Delphi Complete Works of Propertius Page 2

  31 But thou, whether thy steps be cast where soft Ionia spreads its shores, or where Pactolus’ stream steeps Lydia’s ploughlands, whether thou rangest the land on foot or goest forth to lash the sea with oars, and makest one of those that rule and are loved by them they rule — then shalt thou be sure, if e’er a moment comes with memories of me, that I still live beneath a baleful star.

  VII

  WHILST thou singest, Ponticus, of Cadmean Thebes, and the bitter warfare of fraternal strife, and — so may heaven smile on me, as I speak truth — dost rival Homer for crown of song (if only the Fates be kind to thy verse), I, as is my wont, still ply my loves, and seek for some device to o’ercome my mistress’ cruelty. I am constrained rather to serve my sorrow than my wit and to bemoan the hardship that my youth endures.

  9 Thus is my whole life passed: this is my glory: this is the title to fame I claim for my song. Let my only praise be this, that I pleased the heart of a learned maid, and oft endured her unjust threatenings. Henceforth let neglected lovers read diligently my words, and let it profit them to learn what woes were mine. Thou too, should the boy strike thee with unerring shaft — but may the gods I serve ordain thee other doom — shalt weep in misery that thy seven leaguered hosts are cast aside and lie dumb in everlasting neglect, and in vain shalt thou desire to write soft songs of passion; Love come so late shall ne’er inspire thy song.

  21 Then shalt thou marvel at me as no mean singer; then shalt thou rank me above the bards of Rome; and youths perforce will cry above my tomb: “Mighty singer of our passion, dost thou lie so low?” Beware then lest in thy pride thou spurn my song. Love that comes late oft claims a heavy toll.

  VIII

  ART thou then mad? Does no care for me stay thy going? Am I of less account to thee than chill Illyria? And esteemest thou that wretch, whoe’er he be, so highly that thou art ready to leave me and fly to his arms on any wind that blows? Canst thou bear unmoved the roar of the raging deep? canst thou make thy couch on the hard ship’s-bench? or press with tender feet the fallen hoar-frost? or endure, my Cynthia, the unfamiliar snows? Ah, would that the wintry season’s storms were doubled, and the Pleiads’ rising delayed, that the sailor might tarry idle and the cables ne’er be loosed from the Tyrrhene strand nor the cruel breeze make light of my prayers to thee; and yet may I never see such winds subside, when thy bark puts out to sea and the wave bears it afar, leaving me rooted on the shore, shaking clenched hands and crying out upon thy cruelty.

  17 Yet, faithless one, whate’er thou deserve of me, may Galatea smile upon thy path. Pass the Ceraunian cliffs with prosperous oarage and may Oricos at last receive thee in its calm haven. For never shall the love of any maid lure me from uttering at thy threshold my bitter complaint against thee, light of my life; nor will I cease to question the mariners as they hurry by: “Tell me in what port has my love found shelter?” and I will cry: “Though she abide on Artacia’s shores, or where the Hylaei dwell, yet shall she be mine!”

  VIIIA

  SHE never went! She has sworn and she remains! Let those that wish me ill burst for envy! We have conquered! She turned a deaf ear to his persistent prayer! Now let their greedy jealousy lay aside its joy! My Cynthia has ceased to tread new paths and strange. She loves me, and for my sake loves she Rome most of cities, and cries: “Apart from thee a kingdom were not sweet.” She has preferred to lie in my embrace, though the couch be poor and narrow, and to be mine, whate’er the cost, rather than enjoy the ancient realm that was Hippodamia’s dower and all the wealth that Elis won by its steeds. Great though his gifts were and greater his promises, avarice could not tempt her from my bosom. Not by gold nor by the pearls of Ind did I prevail to win her, but by the homage of beguiling song. The Muses then are maids of might and Apollo is not slow to aid a lover; trusting in their help I pursue my love; and peerless Cynthia is my own. Now is it mine to set my feet upon the highest stars of heaven; come night or day, she is mine own; no rival now shall steal my love; ’tis fixed and sure. The glory of to-day shall crown my head when white with eld.

