,  her  former  under- 
standing remains  in  her,  even  thus  become  a  bear;  and  ex- 
pressing her  sorrows  by  her  repeated  groans,  she  lifts  up  her 
hands,  such  as  they  are,  to  heaven  and  to  the  stars,  and  she 
deems  Jove  ungrateful,  though  she  cannot  call  him  so.  Ah! 
how  often,  not  daring  to  rest  in  the  lonely  wood,  did  she 
wander  about  before  her  own  house,  and  in  the  fields  once  her 
own.  Ah !  how  often  was  she  driven  over  the  crags  by  the  cry 
of  the  hounds;  and,  a  huntress  herself,  she  fled  in  alarm, 
through  fear  of  the  hunters!  Often,  seeing  the  wild  beasts, 
did  she  lie  concealed,  forgetting  what  she  was;  and,  a  bear 
herself,  dread  the  he-bears  seen  on  the  mountains,  and  w^as 
alarmed  at  the  wolves,  though  her  father  was  among  them. 

Behold !  Areas,  the  offspring  of  the  daughter  of  Lycaon, 
ignorant  of  who  is  his  parent,  approaches  her,  thrice  five  birth- 
days being  now  nearly  past;  and  while  he  is  following  the 
wild  beasts,  while  he  is  choosing  the  proper  woods,  and  is 
enclosing  the  Erymanthian  forests^  with  his  platted  nets,  he 
meets  with  his  mother.  She  stood  still,  upon  seeing  Areas, 
and  was  like  one  recognizing  another.  He  drew  back,  and, 
in  his  ignorance,  was  alarmed  at  her  keeping  her  e)''es  fixed 
upon  him  without  ceasing;  and,  as  she  was  desirous  to  ap- 
proach still  nearer,  he  would  have  pierced  her  breast  with  the 
wounding  spear.  Omnipotent  Jove  averted  this,  and  removed 
both  them  and  such  wickedness;  and  placed  them,  carried 
through  vacant  space  with  a  rapid  wind,  in  the  heavens,  and 
made  them  neighbouring  Constellations. 

Juno  swelled  with  rage  after  the  mistress  shone  amid  the 
stars,  and  descended  on  the  sea  to  the  hoary  Tethys,  and 
the  aged  Ocean,  a  regard  for  whom  has  often  influenced  the 
Gods ;  and  said  to  them,  enquiring  the  reason  of  her  coming, 
**  Do  you  enquire  why  I,  the  queen  of  the  Gods,  am  come 
hither  from  the  aethereal  abodes?  Another  has  possession  of 
heaven  in  my  stead.  May  I  be  deemed  untruthful,  if,  when 
the  night  has  made  the  world  dark,  you  see  not  in  the  highest 


*  Erymanthus  was  a  mountain  of  Arcadia,  which  was  afterwards 
famous  for  the  slaughter  there,  by  Hercules,  of  the  wild  boar,  which 
made  it  his  haunt. 


376  OVID 

part  of  heaven  stars  but  lately  thus  honoured  to  my  affliction ; 
there,  where  the  last  and  most  limited  circle  surrounds  the 
extreme  part  of  the  axis  of  the  world.  Is  there,  then,  any 
ground  why  one  should  hesitate  to  affront  Juno,  and  dread  my 
being  offended,  who  only  benefit  them  by  my  resentment? 
See  what  a  great  thing  I  have  done !  How  vast  is  my  power ! 
I  forbade  her  to  be  of  human  shape;  she  has  been  made  a 
Goddess ;  'tis  thus  that  I  inflict  punishment  on  offenders ;  such 
is  my  mighty  power!  Let  him  obtain  for  her  her  former 
shape,  and  let  him  remove  this  form  of  a  wild  beast;  as  he 
formerly  did  for  the  Argive  Phoronis.  Why  does  he  not 
marry  her  as  well,  divorcing  Juno,  and  place  her  in  my  couch, 
and  take  Lycaon  for  his  father-in-law?  But  if  the  wTong 
done  to  your  injured  foster-child  affects  you,  drive  the  seven 
Triones  away  from  your  azure  waters,  and  expel  the  stars 
received  into  heaven  as  the  reward  of  adultery,  that  a  con- 
cubine may  not  be  received  into  your  pure  waves." 

The  Gods  of  the  sea  granted  her  request.  The  daughter 
of  Saturn  enters  the  liquid  air  in  her  graceful  chariot,  with 
her  variegated  peacocks ;  peacocks  just  as  lately  tinted,  upon 
the  killing  of  Argus,  as  thou,  garrulous  raven,  hadst  been 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  bird  having  black  wings,  whereas 
thou  hadst  been  white  before.  For  this  bird  was  formerly  of 
a  silver  hue,  with  snow-white  feathers,  so  that  he  equalled  the 
doves  entirely  without  spot;  nor  would  he  give  place  to  the 
geese  that  were  to  save  the  Capitol  by  their  watchful  voice,  nor 
to  the  swan  haunting  the  streams.  His  tongue  was  the  cause 
of  his  disgrace ;  his  chattering  tongue  being  the  cause,  that  the 
colour  which  was  white  is  now  the  reverse  of  white. 

There  was  no  one  more  beauteous  in  all  Haemonia  than 
Larisssean  ^  Coronis.  At  least,  she  pleased  thee,  Delphian  God, 
as  long  as  she  continued  chaste,  or  was  not  the  object  of  re- 
mark. But  the  bird  of  Phoebus  found  out  her  infidelity;  and 
the  inexorable  informer  winged  his  way  to  his  master,  that 
he  might  disclose  the  hidden  offence.  Him  the  prattling  crow 
follows,  with  flapping  wings,  to  make  all  enquiries  of  him. 
And  having  heard  the  occasion  of  his  journey,  he  says,  "  Thou 


^  Larissa  was  the  chief  city  of  Thessaly. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK    II  377 

art  going  on  a  fruitless  errand;  do  not  despise  the  presages  of 
my  voice." 

FABLE   VIII 

A  virgin,  the  favourite  of  Apollo,  of  the  same  name  with 
Coronis,  is  changed  into  a  crozv,  for  a  story  which  she  tells 
Minerva,  concerning  the  basket  in  zvhich  Ericthonius  was 
inclosed. 

"  Consider  what  I  was,  and  what  I  am,  and  enquire  into 
my  deserts.  Thou  wilt  find  that  my  fidelity  was  my  ruin.  For 
once  upon  a  time,  Pallas  had  enclosed  Ericthonius,  an  off- 
spring born  without  a  mother,  in  a  basket  made  of  Actaean 
twigs;  and  had  given  it  to  keep  to  the  three  virgins  born  of 
the  two-shaped^  Cecrops,  and  had  given  them  this  injunction, 
that  they  should  not  enquire  into  her  secrets,  I,  being  hidden 
among  the  light  foliage,  was  watching  from  a  thick  elm  what 
they  were  doing.  Two  of  them,  Pandrosos  and  Herse,  ob- 
serve their  charge  without  any  treachery ;  Aglauros  alone  calls 
her  sisters  cowards,  and  unties  the  knots  with  her  hand;  but 
within  they  behold  a  child,  and  a  dragon  extended  by  him.  I 
told  the  Goddess  what  was  done;  for  which  such  a  return  as 
this  is  made  to  me,  that  I  am  said  to  have  been  banished  from 
the  protection  of  Minerva,  and  am  placed  after  the  bird  of 
the  night.  My  punishment  may  warn  birds  not  to  incur 
dangers,  by  their  chattering.  But  I  consider  that  she  courted 
me  with  no  inclination  of  my  own,  nor  asking  for  any  such 
favours.  This  thou  mayst  ask  of  Pallas  thyself;  although 
she  is  angry,  she  will  not,  with  all  her  anger,  deny  this.  For 
Coroneus,  one^  famous  in  the  land  of  Phocis,  (I  mention  what 
is  well  known)  begot  me;  and  so  I  was  a  virgin  of  royal  birth, 
and  was  courted  by  rich  suitors  (so  despise  me  not).  My 
beauty  was  the  cause  of  my  misfortune;  for  while  I  was  pass- 
ing with  slow  steps  along  the  sea  shore,  on  the  surface  of  the 


*  Cecrops  is  here  so  called  from  the  fact  of  his  having  been  born 
in  Egypt,  and  having  settled  in  Greece,  and  was  thus  to  be  reck- 
oned both  as  an  Egyptian,  and  in  the  number  of  the  Greeks. 


378  OVID 

sand,  as  I  was  wont  to  do,  the  God  of  the  Ocean  beheld  me, 
and  was  inflamed ;  and  when  he  had  consumed  his  time  to  no 
purpose,  in  entreating  me  with  soft  words,  he  prepared  to  use 
violence,  and  followed  me.  I  fled,  and  I  left  the  firm  shore, 
and  wearied  myself  in  vain  on  the  yielding  sand.  Then  I  in- 
voked both  Gods  and  men ;  but  my  voice  did  not  reach  any 
mortal.  A  virgin  was  moved  for  a  virgin,  and  gave  me  as- 
sistance. I  was  extending  my  arms  toward  heaven;  when 
those  arms  began  to  grow  black  with  light  feathers.  I  strug- 
gled to  throw  my  garments  from  off  my  shoulders,  but  they 
were  feathers,  and  had  taken  deep  root  in  my  skin.  I  tried 
to  beat  my  naked  breast  with  my  hands,  but  I  had  now  neither 
hands  nor  naked  breast.  I  ran ;  and  the  sand  did  not  retard 
my  feet  as  before,  and  I  was  lifted  up  from  the  surface  of 
the  ground.  After  that,  being  lifted  up,  I  was  carried  through 
the  air,  and  was  assigned,  as  a  faultless  companion,  to  Mi- 
nerva. Yet  what  does  this  avail  me,  if  Nyctimene,  made  a  bird 
for  a  horrid  crime,  has  succeeded  me  in  my  honour  ?  " 


FABLE   IX 

Nyctimene,  having  entertained  a  criminal  passion  for  her 
father,  Nycteits,  the  Gods,  to  punish  her  incest,  transform 
her  into  an  owl.  Apollo  pierces  the  breast  of  Coronis  with 
an  arrow,  on  the  raven  informing  him  of  the  infidelity  of 
his  mistress. 

"  Has  not  the  thing,  which  is  very  well  known  throughout 
the  whole  of  Lesbos,  been  heard  of  by  thee,  that  Nyctimene 
defiled  the  bed  of  her  father?  She  is  a  bird  indeed;  but  being 
conscious  of  her  crime,  she  avoids  the  human  gaze  and  the 
light,  conceals  her  shame  in  the  darkness ;  and  by  all  the  birds 
she  is  expelled  from  the  sky." 

The  raven  says  to  him,  saying  such  things,  "  May  this,  thy 
calling  of  me  back,  prove  a  mischief  to  thee,  I  pray ;  I  despise 
the  worthless  omen."  Nor  does  he  drop  his  intended  journey ; 
and  he  tells  his  master,  that  he  has  seen  Coronis  lying  down 
with  a  youth  of  Hsemonia.  On  hearing  the  crime  of  his  mistress, 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  379 

his  laurel  fell  down ;  and  at  the  same  moment  his  usual  looks, 
his  plectrum/  and  his  colour,  forsook  the  God.  And  as  his 
mind  was  now  burning  with  swelling  rage,  he  took  up  his 
wonted  arms,  and  levelled  his  bow  bent  from  the  extremities, 
and  pierced,  with  an  unerring  shaft,  that  bosom,  that  had  been 
so  oft  pressed  to  his  own  breast.  Wounded,  she  uttered  a 
groan,  and,  drawing  the  steel  from  out  of  the  wound,  she 
bathed  her  white  limbs  with  purple  blood;  and  she  said,  "I 
might  justly,  Phoebus,  have  been  punished  by  thee,  but  still  I 
might  have  first  brought  forth ;  now  we  two  shall  die  in  one." 
Thus  far  she  spoke;  and  she  poured  forth  her  life,  together 
with  her  blood.  A  deadly  coldness  took  possession  of  her 
body  deprived  of  life. 

The  lover,  too  late,  alas!  repents  of  his  cruel  vengeance, 
and  blames  himself  that  he  listened  to  the  bird,  and  that  he 
was  so  infuriated.  He  hates  the  bird,  through  which  he  was 
forced  to  know  of  the  crime  and  the  cause  of  his  sorrow;  he 
hates,  too,  the  string,  the  bow,  and  his  hand;  and  together 
with  his  hand,  those  rash  weapons,  the  arrows.  He  cherishes 
her  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  by  late  resources  endeavours  to 
conquer  her  destiny ;  and  in  vain  he  practises  his  physical  arts. 

When  he  found  that  these  attempts  were  made  in  vain,  and 
that  the  funereal  pile  was  being  prepared,  and  that  her  limbs 
were  about  to  be  burnt  in  the  closing  flames,  then,  in  truth, 
he  gave  utterance  to  sighs  fetched  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  (for  it  is  not  allowed  the  celestial  features  to  be  bathed 
with  tears).  No  otherwise  than,  as  when  an  axe,  poised  from 
the  right  ear  of  the  butcher,  dashes  to  pieces,  with  a  clean 
stroke,  the  hollow  temples  of  the  sucking  calf,  while  the  dam 
looks  on.  Yet  after  Phcebus  had  poured  the  unavailing  per- 
fumes on  her  breast,  when  he  had  given  the  last  embrace  and 
had  performed  the  due  obsequies  prematurely  hastened,  he  did 
not  suffer  his  own  offspring  to  sink  into  the  same  ashes ;  but  he 
snatched  the  child  from  the  flames  and  from  the  womb  of  his 
mother,  and  carried  him  into  the  cave  of  the  two-formed 
Chiron.    And  he  forbade  the  raven,  expecting  for  himself  the 


^  This  was  a  little  rod,  or  staff,  with  which  the  player  used  to  strike 
the  strings  of  the  lyre,  or  cithara,  on  which  he  was  playing. 


380  6VID 

reward  of  his  tongue  that  told  no  untruth,  to  perch  any  longer 
among  the  white  birds. 

FABLE   X 

Ocyrrhoe,  the  daughter  of  the  Centaur  Chiron,  attempting  to 
predict  future  events,  tells  her  father  the  fate  of  the  child 
^sculapius,  on  which  the  Gods  transform  her  into  a  mare. 

In  the  meantime  the  half-beast  Chiron  was  proud  of  a  pupil 
of  Divine  origin,  and  rejoiced  in  the  honour  annexed  to  the  re- 
sponsibility. Behold!  the  daughter  of  the  Centaur  comes, 
having  her  shoulders  covered  with  her  yellow  hair;  whom 
once  the  nymph  Chariclo,^  having  borne  her  on  the  banks  of 
a  rapid  stream,  called  Ocyrrhoe.  She  was  not  contented  to 
earn  her  father's  arts  only;  but  she  sang  the  secrets  of  the 
Fates.  Therefore,  when  she  had  conceived  in  her  mind  the 
prophetic  transports,  and  grew  warm  with  the  God,  whom  she 
held  confined  within  her  breast,  she  beheld  the  infant,  and 
she  said,  "  Grow  on,  child,  the  giver  of  health  to  the  whole 
world ;  the  bodies  of  mortals  shall  often  owe  their  own  ex- 
istence to  thee.  To  thee  will  it  be  allowed  to  restore  life  when 
taken  away ;  and  daring  to  do  that  once  against  the  will  of  the 
Gods,  thou  wilt  be  hindered  by  the  bolts  of  thy  grandsire  from 
being  able  any  more  to  grant  that  boon.  And  from  a  God  thou 
shalt  become  a  lifeless  carcase;  and  a  God  again,  who  lately 
wast  a  carcase;  and  twice  shalt  thou  renew  thy  destiny. 
Thou  likewise,  dear  father,  now  immortal,  and  produced  at 
thy  nativity,  on  the  condition  of  enduring  for  ever,  wilt  then 
wish  that  thou  couldst  die,  when  thou  shall  be  tormented  on 
receiving  the  blood  of  a  baneful  serpent  ^  in  thy  wounded 
limbs ;  and  the  Gods  shall  make  thee  from  an  immortal  being. 


*  She  was  the  daughter  of  Apollo,  or  of  Oceanus,  but  is  supposed 
not  to  have  been  the  same  person  that  is  mentioned  by  ApoUodorus 
as  the  mother  of  the  prophet  Tiresias. 

*  This  happened  when  one  of  the  arrows  of  Hercules,  dipped  in  the 
poison  of  the  Lernsean  Hydra,  pierced  the  foot  of  Chiron  while  he 
was  examining  it. 


THE  FATES 
From  a  painting  by  Paul  Thumann 
The  Fates    (Greek   Moera,   Latin    Parccc,  or  Destinies)    are 

THREE  goddesses  WHO  GIVE  GOOD  OR  BAD  FORTUNE  TO  MORTALS  AT  THEIR 

BIRTH.    Their  names  are  Clotho  (the  Spinner),  who  spins  the 

THREAD  OF  LIFE,   LaCHESIS    (DISPOSER  OF  LOTS),   WHO  DETERMINES   ITS 
length,  AND  AtROPOS   (INEVITABLE),  WHO  CUTS  IT  OFF.     SeE  PaGE  38I. 


FABLE   X 

Ocyrrhde,  the  daughter  of  the  Centaur  Chiron,  atteni; 
predict  future  events,  tells  her  father  the  fate  of  the  a  ^  i 
^sculapius,  on  which  the  Gods  transfer  •'  ' "'  ^  '  - -^ 

In  the  meantit 
of  Divine  oric"^ 
sponsibility. 
havin 
once 
a  rap 
earn 

Fates.  .  -V.   : 

prophetic  Hod.  w 

held  confined  within  her  breast,  she  bei 
she  said,  "Grow  on,  child,  the  giver  of  i...  ,m.  n-  ^. 
world;  the  bodies  of  mortals  shall  often  owe  their 
istence  to  thee.    To  thee  will  it  be  all 

taken  away:  n- •'   '  •• -    ''  *^^'"*  -^- 

Gods,  thou  w 

;  able  any  mc 
become  a  li 
'   a  carcase; 

likewise,  c\  er,  now 

''  ity,  on  t  '""     "^ 

I  thou  c< 
the  blood  of  a  ba  voimded 

I  the  Gods  shall  ma,'  al  being, 

*  She  was  the  daughter  of  Apollo.  it  is  supposed 

not  to  h;  J  by  Apollodorus 

•;'^  the  nio' 

happened  V  :iTAa  3MT  les,  dipped  in  the 

'  *'i     TiMTOJKuuv   iMo'^*  Tjii'^iw4tt'm<^  n  wo-<>t  Chiron  while  he 
aa/.    (eaivnTaaKJ  tio  ^-jiniA    kitaJ   ,"ji-\^o\iV   xaaaO)   aaxAH  3hT 

fllSHT  TA  aJATHOM  OT  aV^UTHO^  QAH  flO  aOOO  3710  OHV/  833230000  33HnT 
aHT  2X112  OHW  ,(aaZ>Il«l8  3HT)  OHTOJD  SHA  23MA>I  ai3HT  .HTHia 
2TI  2a>IIMa3T3a  OHW  ,(8T0J  ^O  aa204aiG)  2I2aH3AJ  ,aHIJ  ^O  aA3HHT 
.l8j;  30A4  338    .T-IO  TI  2TUD  0H7/  ,  (3JaATIVaVlI)   2OT0«tA  QVIA  ^HT0H3J 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  381 

subject  to  death,  and  the  three  Goddesses  ^  shall  cut  thy 
threads." 

Something  still  remained  in  addition  to  what  she  had  said. 
She  heaved  a  sigh  from  the  bottom  of  her  breast,  and  the 
tears  bursting  forth,  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  and  thus  she 
said :  "  The  Fates  prevent  me,  and  I  am  forbidden  to  say  any 
more,  and  the  use  of  my  voice  is  precluded.  My  arts,  which 
have  brought  the  wrath  of  a  Divinity  upon  me,  were  not  of  so 
much  value ;  I  wish  that  I  had  not  been  acquainted  with  the 
future.  Now  the  human  shape  seems  to  be  withdrawing  from 
me;  now  grass  pleases  me  for  my  food;  now  I  have  a  desire 
to  range  over  the  extended  plains;  I  am  turned  into  a  mare, 
and  into  a  shape  kindred  to  that  of  my  father.  But  yet,  why 
entirely?    For  my  father  partakes  of  both  forms." 

As  she  was  uttering  such  words  as  these,  the  last  part  of 
her  complaint  was  but  little  understood;  and  her  words  were 
confused.  And  presently  neither  vvrere  they  words  indeed  nor 
did  it  appear  to  be  the  voice  of  a  mare,  but  of  one  imitating  a 
mare.  And  in  a  little  time  she  uttered  perfect  neighing,  and 
stretched  her  arms  upon  the  grass.  Then  did  her  fingers  grow 
together,  and  a  smooth  hoof  united  five  nails  in  one  continued 
piece  of  horn.  The  length  of  her  face  and  of  her  neck  in- 
creased ;  the  greatest  part  of  her  long  hair  became  a  tail.  And 
as  the  hairs  lay  scattered  about  her  neck,  they  were  trans- 
formed into  a  mane  lying  upon  the  right  side ;  at  once  both  her 
voice  and  her  shape  were  changed.  And  this  wondrous  change 
gave  her  the  new  name  of  Enippe. 


^  Namely,  Clotho,  Lachesis,  and  Atropos,  the  "  Parcae,"   or  "  Des- 
tinies." 


382  OVID 


FABLE   XI 

Mercury,  having  stolen  the  oxen  of  Apollo,  and  Battus  having 
perceived  the  theft,  he  engages  him,  by  a  present,  to  keep 
the  matter  secret.  Mistrusting,  however,  his  fidelity,  he  as- 
sumes another  shape,  and  tempting  him  with  presents,  he 
succeeds  in  corrupting  him.  To  punish  his  treachery,  the 
God  changes  him  into  a  touchstone. 

The  Philyrean  ^  hero  wept,  and  in  vain,  God  of  Delphi, 
implored  thy  assistance;  but  neither  couldst  thou  reverse  the 
orders  of  great  Jupiter,  nor,  if  thou  couldst  have  reversed 
them,  wast  thou  then  present ;  for  then  thou  wast  dwelling  in 
Elis  and  the  Messenian  fields.  This  was  the  time  when  a 
shepherd's  skin  garment  was  covering  thee,  and  a  stick  cut  out 
of  the  wood  was  the  burden  of  thy  left  hand,  and  of  the  other, 
a  pipe  unequal  with  its  seven  reeds.  And  while  love  is  thy 
concern,  while  thy  pipe  is  soothing  thee,  some  cows  are  said  to 
have  strayed  unobserved  into  the  plains  of  Pylos.  The  son  of 
Maia,  the  daughter  of  Atlas,  observes  them,  and  with  his  usual 
skill  hides  them,  driven  off,  in  the  woods.  Nobody  but  an  old 
man,  well-known  in  that  country,  had  noticed  the  theft;  all 
the  neighbourhood  called  him  Battus.  He  was  keeping  the 
forests  and  the  grassy  pastures,  and  the  set  of  fine-bred  mares 
of  the  rich  Neleus,^ 

Mercury  was  afraid  of  him,  and  took  him  aside  with  a 
gentle  hand,  and  said  to  him,  "  Come,  stranger,  whoever  thou 
art,  if,  perchance,  anyone  should  ask  after  these  herds,  deny 
that  thou  hast  seen  them ;  and,  lest  no  requital  be  paid  thee  for 
so  doing,  take  a  handsome  cow  as  thy  reward ; "  and  there- 
upon he  gave  him  one.  On  receiving  it,  the  stranger  returned 
this  answer :  "  Thou  mayst  go  in  safety.  May  that  stone  first 
make  mention  of  thy  theft;"  and  he  pointed  to  a  stone.  The 
son  of  Jupiter  feigned  to  go  away.  But  soon  he  returned,  and 
changing  his  form,  together  with  his  voice,  he  said,  "  Country- 


*  Chiron  was  the  son  of  Philyra,  by  Saturn. 
2  The  king  of  Pylos,  and  the  father  of  Nestor. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  383 

man,  if  thou  hast  seen  any  cows  pass  along  this  way,  give  me 
thy  help,  and  break  silence  about  the  theft;  a  female,  coupled 
together  with  its  bull  shall  be  presented  thee  as  a  reward."  But 
the  old  man,  after  his  reward  was  thus  doubled,  said,  "  They 
will  be  beneath  those  hills ;  "  and  beneath  those  hills  they  really 
were.  The  son  of  Atlas  laughed  and  said,  "Dost  thou, 
treacherous  man,  betray  me  to  my  own  self?  Dost  betray  me 
to  myself?"  and  then  he  turned  his  perjured  breast  into  a  hard 
stone,  which  even  now  is  called  the  "  Touchstone ;  "  *  and  this 
old  disgrace  is  attached  to  the  stone  that  really  deserves  it  not. 


