Book IV, Elegy 1

All that thou beholdest, stranger, where mighty Rome lies spread, was grass and hill before the coming of Phrygian Aeneas; and where stands the Palatine sacred to Phoebus of the Ships, there once lay the herd of Evander's exiled kine. From gods of clay sprang yonder golden temples; of old they spurned not to dwell in huts made by unskilled hands; the Tarpeian sire thundered from a bare crag, and Tiber still seemed strange to our cattle. Where Remus' house is perched yonder at the stairway's height the brothers of old counted their tiny hearth a mighty realm. The Senate-house, that towers on high filled with a shining throng of senators clad in the robe with purple hem, once held a rustic company, the city fathers robed in skins of beasts. The trumpet summoned the olden Quirites to debate: a hundred gathered in a meadow oft made a senate. No rippling awnings hung o'er the hollow theatre, nor reeked the stage with saffron, as 'tis wont to-day. Then no man sought to bring in strange gods, when the folk trembled in suspense before the ritual of their sires; but greatly they cared to celebrate the yearly feast of Pales with heaps of burning straw, making purification such as to-day we make with the blood of the maimed horse. Vesta was poor, and necklaced asses sufficed to make her glad, while lean kine dragged sacred emblems of little worth. The cross-roads, small as yet, were sprinkled with the blood of fatted swine, and the shepherd to the sound of pipes of reed made acceptable sacrifice with the entrails of sheep. The ploughman girt with skins plied his shaggy scourge; hence spring the rites of Fabian Lupercus. Their rude soldiers flashed not in threatening armour, but joined battle bare-breasted with stakes hardened in the fire. Lycmon wore but a wolf-skin helm when he pitched the first of general's tents, and the wealth of Tatius lay chiefly in his sheep. Thus rose the Titienses, the hero Ramnes, and the Luceres of Solonium; thus came it that Romulus drove the four white steeds of triumph. Of a truth Bovillae was less a suburb while Rome was yet so small, and Gabii, that now is naught, was then a crowded town. Then Alba, born of the white sow's omen, still stood in power, in the days when 'twas a long journey from Rome to Fidenae.

The Roman of to-day has naught from his father save the name, nor would he deem that the she-wolf nurtured the blood from whence he sprang.

Hither, O Troy, for happier destiny didst thou send thine exiled gods; with blessed augury came hither the Dardan bark; even then the omens boded her well, since the womb of the horse of fir-wood had done her no hurt in that day when the father hung trembling on his son's neck, and the flame feared to burn those pious shoulders. That day led hither the dauntless Decii and the consulship of Brutus, and Venus herself bore hither her Caesar's arms, even the victorious arms of Troy reborn; with blessing, Iulus, did the land receive thy gods, since the tripod of Avernus' trembling Sibyl bade Remus sanctify the fields of Aventine, and late in time the strains of the prophetess of Troy proved true concerning ancient Priam. "Turn your steeds, ye Danaans!" she cried. "Ye conquer but in vain! Ilium's land shall live and Jove shall arm her ashes!"

O wolf of Mars, thou best of nurses for our state, what walls have sprung from thy milk! Of those walls let me sing in order due — alas! how weak is the voice of my lips. Yet howsoever slender the stream of song that flows from my puny heart, yet all of it shall be given to the service of my country. Let Ennius crown his songs with rude, shaggy wreath! To me, O Bacchus, give of thine ivy's leaves, that my books may make Umbria swell with pride, Umbria the home of Rome's Callimachus!

Let him that sees the towers of Asis climbing from the vale reckon the glory of its walls by the fame of my wit! Rome, smile on me! For thee my work is built. Ye citizens, give me fair omen, and from the right hand let some bird of augury sing me success. I will cry, "Troy, thou shalt fall, and thou, Trojan Rome, shalt arise anew!" and I will sing of all Rome's long perils by land and sea. Of holy rites and their days will I sing, and of the ancient names of places. This must be the goal toward which my foaming steed shall press.

