The Elegies of Tibullus | Page 3

Tibullus
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-- 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!

ELEGY THE SECOND
LOVE AND WITCHCRAFT
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,--
Forgive them!--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
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