Book I, Elegy 2: To Delia (Postgate)

More wine ; let the liquor master these unwonted pains, that on my wearied eyes may fall triumphant sleep ; and when the wine god's copious fumes have mounted to my brain, let none awake me from unhappy love's repose. For a cruel watch has been set upon my girl, and the door is shut and bolted hard against me. Door of a stubborn master, may the rain lash thee, and bolts flying at Jupiter's command make thee their mark. Door, now yield to my complaining and open only unto me, and make no sound as thy hinge turns stealthily to let me in. And if my frenzy has ever called ill upon thee, have pardon ; let that fall, I pray, on my own bead. 'Tis right thou shouldst remember all that I rehearsed in suppliant tones when on thy posts I laid my flowery garlands.

Do thou too, Delia, trick the guard with no faint spirit. Be bold : Venus herself aids the stout-hearted. She helps when a lad tries a strange threshold or a lass pushes in the prong to lift the bar from the door. She shows how to creep down stealthily from the pillowed bed ; how so to set the foot that it makes no sound ; how in the husband's presence to exchange the speaking nods and hide love's language under a code of signs. Nor shows she this to all, but to them whom neither indolence delays nor fear forbids to rise in the murk of night.

Lo, I in my wanderings in distress through all the city in the dark [meet with no harm. The goddess shields me] and lets no one cross my path to wound my body with his steel or seize my garments for his prize. Whosoe'er hath love in his heart may pass in heaven's keeping where he will ; no ambush should lie fear. The numbing cold of winter's night brings me no hurt, no hurt the heavy downpour of the rain. My sufferings here will harm me not, if Delia but unbar the door and summon me silently with a finger's snap.

Be not busy with your eyes, be you man or woman that we meet. Love's goddess wills her thefts should not be seen. Nor frighten us with noisy feet nor seek our names, nor bring the flashing torch-lights near us. And if any have beheld us unawares, let him hide the knowledge and aver by all the gods that he remembers not. For if any man turn prater, he shall find that Venus is the child of blood and whirling seas.

And yet none such will thy spouse believe, as the honest witch has promised me from her magic rites. I have seen her drawing stars from the sky. Her spells turn the course of the hurrying stream. Her chaunting cleaves the ground, lures the spirit from its tomb, and down from the warm pyre summons the bony frame. Now with magic shrillings she keeps the troops of the grave before her ; now she sprinkles them with milk and commands them to retreat. At will she chases the clouds from the frowning heavens ; at will she musters the snow in the summer skies. Only she, men say, holds the secret of Medea's deadly herbs, only she has lamed the wild hounds of Hecate.

She framed me a charm to enable thee to deceive : chaunt it thrice and spit thrice when the spell is done. Then will he never trust any one in aught that is said about us, nay, not even his own eyes if he see us on the pillowed bed. Yet from others thou must keep away ; since all else will he perceive ; only to me will he be blind.

cc why should I trust her ? " Surely it was she, none other, said that by spells or herbs she could unbind my love. She cleansed me with the torch rite, and in the clear night a dusky victim fell to the gods of sorcery. But my prayer Avas not that my love might pass entirely, but that it might be shared. I would not choose to be without thee if I could. That man was iron who, when thou mightest have been his, chose rather to follow war and plunder. Let him chase Cilieia's routed troops before him, and pitch his martial camp upon captured ground; let folk gaze upon him as he sits his swift charger, from head to foot a tissue of silver and gold, if only with thee, my Delia, I may put the oxen in the yoke and feed my flock on the familiar hill; and, so my young arms may hold thee fast, I shall find soft slumber even on the rugged earth.

What gain is it to lie on Tyrian cushions with Love untoward, when night must pass in waking and weeping? For then can neither pillows of feathers nor broidered coverlets nor the sound of purling waters bring us sleep.

Have I wronged the godhead of Venus by aught that I have said, and does my tongue now pay the penalty of sin ? Can they say of me that I have wickedly invaded an abode of gods and plucked the garland from the sacred altar ? Am I guilty, then I will not shrink to fall prone before her temple and to press kisses on its hallowed threshold, nor to crawl on suppliant knees along the earth and strike my head against the sacred door-posts,

Yet thou who dost now rejoice and laugh at my woes must look to thyself ere long; the god will not always persecute but one. I have seen the man that had mocked the hapless loves of the young, in later time put his aged neck in the halter of Venus and make soft speeches for himself in quavering tones and turn his hands to dressing his hoary hair : nor did he blush to stand before the doors of the beloved or to stop her maid in the middle of the forum. Round him boys and young men pressed in a jostling crowd, and spat each into his own soft bosom.

Be gentle with me, Venus: my soul is ever thy loyal slave. Why burn thine own corn in thy passion ?