summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/eltib10h.htm
blob: 8c86220395b8ae556045499ac98cc9a722c47131 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545

<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
<html>
  <head>
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content=
    "text/html; charset=us-ascii">
    <title>
      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Elegies of Tibullus, By
      Theodore C. Williams.
    </title>
    <style type="text/css">
    <!--
    * { font-family:   Times;}
    P { text-indent:   1em;
        margin-top:    .75em;
        font-size:     14pt;
        text-align:    justify;
        margin-bottom: .75em; }
    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; }
    HR  { width: 45%; }
    PRE { font-size:     14pt;}
    // -->
    </style>
  </head>
  <body>


<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elegies of Tibullus, by Tibullus

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****


Title: The Elegies of Tibullus

Author: Tibullus

Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9610]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on October 9, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: US-ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELEGIES OF TIBULLUS ***




Produced by Ted Garvin, David Garcia
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





</pre>

    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h1>
      THE ELEGIES OF TIBULLUS
    </h1>
    <center>
      BEING<br>
      THE CONSOLATIONS OF A ROMAN LOVER<br>
      DONE IN ENGLISH VERSE
    </center>&nbsp;<br>
    <center>
      <b>BY THEODORE C. WILLIAMS</b>
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <center>
      BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br>
       HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br>
       (The Riverside Press Cambridge)<br>
       1908
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <center>
      <b>TO WILLIAM COE COLLAR</b>
    </center>
    <center>
      HEAD MASTER OF THE<br>
      ROXBURY LATIN SCHOOL
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>Our old master ever young to his old boys:
    </center>&nbsp;<br>
    <center>
      <i>Did Mentor with his mantle thee invest,<br>
       Or Chiron lend thee his persuasive lyre,<br>
       Or Socrates, of pedagogues the best,<br>
       Teach thee the harp-strings of a youth's desire?</i>
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="PRF"><!-- PRF --></a>
    <h2>
      PREFACE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Albius Tibullus was a Roman gentleman, whose father fought on
      Pompey's side. The precise dates of his birth and death are
      in doubt, and what we know of his life is all in his own
      poems; except that Horace condoles with him about Glycera,
      and Apuleius says Delia's real name was Plautia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Horace paid him this immortal compliment: (<i>Epist. 4 bk.
      I</i>).
    </p>
    <pre>
  "<i>Albi nostrorum sermonum candide judex,
  Non tu corpus eras sine pectore; Di tibi formam,
  Di tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi</i>."
</pre>
    <p>
      After his death, Ovid wrote him a fine elegy (p. 115); and
      Domitius Marsus a neat epigram. The former promised him an
      immortality equal to Homer's; the latter sent him to Elysium
      at Virgil's side. These excessive eulogies are the more
      remarkable in that Tibullus stood, proudly or indolently,
      aloof from the court. He never flatters Augustus nor mentions
      his name. He scoffs at riches, glory and war, wanting nothing
      but to triumph as a lover. Ovid dares to group him with the
      laurelled shades of Catullus and Gallus, of whom the former
      had lampooned the divine Julius and the latter had been
      exiled by Augustus.
    </p>
    <p>
      But in spite of this contemporary <i>succ&egrave;s
      d'estime</i>, Tibullus is clearly a minor poet. He expresses
      only one aspect of his time. His few themes are oft-repeated
      and in monotonous rhythms. He sings of nothing greater than
      his own lost loves. Yet of Delia, Nemesis and Neaera, we
      learn only that all were fair, faithless and venal. For a man
      whose ideal of love was life-long fidelity, he was tragically
      unsuccessful.
    </p>
    <p>
      If this were all, his verse would have perished with that of
      Macer and Gallus. But it is not all. These love-poems of a
      private gentleman of the Augustan time, show a delicacy of
      sentiment almost modern. Of the ribald curses which Catullus
      hurls after his departing Lesbia, there is nothing. He throws
      the blame on others: and if, just to frighten, he describes
      the wretched old age of the girls who never were faithful, it
      is with a playful tone and hoping such bad luck will never
      befall any sweet-heart of his. This delicacy and tenderness,
      with the playful accent, are, perhaps, Tibullus' distinctive
      charm.
    </p>
    <p>
      His popularity in 18th century France was very great. The
      current English version, Grainger's (1755) with its cheap
      verse and common-place gallantries, is a stupid echo of the
      French feeling for Tibullus as an erotic poet. Much better is
      the witty prose version by the elder Mirabeau, done during
      the Terror, in the prison at Vincennes, and published after
      his release, with a ravishing portrait of "Sophie,"
      surrounded by Cupids and billing doves. One of the old
      Parisian editors dared to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Tons ceux qui aiment, ou qui ont jamais aim&eacute;,
      savent par coeur ce d&eacute;licieux Tibulle</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was unjust to classify Tibullus merely as an erotic
      poet. The gallants of the <i>ancien r&eacute;gime</i> were
      quite capable of writing their own valentines. Tibullus was
      popular as a sort of Latin Rousseau. He satirized rank,
      riches and glory as corrupting man's primitive simplicity. He
      pled for a return to nature, to country-side, thatched
      cottages, ploughed fields, flocks, harvests, vintages and
      rustic holidays. He made this plea, not with an armoury of
      Greek learning, such as cumber Virgil and Horace, but with an
      original passion. He cannot speak of the jewelled Roman
      coquettes without a sigh for those happy times when Phoebus
      himself tended cattle and lived on curds and whey, all for
      the love of a king's daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      For our own generation Tibullus has another claim to notice.
      All Augustan writers express their dread and weariness of
      war. But Tibullus protests as a survivor of the lost cause.
      He has been, himself, a soldier-lover maddened by separation.
      As an heir of the old order, he saw how vulgar and mercenary
      was this <i>parvenu</i> imperial glory, won at the expense of
      lost liberties and broken hearts. War, he says, is only the
      strife of robbers. Its motive is the spoils. It happens
      because beautiful women want emeralds, Indian slaves and
      glimmering silk from Cos. Therefore, of course, we fight. But
      if Neaera and her kind would eat acorns, as of old, we could
      burn the navies and build cities without walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was indeed a minor poet. He does not carry forward, like
      Virgil, the whole heritage from the Greeks, or rise like him
      to idealizing the master-passion of his own age, that vision
      of a cosmopolitan world-state, centred at Rome and based upon
      eternal decrees of Fate and Jove. But neither was he duped,
      as Virgil was, into mistaking the blood-bought empire of the
      Caesars for the return of Saturn's reign. Sometimes a minor
      poet, just by reason of his aloofness from the social trend
      of his time, may also escape its limitations, and sound some
      notes which remain forever true to what is unchanging in the
      human heart. I believe Tibullus has done so.
    </p>
    <p>
      This translation has been done in the play-time of many busy
      years. I have used what few helps I could find, especially
      the Mirabeau, above alluded to. The text is often doubtful.
      But in so rambling a writer it has not seemed to me that the
      laborious transpositions of later German editors were
      important. I have rejected as probably spurious all of the
      fourth book but two short pieces. While I agree with those
      who find the third book doubtful, I have included it.
    </p>
    <p>
      But from scholars I must ask indulgence. I have translated
      with latitude, considering whole phrases rather than single
      words. But I have always been faithful to the thought and
      spirit of the original, except in the few passages where
      euphemism was required. If the reader who has no Latin, gets
      a pleasing impression of Tibullus, that is what I have
      chiefly hoped to do. In my forth-coming translations of the
      <i>Aeneid</i> I have kept stricter watch upon verbal
      accuracy, as is due to an author better-known and more to be
      revered.
    </p>
    <pre>
  THEODORE C. WILLIAMS.
  New York, 1905.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="TOC"><!-- TOC --></a>
    <h2>
      CONTENTS
    </h2>
    <pre>
<a href="#PRF">Preface</a>

<a href="#RULE4_2">BOOK I</a>

I. <a href="#RULE4_3">The Simple Life</a>
II. <a href="#RULE4_4">Love and Witchcraft</a>
III. <a href="#RULE4_5">Sickness and Absence</a>
IV. <a href="#RULE4_6">The Art of Conquest</a>
V. <a href="#RULE4_7">Country-Life with Delia</a>
VI. <a href="#RULE4_8">A Lover's Curses</a>
VII. <a href="#RULE4_9">A Desperate Expedient</a>
VIII. <a href="#RULE4_10">Messala</a>
IX. <a href="#RULE4_11">To Pholo&euml; and Marathus</a>
X. <a href="#RULE4_12">To Venal Beauty</a>
XI. <a href="#RULE4_13">War is a Crime</a>

<a href="#RULE4_14">BOOK II</a>

I. <a href="#RULE4_15">A Rustic Holiday</a>
II. <a href="#RULE4_16">A Birthday Wish</a>
III. <a href="#RULE4_17">My Lady Rusticates</a>
IV. <a href="#RULE4_18">On His Lady's Avarice</a>
V. <a href="#RULE4_19">The Priesthood of Apollo</a>
VI. <a href="#RULE4_20">Let Lovers All Enlist</a>
VII. A Voice from the Tomb
[Transcriber's Note: Elegy VII listed in Contents, but not in text.]

<a href="#RULE4_21">BOOK III</a>

I. <a href="#RULE4_22">The New-Year's Gift</a>
II. <a href="#RULE4_23">He Died for Love</a>
III. <a href="#RULE4_24">Riches are Useless</a>
IV. <a href="#RULE4_25">A Dream from Phoebus</a>
V. <a href="#RULE4_26">To Friends at the Baths</a>
VI. <a href="#RULE4_27">A Fare-Well Toast</a>

<a href="#RULE4_28">BOOK IV</a>

XIII. <a href="#RULE4_29">A Lover's Oath</a>

<a href="#RULE4_30"><i>Ovid's Lament for Tibullus' Death</i></a>
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_2"><!-- RULE4 2 --></a>
    <h2>
      BOOK I
    </h2>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_3"><!-- RULE4 3 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FIRST
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE SIMPLE LIFE
    </center>
    <pre>
  Give, if thou wilt, for gold a life of toil!
    Let endless acres claim thy care!
  While sounds of war thy fearful slumbers spoil,
    And far-off trumpets scare!

  To me my poverty brings tranquil hours;
    My lowly hearth-stone cheerly shines;
  My modest garden bears me fruit and flowers,
    And plenteous native wines.

  I set my tender vines with timely skill,
    Or pluck large apples from the bough;
  Or goad my lazy steers to work my will,
    Or guide my own rude plough.

  Full tenderly upon my breast I bear
    A lamb or small kid gone astray;
  And yearly worship with my swains prepare,
    The shepherd's ancient way.

  I love those rude shrines in a lonely field
    Where rustic faith the god reveres,
  Or flower-crowned cross-road mile-stones, half concealed
    By gifts of travellers.

  Whatever fruit the kindly seasons show,
    Due tribute to our gods I pour;
  O'er Ceres' brows the tasseled wheat I throw,
    Or wreathe her temple door.

  My plenteous orchards fear no pelf or harm,
    By red Priapus sentinelled;
  By his huge sickle's formidable charm
    The bird thieves are dispelled.

  With offerings at my hearth, and faithful fires,
    My Lares I revere: not now
  As when with greater gifts my wealthier sires
    Performed the hallowing vow.

  No herds have I like theirs: I only bring
    One white lamb from my little fold,
  While my few bondmen at the altar sing
    Our harvest anthems old.

  Gods of my hearth! ye never learned to slight
    A poor man's gift. My bowls of clay
  To ye are hallowed by the cleansing rite,
    The best, most ancient way.

  If from my sheep the thief, the wolf, be driven,
    If fatter flocks allure them more,
  To me the riches to my fathers given
    Kind Heaven need not restore.

  My small, sure crop contents me; and the storm
    That pelts my thatch breaks not my rest,
  While to my heart I clasp the beauteous form
    Of her it loves the best.

  My simple cot brings such secure repose,
    When so companioned I can lie,
  That winds of winter and the whirling snows
    Sing me soft lullaby.