FABLE  XII 

Mercury,  falling  in  love  with  Hcrse,  the  daughter  of  Cecrops, 
endeavours  to  engage  Aglauros  in  his  interest,  and  by  her 
means,  to  obtain  access  to  her  sister.  She  refuses  to  assist 
him,  unless  he  promises  to  present  her  withjj^  large  sum  of 
money. 

Hence,  the  bearer  of  the  caduceus  raised  himself  upon 
equal  wings ;  and  as  he  flew,  he  looked  down  upon  the  fields  of 
Munychia,^  and  the  land  pleasing  to  Minerva,  and  the  groves 
of  the  well-planted  Lycasus.  On  that  day,  by  chance,  the 
chaste  virgins  were,  in  their  purity,  carrying  the  sacred  offer- 
ings in  baskets  crowned  with  flowers,  upon  their  heads  to  the 
joyful  citadel  of  Pallas.  The  winged  Gods  beholds  them  re- 
turning thence ;  and  he  does  not  shape  his  course  directly  for- 
ward, but  wheels  round  in  the  same  circle.  As  that  bird  swift- 
est in  speed,  the  kite,  on  espying  the  entrails,  while  he  is  afraid, 
and  the  priests  stand  in  numbers  around  the  sacrifice,  wings 
his  flight  in  circles,  and  yet  ventures  not  to  go  far  away,  and 
greedily  hovers  around  the  object  of  his  hopes  with  waving 
wings,  so  does  the  active  Cyllenian  God  bend  his  course  over 
the  Actsean  towers,  and  circles  round  in  the  same  air.     As 


^  "Index"  (Touchstone)  was  also  a  name  of  infamy,  corresponding 
with  our  term  "  spy." 

2  A  promontory  and  harbour  of  Attica,  so  called  from  Munychius, 
who  there  built  a  temple  in  honour  of  Diana. 


384  OVID 

much  as  Lucifer  shines  more  brightly  than  the  other  stars, 
and  as  much  as  the  golden  Phoebe  shines  more  brightly  than 
thee,  O  Lucifer,  so  much  superior  was  Herse,  as  she  went,  to 
all  the  other  virgins,  and  was  the  ornament  of  the  solemnity 
and  of  her  companions.  The  son  of  Jupiter  was  astonished 
at  her  beauty ;  and  as  he  hung  in  the  air,  he  burned  no  other- 
wise than  as  when  the  Balearic  ^  sling  throws  forth  the  plum- 
met of  lead ;  it  flies  and  becomes  red  hot  in  its  course,  and  finds 
beneath  the  clouds  the  fires  which  it  had  not  before. 

He  alters  his  course,  and,  having  left  heaven,  goes  a  differ- 
ent way;  nor  does  he  disguise  himself;  so  great  is  his  confi- 
dence in  his  beauty.  This,  though  it  is  every  way  complete, 
still  he  improves  by  care,  and  smooths  his  hair  and  adjusts 
his  mantle,  that  it  may  hang  properly,  so  that  the  fringe  and 
all  the  gold  may  be  seen ;  and  minds  that  his  long  smooth  wand, 
with  which  he  induces  and  drives  away  sleep,  is  in  his  right 
hand,  and  that  his  wings  shine  upon  his  beauteous  feet. 

A  private  part  of  the  house  had  three  bed-chambers, 
adorned  with  ivory  and  with  tortoiseshell,  of  which  thou, 
Pandrosos,  hadst  the  right-hand  one,  Aglauros  the  left-hand, 
and  Herse  had  the  one  in  the  middle.  She  that  occupied  the 
left-hand  one  was  the  first  to  remark  Mercury  approaching, 
and  she  ventured  to  ask  the  name  of  the  God,  and  the  occasion 
of  his  coming.  To  her  thus  answered  the  grandson  of  Atlas 
and  of  Pleione :  "  I  am  he  who  carries  the  commands  of  my 
father  through  the  air.  Jupiter  himself  is  my  father.  Nor 
will  I  invent  pretences ;  do  thou  only  be  willing  to  be  attached 
to  thy  sister,  and  to  be  called  the  aunt  of  my  offspring.  Herse 
is  the  cause  of  my  coming;  I  pray  thee  to  favour  one  in  love." 
Aglauros  looks  upon  him  with  the  same  eyes  with  which  she 
had  lately  looked  upon  the  hidden  mysteries  of  the  yellow- 
haired  Minerva,  and  demands  for  her  agency  gold  of  great 
weight;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  obliges  him  to  go  out  of  the 
house.  The  warlike  Goddess  turned  upon  her  the  orbs  of  her 
stern  eyes,  and  drew  a  sigh  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  with 


^  The  Baleares  were  the  islands  of  Majorca,  Minorca,  and  Ivlza,  in 
the  Mediterranean,  near  the  coast  of  Spain.  The  natives  of  these 
islands  were  famous  for  their  skill  in  the  use  of  the  sling. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  385 

so  great  a  motion,  that  she  heaved  both  her  breast  and  the 
yEgis  placed  before  her  vaHant  breast.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
she  had  laid  open  her  secrets  with  a  profane  hand,  at  the  time 
when  she  held  progeny  created  for  the  God  who  inhabits 
Lemnos,^  without  a  mother,  and  contrary  to  the  assigned  laws ; 
and  that  she  could  now  be  agreeable  both  to  the  God  and  to 
the  sister  of  Aglauros,  and  that  she  would  be  enriched  by 
taking  the  gold,  which  she,  in  her  avarice,  had  demanded. 
Forthwith  she  repairs  to  the  abode  of  Envy,  hideous  with 
black  gore.  Her  abode  is  concealed  in  the  lowest  recesses  of  a 
cave,  wanting  sun,  and  not  pervious  to  any  wind,  dismal  and 
filled  with  benumbing  cold  ;  and  which  is  ever  without  fire,  and 
ever  abounding  with  darkness. 

FABLE    XIII   , 

Pallas  commands  Envy  to  make  Aglauros  jealous  of  her  sister 
Herse.  Envy  obeys  the  request  of  the  Goddess;  and  Ag- 
lauros, stung  with  that  passion,  continues  obstinate  in  op- 
posing Mercury's  passage  to  her  sister's  apartment,  for 
which  the  God  changes  her  into  a  statue. 

When  the  female  warrior,  to  be  dreaded  in  battle,  came 
hither,  she  stood  before  the  abode,  (for  she  did  not  consider 
it  lawful  to  go  under  the  roof,)  and  she  struck  the  door-posts 
with  the  end  of  the  spear.  The  doors,  being  shaken,  flew 
open;  she  sees  Envy  within,  eating  the  flesh  of  vipers,  the  nu- 
triment of  her  own  bad  propensities ;  and  when  she  sees  her, 
she  turns  away  her  eyes.  But  the  other  rises  sluggishly  from 
the  ground,  and  leaves  the  bodies  of  the  serpents  half  de- 
voured, and  stalks  along  with  sullen  pace.  And  when  she  sees 
the  Goddess  graced  with  beauty  and  with  splendid  arms,  she 
groans  and  fetches  a  deep  sigh  at  her  appearance.  A  paleness 
rests  on  her  face,  and  leanness  in  all  her  body ;  she  never  looks 


^  Being  precipitated  from  heaven  for  his  deformity,  Vulcan  fell  upon 
the  Isle  of  Lemnos,  in  the  ^gean  Sea,  where  he  exercised  the  craft 
of  a  blacksmith,  according  to  the  mythologists.  The  birth  of  Erio 
thonius,  by  the  aid  of  Minerva,  is  here  referred  to. 


386  OVID 

direct  on  you ;  her  teeth  are  black  with  rust ;  her  breast  is 
green  with  gall;  her  tongue  is  dripping  with  venom.  Smiles 
there  are  none,  except  such  as  the  sight  of  grief  has  excited. 
Nor  does  she  enjoy  sleep,  being  kept  awake  with  watchful 
cares;  but  sees  with  sorrow  the  successes  of  men,  and  pines 
away  at  seeing  them.  She  both  torments  and  is  tormented 
at  the  same  moment,  and  is  ever  her  own  punishment.  Yet, 
though  Tritonia  ^  hated  her,  she  spoke  to  her  briefly  in  such 
words  as  these:  "Infect  one  of  the  daughters  of  Cecrops 
with  thy  poison ;  there  is  occasion  so  to  do ;  Aglauros  is  she." 

Saying  no  more,  she  departed,  and  spurned  the  ground 
with  her  spear  impressed  on  it.  She,  beholding  the  Goddess 
as  she  departed,  with  a  look  askance,  uttered  a  few  murmurs, 
and  grieved  at  the  success  of  Minerva;  and  took  her  staff, 
which  wreaths  of  thorns  entirely  surrounded;  and  veiled  in 
black  clouds,  wherever  she  goes  she  tramples  down  the  bloom- 
ing fields,  and  burns  up  the  grass,  and  crops  the  tops  of  the 
flowers.  With  her  breath,  too,  she  pollutes  both  nations  and 
cities,  and  houses ;  and  at  last  she  descries  the  Tritonian  ^  cita- 
del, flourishing  in  arts  and  riches,  and  cheerful  peace.  Hardly 
does  she  restrain  her  tears,  because  she  sees  nothing  to  weep 
at.  But  after  she  has  entered  the  chamber  of  the  daughter  of 
Cecrops,  she  executes  her  orders ;  and  touches  her  breast  with 
her  hand  stained  with  rust,  and  fills  her  heart  with  jagged 
thorns.  She  breathes  into  her  as  well  the  noxious  venom,  and 
spreads  the  poison  black  as  pitch  throughout  her  bones,  and 
lodges  it  in  the  midst  of  her  lungs. 

And  that  these  causes  of  mischief  may  not  wander  through 
too  wide  a  space,  she  places  her  sister  before  her  eyes,  and 
the  fortunate  marriage  of  that  sister,  and  the  God  under  his 
beauteous  appearance,  and  aggravates  each  particular.  By 
this  the  daughter  of  Cecrops  being  irritated,  is  gnawed  by  a 
secret  grief,  and  groans,  tormented  by  night,  tormented  by 
day,  and  wastes  away,  in  extreme  wretchedness,  with  a  slow 


1  Minerva,  so  called  either  from  the  Cretan  word  trito,  signifying  "  a 
head,"  as  she  sprang  from  the  head  of  Jupiter;  or  from  Trito,  a 
lake  of  Libya,  near  which  she  was  said  to  have  been  born. 

2  Athens,  namely,  which  was  sacred  to  Minerva. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   II  387 

consumption,  as  ice  smitten  upon  by  a  sun  often  clouded.  She 
burns  at  the  good  fortune  of  the  happy  Herse,  no  other- 
wise than  as  when  fire  is  placed  beneath  thorny  reeds,  which 
do  not  send  forth  flames,  and  burn  with  a  gentle  heat.  Often 
does  she  wish  to  die,  that  she  may  not  be  a  witness  to  any 
such  thing ;  often,  to  tell  the  matters,  as  criminal,  to  her  severe 
father.  At  last,  she  sat  herself  down  in  the  front  of  the 
threshold,  in  order  to  exclude  the  God  when  he  came;  to 
whom,  as  he  proffered  blandishments  and  entreaties,  and  words 
of  extreme  kindness,  she  said,  "Cease  all  this;  I  shall  not 
remove  myself  hence,  until  thou  art  repulsed."  "  Let  us  stand 
to  that  agreement,"  says  the  active  Cyllenian  God;  and  he 
opens  the  carved  door  with  his  wand.  But  in  her,  as  she 
endeavours  to  rise,  the  parts  which  we  bend  in  sitting  cannot 
be  moved,  through  their  numbing  weight.  She,  indeed, 
struggles  to  raise  herself,  with  her  body,  upright;  but  the 
joints  of  her  knees  are  stiff,  and  a  chill  runs  through  her  nails, 
and  her  veins  are  pallid,  through  the  loss  of  blood. 

And  as  the  disease  of  an  incurable  cancer  is  wont  to  spread 
in  all  directions,  and  to  add  the  uninjured  parts  to  the  tainted; 
so,  by  degrees,  did  a  deadly  chill  enter  her  breast,  and  stop 
the  passages  of  life,  and  her  respiration.  She  did  not  en- 
deavour to  speak;  but  if  she  had  endeavoured,  she  had  no 
passage  for  her  voice.  Stone  had  now  possession  of  her  neck ; 
her  face  was  grown  hard,  and  she  sat,  a  bloodless  statue. 
Nor  was  the  stone  white ;  her  mind  had  stained  it. 


FABLE   XIV 

Jupiter  assumes  the  shape  of  a  Bull,  and  carrying  off  Europa, 
swims  with  her  on  his  back  to  the  isle  of  Crete. 

When  the  grandson  of  Atlas  had  inflicted  this  punishment 
upon  her  words  and  her  profane  disposition,  he  left  the  lands 
named  after  Pallas,  and  entered  the  skies  with  his  waving 
wings.  His  father  calls  him  on  one  side;  and,  not  owning 
the  cause  of  his  love,  he  says,  "  My  son,  the  trusty  minister 
of  my  commands,  banish  delay,  and  swiftly  descend  with  thy 


388  OVID 

usual  speed,  and  repair  to  the  region  which  looks  towards  thy 
Constellation  mother  on  the  left  side,  (the  natives  call  it 
Sidon)  and  drive  toward  the  sea-shore,  the  herd  belonging 
to  the  king,  which  thou  seest  feeding  afar  upon  the  grass  of 
the  mountain." 

Thus  he  spoke ;  and  already  were  the  bullocks,  driven  from 
the  mountain,  making  for  the  shore  named,  where  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  great  king,  attended  by  Tyrian  virgins,  was  wont  to 
amuse  herself.  Majesty  and  love  but  ill  accord,  nor  can  they 
continue  in  the  same  abode.  The  father  and  the  ruler  of  the 
Gods,  whose  right  hand  is  armed  with  the  three- forked  flames ; 
who  shakes  the  world  with  his  nod,  laying  aside  the  dignity  of 
empire,  assumes  the  appearance  of  a  bull ;  and  mixing  with 
the  oxen,  he  lows,  and,  in  all  his  beauty,  walks  about  upon 
the  shooting  grass.  For  his  colour  is  that  of  snow,  which 
neither  the  soles  of  hard  feet  have  trodden  upon,  nor  the 
watery  South  wind  melted.  His  neck  swells  with  muscles; 
dewlaps  hang  from  between  his  shoulders.  His  horns  are  small 
indeed,  and  such  as  you  might  maintain  were  made  with 
the  hand,  and  more  transparent  than  a  bright  gem.  There  is 
nothing  threatening  in  his  forehead ;  nor  is  his  eye  formidable ; 
his  countenance  expresses  peace. 

The  daughter  of  Agenor  is  surprised  that  he  is  so  beautiful, 
and  that  he  threatens  no  attack;  but  although  so  gentle,  she 
is  at  first  afraid  to  touch  him.  By  and  by  she  approaches  him, 
and  holds  out  flowers  to  his  white  mouth.  The  lover  rejoices, 
and  till  his  hoped-for  pleasure  comes,  he  gives  kisses  to  her 
hands;  scarcely,  oh,  scarcely,  does  he  defer  the  rest.  And  now 
he  plays  with  her,  and  skips  upon  the  green  grass ;  and  now  he 
lays  his  snow-white  side  upon  the  yellow  sand.  And,  her  fear 
now  removed  by  degrees,  at  one  moment  he  gives  his  breast 
to  be  patted  by  the  hand  of  the  virgin ;  at  another,  his  horns 
to  be  wreathed  with  new-made  garlands.  The  virgin  of  royal 
birth  even  ventured  to  sit  down  upon  the  back  of  the  bull,  not 
knowing  upon  whom  she  was  pressing.  Then  the  God,  by 
degrees  moving  from  the  land,  and  from  the  dry  shore,  places 
the  fictitious  hoofs  of  his  feet  in  the  waves  near  the  brink. 
Then  he  goes  still  further,  and  carries  his  prize  over  the  ex- 
panse of  the  midst  of  the  ocean.     She   is  aff"righted,  and. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  389 

borne  off,  looks  back  on  the  shore  she  has  left ;  and  with  her 
right  hand  she  grasps  his  horn,  while  the  other  is  placed  on 
his  back ;  her  waving  garments  are  ruffled  by  the  breeze. 


BOOK  THE  THIRD 

FABLE   I 

Jupiter,  having  carried  away  Etiropa,  her  father,  Agenor, 
commands  his  son  Cadmus  to  go  immediately  in  search  of 
her,  and  either  to  bring  back  his  sister  with  him,  or  never 
to  return  to  Phccnicia.  Cadmus,  wearied  zvith  his  toils  and 
fruitless  enquiries,  goes  to  consult  the  oracle  at  Delphi, 
which  bids  him  observe  the  spot  zvhere  he  shoidd  see  a  cozv 
lie  dozvn,  and  build  a  city  there,  and  give  the  name  of  Boeo- 
iia  to  the  country. 

And  now  the  God,  having  laid  aside  the  shape  of  the  de- 
ceiving Bull,  had  discovered  himself,  and  reached  the  Dic- 
tsean  land;  when  her  father,  ignorant  of  her  fate,  commands 
Cadmus  to  seek  her  thus  ravished,  and  adds  exile  as  a  pun- 
ishment, if  he  does  not  find  her;  being  both  affectionate  and 
unnatural  in  the  self-same  act.  The  son  of  Agenor,  having 
wandered  over  the  whole  world,  as  an  exile  flies  from  his 
country  and  the  wrath  of  his  father,  for  who  is  there  that  can 
discover  the  intrigues  of  Jupiter?  A  suppliant,  he  consults 
the  oracle  of  Phoebus,  and  enquires  in  what  land  he  must 
dwell.  "A  heifer,"  Phoebus  says,  "  will  meet  thee  in  the  lonely 
fields,  one  that  has  never  borne  the  yoke,  and  free  from  the 
crooked  plough.  Under  her  guidance,  go  on  thy  way;  and 
where  she  shall  lie  down  on  the  grass,  there  cause  a  city  to  be 
built,  and  call  it  the  Boeotian^  city." 

Scarcely  had  Cadmus  well  got  down  from  the  Castalian 
cave,^  when  he  saw  a  heifer,  without  a  keeper,  slowly  going 


^  He   implies  here  that  Bceotia  received  its  name   from  the   Greek 
word  bous,  "  an  ox  "  or  "  cow." 

'  Castalius  was  a  fountain  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Parnassus,  and  in 
the  vicinity  of  Delphi.    It  was  sacred  to  the  Muses. 
XI— 26 


390  0\^ID 

along,  bearing  no  mark  of  servitude  upon  her  neck.  He  fol- 
lows, and  pursues  her  steps  with  leisurely  pace,  and  silently 
adores  Phoebus,  the  adviser  of  his  way.  And  now  he  had 
passed  the  fords  of  the  Cephisus,  and  the  fields  of  Panope, 
when  the  cow  stood  still,  and  raising  her  forehead,  expansive 
with  lofty  horns,  towards  heaven,  she  made  the  air  reverber- 
ate with  her  lowings.  And  so,  looking  back  on  her  compan- 
ions that  followed  behind,  she  lay  down,  and  reposed  her  side 
upon  the  tender  grass.  Cadmus  returned  thanks,  and  im- 
printed kisses  upon  the  stranger  land,  and  saluted  the  unknown 
mountains  and  fields.  He  was  now  going  to  offer  sacrifice  to 
Jupiter,  and  commanded  his  serv^ants  to  go  and  fetch  some 
water  for  the  libation  from  the  running  springs.  An  ancient 
grove  was  standing  there,  as  yet  profaned  by  no  axe.  There 
was  a  cavern  in  the  middle  of  it,  thick  covered  with  twigs  and 
osiers,  forming  a  low  arch  by  the  junction  of  the  rocks; 
abounding  with  plenty  of  water.  Hid  in  this  cavern,  there 
was  a  dragon  sacred  to  Mars,  adorned  with  crests  and  a 
golden  colour.  His  eyes  sparkle  with  fire,  and  all  his  body  is 
pufifed  out  with  poison;  three  tongues,  too,  are  brandished, 
and  his  teeth  stand  in  a  triple  row. 

FABLE   n 

The  companions  of  Cadmus,  fetching  water  from  the  foun- 
tain of  Mars,  are  devoured  by  the  Dragon  that  guards  it. 
Cadmus,  on  discovering  their  destruction,  slays  the  monster, 
and,  by  the  advice  of  Minerva,  sows  the  teeth,  which  im- 
mediately produce  a  crop  of  armed  men.  They  forthwith 
quarrel  among  themselves,  and  kill  each  other,  with  the 
exception  of  Hve  who  assist  Cadmus  in  building  the  city  of 
Thebes. 

After  the  men  who  came  from  the  Tyrian  nation  had 
touched  this  grove  with  ill-fated  steps,  and  the  urn  let  down 
into  the  water  made  a  splash;  the  azure  dragon  stretched 
forth  his  head  from  the  deep  cave,  and  uttered  dreadful  hiss- 
ings. The  urns  dropped  from  their  hands ;  and  the  blood  left 
their  bodies,  and  a  sudden  trembling  seized  their  astonished 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  391 

limbs.  He  wreathes  his  scaly  orbs  in  rolling  spires,  and  with 
a  spring  becomes  twisted  into  mighty  folds;  and  uprearing 
himself  from  below  the  middle  into  the  light  air,  he  looks 
down  upon  all  the  grove,  and  is  of  as  large  size,  as,  if  you 
were  to  look  on  him  entire,  the  serpent  which  separates  the 
two  Bears. 

There  is  no  delay;  he  seizes  the  Phcenicians,  (whether 
they  are  resorting  to  their  arms  or  to  flight,  or  whether  fear 
itself  is  preventing  either  step)  ;  some  he  kills  with  his  sting, 
some  with  his  long  folds,  some  breathed  upon  by  the  venom 
of  his  baneful  poison. 

The  sun,  now  at  its  height,  had  made  the  shadows  but 
small :  the  son  of  Agenor  wonders  what  has  detained  his  com- 
panions, and  goes  to  seek  his  men.  His  garment  was  a  skin 
torn  from  a  lion;  his  weapon  was  a  lance  with  shining  steel, 
and  a  javelin ;  and  a  courage  superior  to  any  weapon.  When 
he  entered  the  grove,  and  beheld  the  lifeless  bodies,  and  the 
victorious  enemy  of  immense  size  upon  them,  licking  the  hor- 
rid wounds  with  bloodstained  tongue,  he  said,  "  Either  I  will 
be  the  avenger  of  your  death,  bodies  of  my  faithful  compan- 
ions, or  I  will  be  a  sharer  in  it."  Thus  he  said ;  and  with  his 
right  hand  he  raised  a  huge  stone,  and  hurled  the  vast  weight 
with  a  tremendous  effort.  And  although  high  w^alls  with 
lofty  towers  would  have  been  shaken  with  the  shock  of  it,  yet 
the  dragon  remained  without  a  wound;  and,  being  defended 
by  his  scales  as  though  with  a  coat  of  mail,  and  the  hardness 
of  his  black  hide,  he  repelled  the  mighty  stroke  with  his  skin. 
But  he  did  not  overcome  the  javelin  as  well  with  the  same 
hardness;  which  stood  fast,  fixed  in  the  middle  joint  of  his 
yielding  spine,  and  sank  with  the  entire  point  of  steel  into  his 
entrails.  Fierce  with  pain,  he  turned  his  head  towards  his 
back,  and  beheld  his  wounds,  and  bit  the  javelin  fixed  there. 
And  after  he  had  twisted  it  on  every  side  with  all  his  might, 
with  difficulty  he  wrenched  it  from  his  back;  yet  the  steel 
stuck  fast  in  his  bones.  But  then,  when  this  newly  inflicted 
wound  has  increased  his  wonted  fury,  his  throat  swelled  with 
gorged  veins,  and  white  foam  flowed  around  his  pestilential 
jaws.  The  Earth,  too,  scraped  with  his  scales,  sounds  again, 
and  the  livid  steam  that  issues  from  his  infernal  mouth,  in- 


392  OVID 

fccts  the  tainted  air.  One  while  he  enrolled  in  spires  making 
enormous  rings ;  sometimes  he  unfolds  himself  straighter  than 
a  long  beam.  Now  with  a  vast  impulse,  like  a  torrent  swelled 
with  rain,  he  is  borne  along,  and  bears  down  the  obstructing 
forests  with  his  breast.  The  son  of  Agenor  gives  way  a  little ; 
and  by  the  spoil  of  the  lion  he  sustains  the  shock,  and  with  his 
lance  extended  before  him,  pushes  back  his  mouth,  as  it  ad- 
vances. The  dragon  rages,  and  vainly  inflicts  wounds  on  the 
hard  steel,  and  fixes  his  teeth  upon  the  point.  And  now  the 
blood  began  to  flow  from  his  poisonous  palate,  and  had  dyed 
the  green  grass  with  its  spray.  But  the  wound  was  slight; 
because  he  recoiled  from  the  stroke,  and  drew  back  his 
wounded  throat,  and  by  shrinking  prevented  the  blow  from 
sinking  deep,  and  did  not  suffer  it  to  go  very  far.  At  length, 
the  son  of  Agenor,  still  pursuing,  pressed  the  spear  l6dged 
in  his  throat,  until  an  oak  stood  in  his  way  as  he  retreated, 
and  his  neck  was  pierced,  together  with  the  trunk.  The  tree 
was  bent  with  the  weight  of  the  serpent,  and  groaned  at  hav- 
ing its  trunk  lashed  with  the  extremity  of  its  tail. 

