Silvae II.6 (Mozley): A Poem of Consolation to Flavius Ursus on the Death of a Favourite Slave

Too cruel thou, whoever thou art, who makest distinctions in mourning, and settest bounds to grief! Piteous it is for a parent to burn—ah! fearful thought!—an infant darling or growing son; hard too is it when a consort is snatched away to call the name of the partner of the deserted couch; sad are a sister’s tears and a brother’s groans: yet deeply also, ay deeper far does a stroke less deadly probe the feelings, surpassing mightier blows. ’Tis a slave—for thus doth Fortune confound with undiscerning hand the names of things, nor sees into the heart—a slave whom thou dost mourn, but one that was loyal, one whose faithful affection merited these tears, and whose spirit knew a freedom that no line of ancestry could give. Check not thy weeping, feel no shame; let that day of thy lament know no restraining, if the Fates are so cruel—’tis a man thou bewailest, Ursus,—alas! myself I fan thy sorrow!—a man who was thine own, ready to find service sweet, never sullen, eager to give orders to himself. Who would curb the grief that bursts forth at such a death? The Parthian laments his steed slain in the fight, the Molossians their trusty hounds, even birds have had their pyres, and the hind its Maro. What if he were no real slave? Myself I saw and marked his bearing, how he would have thee only for his lord; but nobler yet was the spirit in his face, and breeding showed clear in his youthful blood. Eagerly would Grecian and Latin dames desire and pray that such a son were theirs. Less comely was proud Theseus, when the cunning maid of Crete drew him back with her anxious thread, or Paris, when in haste to see his Spartan bride he launched, a shepherd lad, the unwilling pines upon the main. ’Tis truth I tell, nor does wonted licence sway my song: I have seen him, ay, and see him yet, outmatching Achilles when Thetis hid him singing of wars upon the maiden’s strand, or Troilus, when the lance from the Haemonian hero’s arm caught him as he fled round cruel Phoebus’ walls. How fair thou wert! lo! comelier far than all, lads and men alike, and surpassed only by thy lord! His glory alone exceeded thine, as the bright moon exceeds the lesser fires, and as Hesper outshines the other stars. No womanly charm was in thy countenance, no effeminate grace upon thy brow, as with those whom after the reproach of fading beauty men bid lose their sex, but an earnest, manly beauty was thine; nor was thy gaze insolent, but thine eye was gentle yet stern with fire, like Parthenopaeus to behold, when now decked in his helm; simple the ruffled charm of thy locks, thy cheeks not covered yet, but bright with their first down: such are the lads that Eurotas nurtures by Leda’s stream, such the boys that in the unstained freshness of boyhood go to Elis, and approve their budding youth to Jove. How indeed in song can I trace the growth of modesty in his young mind, of his calm steadiness of character and a spirit riper than his years? Often would he chide his willing lord, and aid him with deep and zealous counsel; he shared thy joys and sorrows, nor ever lived to himself, but guided his looks by thy countenance; worthy was he to exceed in fame the Haemonian Pylades and the Athenians’ loyalty; but let not his praise o’erstep his fortune: not more faithfully did Eumaeus, sick at heart, long for the return of tardy Ulysses.

What god, what chance makes choice of wounds so deadly? whence are the Fates so unerring in their power to harm? Ah! how much braver, Ursus, hadst thou been, stripped of thy wealth and goodly fortune! if in smoking ruin rich Locri had belched forth Vesuvian fire, or rivers had submerged thy Pollentian glades, if Lucanian Acir or impetuous Tiber had swung their swollen waters to the right, thou hadst endured the will of heaven with unruflled brow; or if bounteous Crete and Cyrene had forsworn thee and denied their harvests, or wherever lavish Fortune returns to thee with plenteous bosom. But ill-omened Envy, skilled to hurt, saw the vital spot and the path of harm. Just at the gate of full-grown life that most beauteous of youths was striving to link three years to three Elean lustres. With grim frown the stern Rhamnusian gave heed, and first she filled out his muscles and set a brilliance in his eyes and raised his head higher than of wont; deadly alas! to the poor lad were her favours: she tortured herself with envy at the sight, and clasping the sufferer struck death into him by her embrace, and with hooked, relentless fingers tore that pure countenance. Scarce was Phosphor at the fifth rising saddling his dewy steed: already, Philetus, wert thou beholding the bleak shore of heartless Charon and heartless Acheron, bewailed how bitterly by thy lord! Not more fiercely would thy mother, had she lived, blackened and bruised her arms for thee in lamentation, nor thy father either; verily thy brother who saw thy funeral blushed to be outdone. No servile flames were thine: fragrant harvests of Saba and Cilicia did the fire consume, and cinnamon stolen from the Pharian bird, and the juices that drip from Assyrian herbs—and thy master’s tears: these only did the ashes drink, those the pyre ceased not to consume; nor was the Setian wine that quenched the hoary ash, nor the smooth onyx that guarded his bones more grateful to the hapless shade than those tears. Yet can even tears avail him? Why, Ursus, do we surrender to our sorrow? Why dost thou cherish thy loss, and perversely love thy wound? Where is that eloquence that prisoners dragged to judgement knew? Why dost thou vex that dear shade by savage shows of grief? Peerless of soul was he and worthy to be mourned: but thou hast paid that debt, and he is entering the company of the blest and enjoys Elysian peace, and perchance finds there famous ancestors; or haply by the pleasant silences of Lethe Nymphs of Avernus mingle and sport around him, and Proserpine notes him with sidelong glance. Mourn then no more, I pray thee; the Fates, and he himself perhaps, will give thee another Philetus, and gladly he will show him seemly ways and fashions, and teach him a love to match his own.