  This lot be mine! I envy not their gold
    Who rove the furious ocean foam:
  A frugal life will all my pleasures hold,
    If love be mine, and home.

  Enough I travel, if I steal away
    To sleep at noon-tide by the flow
  Of some cool stream. Could India's jewels pay
    For longer absence? No!

  Let great Messala vanquish land and sea,
    And deck with spoils his golden hall!
  I am myself a conquest, and must be
    My Delia's captive thrall.

  Be Delia mine, and Fame may flout and scorn,
    Or brand me with the sluggard's name!
  With cheerful hands I'll plant my upland corn,
    And live to laugh at Fame.

  If I might hold my Delia to my side,
    The bare ground were a happier bed
  Than theirs who, on a couch of silken pride,
    Must mourn for love long dead.

  Gilt couch, soft down, slow fountains murmuring song&#8212;
    These bring no peace. Befooled by words
  Was he who, when in love a victor strong,
    Left it for spoils and swords.

  For such let sad Cilicia's captives bleed,
    Her citadels his legions hold!
  And let him stride his swift, triumphal steed,
    In silvered robes or gold!

  These eyes of mine would look on only thee
    In that last hour when light shall fail.
  Embrace me, dear, in death! Let thy hand be
    In my cold fingers pale!

  With thine own arms my lifeless body lay
    On that cold couch so soon on fire!
  Give thy last kisses to my grateful clay,
    And weep beside my pyre!

  And weep! Ah, me! Thy heart will wear no steel
    Nor be stone-cold that rueful day:
  Thy faithful grief may all true lovers feel
    Nor tearless turn away!

  Yet ask I not that thou shouldst vex my shade
    With cheek all wan and blighted brow:
  But, O, to-day be love's full tribute paid,
    While the swift Fates allow.

  Soon Death, with shadow-mantled head, will come,
    Soon palsied age will creep our way,
  Bidding love's flatteries at last be dumb,
    Unfit for old and gray.

  But light-winged Venus still is smiling fair:
    By night or noon we heed her call;
  To pound on midnight doors I still may dare,
    Or brave for love a brawl.

  I am a soldier and a captain good
    In love's campaign, and calmly yield
  To all who hunger after wounds and blood,
    War's trumpet-echoing field.

  Ye toils and triumphs unto glory dear!
    Ye riches home from conquest borne!
  If my small fields their wonted harvest bear,
    Both wealth and want I scorn!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_4"><!-- RULE4 4 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SECOND
    </h2>
    <center>
      LOVE AND WITCHCRAFT
    </center>
    <pre>
  Bring larger bowls and give my sorrows wine,
    By heaviest slumbers be my brain possessed!
  Soothe my sad brows with Bacchus' gift divine,
    Nor wake me while my hapless passions rest!

  For Delia's jealous master at her door
    Has set a watch, and bolts it with stern steel.
  May wintry tempests strike it o'er and o'er,
    And amorous Jove crash through with thunder-peal!

  My sighs alone, O Door, should pierce thee through,
    Or backward upon soundless hinges turn.
  The curses my mad rhymes upon thee threw,&#8212;
    Forgive them!&#8212;Ah! in my own breast they burn!

  May I not move thee to remember now
    How oft, dear Door, thou wert love's place of prayer?
  While with fond kiss and supplicating vow,
    I hung thee o'er with many a garland fair?

  In vain the prayer! Thine own resolve must break
    Thy prison, Delia, and its guards evade.
  Bid them defiance for thy lover's sake!
    Be bold!   The brave bring Venus to their aid.

  'Tis Venus guides a youth through doors unknown;
    'Tis taught of her, a maid with firm-set lips
  Steals from her soft couch, silent and alone,
    And noiseless to her tryst securely trips.

  Her art it is, if with a husband near,
    A lady darts a love-lorn look and smile
  To one more blest; but languid sloth and fear
    Receive not Venus' perfect gift of guile.

  Trust Venus, too, t' avert the wretched wrath
    Of footpad, hungry for thy robe and ring!
  So safe and sacred is a lover's path,
    That common caution to the winds we fling.

  Oft-times I fail the wintry frost to feel,
    And drenching rains unheeded round me pour,
  If Delia comes at last with mute appeal,
    And, finger on her lip, throws wide the door.

  Away those lamps! Thou, man or maid, away!
    Great Venus wills not that her gifts be scanned.
  Ask me no names! Walk lightly there, I pray!
    Hold back thy tell-tale torch and curious hand!

  Yet fear not! Should some slave our loves behold,
    Let him look on, and at his liking stare!
  Hereafter not a whisper shall be told;
    By all the gods our innocence he'll swear.

  Or should one such from prudent silence swerve
    The chatterer who prates of me and thee
  Shall learn, too late, why Venus, whom I serve,
    Was born of blood upon a storm-swept sea.

  Nay, even thy husband will believe no ill.
    All this a wondrous witch did tell me true:
  One who can guide the stars to work her will,
    Or turn a torrent's course her task to do.

  Her spells call forth pale spectres from their graves,
    And charm bare bones from smoking pyres away:
  'Mid trooping ghosts with fearful shriek she raves,
    Then sprinkles with new milk, and holds at bay.

  She has the power to scatter tempests rude,
    And snows in summer at her whisper fall;
  The horrid simples by Medea brewed
    Are hers; she holds the hounds of Hell in thrall.

  For me a charm this potent witch did weave;
    Thrice if thou sing, then speak with spittings three,
  Thy husband not one witness will believe,
    Nor his own eyes, if our embrace they see!

  But tempt not others!   He will surely spy
    All else&#8212;to me, me only, magic-blind!
  And, hark! the hag with drugs, she said, would try
    To heal love's madness and my heart unbind.

  One cloudless night, with smoky torch, she burned
    Black victims to her gods of sorcery;
  Yet asked I not love's loss, but love returned,
    And would not wish for life, if robbed of thee.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_5"><!-- RULE4 5 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE THIRD
    </h2>
    <center>
      SICKNESS AND ABSENCE
    </center>
    <pre>
  Am I abandoned? Does Messala sweep
    Yon wide Aegean wave, not any more
  He, nor my mates, remembering where I weep,
    Struck down by fever on this alien shore?

  Spare me, dark death! I have no mother here,
    To clasp my relics to her widowed breast;
  No sister, to pour forth with hallowing tear
    Assyrian incense where my ashes rest.

  Nor Delia, who, before she said adieu,
    Asked omens fair at every potent shrine.
  Thrice did the ministrants give blessings true,
    The thrice-cast lot returned the lucky sign.

  All promised safe return;  but she had fears
    And doubting sorrows, which implored my stay;
  While I, though all was ready, dried her tears,
    And found fresh pretext for one more delay.

  An evil bird, I cried, did near me flit,
    Or luckless portent thrust my plans aside;
  Or Saturn's day, unhallowed and unfit,
    Forbade a journey from my Delia's side.

  Full oft, when starting on the fatal track,
    My stumbling feet foretold unhappy hours:
  Ah! he who journeys when love calls him back,
    Should know he disobeys celestial powers!

  Help me, great Goddess! For thy healing power
    The votive tablets on thy shrine display.
  See Delia there outwatch the midnight hour,
    Sitting, white-stoled, until the dawn of day!

  Each day her tresses twice she doth unbind,
    And sings, the loveliest of the Pharian band.
  O that my fathers' gods this prayer could find!
    Gods of my hearth and of my native land!

  How happily men lived when Saturn reigned!
    Ere weary highways crossed the fair young world,
  Ere lofty ships the purple seas disdained,
    Their swelling canvas to the winds unfurled!

  No roving seaman, from a distant course,
    Filled full of far-fetched wares his frail ship's hold:
  At home, the strong bull stood unyoked; the horse
    Endured no bridle in the age of gold.

  Men's houses had no doors? No firm-set rock
    Marked field from field by niggard masters held.
  The very oaks ran honey; the mild flock
    Brought home its swelling udders, uncompelled.

  Nor wrath nor war did that blest kingdom know;
    No craft was taught in old Saturnian time,
  By which the frowning smith, with blow on blow,
    Could forge the furious sword and so much crime.

  Now Jove is king! Now have we carnage foul,
    And wreckful seas, and countless ways to die.
  Nay! spare me, Father Jove, for on my soul
    Nor perjury, nor words blaspheming lie.

  If longer life I ask of Fate in vain,
    O'er my frail dust this superscription be:&#8212;
<i>"Here Death's dark hand</i> TIBULLUS <i>doth detain,</i>
<i>Messala's follower over land and sea!"</i>

  Then, since my soul to love did always yield,
    Let Venus guide it the immortal way,
  Where dance and song fill all th' Elysian field,
    And music that will never die away.

  There many a song-bird with his fellow sails,
    And cheerly carols on the cloudless air;
  Each grove breathes incense; all the happy vales
    O'er-run with roses, numberless and fair.

  Bright bands of youth with tender maidens stray,
    Led by the love-god all delights to share;
  And each fond lover death once snatched away
    Winds an immortal myrtle in his hair.

  Far, far from such, the dreadful realms of gloom
    By those black streams of Hades circled round,
  Where viper-tressed, fierce ministers of doom,&#8212;
    The Furies drive lost souls from bound to bound.

  The doors of brass, and dragon-gate of Hell,
    Grim Cerberus guards, and frights the phantoms back:
  Ixion, who by Juno's beauty fell,
    Gives his frail body to the whirling rack.

  Stretched o'er nine roods, lies Tityos accursed,
    The vulture at his vitals feeding slow;
  There Tantalus, whose bitter, burning thirst
    The fleeting waters madden as they flow.

  There Danaus' daughters Venus' anger feel,
    Filling their urns at Lethe all in vain;&#8212;
<i>And there's the wretch who would my Delia steal,</i>
<i>And wish me absent on a long campaign!</i>

  O chaste and true! In thy still house shall sit
    The careful crone who guards thy virtuous bed;
  She tells thee tales, and when the lamps are lit,
    Reels from her distaff the unending thread.

  Some evening, after tasks too closely plied,
    My Delia, drowsing near the harmless dame,
  All sweet surprise, will find me at her side,
    Unheralded, as if from heaven I came.

  Then to my arms, in lovely disarray,
    With welcome kiss, thy darling feet will fly!
  O happy dream and prayer! O blissful day!
    What golden dawn, at last, shall bring thee nigh?
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_6"><!-- RULE4 6 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FOURTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE ARTS OF CONQUEST
    </center>
    <pre>
  "Safe in the shelter of thy garden-bower,
  "Priapus, from the harm of suns or snows,
  "With beard all shag, and hair that wildly flows,&#8212;
  "O say! o'er beauteous youth whence comes thy power?
  "Naked thou frontest wintry nights and days,
  "Naked, no less, to Sirius' burning rays."

  So did my song implore the rustic son
  Of Bacchus, by his moon-shaped sickle known.

  "Comply with beauty's lightest wish," said he,
  "Complying love leads best to victory.
  "Nor let a furious 'No' thy bosom pain;
  "Beauty but slowly can endure a chain.
  "Slow Time the rage of lions will o'er-sway,
  "And bid them fawn on man. Rough rocks and rude
  "In gentle streams Time smoothly wears away;
  "And on the vine-clad hills by sunshine wooed,
  "The purpling grapes feel Time's secure control;
  "In Time, the skies themselves new stars unroll.
  "Fear not  great oaths! Love's broken oaths are borne
  "Unharmed of heaven o'er every wind and wave.
  "Jove is most mild; and he himself hath sworn
  "There is no force in vows which lovers rave.
  "Falsely by Dian's arrows boldly swear!
  "And perjure thee by chaste Minerva's hair!

  "Be a prompt wooer, if thou wouldst be wise:
  "Time is in flight, and never backward flies.
  "How swiftly fades the bloom, the vernal green!
  "How swift yon poplar dims its silver sheen!
  "Spurning the goal th' Olympian courser flies,
  "Then yields to Time his strength, his victories;
  "And oft I see sad, fading youth deplore
  "Each hour it lost, each pleasure it forbore.
  "Serpents each spring look young once more; harsh Heaven
  "To beauteous youth has one brief season given.
  "With never-fading youth stern Fate endows
  "Phoebus and Bacchus only, and allows
  "Full-clustering ringlets on their lovely brows.

