Book III

Book III, Epistle 1

Thou sea, for the first time set in motion by the oars of Jason, and thou land, which art devoid of neither the savage foe, nor of perpetual snow, when will the time come, when I, Naso, shall leave you, being commanded to go to a region less exposed to the enemy? Or am I ever to live amid this barbarism? And must I be entombed in the soil of Tomi? With no desire to disturb thy peace (if, land of Pontus, there is any peace for thee, whom the neighbouring foe is for ever trampling under his swift steed), with thy leave, I would say, thou art the most intolerable part of my wretched banishment: thou dost aggravate my woes. Thou dost neither feel the Spring bedecked with the flowery wreaths, neither dost thou behold the naked bodies of the reapers. For thee no Autumn holds forth the clustering grapes; but all seasons retain an intense cold. Thou keepest the sea bound up with ice, and often, in the ocean, does the fish swim inclosed in the covered water. Thou hast no springs, except of running water, almost as salt as the sea, and it is a matter of doubt whether that quenches thirst, or increases it. But few trees, and those of no strong growth, appear in the open country, and on the dry land is beheld an exact resemblance of the sea. No bird warbles forth its notes, unless, perchance, in the distant forest, a few drink the water of the ocean, with croaking throat. The bitter wormwood grows prickly along the unproductive plains, a harvest, in its bitterness, fitting to the place of its growth. Add, too, continual alarms, and the attacks of the fortifications by the enemy, and how the arrow, dipped in the deadly venom, reeks with it; that this region is afar, and distant from every route, and is a place where one can travel in safety neither on foot, nor on board ship. 'Tis not, then, to be wondered at, if a different spot is repeatedly requested by me, as I seek to put an end to these evils. It is still more strange, my wife, that you cannot obtain this favour, and that you can withhold your tears at my woes. Do you enquire what you are to do? You may ask that, forsooth; you will find out, if you really wish to know. To be willing is a slight matter: to obtain a thing, you must set your heart upon it, and this anxiety must curtail your moments of sleep. I believe that many have the will; for who can be so cruel to me, as to desire my exile to be spent without tranquillity? It is your duty to strive with all your heart, and all your strength, and to exert yourself night and day in my behalf. And, that others may render me aid, you ought, my wife, to surpass my friends, and to be the very first to fulfil your duties.

A conspicuous name has been conferred on you, in my writings: you are there said to be the model of a good wife take care that you fall not short of it. Be careful that my praises are well-founded; that you may show respect for a work of Fame. Though I myself should make no complaint, yet Fame will complain, in my silence, if you have not that care for me which you ought to have. My destiny has exposed me, in the sight of the public, and has drawn upon me more attention than I formerly received. Capaneus has become better known from being struck by lightning: Amphiaralis' is known, from his horses having been sunk in the earth. Had he wandered less, Ulysses would have been less known; the fame of Philoctetes became great, through his wound. If there is any room for humble names among great ones, my fall makes me too illustrious; and my pages allow not that you should be unknown, in which you have a celebrity not inferior to that of the Coan Battis. Whatever, then, you shall do, you will be beheld on an extensive stage, and you will prove an affectionate wife, with no few persons for your witnesses. Believe me, as often as you are praised in my verses, she who reads those praises, enquires whether you are deserving of them. And, as I believe that there will be many to approve of those virtues, so there will be no few ready to criticise your actions. Therefore, do you take care, that Envy may not be able to say, This woman is slow in helping her afflicted husband. And, since I have lost my strength, and cannot guide my chariot, be it your care alone to keep up the flagging yoke. As my veins become exhausted, in my illness I look to the physician: come to my aid, while the last moments of my life still remain; and, as you are in stronger health, do you give me that assistance, which, if I were better than you, I would then give you. Conjugal affection, and the marriage tie, demand this; you yourself, my wife, demand this of your virtues. This you owe to the family in whose number you are reckoned, that you may honour it, not more by your attachment than by your goodness. Though you should do everything besides, unless you prove yourself praiseworthy as a wife, it will not be believed that Marcia is esteemed by you. And I am not unworthy of it; nor (if you are only willing to speak the truth) are there no thanks due from you for my kindnesses: they are repaid me with heavy interest; and Envy has not the power, though she should desire it, to injure you. But still, add this one action to your former ones, and be regardful of your duty in the alleviation of my misfortunes. Exert your energies, that I may be placed in a less hateful spot; and theny no part of your duty will be defective. I ask great favours, but nothing to produce dislike, when you entreat in my behalf; and though you should not gain your request, your denial will be productive of no danger. And do not blame me, if I request you so often, in my lines to do as you are doing, and to imitate yourself. The trumpeter is wont to be of use to the valiant; and the general, with his voice, cheers on the men that are bravely fighting. Your goodness is well known, and is attested to all futurity: let your courage, too, be no less than your goodness. The battleaxe of the Amazons is not to be assumed in my behalf, nor is the small target to be borne by your active hand. A Deity is to be prayed to, not to become friendly to me, but to be less angered against me, than he was before. If there is no favour for you, yet tears will plead in your favour. By this means, or by none at all, can you influence the Gods. It is well provided by my misfortunes, that these shall not be wanting to you; and as I am your husband, you have abundant cause for weeping. And as my fortunes stand at present, I think you will have to weep throughout all time. My fate supplies you with such resources as these.

