by Tibullus
69 And for me let there be hard terms; let me never praise a woman without her flying at my eyes, and if she should think I have done her wrong, let me be taken by the hair, though I be guiltless, and pitched forward down the steep. I would not wish to strike thee, Delia, but if such madness come to me, I would pray to have no hands. Yet be not chaste through cruel fear, but by loyal heart; and when absent, let love on thy side keep thee safe for me....
77 [The faithful have their reward.] But she whom no one has found true, thereafter poor and bowed with age draws out the twisted yarn with shaking hand and for hire fastens firm the leashes to the loom and pulls and cleans the handfuls of snowy wool. The troops of young are glad at heart to see her plight, and declare that she deserves to suffer so many woes in age. Venus from her throne on high Olympus looks upon her weeping, and bids us mark how sharp she is with the faithless. Upon others, Delia, let these curses fall: but let us twain still be pattern lovers when our hair is white.
VII
1 The Triumph of Messalla OF this day sang the Parcae as they span the thread of doom which no god can untwist — that this should be the day to put the folk of Aquitaine to rout, to make the Aude to tremble, by a valiant soldiery overpowered. So hath it come about. The men of Rome have seen new triumphs, and chiefs with shackles on their captive arms, whilst thou, Messalla, wearing the conqueror’s bays, wast borne in ivory car by steeds of shining white.
9 Not without me was thy glory won: witness Tarbellian Pyrenees and the shores of Ocean by Saintonge; witness Saone and swift-running Rhone and great Garonne, with Loire, blue stream of the blonde tribes of Chartres.
13 Or, Cydnus, shall I sing of thee whose silent wave steals bluely through the waters of the still lagoon? Or how with head that reaches to the clouds extends chill Taurus, the feeder of Cilicia’s long-haired sons? Why should I recount how from town to town unharmed flies the white dove that the Syrians of Palestine revere? How Tyre, first town that learned to trust the ship to the mercy of the wind, looks out from her towers across the vast sea-plain? Or how, when Sirius splits the parching fields, through all the heats life-giving Nile is full in flood?
23 For what cause, Father Nile, or in what lands may I declare that thou hast hid thy head? Because of thee thy Egypt never sues for showers, nor does the parched blade bow to Jove the Rain-giver. Thou art sung and worshipped, as their own Osiris, by the barbarous folk brought up to wail the ox of Memphis.
29 It was Osiris’ cunning hand that first made ploughs and vexed the young earth with the iron share. He first entrusted seed to the untried earth, and gathered fruits from unknown trees. He showed how to join the young vine and the pole, he how to lop its green leaves with the stern pruning-hook. For him the ripe grape-clusters, which rugged feet had crushed, first yielded up their pleasant tastes; their juice taught men to guide the voice through changing strains, and bade untutored limbs move to a measure true.
39 When the breast of the countryman is crushed with his heavy toil, it is the wine-god makes it over to gladness to be loosened from its bonds; ’tis the wine-god brings relief to mortals in distress, though cruel shackles clank upon their legs.
43 Harsh cares and grief are not for thee, Osiris, but dance and songs and lightsome love. Yea, flowers of many hues and brows with the berried ivy circled, and robe of saffron flowing over youthful feet, raiment of Tyre and sweet-singing pipe and the light basket with its mystery of holy things.
49 Then hither come, and with a hundred sports and dances do honour to the Birth-sprite, and let wine in plenty bathe his temples. From his glistening hair let the ointment drip, and on his head and neck let soft garlands hang. Thus come to us to-day, Birth-spirit; and I will bring thee offering of incense and cakes sweetened with honey from the land of Mopsopus.
55 But for thee, my friend, let a progeny spring up to add fresh exploits to their sire’s, and stand in their distinctions about the old man’s chair.
57 And let him not be silent on the great work of thy road whom the fields of Tusculum or white Alba’s ancient homesteads keep from the city. For, heaped up through thy bounty, here is laid hard gravel, and there are flint blocks featly joined. The dweller in the country shall sing thy praise when he has come at night from the great city and brought his foot home without tripping.
