The Elegies of Tibullus | Page 7

their breasts,
such luck to turn: Have mercy, Venus! Thy true follower I! Why
wouldst thou, goddess, thine own harvest burn!

ELEGY THE SIXTH
A LOVER'S CURSES

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 Haemonian
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!

ELEGY THE SEVENTH
A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT
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--with

whom I cannot tell. Can I believe when she denies, denies-- 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:-- 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 _malaise?_
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