  "Keep at thy loved one's side, though hour by hour
  "The path runs on; though Summer's parching star
  "Burn all the fields, or blackest tempests lower,
  "Or monitory rainbows threaten far.
  "If he would hasten o'er the purple sea,
  "Thyself the helmsman or the oarsman be.
  "Endure, unmurmuring, each unwelcome toil,
  "Nor fear thy unaccustomed hands to spoil.
  "If to the hills he goes with huntsman's snare,
  "Let thine own back the nets and burden bear.
  "Swords would he have? Fence lightly when you meet;
  "Expose thy body and compel defeat.
  "He will be gracious then, and will not spurn
  "Caresses to receive, resist, return.
  "He will protest, relent, and half-conspire,
  "And later, all unasked, thy love desire.

  "But nay! In these vile times thy skill is vain.
  "Beauty and youth are sold for golden gain.
  "May he who first taught love to sell and buy,
  "In grave accurst, with all his riches lie!

  "O beauteous youth, how will ye dare to slight
  "The Muse, to whom Pierian streams belong?
  "Will ye not smile on poets, and delight,
  "More than all golden gifts, in gift of song?
  "Did not some song empurple Nisus' hair,
  "And bid young Pelops' ivory shoulder glow?
  "That youth the Muses praise, is he not fair,
  "Long as the stars shall shine or waters flow ?

  "But he who scorns the Muse, and will for gain
  "Surrender his base heart,&#8212;let his foul cries
  "Pursue the Corybants' infuriate train,
  "Through all the cities of the Phrygian plain,&#8212;
  "Unmanned forever, in foul Phrygian guise!
  "But Venus blesses lovers who endear
  "Love's quest alone by flattery, by fear,
  "By supplication, plaint, and piteous tear."

  Such song the god of gardens bade me sing
  For Titius; but his fond wife would fling
  Such counsel to the winds: "Beware," she cried,
  "Trust not fair youth too far. For each one's pride
  "Offers alluring charms: one loves to ride
  "A gallant horse, and rein him firmly in;
  "One cleaves the calm wave with white shoulder bare;
  "One is all courage, and for this looks fair;
  "And one's pure, blushing cheeks thy praises win."

  Let him obey her! But my precepts wise
  Are meant for all whom youthful beauty's eyes
  Turn from in scorn. Let each his glory boast!
  Mine is, that lovers, when despairing most,
  My clients should be called. For them my door
  Stands hospitably open evermore.
  Philosopher to Venus I shall be,
  And throngs of studious youth will learn of me.

  Alas! alas! How love has been my bane!
  My cunning fails, and all my arts are vain.
  Have mercy, fair one, lest my pupils all
  Mock me, who point a path in which I fall!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_7"><!-- RULE4 7 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FIFTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      COUNTRY-LIFE WITH DELIA
    </center>
    <pre>
  With haughty frown I swore I could employ
    Thine absence well. But all my pride is o'er!
  Now am I lashed, as when a madcap boy
    Whirls a swift top along the level floor.

  Aye! Twist me! Plague me! Never shall I say
    Such boast again. Thy scorn and anger spare!
  Spare me!&#8212;by all our stolen loves I pray,
    By Venus,&#8212;by thy wealth of plaited hair!

  Was it not I, when fever laid thee low,
    Whose holy rites and offerings set thee free?
  Thrice round thy bed with brimstone did I go,
    While the wise witch sang healing charms for thee.

  Lest evil dreams should vex thee, I did bring
    That worshipped wafer by the Vestal given;
  Then, with loose robes and linen stole, did sing
    Nine prayers to  Hecate 'neath the midnight heaven.

  All rites were done! Yet doth a rival hold
    My darling, and my futile prayers deride:
  For I dreamed madly of a life all gold,
    If she were healed,&#8212;but Heaven the dream denied.

  A pleasant country-seat, whose orchards yield
    Sweet fruit to be my Delia's willing care,
  While our full corn-crop in the sultry field
    Stands ripe and dry! O, but my dreams were fair!

  She in the vine-vat will our clusters press,
    And tread the rich must with her dancing feet;
  She oft my sheep will number, oft caress
    Some pretty, prattling slave with kisses sweet.

  She offers Pan due tributes of our wealth,
    Grapes for the vine, and for a field of corn
  Wheat in the ear, or for the sheep-fold's health
    Some frugal feast is to his altar borne.

  Of all my house let her the mistress be!
    I am displaced and give not one command!
  Then let Messala come! From each choice tree
    Let Delia pluck him fruit with her soft hand!

  To serve and please so worshipful a guest,
    She spends her utmost art and anxious care;
  Asks his least wish, and spreads her dainty best,
    Herself the hostess and hand-maiden fair.

  Mad hope! The storm-winds bore away that dream
    Far as Armenia's perfume-breathing bids.
  Great Venus! Did I at thy shrine blaspheme?
    Am I accursed for rash and impious words?

  Had I, polluted, touched some altar pure,
    Or stolen garlands from a temple door&#8212;
  What prayers and vigils would I not endure,
    And weeping kiss the consecrated floor?

  Had I deserved this stroke,&#8212;with pious pain
    From shrine to shrine my suppliant knees should crawl;
  I would to all absolving gods complain,
    And smite my forehead on the marble wall.

  Thou who thy gibes at love canst scarce repress,
    Beware! The angry god may strike again!
  I knew a youth who laughed at love's distress,
   And bore, when old, the worst that lovers ken.

  His poor, thin voice he did compel to woo,
    And curled, for mockery, his scanty hair;
  Spied on her door, as slighted lovers do,
    And stopped her maid in any public square.

  The forum-loungers thrust him roughly by,
    And spat upon their breasts, such luck to turn:
  Have mercy, Venus! Thy true follower I!
    Why wouldst thou, goddess, thine own harvest burn!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_8"><!-- RULE4 8 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SIXTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      A LOVER'S CURSES
    </center>
    <pre>
  I strove with wine my sorrows to efface.
    But wine turned tears was all the drink I knew;
  I tried a new, strange lass. Each cold embrace
    Brought my true love to mind, and colder grew.

  "I was bewitched" she cried "by shameful charms;"
    And things most vile she vowed she could declare.
  Bewitched! 'tis true! but by thy soft white arms,
    Thy lovely brows and lavish golden hair!

  Such charms had Thetis, born in Nereid cave,
    Who drives  her  dolphin-chariot fast and free
  To Peleus o'er the smooth H&aelig;monian wave,
    Love-guided o'er long leagues of azure sea.

  Ah me! the magic that dissolves my health
    Is a rich suitor in my mistress' eye,
  Whom that vile bawd led to her door by stealth
    And opened it, and bade me pine and die.

  That hag should feed on blood. Her festive bowls
    Should be rank gall: and round her haunted room
  Wild, wailing ghosts and monitory owls
    Should flit forever shrieking death and doom.

  Made hunger-mad, may she devour the grass
    That grows on graves, and gnaw the bare bones down
  Which wolves have left! Stark-naked may she pass,
    Chased by the street-dogs through the taunting town!

  My curse comes fast. Unerring signs are seen
    In stars above us. There are gods who still
  Protect unhappy lovers: and our Queen
    Venus rains fire on all who slight her will.

  O cruel girl! unlearn the wicked art
    Of that rapacious hag! For everywhere
  Wealth murders love. But thy poor lover's heart
    Is ever thine, and thou his dearest care.

  A poor man clings close to thy lovely side,
    And keeps the crowd off, and thy pathway free;
  He hides thee with kind friends, and as his bride
    From thy dull, golden thraldom ransoms thee.

  Vain is my song. Her door will not unclose
    For words, but for a hand that knocks with gold.
  O fear me, my proud rival, fear thy foes!
    Oft have the wheels of fortune backward rolled!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_9"><!-- RULE4 9 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SEVENTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT
    </center>
    <pre>
  Thou beckonest ever with a face all smiles,
    Then, God of Love, thou lookest fierce and pale.
  Unfeeling boy! why waste on me such wiles?
    What glory if a god o'er man prevails?

  Once more thy snares are set. My Delia flies
    To steal a night&#8212;with whom I cannot tell.
  Can I believe when she denies, denies&#8212;
    I, for whose sake she tricked her lord so well?

  By me, alas! those cunning ways were shown
    To fool her slaves. My skill I now deplore!
  For me she made excuse to sleep alone,
    Or silenced the shrill hinges of her door.

  "Twas I prescribed what remedies to use
    If mutual passion somewhat fiercely play;
  If there were tell-tale bite or rosy bruise,
    I showed what simples take the scars away.

  Hear me! fond husband of the false and fair,
    Make me thy guest, and she shall chastely go!
  When she makes talk with men I shall take care,
    Nor shall she at the wine her bosom show.

  I shall take care she does not nod or smile
    To any other, nor her hand imbue
  With his fast-flowing wine, that her swift guile
    May scribble on the board their rendez-vous.

  When she goes out, beware! And if she hie
    To Bona Dea, where no males may be,
  Straight to the sacred altars follow I,
    Who only trust her if my eyes can see.

  Oh! oft I pressed that soft hand I adore,
    Feigning with some rare ring or seal to play,
  And plied thee with strong wine till thou didst snore,
    While I, with wine and water, won the day.

  I wronged thee, aye! But 'twas not what I meant.
    Forgive, for I confess. 'Twas Cupid's spell
  O'er-swayed me. Who can foil a god's intent?
    Now have I courage all my deeds to tell.

  Yes, it was I, unblushing I declare.
    At whom thy watch-dog all night long did bay:&#8212;
  But some-one else now stands insistent there,
    Or peers about him and then walks away.

  He seems to pass. But soon will backward fare
    Alone, and, coughing, at the threshold hide.
  What skill hath stolen love! Beware, beware!
    Thy boat is drifting on a treacherous tide.

  What worth a lovely wife, if others buy
    Thy treasure, if thy stoutest bolt betrays,
  If in thy very arms she breathes a sigh
    For absent joy, and feigns a slight <i>malaise?</i>

  Give her in charge to me! I will not spare
    A master's whip. Her chain shall constant be.
  While thou mayst go abroad and have no care
    Who trims his curls, or flaunts his toga free.

  Whatever beaux accost her, all is well!
    Not the least hint of scandal shall be made.
  For I will send them far away, to tell
    In some quite distant street their amorous trade.

  All this a god decrees; a sibyl wise
    In prophet-song did this to me proclaim;
  Who when Bellona kindles in her eyes,
    Fears neither twisted scourge nor scorching flame.

  Then with a battle-axe herself will scar
    Her own wild arms, and sprinkle on the ground
  Blood, for Bellona's emblems of wild war,
    Swift-flowing from the bosom's gaping wound.

  A barb of iron rankles in her breast,
    As thus she chants the god's command to all:
  "Oh, spare a beauty by true love possessed,
    Lest some vast after-woe upon thee fall!

  "For shouldst thou win her, all thy power will fail,
    As from this wound flows forth the fatal gore,
  Or as these ashes cast upon the gale,
    Are scattered far and kindled never more."

  And, O my Delia, the fierce prophetess
    Told dreadful things that on thy head should fall:&#8212;
  I know not what they were&#8212;but none the less
    I pray my darling may escape them all.

  Not for thyself do I forgive thee, no!
    'Tis thy sweet mother all my wrath disarms,&#8212;
  That precious creature, who would come and go,
    And lead thee through the darkness to my arms.

  Though great the peril, oft the silent dame
    Would join our hands together, and all night
  Wait watching on the threshold till I came,
    Nor ever failed to know my steps aright.

  Long be thy life! dear, kind and faithful heart!
    Would it were possible my life's whole year
  Were at the friendly hearth-stone where thou art!
    'Tis for thy sake I hold thy daughter dear.

  Be what she will, she is not less thy child.
    Oh, teach her to be chaste! Though well she knows
  No free-born fillet binds her tresses wild
    Nor Roman stole around her ankles flows!

