Erotica Romana | Page 5

those ancient artists!
In their own ateliers often I''ve visited them.
As for their works, why, I formed those myself--now this time I'm
boasting
Not. Oh come now, admit what I am saying is true.
Where are your own creations, your service to me having slackened?
Where is invention's glow now? Where is the color all gone?
Friend, do you hope you can create again? --The school of the Ancients
Yet remains open. Its gates, years have not closed them to you.
I am eternally young, and as teacher I still love the young ones.
Wisdom that comes with old age pleases me not. Listen here:
Wasn't antiquity young when those fortunate Ancients were living?
Happy then be your life, too: in it antiquity lives.
Where will you find a fit theme for your song? --It is I must provide it.
As for a style truly grand, love can alone give you that."
All of these claims that sophist asserted. Could I contradict him?

I am wont to obey, when my commander decrees.
Treacherous now he is keeping his word: giving me themes for my
poems
While he is stealing my time, potency, presence of mind.
Gazing into her eyes, holding hands, giving kisses, exchanging
Syllables sweet and those words lovers alone understand,
Murmuring our conversations we stutter in sweet oratory.
Hymns of such sort pass away, wanting prosodical tact.
Goddess of morning, Aurora, as friend of my muse I once knew you.
Has the unprincipled god, Cupid, seduced you now too?
So that these mornings you come as his sweetheart, awakening me at
His festive altar again, where I must celebrate him?
Here on my breast flows her hair, an abundance of curls, while her head
rests,
Pressing my arm as it's bent, so as to pillow her neck.
What a delicious condition, if only these few tranquil moments
Could in my memory fix firmly that image of joy
When the night rocked us to sleep--but in slumber she's moving away
now,
From my side turns, as she goes leaving her hand in my hand.
Love in our hearts makes us one, as the genuine need there stays
constant;

Only returning desire knows oscillation or change.
Gently her hand presses mine, now she opens her eyes and is looking
Into my own eyes. No--don't. Let my thoughts rest on your form!
Please close your eyes. They're inebriation, confusion, they rob me
All too soon of the joy quiet reflection affords.
Grand are the forms of this body and nobly positioned each member.
Had Ariadne lain thus, Theseus never had fled.
Only a single kiss for these lips and then, O Theseus, leave her;
Look at her eyes--she's awake! Now you're eternally bound.
XVI
Boy, won't you light me a lamp. "But dear master, there's light in the
sky yet.
Don't waste your oil and the wick. Don't close the shutters so soon.
Only the houses are blocking the sun there, it's not yet the mountains.
Until the curfew shall ring, full half an hour must pass."
Wretched young fellow, be gone and obey me! My loved one is
coming.
Lamplight, console me till then, harbinger warm of the night.
XVII
Poets of old in chorus cried out against those two serpents,
Making them horrible names, hated in all of the world:

Python the one, the other the Hydra of Lerna. These monsters
Both have now been destroyed, thanks to the deeds of the gods.
Fire-breathing, venomous once, they no longer now depredate our
Flocks and meadows and woods, fields of golden grain.
How is it then that some spiteful god in his wrath has
Raised from the poisonous slime offspring so monstrous again?
There's an insidious viper creeps into the loveliest gardens,
Lying in wait to attack all who seek pleasure therein.
Noble Hesperian dragon, I call you courageous and forthright.
Boldly defending your own beautiful apples of gold.
As for this worm, why he is not guarding at all, for his presence
Sullies both garden and fruit, till they deserve no defense.
Secretly coiled beneath bushes, where he befouls the sweet wellsprings,
Turning to poisonous drool Cupid's lifegiving dew.
Happy Lucretius knew how in his day to forego love completely,
Fearing not to enjoy pleasure in anyone's arms.
Fortunate Ancient, Propertius, for you a slave fetched the girls down
From the Aventine Hill, from Tarpeia's grove.
Cynthia then, when driving you out of such unchaste embraces,
Found you unfaithful, it's true, but she did find you whole.

Who would today dare attempt to escape from fidelity's ennui?
Love does not hold one back--only concern for one's health.
Even the woman we love may afford us uncertain enjoyment;
Nowhere can feminine lap safely encouch a man's head.
Matrimonial bed's insecure and so's fornication;
Husband, lover and wife pass to each other the hurt.