'Propertius, hence no dreams of glory harbour;
Thy tiny wheels must press the velvet mead,
If maid must bear thy leaflets to her arbour,
And these, lone waiting for her lover, read.
"Why cross thy limit-line, to danger callous? Weigh not the pinnace of thy genius down:
One oar should smite the wave—one graze the shallows: Then safe thy course; mid-sea vast billows frown."
With ivory quill he showed me on the hill-side,
Approached by path new-made in mossy ground,
A green grot decked with pebbles from the rill-side:
Hung timbrels from the pumice-rocks around.
There, clay-wrought, stood the Nine and sire Silenus;
Thy reeds, O Pan of the Tegaean hills!
There, too, thy doves, my pets, almighty Venus!
Dipped in the Gorgon lake their purple bills.
O'er her peculiar work each maiden lingers,
And deftly plies the task that best she knows ;
One wreathes the thyrsus, one with nimble fingers
Attunes the strings, another twines the rose.
Spake one of these in tones of mild dominion—
Calliope, methinks, from all her charms :
Safely thou'lt soar on swan of snow-white pinion,
But ne'er on charger rush to clang of arms.
"Sound not the hoarse-breath'd horn, for battle sighing,
Nor fence with warring hosts the Aonian bower;
Nor sing the Camp where Marius' flag is flying,
And Rome is crushing out the Teuton's power;
"Or how far Rhine, with Suevan blood red-reeking, Bears gory corses on his rueful stream: Thou'lt sing the serenader's wreath bespeaking
The midnight rout, and the gay reveller's dream—
"Thou'lt teach the youth to open Beauty's portal
By song by song the churlish lord beguile."
She ceased, and with the waters, whence immortal
Philetas quaffed, laved all my lips the while.
PICTURE OF CAESAR'S TRIUMPH.
Arma Deus Caesar dites meditatur ad Indos.
To Ind's rich land our arms great Caesar bearing Designs with ships to plough the pearl-gemmed deep; Vast prize! far lands new triumphs are preparingEuphrates-Tigris 'neath his sway shall sweep.
Though late the Parthian shall obey the Roman;
To Latin Jove be Parthian spoils decreed;
Up! rig our war-tried fleet, and for the yeoman
Lead forth-his wonted gift-the gallant steed.
Heaven smiles: the Crassi's fall avenge, and gather
For Rome fresh garlands of immortal bay;
O fateful fires of Vesta! Mars our father!
Grant, ere I die, may dawn the glorious day
When I shall gaze on Caesar's car spoil-laden,
His steeds oft fretting at the applauding throng, And, clasping to my heart my matchless maiden, Devour the titles, as they flaunt along,
Of conquered towns, amid a myriad readersScan the fell shafts the flying horseman bore— The trousered soldier's bow, and captive leaders Sitting in chains beneath the arms they wore.
Preserve thy race, O Venus! and for ever
Smile on the scion of Aeneas' line;
Let booty crown the warrior's bold endeavour :
To cheer along the Sacred Way be mine!
IN PRAISE OF A PEACEFUL LIFE.
Pacis Amor Deus est: pacem veneramur amantes.
LOVE is a god of peace: peace lovers prize.
My bitter war with Cynthia never dies.
Yet dream of gold accurst ne'er haunts my soul,
Nor do I quench my thirst from jewelled bowl,
Plough rich Campania's slopes, or sigh to deck
My home with bronze, O Corinth! from thy wreck.
First earth! to rash Prometheus most unblest!
O luckless dream of a too heedless breast,
To frame a shape and give no mind to it!
Though common-sense was man's first requisite.
Now we are tossed by winds on seas afar,
We seek a foe, and add fresh war to war.
Thou'lt bear no treasures to the realms below:
Naked to Hell's dark rafts, poor fool, thou'lt go.
Victor and vanquished in the shades shall meet,
And Consul Marius share Jugurtha's seat,
King Croesus near Dulichian Iris be:
That death is best which comes by Fate's decree.*
*Or, according to some texts—
"That death is best that sets the poor man free."-(See Notes.)
In youth on Helicon I loved to twine
My arms in dances with the tuneful Nine;
Now with full bowl I'd chain my soul, and string
For ever round my head the rose of spring;
And when dull age shall banish love-caresses,
And streak with snow-white locks my raven tresses,
O be it mine dark Nature's ways to scan,
And learn what power controls this mundane plan;
Whence comes the monthly moon, where pales from sight,
Whence fills her rounding horns with waxing light;
What Eurus, courts; whence winds o'errun the main ;
Whence swell the clouds with never-failing rain;
If comes a day shall lay earth's bulwarks low;
Why drizzly raindrops feed the purple bow;
Or why Perrhaebian Pindus' summits quailed,
And Sol his radiant steeds in mourning veiled;
Why lags Boötes' steers and circling wain;
Why blend in mazy light the Pleiad train;
Why ocean cannot leave its settled sphere;
Why four set seasons part the rolling year;
If judges sit and wretches writhe below;
If snake-haired fiends exist in realms of woe;
Alcmaeon's furies, Phineus' famine-dream,
The wheel, the rock, the thirst amid the stream;
If three-mouthed Cerberus guard the gate of gloom;
And Tityos find nine acres narrow room;
Or if some fable haunt poor souls the while,
And terrors cease beyond the funeral pile.
So end my days: go, warriors, and do ye
Bring Crassus' banners back to Italy.
* Sub terris sint jura deum et tormenta nocentum.-(Haupt.)
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