  My lot is servile too. Whate'er I see
    Of beauty brings her to my fevered eye.
  If I should be accused of crime, or be
    Dragged up the steep street, by the hair, to die:&#8212;

  Even then there were no fear that I should lay
    Rude hands on thee my sweet! for if o'erswayed
  By such blind frenzy in an evil day,
    I should bewail the hour my hands were made.

  Yet would I have thee chaste and constant be,
    Not with a fearful but a faithful heart;
  And that in thy fond breast the love of me
    Burn but more fondly when we live apart.

  She who was never faithful to a friend
    Will come to age and misery, and wind
  With tremulous ringer from her distaff's end
    The ever-twisting wool; and she will bind

  Upon her moving looms the finished thread,
    Or clean and pick the long skeins white as snow.
  And all her fickle gallants when they wed,
    Will say, "That old one well deserves her woe."

  Venus from heaven will note her flowing tear:
    "I smile not on the faithless," she will say.
  Her curse on others fall! O, Delia dear!
    Let us teach true love to grow old and gray!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_10"><!-- RULE4 10 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE EIGHTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      MESSALA
    </center>
    <pre>
  The Fatal Sisters did this day ordain,
  Reeling threads no god can rend,
  Foretelling to this man should bend
  The tribes of Acquitaine;
  And 'neath his legions' yoke
  Th' impetuous torrent Atur glide subdued.
  All was accomplished as the Fates bespoke;
  His triumph then ensued:
  The Roman youth, exulting from afar,
  Acclaimed his mighty deeds,
  And watched the fettered chieftains filing by,
  While, drawn by snow-white steeds,
  Messala followed on his ivory car,
  Laurelled and lifted high!

  Not without me this glory and renown!
  Let Pyrenees my boast attest!
  Tarbella, little mountain-town,
  Cold Ocean rolling in the utmost West,
  Arar, Garonne, and rushing Rhone,
  Will bear me witness due;
  And valleys broad the blond Carnutes own,
  By Liger darkly blue.
  I saw the Cydnus flow,
  Winding on in ever-tranquil mood,
  And from his awful peak, in cloud and snow,
  Cold Taurus o'er his wild Cilicians' brood.
  I saw through thronged streets unmolested flying
  Th' inviolate white dove of Palestine;
  I looked on Tyrian towers, by soundless waters lying,
  Whence Tyrians first were masters of the brine.
  The flooding Nile I knew;
  What time hot Sirius glows,
  And Egypt's thirsty field the covering deluge knows;
  But whence the wonder flows,
  O Father Nile! no mortal e'er did view.
  Along thy bank not any prayer is made
  To Jove for fruitful showers.
  On thee they call! Or in sepulchral shade,
  The life-reviving, sky-descended powers
  Of bright <i>Osiris</i> hail,&#8212;
  While, wildly chanting, the barbaric choir,
  With timbrels and strange fire,
  Their Memphian bull bewail.

  Osiris did the plough bestow,
  And first with iron urged the yielding ground.
  He taught mankind good seed to throw
  In furrows all untried;
  He plucked fair fruits the nameless trees did hide:
  He first the young vine to its trellis bound,
  And with his sounding sickle keen
  Shore off the tendrils green.

  For him the bursting clusters sweet
  Were in the wine-press trod;
  Song followed soon, a prompting of the god,
  And rhythmic dance of lightly leaping feet.
  Of Bacchus the o'er-wearied swain receives
  Deliverance from all his pains;
  Bacchus gives comfort when a mortal grieves,
  And mirth to men in chains.
  Not to Osiris toils and tears belong,
  But revels and delightful song;
  Lightly beckoning loves are thine!
  Garlands deck thee, god of wine!
  We hear thee coming, with the flute's refrain,
  With fruit of ivy on thy forehead bound,
  Thy saffron vesture streaming to the ground.
  And thou hast garments, too, of Tyrian stain,
  When thine ecstatic train
  Bear forth thy magic ark to mysteries divine.

  Immortal guest, our games and pageant share!
  Smile on the flowing cup, and hail
  With us the <i>Genius</i> of this natal day!
  From whose anointed, rose-entwisted hair,
  Arabian odors waft away.
  If thou the festal bless, I will not fail
  To burn sweet incense unto him and thee,
  And offerings of Arcadian honey bear.

  So grant Messala fortunes ever fair!
  Of such a sire the children worthy be!
  Till generations two and three
  Surround his venerated chair!
  See, winding upward through the Latin land,
  Yon highway past, the Alban citadel,
  At great Messala's mandate made,
  In fitted stones and firm-set gravel laid,
  Thy monument forever more to stand!
  The mountain-villager thy fame will tell,
  When through the darkness wending late from Rome,
  He foots it smoothly home.

  O Genius of this natal day,
  May many a year thy gift declare!
  Now bright and fair thy pinions soar away,&#8212;
  Return, thou bright and fair!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_11"><!-- RULE4 11 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE NINTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      TO PHOLOE AND MARATHUS
    </center>
    <pre>
  The language of a lover's eyes I cannot choose but see;
  The oracles in tender sighs were never dark to me.

  No art of augury I need, nor heart of victims slain,
  Nor birds of omen singing forth the future's bliss or bane.

  Venus herself did round my arm th' enchanted wimple throw,
  And taught me&#8212;Ah! not unchastised!&#8212;what wizardry I know.

  Deceive me then no more! The god more furiously burns
  Whatever wight rebelliously his first commandment spurns.
</pre>
    <center>
      <i>To Pholo&euml;</i>
    </center>
    <pre>
  Fair Pholo&euml;! what profits it to plait thy flowing hair?
  Why rearrange each lustrous tress with fond, superfluous care?

  Why tint that blooming cheek anew? Or give thy fingers, Girl!
  To slaves who keep the dainty tips a perfect pink and pearl?

  Why strain thy sandal-string so hard? or why the daily change
  Of mantles, robes, and broideries, of fashions new and strange?

  Howe'er thou hurry from thy glass in careless disarray,
  Thou canst not miss the touch that steals thy lover's heart away!

  Thou needst not ask some wicked witch her potion to provide,
  Brewed of the livid, midnight herbs, to draw him to thy side.

  Her magic from a neighbor's field the coming crop can charm,
  Or stop the viper's lifted sting before it work thee harm.

  Such magic would the riding moon from her white chariot spill,
  Did not the brazen cymbals' sound undo the impious ill!

  But fear not thou thy smitten swain of lures and sorcery tell,
  Thy beauty his enchantment was, without inferior spell.

  To touch thy flesh, to taste thy kiss, his freedom did destroy;
  Thy beauteous body in his arms enslaved the hapless boy.

  Proud Pholo&euml;! why so unkind, when thy young lover pleads?
  Remember Venus can avenge a fair one's heartless deeds!

  Nay, nay! no gifts! Go gather them of bald-heads rich and old!
  Ay! let them buy thy mocking smiles and languid kisses cold!

  Better than gold that youthful bloom of his round, ruddy face,
  And beardless lips that mar not thine, however close th' embrace.

  If thou above his shoulders broad thy lily arms entwine,
  The luxury of monarchs proud is mean compared with thine.

  May Venus teach thee how to yield to all thy lover's will,
  When blushing passion bursts its bounds and bids thy bosom thrill.

  Go, meet his dewy, lingering lips in many a breathless kiss!
  And let his white neck bear away rose-tokens of his bliss!

  What comfort, girl, can jewels bring, or gems in priceless store,
  To her who sleeps and weeps alone, of young love wooed no more?

  Too late, alas! for love's return, or fleeting youth's recall,
  When on thy head relentless age has cast the silvery pall.

  Then  beauty will  be  anxious  art,&#8212;to  tinge  the changing hair,
  And hide the record of the years with colors falsely fair.

  To pluck the silver forth, and with strange surgery and pain,
  Half-flay the fading cheek and brow, and bid them bloom again.

  O listen, Pholo&euml;! with thee are youth and jocund May:
  Enjoy to-day! The golden hours are gliding fast away!

  Why plague our comely Marathus? Thy chaste severity
  Let wrinkled wooers feel,&#8212;but not, not such a youth as he!

  Spare the poor lad! 'tis not some crime his soul is brooding on;
  'Tis love of thee that makes his eyes so wild and woe-begone!

  He suffers! hark! he moans thy loss in many a doleful sigh,
  And from his eyes the glittering tears flow down and will not dry.

  "Why say me nay?" he cries, "Why talk of chaperones severe?
  I am in love and know the art to trick a listening ear."

  "At stolen tryst and <i>rendez-vous</i> my breath is light and low,
  And I can give a kiss so soft not even the winds may know.

  "I creep unheard at dead of night along a marble floor,
  "Nor foot-fall make, nor tell-tale creak, when I unbar the door.

  "What use are all my arts, if still my lady answers nay!
  "If even to her couch I came, she'd frown and fly away!

  "Or when she says she will, 'tis then she doth most treacherous prove,
  "And keeps me tortured all night long with unrewarded love.

  "And while I say 'She comes, she comes!' whatever breathes or stirs,
  "I think I hear a footstep light of tripping feet like hers!

  "Away vain arts of love! false aids to win the fair!
  "Henceforth a cloak of filthy shag shall be my only wear!

  "Her door is shut! She doth deny one moment's interview!
  "I'll wear my toga loose no more, as happier lovers do."
</pre>
    <center>
      <i>To Marathus</i>
    </center>
    <pre>
  Have done, dear lad! In vain thy tears! She will not heed thy plea!
  Redden no more thy bright young eyes to please her cruelty!
</pre>
    <center>
      <i>To Pholo&euml;</i>
    </center>
    <pre>
  I warn thee, Pholo&euml;, when the gods chastise thy naughty pride,
  No incense burned at holy shrines will turn their wrath aside.

  This Marathus himself, erewhile, made mock of lovers' moan,
  Nor knew how soon the vengeful god would mark him for his own.

  He also laughed at sighs and tears, and oft would make delay,
  And oft a lover's fondest wish would baffle and betray.

  But now on beauty's haughty ways he looks in fierce disdain;
  He scarce may pass a bolted door without a secret pain.

  Beware, proud girl, some plague will fall, unless thy pride give way;
  Thou wilt in vain the gods implore to send thee back this day!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_12"><!-- RULE4 12 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE TENTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      TO VENAL BEAUTY
    </center>
    <pre>
  Why, if my sighs thou wert so soon to scorn,
    Didst dare on Heaven with perjured promise call?
  Ah! not unpunished can men be forsworn;
    Silent and slow the perjurer's doom shall fall.

  Ye gods, be merciful! Oh! let it be
    That beauteous creatures who for once offend
  Your powers divine, for once may go scot-free,
    Escape your scourge, and make some happy end!

  'Tis love of gold binds oxen to the plough,
    And bids their goading driver sweat and chide;
  The quest of gold allures the ship's frail prow
    O'er wind-swept seas, where stars the wanderers guide.

  By golden gifts my love was made a slave.
    Oh, that some god a lover's prayer might hear,
  And sink such gifts in ashes of a grave,
    Or bid them in swift waters disappear!

  But I shall be avenged. Thy lovely grace
    The dust of weary exile will impair;
  Fierce, parching suns will mar thy tender face,
    And rude winds rough thy curls and clustering hair.

  Did I not warn thee never to defile
    Beauty with gold? For every wise man knows
  That riches only mantle with a smile
    A thousand sorrows and a host of woes.

  If snared by wealth, thou dost at love blaspheme,
    Venus will frown so on thy guilty deed,
  'Twere better to be burned or stabbed, I deem,
    Or lashed with twisted scourge till one should bleed.

  Hope not to cover it! That god will come
    Who lets not mortal secrets safely hide;
  That god who bids our slaves be deaf and dumb,
    Then, in their cups, the scandal publish wide.

  This god from men asleep compels the cry
    That shouts aloud the thing they last would tell.
  How oft with tears I told thee this, when I
    At thy white feet a shameful suppliant fell!

  Then wouldst thou vow that never glittering gold
    Nor jewels rare could turn thine eyes from me,
  Nor all the wealth Campania's acres hold,
    Nor full Falernian vintage flowing free.