  IX

  MOCKER, I ever told thee love would find thee out and that thou shouldest not always be free to speak thy thoughts. Lo! now thou liest low, and goest suppliant at a woman’s will, and now some unknown girl, bought by thy gold but yesterday, lords it over thee. Not Chaonia’s doves could better divine than I what youths each maiden shall enslave. Sorrow and tears of mine own have given me a just claim to skill. Ah! would that I could lay aside my love and once more be called a novice! What now avails it, poor wretch, to chant thy serious song and to bewail the walls raised by Amphion’s lyre? Far more than Homer avails Mimnermus in the realm of love. Smooth are the songs that peaceful love demands.

  13 Go to, prithee, and lay aside thy gloomy books and sing what every maid would wish to hear. What if thou hadst not easy access? Madman, thou seekest for water when plunged in love’s mid-stream. Not even yet art thou pale, not yet art thou touched by love’s true fire: ’tis but the first faint spark of the coming woe. Then hadst thou rather approach Armenian tigers, or know the chains that bind unto the wheels of Hell, than feel so oft the arrows of the boy about thy heartstrings, and be powerless to refuse aught that thy angry mistress may demand. To none doth any Love grant freest flight, but ever curbs his wings with tantalising hand. Nor be thou deceived if she is wholly at thy command; possess her, Ponticus, and straightway she steals with keener passion on thy soul. For then thou mayest not turn thine eyes where fancy guides; Love permits thee not to watch in any cause but hers, Love that lies hid until his hand hath pierced thee to the bone.

  30 Whoe’er thou art, flee from the charms that urge their suit. To them hard flints and heart of oak might yield; much more must thou, frail breath of air that thou art. Wherefore if thou feelest aught of shame, at once confess thine error. Often in love ‘twill bring relief to tell what passion wastes thy soul.

  X

  O SWEET repose, when I was witness of your first hour of love, and stood by you as you wept together. Ah! what sweet joy to recall that night to memory! Ah! night so oft to be invoked by my prayers, whereon I saw thee, Gallus, languish in thy mistress’ arms, and speak love’s words amid long-drawn silences! Though sleep weighed down my wearied eyes and the glowing moon drove her team in midheaven, yet could I not leave the sight of your tender dalliance, such passion rang in the words ye interchanged.

  11 But since thou hast not feared to yield the secret of thy love to me, take thy reward for the joys thou didst confide. Not only have I learnt to say naught of your sorrows; there is in me something yet better than loyal secrecy. I can join parted lovers, and unbar a mistress’ reluctant doors; I too can heal another’s fresh-smarting griefs; not slight is the remedy my words can bring. Cynthia has ever taught me what things each lover should seek, and what should shun. Love has wrought something for me.

  21 See that thou seek not to resist thy mistress when she frowns, nor to speak proudly nor be silent long; nor, should she ask thee aught, do thou refuse it with frowning brow, nor let words of kindness fall on thy ears in vain. Spurn her and she comes in wrath to thee; offend her, and she ne’er remembers to lay aside her just threats. But the more thou humblest thyself and yieldest to her love, the more oft thou shalt enjoy the crown of thy desires. He will be able to abide in the enjoyment of one mistress’ love who never claims his freedom nor lets her image vanish from his heart.

  XI

  CYNTHIA, while thou tak’st thine ease in Baiae’s midst, where the causeway built by Hercules lies stretched along the shore, and now marvellest at the waves that wash Thesprotus’ realm, now at those that spread hard by renowned Misenum, dost thou ever think that I, alas! pass weary nights haunted by memories of thee? Hast thou room for me even in the outer borders of thy love? Has some enemy with empty show of passion stolen thee away from thy place in my songs? Would rather that some little boat, trusting in tiny oars, kept thee safe on the Lucrine lake, or that the waters yielding with ease to the swimmer
’s either hand held thee retired by the shallow waves of Teuthras, than that thou shouldst listen at ease to the fond murmurs of another as thou liest soft reclined on the silent strand; for when there is none to watch her a maid will break her troth and go astray, remembering not the gods of mutual love. Not that I doubt thee, for I know that thy virtue is well tried, but at Baiae all love’s advances give cause for fear Pardon me, therefore, if my books have brought thee aught of bitterness; lay all the blame upon my fear. For I watch not over my beloved mother more tenderly than over thee, nor without thee would life be worth a thought. do thou with all speed leave the lewd life of Baiae; to many a loving pair shall those shores bring severance, shores that have aye proved ill for modest maids. Perish the Baian waters, that bring reproach on love!

