Is he to ask times o'er and o'er what temple she may be in, And in what park she's walking now; and then, when he has sought
The town all through, and borne a host of toils quite Herculean, To get from her a note like this: "What present have you
To be allowed to scan her surly warder, and, detected,
To skulk away perhaps in some abominable slum? How dearly once a-year comes round a night we've long expected!
On those whom bolted doors delight may every evil come!
Give me the girl who boldly walks, her veil thrown back behind her,
Unwatched by guards whose jealous eyes one's peace of mind destroy
Who treads the Sacred Way with muddy shoe, and when you find her,
And whisper in her ear your wish, is anything but coy.
She'll never put you off, nor for the paltry guinea stickle,
The loss of which your cross-grained sire would mourn in
sore dismay;
Nor will she say, "I'm terrified; be off, I'm in a pickle,-
My husband, who's been out of town, is coming home to-day."
With maidens from Euphrates and Orontes I'm in clover.
Talk not of chaste caress to me, 'tis all a bagatelle :
Since lovers are constrained to give all thoughts of freedom
The man who sets his heart on love to freedom bids farewell.
• Tu loqueris, cum sis jam noto fabula libro,
Et tua sit toto Cynthia lecta foro?'
"AND do you talk-you, now a byword grown,
Whose 'Cynthia' through the forum's read and known?"
At words like these, whose brow all o'er and o'er
Would rain not burning sweat from every pore?
A gentleman must either blush for shame,*
Or never venture once his love to name.
Were Cynthia kind as girls of lower price,
I should not now be called the crown of vice,
Nor have the whole town's scandal at me hurled;
And though I burned, in word I'd cheat the world.
No wonder I to common queans repair—
They harm me less; seems that a small affair?
For fan a peacock's tail she now demands,
Now asks a crystal ball to cool her hands;
Begs me, grown wroth, to cheapen ivory dice,
And Sacra Via's glittering trash. The price-
Hang it is a mere bagatelle; but yet
I blush to be the jest of a coquette.
* Aut pudor ingenuost aut reticendus amor.—(Munro.)
Hoc erat in primis quod me gaudere jubebas?
WAS this the peerless joy in store for me?
Oh, shame that one so fair should fickle be!
In love we've hardly spent our second night,
And now thou art a-weary of my sight.
Once thou didst praise me and my lays alone;
Has all that love of thine so quickly flown?
With me in genius let my rival vie,
Or art-first let him learn fidelity;
Bid him on Lerna's brood his prowess test,
The apples from Hisperian dragon wrest,
Drain baleful poisons, shipwrecked gulp the sea,
And brave all miseries for sake of thee.
Light of my life! oh bid me bear the same!
That braggart soon will earn the coward's name
Who proudly vaunts his puffed-up honour now:
One single year will snap your covenant-vow.
Me not the Sibyl's years, though vast their range,
Alcides' toil, nor doom's dark day, shall change.
Thou'lt lay me in the silent grave, and say,
"These are thy bones, Propertius, faithful aye.
Alas! alas! how true wast thou to me,
Though thine nor wealth nor ancient pedigree !"
I'll suffer all unchanged, all wrongs I'll bear
It were no load to bear with one so fair!
Not few, I ween, have for thy beauty pined;
But faith, I ween, thou'lt not in many
find.
A short while Theseus Ariadne loved;
Demophoön Phyllis: both deceitful proved.
In Jason's ship thou know'st Medea's fate*.
The man she rescued left her desolate.
Hard is the maid who feigns a ready fire,
And dons for more than one her best attire.
Court not the rich or noble; hardly one
Would lift, like me, thy bones when life is done.
Yet oh for me be thine the mournful care,
To beat thy naked breast and rend thy hair!
Unica nata meo pulcherrima cura dolori.
SOLE care, and fairest cause of all my pain,
Since fate forbids the whispered "Come again!"
Thy beauty from my lays shall peerless shine:
Catullus, with thy leave; with, Calvus, thine.
The veteran doffs his arms war-wearied now,
The agèd steers refuse to drag the plough,
*Jam tibi Iasonia notast Medea carina.—(Cdd.)
The crumbling ship lies on the lonely shore,
In temple hung the old buckler's borne no more ;
But time will never wean my heart from thine,
Though Nestor's or Tithonus' years be mine.
Far better brook the tyrant's ruthless rule,
And groan, O fell Perillus ! in thy bull;
Far better freeze to stone 'neath Gorgon's stare,
And e'en the dire Caucasian vultures bear.
Yet firm I'll stand: with rust steel spears decay,
A little water wears the rock away :
My love no caustic wears howe'er severe;
It lasts, and bears all threats with patient ear.
Though scorned, it pleads; though wronged, admits the fault,
And e'en returns, though fain its feet would halt.
Thou too, fond fool, in love's good fortune strong
Be warned!—no woman e'er is faithful long.
Who pays his vows while storms around him rave,
Since oft in port the wreck bestrews the wave?
Who claims the prize before the race is done,
And round the goal the wheels seven times have run?
Deceitful blows in love the prosperous gale;
If late disaster come, then great the bale.
Yet do thou, meanwhile, though she love thee well,
Close lock thy breast; thy joys to no one tell.
In love affairs-I know not why 'tis so
Our boastful words are sure to work us woe.
Though oft invited, seldom go her way;
What causes envy is not wont to stay.
Were times like times, and maids like maids of yore,
I'd be as thou by time I'm triumphed o'er;
Yet shall this age my habits never change:
Let each one wander in his fitting range.
* At nullo dominae teritur sub alumine amor qui.—(Munro.)
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