  For oaths like thine I would have sworn the skies
    Hold not a star, nor crystal streams look clear:
  While thou wouldst weep, and I, unskilled in lies,
    Wiped from thy lovely blush the trickling tear.

  Why didst thou so? save that thy fancy strayed
    To beauty fickle as thine own and light?
  I let thee go. Myself the torches made,
    And kept thy secret for a live-long night.

  Sometimes I led to sudden rendezvous
    The flattered object of thy roving joys.
  Mad that I was! Till now I never knew
    How love like thine ensnares and then destroyes.

  With wondering mind I versified thy praise;
    But now that Muse with blushes I requite.
  May some swift fire consume my moon-struck lays,
    Or flooding rivers drown them out of sight!

  And thou, O thou whose beauty is a trade,
    Begone, begone! Thy gains bring cursed ill.
  And thou, whose gifts my frail and fair betrayed,
    May thy wife rival thine adulterous skill!

  Languid with stolen kisses, may she frown,
    And chastely to thy lips drop down her veil!
  May thy proud house be common to the town,
    And many a gallant at thy bed prevail!

  Nor let thy gamesome sister e'er be said
    To drain more wine-cups than her lovers be,
  Though oft with wine and rose her feast is red
    Till the bright wheels of morn her revels see!

  No one like her to pass a furious night
    In varied vices and voluptuous art!
  Well did she train thy wife, who fools thee quite,
    And clasps, with practised passion, to her heart!

  Is it for thee she binds her beauteous hair,
    Or in long toilets combs each dainty tress?
  For thee, that golden armlet rich and rare,
    Or Tyrian robes that her soft bosom press?

  Nay, not for thee! some lover young and trim
    Compels her passion to allure his flame
  By all the arts of beauty. 'Tis for him
    She wastes thy wealth and brings thy house to shame.

  I praise her for it. What nice girl could bear
    Thy gouty body and old dotard smile?
  Yet unto thee did my lost love repair&#8212;
    O Venus! a wild beast were not so vile!

  Didst thou make traffic of my fond caress,
    And with another mock my kiss for gain?
  Go, weep! Another shall my heart possess,
    And sway the kingdom where thou once didst reign.

  Go, weep! But I shall laugh. At Venus' door
    I hang a wreath of palm enwrought with gold;
  And graven on that garland evermore,
    Her votaries shall read this story told:

<i>"Tibullus, from a lying love set free,</i>
<i>O Goddess, brings his gift, and asks new grace of thee."</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_13"><!-- RULE4 13 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE ELEVENTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      WAR IS A CRIME
    </center>
    <pre>
  Whoe'er first forged the terror-striking sword,
  His own fierce heart had tempered like its blade.
  What slaughter followed! Ah! what conflict wild!
  What swifter journeys unto darksome death!
  But blame not him! Ourselves have madly turned
  On one another's breasts that cunning edge
  Wherewith he meant mere blood of beast to spill.

  Gold makes our crime. No need for plundering war,
  When bowls of beech-wood held the frugal feast.
  No citadel was seen nor moated wall;
  The shepherd chief led home his motley flock,
  And slumbered free from care. Would I had lived
  In that good, golden time; nor e'er had known
  A mob in arms arrayed; nor felt my heart
  Throb to the trumpet's call! Now to the wars
  I must away, where haply some chance foe
  Bears now the blade my naked side shall feel.
  Save me, dear Lares of my hearth and home!
  Ye oft my childish steps did guard and bless,
  As timidly beneath your seat they strayed.

  Deem it no shame that hewn of ancient oak
  Your simple emblems in my dwelling stand!
  For so the pious generations gone
  Revered your powers, and with offerings rude
  To rough-hewn gods in narrow-built abodes,
  Lived beautiful and honorable lives.
  Did they not bring to crown your hallowed brows
  Garlands of ripest corn, or pour new wine
  In pure libation on the thirsty ground?
  Oft on some votive day the father brought
  The consecrated loaf, and close behind
  His little daughter in her virgin palm
  Bore honey bright as gold. O powers benign!
  To ye once more a faithful servant prays
  For safety! Let the deadly brazen spear
  Pass harmless o'er my head! and I will slay
  For sacrifice, with many a thankful song,
  A swine and all her brood, while I, the priest,
  Bearing the votive basket myrtle-bound,
  Walk clothed in white, with myrtle in my hair.

  Grant me but this! and he who can may prove
  Mighty in arms and by the grace of Mars
  Lay chieftains low; and let him tell the tale
  To me who drink his health, while on the board
  His wine-dipped finger draws, line after line,
  Just how his trenches ranged! What madness dire
  Bids men go foraging for death in war?
  Our death is always near, and hour by hour,
  With soundless step a little nearer draws.

  What harvest down below, or vineyard green?
  There Cerberus howls, and o'er the Stygian flood
  The dark ship goes; while on the clouded shore
  With hollow cheek and tresses lustreless,
  Wanders the ghostly throng. O happier far
  Some white-haired sire, among his children dear,
  Beneath a lowly thatch! His sturdy son
  Shepherds the young rams; he, his gentle ewes;
  And oft at eve, his willing labor done,
  His careful wife his weary limbs will bathe
  From a full, steaming bowl. Such lot be mine!
  So let this head grow gray, while I shall tell,
  Repeating oft, the deeds of long ago!
  Then may long Peace my country's harvests bless!
  Till then, let Peace on all our fields abide!
  Bright-vestured Peace, who first beneath their yoke
  Led oxen in the plough, who first the vine
  Did nourish tenderly, and chose good grapes,
  That rare old wine may pass from sire to son!
  Peace! who doth keep the plow and harrow bright,
  While rust on some forgotten shelf devours
  The cruel soldier's useless sword and shield.
  From peaceful holiday with mirth and wine
  The rustic, not half sober, driveth home
  With wife and weans upon the lumbering wain.

  But wars by Venus kindled ne'er have done;
  The vanquished lass, with tresses rudely torn,
  Of doors broke down, and smitten cheek complains;
  And he, her victor-lover, weeps to see
  How strong were his wild hands. But mocking Love
  Teaches more angry words, and while they rave,
  Sits with a smile between! O heart of stone!
  O iron heart! that could thy sweetheart strike!
  Ye gods avenge her! Is it not enough
  To tear her soft robe from her limbs away,
  And loose her knotted hair?&#8212;Enough, indeed,
  To move her tears! Thrice happy is the wight
  Whose frown some lovely mistress weeps to see!
  But he who gives her blows!&#8212;Go, let him bear
  A sword and spear! In exile let him be
  From Venus' mild domain! Come blessed Peace!
  Come, holding forth thy blade of ripened corn!
  Fill thy large lap with mellow fruits and fair!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_14"><!-- RULE4 14 --></a>
    <h2>
      BOOK II
    </h2>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_15"><!-- RULE4 15 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FIRST
    </h2>
    <center>
      A RUSTIC HOLIDAY
    </center>
    <pre>
  Give us good omen, friends! To-day we bless
  With hallowed rites this dear, ancestral seat.
  Let Bacchus his twin horns with clusters dress,
  And Ceres clasp her brows with bursting wheat!

  To-day no furrows! Both for field and man
  Be sacred rest from delving toil and care!
  With necks yoke-free, at mangers full of bran,
  The tranquil steers shall nought but garlands bear.

  Our tasks to-day are heaven's. No maid shall dare
  Upon a distaff her deft hands employ.
  Let none, too rash, our simple worship share,
  Who wrought last eve at Venus' fleeting joy!

  The gods claim chastity. Come clad in white,
  And lave your palms at some clear fountain's brim!
  Then watch the mild lamb at the altar bright,
  Yon olive-cinctured choir close-following him!

  "Ye Guardian Powers, who bless our native soil,
  Far from these acres keep ill luck away!
  No withered ears the reaper's task to spoil!
  Nor swift wolf on our laggard lambs to prey!"

  So shall the master of this happy house
  Pile the huge logs upon his blazing floor;
  While with kind mirth and neighborly carouse,
  His bondsmen build their huts beside his door.

  The bliss I pray for has been granted me!
  With reverent art observing things divine,
  I have explored the omens,&#8212;and I see
  The Guardian Powers are good to me and mine.

  Bring old Falernian from the shadows gray,
  And burst my Chian seal! He is disgraced,
  Who gets home sober from this festive day,
  Or finds his door without a step retraced.

  Health to Messala now from all our band!
  Drink to each letter of his noble name!
  Messala! laurelled from the Gallic land,
  Of his grim-bearded sires the last, best fame!

  Be with me, thou! inspire a song for me
  To sing those gods of woodland, hill and glade,
  Without whose arts man's hunger still would be
  Only on mast and gathered acorns stayed.

  They taught us rough-hewn rafters to prepare,
  And clothe low cabins with a roof of green;
  They bade fierce bulls the servile yoke to bear;
  And wheels to move a wain were theirs, I ween.

  Our wild fruit was forgot, when apple-boughs
  Bore grafts, and thirsty orchards (art divine!)
  Were freshed by ditching; while with sweet carouse
  The wine-press flowed, and water wed with wine.

  Our fields bore harvests, when the dog-star flame
  Bade Summer of her tawny tress be shorn;
  From fields of Spring the bees, with busy game,
  Stored well their frugal combs the live-long morn.

  'Twas some field-tiller from his plough at rest,
  First hummed his homely words to numbers true,
  Or trilled his pipe of straw in songs addressed
  To his blithe woodland gods, with worship due.

  Some rustic ruddied with vermilion clay
  First led, O Bacchus, thy swift choric throng,
  And won for record of thy festal day
  Some fold's chief goat, fit meed of frolic song!

  It was our rustic boys whose virgin band
  New coronals of Spring's sweet flowrets made
  For offering to the gods who bless our land,
  Which on the Lares' hallowed heads were laid.

  Our country-lasses find a pleasing care
  In soft, warm wool their snowy flocks have bred;
  The distaff, skein and spindle they prepare,
  And reel, with firm-set thumb, the faultless thread.

  Then following Minerva's heavenly art,
  They weave with patient toil some fabric proud;
  While at her loom the lass with cheerful heart
  Sings songs the sounding shuttle answers loud.

  Cupid himself with flocks and herds did pass
  His boyhood, and on sheep and horses drew
  His erring infant bow; but now, alas!
  He is an archer far too swift and true.

  Not now dull beasts, but luckless maids engage
  His enmity; brave men are brave no more;
  Youth's strength he wastes, and drives fond, foolish age
  To blush and sigh at scornful beauty's door.

  Love-lured, the virgin, guarded and discreet,
  Slips by the night-watch at her lover's call,
  Feels the dark path-way with her trembling feet,
  And gropes with out-spread hands along the wall.

  Oh! wretched are the wights this god would harm!
  But blest as gods whom Love with smiles will sway!
  Come, boy divine! and these dear revels charm&#8212;
  But fling thy burning brands, far, far away!

  Sing to this god, sweet shepherds! Ask aloud
  Your flocks' good health; then each, discreetly mute,
  His love's!&#8212;Nay, scream her name! Yon madcap crowd
  Screams louder, to its wry-necked Phrygian flute.

  On with the sport! Night's chariot appears:
  The stars, her children, follow through the sky:
  Dark Sleep comes soon, on wings no mortal hears,
  With strange, dim dreams that know not where they fly.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_16"><!-- RULE4 16 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SECOND
    </h2>
    <center>
      A BIRTHDAY WISH
    </center>
    <pre>
  Burn incense now! and round our altars fair
    With cheerful vows or sacred silence stand!
  To-day Cerinthus' birth our rites declare,
    With perfumes from the blest Arabian land.

  Let his own Genius to our festal haste,
    While fresh-blown flowers his heavenly tresses twine
  And balm-anointed brows; so let him taste
    Our offered loaf and sweet, unstinted wine!

  To thee Cerinthus may his favoring care
    Grant every wish! O claim some priceless meed!
  Ask a fond wife thy life-long bliss to share&#8212;
    Nay! This the great gods have long since decreed!