  XII

  WHY, Rome, thou witness of my love, ceasest thou never to tax me falsely with sloth, saying ’tis sloth delays my suit? She is parted from my bed by as many leagues as Hypanis is distant from Venetian Eridanus. No more does Cynthia feed my wonted love with her embraces, no longer does her name make music to my ear. Once I pleased her well: then there was none so happy as to love with such true return of devotion. But envy marked us down. Was it a god that overwhelmed me, or some magic herb gathered on Promethean hills for the sundering of lovers?

  11 I am not what I was. A distant journey can change a woman’s heart! How mighty was that love, and in how brief a space ’tis fled! Now for the first time am I forced to face the long, long hours of night alone and to vex mine own ears with my complaining. Happy the man who can weep before his mistress’ eyes; Love has great delight in flooding tears. Or if, once spurned, he hath had power to change his passion, even in change of bondage is there joy. But I may never love another, nor part from her. Cynthia was the beginning, Cynthia shall be the end.

  XIII

  THOU, Gallus, as thou oft art wont, wilt rejoice at my misfortunes, because my love has been snatched from me and I am left lonely and forlorn. But, faithless friend, I will never imitate thy taunts. May never fair one have the heart to play thee false. Even now while thy fame for the loves thou hast beguiled increases ever, and self-possessed thou cleavest ne’er for long to one passion, even now late in time thou beginnest to pale with woe, love-frenzied for one girl, and to retire baffled at the first step of thy advance. This shall be thy punishment for thy scorn of their sorrows; one girl shall avenge the wrongs of many, she shall stay thy ranging loves, nor shall thy search for novelty always win thee a welcome.

  13 No spiteful rumour, no soothsayer tells me this; I saw thy love — darest thou deny the truth to me whose eyes were witness? I saw thee languish with her arms fast about thy neck, I saw thee weep lapped in a long embrace, and yearn to breathe forth thy soul in the words of desire; and last, my friend, I saw, what shame bids me hide. I could not part your embraces, such a wild frenzy bound you each to each. Not with such passion did the Taenarian god, made one with Haemonian Enipeus, embrace Salmoneus’ child, the willing victim of his love. Hercules burned not with such love for divine Hebe, when on Oeta’s heights he tasted the first joys of godhead. One day surpassed the joys of all past lovers; for no faint torch she kindled in thy veins. She suffered not thine old pride to come o’er thee once again, nor will she let thee be taken from her. Thy passion shall drive thee on and always on.

  29 Nor can I marvel since she is worthy Jove, surpassed by Leda only, and fairer herself alone than all three children of Leda. More winsome would she prove than all Inachia’s queens; by her sweet words would she force even Jove to love her. Since then in truth thou art doomed once and for all to die of love, use thy chance: thou wert worthy to besiege no other doors than hers. Since madness to which thou art a stranger has seized thee, may she be kind; and may she and she alone be all thy heart’s desire.

  XIV

  THOUGH reclining idly by Tiber’s wave thou quaffest Lesbian wine from cups chased by the hand of Mentor, and marvellest now how swiftly the boats run by and now how slowly the towed barges go: though all the woodland round thee spreads its growth of trees along the hill-crest, huge as the forest that weighs upon slopes of Caucasus, yet all these things could not vie with my love; Love will not yield to all the might of wealth.

  9 For if Cynthia lies with me by night in long-desired rest, or spends the day in kindly love, then the waters of Pactolus bring their wealth beneath my roof, and the Red Sea’s gems are gathered for my delight; then does my joy assure me that kings must yield to me. And may these joys abide with me till Fate decrees my death. For who may have joy of wealth if Love be not kind? Ne’er be the prize of riches mine if Venus frown! She can bow down the puissant might of heroes, she can bring sorrow to the hardest heart. She fears not to o’erpass the threshold of Arabian onyx, she shrinks not, Tullus, to climb into the purple couch, and toss the hapless youth in unrest o’er all his bed. What avail the silken hangings with their weft of varied hue? Ah! while she is kind and aids me in my love I will not fear to scorn the realms of any monarch, nor gifts such as Alcinous might give.