While  the  conqueror  was  surveying  the  vast  size  of  his 
vanquished  enemy,  a  voice  was  suddenly  heard  (nor  was  it 
easy  to  understand  whence  it  was,  but  heard  it  was).  "  Why, 
son  of  Agenor,  art  thou  thus  contemplating  the  dragon  slain 
by  thee?  Even  thou  thyself  shalt  be  seen  in  the  form  of  a 
dragon."  ^  He,  for  a  long  time  in  alarm,  lost  his  colour  to- 
gether with  his  presence  of  mind,  and  his  hair  stood  on  end 
with  a  chill  of  terror.  Lo!  Pallas,  the  favourer  of  the  hero, 
descending  through  the  upper  region  of  the  air,  comes  to  him, 
and  bids  him  sow  the  dragon's  teeth  under  the  earth  turned 
up,  as  the  seeds  of  a  future  people.  He  obeyed ;  and  when  he 
had  opened  a  furrow  with  the  pressed  plough,  he  scattered 
the  teeth  on  the  ground  as  ordered,  the  seed  of  a  race  of  men. 
Afterwards  ('tis  beyond  belief)  the  turf  began  to  move,  and 
first  appeared  a  point  of  a  spear  out  of  the  furrows,  next  the 


*  This  came  to  pass  when,  having  been  expelled  from  his  dominions 
by  Zethus  and  Amphion,  he  retired  to  Illyria,  and  was  there  trans- 
formed into  a  serpent,  a  fate  which  was  shared  by  his  wife  Her- 
mione. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  393 

coverings  of  heads  nodding  with  painted  cones  ;^  then  the 
shoulders  and  the  breast,  and  the  arms  laden  with  weapons 
start  up,  and  a  crop  of  men  armed  with  shields  grows  apace. 
So,  when  the  curtains  ^  are  drawn  in  the  joyful  theatres,  fig- 
ures are  wont  to  rise,  and  first  to  show  their  countenances ;  by 
degrees  the  rest;  and  being  drawn  out  in  a  gradual  continua- 
tion, the  whole  appear,  and  place  their  feet  on  the  lowest  edge 
of  the  stage.  Alarmed  with  this  new  enemy,  Cadmus  is  pre- 
paring to  take  arms,  when  one  of  the  people  that  the  earth 
had  produced  cries  out,  "  Do  not  take  up  arms,  nor  engage 
thyself  in  civil  war."  And  then,  engaged  hand  to  hand,  he 
strikes  one  of  his  earth-born  brothers  with  the  cruel  sword, 
while  he  himself  falls  by  a  dart  sent  from  a  distance.  He, 
also,  who  had  put  him  to  death,  lives  no  longer  than  the  other, 
and  breathes  forth  the  air  which  he  has  so  lately  received.  In 
a  similar  manner,  too,  the  whole  troop  becomes  maddened, 
and  the  brothers  so  newly  sprung  up,  fall  in  fight  with  each 
other,  by  mutual  wounds.  And  now  the  youths  that  had  the 
space  of  so  short  an  existence  allotted  them,  beat  with  throb- 
bing breasts  their  blood-stained  mother,  five  only  remaining, 
of  whom  Echion  was  one.  He,  by  the  advice  of  Tritonia, 
threw  his  arms  upon  the  ground,  and  both  asked  and  gave  the 
assurance  of  brotherly  concord. 

The  Sidonian  stranger  had  these  as  associates  in  his  task, 
when  he  built  the  city  that  was  ordered  by  the  oracle  of 
Phoebus. 


*  The  "  conus "  was  the  conical  part  of  the  helmet  into  which  the 
crest  of  variegated  feathers  was  inserted. 

^  The  curtain  of  the  Roman  theatre  was  depressed  when  the  play 
began,  and  drawn  up  when  it  was  over. 


394  OVID 

FABLE   III 

ActcBon,  the  grandson  of  Cadmus,  fatigued  with  hunting  and 
excessive  heat,  inadvertently  wanders  to  the  cool  valley  of 
Gargaphie,  the  usual  retreat  of  Diana,  when  tired  zmih  the 
same  exercise.  There,  to  his  misfortune,  he  surprises  the 
Goddess  and  her  Nymphs  while  bathing,  for  which  she 
transforms  him  into  a  stag,  and  his  own  hounds  tear  him  to 
pieces. 

And  now  Thebes  was  standing;  now,  Cadmus,  thou 
mightst  seem  happy  in  thy  exile.  Both  Mars  and  Venus  ^  had 
become  thy  father-in-law  and  mother-in-law :  add  to  this,  issue 
by  a  wife  so  illustrious,  so  many  sons  and  daughters,  and 
grandchildren,  dear  pledges  of  love;  these,  too,  now  of  a 
youthful  age.  But,  forsooth,  the  last  day  of  life  must  always 
be  awaited  by  man,  and  no  one  ought  to  be  pronounced  happy 
before  his  death,"  and  his  last  obsequies.  Thy  grandson, 
Cadmus,  was  the  first  occasion  of  sorrow  to  thee,  among  so 
much  prosperity,  the  horns,  too,  not  his  own,  placed  upon  his 
forehead,  and  you,  O  dogs,  glutted  with  the  blood  of  your 
master.  But,  if  you  diligently  inquire  into  his  case,  you  will 
find  the  fault  of  an  accident,  and  not  criminality  in  him;  for 
what  criminality  did  mistake  embrace? 

There  was  a  mountain  stained  with  the  blood  of  various 
wild  beasts;  and  now  the  day  had  contracted  the  meridian 
shadow  of  things,  and  the  sun  was  equally  distant  from  each 
extremity  of  the  heavens;  when  the  Hyantian  youth ^  thus 
addressed  the  partakers  of  his  toils,  as  they  wandered  along  the 
lonely  haunts  of  the  wild  beasts,  with  gentle  accent ;  "  Our 
nets  are  moistened,  my  friends,  and  our  spears  too,  with  the 
blood  of  wild  beasts ;  and  the  day  has  yielded  sufficient  sport ; 
when  the  next  morn,  borne  upon  her  rosy  chariot,  shall  bring 


-  The  wife  of  Cadmus  was  Hermione,  or  Harraonia,  the  daughter 

of  Mars  and  Venus. 

2  This  was  the  famous  remark  of  Solon  to  Crcesus. 

'  Actason  is  thus  called,  as  being  a  Boeotian.     The  Hyantes  were  the 

ancient  or  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  Boeotia. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  395 

back  the  light,  let  us  seek  again  our  proposed  task.  Now 
Phoebus  is  at  the  same  distance  from  both  lands,  the  Eastern 
and  the  Western,  and  is  cleaving  the  fields  with  his  heat. 
Cease  your  present  toils,  and  take  away  the  knotted  nets." 
The  men  execute  his  orders,  and  cease  their  labours.  There 
was  a  valley,  thick  set  with  pitch-trees  and  the  sharp-pointed 
cypress ;  by  name  Gargaphie,  sacred  to  the  active  Diana.  In 
the  extreme  recess  of  this,  there  was  a  grotto  in  a  grove, 
formed  by  no  art ;  nature,  by  her  ingenuity,  had  counterfeited 
art ;  for  she  had  formed  a  natural  arch,  in  the  native  pumice 
and  the  light  sand-stones.  A  limpid  fountain  ran  murmuring 
on  the  right  hand  with  its  little  stream,  having  its  spreading 
channels  edged  with  a  border  of  grass.  Here,  when  wearied 
with  hunting,  the  Goddess  of  the  woods  was  wont  to  bathe 
her  virgin  limbs  in  the  clear  water. 

After  she  had  entered  there,  she  handed  to  one  of  the 
Nymphs,  her  armour-bearer,  her  javelin,  her  quiver,  and  her 
unstrung  bow.  Another  Nymph  put  her  arms  under  her 
mantle,  when  taken  off;  two  removed  the  sandals  from  her 
feet.  But  Crocale,  the  daughter  of  Ismenus,  more  skilled 
than  they,  gathered  her  hair,  which  lay  scattered  over  her 
neck,  into  a  knot,  although  she  herself  was  with  her  hair  loose. 
Nephele,  and  Hyale,  and  Rhanis,  fetch  water,  Psecas  and 
Phyale  do  the  same,  and  pour  it  from  their  large  urns.  And 
while  the  Titanian  Goddess  was  there  bathing  in  the  wonted 
stream,  behold!  the  grandson  of  Cadmus,  having  deferred 
the  remainder  of  his  sport  till  next  day,  came  into  the  grove, 
wandering  through  the  unknown  wood,  with  uncertain  steps; 
thus  did  his  fate  direct  him. 

Soon  as  he  entered  the  grotto,  dropping  with  its  springs, 
the  Nymphs,  naked  as  they  were,  on  seeing  a  man,  smote  their 
breasts,  and  filled  all  the  woods  with  sudden  shrieks,  and 
gathering  round  Diana,  covered  her  with  their  bodies.  Yet 
the  Goddess  herself  was  higher  than  they,  and  was  taller  than 
them  all  by  the  neck.  The  colour  that  is  wont  to  be  in  clouds, 
tinted  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  when  opposite,  or  that  of  the 
ruddy  morning,  was  on  the  features  of  Diana,  when  seen 
without  her  garments.  She,  although  surrounded  with  the 
crowd  of  her  attendants,  stood  sideways,  and  turned  her  face 


396  OVID 

back ;  and  now  did  she  wish  that  she  had  her  arrows  at  hand: 
and  so  she  took  up  water,  which  she  did  have  at  hand,  and 
threw  it  over  the  face  of  the  man,  and  sprinkHng  his  hair  with 
the  avenging  stream,  she  added  these  words,  the  presages  of 
his  future  woe:  "Now  thou  mayst  tell,  if  tell  thou  canst, 
how  that  I  was  seen  by  thee  without  my  garments."  Threat- 
ening no  more,  she  places  on  his  sprinkled  head  the  horns  of 
a  lively  stag:  she  adds  length  to  his  neck,  and  sharpens  the 
tops  of  his  ears ;  and  she  changes  his  hands  into  feet,  and  his 
arms  into  long  legs,  and  covers  his  body  with  a  spotted  coat 
of  hair ;  fear,  too,  is  added.  The  Autonoeian  ^  hero  took  to 
flight,  and  wondered  that  he  was  so  swift  in  his  speed;  but 
when  he  beheld  his  own  horns  in  the  wonted  stream,  he  was 
about  to  say,  "Ah,  wretched  me !  "  when  no  voice  followed. 
He  groaned ;  that  was  all  his  voice,  and  his  tears  trickled  down 
a  face  not  his  own,  but  that  of  a  stag.  His  former  under- 
standing alone  remained.  What  should  he  do?  Should  he 
return  home,  and  to  the  royal  abode?  or  should  he  lie  hid  in 
the  woods?  Fear  hinders  the  one  step,  shame  the  other. 
While  he  was  hesitating,  the  dogs  espied  him,  and  first  Me- 
lampus,  and  the  good-nosed  Ichnobates  gave  the  signal,  in 
full  cry.  Ichnobates  was  a  Gnossian  dog:  Melampus  was  of 
Spartan  breed.  Then  the  rest  rush  on,  swifter  than  the  rapid 
winds;  Pamphagus,  and  Dorcaeus,  and  Oribasus,  all  Arcadian 
dogs ;  and  able  Nebrophonus,  and  with  Laelaps,  fierce  Theron, 
and  Pterelas,  excelling  in  speed,  Agre  in  her  scent,  and  Hy- 
laeus,  lately  wounded  by  a  fierce  boar,  and  Nape,  begotten  by 
a  wolf,  and  Pcemenis,  that  had  tended  cattle,  and  Harpyia, 
followed  by  her  two  whelps,  and  the  Sicyonian  Ladon,  hav- 
ing a  slender  girth;  Dromas,  too,  and  Canace,  Sticte  and 
Tigris,  and  Alee,  and  Leucon,  with  snow-white  hair,  and 
Asbolus,  with  black,  and  the  able-bodied  Lacon,  and  Aello, 
good  at  running,  and  Thoiis,  and  the  swift  Lycisca,  with  her 
Cyprian  brother,  Harpalus,  too,  having  his  black  face  marked 
with  white  down  the  middle,  and  ]Melaneus,  and  Lachne,  with 
a  wire-haired  body,   and  Labros,  and  Agriodos,  bred  of  a 


^  Autonoe  was  the  daughter  of  Cadmus  and  Hermione.  or  Harmonia, 
and  the  wife  of  Aristasus,  by  whom  she  was  the  mother  of  Actjeon. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  397 

Dictsean  sire,  but  of  a  Laconian  dam,  and  Hylactor,  with  his 
shrill  note ;  and  others  which  it  were  tedious  to  recount,^ 

This  pack,  in  eagerness  for  their  prey,  are  borne  over  rocks 
and  cliffs,  and  crags  difficult  of  approach,  where  the  path  is 
steep,  and  where  there  is  no  road.  He  flies  along  the  routes 
by  which  he  has  so  often  pursued ;  alas !  he  is  now  flying  from 
his  own  servants.  Fain  would  he  have  cried,  **  I  am  Actseon, 
recognize  your  own  master."  Words  are  wanting  to  his 
wishes;  the  air  resounds  with  their  barking.  Melanchaetes 
was  the  first  to  make  a  wound  on  his  back,  Theridamas  the 
next;  Oresitrophus  fastened  upon  his  shoulder.  These  had 
gone  out  later,  but  their  course  was  shortened  by  a  near  cut 
through  the  hill.  While  they  hold  their  master,  the  rest  of 
the  pack  come  up,  and  fasten  their  teeth  in  his  body.  Now 
room  is  wanting  for  more  wounds.  He  groans,  and  utters  a 
noise,  though  not  that  of  a  man,  still,  such  as  a  stag  cannot 
make ;  and  he  fills  the  well-known  mountains  with  dismal 
moans,  and  suppliant  on  his  bended  knees,  and  like  one  in 
entreaty,  he  turns  round  his  silent  looks  as  though  they  were 
his  arms. 

But  his  companions,  in  their  ignorance,  urge  on  the  eager 
pack  with  their  usual  cries,  and  seek  Actseon  with  their  eyes; 
and  cry  out  "  Actaeon  "  aloud,  as  though  he  were  absent.  At 
his  name  he  turns  his  head,  as  they  complain  that  he  is  not 
there,  and  in  his  indolence,  is  not  enjoying  a  sight  of  the  sport 
afforded  them.  He  wished,  indeed,  he  had  been  away,  but 
there  he  was;  and  he  wished  to  see,  not  to  feel  as  well,  the 
cruel  feats  of  his  own  dogs.  They  gather  round  him  on  all 
sides,  and  burying  their  jaws  in  his  body,  tear  their  master 
in  pieces  under  the  form  of  an  imaginary  stag.  And  the  rage 
of  the  quiver-bearing  Diana  is  said  not  to  have  been  satiated, 
until  his  life  was  ended  by  many  a  wound. 


^  There  were  fifty  in  all  in  the  pack.     These  names  mean  "  Black- 
foot,"  "  Trailer,"  "  Glutton,"  "  Quicksight,"  etc. 


398  OVID 


FABLE  IV 


Juno,  incensed  against  Semele  for  her  intrigue  with  Jupiter, 
takes  the  form  of  Beroe,  the  more  easily  to  ensure  her 
revenge.  Having  first  infused  in  Semele  suspicions  of  her 
lover,  she  then  recommends  her  to  adopt  a  certain  method 
of  proving  his  constancy.  Semele,  thus  deceived,  obtains 
a  reluctant  promise  from  Jupiter,  to  make  his  next  visit  to 
her  in  the  splendour  and  majesty  in  which  he  usually  ap- 
proached his  wife. 

They  speak  in  various  ways  of  this  matter.  To  some,  the 
Goddess  seems  more  severe  than  is  proper;  others  praise 
her,  and  call  her  deserving  of  her  state  of  strict  virginity: 
both  sides  find  their  reasons.  The  wife  of  Jupiter  alone  does 
not  so  much  declare  whether  she  blames  or  whether  she  ap- 
proves, as  she  rejoices  at  the  calamity  of  a  family  sprung 
from  Agenor,  and  transfers  the  hatred  that  she  had  conceived 
from  the  Tyrian  mistress  to  the  partners  of  her  race.  Lo!  a 
fresh  occasion  is  now  added  to  the  former  one;  and  she 
grieves  that  Semele  is  pregnant  from  the  seed  of  great  Jupiter. 
She  then  lets  loose  her  tongue  to  abuse, 

"And  what  good  have  I  done  by  railing  so  often?"  said 
she.  "  She  herself  must  be  attacked  by  me.  If  I  am  prop- 
erly called  the  supreme  Juno,  I  will  destroy  her;  if  it  be- 
comes me  to  hold  the  sparkling  sceptre  in  my  right  hand;  if  I 
am  the  queen,  and  both  sister  and  wife  of  Jupiter.  The 
sister  I  am,  no  doubt.  But  I  suppose  she  is  content  with  a 
stolen  embrace,  and  the  injury  to  my  bed  is  but  trifling.  She 
is  now  pregnant;  that  alone  was  wanting;  and  she  bears  the 
evidence  of  his  crime  in  her  swelling  womb,  and  wishes  to 
be  made  a  mother  by  Jupiter,  a  thing  which  hardly  fell  to 
my  lot  alone.  So  great  is  her  confidence  in  her  beauty.  I 
will  take  care  he  shall  deceive  her ;  and  may  I  be  no  daughter 
of  Saturn,  if  she  does  not  descend  to  the  Stygian  waves,  sunk 
there  by  her  own  dear  Jupiter." 

Upon  this  she  rises  from  her  throne,  and,  hidden  in  a  cloud 
of  fiery  hue,  she  approaches  the  threshold  of  Semele.     Nor 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  399 

did  she  remove  the  clouds  before  she  counterfeited  an  old 
woman,  and  planted  grey  hair  on  her  temples;  and  furrowed 
her  skin  with  wrinkles,  and  moved  her  bending  limbs  with 
palsied  step,  and  made  her  voice  that  of  an  old  woman.  Slie 
became  Beroe  herself,  the  Epidaurian  nurse  of  Semele. 
When  therefore,  upon  engaging  in  discourse  with  her,  and 
after  long  talking,  they  came  to  the  name  of  Jupiter,  she 
sighed,  and  said,  "  I  only  wish  it  may  be  Jupiter ;  yet  I  am  apt 
to  fear  every  thing.  Many  a  one  under  the  name  of  a  God 
has  invaded  a  chaste  bed.  Nor  yet  is  it  enough  that  he  is 
Jupiter ;  let  him,  if,  indeed,  he  is  the  real  one,  give  some  pledge 
of  his  affection;  and  beg  of  him  to  bestow  his  caresses  on 
thee,  just  in  the  greatness  and  form  in  which  he  is  received 
by  the  stately  Juno;  and  let  him  first  assume  his  ensigns  of 
royalty."  With  such  words  did  Juno  tutor  the  unsuspecting 
daughter  of  Cadmus.  She  requested  of  Jupiter  a  favour, 
without  naming  it.  To  her  the  God  said,  "  Make  thy  choice, 
thou  shalt  suffer  no  denial ;  and  that  thou  mayst  believe  it  the 
more,  let  the  majesty  of  the  Stygian  stream  bear  witness. 
He  is  the  dread  and  the  God  of  the  Gods." 

Overjoyed  at  what  was  her  misfortune,  and  too  easily 
prevailing,  as  now  about  to  perish  by  the  complaisance  of  her 
lover,  Semele  said,  "  Present  thyself  to  me,  just  such  as  the 
daughter  of  Saturn  is  wont  to  embrace  thee,  when  ye  honour 
the  ties  of  Venus."  The  God  wished  to  shut  her  mouth  as 
she  spoke,  but  the  hasty  words  had  now  escaped  into  air.  He 
groaned ;  for  neither  was  it  now  possible  for  her  not  to  have 
wished,  nor  for  him  not  to  have  sworn.  Therefore,  in  ex- 
treme sadness,  he  mounted  the  lofty  skies,  and  with  his  nod 
drew  along  the  attendant  clouds ;  to  which  he  added  showers 
and  lightnings  mingled  with  winds,  and  thunders,  and  the 
inevitable  thunderbolt. 


400  OVID 


FABLE  V 


Semele  is  visited  by  Jupiter,  according  to  the  promise  she  had 
obliged  him  to  make;  but,  being  unable  to  support  the 
effulgence  of  his  lightning,  she  is  burnt  to  ashes  in  his 
presence.  Bacchus,  with  whom  she  is  pregnant,  is  pre- 
served; and  Tiresias  decided  the  dispute  between  Jupiter 
and  Juno,  concerning  the  sexes. 

And  yet,  as  much  as  possible,  he  tries  to  mitigate  his 
powers.  Nor  is  he  now  armed  with  those  flames  with  which 
he  had  overthrown  the  hundred-handed  Typhoeus;  in  those, 
there  is  too  much  fury.  There  is  another  thunder,  less  bane- 
ful, to  which  the  right  hand  of  the  Cyclops  gave  less  ferocity 
and  flames,  and  less  anger.  The  Gods  above  call  this  second- 
rate  thunder;  it  he  assumes,  and  he  enters  the  house  of 
Agenor.  Her  mortal  body  could  not  endure  the  sethereal 
shock,  and  she  was  burned  amid  her  nuptial  presents.  The 
infant,  as  yet  unformed,  is  taken  out  of  the  womb  of  his 
mother,  and  prematurely  (if  we  believe  it)  is  inserted  in  the 
thigh  of  the  father,  and  completes  the  time  that  he  should 
have  spent  in  the  womb.  His  aunt,  Ino,  nurses  him  privately 
in  his  early  cradle.  After  that,  the  Nyseian  Nymphs^  con- 
ceal him,  entrusted  to  them,  in  their  caves,  and  give  him  the 
nourishment  of  milk. 

And  while  these  things  are  transacted  on  earth  by  the 
law  of  destiny,  and  the  cradle  of  Bacchus,  twice  born,  is 
secured ;  they  tell  that  Jupiter,  by  chance,  well  drenched  with 
nectar,  laid  aside  all  weighty  cares,  and  engaged  in  some  free 
jokes  with  Juno,  in  her  idle  moments,  and  said:  "Decidedly 
the  pleasure  of  you,  females,  is  greater  than  that  which  falls 
to  the  lot  of  us  males."  She  denied  it.  It  was  agreed  be- 
tween them,  to  ask  what  was  the  opinion  of  the  experienced 

*  Nysa  was  the  name  of  a  city  and  mountain  of  Arabia,  or  India. 
The  tradition  was,  that  there  the  Nyseian  Nymphs,  w-hose  names 
were  Cysseis,  Nysa,  Erato,  Eryphia,  Bromia,  and  Polyhymnia, 
brought  up  Bacchus.  From  the  name  "  Nysa,"  Bacchus  received,  in 
part,  his  Greek  name  "  Dionysus." 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  401 

Tiresias.  To  him  both  pleasures  were  well  known.  For  he 
had  separated  with  a  blow  of  his  staff  two  bodies  of  large 
serpents,  as  they  were  coupling  in  a  green  wood;  and  (pass- 
ing strange)  become  a  woman  from  a  man,  he  had  spent  seven 
autumns.  In  the  eighth,  he  again  saw  the  same  serpents,  and 
said,  "If  the  power  of  a  stroke  given  you  is  so  great  as  to 
change  the  condition  of  the  giver  into  the  opposite  one,  I  w-ill 
now  strike  you  again."  Having  struck  the  same  snakes,  his 
former  sex  returned,  and  his  original  shape  came  again.  He, 
therefore,  being  chosen  as  umpire  in  this  sportive  contest, 
confirmed  the  words  of  Jove.  The  daughter  of  Saturn  is  said 
to  have  grieved  more  than  was  fit,  and  not  in  proportion  to 
the  subject:  and  she  condemned  the  eyes  of  the  umpire  to 
eternal  darkness. 