63 But thou, Birth-spirit, come to thy honours for many a year — come ever brighter and brighter still.
VIII
To Pholoe on Marathus
1 No one can hide from me the meaning of a lover’s nod, nor the message of gentle tones and whispered words. Yet no lots help me, no liver with heaven’s will acquainted, nor do birds’ notes tell me of the things to come. ’Twas Venus’ self that tied my arms with magic knots and taught me all with many stripes.
7 Have done with concealments. The god has fiercer fires for those that he sees have fallen to him against their will.
9 What advantage hast thou now in dressing the soft hair or shifting continually the arrangement of the tresses, what in beautifying cheeks with lustrous pigment, in having the nails pared by an artist’s cunning hand? In vain thy gowns, thy shawls are changed, and the tight loop squeezes the feet together. ’Tis the other charms, though she come with face untended and has spent no lingering skill on dressing her sheeny hair.
17 Has some hag bewitched thee with her spells, or with blanching herbs, in the silent night hours? Incantation draws the crops from the neighbour’s field; incantation checks the course of the angry snake; incantation seeks to draw the moon down from her car, and would do it but for the blows on the echoing bronze.
23 Why do I complain, alas! that spells or herbs have worked me woe? Beauty needs no aid from sorcery. ’Tis touching the body does the harm, giving the long kiss, resting thigh by thigh. Yet do thou for thy part see thou art not uncompliant to the lad; Venus visits harsh deeds with punishment.
29 Ask for no presents: these should a hoary lover give, that soft arms may warm his chilly limbs. Gold is less precious than a lad whose face is bright and smooth, with no rough beard to rasp caresses. Under his shoulder place thy radiant arms, and thus look down on all the treasures of a king. Venus will find a way for stealthy commerce with the lad while he quivers, and would draw your tender bosoms ever closer, for giving wet kisses with quickened breath and struggling tongue and printing the teeth’s marks on the neck. No stone or pearls will give her joy who sleeps alone and chill, and to no man is desirable.
41 Ah, too late we call back love and youth when hoary eld has bleached the aged head. Then looks are studied. The hair is stained to disguise our years with dye from the nut’s green husk. Then we task ourselves to pluck up the white hairs by the root and to carry home a face transformed, with the old skin gone. But do thou while thy life is still in its flowering springtide see that thou use it. Not slow are its feet as it glides away.
49 Nor torture Marathus. What glory is there in discomfiting a boy? Be hard, my lass, to the effete old. Spare the tender shoot, I pray. Naught ails him gravely; ’tis from excess of passion comes the yellow stain upon his skin. See again, poor wretch, how often he heaps his piteous reproaches on the absent and all around is flooded with his tears.
55 “Why dost thou slight me?” he complains. “The watch might have been baffled. Heaven itself gives the lovesick skill to cozen. I know the secret ways of love, how the breath may be taken gently, and how kisses may be snatched and make no sound. I can steal up e’en in the dead of night, and unseen unbar the door without a sound. But what do arts avail if the girl spurn the hapless swain and, cruel, fly from the very couch of love? Then again when she promises and suddenly plays false, I must wake through a night of many woes. While I fondly think that she will come to me, in every stir I hear her footfall sounding.”
67 Shed tears no more, lad. Her heart is stone, and thy eyes are already worn and swelled with weeping. The gods, I warn thee, Pholoe, abhor disdain. ‘Twill be vain to offer incense to their holy fires. This is the Marathus that once made mock o
f wretched lovers, unwitting that behind him stood the god of vengeance. Often, too, we have heard, he laughed at the tears of anguish and kept a lover waiting with pretences for delay. Now he abhors all coyness; now he hates every door that is bolted fast against him. But for thee, girl, unless thou cease to be proud, there is punishment in store. Then how wilt thou long that prayers might bring thee back to-day!
IX
To Marathus
1 WHY, if thou wast to wrong my helpless love, didst thou pledge thy faith to me before the gods but to break it privily? Unhappy! even if at first we hide the perjury, yet in the end comes Punishment on noiseless feet. Still spare him, powers above. ’Tis not unjust if for one sin against your godhead beauty should pay no forfeit.
7 ’Tis in quest of gain the countryman yokes his bulls to his good plough and plies his hard work on the land; it is gain that the swaying ships pursue when the sure stars guide them through seas that the winds control. And by gifts has my lad been captured. But may God turn them to ashes and running water.