  Less than this gift were lordship of wide fields,
    Where slow-paced yoke and swain compel the corn;
  Less, all rich gems the womb of India yields,
    Where the flushed Ocean rims the shores of Morn.

  Thy vow is granted! Lo! on pinions bright,
    The Love-god comes, a yellow cincture bearing,
  To bind thee ever to thy dear delight,
    In nuptial knot, all other knots outwearing.

  When wrinkles delve, and o'er the reverend brow
    Fall silver locks and few, the bond shall be
  But more endeared; and thou shall bless this vow
    O'er children's children smiling at thy knee.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_17"><!-- RULE4 17 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE THIRD
    </h2>
    <center>
      MY LADY RUSTICATES
    </center>
    <pre>
  To pleasures of the country-side
    My lady-love is lightly flown;
  And now in cities to abide
    Betrays a heart of stone.

  Venus herself henceforth will choose
    Only in field and farm to walk,
  And Cupid but the language use
    Which plough-boy lovers talk.

  O what a ploughman I could be!
    How deep the furrows I would trace,
  If while I toiled, I might but see
    My mistress' smiling face!

  A farmer true, I'd guide my team
    Of barren steers o'er fruitful lands,
  Nor murmur at the noon-day beam,
    Or my soft, blistered hands.

  Once fair Apollo fed the flocks
    Of King Admetus, like a swain;
  Little availed his flowing locks,
    His lyre was little gain.

  No virtuous herb to reach that ill
    His heavenly arts of healing knew;
  For love made vain his famous skill,
    And all his art o'er-threw.

  Himself his herds afield he drove,
    Or where the cooling waters stray;
  Himself the willow baskets wove,
    And strained out curds and whey.

  Oft would his heavenly shoulders bear
    A calf adown some pathless place;
  And oft Diana met him there,
    And blushed at his disgrace.

  O often, if his voice divine
    Echoed the mountain glens along,
  Out-burst the loud, audacious kine,
    And bellowing drowned his song.

  His tripods prince and people found
    All silent to their troubled cry,
  His locks dishevelled and unbound
    Woke fond Latona's sigh.

  To see his pale, neglected brow,
    And unkempt tresses, once so fair,&#8212;
  They cried, "O where is Phoebus now?
    "His glorious tresses, where?"

  "In place of Delos' golden fane,
    "Love gives thee but a lowly shed!
  "O, where are Delphi and its train?
    "The Sibyl, whither fled?"

  Happy the days, forever flown,
    When even immortal gods could dare
  Proudly to serve at Venus' throne,
    Nor blushed her chain to wear!

  "Irreverent fables!" I am told.
    But lovers true these tales receive:
  Rather a thousand such they hold,
    Than loveless gods believe.

  O Ceres, who didst charm away
    My Nemesis from life in Rome,
  May barren glebe thy pains repay
    And scanty harvest come!

  A curse upon thy merry trade!
    Young Bacchus, giver of the vine!
  Thy vine-yards have ensnared a maid
    Far sweeter than thy wine.

  Let herbs and acorns be our meat!
    Drink good old water! Better so
  Than that my fickle beauty's feet
    To those far hills should go!

  Did not our sires on acorns feed,
    And love-sick rove o'er hill and dale?
  Our furrowed fields they did not need,
    Nor did love's harvest fail.

  When passion did their hearts employ,
    And o'er them breathed the blissful hour,
  Mild Venus freely found them joy
    In every leafy bower.

  No chaperone was there, no door
    Against a lover's sighs to stand.
  Delicious age! May Heaven restore
    Its customs to our land!

  Nay, take me! In my lady's train
    Some stubborn field I fain would plough
  Lay on the lash and clamp the chain!
    I bear them meekly now.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_18"><!-- RULE4 18 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FOURTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      ON HIS LADY'S AVARICE
    </center>
    <pre>
  A woman's slave am I, and know it well.
    Farewell, my birthright! farewell, liberty!
  In wretched slavery and chains I dwell,
    For love's sad captives never are set free.

  Whether I smile or curse, love just the same
    Brands me and burns. O, cruel woman, spare!
  O would I were a rock, to 'scape this flame
    Far off upon the frosty mountains there!

  Would I were flint, to front the tempest's power,
    Wave-buffeted on some wild, wreckful shore!
  My sad days bring worse nights, and every hour
    Fills me some cup of gall and brims it o'er.

  What use are songs? Her greedy hands disdain
    Apollo's gift. She says some gold is due.
  Farewell, ye Muses, I have sung in vain!
    Only in quest of <i>her</i> I followed <i>you</i>.

  I sing no wars; nor how the moon and sun
    In heavenly paths their circling chariots steer.
  To win my lady's smiles my numbers run;
    Farewell, ye Muses, if ye fail me here!

  Let deeds of bloody crime now make me bold!
    No longer at her bolted door I whine;
  But I will find that necessary gold,
    Though I steal treasure from some holy shrine.

  Venus I first will violate; for she
    Compelled my crime, and did my heart enthrall
  To beauty that requires a golden fee.
    Yes, Venus' shrine shall suffer worst of all.

  Curse on that man who finds the emerald green,
    And Tyrian purples for our flattered girls!
  He makes them greedy. Now they must be seen
    In Coan robe and gleaming Red Sea pearls.

  It spoils them all. Now bolts and barriers hold
   Their doors, and watch-dogs threaten through the dark;
  But let the lover overflow with gold,&#8212;
    All bolts fly back and not a dog will bark.

  What God did beauty unto gold degrade,
    And mix one bliss with many a woe and shame?
  Tears, quarrels, curses were the gifts he made;
    And Love bears now a very evil name.

  False girl, who dost for riches thrust aside
    Love's honest vow, may winds and flames conspire
  To wreck thy wealth, while all thy beaux deride
    The loss, nor throw one bowl-full on the fire!

  O when dark Death shall be thy final guest,
    No lover true will shed the faithful tear,
  Nor bring an offering where thy ashes rest,
    Nor lay one garland on thy lonely bier I

  But some warm-hearted lass who loved not gain
    Shall live a hundred years, yet be much mourned;
  Her tomb shall be some lover's holiest fane,
    With annual gift of all sad flowers adorned.

  "Farewell, true heart!" his trembling lips will say,
    "Let peace untroubled bless thy relics dear!"
  Oft will he visit, and departing pray,
    "Light lie this earth on her whose rest is here!"

  Nay, it is vain such serious songs to breathe:
    I must be modern, if I would prevail.
  How much? Just all my ancestors bequeath?
    Come, Lares! You are advertised for sale.

  Let Circe and Medea bring the lees
    Of some foul cup! Let Thessaly prepare
  Its direst poison! Bring hippomanes,
    Fierce philtre from the frantic, brooding mare!
  For if my mistress mix it with a smile,
  I drain a draught a thousand times as vile.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_19"><!-- RULE4 19 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FIFTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE PRIESTHOOD OF APOLLO
    </center>
    <pre>
  Smile, Phoebus, on the youthful priest
  Who seeks thy shrine to-day!
  With lyre and song attend our feast,
  And with imperious finger play
  Thy loudly thrilling chords to anthems high!
  Come, with temples laurel-bound,
  O'er thine own thrice-hallowed ground,
  Where incense from our altars meets the sky!
  Come radiant and fair,
  In golden garb and glorious, clustering hair,
  The famous guise in which thou sang'st so well
  Of victor Jove, when Saturn's kingdom fell!
  The far-off future all is thine!
  Thy hallowed augurs can divine
  Whate'er dark song the birds of omen sing;
  Of augury thou art the king,
  And thy wise haruspex finds meaning fit
  For what the gods have in the victims writ.
  The hoary Sibyl taught of thee
  Never sings of Rome untrue,
  Chanting forth in measures due
  Her mysterious prophecy.

  Once she bade Aeneas look
  In her all-revealing book,
  What time from Trojan shore
  His father and his fallen gods he bore.
  Doubtful and dark to him was Rome's bright name,
  While yet his mournful eyes
  Saw Ilium dying and her gods in flame.
  Not yet beneath the skies
  Had Romulus upreared the weight
  Of our Eternal City's wall,
  Denied to Remus by unequal fate.
  Then lowly cabins small
  Possessed the seat of Capitolian Jove;
  And, over Palatine, the rustics drove
  Their herds afield, where Pan's similitude
  Dripped down with milk beneath an ilex tall,
  And Pales' image rude
  Hewn out by pruning-hook, for worship stood.
  The shepherd hung upon the bough
  His babbling pipes in payment of a vow,&#8212;
  The pipe of reeds in lessening order placed,
  Knit well with wax from longest unto last.
  Where proud Velabrum lies,
  A little skiff across the shallows plies;
  And oft, to meet her shepherd lover,
  The village lass is ferried over
  For a woodland holiday:
  At night returning o'er the watery way,
  She brings a tribute from the fruitful farms&#8212;
  A cheese, or white lamb, carried in her arms.
</pre>
    <center>
      <i>The Sibyl</i>
    </center>
    <pre>
  "High-souled Aeneas, brother of light-winged Love,
  "Thy pilgrim ships Troy's fallen worship bear.
  "To thee the Latin lands are given of Jove,
  "And thy far-wandering gods are welcome there.
  "Thou thyself shalt have a shrine
  "By Numicus' holy wave;
  "Be thou its genius strong to bless and save,
  "By power divine!

  "O'er thy ship's storm-beaten prow
  "Victory her wings will spread,
  "And, glorious, rest at last above a Trojan head.
  "I see Rutulia flaming round me now.
  "O barbarous Turnus, I behold thee dead!
  "Laurentum rushes on my sight,
  "And proud Lavinium's castled height,
  "And Alba Longa for thy royal heir.
  "Now I see a priestess fair
  "Close in Mars' divine embrace.
  "Daughter of Ilium, she fled away
  "From Vesta's fires, and from her virgin face
  "The fillet dropped, and quite unheeded lay;
  "Nor shield nor corslet then her hero wore,
  "Keeping their stolen tryst by Tiber's sacred shore!
  "Browse, ye bulls, along the seven green hills!
  "For yet a little while ye may,
  "E'er the vast city shall confront the day!
  "O Rome! thy destined glory fills
  "A wide world subject to thy sway,&#8212;
  "Wide as all the regions given
  "To fruitful Ceres, as she looks from heaven
  "O'er her fields of golden corn,
  "From the opening gates of morn
  "To where the Sun in Ocean's billowy stream
  "Cools at eve his spent and panting team.
  "Troy herself at last shall praise
  "Thee and thy far-wandering ways.
  "My song is truth. Thus only I endure
  "The bitter laurel-leaf divine,
  "And keep me at Apollo's shrine
  "A virgin ever pure."

  So, Phoebus, in thy name the Sibyl sung,
  As o'er her frenzied brow her loosened locks she flung.

  In equal song Herophile
  Chanted forth the times to be,
  From her cold Marpesian glade.
  Amalthea, dauntless maid,
  In the blessed days gone by,
  Bore thy book through Anio's river
  And did thy prophecies deliver,
  From her mantle, safe and dry.

  All prophesied of omens dire,
  The comet's monitory fire,
  Stones raining down, and tumult in the sky
  Of trumpets, swords, and routed chivalry;
  The very forests whispered fear,
  And through the stormful year
  Tears, burning tears, from marble altars ran;
  Dumb beast took voice to tell the fate of man;
  The Sun himself in light did fail
  As if he yoked his car to horses mortal-pale.

  Such was the olden time. O Phoebus, now
  Of mild, benignant brow,
  Let those portents buried be
  In the wild, unfathomed sea!
  Now let thy laurel loudly flame
  On altars to thy gracious name,
  And give good omen of a fruitful year
  Crackling laurel if the rustic hear,
  He knows his granary shall bursting be,
  And sweet new wine flow free,
  And purple grapes by jolly feet be trod,
  Vat and cellar will be too small,
  While at the vintage-festival,
  With choral song,
  The tipsy swains carouse the shepherd's god:
  "Away, ye wolves, and do our folds no wrong!"