But  the  omnipotent  father  (for  it  is  not  allowed  any  God 
to  cancel  the  acts  of  another  Deity)  gave  him  the  knowledge 
of  things  to  come,  in  recompense  for  his  loss  of  sight,  and 
alleviated  his  punishment  by  this  honour. 


FABLE  VI 

Echo,  having  often  amused  Jtmo  with  her  stories,  to  give  time 
to  Jupiter's  mistresses  to  make  their  escape,  the  Goddess,  at 
last,  punishes  her  for  the  deception.  She  is  slighted  and 
despised  by  Narcissus,  with  whom  she  falls  in  love. 

He,  much  celebrated  by  fame  throughout  the  cities  of 
Aonia,^  gave  unerring  answers  to  the  people  consulting  him. 
The  azure  Liriope-  was  the  first  to  make  essay  and  experi- 
ment of  his  infallible  voice;  whom  once  Cephisus  encircled  in 
his  winding  stream,  and  offered  violence  to,  when  enclosed  by 
his  waters.     The  most  beauteous  Nymph  produced  an  infant 


^  Aonia  was  a  mountainous  district  of  Bceotia,  so  called  from  Aon, 
the  son  of  Neptune,  who  reigned  there.  The  name  is  often  used  to 
signify  the  whole  of  Boeotia. 

2  The  daughter  of  Oceanus  and  Tethys,  and  the  mother  of  the  youth 
Narcissus,  by  the  river  Cephisus.  Her  name  is  derived  from  the 
Greek  leirion,  "  a  lily." 


402  OVID 

from  her  teeming  womb,  which  even  then  might  have  been 
beloved,  and  she  called  him  Narcissus/  Being  consulted 
concering  him,  whether  he  was  destined  to  see  the  distant 
season  of  mature  old  age ;  the  prophet,  expounding  destiny, 
said,  "If  he  never  recognises  himself."  Long  did  the  words 
of  the  soothsayer  appear  frivolous ;  but  the  event,  the  thing 
itself,  the  manner  of  his  death,  and  the  novel  nature  of  his 
frenzy,  confirmed  it. 

And  now  the  son  of  Cephisus  had  added  one  to  three  times 
five  years,  and  he  might  seem  to  be  a  boy  and  a  young  man 
as  well.  Many  a  youth,  and  many  a  damsel,  courted  him; 
but  there  was  so  stubborn  a  pride  in  his  youthful  beauty,  that 
no  youths,  no  damsels  made  any  impression  on  him.  The 
noisy  Nymph,  who  has  neither  learned  to  hold  her  tongue 
after  another  speaking,  nor  to  speak  first  herself,  resound- 
ing Echo,  espied  him,  as  he  was  driving  the  timid  stags  into 
his  nets.  Echo  was  then  a  body,  not  a  voice;  and  yet  the 
babbler  had  no  other  use  of  her  speech  than  she  now  has,  to 
be  able  to  repeat  the  last  words  out  of  many.  Juno  had  done 
this;  because  when  often  she  might  have  been  able  to  detect 
the  Nymphs  in  the  mountains  in  the  embrace  of  her  husband, 
Jupiter,  she  purposely  used  to  detain  the  Goddess  with  a 
long  story,  until  the  Nymphs  had  escaped.  After  the 
daughter  of  Saturn  perceived  this,  she  said,  "  But  small  exer- 
cise of  this  tongue,  with  which  I  have  been  deluded,  shall  be 
allowed  thee,  and  a  very  short  use  of  thy  voice."  And  she 
confirmed  her  threats  by  the  event.  Still,  in  the  end  of  one's 
speaking  she  redoubles  the  voice,  and  returns  the  words  she 
hears.  When,  therefore,  she  beheld  Narcissus  wandering 
through  the  pathless  forests,  and  fell  in  love  with  him,  she 
stealthily  followed  his  steps;  and  the  more  she  followed  him, 
with  the  nearer  flame  did  she  burn.  In  no  other  manner  than 
as  when  the  native  sulphur,  spread  around  the  tops  of  torches, 
catches  the  flame  applied  to  it.  Ah !  how  often  did  she  desire 
to  accost  him  in  soft  accents,  and  to  employ  soft  entreaties! 


^  This  name  is  from  the  Greek  word  narkain,  "  to  fade  away,"  which 
was  characteristic  of  the  youth's  career,  and  of  the  duration  of  the 
flower. 


AIETAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  403 

Nature  resists,  and  suffers  her  not  to  begin ;  but  what  Nature 
does  permit,  that  she  is  ready  for;  to  await  his  voice,  to 
which  to  return  her  own  words. 

By  chance,  the  youth,  being  separated  from  the  trusty  com- 
pany of  his  attendants,  cries  out,  "Is  there  any  one  here?" 
and  Echo  answers  "  Here ! "  He  is  amazed ;  and  when  he 
has  cast  his  eyes  on  every  side,  he  cries  out  with  a  loud  voice, 
"  Come!  "  Whereon  she  calls  the  youth  who  calls.  He  looks 
back ;  and  again,  as  no  one  comes,  he  says,  "  Why  dost  thou 
avoid  me  ?  "  and  just  as  many  words  as  he  spoke,  he  receives. 
He  persists;  and  being  deceived  by  the  imitation  of  an  alter- 
nate voice,  he  says,  "  Let  us  come  together  here ; "  and  Echo, 
that  could  never  more  willingly  answer  any  sound  whatever, 
replies,  "Let  us  come  together  here! "  and  she  follows  up  her 
own  words,  and  rushing  from  the  woods,  is  going  to  throw 
her  arms  around  the  neck  she  has  so  longed  for.  He  flies; 
and  as  he  flies,  he  exclaims,  "  Remove  thy  hands  from  thus 
embracing  me ;  I  will  die  first,  before  thou  shalt  have  the  en- 
joyment of  me."  She  answers  nothing  but  "Have  the  en- 
joyment of  me."  Thus  rejected,  she  lies  hid  in  the  woods, 
and  hides  her  blushing  face  with  green  leaves,  and  from  that 
time  lives  in  lonely  caves;  but  yet  her  love  remains,  and  in- 
creases from  the  mortification  of  her  refusal.  Watchful 
cares  waste  away  her  miserable  body;  leanness  shrivels  her 
skin,  and  all  the  juices  of  her  body  fly  off  in  air.  Her  voice 
and  her  bones  alone  are  left. 

Her  voice  still  continues,  but  they  say  that  her  bones  re- 
ceived the  form  of  stones.  Since  then,  she  lies  concealed  in 
the  woods,  and  is  never  seen  on  the  mountains;  but  is  heard 
in  all  of  them.  It  is  her  voice  alone  which  remains  alive  in 
her. 

FABLE  VII 

Narcissus  falls  in  love  with  his  own  shadow,  which  he  sees 
in  a  fountain;  and,  pining  to  death,  the  Gods  change  him 
into  a  Hozver,  which  still  bears  his  name. 

Thus  had  he  deceived  her,  thus,  too,  other  Nymphs  that 
sprung  from  the  water  or  the  mountains,  thus  the  throng  of 


404  OVID 

youths  before  them.  Some  one,  therefore,  who  had  been 
despised  by  him,  Hfting  up  his  hands  towards  heaven  said, 
"  Thus,  though  he  should  love,  let  him  not  enjoy  what  he 
loves ! "  Rhamnusia  ^  assented  to  a  prayer  so  reasonable. 
There  was  a  clear  spring,  like  silver,  with  its  unsullied  waters, 
which  neither  shepherds,  nor  she-goats  feeding  on  the  moun- 
tains, nor  any  other  cattle,  had  touched;  which  neither  bird 
nor  wild  beast  had  disturbed,  nor  bough  falling  from  a  tree. 
There  was  grass  around  it,  which  the  neighbouring  water 
nourished,  and  a  wood,  that  suffered  the  stream  to  become 
warm  with  no  rays  of  the  sun.  Here  the  youth,  fatigued  both 
with  the  labour  of  hunting  and  the  heat,  lay  down,  attracted 
by  the  appearance  of  the  spot,  and  the  spring;  and,  while  he 
was  endeavouring  to  quench  his  thirst,  another  thirst  grew 
upon  him. 

While  he  is  drinking,  being  attracted  with  the  reflection 
of  his  own  form,  seen  in  the  water,  he  falls  in  love  with  a 
thing  that  has  no  substance ;  and  he  thinks  that  to  be  a  body, 
which  is  but  a  shadow.  He  is  astonished  at  himself,  and  re- 
mains unmoved  with  the  same  countenance,  like  a  statue 
formed  of  Parian  marble.  Lying  on  the  ground,  he  gazes  on 
his  eyes  like  two  stars,  and  fingers  worthy  of  Bacchus,  and 
hair  worthy  of  Apollo,  and  his  youthful  cheeks  and  ivory 
neck,  and  the  comeliness  of  his  mouth,  and  his  blushing  com- 
plexion mingled  with  the  whiteness  of  snow;  and  everything 
he  admires,  for  which  he  himself  is  worthy  to  be  admired. 
In  his  ignorance,  he  covets  himself;  and  he  that  approves,  is 
himself  the  thing  approved.  While  he  pursues  he  is  pursued, 
and  at  the  same  moment  he  inflames  and  burns.  How  often 
does  he  give  vain  kisses  to  the  deceitful  spring;  how  often 
does  he  thrust  his  arms,  catching  at  the  neck  he  sees,  into  the 

^  Nemesis,  the  Goddess  of  Retribution,  and  the  avenger  of  crime, 
was  the  daughter  of  Jupiter.  She  had  a  famous  temple  at  Rham- 
nus,  one  of  the  "  pagi,"  or  boroughs  of  Athens.  Her  statue  was 
there  carved  by  Phidias  out  of  the  marble  which  the  Persians  brought 
into  Greece  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  statue  of  Victory  out  of  it, 
and  which  was  thus  appropriately  devoted  to  the  Goddess  of  Retri- 
bution. This  statue  wore  a  crown,  and  had  wings,  and  holding  a 
spear  of  ash  in  the  right  hand,  it  was  seated  on  a  stag. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK    III  405 

middle  of  the  water,  and  yet  he  does  not  catch  himself  in 
them.  He  knows  not  what  he  sees,  but  what  he  sees,  by  it 
is  he  inflamed;  and  the  same  mistake  that  deceives  his  eyes, 
provokes  them.  Why,  credulous  youth,  dost  thou  vainly 
catch  at  the  flying  image?  What  thou  art  seeking  is  no- 
where ;  what  thou  art  in  love  with,  turn  but  away  and  thou 
shalt  lose  it;  what  thou  seest,  the  same  is  but  the  shadow  of 
a  reflected  form :  it  has  nothing  of  its  own.  It  comes  and 
stays  with  thee;  with  thee  it  will  depart,  if  thou  canst  but 
depart  thence. 

No  regard  for  food,  no  regard  for  repose,  can  draw  him 
away  thence;  but,  lying  along  upon  the  overshadowed  grass, 
he  gazes  upon  the  fallacious  image  with  unsatiated  eyes,  and 
by  his  own  sight  he  himself  is  undone.  Raising  himself  a 
little  while,  extending  his  arms  to  the  woods  that  stand 
around  him,  he  says,  "  Was  ever,  O,  ye  woods !  any  one  more 
fatally  in  love?  For  this  ye  know,  and  have  been  a  con- 
venient shelter  for  many  a  one.  And  do  you  remember  any 
one,  who  ever  thus  pined  away,  during  so  long  a  time,  though 
so  many  ages  of  your  life  has  been  spent?  It  both  pleases 
me,  and  I  see  it ;  but  what  I  see,  and  what  pleases  me,  yet  I 
cannot  obtain;  so  great  a  mistake  possesses  one  in  love;  and 
to  make  me  grieve  the  more,  neither  a  vast  sea  separates  us, 
nor  a  long  v^-ay,  nor  mountains,  nor  a  city  with  its  gates 
closed:  we  are  kept  asunder  by  a  little  water.  He  himself 
wishes  to  be  embraced;  for  as  often  as  I  extend  my  lips  to  the 
limpid  stream,  so  often  does  he  struggle  towards  me  with  his 
face  held  up;  you  would  think  he  might  be  touched.  It  is  a 
very  little  that  stands  in  the  way  of  lovers.  Whoever  thou 
art,  come  up  hither.  Why,  dear  boy,  the  choice  one,  dost 
thou  deceive  me?  or  whither  dost  thou  retire,  when  pursued? 
Surely,  neither  my  form  nor  my  age  is  such  as  thou  shouldst 
shun ;  the  Nymphs,  too,  have  courted  me.  Thou  encouragest 
I  know  not  what  hopes  in  me  with  that  friendly  look,  and 
when  I  extend  my  arms  to  thee,  thou  willingly  extendest 
thine;  when  I  smile,  thou  smilest  in  return;  often  too,  have 
I  observed  thy  tears,  when  I  was  weeping;  my  signs,  too, 
thou  returnest  by  thy  nods,  and,  as  I  guess  by  the  motion  of 
thy  beauteous  mouth,  thou  returnest  words  that  come  not  to 

XI— 27 


406  OVID 

my  ears.  In  thee  'tis  I,  I  now  perceive;  nor  does  my  form 
deceive  me.  I  burn  with  the  love  of  myself,  and  both  raise 
the  flames  and  endure  them.  What  shall  I  do?  Should  I  be 
entreated,  or  should  I  entreat?  What,  then,  shall  I  entreat? 
What  I  desire  is  in  my  power;  plenty  has  made  me  poor. 
Oh!  would  that  I  could  depart  from  my  own  body!  a  new 
wish,  indeed,  in  a  lover;  I  could  wish  that  what  I  am  in  love 
with  was  away.  And  now  grief  is  taking  away  my  strength, 
and  no  long  period  of  my  life  remains;  and  in  my  early  days 
am  I  cut  off:  nor  is  death  grievous  to  me,  now  about  to  get 
rid  of  my  sorrows  by  death.  I  wish  that  he  who  is  beloved 
could  enjoy  a  longer  life.  Now  we  two,  of  one  mind,  shall 
die  in  the  extinction  of  one  life." 

Thus  he  said,  and,  with  his  mind  but  ill  at  ease,  he  re- 
turned to  the  same  reflection,  and  disturbed  the  water  with 
his  tears;  and  the  form  was  rendered  defaced  by  the  moving 
of  the  stream ;  when  he  saw  it  beginning  to  disappear,  he  cried 
aloud,  "  Whither  dost  thou  fly  ?  Stay,  I  beseech  thee !  and  do 
not  in  thy  cruelty  abandon  thy  lover;  let  it  be  allowed  me  to 
behold  that  which  I  may  not  touch,  and  to  give  nourishment 
to  my  wretched  frenzy."  And,  while  he  was  grieving,  he 
tore  his  garment  from  the  upper  border,  and  beat  his  naked 
breast  with  his  palms,  white  as  marble.  His  breast,  when 
struck,  received  a  little  redness,  no  otherwise  than  as  apples 
are  wont,  which  are  partly  white  and  partly  red ;  or  as  a  grape, 
not  yet  ripe,  in  the  parti-coloured  clusters,  is  wont  to  assume 
a  purple  tint.  Soon  as  he  beheld  this  again  in  the  water, 
when  clear,  he  could  not  endure  it  any  longer ;  but,  as  yellow 
wax  with  the  fire,  or  the  hoar  frost  of  the  morning,  is  wont  to 
waste  away  with  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  so  he,  consumed 
by  love,  pined  away,  and  wasted  by  degrees  with  a  hidden 
flame.  And  now,  no  longer  was  his  complexion  of  white 
mixed  with  red ;  neither  his  vigour  nor  his  strength,  nor  the 
points  which  had  charmed  when  seen  so  lately,  nor  even  his 
body,  which  formerly  Echo  had  been  in  love  with,  now  re- 
mained. Yet,  when  she  saw  these  things,  although  angry, 
and  mindful  of  his  usage  of  her,  she  was  grieved,  and,  as 
often  as  the  unhappy  youth  said,  "Alas!"  she  repeated, 
"  Alas ! "   with   re-echoing   voice ;   and   when   he    struck   his 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  407 

arms  with  his  hands,  she,  too,  returned  the  Hke  sound  of  a 
blow. 

His  last  accents,  as  he  looked  into  the  water,  as  usual, 
were  these:  "Ah,  youth,  beloved  in  vain!"  and  the  spot 
returned  just  as  many  words ;  and  after  he  had  said,  "  Fare- 
well ! "  Echo  too,  said,  "  Farewell ! "  He  laid  down  his 
wearied  head  upon  the  green  grass,  when  night  closed  the  eyes 
that  admired  the  beauty  of  their  master;  and  even  then,  after 
he  had  been  received  into  the  infernal  abodes,  he  used  to  look 
at  himself  in  the  Stygian  waters.  His  Naiad  sisters  lamented 
him,  and  laid  their  hair,  cut  off,  over  their  brother;  the 
Dryads,  too,  lamented  him,  and  Echo  resounded  to  their 
lamentations.  And  now  they  were  preparing  the  funeral  pile, 
and  the  shaken  torches,  and  the  bier.  The  body  was  nowhere 
to  be  found.  Instead  of  his  body,  they  found  a  yellow  flower, 
with  white  leaves  encompassing  it  in  the  middle. 

FABLE  VIII 

Pentheus  ridicules  the  predictions  of  Tiresias;  and  not  only 
forbids  his  people  to  worship  Bacchus,  who  had  just 
entered  Greece  in  trimnph,  but  even  commands  them  to 
capture  him,  and  to  bring  him  into  his  presence.  Under 
the  form  of  Accetes,  one  of  his  companions,  Bacchus  suffers 
that  indignity,  and  relates  to  Pentheus  the  wonders  which 
the  God  had  wrought.  The  recital  enrages  Pentheus  still 
more,  who  thereupon  goes  to  Mount  Cifhceron,  to  disturb 
the  orgies  then  celebrating  there;  on  which  his  own  mother 
and  the  other  Bacchantes  tear  him  to  pieces. 

This  thing,  when  known,  brought  deserved  fame  to  the 
prophet  through  the  cities  of  Achaia;*  and  great  was  the 
reputation  of  the  soothsayer.  Yet  Pentheus,  the  son  of 
Echion,  a  contemner  of  the  Gods  above,  alone,  of  all  men, 
despises  him,  and  derides  the  predicting  words  of  the  old  man, 
and  upbraids  him  with  his  darkened  state,  and  the  misfortune 


^  Achaia  was  properly  the  name  of  a  part  of  Peloponnesus,  on  the 
gulf  of  Corinth ;  but  the  name  is  very  frequently  applied  to  the  whole 
of  Greece. 


408  OVID 

of  having  lost  his  sight.  He,  shaking  his  temples,  white  v.ith 
hoary  hair,  says :  "  How  fortunate  wouldst  thou  be,  if  thou 
as  well  couldst  become  deprived  of  this  light,  that  thou 
mightst  not  behold  the  rites  of  Bacchus.  For  soon  the  day 
will  come,  and  even  now  I  predict  that  it  is  not  far  off,  when 
the  new  God  Liber,  the  son  of  Semele,  shall  come  hither. 
Unless  thou  shalt  vouchsafe  hirn  the  honour  of  a  temple,  thou 
shalt  be  scattered,  torn  in  pieces,  in  a  thousand  places,  and 
with  thy  blood  thou  shalt  pollute  both  the  woods,  and  thy 
mother  and  the  sisters  of  thy  mother.  These  things  will  come 
to  pass;  for  thou  wilt  not  vouchsafe  honour  to  the  Divinity; 
and  thou  wilt  complain  that  under  this  darkness  I  have  seen 
too  much." 

The  son  of  Echion  drives  him  away  as  he  says  such  things 
as  these.  Confirmation  follows  his  words,  and  the  predic- 
tions of  the  prophet  are  fulfilled.  Liber  comes,  and  the  fields 
resound  with  festive  bowlings.  The  crowd  runs  out ;  both 
matrons  and  new-married  women  mixed  with  the  men,  both 
high  and  low,  are  borne  along  to  the  celebration  of  rites  till 
then  unknown.  "  What  madness,"  says  Pentheus,  "  has  con- 
founded your  minds,  O  ye  warlike  men,^  descendants  of  the 
Dragon?  Can  brass  knocked  against  brass  prevail  so  much 
with  you?  And  the  pipe  with  the  bending  horn,  and  these 
magical  delusions?  And  shall  the  yells  of  women,  and  mad- 
ness produced  by  wine,  and  troops  of  effeminate  wretches, 
and  empty  tambourines  prevail  over  you,  whom  neither  the 
warrior's  sword  nor  the  trumpet  could  affright,  nor  troops 
with  weapons  prepared  for  fight?  Am  I  to  wonder  at  you, 
old  men,  who,  carried  over  distant  seas,  have  fixed  in  these 
abodes  a  new  Tyre,  and  your  banished  household  Gods,  but 
who  now  allow  them  to  be  taken  without  a  struggle?  Or 
you,  of  more  vigorous  age,  and  nearer  to  my  own,  ye  youths ; 
whom  it  was  befitting  to  be  brandishing  arms,  and  not  the 
thyrsus  ^  and  to  be  covered  with  helmets,  not  green  leaves  ? 


^  The  Thebans  were  sprung  from  the  teeth  of  the  dragon,  who  was 
said  to  be  a  son  of  Mars. 

2  A  long  stafT,  carried  by  Bacchus,  and  by  the  Satyrs  and  Baccha- 
nalians engaged  in  the  worship  of  the  God  of  the  grape. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  409 

Do  be  mindful,  I  entreat  you,  of  what  race  you  are  sprung, 
and  assume  the  courage  of  that  dragon,  who  though  but  one, 
destroyed  many.  He  died  for  his  springs  and  his  stream; 
but  do  you  conquer  for  your  own  fame.  He  put  the  vahant 
to  death ;  do  you  expel  the  feeble  foe,  and  regain  your  coun- 
try's honour.  H  the  fates  forbid  Thebes  to  stand  long,  I 
wish  that  engines  of  war  ^  and  men  should  demolish  the  walls, 
and  that  fire  and  sword  should  resound.  Then  should  we  be 
wretched  without  any  fault  of  our  own,  and  our  fate  were  to 
be  lamented,  but  not  concealed,  and  our  tears  would  be  free 
from  shame.  But  now  Thebes  will  be  taken  by  an  unarmed 
boy,  whom  neither  wars  delight,  nor  weapons,  nor  the  em- 
ployment of  horses,  but  hair  wet  with  myrrh,  and  effeminate 
chaplets,  and  purple,  and  gold  interwoven  with  embroidered 
garments;  whom  I,  indeed,  (do  you  only  stand  aside)  will 
presently  compel  to  own  that  his  father  is  assumed,  and  that 
his  sacred  rites  are  fictitious.  Has  Acrisius^  courage  enough 
to  despise  the  vain  Deity,  and  to  shut  the  gates  of  Argos 
against  his  approach ;  and  shall  this  stranger  affright  Pen- 
theus  with  all  Thebes?  Go  quickly,  (this  order  he  gives  to 
his  servants,)  go,  and  bring  hither  in  chains  the  ringleader. 
Let  there  be  no  slothful  delay  in  executing  my  commands." 

His  grandfather,  Cadmus,  Athamas,  and  the  rest  of  the 
company  of  his  friends  rebuke  him  with  expostulations,  and 
in  vain  strive  to  restrain  him.  By  their  admonition  he  be- 
comes more  violent,  and  by  being  curbed  his  fury  is  irritated, 
and  is  on  the  increase,  and  the  very  restraint  did  him  injury. 
So  have  I  beheld  a  torrent,  where  nothing  obstructed  it  in  its 
course,  run  gently  and  with  moderate  noise;  but  wherever 
beams  and  stones  in  its  way  withheld  it,  it  ran  foaming  and 

1  The  larger  engines  of  destruction  used  in  ancient  warfare.  The 
"  balista "  was  used  to  impel  stones ;  the  "  catapulta,"  darts  and 
arrows.  In  sieges,  the  "  Aries,"  or  "  battering  ram,"  which  received 
its  name  from  having  an  iron  head  resembling  that  of  a  ram,  was 
employed  in  destroying  the  lower  part  of  the  wall,  while  the  "  ba- 
lista "  was  overthrowing  the  battlements,  ^^nd  the  "  catapulta  "  was 
employed  to  shoot  any  of  the  besieged  who  appeared  between  them. 
-  A  king  of  Argos,  who  refused,  and  probably  with  justice,  to  admit 
Bacchus  or  his  rites  within  the  gates  of  his  city. 


