Part 4

Through envy, you were snatched away _from us_: you were the cause of no cruel wars; you were a chatterer, and the lover of peaceful concord. See, the quails, amid _all_ their battles, [363] live on; perhaps, too, for that reason, they become old. With a very little you were satisfied; and, through your love of talking, you could not give time to your mouth for much food. A nut was your food, and poppies the cause of sleep; and a drop of pure water used to dispel your thirst. The gluttonous vulture lives on, the kite, too, that forms its circles in the air, and the jackdaw, the foreboder [364] of the shower of rain. The crow, too, lives on, hateful to the armed Minerva; [366] it, indeed, will hardly die after nine ages. [367] The prattling parrot is dead, the mimic of the human voice, sent as a gift from the ends of the earth. What is best, is generally first carried off by greedy hands; what is worthless, fills its _destined_ numbers. [368] Thersites was the witness of the lamented death of him from Phylax; and now Hector became ashes, while his brothers _yet_ lived.

Why should I mention the affectionate prayers of my anxious mistress in your behalf; prayers borne over the seas by the stormy North wind? The seventh day was come, [369] that was doomed to give no morrow; and now stood your Destiny, with her distaff all uncovered. And yet your words did not die away, in your faltering mouth; as you died, your tongue cried aloud, "Corinna, farewell!" [370]

At the foot of the Elysian hill [371] a grove, overshaded with dark holm oaks, and the earth, moist with never-dying grass, is green. If there is any believing in matters of doubt, that is said to be the abode of innocent birds, from which obscene ones are expelled. There range far and wide the guiltless swans; the long-lived Phoenix, too, ever the sole bird _of its kind. There_ the bird itself of Juno unfolds her feathers; the gentle dove gives kisses to its loving mate. Received in this home in the groves, amid these the Parrot attracts the guileless birds by his words. [372]

A sepulchre covers his bones; a sepulchre small as his body; on which a little stone has _this_ inscription, well suited to itself: "From this very tomb [377] I may be judged to have been the favorite of my mistress. I had a tongue more skilled at talking than other birds."

ELEGY VII.

_He attempts to convince his mistress, who suspects the contrary, that he is not in love with her handmaid Cypassis._

|Am I then [378] 'to be for ever made the object of accusation by new charges? Though I should conquer, _yet_ I am tired of entering the combat so oft. Do I look up to the _very_ top of the marble theatre, from the multitude, you choose some woman, from whom to receive a cause of grief. Or does some beauteous fair look on me with inexpressive features; you find out that there are secret signs on the features. Do I praise any one; with your nails you attack her ill-starred locks; if I blame any one, you think I am hiding some fault. If my colour is healthy, _then I am pronounced_ to be indifferent towards you; if unhealthy, _then_ I am said to be dying with love for another. But I _only_ wish I was conscious to myself of some fault; those endure punishment with equanimity, who are deserving of it. Now you accuse me without cause; and by believing every thing at random, you yourself forbid your anger to be of any consequence. See how the long-eared ass, [379] in his wretched lot, walks leisurely along, _although_ tyrannized over with everlasting blows.

_And_ lo! a fresh charge; Cypassis, so skilled at tiring, [380] is blamed for having been the supplanter of her mistress. May the Gods prove more favourable, than that if I should have any inclination for a faux pas, a low-born mistress of a despised class should attract me! What free man would wish to have amorous intercourse with a bondwoman, and to embrace a body mangled with the whip? [387] Add, _too_, that she is skilled in arranging your hair, and is a valuable servant to you for the skill of her hands. And would I, forsooth, ask _such a thing_ of a servant, who is so faithful to you? _And_ for why? Only that a refusal might be united to a betrayal? I swear by Venus, and by the bow of the winged boy, that I am accused of a crime which I never committed.

ELEGY VIII.

_He wonders how Corinna has discovered his intrigue with Cypassis, her handmaid, and tells the latter how ably he has defended her and himself to her mistress._

|Cypassis, perfect in arranging the hair in a thousand fashions, but deserving to adorn the Goddesses alone; discovered, too, by me, in our delightful intrigue, to be no novice; useful, indeed, to your mistress, but still more serviceable to myself; who, _I wonder_, was the informant of our stolen caresses? "Whence was Corinna made acquainted with your escapade? Is it that I have blushed? Is it that, making a slip in any expression, I have given any guilty sign of our stealthy amours? And have I _not_, too, declared that if any one can commit the sin with a bondwoman, that man must want a sound mind?

