Amores I.2

What shall I say this means, that my couch seems so hard, and the coverlets will not stay in place, and I pass the long, long night untouched by sleep, and the weary bones of my tossing body are filled with ache? — for I should know, I think, were I in any wise assailed by love. Or can it be that love is stolen into me, and cunningly works my harm with covered art? Thus it must be; the subtle darts are planted in my heart, and cruel Love torments the breast where he is lord,

Shall I yield? or by resisting kindle still more the inward-stealing flame that has me? Let me yield! light grows the burden that is well borne. I have seen flames wax when fanned by movement of the torch, and I have seen them die down when no one waved it more. Oxen at the plough refusing the pressure of the first yoke endure more blows than those that pleasure in their toil. The mouth of the restive horse is bruised by the hard curb, and he feels the bridle less that yields himself to harness. More bitterly far and fiercely are the unwilling assailed by Love than those who own their servitude.

Look, I confess! I am new prey of thine, O Cupid; I stretch forth my hands to be bound, submissive to thy laws. There is no need of war — pardon and peace is my prayer; nor will it be praise for thine arms to vanquish me unarmed. Bind thy locks with the myrtle, yoke thy mother's doves; thy stepsire himself shall give thee fitting car, and in the car he gives shaft thou stand, while the people cry thy triumph, and shalt guide with skill the yoked birds. In thy train shall be captive youths and captive maids; such a pomp will be for thee a stately triumph. Myself, a recent spoil, shall be there with wound all freshly dealt, and bear my new bonds with unresisting heart. Conscience shall be led along, with hands tied fast behind her back, and Modesty, and all who are foes to the camp of Love. Before thee all shall tremble; the crowd, stretching forth their hands to thee, shall chant with loud voice: "Ho Triumph!" Caresses shall he at thy side, and Error, and Madness — a rout that ever follows in thy train. With soldiers like these dost thou vanquish men and gods; strip from thee aids like these, thou wilt be weaponless.

All joyously as thou dost pass in triumph, thy mother shall applaud from Olympus' heights and scatter upon thy head the roses offered at her altars. With gems to deck thy wings, with gems to adorn thy hair, thyself golden, on golden wheels thou shalt ride along. Then, too, shalt thou touch with thy flame no few, if I know thee well; then, too, as thou passest by. shalt thou deal full many a wound. Thine arrows could not cease, even shouldst thou so wish thyself; thy fervid flame brings dole with its heat as thou comest near. Such was Bacchus, the land of the Ganges overcome. Thou wilt be dread with thy span of birds; with tigers dread was he.

Since, then, I am thine to he part of thy sacred triumph, spare to waste upon me, O victor, thy power! Look but on the fortunate arms of thy kinsman Caesar — the hand that has made him victor, he uses to shield the vanquished.