410  OVID 

raging,  and  more  violent  from  its  obstruction.  Behold!  the 
servants  return,  all  stained  with  blood ;  and  when  their  master 
enquires  where  Bacchus  is,  they  deny  that  they  have  seen 
Bacchus.  "  But  this  one,"  say  they,  "  we  have  taken,  who 
was  his  attendant  and  minister  in  his  sacred  rites."  And 
then  they  deliver  one,  who,  from  the  Etrurian  nation,  had 
followed  the  sacred  rites  of  the  Deity,  with  his  hands  bound 
behind  his  back. 

Pentheus  looks  at  him  with  eyes  that  anger  has  made  ter- 
rible, and  although  he  can  scarcely  defer  the  time  of  his 
punishment,  he  says,  "  O  wretch,  doomed  to  destruction,  and 
about,  by  thy  death,  to  set  an  example  to  others,  tell  me  thy 
name,  and  the  name  of  thy  parents,  and  thy  country,  and  why 
thou  dost  attend  the  sacred  rites  of  a  new  fashion."  He, 
void  of  fear,  says,  "My  name  is  Acoetes;  Maeonia^  is  my 
country;  my  parents  were  of  humble  station.  My  father  left 
me  no  fields  for  the  hardy  oxen  to  till,  no  wool-bearing  flocks, 
nor  any  herds.  He  himself  was  but  poor,  and  he  was  wont 
with  line,  and  hooks,  to  deceive  the  leaping  fishes,  and  to  take 
them  with  the  rod.  His  trade  was  his  only  possession. 
When  he  gave  that  calling  over  to  me,  he  said,  '  Receive,  as 
the  successor  and  heir  of  my  employment,  those  riches  which 
I  possess ' ;  and  at  his  death  he  left  me  nothing  but  the 
streams.  This  one  thing  alone  can  I  call  my  patrimony. 
But  soon,  that  I  might  not  always  be  confined  to  the  same 
rocks,  I  learned  with  a  steadying  right  hand  to  guide  the 
helm  of  the  ship,  and  I  made  observation  with  my  eyes  of  the 
showery  Constellation  of  the  Olenian  she-goat,^  and  Taygete,^ 


*  Colonists  were  said  to  have  proceeded  from  Lydia,  or  Maeonia,  to 
the  coasts  of  Etruria.  Bacchus  assumes  the  name  of  Acoetes,  from 
the  Greek  akoites,  "  sleepless  " ;  which  ought  to  be  the  characteristic 
of  the  careful  pilot. 

2  Amalthea,  the  goat  that  suckled  Jupiter,  is  called  Olenian,  either 
because  she  was  reared  in  Olenus,  a  city  of  Bceotia,  or  because  she 
was  placed  as  a  Constellation  between  the  arms,  olenai,  of  the  Con- 
stellation Auriga,  or  the  Charioteer.  The  rising  and  setting  of  this 
Constellation  were  supposed  to  produce  showers. 

*  One  of  the  Pleiades,  the  daughters  of  Atlas,  who  were  placed 
among  the  Constellations. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  411 

and  the  Hyades/  and  the  Bear,  and  the  quarters  of  the  winds, 
and  the  harbours  fit  for  ships.  By  chance,  as  I  was  making 
for  Delos,  I  touched  at  the  coast  of  the  land  of  Dia,^  and 
came  up  to  the  shore  by  plying  the  oars  on  the  right  side; 
and  I  gave  a  nimble  leap,  and  lighted  upon  the  wet  sand. 
When  the  night  was  past,  and  dawn  first  began  to  grow 
red,  I  arose  and  ordered  my  men  to  take  in  fresh  water,  and  I 
pointed  out  the  way  which  led  to  the  stream.  I  myself,  from 
a  lofty  eminence,  looked  around  to  see  what  the  breeze  prom- 
ised me;  and  then  I  called  my  companions,  and  returned 
to  the  vessel.  *Lo!  we  are  here,'  says  Opheltes,  my  chief 
mate ;  and  having  found,  as  he  thought,  a  prize  in  the  lonely 
fields,  he  was  leading  along  the  shore,  a  body  with  all  the 
beauty  of  a  girl.  He,  heavy  with  wine  and  sleep,  seemed  to 
stagger,  and  to  follow  with  difficulty.  I  examined  his  dress, 
his  looks,  and  his  gait,  and  I  saw  nothing  there  which  could 
be  taken  to  be  mortal.  I  both  was  sensible  of  it,  and  I  said 
to  my  companions,  *  I  am  in  doubt  what  Deity  is  in  that 
body ;  but  in  that  body  a  Deity  there  is.  Whoever  thou  art, 
O  be  propitious  and  assist  our  toils;  and  pardon  these  as 
well.'  '  Cease  praying  for  us,'  said  Dictys,  than  whom  there 
were  not  another  more  nimble  at  climbing  to  the  main-top- 
yards,  and  at  sliding  down  by  catching  hold  of  a  rope.  This 
Libys,  this  the  yellow-haired  Melanthus,  the  guardian  of  the 
prow,  and  this  Alcimedon  approved  of;  and  Epopeus  as  well, 
the  cheerer  of  their  spirits,  who  by  his  voice  gave  both  rest 
and  time  to  the  oars;  and  so  did  all  the  rest;  so  blind  is  the 
greed  for  booty.  *  However,'  I  said,  *  I  will  not  allow  this 
ship  to  be  damaged  by  this  sacred  freight.  Here  I  have  the 
greatest  share  of  right,'  and  I  opposed  them  at  the  entrance. 
"  Lycabas,  the  boldest  of  all  the  number,  was  enraged,  who, 
expelled  from  a  city  of  Etruria  was  suffering  exile  as  the 
punishment  for  a  dreadul  murder.  He,  while  I  was  resist- 
ing, seized  hold  of  my  throat  with  his  youthful  fist,  and  shak- 


^  The  Dodonides,  or  nurses  of  Bacchus,  whom  Jupiter,  as  a  mark 
of  his  favour,  placed  in  the  number  of  the  Constellations.     Their 
name  is  derived  from  hiiein,  "  to  rain." 
'This  was  another  name  of  the  Isle  of  Naxos. 


412  OVID 

ing  me,  had  thrown  me  overboard  into  the  sea,  if  I  had  not, 
although  stunned,  held  fast  by  grasping  a  rope.  The  impious 
crew  approved  of  the  deed.  Then  at  last  Bacchus  (for  Bac- 
chus it  was),  as  though  his  sleep  had  been  broken  by  the  noise, 
and  his  sense  was  returning  into  his  breast  after  much  wine, 
said:  'What  are  you  doing?  What  is  this  noise?  Tell  me, 
sailors,  by  what  means  have  I  come  hither?  Whither  do  you 
intend  to  carry  me  ? '  *  Lay  aside  thy  fears,'  said  Proreus, 
*  and  tell  us  what  port  thou  wouldst  wish  to  reach.  Thou 
shalt  stop  at  the  land  that  thou  desirest.'  *  Direct  your  course 
then  to  Naxos,'  says  Liber,  *  that  is  my  home ;  it  shall  prove  a 
hospitable  land  for  you.' 

"In  their  deceit  they  swore  by  the  ocean  and  by  all  the 
Deities,  that  so  it  should  be;  and  bade  me  give  sail  to  the 
painted  ship.  Naxos  was  to  our  right;  and  as  I  was  accord- 
ingly setting  sail  for  the  right  hand,  every  one  said  for 
himself,  'What  art  thou  about,  madman?  What  insanity 
possesses  thee,  Acoetes?  Stand  away  to  the  left.'  The 
greater  part  signified  their  meaning  to  me  by  signs;  some 
whispered  in  my  ear  what  they  wanted.  I  was  at  a  loss,  and 
I  said,  '  Let  some  one  else  take  the  helm ; '  and  I  withdrew 
myself  from  the  execution  both  of  their  wickedness,  and  of 
my  own  calling.  I  was  reviled  by  them  all,  and  the  whole 
crew  muttered  reproaches  against  me.  ^thalion,  among 
them,  says,  'As  if,  forsooth,  all  our  safety  is  centred  in 
thee,'  and  he  himself  comes  up,  and  takes  my  duty;  leaving 
Naxos,  he  steers  a  different  course.  Then  the  God,  mocking 
them  as  if  he  had  at  last  but  that  moment  discovered  their 
knavery,  looks  down  upon  the  sea  from  the  crooked  stern ; 
and,  like  one  weeping,  he  says:  'These  are  not  the  shores, 
sailors,  that  you  have  promised  me;  this  is  not  the  land  de- 
sired by  me.  By  what  act  have  I  deserved  this  treatment? 
W^hat  honour  is  it  to  you,  if  you  that  are  young  men,  deceive 
a  mere  boy?  if  you  that  are  many,  deceive  me,  who  am  but 
one  ? '  I  had  been  weeping  for  some  time.  The  impious 
gang  laughed  at  my  tears,  and  beat  the  sea  w-ith  hastening 
oars.  Now  by  himself  do  I  swear  to  thee  (and  no  God  is 
there  more  powerful  than  he),  that  I  am  relating  things  to 
thee  as  true,  as  they  are  beyond  all  belief.     The  ship  stood 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   III  413 

still  upon  the  ocean,  no  otherwise  than  if  it  was  occupying  a 
dry  dock.  They,  wondering  at  it,  persisted  in  the  plying 
of  their  oars;  they  unfurled  their  sails,  and  endeavoured  to 
speed  onward  with  this  two-fold  aid.  Ivy  impeded  the  oars, 
and  twined  around  them  in  encircling  wreaths,  and  clung  to 
the  sails  with  heavy  clusters  of  berries.  He  himself,  having 
his  head  encircled  with  bunches  of  grapes,  brandished  a  lance 
covered  with  vine  leaves.  Around  him,  tigers  and  visionary 
forms  of  lynxes,  and  savage  bodies  of  spotted  panthers,  were 
extended. 

"  The  men  leaped  overboard,  whether  it  was  madness  or 
fear  that  caused  this;  and  first  of  all,  Medon  began  to  grow 
black  w'ith  fins,  with  a  flattened  body,  and  to  bend  in  the  curva- 
ture of  the  back-bone.  To  him  Lycabas  said,  '  Into  what 
prodigy  art  thou  changing?'  and,  as  he  spoke,  the  opening 
of  his  mouth  was  wide,  his  nose  jDccame  crooked,  and  his 
hardened  skin  received  scales  upon  it.  But  Libys,  while  he 
was  attempting  to  urge  on  the  resisting  oars,  saw  his  hands 
shrink  into  a  small  compass,  and  now  to  be  hands  no  longer, 
and  that  now,  in  fact,  they  may  be  pronounced  fins.  An- 
other, desirous  to  extend  his  arms  to  the  twisting  ropes, 
had  no  arms,  and  becoming  crooked,  with  a  body  deprived  of 
limbs,  he  leaped  into  the  waves;  the  end  of  his  tail  was 
hooked,  just  as  the  horns  of  the  half-moon  are  curved. 
They  flounce  about  on  every  side,  and  bedew  the  ship  with 
plenteous  spray,  and  again  they  emerge,  and  once  more  they 
return  beneath  the  waves.  They  sport  with  all  the  appear- 
ance of  a  dance,  and  toss  their  sportive  bodies,  and  blow  forth 
the  sea,  received  within  their  wide  nostrils.  Of  twenty  the 
moment  before  (for  so  many  did  that  ship  carry),  I  was  the 
only  one  remaining.  The  God  encouraged  me,  frightened  and 
chilled  with  my  body  all  trembling,  and  scarcely  myself,  say- 
ing, *  Shake  off  thy  fear,  and  make  for  Dia.'  Arriving 
there,  I  attended  upon  the  sacred  rites  of  Bacchus,  at  the 
kindled  altars." 

"  We  have  lent  ear  to  a  long  story,"  says  Pentheus,  "  that 
our  anger  might  consume  its  strength  in  its  tediousness. 
Servants!  drag  him  headlong,  and  send  to  Stygian  night  his 
body,  racked  with  dreadful  tortures."     At  once  the  Etrurian 


414  OVID 

Acoetes,  dragged  away,  is  shut  up  in  a  strong  prison;  and 
while  the  cruel  instruments  of  the  death  that  is  ordered,  and 
the  iron  and  the  fire  are  being  made  ready,  the  report  is  that 
the  doors  opened  of  their  own  accord,  and  that  the  chains, 
of  their  own  accord,  slipped  from  off  his  arms,  no  one  loosen- 
ing them. 

The  son  of  Echion  persists ;  and  now  he  does  not  command 
others  to  go,  but  goes  himself  to  where  Cithaeron,^  chosen  for 
the  celebration  of  these  sacred  rites,  was  resounding  with 
singing,  and  the  shrill  voices  of  the  votaries  of  Bacchus. 
Just  as  the  high-mettled  steed  neighs,  when  the  warlike  trum- 
peter gives  the  alarm  with  the  sounding  brass,  and  conceives 
a  desire  for  battle,  so  did  the  sky,  struck  with  the  long-drawn 
bowlings,  excite  Pentheus,  and  his  wrath  was  rekindled  on 
hearing  the  clamour.  There  was,  about  the  middle  of  the 
mountain,  the  woods  skirfing  its  extremity,  a  plain  free  from 
trees,  and  visible  on  every  side.  Here  his  mother  was  the 
first  to  see  him  looking  on  the  sacred  rites  with  profane  eyes; 
she  first  was  moved  by  a  frantic  impulse,  and  she  first  wounded 
her  son,  Pentheus,  by  hurling  her  thyrsus,  and  cried  out, 
"Ho!  come,  my  two  sisters;^  that  boar  which,  of  enormous 
size,  is  roaming  amid  our  fields,  that  boar  I  must  strike.'* 
All  the  raging  multitude  rushes  upon  him  alone;  all  collect 
together,  and  all  follow  him,  now  trembling,  now  uttering 
W'Ords  less  atrocious  than  before,  now  blaming  himself,  now 
confessing  that  he  has  offended. 

However,  on  being  wounded,  he  says,  "  Give  me  thy  aid, 
Autonoe,  my  aunt;  let  the  ghost  of  Actaeon'  influence  thy 
feelings."  She  knows  not  what  Actaeon  means,  and  tears 
away  his  right  hand  as  he  is  praying;  the  other  is  dragged 
off  by  the  violence  of  Ino.     The  wretched  man  has  now  no 


'  A  mountain  of  Boeotia,  famous  for  the  orgies  of  Bacchus  there 

celebrated. 

2  These  were  Ino  and  Autonoe. 

^  He  appeals  to  Autonoe,  the  mother  of  Actaeon,  to  remember  the 

sad   fate  of  her  own  son,   and  to   show   him   some   mercy;   but   in 

vain:   for   drunkenness   had   taken   away  both   her   reason   and   her 

memory. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  415 

arms  to  extend  to  his  mother;  but  shewing  his  maimed  body, 
with  the  h"mbs  torn  off,  he  says,  "  Look  at  this,  my  mother ! " 
At  the  sight  Agave  howls  alond,  and  tosses  her  neck,  and 
shakes  her  locks  in  the  air;  and  seizing  his  head,  torn  off, 
with  her  blood-stained  fingers,  she  cries  out,  "  Ho !  my  com- 
panions, this  victory  is  our  work ! " 

The  wind  does  not  more  speedily  bear  off,  from  a  lofty 
tree,  the  leaves  nipped  by  the  cold  autumn,  and  now  adhering 
with  difficulty,  than  were  the  limbs  of  the  man,  torn  asunder 
by  their  accursed  hands.  Admonished  by  such  examples, 
the  Ismenian  matrons  frequent  the  new  worship,  and  offer 
frankincense,  and  reverence  the  sacred  altars. 


BOOK  THE   FOURTH 

FABLE    I 

The  daughters  of  Minyas,  instead  of  celebrating  the  festival 
of  Bacchus,  apply  themselves  to  other  pursuits  during  the 
ceremonies ;  and  among  several  narratives  which  they  relate 
to  pass  azvay  the  time,  they  divert  themselves  with  the  story 
of  the  adventures  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe.  These  lovers 
having  made  an  appointment  to  meet  without  the  zvalls  of 
Babylon,  Thisbe  arrives  first;  but  at  the  sight  of  a  lioness, 
she  runs  to  hide  herself  in  a  cave,  and  in  her  alarm,  drops 
her  veil.  Pyramus,  arriving  soon  after,  finds  the  veil  of  his 
mistress  stained  zvith  blood;  and  believing  her  to  be  dead, 
kills  himself  with  his  own  sword.  Thisbe  returns  from 
the  cave;  and  finding  Pyramus  weltering  in  his  blood,  she 
plunges  the  same  fatal  weapon  into  her  own  breast. 

But  Alcithoe,  the  daughter  of  Minyas,  does  not  think 
that  the  rites  of  the  God  ought  to  be  received;  but  still,  in  her 
rashness,  denies  that  Bacchus  is  the  progeny  of  Jupiter;  and 
she  has  her  sisters  *  as  partners  in  her  impiety. 

^  The  names  of  the  sisters  of  Alcithoe  were  Aristippe  and  Leucippe. 
-^Han  says  that  the  truth  of  the  case  was,  that  they  were  decent 
women,   fond  of  their  husbands  and  families,  who  preferred  stay- 


416  OVID 

The  priest  had  ordered  both  mistresses  and  maids,  laying 
aside  their  employments,  to  have  their  breasts  covered  with 
skins,  and  to  loosen  the  fillets  of  their  hair,  and  to  put  gar- 
lands on  their  locks,  and  to  take  the  verdant  thyrsi  in  their 
hands;  and  had  prophesied  that  severe  would  be  the  resent- 
ment of  the  Deity,  if  affronted.  Both  matrons  and  new- 
married  women  obey,  and  lay  aside  their  webs  and  work- 
baskets,  and  their  tasks  unfinished;  and  offer  frankincense, 
and  invoke  both  Bacchus  and  Bromius,  and  Lyaeus,  and  the 
son  of  the  Flames,  and  the  Twice-Born,  and  the  only  one 
that  had  two  mothers.  To  these  is  added  the  name  of  Nyseus, 
and  the  unshorn  Thyoneus,  and  with  Lenaeus,  the  planter  of 
the  genial  grape,  and  Nyctelius,  and  father  Eleleus,  and 
lacchus,  and  Evan,  and  a  great  many  other  names,  which  thou, 
Liber,  hast  besides,  throughout  the  nations  of  Greece.^  For 
thine  is  youth  everlasting;  thou  art  a  boy  to  all  time,  thou  art 
beheld  as  the  most  beauteous  of  all  in  high  heaven;  thou 
hast  the  features  of  a  virgin,  when  thou  standest  without  thy 
horns.  By  thee  the  East  was  conquered,  as  far  as  where 
swarthy  India  is  bounded  by  the  remote  Ganges.  Thou  God, 
worthy  of  our  veneration,  didst  smite  Pentheus,  and  the  axe- 
bearing  Lycurgus,^  sacrilegious  mortals;  thou  didst  hurl  the 
bodies  of  the  Etrurians  into  the  sea.  Thou  controllest  the 
neck  of  the  lynxes  yoked  to  thy  chariot,  graced  with  the 
painted  reins.  The  Bacchanals  and  the  Satyrs  follow  thee; 
the  drunken  old  man,  too,  Silenus,  who  supports  his  reeling 
limbs  with  a  staff,  and  sticks  by  no  means  very  fast  to  his 
bending  ass.  And  wherever  thou  goest,  the  shouts  of  youths, 
and  together  the  voices  of  women,  and  tambourines  beaten 
with  the  hands,  and  hollow  cymbals  resound,  and  the  box- 
ing at  home,  and  attending  to  their  domestic  concerns,  to  running 
after  the  new  rites;  on  which  it  was  said,  by  their  enemies,  that 
Bacchus  had  punished  them. 

^  These  names  have  various  meanings,  pertaining  to  attributes  of 
Bacchus. 

2  A  king  of  Thrace,  who  having  slighted  the  worship  of  Bacchus, 
was  afflicted  with  madness,  and  hewed  off  his  own  legs  with  a 
hatchet,  and,  according  to  Apollodorus,  mistaking  his  own  soli 
Dryas  for  a  vine,  destroyed  him  with  the  same  weapon. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  417 

wood  pipe,  with  its  long  bore.  The  Ismenian  matrons  ask 
thee  to  show  thyself  mild  and  propitious,  and  celebrate  thy 
sacred  rites  as  prescribed. 

The  daughters  of  Minyas  alone,  within  doors,  interrupting 
the  festival  with  unseasonable  labour,  are  either  carding  wool, 
or  twirling  the  threads  with  their  fingers,  or  are  plying  at 
the  web,  and  keeping  the  handmaids  to  their  work.  One  of 
them,  as  she  is  drawing  the  thread  with  her  smooth  thumb, 
says,  "  While  others  are  idling,  and  thronging  to  these  fanci- 
ful rites,  let  us,  whom  Pallas,  a  better  Deity,  occupies,  alleviate 
the  useful  toil  of  our  hands  with  varying  discourse;  and  let 
us  relate  by  turns  to  our  disengaged  ears,  for  the  general 
amusement,  something  each  in  our  turn,  that  will  not  permit 
the  time  to  seem  long." 

They  approve  of  what  she  says,  and  her  sisters  bid  her 
to  be  the  first  to  tell  her  story. 

She  considers  which  of  many  she  shall  tell  (for  she  knows 
many  a  one),  and  she  is  in  doubt  whether  she  shall  tell  of 
thee,  Babylonian  Decretis,*  whom  the  people  of  Palestine," 
believe  to  inhabit  the  pools,  with  thy  changed  form,  scales 
covering  thy  limbs ;  or  rather  how  her  daughter,  taking  wings, 
passed  her  latter  years  in  whitened  turrets ;  or  how  a  Naiad,' 
by  charms  and  too  potent  herbs,  changed  the  bodies  of  the 
young  men  into  silent  fishes,  until  she  suffered  the  same  her- 
self. Or  how  the  tree  which  bore  white  fruit  formerly, 
now  bears  it  of  purple  hue,  from  the  contact  of  blood. 
This  story  pleases  her;  this,  because  it  was  no  common  tale, 


^  Atergatis  was  another  name  of  this  Goddess.  She  was  said,  by 
an  illicit  amour,  to  have  been  the  mother  of  Semiramis,  and  in 
despair,  to  have  thrown  herself  into  a  lake  near  Ascalon,  on  which 
she  was  changed  into  a  fish. 

"  Palsestina,  or  Philistia,  in  which  Ascalon  was  situate,  was  a  part 
of  Syria,  lying  in  its  southwestern  extremity. 

*The  Naiad  here  mentioned  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  Nymph  of 
the  Island  of  the  Sun,  called  also  Nosola,  between  Taprobana  (the 
modern  Ceylon)  and  the  coast  of  Carmania  (perhaps  Coromandel), 
who  was  in  the  habit  of  changing  such  youths  as  fell  into  her  hands 
into  fishes.  As  a  reward  for  her  cruelty,  she  herself  was  changed 
into  a  fish  by  the  Sun. 