If my death could be redeemed at the price of yours (which Heaven forfend), 'tis the wife of Admetus whom you would imitate. You would become the rival of Penelope, if, as a wife, you had occasion to deceive importunate suitors by -a virtuous stratagem. If you had to follow, as an attendants, the funeral of a dead husband, Laodamia would be a precedent for your actions. The daughter of Iphis must be placed before your eyes, if you wish to place your body full of life od the lighted pile. There is no necessity for death, none for the web of the daughter of Icarius; but the wife of Cæsar must be implored with your own lips. She, by her own virtues, ensures that hoar antiquity shall not surpass our time in the credit of chastity. While she has both the beauty of Venus and the manners of Juno, she alone has been found worthy of the bed of a Divinity. Why are you trembling? Why do you hesitate to approach her? Neither unnatural Progne, nor the daughter of etes, is to be entreated by your words; no daughter-in-law of Ægyptus, nor the cruel wife of Agamemnon, nor yet Scylla, she who, by her lower parts, keeps the Sicilian seas in dread; nor yet the mother of Telegonus, born for the transformation of shapes; nor Medusa, having her matted hair wreathed with serpents. But His a princely woman; in whose instance Fortune proves that she can see, and has removed the false imputation of blindness. This universe contains nothing in the world more illustrious than her, with the exception of Cæsar; even from the rising of the sun to its setting. Choose the time for entreating her, which you have often watched for, that your bark may not leave harbour with an unfavourable tide. The oracles do not always give out the hallowed responses; and the temples themselves are not thrown open at all times. When the state of the City shall be such, as I now suppose it to be, and when no misfortune shall be contracting the brow of the public; when the home of Augustus, honoured with rites, after the example of the Capitol, shall be joyous (as now it is, and long may it be so), and shall be replete with tranquillity; then may the Gods grant you liberty to approach her; then believe that your words will have some effect. If she shall be engaged with something of more importance, postpone your undertaking, and take care, not, by too much precipitation, to ruin my hopes. Again, I do not order you not to seek access to her until she is entirely at liberty; for she hardly has leisure to decorate her person. Should the Court be crowded with the venerable Senators, still must you go amid the turmoil of business. When it has been thy lot to come into the presence of Juno, take care and remember the character that you are sustaining.

And do not defend my acts; silence must be preserved when a cause is bad: let your words be no other than anxious entreaties. Then there must be no cessation of your tears; and, on the ground, extend your suppliant arms to the heavenly feet. Then ask for nothing else, but that I may depart from amid savage foes; let it be enough for me for Fortune to be my foe. More things, indeed, occur to mej but, struck with awe, you will hardly be able to utter thus much with your trembling lips. I am of opinion that this will not cause you injury; let her understand that you stood in awe of her Majesty. And, if your words are interrupted by your sobs, it will do no harm; tears sometimes have the weight of words. Take care, too, that a lucky day is found for your undertaking, and a fitting hour, and a favourable omen. But first, after fire has been placed on the hallowed altars, offer frankincense and unmixed wine to the great Gods; among whom, before all, adore the Divinity of Augustus, and his affectionate offspring, and the partner of his bed. May they, after their usual manner, be kind to you; and may they behold your tears with no severe countenance.