13 Ere long he will make me full amends; his comeliness will be lost amid the dust and the winds that roughen his hair; his face, his curls will be burned by the sun, and long travel will disable his tender feet.
17 How many times have I warned him: “Let not gold sully beauty; under gold there often lurks a multitude of ills. Whosoever has let wealth tempt him to outrage love, with him is Venus fierce and obdurate. Rather burn my head with fire, stab my body with steel, and cut my back with the twisted scourge. And have no hope of concealment when thou art planning wrong. God knows of it, and lets no treachery stay hid. God himself has set [wine] within the reach of a tongue-tied servant, that with much strong drink his speech might How free. Heaven itself has bidden the lips that slumber had sealed to open and to speak unwillingly of deeds that should have lain in the dark.”
29 So used I to say to thee. Now I am ashamed that I wept as I spoke, that I fell at thy tender feet. Then thou wouldst swear to me that for no weight of precious gold or for pearls wouldst thou sell thy faith, nay, not if Campania’s land were given thee as the price, or Falernum’s fields that Bacchus tends. Such words could have robbed me of my certainty that stars shine in skies and that rivers run downward. Nay, more, thou wouldst weep; but I unversed in deceit would ever fondly wipe the water from thy cheeks.
39 What should I have done hadst thou not thyself been in love with a maid? May she be fickle — fickle, I pray, taking pattern by thee. Oh, how oft in the late night, that none should be privy to thy wooing, did I myself attend thee with the light in my hand! Often, when thou didst not hope for her, she came through my good offices, and stood hid, a veiled figure, behind the fast shut door. Then, poor wretch, was my undoing; I fondly trusted to Love: I might have been warier of thy snares. Nay, in my craze of mind I made verses in thy honour; but now I am ashamed for myself and the Muses. May the Fire-god shrivel those verses with devouring flame, or the river wash them out in its running waters. Go thou far hence whose aim is to sell thy beauty and to return with a great wage filling thy hand.
53 And thou who durst corrupt the boy with thy gifts, may thy wife unpunished make a constant jest of thee by her intrigues; and when the gallant is spent with her furtive dalliance, let her lie by thee lax with the coverlet between. Let there be always stranger tracks upon thy bed, and thy house be always free and open to the amorous. Nor let it be said that her wanton sister can drain more cups or exhaust more gallants. She, folk say, prolongs her wine-bibbing revels till the wheels of the Light-bringer rise to summon forth the day. Than she could none lay out the night hours better, or arrange the different modes of love.
65 But thy spouse has learned it all, and yet thou, poor fool, dost notice naught when she moves her limbs with an unaccustomed art. Dost thou think that it is for thee that she arranges her hair and through her fine tresses passes the close-toothed comb? Is it thy beauty prompts her to clasp gold on her arms and come forth arrayed in Tyrian drapery? Not thee, but a certain youth would she have find her charming. For him she would consign to ruin thee and all thy house. Nor does she this out of depravity; but the dainty girl shrinks from limbs that gout disfigures and an old man’s arms.
75 Yet by him has my own lad lain. I could believe that he would mate with a savage beast. Didst thou dare, mad youth, to sell caresses that belonged to me and to take to others the kisses that were mine? Thou wilt weep, then, when another lad has made me his captive and shall proudly reign in thy realm.
81 In that hour of thy punishment I shall rejoice, and a golden palm-branch shall be put up to Venus for her goodness, with this record of my fortunes:
TIBULLUS WHOM FROM TREACHEROUS LOVE, GODDESS, THOU DIDST UNBIND OFFERS THEE THIS AND BEGS THEE KEEP FOR HIM A THANKFUL MIND.
X
Against War
1 WHO was the first discoverer of the horrible sword? How savage was he and literally iron! Then slaughter and battles were born into the world of men: then to grisly death a shorter road was opened.
5 But perhaps, poor wretch, he is to blame in nothing, but we turn to our mischief what he gave us to use against the savage wild beast. This is the curse of precious gold; nor were there wars when the cup of beech wood stood beside men’s food. There were no citadels, no palisades, and void of care the flock’s commander courted sleep with his sheep of divers hue around him.