418  OVID 

she  began  in  manner  such  as  this,  while  the  wool  followed  the 
thread : — ■ 

"  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  the  one  the  most  beauteous  of 
youths,  the  other  preferred  before  all  the  damsels  that  the 
East  contained,  lived  in  adjoining  houses;  where  Semiramis 
is  said  to  have  surrounded  her  lofty  city  with  walls  of  brick. 
The  nearness  caused  their  first  acquaintance,  and  their  first 
advances  in  love;  with  time  their  affection  increased.  They 
would  have  united  themselves,  too,  by  the  tie  of  marriage,  but 
their  fathers  forbade  it.  A  thing  which  they  could  not  for- 
bid, they  were  both  inflamed,  with  minds  equally  captivated. 
There  is  no  one  acquainted  with  it ;  by  nods  and  signs,  they 
hold  converse.  And  the  more  the  fire  is  smothered,  the  more, 
when  so  smothered,  does  it  burn.  The  party-wall,  common 
to  the  two  houses,  was  cleft  by  a  small  chink,  which  it  had  got 
formerly,  when  it  was  built.  This  defect,  remarked  by  no 
one  for  so  many  ages,  you  lovers  (what  does  not  love  per- 
ceive?) first  found  one,  and  you  made  it  a  passage  for  your 
voices,  and  the  accents  of  love  used  to  pass  through  it  in 
safety,  with  the  gentlest  murmur.  Oftentimes,  after  they  had 
taken  their  stations,  Thisbe  on  one  side,  and  Pyramus  on  the 
other,  and  the  breath  of  their  mouths  had  been  mutually 
caught  by  turns  they  used  to  say,  *  Envious  wall,  why  dost  thou 
stand  in  the  way  of  lovers?  what  great  matter  were  it,  for  thee 
to  suffer  us  to  be  joined  with  our  entire  bodies?  Or  if  that 
is  too  much,  that,  at  least,  thou  shouldst  open,  for  the  ex- 
change of  kisses.  Nor  are  we  ungrateful;  we  confess  that 
we  are  indebted  to  thee,  that  a  passage  has  been  given  for  our 
words  to  our  lovings  ears.'  Having  said  thus  much,  in  vain, 
on  their  respective  sides,  about  night  they  said,  '  Farewell ; ' 
and  gave  those  kisses  each  on  their  own  side,  which  did  not 
reach  the  other  side. 

"  The  following  morning  had  removed  the  fires  of  the 
night,  and  the  Sun,  with  his  rays,  had  dried  the  grass  wet 
with  rime,  when  they  met  together  at  the  wonted  spot.  Then, 
first  complaining  much  in  low  murmurs,  they  determine,  in 
the  silent  night,  to  try  to  deceive  their  keepers,  and  to  steal 
out  of  doors;  and  when  they  have  left  the  house,  to  quit  the 
buildings  of  the  city  as  well;  but  that  they  may  not  have  to 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK  IV  419 

wander,  roaming  in  the  open  fields,  to  meet  at  the  tomb  of 
Ninus,^  and  to  conceal  themselves  beneath  the  shade  of  a  tree. 
There  was  there  a  lofty  mulberry  tree,  very  full  of  snow-white 
fruit,  quite  close  to  a  cold  spring.  The  arrangement  suits 
them ;  and  the  liglit,  seeming  to  depart  but  slowly,  is  buried 
in  the  waters,  and  from  the  same  waters  the  night  arises.  The 
clever  Thisbe,  turning  the  hinge,  gets  out  in  the  dark,  and 
deceives  her  attendants,  and,  having  covered  her  face,  arrives 
at  the  tomb,  and  sits  down  under  the  tree  agreed  upon;  love 
made  her  bold.  Lo!  a  lioness  approaches,  having  her  foam- 
ing jaws  besmeared  with  the  recent  slaughter  of  oxen,  about 
to  quench  her  thirst  with  the  water  of  the  neighbouring  spring. 
The  Babylonian  Thisbe  sees  her  at  a  distance,  by  the  rays  of 
the  moon,  and  with  a  trembling  foot  she  flies  to  a  dark  cave ; 
and  while  she  flies,  her  veil  falling  from  her  back,  she  leaves 
it  behind.  When  the  savage  lioness  has  quenched  her  thirst 
with  plenteous  water,  as  she  is  returning  into  the  woods,  she 
tears  the  thin  covering,  found  by  chance  without  Thisbe  her- 
self, with  her  blood-stained  mouth. 

"  Pyramus,  going  out  later  than  Thisbe,  saw  the  evident 
foot-marks  of  a  wild  beast,  in  the  deep  dust,  and  grew  pale 
all  over  his  face.  But,  as  soon  as  he  found  her  veil,  as  well, 
dyed  with  blood,  he  said :  '  One  night  will  be  the  ruin  of  two 
lovers,  of  whom  she  was  the  most  deserving  of  a  long  life. 
My  soul  is  guilty;  'tis  I  that  have  destroyed  thee,  much  to 
be  lamented ;  who  bade  thee  to  come  by  night  to  places  full  of 
terror,  and  came  not  hither  first.  O,  whatever  lions  are 
lurking  beneath  this  rock,  tear  my  body  in  pieces,  and  devour 
my  accursed  entrails  with  ruthless  jaws.  But  it  is  the  part  of 
a  coward  to  wish  for  death.'  He  takes  up  the  veil  of  Thisbe, 
and  he  takes  it  with  himself  to  the  shade  of  the  tree  agreed 
on,  and,  after  he  has  bestowed  tears  on  the  well-known  gar- 
ment, he  gives  kisses  to  the  same,  and  he  says,  *  Receive,  now, 
a  draught  of  my  blood  as  well !  *  and  then  plunges  the  sword. 


*  According  to  Diodorus  Siculus,  the  sepulchre  of  Ninus,  the  first 
king  of  Babylon,  was  ten  stadia  in  length,  and  nine  in  depth;  it  had 
the  appearance  of  a  vast  citadel,  and  was  at  a  coHsiderable  distance 
from  the  city  of  Babylon. 


420  OVID 

with  which  he  is  girt,  into  his  bowels ;  and  without  delay,  as  he 
is  dying,  he  draws  it  out  of  the  warm  wound.  As  he  falls  on 
his  back  upon  the  ground,  the  blood  spirts  forth  on  high,  no 
otherwise  than  as  when  a  pipe  is  burst  on  the  lead  decaying, 
and  shoots  out  afar  the  liquid  water  from  the  hissing  flaw, 
and  cleaves  the  air  with  its  jet.  The  fruit  of  the  tree,  by  the 
sprinkling  of  the  blood,  are  changed  to  a  dark  tint,  and  the 
root,  soaked  with  the  gore,  tints  the  hanging  mulberries  with 
a  purple  hue.  Behold !  not  yet  having  banished  her  fear, 
Thisbe  returns,  that  she  may  not  disappoint  her  lover,  and 
seeks  for  the  youth  both  with  her  eyes  and  her  affection,  and 
longs  to  tell  him  how  great  dangers  she  has  escaped.  And 
when  she  observes  the  spot,  and  the  altered  appearance  of 
the  tree,  she  doubts  if  it  is  the  same,  so  uncertain  does  the 
colour  of  the  fruit  make  her.  While  she  is  in  doubt,  she  sees 
the  palpitating  limbs  throbbing  upon  the  bloody  ground;  she 
draws  back  her  foot,  and  having  her  face  paler  than  box- 
wood, she  shudders  like  the  sea,  which  trembles  when  its 
surface  is  skimmed  by  a  gentle  breeze.  But,  after  pausing 
a  time,  she  had  recognized  her  own  lover,  she  smote  her  arms, 
undeserving  of  such  usage,  and  tearing  her  hair,  and  embrac- 
ing the  much-loved  body,  she  filled  the  gashes  with  her  tears, 
and  mingled  her  tokens  of  sorrow  with  his  blood ;  and  im- 
printing kisses  on  his  cold  features,  she  exclaimed,  *  Pyramus ! 
what  disaster  has  taken  thee  away  from  me?  Pyramus! 
answer  me;  'tis  thy  own  Thisbe,  dearest,  that  calls  thee; 
hear  me,  and  raise  thy  prostrate  features.' 

"  At  the  name  of  Thisbe  Pyramus  raised  his  eyes,  now 
heavy  with  death,  and,  after  he  had  seen  her,  he  closed  them 
again.  After  she  had  perceived  her  own  garment,  and  be- 
held, too,  the  ivory  sheath  without  its  sword,  she  said,  '  'Tis 
thy  own  hand,  and  love,  that  has  destroyed  thee,  ill-fated 
youth !  I,  too,  have  a  hand  bold  enough  for  this  one  purpose ; 
I  have  love  as  well ;  this  shall  give  me  strength  for  the  wound. 
I  will  follow  thee  in  thy  death,  and  I  shall  be  called  the  most 
unhappy  cause  and  companion  of  thy  fate ;  and  thou  who,  alas ! 
couldst  be  torn  from  me  by  death  alone,  shalt  not  be  able, 
even  by  death,  to  be  torn  from  me.  And  you,  O  most 
wretched  parents  of  mine  and  his,  be  but  prevailed  upon,  in 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  421 

this  one  thing,  by  the  entreaties  of  us  both,  that  you  will  not 
deny  those  whom  their  constant  love  and  whom  their  last 
moments  have  joined,  to  be  buried  in  the  same  tomb.  But 
thou,  O  tree,  which  now  with  thy  boughs  dost  overshadow 
the  luckless  body  of  but  one,  art  fated  soon  to  cover  those 
of  two.  Retain  a  token  of  this  our  fate,  and  ever  bear  fruit 
black  and  suited  for  mourning,  as  a  memorial  of  the  blood  of 
us  two.'  Thus  she  said;  and  having  fixed  the  point  under 
the  lower  part  of  her  breast,  she  fell  upon  the  sword,  which 
still  was  reeking  with  his  blood. 

"  Her  prayers,  however,  moved  the  Gods,  and  moved  their 
parents.  For  the  colour  of  the  fruit,  when  it  has  fully 
ripened,  is  black  ;^  and  what  was  left  of  them,  from  the 
funeral  pile,  reposed  in  the  same  urn." 


FABLE    n 

The  Sun  discovers  to  Vulcan  the  intrigue  between  Mars  and 
Venus,  and  then,  himself,  falls  in  love  with  Leucothoe. 
Venus,  in  revenge  for  the  discovery,  resolves  to  make  his 
amours  unfortunate. 

Here  she  ended;  and  there  was  but  a  short  time  betwixt, 
and  then  Leuconoe  began  to  speak.  Her  sisters  held  their 
peace.  "  Love  has  captivated  even  this  Sun,  who  rules  all 
things  by  his  aethereal  light.  I  will  relate  the  loves  of  the 
Sun.  This  God  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  first  to  see  the 
adultery  of  Venus  with  Mars ;  this  God  is  the  first  to  see  every 
thing.  He  was  grieved  at  what  was  done,  and  showed  to 
the  husband,  the  son  of  Juno,  the  wrong  done  to  his  bed,  and 
the  place  of  the  intrigue.  Both  his  senses,  and  the  work 
which  his  skilful  right  hand  was  then  holding,  quitted  him  on 
the  instant.  Immediately,  he  files  out  some  slender  chains  of 
brass,  and  nets,  and  meshes,  which  can  escape  the  eye.  The 
finest  threads  cannot  surpass  that  work,  nor  yet  the  cobweb 


^  Ovid   thus    accounts   for   the   deep   purple   hue   of   the   mulberry : 
which,  before  the  event  mentioned  here,  he  says  was  white. 
XI— 28 


422  OVID 

that  hangs  from  the  top  of  the  beam.  He  makes  it  so,  too, 
as  to  yield  to  a  slight  touch,  and  gentle  movement,  and  skil- 
fully arranges  it,  drawn  around  the  bed.  When  the  wife  and 
the  gallant  come  into  the  same  bed,  being  both  caught  through 
the  artifice  of  the  husband,  and  chains  prepared  by  this  new 
contrivance,  they  are  held  fast  in  the  very  midst  of  their 
embraces. 

"  The  Lemnian  God  immediately  threw  open  the  folding 
doors  of  ivor}%  and  admitted  the  Deities.  There  they  lay 
disgracefully  bound.  And  yet  many  a  one  of  the  Gods,  not 
the  serious  ones,  could  fain  wish  thus  to  become  disgraced. 
The  Gods  of  heaven  laughed,  and  for  a  long  time  was  this 
the  most  noted  story  in  all  heaven.  The  Cytherean  ^  goddess 
exacts  satisfaction  of  the  Sun,  in  remembrance  of  this  be- 
trayal ;  and.  in  her  turn,  disturbs  him  with  the  like  passion, 
who  had  disturbed  her  secret  amours.  What  now,  son  of 
Hyperion,^  does  thy  beauty,  thy  heat,  and  thy  radiant  light 
avail  thee  ?  For  thou,  who  dost  bum  all  lands  with  thy  flames, 
art  now  burnt  with  a  new  flame ;  and  thou,  who  oughtst  to  be 
looking  at  everything,  art  gazing  on  Leucothoe,  and  on  one 
maiden  art  fixing  those  eyes  which  thou  oughtst  to  be  fixing 
on  the  universe.  At  one  time  thou  art  rising  earlier  in  the 
Eastern  sky;  at  another  thou  art  setting  late  in  the  waves; 
and  in  taking  time  to  gaze  on  her,  thou  art  lengthening  the 
hours  of  mid-winter.  Sometimes  thou  art  eclipsed,  and  the 
trouble  of  thy  mind  affects  thy  light,  and,  darkened,  thou 
fillest  with  terror  the  breasts  of  mortals.  Nor  art  thou  pale, 
because  the  form  of  the  moon,  nearer  to  the  earth,  stands  in 
thy  way.  It  is  that  passion  which  occasions  this  complexion. 
Thou  lovest  her  alone,  neither  does  Clymene,  nor  Rhodos,* 

^  Cythera  was  an  island  on  the  southern  coast  of  Laconia ;  where 

Venus  was  supposed  to  have  landed,  after  she  had  risen  from  the 

sea.     It  was  dedicated  to  her  worship. 

^  Hyperion  was  the  son  of  Ccelus  or  Uranus,  and  the  father  of  the 

Sun.     The  name  is,  however,  often  given  by  the  poets  to  the  Sun 

himself. 

'  A  damsel  of  the  Isle  of  Rhodes,  the  daughter  of  Neptune,  and, 

according  to  some,  of  Venus.     She  was  greatly  beloved  by  Apollo, 

to  whom  she  bore  seven  children. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  423 

nor  the  most  beauteous  mother^  of  the  ^aean  Circe  engage 
thee,  nor  yet  Clytie,  who,  though  despised,  was  longing  for 
thy  embraces;  at  that  very  time  thou  wast  suffering  these 
grievous  pangs.  Leucothoe  occasioned  the  forgetting  of 
many  a  damsel ;  she,  whom  Eurynome,  the  most  beauteous  of 
the  perfume-bearing  nation "  produced.  But  after  her  daugh- 
ter grew  up,  as  much  as  the  mother  excelled  all  other  Nymphs, 
so  much  did  her  daughter  excel  the  mother.  Her  father, 
Orchamus,  ruled  over  the  Achsemenian  ^  cities,  and  he  is 
reckoned  the  seventh  in  descent  from  the  ancient  Belus. 

"  The  pastures  of  the  horses  of  the  Sun  are  under  the 
Western  sky;  instead  of  grass,  they  have  ambrosia.  That 
nourishes  their  limbs  wearied  with  their  daily  service,  and 
refits  them  for  labour.  And  while  the  coursers  are  there 
eating  their  heavenly  food,  and  night  is  taking  her  turn;  the 
God  enters  the  beloved  chamber,  changed  into  the  shape  of 
her  mother  Eur}Tiome,  and  beholds  Leucothoe  among  twice 
six  handmaids,  near  the  threshold,  drawing  out  the  smooth 
threads  with  her  twirling  spindle.  When,  therefore,  as 
though  her  mother,  he  has  given  kisses  to  her  dear  daughter, 
he  says,  *  There  is  a  secret  matter,  which  I  have  to  mention ; 
maids,  withdraw,  and  take  not  from  a  mother  the  privilege  of 
speaking  in  private  with  her  daughter.'  They  obey;  and 
the  God  being  left  in  the  chamber  without  any  witness,  he 
says,  *  I  am  he,  who  measures  out  the  long  year,  who  beholds 
all  things,  and  through  whom  the  earth  sees  all  things;  the 
eye,  in  fact,  of  the  universe.  Believe  me,  thou  art  pleasing  to 
me.' 

"  She  is  affrighted ;  and  in  her  alarm,  both  her  distaff  and 
her  spindle  fall  from  her  relaxed  fingers.  Her  very  fear 
becomes  her;  and  he,  no  longer  delaying,  returns  to  his  true 
shape,  and  his  wonted  beauty.     But  the  maiden,  although  star- 


^  Persa,  the  daughter  of  Oceanus,  and  the  mother  of  the  enchan- 
tress Circe,  who  is  here  called  "  JExsl,"  from  ^Esea,  a  city  and  penin- 
sula of  Colchis. 
^  Arabia. 

^  Persia  is  called  Achaemenia,  from  Achaemenes,  one  of  its  former 
kings. 

XI— 28 


424  OVID 

tied  at  the  unexpected  sight,  overcome  by  the  beauty  of  the 
God,  and  dismissing  all  complaints,  submits  to  his  embrace. 


FABLE   III 

Clytie,  in  a  fit  of  revenge,  discovers  the  adventure  of  Leu- 
cothoe  to  her  father,  who  orders  her  to  be  buried  alive. 
The  Sun,  grieved  at  her  misfortune,  changed  her  into  the 
frankincense  tree;  he  also  despises  the  informer,  who  pines 
away  for  love  of  him,  and  is  at  last  changed  into  the 
heliotrope. 

Clytie  envied  her,  (for  the  love  of  the  Sun  for  her  had 
not  been  moderate),  and,  urged  on  by  resentment  at  a  rival, 
she  published  the  intrigue,  and,  when  spread  abroad,  brought 
it  to  the  notice  of  her  father.  He,  fierce  and  unrelenting, 
cruelly  buried  her  alive  deep  in  the  ground,  as  she  entreated 
and  stretched  out  her  hands  towards  the  light  of  the  Sun,  and 
cried,  "  'Twas  he  that  offered  violence  to  me  against  my  will ;  " 
and  upon  her  he  placed  a  heap  of  heavy,  sand.  The  son  of 
Hyperion  scattered  it  with  his  rays,  and  gave  a  passage  to  thee, 
by  which  thou  mightst  be  able  to  put  forth  thy  buried  fea- 
tures. 

But  thou,  Nymph,  couldst  not  now  raise  thy  head  smoth- 
ered with  the  weight  of  the  earth ;  and  there  thou  didst  lie,  a 
lifeless  body.  The  governor  of  the  winged  steeds  is  said  to 
have  beheld  nothing  more  afflicting  than  that,  since  the  light- 
nings that  caused  the  death  of  Phaeton.  He,  indeed,  en- 
deavours, if  he  can,  to  recall  her  cold  limbs  to  an  enlivening 
heat,  by  the  strength  of  his  rays.  But,  since  fate  opposes 
attempts  so  great,  he  sprinkles  both  her  body  and  the  place 
with  odoriferous  nectar,  and  having  first  uttered  many  a 
complaint  he  says,  "  Still  shalt  thou  reach  the  skies."  ^  Im- 
mediately, the  body,  steeped  in  the  heavenly  nectar,  dissolves, 
and  moistens  the  earth  with  its  odoriferous  juices ;  and  a  shoot 


*  That  is  to  say,  "  You  shall  arise  from  the  earth  as  a  tree  bearing 
frankincense:  the  gums  of  which,  burnt  in  sacrifice  to  the  Gods, 
shall  reach  the  heavens  with  their  sweet  odours." 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  425 

of  frankincense  having  taken  root  by  degrees  through  the 
clods,  rises  up  and  bursts  the  hillock  with  its  top. 

But  the  author  of  light  came  no  more  to  Clytie  (although 
love  might  have  excused  her  grief,  and  her  grief  the  be- 
trayal) ;  and  he  put  an  end  to  his  intercourse  with  her.  From 
that  time  she,  who  had  made  so  mad  a  use  of  her  passion, 
pinned  away,  loathing  the  other  Nymphs;  and  in  the  open 
air,  night  and  day,  she  sat  on  the  bare  ground,  with  her  hair 
dishevelled  and  unadorned.  And  for  nine  days,  without 
water  or  food,  she  subsisted  in  her  feast,  merely  on  dew  and 
her  own  tears ;  and  she  did  not  raise  herself  from  the  ground. 
She  only  used  to  look  towards  the  face  of  the  God  as  he 
moved  along,  and  to  turn  her  own  features  towards  him. 
They  say  that  her  limbs  became  rooted  fast  in  the  ground; 
and  a  livid  paleness  turned  part  of  her  colour  into  that  of  a 
bloodless  plant.  There  is  a  redness  in  some  part;  and  a 
flower,  very  like  a  violet,^  conceals  her  face.  Though  she 
is  held  fast  by  a  root,  she  turns  towards  the  Sun,  and  though 
changed,  she  still  retains  her  passion. 


FABLE   IV 

Daphnis  is  turned  into  a  stone.  Scython  is  changed  from  a 
man  into  a  woman.  Celmus  is  changed  into  adamant. 
Crocus  and  Smilax  are  made  into  flowers.  The  Curetes 
are  produced  from  a  shower. 

Thus  she  spoke;  and  the  wondrous  deed  charms  their 
ears.  Some  deny  that  it  was  possible  to  be  done,  some  say 
that  real  Gods  can  do  all  things;  but  Bacchus  is  not  one  of 
them.  When  her  sisters  have  become  silent,  Alcithoe  is 
called  upon;  who  running  with  her  shuttle  through  the  warp 
of  the  hanging  web,  says,  "  I  keep  silence  upon  the  well- 
known  amours  of  Daphnis,  the  shepherd  of  Ida,  whom  the 
resentment  of  the  Nymph,  his  paramour,  turned  into  a  stone. 


^  Probably  the  small  aromatic  flower  which  we  call  heliotrope,  with 
its  violet  hue  and  delightful  perfume. 


426  OVID 

Such  migfity  grief  inflames  those  who  are  in  love.  Nor 
do  I  relate  how  once  Scython,  the  law  of  nature  being  altered, 
was  of  both  sexes,  first  a  man,  then  a  woman.  Thee  too,  I 
pass  by,  O  Celmus,  now  adamant,  formerly  most  attached  to 
Jupiter  when  little ;  and  the  Curetes,^  sprung  from  a  plenteous 
shower  of  rain;  Crocus,  too,  changed,  together  with  Smilax, 
into  little  flowers;  and  I  will  entertain  your  minds  with  a 
pleasing  novelty. 

FABLE   V 

The  Naiad  Salmacis  falls  in  love  with  the  youth  Hermaphro- 
ditus,  who  rejects  her  advances.  While  he  is  bathing,  she 
leaps  into  the  water,  and  seizing  the  youth  in  her  arms,  they 
become  one  body,  retaining  their  different  sexes. 

Learn  how  Salmacis  became  infamous,  and  why  it  ener- 
vates, with  its  enfeebling  waters,  and  softens  the  limbs  bathed 
in  it.  The  cause  is  unknown ;  but  the  properties  of  the  foun- 
tain are  very  well  known.  The  Naiads  nursed  a  boy,  born  to 
Mercury  of  the  Cytherean  Goddess  in  the  caves  of  Ida;  whose 
face  was  such  that  therein  both  mother  and  father  could  be 
discerned;  he  likewise  took  his  name  from  them.  As  soon 
as  he  had  completed  thrice  five  years,  he  forsook  his  native 
mountains,  and  leaving  Ida,  the  place  of  his  nursing,  he  loved 
to  wander  over  unknown  spots,  and  to  see  unknown  rivers, 
his  curiosity  lessening  the  fatigue.  He  went,  too,  to  the 
Lycian  cities,  and  the  Carians,  that  border  upon  Lycia.  Here 
he  sees  a  pool  of  water,  clear  to  the  very  ground  at  the  bot- 
tom ;  here  there  are  no  fenny  reeds,  no  barren  sedge,  no  rushes 
with  their  sharp  points.  The  water  is  translucent;  but  the 
edges  of  the  pool  are  enclosed  with  green  turf,  and  with  grass 
ever  verdant.  A  Nymph  dwells  there ;  but  one  neither  skilled 
in  hunting,  nor  accustomed  to  bend  the  bow,  nor  to  contend 
in  speed ;  the  only  one,  too,  of  all  the  Naiads  not  known  to  the 
swift  Diana.  The  report  is,  that  her  sisters  often  said  to  her, 
"  Salmacis,  do  take  either  the  javelin,  or  the  painted  quiver, 


^  The  ancient  inhabitants  of  Crete. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  427 

and  unite  thy  leisure  with  the  toils  of  the  chase."  She  takes 
neither  the  javelin,  nor  the  painted  quiver,  nor  does  she  unite 
her  leisure  with  the  toils  of  the  chase.  But  sometimes  she 
is  bathing  her  beauteous  limbs  in  her  own  spring ;  and  often 
is  she  straitening  her  hair  with  a  comb  of  Citorian  boxwood,^ 
and  consulting  the  waters,  into  which  she  looks,  what  is  befit- 
ting her.  At  other  times,  covering  her  body  with  a  transpar- 
ent garment,  she  reposes  either  on  the  soft  leaves,  or  on  the 
soft  grass.  Ofttimes  is  she  gathering  flowers.  And  then, 
too,  by  chance  was  she  gathering  them  when  she  beheld  the 
youth,  and  wished  to  possess  him,  thus  seen. 

