Amores III.1

Ancient, and spared by the axe through many years, there stands a grove; yon could believe a deity indwelt the place. A sacred spring is in its midst, and a cave with overhanging rock, and from every side comes the sweet complaint of birds.

Whilst I was strolling here enveloped in woodland shadows, asking myself what work my Must-should venture on — came Elegy with coil of odorous locks, and, I think, one foot longer than its mate. She had a comely form, her robe was gauzy light, her face suffused with love, and the fault in her carriage added to her grace. There came, too, raging Tragedy, with mighty stride : her locks o'erhung a darkling brow, her pall trailed on the "round; her left hand swayed wide a kingly sceptre, and on her foot was the high-bound Lydian buskin.

And she was first to speak: "Will there ever be an end to thy making love," she said, " () poet ever clinging to thy theme? Thy worthless ways are the talk at dinners over wine, the talk at the crossings cut by many roads. Oft someone points with finger to the bard as he passes, and says: ' He, he is the one tierce Love is burning up! ' Thou art not ware, but thou art tossed on the tongues of all the city while, casting away all shame. I lion bruitest abroad thy deeds. "lis time thou wert stirred by the stroke of a greater thyrsus; a thou hast dallied enough — enter on greater work! Thy theme obscures thy genius. Sing deeds of heroes. 'This, thou wilt say, 'is the race for my soul to run!' Thy Muse has been but playing — with matter for tender maiden's song — and thy first youth has been given to numbers that belong to youth. Now, let me, Roman Tragedy, win through thee renown! Thou hast the inspiration will fulfill my needs."

Thus far she spake, and, stately on her painted buskins, shook thrice and four times her head with its clustered hair. The other, if I remember, cast sidelong eyes on me, and smiled — am I mistaken, or was a branch of myrtle in her hand?

<: Why weary me with your heavy words, O haughty Tragedy? " she said; " or can you never be otherwise than heavy? Yet you have deigned to suit yourself to unequal numbers; in assailing me 'twas my verse you used. I would not compare your lofty strains with mine; your queenly hall o'ershadows my humble doors. I am but light, and Cupid, my heart's fond care, is light as well; myself am not stronger than the theme I sing. The mother of sportive Love, without me, would be but a rustic jade; to be go-between and comrade to this goddess was I brought forth. The door which you will never unbolt with your austere buskin — that door lies freely open before my blandishments; and yet I have earned this greater power than yours by bearing much your haughty brow would not endure. Through me Corinna has learned to elude her guard and tamper with the faith of tight-closed door, to slip away from her couch in tunic ungirdled and move in the night with unstumbling foot. O how oft have I been graved on unyielding doors, not shaming there to be read by the passer by! Nay, once I mind I was sent in keeping of a slave, hid away in her bosom till the fierce guard went. How, when you send me as a birthday gift, and my dear barbarian rends me, and drowns me in the water standing near? 'Twas I who first made swell the fruitful seeds of your mind; to me you owe it that she who stands yonder claims you now.

She had ceased. I began : " By both and each of you I pray, let my fearful words find your cars attentive. One honours me with sceptre and lofty buskin; my tongue already feels thy touch, and mighty speech is on my lips. The other gives everlasting glory to my love — come, then, and join short verses with the long! Indulge thy bard a short space, O Tragedy! A labour eternal art thou; what she asks is but brief."

She was moved, and granted my prayer — let the tender Loves come hasting, while I am free; close after me presses a greater task!