Book III, Epistle 2

I pray, Cotta, that the salutation which thou "here readest, sent by me, may come to thee bringing its own fulfilment. For, while prospering, thou greatly diminishest my torments, and thou causest a good part of me to be still unscathed. And when others flag, and desert my split sails, thou remainest, as the only anchor of my shattered bark. Thy affection, then, is delightful to me; and I pardon those, who, together with Fortune, have turned their backs in flight. Although the thunderbolts strike but one, not one only do they alarm; the multitude that is near him who is smitten, is wont to tremble. And when a wall has given symptoms of an approaching fall, that spot becomes deserted in anxious apprehension. Who, of the fearful ones, does not avoid intercourse with the sick man, in dread lest he should thereby contract the malady of his neighbour? Me too, in the extreme dread and alarm of my friends, and not through dislike, did some of my acquaintances desert — neither attachment, nor affectionate attention was wanting in them; they stood in awe of the hostile Deities. And, although they may appear too cautious and timid, yet they do not deserve to be called bad. But my sincerity thus excuses my friends, and is in their favour, that they may have no grounds of reproach on my account. Let them be content with this indulgence; and, if they like, they may put it upon record, that, even by my testimony, their conduct was unimpeached. Ye few are the more desirable portion, who, in my adversity, deemed it a disgrace to give me no aid. For that reason, will gratitude for your kindness die at the time, when, my body being consumed, I shall have become ashes. In that I shall be deceived, and it shall extend beyond the period of my life, if indeed my works shall be read by attentive posterity. The lifeless body is the due of the sorrowing pile; fame and glory escape the erected pyre. Theseus is dead, and he who was the companion of Orestes; but still each of them lives in his own praises. And you too, shall our remote descendants often praise, and in my writings your fame will be distinguished. Even here, the Sauromatæ and the Getæ have now heard of you; and the barbarian multitude approves of such feelings. And when, lately, I was making mention of your goodness (for, I have learned to speak the Getan and the Sarmatian languages), by chance a certain old man, as he was standing in that company, answered my words to the following effect: — We too, stranger, whom the freezing Danube confines, far from you at Home, are well acquainted with the name of friendship. There is a place in Scythia, (the ancients call it Tauri,) which is not so very far distant from the Getic land. Of this land I am a native, and of my country I am not ashamed: this nation worships the Goddess, the sister of Phœbus. Her temple remains to this day, supported on vast columns; and you ascend to it by ten times four steps. The story is, that in this place there was a statue, that had come from heaven; and that you may have the less hesitation in believing it, the pedestal still stands there, deprived of the Goddess. The altar, too, which had been white from the nature of the stone, is dyed red, being discoloured by the blood which was shed upon it, A woman, who is a stranger to the torch of marriage, performs the rites; one, who is pre-eminent among the Scythian matrons in noble station. The nature of the sacrifice is, (for thus did our forefathers ordain) that the "tranger must die, struck by the sword of the virgin. Thoas ruled the kingdom, a man illustrious in the land of Mæotis; and no one was more famed throughout the waters of the Euxine. While he held the Sceptre, they say, that a certain Iphigenia, a stranger, made her way thither, through the liquid air. Her, carried under a cloud by the light breezes through the air, Phoebe is supposed to have deposited in these regions. She had now presided, in due form, over the temple for many a year, performing the woeful rites with unwilling hand; when two young men came in a sail-bearing ship, and trod our shores with their feet. Their ages were alike, and so was their affection; of these, the one was Orestes, the other, Pylades. Fame preserves their names. They are immediately led to the remorseless altar of Trivia, having their two hands bound behind their backs. The Grecian priestess sprinkles the captives with the water of purification, that the long sacred band may encircle their yellow hair. And while she is preparing the rites, while she is binding their temples with the fillets, and while she is ever discovering some ground for tardy delay: she says, Pardon me, young men, I am not cruel; I perform rites that are more barbarous than their own country. Yet such is the custom of this nation. But, from what city do ye come? and whither were ye directing your course, in your unfortunate bark? She spoke, and the pious virgin, on hearing the name of her country, found out that they were inhabitants of her own city." Let one of you, she says, "fall as a victim; let the other go, as the messenger of these rites, to your paternal abodes. Pylades, on the point of death, bids his dear Orestes go: the other refuses; and each, in his turn, strives to die. This is the sole thing, on which they are not agreed: in all other respects, the pair are of one mind, and without disagreement. While these beauteous youths are waging this contest of love; she pens written characters to her brother. She there gives a message for her brother, and he to whom it was given (see the accidents of mortals) was her brother. There is no hesitating; from the temple they carry off the image of Diana: and by ship, they are stealthily borne over the boundless waters. This wondrous friendship of the youths, although so many years have elapsed, even yet enjoys great celebrity in Scythia.

After this hackneyed story was related by him; all praised their actions and their faithful attachment. In truth, even in this land (than which there is none more uncivilized) the name of friendship moves the hearts of barbarians. What ought ye to do, who are born in the Ausonian City, when such actions affect the ruthless Getæ? Besides, thou hast always a kind disposition, which has thy virtues for a proof of thy high nobility; virtues, which Volesus, the founder of thy paternal name, would approve, and which Numa, thy maternal ancestor, would not disavow as his own. The Cottæ too, who are added to thy family name, a house that would have perished, hadst thou not existed, would praise them. Oh thou, thus worthy of that line, believe that it is befitting such virtues to. assist a ruined friend.