But  though  she  hastened  to  approach  the  youth,  still  she 
did  not  approach  him  before  she  had  put  herself  in  order,  and 
before  she  had  surveyed  her  garments,  and  put  on  her  best 
looks,  and  deserved  to  be  thought  beautiful.  Then  thus  did 
she  begin  to  speak :  "  O  youth,  most  worthy  to  be  thought  to 
be  a  God!  if  thou  art  a  God,  thou  mayst  well  be  Cupid;  but, 
if  thou  art  a  mortal,  happy  are  they  who  begot  thee,  and 
blessed  is  thy  brother,  and  fortunate  indeed  thy  sister,  if  thou 
hast  one,  and  the  nurse  as  well  who  gave  thee  the  breast. 
But  far,  far  more  fortunate  than  all  these  is  she;  if  thou  hast 
any  wife,  if  thou  shouldst  vouchsafe  any  one  the  honour  of 
marriage.  And  if  any  one  is  thy  wife,  then  let  my  pleasure 
be  stolen;  but,  if  thou  hast  none,  let  me  be  thy  wife,  and 
let  us  unite  in  one  tie."  After  these  things  said,  the  Naiad 
is  silent ;  a  blush  tinges  the  face  of  the  youth :  he  knows  not 
what  love  is,  but  even  to  blush  becomes  him.  Such  is  the 
colour  of  apples,  hanging  on  a  tree  exposed  to  the  sun,  or  of 
painted  ivory,  or  of  the  moon  blushing  beneath  her  brightness, 
when  the  aiding  cymbals^  of  brass  are  resounding  in  vain. 
Upon  the  Nymph  desiring,  without  ceasing,  such  kisses  at 
least  as  he  might  give  to  his  sister,  and  now  laying  her  hands 


^  A  mountain  of  Paphlagonia,  famous  for  the  excellence  of  the  wood 
of  the  box  trees  that  grow  there. 

^  At  an  eclipse  it  was  supposed  by  the  multitude  that  the  moon  was 
being  subjected  to  spells  of  magicians,  and  that  she  was  struggling 
against  them,  on  which  drums,  trumpets,  and  cymbals  were  resorted 
to,  to  drown  the  charms  repeated  by  the  enchanters. 


428  OVID 

upon  his  neck,  white  as  ivory,  he  says,  "  Wilt  thou  desist,  or 
am  I  to  fly,  and  to  leave  this  place,  together  with  thee  ?  " 

Salmacis  is  affrighted,  and  says,  "  I  freely  give  up  this 
spot  to  thee,  stranger,"  and,  with  a  retiring  step,  she  pretends 
to  go  away.  But  then  looking  back,  and  hid  in  a  covert  of 
shrubs,  she  lies  concealed,  and  puts  her  bended  knees  down 
to  the  ground.  But  he,  just  like  a  boy,  and  as  though  unob- 
served on  the  retired  sward,  goes  here  and  there,  and  in  the 
sportive  waves  dips  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  then  his  feet  as 
far  as  his  ankles.  Nor  is  there  any  delay ;  being  charmed 
with  the  temperature  of  the  pleasant  waters,  he  throws  off  his 
soft  garments  from  his  tender  body.  Then,  indeed,  Salmacis 
is  astonished,  and  burns  with  desire  for  his  naked  beauty. 
The  eyes,  too,  of  the  Nymph  are  on  fire,  no  otherwise  than 
as  when  the  Sun,  most  brilliant  with  his  clear  orb,  is  reflected 
from  the  opposite  image  of  a  mirror.  With  difficulty  does 
she  endure  delay;  hardly  does  she  now  defer  her  joy.  Now 
she  longs  to  embrace  him;  and  now,  distracted,  she  can  hardly 
contain  herself.  He,  clapping  his  body  with  his  hollow  palms, 
swiftly  leaps  into  the  stream,  and  throwing  out  his  arms  alter- 
nately, shines  in  the  limpid  waters,  as  if  any  one  were  to  cover 
statues  of  ivory,  or  white  lilies,  with  clear  glass. 

"  I  have  gained  my  point,"  says  the  Naiad ;  *'  see,  he  is 
mine!"  and,  all  her  garments  thrown  aside,  she  plunges  in 
the  midst  of  the  waters,  and  seizes  him  resisting  her,  and 
snatches  reluctant  kisses,  and  thrusts  down  her  hands,  and 
touches  his  breast  against  his  will,  and  clings  about  the  youth, 
now  one  way,  and  now  another.  Finally,  as  he  is  struggling 
against  her,  and  desiring  to  escape,  she  entwines  herself  about 
him,  like  a  serpent  which  the  royal  bird  takes  up  and  is  bear- 
ing aloft ;  and  as  it  hangs,  it  holds  fast  his  head  and  feet,  and 
enfolds  his  spreading  wings  with  its  tail.  Or,  as  the  ivy  is 
wont  to  wind  itself  along  the  tall  trunks  of  trees;  and  as  the 
polypus  holds  fast  its  enemy,  caught  beneath  the  waves,  by  let- 
ting down  its  suckers  on  all  sides ;  so  does  the  descendant  of 
Atlas  still  persist,  and  deny  the  Nymph  the  hoped-for  joy.  She 
presses  him  hard ;  and  clinging  to  him  with  every  limb,  as  she 
holds  fast,  she  says,  "  Struggle  as  thou  mayst,  perverse  one, 
still  thou  shalt  not  escape.     So  ordain  it,  ye  Gods,  and  let  no 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  429 

time  separate  him  from  me,  nor  me  from  him."  Her  prayers 
find  propitious  Deities,  for  the  mingled  bodies  of  the  two  are 
united,  and  one  human  shape  is  put  upon  them;  just  as  if  any 
one  should  see  branches  beneath  a  common  bark  join  in  grow- 
ing, and  spring  up  together.  So,  when  their  bodies  meet 
together  in  the  firm  embrace,  they  are  no  more  two,  and  their 
form  is  two-fold,  so  that  they  can  neither  be  styled  woman 
nor  boy ;  they  seem  to  be  neither  and  both. 

Therefore,  when  Hermaphroditus  sees  that  the  limpid  wa- 
ters into  which  he  has  descended  as  a  man,  have  made  him 
but  half  a  male,  and  that  his  limbs  are  softened  in  them,  hold- 
ing up  his  hands,  he  says,  but  now  no  longer  with  the  voice 
of  a  male,  "  O,  both  father  and  mother,  grant  this  favour  to 
your  son,  who  has  the  name  of  you  both,  that  whoever  enters 
these  streams  a  man,  may  go  out  thence  but  half  a  man,  and 
that  he  may  suddenly  become  effeminate  in  the  waters  when 
touched."  Both  parents,  moved,  give  their  assent  to  the  words 
of  their  two-shaped  son,  and  taint  the  fountain  with  drugs 
of  ambiguous  quality. 

FABLE   VI 

Bacchus,  to  punish  the  daughters  of  Minyas  for  their  con- 
tempt of  his  worship,  changes  them  into  bats,  and  their 
work  into  ivy  and  vine  leaves. 

There  was  now  an  end  of  their  stories;  and  still  do  the 
daughters  of  Minyas  go  on  with  their  work,  and  despise  the 
God,  and  desecrate  his  festival ;  when,  on  a  sudden,  tambou- 
rines unseen  resound  with  their  jarring  noise;  the  pipe,  too, 
with  the  crooked  horn,  and  the  tinkling  brass,  re-echo ;  myrrh 
and  saffron  shed  their  fragrant  odours;  and,  a  thing  past  all 
belief,  their  webs  begin  to  grow  green,  and  the  cloth  hanging 
in  the  loom  to  put  forth  foliage  like  ivy.  Part  changes  into 
vines,  and  what  were  threads  before,  are  now  turned  into  vine 
shoots.  Vine  branches  spring  from  the  warp,  and  the  pur- 
ple lends  its  splendour  to  the  tinted  grapes. 

And  now  the  day  was  past,  and  the  time  came  on,  which 
you  could  neither  call  darkness  nor  light,  but  yet  the  very 


430  OVID 

commencement  of  the  dubious  night  along  with  the  light. 
The  house  seemed  suddenly  to  shake,  and  unctuous  torches  to 
bum,  and  the  building  to  shine  with  glowing  fires,  and  the 
fictitious  phantoms  of  savage  wild  beasts  to  howl.  Presently, 
the  sisters  are  hiding  themselves  throughout  the  smoking 
house,  and  in  different  places  are  avoiding  the  fires  and  the 
light.  While  they  are  seeking  a  hiding  place,  a  membrane 
is  stretched  over  their  small  limbs,  and  covers  their  arms 
with  light  wings;  nor  does  the  darkness  suffer  them  to  know 
by  what  means  they  have  lost  their  former  shape.  No  feath- 
ers bear  them  up;  yet  they  support  themselves  on  pellucid 
wings;  and,  endeavouring  to  speak,  they  utter  a  voice  very 
diminutive  even  in  proportion  to  their  bodies,  and  express 
their  low  complaints  with  a  squeaking  sound.  They  fre- 
quent houses,  not  woods;  and,  abhorring  the  light,  they  fly 
abroad  by  night.  And  from  the  late  evening  do  they  derive 
their  name/ 

FABLE  VII 

Tisi phone,  being  sent  by  Juno  to  the  Palace  of  Athamas, 
causes  him  to  become  mad;  on  which  he  dashes  his  son 
Learchus  to  pieces  against  a  zvall.  He  then  pursues  his 
wife  Ino,  who  throzvs  herself  headlong  from  the  top  of  a 
rock  into  the  sea,  with  her  other  son  Melicerta  in  her  arms: 
when  Neptune,  at  the  intercession  of  Venus,  changes  them 
into  Sea  Deities.  The  attendants  of  Ino,  who  have  fol- 
lozved  her  in  her  flight,  are  changed,  some  into  stone,  and 
others  into  birds,  as  they  are  about  to  throw  themselves 
into  the  sea  after  their  mistress. 

But  then  the  Divine  power  of  Bacchus  is  framed  through- 
out all  Thebes;  and  his  aunt  [Ino]  is  everywhere  telling  of 
the  great  might  of  the  new  Divinity;  she  alone,^  out  of  so 


^  Vespertiliones,  from  vesper,  evening. 

2  Semele  having  died  a  shocking  death,  Autonoe  having  seen  her 

son  Actaeon  changed  into  a  stag,  and  then  devoured  by  his  dogs, 

and  Agave  having  assisted  in  tearing  to  pieces  her  own  son  Pen- 

theus. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  431 

many  sisters,  is  free  from  sorrow,  except  that  which  her 
sisters  have  occasioned.  Juno  beholds  her,  having  her  soul 
elevated  with  her  children,  and  her  alliance  with  Athamas, 
and  the  God  her  fosterchild.  She  cannot  brook  this,  and  says 
to  herself,  "  Was  the  child  of  a  concubine  able  to  transform 
the  Maeonian  sailors,  and  to  overwhelm  them  in  the  sea,  and 
to  give  the  entrails  of  the  son  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  his 
mother,  and  to  cover  the  three  daughters  of  Minyas  with 
newly  formed  wings?  Shall  Juno  be  able  to  do  nothing  but 
lament  these  griefs  unrevenged?  And  is  that  sufficient  for 
me?  Is  this  my  only  power?  He  himself  instructs  me  what 
to  do.  It  is  right  to  be  taught  even  by  an  enemy.  And  what 
madness  can  do,  he  shows  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  by 
the  slaughter  of  Pentheus.  Why  should  not  Ino,  too,  be 
goaded  by  madness,  and  submit  to  an  example  kindred  to 
those  of  her  sisters?" 

There  is  a  shelving  path,  shaded  with  dismal  yew,  which 
leads  through  profound  silence  to  the  infernal  abodes.  Here 
languid  Styx  exhales  vapours;  and  the  new-made  ghosts 
descend  this  way,  and  phantoms  when  they  have  enjoyed 
funereal  rites.  Horror  and  winter  possess  these  dreary 
regions  far  and  wide,  and  the  ghosts  newly  arrived  know  not 
where  the  way  is  that  leads  to  the  Stygian  city,  or  where  is 
the  dismal  palace  of  the  black  Pluto.  The  wide  city  has  a 
thousand  passages,  and  gates  open  on  every  side.  And  as  the 
sea  receives  the  rivers  for  the  whole  earth,  so  does  that  spot 
receive  all  the  souls;  nor  is  it  too  little  for  any  amount  of 
people,  nor  does  it  perceive  the  crowd  to  increase.  The 
shades  wander  about,  bloodless,  without  body  and  bones; 
and  some  throng  the  place  of  judgment;  some  the  abode  of 
the  infernal  prince.  Some  pursue  various  callings,  in  imita- 
tion of  their  former  life;  their  own  punishment  confines 
others. 

Juno,  the  daughter  of  Saturn,  leaving  her  celestial  habita- 
tion, submits  to  go  thither,  so  much  does  she  give  way  to 
hatred  and  to  anger.  Soon  as  she  has  entered  there,  and  the 
threshold  groans,  pressed  by  her  sacred  body,  Cerberus  raises 
his  threefold  mouth,  and  utters  triple  barkings  at  the  same 
moment. 


432  OVID 

She  summons  the  Sisters/  begotten  of  Night,  terri- 
ble and  implacable  Goddesses.  They  are  sitting  before  the 
doors  of  the  prison  shut  close  with  adamant,  and  are  comb- 
ing black  vipers  from  their  hair.  Soon  as  they  recognize  her 
amid  the  shades  of  darkness,  these  Deities  arise.  This  place 
is  called  '*  the  accursed."  Tityus "  is  giving  his  entrails  to  be 
mangled,  and  is  stretched  over  nine  acres.  By  thee,  Tan- 
talus,^ no  waters  are  reached,  and  the  tree  which  overhangs 
thee,  starts  away.  Sisyphus,*  thou  art  either  catching  or  thou 
art  pushing  on  the  stone  destined  to  fall  again.  Ixion^  is 
whirled  round,  and  both  follows  and  flies  from  himself.  The 
grand-daughters,  too,  of  Belus,  who  dared  to  plot  the  destruc- 
tion of  their  cousins,  are  everlastingly  taking  up  the  water 
which  they  lose.     After  the  daughter  of  Saturn  has  beheld 


^  These  were  the  Furies,  fabled  to  be  the  daughters  of  Night  and 
Acheron.  They  were  three  in  number,  Tisiphone,  Alecto,  and  Me- 
gaera,  and  were  supposed  to  be  the  avengers  of  crime  and  wickedness. 
-  Tityus  was  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Elara.  On  account  of  his  enor- 
mous size,  the  poets  sometimes  style  him  a  son  of  the  Earth.  At- 
tempting to  commit  violence  upon  Latona,  he  was  slain  by  the 
arrows  of  Apollo,  and  precipitated  to  the  infernal  regions,  where 
he  was  condemned  to  have  his  liver  constantly  devoured  by  a  vul- 
ture, and  then  renewed,  to  perpetuate  his  torments. 
^  He  was  the  son  of  Jupiter,  by  the  Nymph  Plote.  The  crime  for 
which  he  was  punished  is  differently  related  by  the  poets.  At  an 
entertainment  which  he  gave  to  the  Deities,  he  caused  his  own  son, 
Pelops,  to  be  served  up,  on  which  Ceres  inadvertently  ate  his  shoul- 
der. He  was  doomed  to  suffer  intense  hunger  and  thirst,  amid  pro- 
visions of  all  kinds  within  his  reach,  which  perpetually  receded 
from  him. 

*  Sisyphus,  the  son  of  ^olus,  was  a  daring  robber,  who  infested 
Attica.  He  was  slain  by  Theseus ;  and  being  sent  to  the  infernal 
regions,  was  condemned  to  the  punishment  of  rolling  a  great  stone 
to  the  top  of  a  mountain,  which  it  had  no  sooner  reached  than 
it  fell  down  again,  and  renewed  his  labour. 

^  Being  advanced  by  Jupiter  to  heaven,  he  presumed  to  make  an 
attempt  on  Juno.  Jupiter,  to  deceive  him,  formed  a  cloud  in  her 
shape,  on  which  Ixion  begot  the  Centaurs.  He  was  cast  into  Tar- 
tarus, and  was  there  fastened  to  a  wheel,  which  turned  round  in- 
cessantly. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  433 

all  these  with  a  stern  look,  and  Ixion  before  all ;  again,  after 
him,  looking  upon  Sisyphus,  she  says,  "  Why  does  he  alone, 
of  all  the  brothers,  suffer  eternal  punishment?  and  why  does  a 
rich  palace  contain  the  proud  Athamas,  who,  with  his  wife, 
has  ever  despised  me?"  And  then  she  explains  the  cause  of 
her  hatred  and  of  her  coming,  and  what  it  is  she  desires. 
What  she  desires  is,  that  the  palace  of  Cadmus  shall  not 
stand,  and  that  the  Sister  Furies  shall  involve  Athamas  in 
crime.  She  mingles  together  promises,  commands,  and  en- 
treaties, and  solicits  the  Goddesses.  When  Juno  has  thus 
spoken,  Tisiphone,  with  her  locks  dishevelled  as  they  are, 
shakes  them,  and  throws  back  from  her  face  the  snakes  crawl- 
ing over  it ;  and  thus  she  says :  "  There  is  no  need  of  a  long 
preamble;  whatever  thou  commandest,  consider  it  as  done; 
leave  these  hateful  realms,  and  betake  thyself  to  the  air  of  a 
better  heaven." 

Juno  returns,  overjoyed;  and,  preparing  to  enter  heaven. 
Iris,*  the  daughter  of  Thaumas,  purifies  her  by  sprinkling 
water.  Nor  is  there  any  delay;  the  persecuting  Tisiphone 
takes  a  torch  reeking  with  gore,  and  puts  on  a  cloak  red  with 
fluid  blood,  and  is  girt  with  twisted  snakes,  and  then  goes 
forth  from  her  abode.  Mourning  attends  her:  as  she  goes, 
and  Fright,  and  Terror,  and  Madness  with  quivering  features. 
She  now  reaches  the  threshold;  the  ^^olian  door-posts  are 
said  to  have  shaken,  and  paleness  tints  the  maple  door;  the 
Sun,  too,  flies  from  the  place.  His  wife  is  terrified  at  these 
prodigies;  Athamas,  too,  is  alarmed,  and  they  are  both  pre- 
paring to  leave  the  house.  The  baneful  Erinnys  stands  in  the 
way,  and  blocks  up  the  passage;  and  extending  her  arms 
twisted  round  with  folds  of  vipers,  she  shakes  her  locks;  the 
snakes  thus  moved,  emit  a  sound.  Some  lying  about  her 
shoulders,  some  gliding  around  her  temples,  send  forth  hiss- 
ings and  vomit  forth  corruption,  and  dart  forth  their  tongues. 
Then  she  tears  away  two  snakes  from  the  middle  of  her  hair, 
which,  with  pestilential  hand,  she  throws  against  them.  But 
these  creep  along  the  breasts  of  Ino  and  Athamas,  and  inspire 
them  with  direful  intent.     Nor  do  they  inflict  any  wounds 


^  The  Goddess  of  the  Rainbow. 


434  OVID 

upon  their  limbs ;  it  is  the  mind  that  feels  the  direful  stroke. 
She  had  brought,  too,  with  her  a  monstrous  composition  of 
liquid  poison,  the  foam  of  the  mouth  of  Cerberus,  and  the 
venom  of  Echidna ;  ^  and  purposeless  aberrations,  and  the 
forgetfulness  of  a  darkened  understanding,  and  crime,  and 
tears,  and  rage,  and  the  love  of  murder.  All  these  were 
blended  together;  and,  mingled  with  fresh  blood  she  had 
boiled  them  in  a  hollow  vessel  of  brass,  stirred  about  with  a 
stalk  of  green  hemlock.  And  while  they  are  trembling,  she 
throws  the  maddening  poison  into  the  breasts  of  them  both, 
and  moves  their  inmost  vitals.  Then  repeatedly  waving  her 
torch  in  the  same  circle,  she  swiftly  follows  up  the  flames  thus 
excited  with  fresh  flames.  Thus  triumphant,  and  having 
executed  her  commands,  she  returns  to  the  empty  realms  of 
the  great  Pluto;  and  she  ungirds  the  snakes  which  she  had 
put  on. 

Immediately  the  son  of  /Eolus,  filled  with  rage,  cries  out, 
in  the  midst  of  his  palace,  "Ho!  companions,  spread  your 
nets  in  this  wood;  for  here  a  lioness  was  just  now  beheld 
by  me  with  two  young  ones."  And,  in  his  madness,  he  fol- 
lows the  footsteps  of  his  wife,  as  though  of  a  wild  beast;  and 
he  snatches  Learchus,  smiling  and  stretching  forth  his  little 
anns  from  the  bosom  of  his  mother,  and  three  or  four  times 
he  whirls  him  round  in  the  air  like  a  sling,  and,  frenzied,  he 
dashes  in  pieces  ^  the  bones  of  the  infant  against  the  hard 
stones.  Then,  at  last,  the  mother  being  roused  (whether  it 
was  grief  that  caused  it,  or  whether  the  power  of  the  poison 
spread  over  her),  yells  aloud,  and  runs  away  distracted,  with 
dishevelled  hair ;  and  carrying  thee,  Melicerta,  a  little  child,  in 
her  bare  arms,  she  cries  aloud  "  Evoe,  Bacche."  x\t  the  name 
of  Bacchus,  Juno  smiles,  and  says,  "  May  thy  foster-child  ^  do 
thee  this  service." 


^  The  Hydra,  or  dragon  of  the  marsh  of  Lerna,  which  Hercules 
slew.  It  was  fabled  to  be  partly  a  woman,  and  partly  a  serpent, 
and  to  have  been  begotten  by  Typhon.  According  to  some  accounts, 
this  monster  had  seven  heads. 

2  Athamas  slew  his  son  while  hunting,  mistaking  him  for  a  stag. 
'  Bacchus  was  the  foster-child  of  Ino,  who  was  the  sister  of  his 
mother  Semele. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  435 

There  is  a  rock  that  hangs  over  the  sea ;  the  lowest  part 
is  worn  hollow  by  the  waves,  and  defends  the  waters  covered 
thereby  from  the  rain.  The  summit  is  rugged,  and  stretches 
out  its  brow  over  the  open  sea.  This  Ino  climbs  (madness 
gives  her  strength),  and,  restrained  by  no  fear,  she  casts  her- 
self and  her  burden  ^  into  the  deep ;  the  water,  struck  by 
her  fall,  is  white  with  foam.  But  Venus,  pitying  the  mis- 
fortunes of  her  guiltless  grand-daughter,  in  soothing  words 
thus  addresses  her  uncle:  "O  Neptune,  thou  God  of  the 
waters,  to  whom  fell  a  power  next  after  the  empire  of  heaven, 
great  things  indeed  do  I  request;  but  do  thou  take  compas- 
sion on  my  kindred,  whom  thou  seest  being  tossed  upon  the 
boundless  Ionian  sea;  and  add  them  to  thy  Deities.  I  have 
surely  some  interest  with  the  sea,  if,  indeed,  I  once  was  foam 
formed  in  the  hallowed  deep,  and  my  Grecian  name^  is  de- 
rived from  that."  Neptune  yields  to  her  request;  and  takes 
away  from  them  all  that  is  mortal,  and  gives  them  a  vener- 
able majesty;  and  alters  both  their  name  and  their  shape,  and 
calls  Palaemon  a  Divinity,  together  with  his  mother  Leu- 
cothoe. 

Her  Sidonian  attendants,^  so  far  as  they  could,  tracing 
the  prints  of  their  feet,  saw  the  last  of  them  on  the  edge  of 
the  rock;  and  thinking  that  there  was  no  doubt  of  their 
death,  they  lamented  the  house  of  Cadmus,  with  their  hands 
tearing  their  hair  and  their  garments;  and  they  threw  the 
odium  on  the  Goddess,  as  being  unjust  and  too  severe  against 
the  concubine.  Juno  could  not  endure  their  reproaches,  and 
said,  "  I  will  make  you  yourselves  tremendous  memorials  of 
my  displeasure."  Confirmation  followed  her  words.  For 
the  one  who  had  been  especially  attached,  said,  "I  will  fol- 
low the  queen  into  the  sea;"  and  about  to  give  the  leap,  she 
could  not  be  moved  any  way,  and  adhering  to  the  rock,  there 


^  This  was  her  son  Melicerta,  who,  according  to  Pausanias,  was  re- 
ceived by  dolphins,  and  was  landed  by  them  on  the  isthmus  of  Cor- 
inth. 