  XV

  OFT have I dreaded much hardship from thy fickleness, yet never, Cynthia, treachery such as this. See into what perils fortune plunges me! Yet still thou art slow to succour my distress, and hast the heart to raise thine hands to array the yesternight’s disorder of thy tresses, to adorn thy face with lingering care, and all unmoved to bestar thy breast with Eastern gems, like some fair maid that goes to meet her bridegroom.

  Not so was Calypso moved when the Ithacan left her and she wept of yore to the lonely waste of waves: many a long day she sat moaning his loss, her locks unkempt, and many a plaint she uttered to the cruel sea: and though she never more should see his face, she grieved remembering their long hours of happiness. Not so as the breeze bore afar the son of Aeson did Hypsipyle stand sorrow-laden in the empty nuptial chamber; Hypsipyle tasted of love no more, since once she pined for her lost Haemonian guest. Alphesiboea took vengeance on her own brothers for her husband’s sake, and love brake the bonds of kindred blood. Evadne, glory of Argive chastity, perished in the fatal flame and shared her husband’s pyre.

  23 Yet none of these has prevailed on thee to change thy fashion of life, that thou too might’st become a glorious memory. Cease at length by thy words to recall thy past faithlessness, nor provoke the gods thou hast so long forgotten. Rash girl, ah! deep, too deep will be thy sorrow for my peril, if aught of woe chance to fall on thee. Ere that shall many marvels be: rivers shall flow upward from the wild sea, and the year reverse its seasons, ere my love for thee shall alter in my breast: be what thou wilt, yet not another’s own. Let not those eyes of thine seem of so little worth to thee, those eyes that oft made me believe thy falsehoods true! By them thou swarest, praying that if in aught thou hadst played me false thine own hands might pluck them forth. And canst thou raise them to the mighty sun and tremble not when thou rememberest thy guilty wantonings? Who made thee pale with many a shifting hue, and forced thine eyes to weep unwilling tears? — those eyes for whose sake I die with passion, thus to warn lovers in like plight to mine, “There’s never witchery of woman that man may safely trust.”

  XVI

  I THAT of old was flung wide to welcome mighty triumphs, Tarpeia’s portal glorified by her chastity, whose threshold gilded chariots once made renowned and the suppliant tears of captives once bedewed, I to-day am bruised by the nightly brawls of drunkards, and smitten by unworthy hands make moan. Dishonouring wreaths fail not to hang by me, and ever nigh me lie torches that tell their tale to lovers shut out from bliss.

  9 Yet cannot I save my mistress from her nights of shame, but, once so noble, am now the prey of ribald rhymes. Nor yet is she moved to repent and have pity on her fair fame, and to cease from living more vilely than the vileness of a wanton age. And even while thus I make my moan, yet bitterer tears are mine to weep, as the long watches of the suppliant lover deepen my woe. He suffers never my pillars to have peace, with shrill blandishment chanting this refrain:

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nbsp; 17 “Door yet more deeply cruel than even my mistress’ heart, why are thy grim portals ever closed and mute for me? Why never dost thou unbar and give entrance to my love, thou that knowest not to relent and bear my secret prayers to my mistress? Wilt thou never grant an ending to my woes? And must a doleful sleep be mine on thy chill threshold? For me the midnight and the stars that turn to their setting and the breeze laden with chill frost of dawn grieve as they behold me prostrate. Thou alone pitiest never the agony of the heart of men; thy hinges are silent, and thou answerest naught. Would that some whisper of my voice might pass through some hollow rift in thee, and fall upon my mistress’ startled ear! Then were she more stubborn than flint or Etna’s crags, more cruel than iron or steel, yet will she not have power to control her eyes, and mid unwilling tears a sigh shall rise.

  33 “Now she lies propped on another’s happy arm and my words fall idly on the breezes of the night. But thou art the sole, the chiefest cause of my grief, unvanquished ever by the gifts I bring. My tongue hath never assailed thee with angry drunken jest, so dear to froward anger, that thou shouldst suffer me to grow hoarse with long complaining and watch all night at the crossways in anguished waiting. But oft for thee have I spun new strains of song and bowed me to print clinging kisses on thy steps. How oft have I turned my back upon thy pillars and with furtive hands bestowed the votive gifts that were thy due.”