Whither in heedless folly dost thou speed to sing the works of destiny, thou truant Propertius? The thread thou spinnest comes from no favouring distaff. Thy song shall bring thee sorrow; Apollo's face is turned from thee; thou askest of thine unwilling lyre such strains as thou shalt rue. I will tell thee sure truth with warrant sure; else am I a seer that knows not how to wheel the constellations on their orb of bronze. Horos is my name, and Babylonian Orops, child of Archytas, begat me, and my house hath Conon for ancestor. The gods be witness that I have not shamed my kin and that in my books there is naught set down save truth. Now have men turned the gods to profit and Jupiter is fooled by their gold; to profit have they turned the oft-scanned constellations of the slanting zodiac, the blessed star of Jove, the greedy star of Mars, the sign of Saturn that brings woe to one and all, the purport of the Fish and the fierce constellation of the Lion and Capricorn, bathed in the waters of the West.

When Arria was in travail with her twin sons I foretold — for she destined her sons for arms, though a god forbade— that they should never bring home their spears to the gods of their father's home, and now lo! two tombs prove that my words were true. For the horseman Lupercus, as he shielded his wounded face, guarded himself but ill, alas! for his steed had fallen: while Gallus, as in the camp he defended the standards entrusted to his charge, fell dead before his eagle's beak and bathed it in his blood. Doomed boys, both brought to your death by your mother's greed, my words found true fulfilment— ah! would that they had not! I, too, when Lucina prolonged Cinara's pains, and the slow burden of her womb delayed, cried: "Let her make a vow to Juno that shall win the ear of the goddess!" She was delivered: my books won the day. Such truth is not unfolded by the cave of Libyan Jove amid the desert sands, nor by entrails that speak forth the will of heaven entrusted to their care; such truth he cannot tell that marks the crow's beating wings, nor the spirit of the dead that rises from magic waters. The seer must gaze upon the path of heaven, on the road of truth that lies among the stars, and from the five zones seek assurance. Calchas bears grievous witness; for he loosed from Aulis the ships that clung to the kindly rocks, as still they should have clung; 'twas Calchas, too, that embrued the steel in the blood of Agamemnon's daughter and launched Atrides with blood upon his sails; yet never did the Danaans return; fallen Troy, check thy weeping and behold Euboea's bays! Nauplius uplifts his vengeful fires by night, and Greece swims sunken by the weight of her spoils. Victorious son of Oileus, go, ravish thy prophetess and take her to thy love, though Minerva forbid thee to tear her from her robe!

Thus far shall history witness; now to thy stars I turn; prepare to lend patient hearing to a new tale of tears. Ancient Umbria bore thee in a home of high renown — do I lie? or do I touch thy country's borders? — where misty Mevania sheds its dews on the hollow plain and the waters of Umbria's lake send forth their summer steam, and the wall rises from the peak of climbing Asis, that wall made yet more glorious by thy wit. And all too young thou didst gather to thy bosom thy father's bones and wert driven to a poorer home. Many were the steers that tilled thy fields, but the pitiless measuring-rod robbed thee of thy wealth of plough-land. Thereafter when the ball of gold was cast from thy young neck and the robe of manhood's freedom was donned before thy mother's gods, then did Apollo teach thee some little of his song and forbid thee to thunder forth thy speech in the mad tumult of the Forum. Nay then, be elegy thy task, a work full of guile — here lies thy warfare! — that other bards may write inspired by thee. Thou shalt endure the alluring strife of Venus' wars and shalt be a foeman meet for the shafts of Venus' boys. For whatever victories thy toil may win thee, there is one girl shall baffle thee ever; and though thou shake from thy mouth the hook that is fast therein, it will avail thee naught; the rod shall keep thee captive with its barb. Her whim shall order thy waking and thy sleeping, and the tear shall not fall from thine eyes save at her command. Nor shall a thousand guards aid thee, nor a thousand seals set on her doors; if she be resolved to cheat thee, a chink in the door will suffice her. And now whether thy bark be tossed in mid tempest or thou goest unarmed amid an armoured foe, or earth tremble and yawn for thee with gaping chasm, fear thou the ill-omened back of the eight-footed Crab!