The Thessalian was inflamed by the beauty of the captive daughter of Brises; the slave priestess of Phoebus was beloved by the general from Mycenæ. I am not greater than the descendant of Tantalus, nor greater than Achilles; why should I deem that a disgrace to me, which was becoming for monarchs?

But when she fixed her angry eyes upon you, I saw you blushing all over your cheeks. But, if, perchance, you remember, with how much more presence of mind did I myself make oath by the great Godhead of Venus! Do thou, Goddess, do thou order the warm South winds to bear away over the Carpathian ocean [388] the perjuries of a mind unsullied. In return for these services, swarthy Cypassis, [389] give me a sweet reward, your company to-day. Why refuse me, ungrateful one, and why invent new apprehensions? 'Tis enough to have laid one of your superiors under an obligation. But if, in your folly, you refuse me, as the informer, I will tell what has taken place before; and I myself will be the betrayer of my own failing. And I will tell Cypassis, in what spots I have met you, and how often, and in ways how many and what.

ELEGY IX.

_To Cupid._

O Cupid, never angered enough against me, O boy, that hast taken up thy abode in my heart! why dost thou torment me, who, _thy_ soldier, have never deserted thy standards? And _why_, in my own camp, am I _thus_ wounded? Why does thy torch burn, thy bow pierce, thy friends? 'Twere a greater glory to conquer those who war _with thee_. Nay more, did not the Hæmonian hero, afterwards, relieve him, when wounded, with his healing aid, whom he had struck with his spear. [390] The hunter follows _the prey_ that flies, that which is caught he leaves behind; and he is ever on the search for still more than he has found. We, a multitude devoted to thee, are _too well_ acquainted with thy arms; _yet_ thy tardy hand slackens against the foe that resists. Of what use is it to be blunting thy barbed darts against bare bones? _for_ Love has left my bones _quite_ bare. Many a man is there free from Love, many a damsel, too, free from Love; from these, with great glory, may a triumph be obtained by thee.

Rome, had she not displayed her strength over the boundless earth, would, even to this day, have been planted thick with cottages of thatch. [391] The invalid soldier is drafted off to the fields [392] that he has received; the horse, when free from the race, [393] is sent into the pastures; the lengthened docks conceal the ship laid up; and the wand of repose [394] is demanded, the sword laid by. It were time for me, too, who have served so oft in love for the fair, now discharged, to be living in quiet.

_And yet_, if any Divinity were to say to me, 'Live on, resigning love I should decline it; so sweet an evil are the fair. When I am quite exhausted, and the passion has faded from my mind, I know not by what perturbation of my wretched feelings I am bewildered. Just as the horse that is hard of mouth bears his master headlong, as he vainly pulls in the reins covered with foam; just as a sudden gale, the land now nearly made, carries out to sea the vessel, as she is entering harbour; so, many a time, does the uncertain gale of Cupid bear me away, and rosy Love resumes his well-known weapons. Pierce me, boy; naked am I exposed to thee, my arms laid aside; hither let thy strength be _directed_: here thy right hand tells _with effect_. Here, as though bidden, do thy arrows now spontaneously come; in comparison to myself, their own quiver is hardly so well known to them.

Wretched is he who endures to rest the whole night, and who calls slumber a great good. Fool, what is slumber but the image of cold death? The Fates will give abundance of time for taking rest.

Only let the words of my deceiving mistress beguile me; in hoping, at least, great joys shall I experience. And sometimes let her use caresses; sometimes let her find fault; oft may I enjoy _the favour_ of my mistress; often may I be repulsed. That Mars is one so dubious, is through thee, his step-son, Cupid; and after thy example does thy step-father wield his arms. Thou art fickle, and much more wavering than thy own wings; and thou both dost give and refuse thy joys at thy uncertain caprice. Still if thou dost listen to me, as I entreat thee, with thy beauteous mother; hold a sway never to be relinquished in my heart. May the damsels, a throng too flighty _by far_, be added to thy realms; then by two peoples wilt thou be revered.

