Book I, Elegy 10: Against War (Postgate)

Who was the first discoverer of the horrible sword ? How savage was he and literally iron ! Then slaughter and battles were born into the world of men : then to grisly death a shorter road was opened.

But perhaps, poor wretch, he is to blame in nothing, but we turn to our mischief what he gave us to use against the savage wild beast. This is the curse of precious gold; nor were there wars when the cup of beechwood stood beside men's food. There were no citadels, no palisades, and void of care the flock's commander courted sleep with his sheep of divers hue around him.

In that age would I have lived nor known grim warfare or heard the trumpet-call with beating heart. Now am I dragged to war; and some foeman, maybe, already bears the weapon that is to be buried in my side.

Yet save me, Lares of my fathers ! Ye too did rear me when I ran, a little child, before your feet. And feel it not a shame that ye are made of but an ancient tree-stock. Such were ye when ye dwelt in the home of my grandsire long ago. Then faith Avas better kept, when a wooden god stood poorly garbed in a narrow shrine. His favour was won when a man had offered a bunch of grapes as first fruits, or laid the spiky garland on the holy hair. And one who had gained his prayer would with his own hands bring the honey-cake, his little daughter following with the pure honeycomb in hers.

O Lares, turn the bronze javelins away from me [and as thankoffering for my safe return shall fall .] and a hog from the full sty, a farmer's victim. With it will I follow in cle apparel, and bear the basket bound with myrtle, even as the myrtle binds my hair. Thus may I find favour in your eyes. Let another be stout in war and, Mars to aid him, lay the hostile chieftains low, that, while I drink, he may tell me of his feats in fighting and draw the camp in wine upon the table.

What madness is it to call black Death to us by warfare ! It is ever close upon us : it comes unseen on silent feet. Below there are neither cornlands nor well-kept vineyards; only wild Cerberus and the ill-favoured mariner of the stream of Styx. There wanders a sallow throng beside the dusky pools with eyeless sockets and fire-ravaged hair.

Nay, the hero is he whom, when his children are begotten, old age's torpor overtakes in his humble cottage. He follows his sheep, his son the lambs, while the good wife heats the water for his weary limbs. So let me live till the white hairs glisten on my head and I tell in old man's fashion of the days gone by. Let Peace in the meantime tend our fields. Bright Peace first led the oxen under curved yoke to plough. Peace made the vine plants grow and stored the grape juice that from the father's jars might pour wine for the son. In peace shine hoe and ploughshare ; but the grisly arms of the rugged soldier rust preys on in the dark.

Then the yeoman drives back from the grove, himself half sober, with wife and offspring in his wain.

Then love's war rages hotly ; and women lament that hair is torn and doors are broken. The fair weeps for the buffets on her tender cheek ; but the conqueror weeps too that his mad hands were so strong; while freakish Love feeds the feud with bitter speeches, and sits in unconcern between the angry pair. Ah, he is stone and iron who would beat his lass : this is to drag the gods down from the sky. Be it enough to tear the light robe from her limbs, and to disorder the fair arrangement of her hair : enough to cause her tears to flow. Thrice happy he whose anger ca make a soft lass weep ! But he whose hands are cruel should carry shield and stake and keep afar from gentle Venus.

Then come to us, gracious Peace ; grasp the cornspike in thy hand, and from the bosom of thy white robe let fruits pour out before thee.