Nigris aut Erymanthi
Silvis, aut viridis Cragi:
Vos Tempe totidem tollite laudibus;
Natalemque, mares, Delon Apollinis,
Insignemque pharetra
Fraternaque humerum lyra.
Hic bellum lacrymosum, hic miseram famem Pestemque a populo et principe Caesare in
Persas atque Britannos
Vestra motus aget prece.
XXII. AD ARISTIUM FUSCUM.
INTEGER vitae, scelerisque purus
Non eget Mauris jaculis neque arcu,
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Sive per Syrtes iter aestuosas,
Sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum, vel quae loca fabulosus
Lambit Hydaspes.
Namque me silva lupus in Sabina,
Dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra
Terminum curis vagor expeditis,
Like monster martial Daunia never feedeth,
Land which in oaken forest so exceedeth:
Naught Juba's realm, dry nurse of lions, breedeth,
After like fashion.
Place me on plains where barrenness distresses,
Where is no tree that genial breeze caresses,
Side of the world where Jove malign oppresses,
Sable clouds piling;
Place me where, 'neath the sun's near chariot reeking,
Vain for man's habitation were the seeking,
There will I love my Lalage sweet-speaking,
Sweetly too smiling.
Apparently imitated from a poem of Anacreon, of which a single line has been preserved in Athenaeus.
You shrink from me, my Chloe, like a fawn
Whom search after her timorous dam has drawn
To pathless steeps, in needless fear
Of every breath and thicket there.
For with cold tremors quake her heart and knees,
Whether spring's advent stir the rustling trees,
Or the green-coated lizard brush
Lightly athwart the quivering bush.
But not, like tiger fierce, to mangle you,
Nor like Getulian lion, I pursue;
Quit then, at length your mother quit,
Since now of years for wedlock fit.
Quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis,
Nec Jubae tellus generat, leonum
Arida nutrix.
Pone me, pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor aestiva recreatur aura;
Quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Juppiter urget:
Pone sub curru nimium propinqui
Solis, in terra domibus negata :
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem.
VITAS hinnuleo me similis, Chloë,
Quaerenti pavidam montibus aviis
Matrem, non sine vano
Aurarum et siluae metu.
Nam seu mobilibus veris inhorruit Adventus foliis, seu virides rubum Dimovere lacertae,
Et corde et genibus tremit. Atqui non ego te, tigris ut aspera Gaetulusve leo, frangere persequor :
Tandem desine matrem
Tempestiva sequi viro.
Quintilius was born at Cremona, and was a neighbour and friend of Virgil, through whom probably Horace made his acquaintance.
WHAT shame, what stint in sorrowing can there be
For one so dear? Ordain, Melpomene,
A dolorous chant; thou unto whom thy sire
Hath given a voice of music and the lyre.
Doth then a never-ending sleep oppress
Quintilius? upon whose like, ah when
Shall Modesty, or Truth or Guilelessness,
Of Justice the pure sister, look again?
By many good his fall is wept, and more
By none than thee; and thy Quintilius,
Pious in vain, thou bidst the gods restore.
Ah! not so, Virgil, was he lent to us!
E'en though more softly thou attune the lute
Than Thracian Orpheus to attentive trees,
Never will blood the empty form recruit,
Which, deaf to prayer against what Fate decrees,
Mercury, touching with his dreaded wand,
Hath once compelled to join the sable band.
Hard! but with patience will more lightly lie
That which 'twere criminal to remedy.
QUIS desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam cari capitis? Praecipe lugubres
Cantus, Melpomene, cui liquidam pater
Vocem cum cithara dedit.
Ergo Quintilium perpetuus sopor
Urget? cui Pudor, et Justitiae soror
Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas,
Quando ullum inveniet parem?
Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit;
Nulli flebilior quam tibi, Virgili.
Tu frustra pius, heu! non ita creditum
Poscis Quintilium deos.
Quod si Threïcio blandius Orpheo
Auditam moderere arboribus fidem;
Non vanae redeat sanguis imagini,
Quam virga semel horrida,
Non lenis precibus fata recludere
Nigro compulerit Mercurius gregi.
Durum sed levius fit patientia
Quidquid corrigere est nefas.
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