ELEGY X.

_He tells Græcinus how he is in love with two mistresses at the same time._

|Thou wast wont to tell me, Græcinus [395] (I remember well), 'twas thou, I am sure, that a person cannot be in love with two females at the same time. Through thee have I been deceived; through thee have I been caught without my arms. [396] Lo! to my shame, I am in love with two at the same moment. Both of them are charming; both most attentive to their dress; in skill, 'tis a matter of doubt, whether the one or the other is superior. That one is more beauteous than this; this one, too, is more beauteous than that; and this one pleases me the most, and that one the most. The one passion and the other fluctuate, like the skiff, [397] impelled by the discordant breezes, and keep me distracted. Why, Erycina, dost thou everlastingly double my pangs? Was not one damsel sufficient for my anxiety? Why add leaves to the trees, why stars to the heavens filled _with them?_ Why additional waters to the vast ocean?

But still this is better, than if I were languishing without a flame; may a life of seriousness be the lot of my foes. May it be the lot of my foes to sleep in the couch of solitude, and to recline their limbs outstretched in the midst of the bed. But, for me, may cruel Love _ever_ disturb my sluggish slumbers; and may I be not the solitary burden of my couch. May my mistress, with no one to hinder it, make me die _with love_, if one is enough to be able to do so; _but_ if one is not enough, _then_ two. Limbs that are thin, [401] but not without strength, may suffice; flesh it is, not sinew that my body is in want of. Delight, too, will give resources for vigour to my sides; through me has no fair ever been deceived. Often, robust through the hours of delicious night, have I proved of stalwart body, even in the mom. Happy the man, who proves the delights of Love? Oh that the Gods would grant that to be the cause of my end!

Let the soldier arm his breast [402] that faces the opposing darts, and with his blood let him purchase eternal fame. Let the greedy man seek wealth; and with forsworn mouth, let the shipwrecked man drink of the seas which he has wearied with ploughing them. But may it be my lot to perish in the service of Love: _and_, when I die, may I depart in the midst of his battles; [403] and may some one say, when weeping at my funeral rites: "Such was a fitting death for his life."

ELEGY XI.

_He endeavours to dissuade Corinna from her voyage to Baiæ._

|The pine, cut on the heights of Pelion, was the first to teach the voyage full of danger, as the waves of the ocean wondered: which, boldly amid the meeting rocks, [404] bore away the ram remarkable for his yellow fleece. Oh! would that, overwhelmed, the Argo had drunk of the fatal waves, so that no one might plough the wide main with the oar.

Lo! Corinna flies from both the well-known couch, and the Penates of her home, and prepares to go upon the deceitful paths _of the ocean_. Ah wretched me! why, for you, must I dread the Zephyrs, and the Eastern gales, and the cold Boreas, and the warm wind of the South? There no cities will you admire, _there_ no groves; _ever_ the same is the azure appearance of the perfidious main.

The midst of the ocean has no tiny shells, or tinted pebbles; [405] that is the recreation [406] of the sandy shore. The shore _alone_, ye fair, should be pressed with your marble feet. Thus far is it safe; the rest of _that_ path is full of hazard. And let others tell you of the warfare of the winds: the waves which Scylla infests, or those which Charybdis _haunts_: from what rocky range the deadly Ceraunia projects: in what gulf the Syrtes, or in what Malea [407] lies concealed. Of these let others tell: but do you believe what each of them relates: no storm injures the person who credits them.

After a length of time _only_ is the land beheld once more, when, the cable loosened, the curving ship runs out upon the boundless main: where the anxious sailor dreads the stormy winds, and _sees_ death as near him, as he sees the waves. What if Triton arouses the agitated waves? How parts the colour, then, from all your face! Then you may invoke the gracious stars of the fruitful Leda: [409] and may say, 'Happy she, whom her own _dry_ land receives!'Tis far more safe to lie snug in the couch, [410] to read amusing books, [411] _and_ to sound with one's fingers the Thracian lyre.