11 In that age would I have lived nor known grim warfare or heard the trumpet-call with beating heart. Now am I dragged to war; and some foeman, maybe, already bears the weapon that is to be buried in my side.
15 Yet save me, Lares of my fathers! Ye too did rear me when I ran, a little child, before your feet. And feel it not a shame that ye are made of but an ancient tree-stock. Such were ye when ye dwelt in the home of my grandsire long ago. Then faith was better kept, when a wooden god stood poorly garbed in a harrow shrine. His favour was won when a man had offered a bunch of grapes as first fruits, or laid the spiky garland on the holy hair. And one who had gained his prayer would with his own hands bring the honey-cake, his little daughter following with the pure honeycomb in hers.
25 O Lares, turn the bronze javelins away from me [and as thankoffering for my safe return shall fall...] and a hog from the full sty, a farmer’s victim. With it will I follow in clean apparel, and bear the basket bound with myrtle, even as the myrtle binds my hair. Thus may I find favour in your eyes. Let another be stout in war and, Mars to aid him, lay the hostile chieftains low, that, while I drink, he may tell me of his feats in fighting and draw the camp in wine upon the table.
33 What madness is it to call black Death to us by warfare! It is ever close upon us: it comes unseen on silent feet. Below there are neither corn-lands nor well-kept vineyards; only wild Cerberus and the ill-favoured mariner of the stream of Styx. There wanders a sallow throng beside the dusky pools with eyeless sockets and fire-ravaged hair.
39 Nay, the hero is he whom, when his children are begotten, old age’s torpor overtakes in his humble cottage. He follows his sheep, his son the lambs, while the good wife heats the water for his weary limbs. So let me live till the white hairs glisten on my head and I tell in old man’s fashion of the days gone by. Let Peace in the meantime tend our fields. Bright Peace first led the oxen under curved yoke to plough. Peace made the vine plants grow and stored the grape juice that from the father’s jars might pour wine for the son. In peace shine hoe and ploughshare; but the grisly arms of the rugged soldier rust preys on in the dark.
51 Then the yeoman drives back from the grove, himself half sober, with wife and offspring in his wain.
53 Then love’s war rages hotly; and women lament that hair is torn and doors are broken. The fair weeps for the buffets on her tender cheek; but the conqueror weeps too that his mad hands were so strong; while freakish Love feeds the feud with bitter speeches, and sits in unconcern between the angry pair. Ah, he is stone and iron who would beat his lass: this is to drag the gods down from the sky. Be it enough to tear the light robe from he
r limbs, and to disorder the fair arrangement of her hair: enough to cause her tears to flow. Thrice happy he whose anger can make a soft lass weep! But he whose hands are cruel should carry shield and stake and keep afar from gentle Venus.
67 Then come to us, gracious Peace; grasp the cornspike in thy hand, and from the bosom of thy white robe let fruits pour out before thee.
BOOK II
I
The Country Festival
1 ALL present hush. We purify the crops and lands in the fashion handed down from our ancestors of old. Come to us, Bacchus, with the sweet grape cluster hanging from thy horns, and, Ceres, wreathe thy temples with the corn-ears.
5 Upon this holy day let earth, let ploughman rest. Hang up the share and let the heavy labour cease. Loose from the yokes their straps; now by the well-filled manger must the oxen stand with garlands round their heads. Let all things be at the service of the god; let no spinner choose to set her hand to the task of wool. Ye too I bid stand far away — let none be nigh the altar to whom Love’s goddess gave her pleasures yesternight. The powers above ask purity. Clean be the raiment that ye come in, and clean the hands to take the waters from the spring. Mark how to the shining altar goes the holy lamb, and behind the white procession; the olive binds their hair.
17 Gods of our sires, we cleanse the farms, we cleanse the farming folk. Do ye outside our boundaries drive all evil things. Let not our sown fields mock the reaping with defaulting blade. Let not our slow lambs fear the swifter wolves. Then the sleek rustic, full of trust in his teeming fields, will heap huge logs upon his blazing hearth; and a young troop of home-born slaves, fair signs that show a lusty yeoman, will play about and build them huts of sticks before the fire. My prayers are heard. See in the favouring entrails how the liver-markings bear a message that the gods are gracious.