  Then shall the master touch the straw-built fire,
  And as it blazes high and higher,
  Lightly leap its lucky crest.
  A welcome heir with frolic face
  Shall his jovial sire embrace,
  And kiss him hard and pull him by the ears;
  While o'er the cradle the good grand-sire bent
  Will babble with the babe in equal merriment,
  And feel no more his weight of years.

  There in soft shadow of some ancient tree,
  Maidens, boys, and wine-cups be,
  Scattered on the pleasant grass;
  From lip to lip the cups they pass;
  Their own mantles garland-bound
  Hang o'er-head for canopy,
  And every cup with rose is crowned;
  Each at banquet buildeth high
  Of turf the table, and of turf the bed,&#8212;
  Such was ancient revelry!
  Here too some lover at his darling's head
  Flings words of scorn, which by and by
  He wildly prays be left unsaid,
  And swears that wine-cups lie.

  O under Phoebus' ever-peaceful sway,
  Away, ye bows, ye arrows fierce, away!
  Let Love without a shaft among earth's peoples stray!
  A noble weapon! but when Cupid takes
  His arrow,&#8212;ah! what mortal wound he makes!
  Mine is the chief. This whole year have I lain
  Wounded to death, yet cherishing the pain,
  And counting my delicious anguish gain.
  Of Nemesis my song must tell!
  Without her name I make no verses well,
  My metres limp and all fine words are vain!

  Therefore, my darling, since the powers on high
  Protect the poets,&#8212;O! a little while
  On Apollo's servant smile!
  So let me sing in words divine
  An ode of triumph for young Messaline.
  Before his chariot he shall bear
  Towns and towers for trophies proud,
  And on his brow the laurel-garland wear;
  While, with woodland laurel crowned.
  His legions follow him acclaiming loud,
  "Io triumphe," with far-echoing sound.

  Let my Messala of the festive crowd
  Receive applause, and joyfully behold
  His son's victorious chariot passing by!

  Smile, Phoebus there! Thy flowing locks all gold!
  Thy virgin sister, too, stoop with thee from the sky!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_20"><!-- RULE4 20 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SIXTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      LET LOVERS ALL ENLIST
    </center>
    <pre>
  Now for a soldier Macer goes. Will Cupid take the field?
  Will Love himself enlist, and bear on his soft breast a shield?

  Through weary marches over land, through wandering waves at sea,
  Armed <i>cap-a-pie</i>, will that small god the hero's comrade be?

  O burn him, boy, I pray, that could thy blessed favors slight!
  Back to the ranks the straggler bring beneath thy standard bright!

  Yet, if to soldiers thou art kind, I too will volunteer,
  I too will from a helmet drink, nor thirst in desert's fear.

  Venus, good-bye! Now, off I go! Good-bye, sweet ladies all!
  I am all valor, and delight to hear the trumpets call.

  Large is my brag! But while with pride my project I recite,
  I see her bolted door,&#8212;and then my boasting fails me quite.

  Never to visit her again, with many an oath I swore;
  But while I vowed, my feet had run unguided to her door.

  Come now, ye lovers all! who serve in Cupid's hard campaign,
  Let us together to the wars, and thus our peace regain!

  This age of iron frowns on love and smiles on golden gain,&#8212;
  On spoils of war which must be won by agony and pain.

  For spoils alone our swords are keen, and deadly spears are hurled
  While carnage, wrath, and swifter death fly broadcast through the world.

  For spoils, with double risk of death the threatening seas we sail,
  And climb the steel-beaked ship-of-war, so mighty and so frail!

  The spoilers proud to boundless lands their bloody titles read,
  And see innumerable flocks o'er endless acres feed

  Fine foreign marbles they will bring; and all the city stare,
  While one tall column for a house a thousand oxen bear.

  They bind with bars the tameless sea; behind a rampart proud
  Their little fishes swim in calm, when wintry storms are loud.

  Ah! Love! Will not a Samian bowl hold all our mirth and wine?
  And pottery of poor Cuman clay, with love, seem fair and fine?

  Nay! Woe is me! Naught now but gold can please our ladies gay;
  And so, since Venus asks for wealth, the spoils of war must pay.

  My Nemesis shall roll in wealth; and promenade the town,
  All glittering, with my golden gifts upon her gorgeous gown.

  Her filmy web of Coan weave with golden broidery gleams;
  Her swarthy slaves the Indian sun touched with its burning beams.

  In rival hues to make her fair all conquered regions vie,
  Afric its azure must bestow, and Tyre its purple dye.

  O look&#8212;I tell what all men know&#8212;on that most favored lover!
  Once in the market-place he sat, with both his soles chalked over.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_21"><!-- RULE4 21 --></a>
    <h2>
      BOOK III
    </h2>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_22"><!-- RULE4 22 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FIRST
    </h2>
    <center>
      THE NEW-YEAR'S GIFT
    </center>
    <pre>
  Now the month of Mars beginning brings the merry season near,
  By our fathers named and numbered as the threshold of the year.
  Faithfully their custom keeping, through the wide streets to and fro,
  Offered at each friendly dwelling, seasonable gifts must go.
  O what gifts, Pierian Muses, may acceptably be poured
  On my own adored Neaera?&#8212;or, if not my own, adored!

  Song is love's best gift to beauty; gold but tempts the venal soul;
  Therefore, 'tis a song I send her on this amateurish scroll.
  Wind a page of saffron parchment round the white papyrus there,
  Polish well with careful pumice every silvery margin fair:

  On the dainty little cover, for a title to the same
  Let her bright eyes read the blazon of a love-sick poet's name.
  Let the pair of horn-tipped handles be embossed with colors gay,
  For my book must make a toilet, must put on its best array.

  By Castalia's whispering shadow, by Pieria's vocal spring,
  By yourselves, O listening Muses, who did prompt the song I sing,&#8212;
  Fly, I pray you, to her chamber, and my pretty booklet bear,
  All unmarred and perfect give it, every color fresh and fair:
  Let her send you back, confessing, if our hearts together burn;
  Or, if she but loves me little, or will nevermore return.
  Utter first, for she deserves it, many a golden wish and vow;
  Then deliver this true message, humbly, as I speak it now.

  'Tis a gift, O chaste Neaera, from thy husband yet to be.
  Take the trifle, though a "brother" now is all he seems to thee.

  He will swear he loves thee dearer than the blood in all his veins;
  Whether husband, or if only that cold "sister" name remains.
  Ah! but "wife" he calls it: nothing takes this sweet hope from his soul!
  Till a hapless ghost he wanders where the Stygian waters roll.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_23"><!-- RULE4 23 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SECOND
    </h2>
    <center>
      HE DIED FOR LOVE
    </center>
    <pre>
  Whoe'er from darling bride her husband dear
    First forced to part, had but a heart of stone;
  And not less hard the man who could appear
    To bear such loss and live unloved, alone.

  I am but weak in this; such fortitude
    My soul has not; grief breaks my spirit quite.
  I shame not to declare it is my mood
    To sicken of a life such sorrows smite.

  When I shall journey to the shadowy land,
    And over my white bones black ashes be,
  Beside my pyre let fair Neaera stand,
    With long, loose locks unbound, lamenting me.

  Let her dear mother's grief with hers have share,
    One mourn a husband, one a son bewail!
  Then call upon my ghost with holy prayer,
    And pour ablution o'er their fingers pale.

  The white bones, which my body's wreck outlast,
    Girdled in flowing black they will upbear,
  Sprinkle with rare, old wine, and gently cast
    In bath of snowy milk, with pious care.

  These will they swathe with linen mantles o'er,
    And lay unmouldering in their marble bed;
  Then gift of Arab or Panchaian shore,
    Assyrian balm and Orient incense shed.

  And may they o'er my tomb the gift disburse
    Of faithful tears, remembering him below;
  For those cold ashes I have made this verse,
    That all my doleful way of death may know.

  My oft-frequented grave the words shall bear,
    And all who pass will read with pitying eyes:&#8212;
  "<i>Here Lygdamus, consumed with grief and care</i>
<i>"For his lost bride Neaera, hapless lies</i>."
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_24"><!-- RULE4 24 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE THIRD
    </h2>
    <center>
      RICHES ARE USELESS
    </center>
    <pre>
  'Tis vain to plague the skies with eager prayer,
    And offer incense with thy votive song,
  If only thou dost ask for marbles fair,
    To deck thy palace for the gazing throng.

  Not wider fields my oxen to employ,
    Nor flowing harvests and abundant land,
  I ask of heaven; but for a long life's joy
    With thee, and in old age to clasp thy hand.

  If when my season of sweet light is o'er,
    I, carrying nothing, unto Charon yield,
  What profits me a ponderous golden store,
    Or that a thousand yoke must plough my field?

  What if proud Phrygian columns fill my halls,
    Taenarian, Carystian, and the rest,
  Or branching groves adorn my spacious walls,
    Or golden roof, or floor with marbles dressed?

  What pleasure in rare Erythraean dyes,
    Or purple pride of Sidon and of Tyre,
  Or all that can solicit envious eyes,
    And which the mob of fools so well admire?

  Wealth has no power to lift life's load of care,
    Or free man's lot from Fortune's fatal chain;
  With thee, Neaera, poverty looks fair,
    And lacking thee, a kingdom were in vain.

  O golden day that shall at last restore
    My lost love to my arms! O blest indeed,
  And worthy to be hallowed evermore!
    May some kind god my long petition heed!

  No! not dominion, nor Pactolian stream,
    Nor all the riches the wide world can give!
  These other men may ask. My fondest dream
    Is, poor but free, with my true wife to live.

  Saturnian Juno, to all nuptials kind,
    Receive with grace my ever-anxious vow!
  Come, Venus, wafted by the Cyprian wind,
    And from thy car of shell smile on me now!

  But if the mournful sisters, by whose hands
    Our threads of life are spun, refuse me all&#8212;
  May Pluto bid me to his dreary lands,
    Where those wide rivers through the darkness fall!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_25"><!-- RULE4 25 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FOURTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      A DREAM FROM PHOEBUS
    </center>
    <pre>
  Be kinder, gods! Let not the dreams come true
    Which last night's cruel slumber bade believe!
  Begone! your vain, delusive spells undo,
    Nor ask me to receive!

  The gods tell truth. With truth the Tuscan seer
    In entrails dark a book of fate may find;
  But dreams are folly and with fruitless fear
    Address the trembling mind.

  Although mankind, against night's dark surprise
    With sprinkled meal or salt ward off the ill,
  And often turn deaf ear to prophets wise,
    While dreams deceive them still;&#8212;

  May bright Lucina my foreboding mind
    From such vain terrors of the night redeem,
  For in my soul no deed of guilt I find,
    Nor do my lips blaspheme.

  Now had the Night upon her ebon wain
    Passed o'er the upper sky, and dipped a wheel
  In the blue sea: but Sleep, the friend of pain,
    Refused my sense to seal.

  Sleep stands defeated at the house of care:
    And only when from purpled orient skies
  Peered Phoebus forth, did tardy slumber bear
    Down on my weary eyes.

  Then seemed a youth with holy laurel crowned
    To fill my door: a wight so wondrous rare
  Was not in all the vanished ages found.
    No marble half so fair!

  Adown his neck, with myrtle-buds inwove
    And Syrian dews, his unshorn tresses flow:
  White is he as the moon in heaven above,
    But rose is blent with snow.

  Like that soft blush on face of virgin fair
    Led to her husband; or as maidens twine
  Lilies in amaranth; or Autumn's air
    Tinges the apples fine.

  A long, loose mantle to his ankles played,&#8212;
    Such vesture did his lucent shape enfold:
  His left hand bore the vocal lyre, all made
    Of gleaming shell and gold.

  He smote its strings with ivory instrument,
    And words auspicious tuned his heavenly tongue;
  Then, while his hands and voice concording blent,
    These sad, sweet words he sung:

  "Hail, blest of Heaven! For a poet divine
    Phoebus and Bacchus and the Muses bless.
  But Bacchus and the skilful Sisters nine
    No prophecies possess.

  "But of what Fate ordains for times to be
    Jove gave me vision. Therefore, minstrel dear!
  Receive what my unerring lips decree!
    The Cynthian wisdom hear!