But if the headlong gales bear away my unavailing words, still may Galatea be propitious to your ship. The loss of such a damsel, both ye Goddesses, daughters of Nereus, and thou, father of the Nereids, would be a reproach to you. Go, mindful of me, on your way, _soon_ to return with favouring breezes: may that, a stronger gale, fill your sails. Then may the mighty Nereus roll the ocean towards this shore: in this direction may the breezes blow: hither may the tide impel the waves. Do you yourself entreat, that the Zephyrs may come full upon your canvass: do you let out the swelling sails with your own hand.

I shall be the first, from the shore, to see the well-known ship, and I shall exclaim, "'Tis she that carries my Divinities: [412] and I will receive you in my arms, and will ravish, indiscriminately, many a kiss; the victim, promised for your return, shall fall; the soft sand shall be heaped, too, in the form of a couch; and some sand-heap shall be as a table [413] _for us_. There, with wine placed before us, you shall tell many a story, how your bark was nearly overwhelmed in the midst of the waves: and how, while you were hastening to me, you dreaded neither the hours of the dangerous night, nor yet the stormy Southern gales. Though they be fictions, [414] _yet_ all will I believe as truth; why should I not myself encourage what is my own wish? May Lucifer, the most brilliant in the lofty skies, speedily bring me that day, spurring on his steed."

ELEGY XII.

_He rejoices in the possession of his mistress, having triumphed over every obstacle._

|Come, triumphant laurels, around my temples; I am victorious: lo! in my bosom Corinna is; she, whom her husband, whom a keeper, whom a door _so_ strong, (so many foes!) were watching, that she might by no stratagem be taken. This victory is deserving of an especial triumph: in which the prize, such as it is, is _gained_ without bloodshed. Not lowly walls, not towns surrounded with diminutive trenches, but a _fair_ damsel has been taken by my contrivance.

When Pergamus fell, conquered in a war of twice five years: [415] out of so many, how great was the share of renown for the son of Atreus? But my glory is undivided, and shared in by no soldier: and no other has the credit of the exploit. Myself the general, myself the troops, I have attained this end of my desires: I, myself, have been the cavalry, I the infantry, I, the standard-bearer _too_. Fortune, too, has mingled no hazard with my feats. Come hither, _then_, thou Triumph, gained by exertions _entirely_ my own.

And the cause [416] of my warfare is no new one; had not the daughter of Tyndarus been carried off, there would have been peace between Europe and Asia. A female disgracefully set the wild Lapithæ and the two-formed race in arms, when the wine circulated. A female again, [417] good Latinus, forced the Trojans to engage in ruthless warfare, in thy realms. 'Twas the females, [421] when even now the City was but new, that sent against the Romans their fathers-in-law, and gave them cruel arms. I have beheld the bulls fighting for a snow-white mate: the heifer, herself the spectator, afforded fresh courage. Me, too, with many others, but still without bloodshed, has Cupid ordered to bear the standard in his service.

ELEGY XIII.

_He entreats the aid of Isis and Lucina in behalf of Corinna, in her labour._

|While Corinna, in her imprudence, is trying to disengage the burden of her pregnant womb, exhausted, she lies prostrate in danger of her life. She, in truth, who incurred so great a risk unknown to me, is worthy of my wrath; but anger falls before apprehension. But yet, by me it was that she conceived; or so I think. That is often as a fact to me, which is possible.

Isis, thou who dost [422] inhabit Parætonium, [423] and the genial fields of Canopus, [424] and Memphis, [425] and palm-bearing Pharos, [426] and where the rapid. Nile, discharged from its vast bed, rushes through its seven channels into the ocean waves; by thy 'sistra' [428] do I entreat thee; by the faces, _too_, of revered Anubis; [429] and then may the benignant Osiris [430] ever love thy rites, and may the sluggish serpent [431] ever wreath around thy altars, and may the horned Apis [432] walk in the procession as thy attendant; turn hither thy features, [433] and in one have mercy upon two; for to my mistress wilt thou be giving life, she to me. Full many a time in thy honour has she sat on thy appointed days, [434] on which [435] the throng of the Galli [436] wreathe _themselves_ with thy laurels. [437]

Thou, too, who dost have compassion on the females who are in labour, whose latent burden distends their bodies slowly moving; come, propitious Ilithyia, [438] and listen to my prayers. She is worthy for thee to command to become indebted to thee. I, myself, in white array, will offer frankincense at thy smoking altars; I, myself, will offer before thy feet the gifts that I have vowed. I will add _this_ inscription too; "Naso, for the preservation of Corinna, _offers these_." But if, amid apprehensions so great, I may be allowed to give you advice, let it suffice for you, Corinna, to have struggled in this _one_ combat.

