Book II, Elegy 5: The Installation of Messalinus (Postgate)

Be gracious, Phoebus ; a new priest sets foot within thy temple. Hither I bid thee come with lyre and song. Now, I prithee, let thy fingers sweep the singing strings ; now tune thy song to a loyal paean. And while they heap the altar, come to thy rites thyself, thy brows encircled with triumphal bay. Come bright and beautiful ; now don thy treasured raiment; now duly comb thy flowing locks. Be as men tell thou wast when, Saturn driven from his throne, thou sangest a paean for victorious Jove.

Thou seest from afar the things to come. The augur whose soul is given up to thee knows Avell what means the note of the bird that foresees what is to be. 'Tis thou dost guide the lots ; through thee divines the reader of the inward parts, whensoever a god has set his marks on the glistening entrails.

With thee her guide, the Sibyl who sings Fate's hidden will in six-foot measure hath never played the Romans false. Phoebus,, grant leave to Messalinus to touch the seeress' holy scroll, and teach him thyself the meaning of her strains.

'Twas she that gave responses to Aeneas after the hour when, as story tells, he bore away in his arms his sire and household gods, never dreaming that a Rome Avould be, when from the deep he turned his eyes in sorrow on Ilion and its gods ablaze.

(Not yet had Romulus traced the walls of the Eternal City wherein was no abiding for his brother Remus. But still on a grassy Palatine browsed the kine, and lowly cabins stood upon the heights of Jove. There, drenched with milk, was Pan beneath the holm-oak's shade, and Pales shaped from wood by rustic knife ; and on the tree, in quittance of the roving shepherd's vow, the prattling pipe hung sacred to the woodland god — the pipe with its ever-dwindling rows of reeds, whose wax joins stalks each lesser than the last. But where now spreads the quarter of Velabrum, a small skiff stirred the waters as it plied across the shallows. There oft a lass who would please some rich keeper of a herd was ferried on holidays to her swain, and with her came back the gifts of a thriving farm, cheese and the white lamb of a snowy ewe.)

" Aeneas never-resting, brother of Cupid ever on the wing, whose exiled barks carry the holy things of Troy, now doth Jove allot to thee the fields of Laurentum, now doth a hospitable land invite thy wandering gods. There shall divinity be thine when Numicius' ever- worshipped waters pass thee to heaven, a god of the native-born. See, o'er the weary ships is Victory hovering. At last the haughty goddess comes to the men of Troy. Lo, I see the fire blaze from the Rutule camp. Now, savage Turnus, I foretell thy fall. Before my eyes is Laurentum's fortress and Lavinium's wall, and Long Alba, which Ascanius leads his host to found. Now thee too, Ilia, priestess whom Mars is to find fair, I see departed from the Vestal hearth. I see thy secret bridal, thy snood cast upon the ground, and, left upon the banks, the arms of the eager god. Now, while ye may, bulls, crop the grass of the Seven Hills. Ere long this will be a great city's site. Thy nation, Rome, is fated to rule the earth wherever Ceres looks from heaven upon the fields she tends, both where the gates of dawn are opened and where in tossing waters the Ocean river bathes the Sun-god's panting team. Then shall old Troy be a marvel to herself, and own that in this far journey ye did well for her. 'Tis truth I sing; so may I ever eat the holy bay unharmed and everlasting maidenhood be mine"

So sang the seeress, and called thee to her, Phoebus, and tossed before her face her streaming hair,

AH that Amalthea, all that Herophile of Marpessos foretold, all the warnings of Grecian Phyto and hers of Tibur who carried her holy scrolls of destiny through the stream of Anio and in dry bosom bore them home. These told that a comet should appear, the evil sign of war, and how that thick on earth should fall the stony shower. And they say that trumpets and the clash of arms were heard in heaven, and sacred groves rang with the coming rout. From the images of the gods poured the warm tears ; and kine found tongue and spake of the coming doom, Yea, from the very Sun ebbed the light, and the clouded year saw him yoke dim horses to his car.

So was it once; but thou, Apollo, kind at last, whelm monstrous things beneath the savage deep. Let the bay crackle loud as it kindles in the holy flames, an omen telling that the season shall be blest and holy. When the bay has given propitious sign, rejoice, ye farmers : Ceres will fill with ears your straining barns. And smeared with must the countryman will stamp above the grapes till the great tanks and butts can hold no more. And drenched in wine the shepherd will chaunt the feast of Pales, the shepherd's holiday. Ye wolves, be ye then far from the fold. Full of drink, he will fire the light straw heaps in the appointed way, and leap across the sacred flames. Then shall his dame bear offspring, and the child take hold of his father's ears to snatch the kiss ; nor shall the grandsire find it irksome to watch by his little grandson's side, nor, for all his years, to lisp in prattle with the child.

Then in the god's service the folk shall recline upon the grass where fall the flickering shadows of some ancient tree, or of their garments spread out canopies and tie them up with garlands, wreaths also round the goblets where they stand. Then each for himself will pile high the feast and festal board, cut sods the table and cut sods the couch. Here the tipsy lad will heap curses on his lass, such as erelong he will hope and pray may turn to naught. Aye, he who is now so savage with his dear will weep when he is sober, and swear that his wits had gone astray.

Phoebus, by thy good leave, let bows and arrows perish, so Love may rove unarmed upon the earth. 'Tis an honest craft ; but since Cupid took to carrying arrows, how many, ah me, has that honest craft made smart ! And me beyond the rest. For a year have I been afflicted from his stroke, and, siding with my malady (for the pain itself is pleasure), I sing unceasingly of Nemesis, apart from whom no verse of mine can find its words or proper feet.

But do thou, damsel (for guardian gods watch over poets), be warned in time, and spare thy sacred bard, that I may tell of Messalinus when before his chariot he shall bear the conquered towns, the prize of war, wearing the bay wreath, while his soldiery, with wild bay round their brows, loudly chaunt the cry of triumph. Then let my dear Messalla afford the throng the sight of a father's love, and clap his hands as his son's car passes by. Phoebus, grant this ; and so be thy locks for aye unshorn, and thy sister ever a maiden pure.