  "She whom thy love holds dearer than sweet child
    Is to a mother's breast, or virgin soft
  To longing lover, she for whom thy wild
    Prayers vex high Heaven so oft,

  "Who worries thee each day, and vainly fills
    Dark-mantled sleep with visions that beguile,
  Lovely Neaera, theme of all thy quills,
    Now elsewhere gives her smile.

  "For sighs not thine her fickle passions flame:
    For thy chaste house Neaera has no care.
  O cruel tribe! O woman, faithless name!
    Curse on the false and fair!

  "But woo her still! For mutability
    Is woman's soul. Fond vows may yet prevail,
  Fierce love bears well a woman's cruelty,
    Nor at the lash will quail.

  "That I did feed Admetus' heifers white
    Is no light tale. Upon the lyric string
  Nor more could I my joyful notes indite,
    Nor with sweet concord sing.

  "On oaten pipe I sued the woodland Muse&#8212;
    I, of Latona and the Thunderer son!
  Thou knowst not what love is, if thou refuse
    T'endure a cruel one.

  "Go, then, and ply her with persuasive woe!
    Soft supplications the hard heart subdue.
  Then, if my oracles the future know,
    Give her this message true:

  "'The God whose seat is Delos' marble isle,
    Declares this marriage happy and secure.
  It has Apollo's own auspicious smile.
<i>Cast off that rival wooer!</i>'"

  He spoke: dull slumber from my body fell.
    Can I believe such perils round me fold?
  That such discordant vows thy tongue can tell?
    Thy heart in guilt so bold?

  Thou wert not gendered by the Pontic Sea,
    Nor where Chimaera's lips fierce flame out-pour,
  Nor of that dog with tongues and foreheads three,
    His back all snakes and gore;

  Nor out of Scylla's whelp-engirdled womb;
    Nor wert thou of fell lioness the child;
  Nor was thy cradle Scythia's forest-gloom,
    Nor Syrtis' sandy wild.

  No, but thy home was human! round its fire
    Sate creatures lovable: of all her kind
  Thy mother was the mildest, and thy sire
    Showed a most friendly mind.

  May Heaven in these bad dreams good omen show,
  And bid warm south-winds to oblivion blow!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_26"><!-- RULE4 26 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE FIFTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      TO FRIENDS AT THE BATHS
    </center>
    <pre>
  You take your pleasure by Etrurian streams,
    Save when the dog-star burns:
  Or bathe you where mysterious Baiae steams,
    When purple Spring returns.

  But dread Persephone assigns to me
    The hour of gloom and fears.
  O Queen of death! be innocence my plea!
    Pity my youthful tears!

  I never have profaned that sacred shrine
    Where none but women go,
  Nor in my cup cast hemlock, or poured wine
    Death-drugged for friend or foe.

  I have not burned a temple: nor to crime
    My fevered passions given:
  Nor with wild blasphemy at worship-time
    Insulted frowning Heaven.

  Not yet is my dark hair defaced with gray,
    Nor stoop nor staff have I;
  For I was born upon that fatal day
    That saw two consuls die.

  What profits it from tender vine to tear
    The growing grape? Or who
  Would pluck with naughty hand an apple fair,
    Before its season due?

  Have mercy! gods who keep the murky stream
    Of that third kingdom dark!
  On my far future let Elysium beam!
    Postpone me Charon's bark!&#8212;

  Till wrinkled age shall make my features pale,
    And to the listening boys
  The old man babbles his repeated tale
    Of vanished days and joys!

  I trust I fear too much this fever-heat
    Which two long weeks I have,
  While with Etrurian nymphs ye sweetly meet,
    And cleave the yielding wave.

  Live lucky, friends! live loyal unto me,
    Though life, though death be mine!
  Let herds all black dread Pluto's offering be
    With white milk and red wine!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_27"><!-- RULE4 27 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE SIXTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      A FARE-WELL TOAST
    </center>
    <pre>
  Come radiant Bacchus! With the hallowed leaf
    Of grape and ivy be thy forehead crowned!
  For thou canst chase away or cure my grief&#8212;
    Let love in wine be drowned!

  Dear bearer of my cup, come, brim it o'er!
    Pour forth unstinted our Falernian wine!
  Care's cruel brood is gone; I toil no more,
    If Phoebus o'er me shine.

  Dear, jovial friends, let not a lip be dry!
    Drink as I drink, and every toast obey!
  And him who will not with my wine-cup vie,
    May some false lass betray!

  This god makes all men rich. He tames proud souls,
    And bids them by a woman's hand be chained;
  Armenian tigresses his power controls,
    And lions tawny-maned.

  That love-god is as strong; but I delight
    In Bacchus rather. Fill our cups once more!
  Just and benign is he, if mortal wight
    Him and his vines adore!

  But, O! he rages, if his gift ye spurn.
    Drink, if ye dare not a god's anger brave!
  How fierce his stroke, let temperate fellows learn
    Of Pentheus' gory grave.

  Away such fear! Rather may some fierce stroke
    On that false beauty fall!&#8212;O frightful prayer!
  O, I am mad! O may my curse be broke,
    And melt in misty air!

  For, O Neaera, though I am forgot,
    I ask all gods to bless thee, every one.
  Back to my cups I go. This wine has brought
    After long storms, the sun.

  Alas! How hard to masque dull grief in joy!
    A sad heart's jest&#8212;what bitter mockery!
  With vain deceit my laughing lips employ
    Loud mirth that is a lie.

  But why complain and moan? O wretched me!
    When will my lagging sorrows haste and go?
  Delightful Bacchus at his mystery
    Forbids these words of woe.

  Once, by the wave, lone Ariadne pale,
    Abandoned of false Theseus, weeping stood:&#8212;
  Our wise Catullus tells the doleful tale
    Of love's ingratitude.

  Take warning friends! How fortunate is he,
    Who learns of others' loss his own to shun!
  Trust not caressing arms and sighs, nor be
    By flatteries undone!

  Though by her own sweet eyes her oath she swear,
    By solemn Juno, or by Venus gay,
  At oaths of love Jove laughs, and bids the air
    Waft the light things away.

  It is but folly, then, to fume and fret,
    If one light lass that old deception wrought;
  O that I too might evermore forget
    To speak my heart's true thought!

  O that my long, long nights brought peace and thee!
    That nought but thee my waking eyes did fill!
  Thou wert most false and cruel, woe is me!
    False! But I love thee still.
</pre>
    <center>
      <i>L'Envoi</i>
    </center>
    <pre>
  How well fresh water mixes with old wine!
    Bacchus loves water-nymphs. Bring water, boy!
  What care I where she sleeps? This night of mine
    Shall I in sighs employ?

  Make the cup strong, I tell you! Stronger there!
    Wine only! While the Syrian balm o'er-flows!
  Long would I revel with anointed hair,
    And wear this wreath of rose.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_28"><!-- RULE4 28 --></a>
    <h2>
      BOOK IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_29"><!-- RULE4 29 --></a>
    <h2>
      ELEGY THE THIRTEENTH
    </h2>
    <center>
      A LOVER'S OATH
    </center>
    <pre>
  No! ne'er shall rival lure me from thine arms!
    (In such sweet bond did our first sighs agree!)
  Save for thine own I see no woman's charms;
    No maid in all the world is fair but thee.

  Would that no eyes but mine could find thee fair!
    Displease those others! Save me this annoy!
  I ask not envy nor the people's stare:&#8212;
    Wisest is he who loves with silent joy.

  With thee in gloomy woods my life were gay,
    Where pathway ne'er was found for human feet,
  Thou art my balm of care, in dark my day,
    In wildest waste, society complete.

  If Heaven should send a goddess to my bed,
    All were in vain. My pulse would never rise.
  I swear thee this by Juno's holy head&#8212;
    Greatest to us of all who hold the skies.

  What madness this? I give away my case!
    Swear a fool's oath! Thy tears my safety won.
  Now wilt thou flirt, and tease me to my face&#8212;
    Such mischief has my babbling fully done.

  Now am I but thy slave: yet thine remain,
    My mistress' yoke I never shall undo.
  To Venus' altar let me drag my chain!
    She brands the proud, and smiles on lovers true.
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="RULE4_30"><!-- RULE4 30 --></a>
    <h2>
      OVID'S LAMENT FOR TIBULLUS' DEATH
    </h2>
    <pre>
  If tears for their dead sons, in deep despair,
    Mothers of Memnon and Achilles shed,
  If gods in mortal grief have any share,
    O Muse of tears! bow down thy mournful head!

  Tibullus, thy true minstrel and best fame,
    Mere lifeless clay, on tall-built pyre doth blaze;
  While Eros, with rent bow, extinguished flame,
    And quiver empty, his wild grief displays.

  Behold, he comes with trailing wing forlorn,
    And smites with desperate hands his bosom bare!
  Tears rain unheeded o'er his tresses turn,
    And many a trembling sob his soft lips bear.

  Thus for a brother Eros mourned of yore,
    Aeneas, in Iulus' regal hall;
  Not less do Venus' eyes this death deplore
    Than when she saw her slain Adonis fall.

  Yet poets are sacred! Simple souls have deemed
    That ranked with gods we sons of song may stand,
  See one and all by sullen Death blasphemed,
    And violated by his shadowy hand!

  Little avails it Orpheus that his sire
    Was more than man; for though his songs restrain
  The wolves of Ismara, his love-lorn lyre
    Wails in the wildwood gloom with anguish vain.

  Maeonides, from whose exhaustless well
    All bards since then some tribute stream derive,&#8212;
  Him, even him, th' Avernian shades camped;
    Only his songs his scattered dust survive

  Yet songs endure. Endures the Trojan fame,
    And how Penelope's wise nights were passed.
  So Nemesis and Delia have a name,&#8212;
    A poet's earliest passion and his last.

  Live piously! Build shrines! Revere the skies!
    Death, from the temple, thrusts thee to the tomb
  Or sing divinely! Lo, Tibullus dies!
    One scanty urn gives all his ashes room.

  Could not that laurelled head the flames restrain?
    How dared they that inspired breast explore?
  Rather they should have burned some golden fane
    Of gods,&#8212;of gods who this last insult bore!

  Yet 'tis my faith the Queen of Love the while,
    Whose altars crown the bright, voluptuous steep
  Of Eryx, at that sight did lose her smile;
    Oh! I believe sweet Venus deigned to weep!

  But he had feared worse deaths: for now he lies
    Not on Phaeacia's strand in grave unknown;
  His own dear mother closed his fading eyes,
    And brought her prayers to bless his votive stone.

  Thither drew near in mournful disarray
    His sister pale, her mother's grief to share:
  Thither no less, their rival tears to pay,
    His Nemesis and Delia, fond and fair.

  There Delia murmured, "In such love as thine
    I was too happy; thou, supremely blest,"
  Rut Nemesis: "Nay, nay! The loss is mine;
    By mine alone his dying hand was pressed."

  If after death, we haply may retain
    More of true being than a name and shade,
  Tibullus now the bright Elysian plain
    Doth enter, and hears stir of welcome made.

  With ivy garlands on his fadeless brow,
    Catullus hails his peer in perfect rhyme;
  Comes Calvus, too; and slandered Gallus! thou,&#8212;
    Not guilty, save if wasted love be crime!

  Such comrades now attend thy happy shade,&#8212;
    If shade in truth to our frail flesh belong:
  Th' Elysian company is larger made
    By thee, Tibullus, skilled in noble song!

  May thy bones rest in peace! is my fond prayer:
    Safe and inviolate thine urn shall be.
  Be changeless peace on thy loved relies there!
    And light the hallowed earth that shelters thee!
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>







<pre>





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elegies of Tibullus, by Tibullus

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELEGIES OF TIBULLUS ***

This file should be named eltib10h.htm or eltib10h.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, eltib11h.htm
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, eltib10ah.htm

Produced by Ted Garvin, David Garcia
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03

Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart hart@pobox.com

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*



</pre>

  </body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-02-21 13:22:19 +0000