ELEGY XIV.

_He reproaches his mistress for having attempted to procure abortion._

|Of what use is it for damsels to live at ease, exempt from war, and not with their bucklers, [439] to have any inclination to follow the bloodstained troops; if, without warfare, they endure wounds from weapons of their own, and arm their imprudent hands for their own destruction? She who was the first to teach how to destroy the tender embryo, was deserving to perish by those arms of her own. That the stomach, forsooth, may be without the reproach of wrinkles, the sand must [440] be lamentably strewed for this struggle of yours.

If the same custom had pleased the matrons of old, through _such_ criminality mankind would have perished; and he would be required, who should again throw stones [441] on the empty earth, for the second time the original of our kind. Who would have destroyed the resources of Priam, if Thetis, the Goddess of the waves, had refused to bear _Achilles_, her due burden? If Ilia had destroyed [442] the twins in her swelling womb, the founder of the all-ruling City would have perished.

If Venus had laid violent hands on Æneas in her pregnant womb, the earth would have been destitute of _its_ Cæsars. You, too, beauteous one, might have died at the moment you might have been born, if your mother had tried the same experiment which you have done. I, myself, though destined as I am, to die a more pleasing death by love, should have beheld no days, had my mother slain me.

Why do you deprive the loaded vine of its growing grapes? And why pluck the sour apples with relentless hand? When ripe, let them fall of their own accord; _once_ put forth, let them grow. Life is no slight reward for a little waiting. Why pierce [443] your own entrails, by applying instruments, and _why_ give dreadful poisons to the _yet_ unborn? People blame the Colchian damsel, stained with the blood of her sons; and they grieve for Itys, Slaughtered by his own mother. Each mother was cruel; but each, for sad reasons, took vengeance on her husband, by shedding their common blood. Tell me what Tereus, or what Jason excites you to pierce your body with an anxious hand?

This neither the tigers do in their Armenian dens, [444] nor does the lioness dare to destroy an offspring of her own. But, delicate females do this, not, however, with impunity; many a time [445] does she die herself, who kills her _offspring_ in the womb. She dies herself, and, with her loosened hair, is borne upon the bier; and those whoever only catch a sight of her, cry "She deserved it." [446] But let these words vanish in the air of the heavens, and may there be no weight in _these_ presages of mine. Ye forgiving Deities, allow her this once to do wrong with safety _to herself_; that is enough; let a second transgression bring _its own_ punishment.

ELEGY XV.

_He addresses a ring which he has presented to his mistress, and envi its happy lot._

|O ring, [447] about to encircle the finger of the beauteous fair, in which there is nothing of value but the affection of the giver; go as a pleasing gift; _and_ receiving you with joyous feelings, may she at once place you upon her finger. May you serve her as well as she is constant to me; and nicely fitting, may you embrace her finger in your easy circle. Happy ring, by my mistress will you be handled. To my sorrow, I am now envying my own presents.

O! that I could suddenly be changed into my own present, by the arts of her of Ææa, or of the Carpathian old man! [448] Then could I wish you to touch the bosom of my mistress, and for her to place her left hand within her dress. Though light and fitting well, I would escape from her finger; and loosened by _some_ wondrous contrivance, into her bosom would I fall. I too, _as well_, that I might be able to seal [449] her secret tablets, and that the seal, neither sticky nor dry, might not drag the wax, should first have to touch the lips [450] of the charming fair. Only I would not seal a note, the cause of grief to myself. Should I be given, to be put away in her desk, [459] I would refuse to depart, sticking fast to your fingers with ray contracted circle.

To you, my life, I would never be a cause of disgrace, or a burden which your delicate fingers would refuse to carry. Wear me, when you are bathing your limbs in the tepid stream; and put up with the inconvenience of the water getting beneath the stone. But, I doubt, that _on seeing you_ naked, my passion would be aroused; and that, a ring, I should enact the part of the lover. _But_ why wish for impossibilities? Go, my little gift; let her understand that my constancy is proffered with you.

ELEGY XVI.