Book IV, Elegy 4

I will tell of the Tarpeian grove, of Tarpeia's shameful tomb, and of the capture of the house of ancient Jove. This mount did Tatius gird with palisade of maple and ringed his camp securely with circling mound. What was Rome in those days when the trumpeter of Cures made the neighbouring cliffs, where Jove sits throned, tremble before his long-drawn blast, and when Sabine javelins stood in the Roman Forum, where now laws are given to the conquered world? Rome had no ramparts save her hills. Where now stands the Senate-house hedged in by walls, once the war-horse drank from a slender spring.

A goodly grove there was, hidden in a rocky, ivy-mantled glen, and many a tree made answering murmur to its native springs. 'Twas the branching home of Sylvanus, whither the sweet pipe would call the sheep from the hot sun to drink. From this spring Tarpeia drew water for her goddess, and the urn of earthenware bowed down her head whereon 'twas poised.

Ah! could one death alone suffice for doom of that accursed maid that had the heart to betray thy sacred fire, O Vesta? She saw Tatius practise for battle on the sandy plain and lift his flashing spear amid the yellow helmet-plumes. Dumbstruck she marvelled at the king's face and at the kingly armour, and the urn fell from her forgetful hands. Often did she plead that the moon boded ill — yet the moon was guiltless — and said that she must bathe her locks in the running stream. Often she offered silvery lilies to the kindly nymphs, that the spear of Romulus might not wound the face of Tatius; and while she climbed the Capitol clouded with the first smoke of morning she came home with arms torn by rough brambles. And thus as she sate on the Tarpeian height she bewailed the wounds that Jove in his dwelling hard by might not forgive:

"Watchfires of the camp and thou, royal tent amidst the host of Tatius, and Sabine armour so lovely to mine eyes, would that I might sit a captive before your household gods, if so I might behold the face of Tatius! Farewell, ye hills of Rome, and Rome that crowns the hills, and Vesta brought to shame by my sin! That horse, o'er whose right shoulder Tatius smooths the mane, that horse and none other shall bear me love-maddened to his camp, my home.

What marvel if Scylla waxed fierce against her father's locks and her white waist was transformed to fierce hounds? What marvel that the horns of the monstrous brother were betrayed, when the path was revealed by the gathering of the thread? What reproach I shall bring upon Ausonia's maids, I the traitress that was chosen to be the handmaid of the virgin hearth! If any shall marvel that the fires of Pallas are extinguished, let him pardon me! The altar is sprinkled with my tears!

To-morrow, so rumour tells, there shall be a purification through all the city; do thou take the dewy ridge of the thorn-clad hill. The path is slippery and treacherous through all its length: for alway it hides silent waters on its deceitful track. Would that I knew the charms of the magic Muse! Then had my tongue also brought thee succour, my beauteous lover! The royal robe beseems thee rather than that motherless wight, whom the rude teat of the savage she-wolf suckled.

Wilt thou make me thy queen on these terms, O stranger, and shall I bear thee children in thy halls? With me comes Rome betrayed, no puny dower! If thou wilt not have me thus, ravish me and have thy vengeance in turn, that the Sabine maids be not ravished unavenged! I have the power to part the hosts when locked in battle: enter, ye brides, on reconciling peace! My robe of marriage shows the way! And do thou, Hymenaeus, sound thy strain: trumpeter, hush thy wild blasts; believe me, my marriage-bed shall assuage your warfare.

"Now the fourth bugle sings the approach of dawn, and the stars themselves sink to their rest in Ocean. I will try sleep and will seek for dreams of thee: grant that thy semblance may come to cheer mine eyes."

She spake, and let fall her arms in uneasy slumber: she knew not, alas! that she had laid her down to be the prey of fresh furies. For Vesta, the blessed guardian of the Trojan embers, fed her sin with fuel and hid more firebrands in her bones. She rushed away, like the Strymonian Amazon by swift Thermodon's bank, with raiment torn and bosom bared to view.

'Twas a feast-day in the city — the Fathers named it Parilia — the birthday of the walls of Rome, the yearly banquet of the shepherds, when the city makes merry, when country platters are moistened with rich fare, and the drunken crowd flings dust-stained feet o'er heaps of burning hay placed here and there. Romulus decreed that the watchmen should take their ease in rest, that the trumpet should be laid aside and the camp have silence. Tarpeia deemed her hour had come and met the foeman: she made her pact, herself a part thereof.

The hill was treacherous of ascent, but unguarded by reason of the feast; of a sudden with his sword he cuts down the noisy watchdogs. All was slumber: only Jove had resolved to wake that he might work thy doom. She had betrayed the secret of the gate, betrayed her prostrate country, and asked for marriage on the day of her own choice. But Tatius — for even the foe gave no honour to crime — answered: "Marry then, and climb thus my royal bed." He spake and bade his comrades crush her beneath their piled shields. Such, Vestal, was thy dower, meet guerdon of thy services.

The hill took its name from Tarpeia, the foeman's guide. O watcher, unjustly hast thou won this recompense for thy doom.