^  Aphrodite  means   "  foam-sprung." 

^  The  Theban  matrons  are  meant,  who  had  married  the  companions 
of  Cadmus  that  accompanied  him  from  Phoenicia. 


436  OVID 

she  stuck  fast.  Another,  while  she  was  attempting  to  beat 
her  breast  with  the  accustomed  blows,  perceived  in  the  at- 
tempt that  her  arms  had  become  stiff.  One,  as  by  chance  she 
had  extended  her  hands  over  the  waters  of  the  sea,  becoming 
a  rock,  held  out  her  hands  in  those  same  waters.  You  might 
see  the  fingers  of  another  suddenly  hardened  in  her  hair,  as 
she  was  tearing  her  locks  seized  on  the  top  of  her  head.  In 
whatever  posture  each  was  found  at  the  beginning  of  the 
change,  in  the  same  she  remained.  Some  became  birds; 
which,  sprung  from  Ismenus,  skim  along  the  surface  of  the 
waves  in  those  seas,  with  the  wings  which  they  have  assumed. 


FABLE  VIII 

The  misfortunes  of  his  family  oblige  Cadmus  to  leave  Thebes, 
and  to  retire  with  his  wife  Hermione  to  Illyria,  where  they 
are  changed  into  serpents. 

The  son  of  Agenor  knows  not  that  his  daughter  and  his 
little  grandsons  are  now  Deities  of  the  sea.  Forced  by  sor- 
row, and  a  succession  of  calamities,  and  the  prodigies  which, 
many  in  number,  he  had  beheld,  the  founder  flies  from  his 
city,  as  though  the  ill-luck  of  the  spot,  and  not  his  own, 
pressed  hard  upon  him;  and  driven,  in  a  long  series  of  wan- 
dering, he  reaches  the  coast  of  Illyria,  with  his  exiled  wife. 
And  now,  loaded  with  woes  and  with  years,  while  they  are 
reflecting  on  the  first  disasters  of  their  house,  and  in  their 
discourse  are  recounting  their  misfortunes,  Cadmus  saysy 
"  Was  that  dragon  a  sacred  one,  that  was  pierced  by  my  spear, 
at  the  time  when,  setting  out  from  Sidon,  I  sowed  the  teeth 
of  the  dragon  in  the  ground,  a  seed  till  then  unknown?  If 
the  care  of  the  Gods  avenges  this  with  resentment  so  unerring, 
I  pray  that  I  myself,  as  a  serpent,  may  be  lengthened  out  into 
an  extended  belly."  Thus  he  says;  and,  as  a  serpent,  he  is 
lengthened  out  into  an  extended  belly,  and  perceives  scales 
growing  on  his  hardened  skin,  and  his  black  body  become 
speckled  with  azure  spots ;  and  he  falls  flat  on  his  breast,  and 
his  legs,  joined  into  one,  taper  out  by  degrees  into  a  thin  round 
point.     His  arms  are  still  remaining;  those  arms  which  re- 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  437 

main  he  stretches  out;  and,  as  the  tears  are  flowing  down 
his  face,  still  that  of  a  man,  he  says,  "Come  hither,  wife, 
come  hither,  most  unhappy  one,  and,  while  something  of  me 
yet  remains,  touch  me;  and  take  my  hand,  while  it  is  still  a 
hand,  and  while  I  am  not  a  serpent  all  over."  He,  indeed, 
desires  to  say  more,  but,  on  a  sudden,  his  tongue  is  divided 
into  two  parts.  Nor  are  words  in  his  power  when  he  offers 
to  speak ;  and  as  often  as  he  attempts  to  utter  any  complaints, 
he  makes  a  hissing:  this  is  the  voice  that  Nature  leaves  him. 
His  wife,  smiting  her  naked  breast  with  her  hand,  cries  aloud, 
"  Stay,  Cadmus !  and  deliver  thyself,  unhappy  one,  from  this 
monstrous  form.  Cadmus,  what  means  this?  Where  are 
thy  feet?  where  are  both  thy  shoulders  and  thy  hands?  where 
is  thy  colour  and  thy  form,  and,  while  I  speak,  where  all  else 
besides  ?  Why  do  ye  not,  celestial  Gods,  turn  me  as  well  into 
a  similar  serpent  ?  "  Thus  she  spoke ;  he  licked  the  face  of 
his  wife,  and  crept  into  her  dear  bosom,  as  though  he 
recognized  her ;  and  gave  her  embraces,  and  reached  her  well- 
known  neck. 

Whoever  is  by,  (some  attendants  are  present),  is  alarmed; 
but  the  crested  snakes  soothe  them  with  their  slippery  necks, 
and  suddenly  they  are  two  serpents,  and  in  joined  folds  they 
creep  along,  until  they  enter  the  covert  of  an  adjacent  grove. 
Now,  too,  do  they  neither  shun  mankind,  nor  hurt  them  with 
wounds,  and  the  gentle  serpents  keep  in  mind  what  once  they 
were. 

FABLE  IX 

Perseus,  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Danae,  having  killed  Medusa, 
carries  her  head  into  Africa,  where  the  blood  that  runs 
from  it  produces  serpents.  Atlas,  king  of  that  country, 
terrified  at  the  remembrance  of  an  oracle,  which  had  fore- 
told that  his  golden  fruit  should  be  taken  by  one  of  the 
sons  of  Jupiter,  not  only  orders  him  to  depart,  but  even 
resorts  to  violence  to  drive  him  away,  on  which  Perseus 
shows  him  the  Gorgon's  head,  and  changes  him  into  a 
mountain. 

But  yet  their  grandson,  Bacchus,  gave  them  both  a  great 
consolation,  under  this  change  of  form;  whom  India,  sub- 

XI— 29 


438  OVID 

dued  by  him,  worshipped  as  a  God,  and  whom  Achaia  hon- 
oured with  erected  temples.  Acrisius  the  son  of  Abas,  de- 
scended of  the  same  race,  alone  remained,  to  drive  him  from 
the  walls  of  the  Argive  city,  and  to  bear  arms  against  the 
God,  and  to  believe  him  not  to  be  the  offspring  of  Jove. 
Neither  did  he  think  Perseus  to  be  the  offspring  of  Jupiter, 
whom  Danae  had  conceived  in  a  shower  of  gold;  but  soon 
(so  great  is  the  power  of  truth)  Acrisius  was  sorry,  both 
that  he  had  insulted  the  God,  and  that  he  had  not  acknowl- 
edged his  grandson.  The  one  was  now  placed  in  heaven, 
while  the  other,  bearing  the  memorable  spoil  of  the  viperous 
monster,  cut  the  yielding  air  with  hissing  wings ;  and  while 
the  conqueror  was  hovering  over  the  Libyan  sands,  bloody 
drops,  from  the  Gorgon's  head,  fell  down,  upon  receiving 
which,  the  ground  quickened  them  into  various  serpents.  For 
this  cause,  that  region  is  filled  and  infested  with  snakes. 

Carried  thence,  by  the  fitful  winds,  through  boundless 
space,  he  is  borne  now  here,  now  there,  just  like  a  watery 
cloud,  and,  from  the  lofty  sky,  looks  down  upon  the  earth, 
removed  afar;  and  he  flies  over  the  whole  world.  Three 
times  he  saw  the  cold  Bears,  thrice  did  he  see  the  claws  of 
the  Crab;  ofttimes  he  was  borne  to  the  West,  many  a  time 
to  the  East.  And  now,  the  day  declining,  afraid  to  trust 
himself  to  the  night,  he  stopped  in  the  Western  part  of  the 
world,  in  the  kingdom  of  Atlas ;  and  there  he  sought  a  little 
rest,  until  Lucifer  should  usher  forth  the  fires  of  Aurora, 
Aurora,  the  chariot  of  the  day.  Here  was  Atlas,  the  son  of 
lapetus,  surpassing  all  men  in  the  vastness  of  his  body.  Un- 
der this  king  was  the  extremity  of  the  earth,  and  the  sea 
which  holds  its  waters  under  the  panting  horses  of  the  Sun, 
and  receives  the  wearied  chariot.  For  him,  a  thousand  flocks, 
and  as  many  herds,  wandered  over  the  pastures,  and  no  neigh- 
bouring places  disturbed  the  land.  Leaves  of  the  trees,  shin- 
ing with  radiant  gold,  covered  branches  of  gold,  and  apples 
of  gold.  "  My  friend,"  said  Perseus  to  him,  "  if  the  glory  of 
a  noble  race  influences  thee,  Jupiter  is  the  author  of  my  de- 
scent; or  if  thou  art  an  admirer  of  exploits,  thou  wilt  admire 
mine.  I  beg  of  thee  hospitality,  and  a  resting  place."  The 
other  was  mindful  of  an  ancient  oracle.     The   Parnassian 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  439 

Themis  had  given  this  response :  "  A  time  will  come,  Atlas, 
when  thy  tree  shall  be  stripped  of  its  gold,  and  a  son  of 
Jove  shall  have  the  honour  of  the  prize."  Dreading  this, 
Atlas  had  enclosed  his  orchard  with  solid  walls,  and  had  given 
it  to  be  kept  by  a  huge  dragon;  and  expelled  all  strangers 
from  his  territories.  To  Perseus,  too,  he  says,  "  Far  hence 
begone,  lest  the  glory  of  the  exploits,  to  which  thou  falsely 
pretendest,  and  Jupiter  as  well,  be  far  from  protecting  thee." 
He  adds  violence  as  well  to  his  threats,  and  tries  to  drive  him 
from  his  doors,  as  he  hesitates  and  mingles  resolute  words 
with  persuasive  ones.  Inferior  in  strength  (for  who  could 
be  a  match  for  Atlas  in  strength !),  he  says,  "  Since  my  friend- 
ship is  of  so  little  value  to  thee,  accept  this  present ; "  and  then, 
turning  his  face  away,  he  exposes  on  the  left  side  the  horrible 
features  of  Medusa.  Atlas,  great  as  he  is,  becomes  a  moun- 
tain. Now  his  beard  and  his  hair  are  changed  into  woods;  his 
shoulders  and  his  hands  become  mountain  ridges,  and  what 
was  formerly  his  head,  is  the  summit  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain. His  bones  become  stones ;  then,  enlarged  on  every  side, 
he  grows  to  an  immense  height,  (so  you  willed  it,  ye  Gods), 
and  the  whole  heaven,  with  so  many  stars,  rests  upon  him. 

FABLE  X 

Perseus,  after  his  victory  over  Atlas,  and  his  change  into  a 
mountain,  arrives  in  Ethiopia,  at  the  time  when  Androm- 
eda is  exposed  to  be  devoured  by  a  monster.  He  kills 
it,  and  hides  the  Gorgon's  head  under  the  sand,  covered 
with  sea  weed  and  plants;  which  are  immediately  turned 
into  coral.  He  then  renders  thanks  to  the  Gods  for  his 
victory,  and  marries  Andromeda.  At  the  marriage  feast 
he  relates  the  manner  in  which  he  had  killed  Medusa;  and 
the  reason  why  Minerva  had  changed  her  hair  into  ser- 
pents. 

The  grandson  of  Hippotas  ^  had  shut  up  the  winds  in  their 
eternal  prison;  and  Lucifer  who  reminds  men  of  their  work, 

^  yEolus,  the  God  of  the  Winds,  was  the  son  of  Jupiter,  by  Acesta, 
the  daughter  of  Hippotas. 


440  OVID 

was  risen  in  the  lofty  sky,  in  all  his  splendour.  Resuming 
his  wings,  Perseus  binds  his  feet  with  them  on  either  side,  and 
is  girt  with  his  crooked  weapon,  and  cleaves  the  liquid  air 
with  his  winged  ancles.  Nations  innumerable  being  left  be- 
hind, around  and  below,  he  beholds  the  people  of  the  yEthio- 
pians  and  the  lands  of  Cepheus.  There  the  unjust  Ammon^ 
had  ordered  the  innocent  Andromeda  to  suffer  punishment  for 
her  mother's  tongue.^ 

Soon  as  the  descendant  of  Abas  beheld  her,  with  her  arms 
bound  to  the  hard  rock,  but  that  the  light  breeze  was  moving 
her  hair,  and  her  eyes  were  running  with  warm  tears,  he 
would  have  thought  her  to  be  a  work  of  marble.  Uncon- 
sciously he  takes  fire,  and  is  astonished;  captivated  with  the 
appearance  of  her  beauty,  thus  beheld,  he  almost  forgets  to 
wave  his  wings  in  the  air.  When  he  has  lighted  on  the 
ground,  he  says,  "  O  thou,  undeserving  of  these  chains,  but 
rather  of  those  by  which  anxious  lovers  are  mutually  united, 
disclose  to  me,  inquiring  both  the  name  of  this  land  and  of 
thyself,  and  why  thou  wearest  these  chains."  At  first  she  is 
silent,  and,  a  virgin,  she  does  not  dare  address  a  man;  and 
with  her  hands  she  would  have  concealed  her  blushing  fea- 
tures, if  she  had  not  been  bound;  her  eyes,  'twas  all  she  could 
do,  she  filled  with  gushing  tears.  Upon  his  often  urging  her, 
lest  she  should  seem  unwilling  to  confess  her  offence,  she  told 
the  name  both  of  the  country  and  of  herself,  and  how  great 
had  been  the  confidence  of  her  mother  in  her  beauty.  All 
not  yet  being  told,  the  waves  roared,  and  a  monster  approach- 
ing, appeared  with  its  head  raised  out  of  the  boundless  ocean, 


^Jupiter,  with  the  surname  of  Ammon,  had  a  temple  in  the  deserts 
of  Libya,  where  he  was  worshipped  under  the  shape  of  a  ram;  a 
form  which  he  was  supposed  to  have  assumed,  when,  in  common 
with  the  other  Deities,  he  fled  from  the  attacks  of  the  Giants,  The 
oracle  of  Jupiter  Ammon  being  consulted  relative  to  the  sea  monster, 
which  Neptune,  at  the  request  of  the  Nereids,  had  sent  against  the 
Ethiopians,  answered  that  Andromeda  must  be  exposed  to  be  de- 
voured by  it. 

2  Cassiope,  the  mother  of  Andromeda,  had  dared  tp  compare  her  own 
beauty  with  that  of  the  Nereids.  Cepheus,  the  son  of  Phcenix,  was 
the  father  of  Andromeda. 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  441 

and  covered  the  wide  expanse  with  its  breast.  The  virgin 
shrieks  aloud;  her  mournful  father,  and  her  distracted  mother, 
are  there,  both  wretched,  but  the  latter  more  justly  so.  Nor 
do  they  bring  her  any  help  with  them,  but  tears  suitable  to 
the  occasion,  and  lamentations,  and  they  cling  round  her  body, 
bound  to  the  rock. 

Then  thus  the  stranger  says':  "  Plenty  of  time  will  be  left 
for  your  tears  hereafter,  the  season  for  giving  aid  is  but 
short.  If  I  were  to  demand  her  in  marriage,  I,  Perseus,  the 
son  of  Jove,  and  of  her  whom,  in  prison,  Jove  embraced  in 
the  impregnating  shower  of  gold,  Perseus,  the  conqueror  of 
the  Gorgon  with  her  serpent  locks,  and  who  has  dared,  on 
waving  wings,  to  move  through  the  aethereal  air,  I  should 
surely  be  preferred  before  all  as  your  son-in-law.  To  so 
many  recommendations  I  endeavour  to  add  merit'  (if  only  the 
Deities  favour  me).  I  only  stipulate  that  she  may  be  mine, 
if  preserved  by  my  valour."  Her  parents  embrace  the  condi- 
tion, (for  who  could  hesitate?)  and  they  entreat  his  aid,  and 
promise  as  well,  the  kingdom  as  a  dowry.  Behold!  as  a 
ship  onward  speeding,  with  the  beak  fixed  in  its  prow,  ploughs 
the  waters,  impelled  by  the  perspiring  arms  of  youths ;  so  the 
monster,  moving  the  waves  by  the  impulse  of  its  breast,  was  as 
far  distant  from  the  rocks,  as  that  distance  in  the  mid  space 
of  air,  which  a  Balearic  string  can  pass  with  the  whirled 
plummet  of  lead;  when  suddenly,  the  youth,  spurning  the 
earth  with  his  feet,  rose  on  high  into  the  clouds.  As  the 
shadow  of  the  hero  was  seen  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  the 
monster  vented  its  fury  on  the  shadow  so  beheld.  And  as 
the  bird  of  Jupiter,^  when  he  has  espied  on  the  silent  plain  a 
serpent  exposing  its  livid  back  to  the  sun,  seizes  it  behind; 
and  lest  it  should  turn  upon  him  its  raging  mouth,  fixes  his 
greedy  talons  in  its  scaly  neck ;  so  did  the  winged  hero,  in  his 
rapid  flight  through  the  yielding  air,  press  the  back  of  the 
monster,  and  the  descendant  of  Inachus  thrust  his  sword  up 
to  the  very  hilt  in  its  right  shoulder,  as  it  roared  aloud. 

Tortured  by  the  grievous  wound,  it  sometimes  raises  itself 
aloft  in  the  air,  sometimes  it  plunges  beneath  the  waves,  some- 


^  The  eagle  was  the  bird  sacred  to  Jove. 


442  OVID 

times  it  wheels  about,  just  like  a  savage  boar,  which  a  pack  of 
hounds  in  full  cry  around  him  affrights.  With  swift  wings 
he  avoids  the  eager  bites  of  the  monster,  and,  with  his  crooked 
sword,  one  while  wounds  its  back  covered  with  hollow  shells, 
where  it  is  exposed,  at  another  time  the  ribs  of  its  sides,  and 
now,  where  its  tapering  tail  terminates  in  that  of  a  fish.  The 
monster  vomits  forth  from  its  mouth  streams  mingled  with 
red  blood ;  its  wings,  made  heavy  by  it,  are  wet  with  the  spray. 
Perseus,  not  daring  any  longer  to  trust  himself  on  his  drip- 
ping pinions,  beholds  a  rock,  which  with  its  highest  top  pro- 
jects from  the  waters  when  becalmed,  but  is  now  covered 
by  the  troubled  sea.  Resting  on  that,  and  clinging  to  the 
upper  ridge  of  the  rock  with  his  left  hand,  three  or  four 
times  he  thrusts  his  sword  through  its  entrails,  aimed  at  by 
him,  A  shout,  with  applause,  fills  the  shores  and  the  lofty 
abodes  of  the  Gods,  Cassiope  and  Cepheus.  the  father,  re- 
joice, and  salute  him  as  their  son-in-law,  and  confess  that  he 
is  the  support  and  the  preserver  of  their  house. 

Released  from  her  chains,  the  virgin  walks  along,  both  the 
reward  and  the  cause  of  his  labours.  He  himself  washes  his 
victorious  hands  in  water  taken  from  the  sea ;  and  that  it  may 
not  injure  the  snake-bearing  head  with  the  bare  sand,  he 
softens  the  ground  with  leaves;  and  strews  some  weeds  pro- 
duced beneath  the  sea,  and  lays  upon  them  the  face  of 
Medusa,  the  daughter  of  Phorcys.  The  fresh  weeds,  being 
still  alive,  imbibed  the  poison  of  the  monster  in  their  spongy 
pith,  and  hardened  by  its  touch ;  and  felt  an  unwonted  stiff- 
ness in  their  branches  and  their  leaves.  But  the  Nymphs  of 
the  sea  attempt  the  wondrous  feat  on  many  other  weeds,  and 
are  pleased  at  the  same  result;  and  raise  seed  again  from 
them  scattered  on  the  waves.  Even  now  the  same  nature 
remains  in  the  coral,  that  it  receives  hardness  from  contact 
with  the  air;  and  what  was  a  plant  in  the  sea,  out  of  the  sea 
becomes  stone. 

To  three  Deities  he  erects  as  many  altars  of  turf;  the  left 
one  to  Mercury;  the  right  to  thee,  warlike  Virgin;  the  altar 
of  Jove  is  in  the  middle.  A  cow  is  sacrificed  to  Minerva;  a 
calf  to  the  wing-footed  God,  and  a  bull  to  thee,  greatest  of 
the  Deities.     Forthwith  he  takes  Andromeda,  and  the  reward 


METAMORPHOSES— BOOK   IV  443 

of  an  achievement  so  great,  without  any  dowry.  Hymenaeus 
and  Cupid  wave  their  torches  before  them ;  the  fires  are  heaped 
with  abundant  perfumes.  Garlands,  too,  are  hanging  from 
the  houses ;  flageolets  and  lyres,  and  pipes,  and  songs  resound, 
the  happy  tokens  of  a  joyous  mind.  The  folding-doors 
thrown  open,  the  entire  gilded  halls  are  displayed,  and  the 
nobles  of  king  Cepheus  sit  down  at  a  feast  furnished  with 
splendid  preparations.  After  they  have  done  the  feast,  and 
have  cheered  their  minds  with  the  gifts  of  the  generous  Bac- 
chus, the  grandson  of  Abas  inquires  the  customs  and  habits 
of  the  country.  Immediately  one  of  them,  Lyncides,  tells 
him,  on  his  enquiring,  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  inhab- 
itants. Soon  as  he  had  told  him  these  things,  he  said,  "  Now, 
most  valiant  Perseus,  tell  us,  I  beseech  thee,  with  how  great 
valour  and  by  what  arts  thou  didst  cut  off  the  head  all  hairy 
with  serpents."  The  descendant  of  Abas  tells  them  that  there 
is  a  spot  situate  beneath  cold  Atlas,  safe  in  its  bulwark  of  a 
solid  mass ;  that,  in  the  entrance  of  this,  dwelt  the  two  sisters, 
the  daughters  of  Phorcys,  who  shared  the  use  of  a  single  eye ; 
that  he  stealthily,  by  sly  craft,  while  it  was  being  handed  over, 
obtained  possession  of  this  by  putting  his  hand  in  the  way; 
and  that  through  rocks  far  remote,  and  pathless,  and  bristling 
with  woods  on  their  craggy  sides,  he  had  arrived  at  the 
abodes  of  the  Gorgons,  and  saw  every  where,  along  the  fields 
and  the  roads,  statues  of  men  and  wild  beasts  turned  into 
stone,  from  their  natural  form,  at  the  sight  of  Medusa;  yet 
that  he  himself,  from  the  reflection  on  the  brass  of  the  shield 
which  his  left  hand  bore,  beheld  the  visage  of  the  horrible 
Medusa;  and  that,  while  a  sound  sleep  held  her  and  her  ser- 
pents entranced,  he  took  the  head  from  off  the  neck ;  and  that 
Pegasus  and  his  brother,^  fleet  with  wings,  were  produced 
from  the  blood  of  her,  their  mother.  He  added,  too,  the 
dangers  of  his  lengthened  journey,  themselves  no  fiction;  what 
seas,  what  lands  he  had  seen  beneath  him  from  on  high,  and 
what  stars  he  had  reached  with  his  waving  wings. 

Yet,  before  it  was  expected,  he  was  silent ;  whereupon  one 
of  the  nobles  rejoined,  inquiring  why  she  alone,  of  her  sisters, 


^  Pegasus  and  Chrysaor,  the  winged  horses. 


444  OVID 

wore  snakes  mingled  alternately  with  her  hair.  "  Stranger," 
said  he,  "  since  thou  enquirest  on  a  matter  worthy  to  be 
related,  hear  the  cause  of  the  thing  thou  enquirest  after.  She 
was  the  most  famed  for  her  beauty,  and  the  coveted  hope  of 
many  wooers ;  nor,  in  the  whole  of  her  person,  was  any  part 
more  worthy  of  notice  than  her  hair:  I  have  met  with  some 
who  said  they  had  seen  it.  The  sovereign  of  the  sea  is  said 
to  have  deflowered  her  in  the  Temple  of  Minerva.  The 
daughter  of  Jove  turned  away,  and  covered  her  chaste  eyes 
with  her  shield.  And  that  this  might  not  be  unpunished,  she 
changed  the  hair  of  the  Gorgon  into  hideous  snakes.  Now, 
too,  that  she  may  alarm  her  surprised  foes  with  terror,  she 
bears  in  front  upon  her  breast,  those  snakes  which  she  thus 
produced.