Book III, Epistle 3

If thou hast leisure to give a little time to thy exiled friend, do thou be present, Maximus, thou star of the Fabian house, while I tell thee what I have seen; whether it was the phantom of a body, or an appearance of reality, or a dream. 'Twas night; and the Moon was entering the windows with their two shutters, as strong as she is generally wont to shine in the middle of the month. Sleep, the common respite from care, possessed me, and my languid limbs were stretched over the whole couch; when, suddenly, the air shook tremulously, -beaten by wings, and the moved window creaked with a gentle noise. Startled, I supported my body on my left arm; and sleep, dispelled, departed from my trembling breast. Cupid was standing, with a countenance not such as he was formerly wont, in his sadness holding a maple staff in his left hand. On his neck he had no collar, no hair-pin in his hair; nor was he neat, with his locks well arranged, as formerly. His soft hair was hanging over his rough countenance, and his wings appeared all ragged to my eyes: just as it is wont to be on the back of the aerial pigeon, which many fingers of handlers have touched. Soon as I recognized him, (and none was better known to me) my tongue, set at liberty, addressed him in such words as these: Oh boy, the cause of exile to thy beguiled master, whom it had been more to my interest not to have had for my instructor; hast thou come hither, too, where there is peace at no time, and the barbarian Danube freezes with his icy waves? What is the cause of thy journey?? unless that thou mightst be the witness of my sorrows, which are, if thou knowest it not, a cause for hatred against thee. Thou wast the first to dictate the poems of my youth; under thy guidance, I have alternated the five feet with the six feet. Thou didst not allow me to soar aloft with the Mæonian verse nor to celebrate the actions of great generals. Perhaps thy how and thy flame diminished the powers of my genius, which, small though perhaps they were, were still something. For while I was singing of thy sway, and that of thy mother, my mind never had leisure for any work of magnitude. And that was not enough; in my folly, too, I wrote verses, that thou mightst, through my books on the Art of Love, become not inexperienced. In return for these, exile was given as a recompense to wretched me; that, too, in regions the most distant, and without the enjoyment of any peace. But Eumolpus, the son of Chione, did not 'prove such towards Orpheus, nor was Olympus such towards Marsyas, the Phrygian Satyr. Chiron received no such reward from Achilles, and they do not say that Numa did any injury to Pythagoras. And, not to repeat names collected over a long space of time, I am the only one who have been ruined by my own scholar. While I am providing thee with weapons, while, wanton one, I am instructing thee; the master receives such a gift as this from his scholar. And yet thou knowest, and thou mightst say it, sworn to the truth, that I plotted not against lawful wedlock. These things did I write for those whose chaste hair the fillet does not touch, nor the long gown their feet. Tell me, I pray, when didst thou learn to beguile the matrons, and, through my precepts, to cast a doubt on the legitimacy of their offspring? Is not every woman strictly repulsed from these books, whom the law forbids to entertain men by stealth? But of what avail is that, if I am considered to have composed precepts for adultery, forbidden by severe laws? But thou, mayst thou have arrows that strike all things, and may thy torches never be without the burning flame; may Cæsar, who is the descendant of thy brother Æneas, rule the empire, and hold sway over the whole earth; but do thou cause that his wrath against me be not implacable, and that he allow me to be punished in a place more agreeable.

These things did I seem to say to the winged boy; these words did he seem to utter to me. "By the torches, that are my weapons, and by the arrows that are my weapons, and by my mother, and by the head of Cæsar, do I swear, that, under thy instruction, I learned nothing but what was lawful, and that there is no ground for accusation in thy books on the Art of Love. And would that, like this, I could defend thee in other respects! Thou knowest that it is rather another thing that caused thy ruin. Whatever it is (and that grief ought not to be disclosed) thou canst not say that it was unattended with fault on thy part. Although thou mayst screen the change under the appearance of error, still the anger of the Avenger was not greater than was deserved. But yet, that I might behold thee, and that I might console thee thus prostrate, my wings have glided through immeasurable tracts. These regions did I first behold, at the time when, at the request of my mother, the Phasian damsel Medea was pierced by my weapons. Thou, soldier that art a friend to my camp, art the cause of my revisiting this land, after a length of ages. Lay aside, then, thy fears; the wrath of Cæsar will be assuaged, and a more joyous time will come, at thy entreaties. And fear not delay; the time that we look for, is at hand; and triumph makes every place to be filled with joy. While thy house, and thy sons, and their mother Livia are happy; while thou art happy, great Father of thy country, and of the triumphant General; while the people is feeling an inward joy, and, throughout the City, every altar is glowing with the perfumed flames; while the venerable temple is affording an easy access; 'tis to be hoped that our prayers may at length be enabled to prevail. He spoke; and either he disappeared in thin air, or my senses began to awake. If I doubted, O Maximus, of thy approval of these words, I could believe that there are swans" of the colour of Memnon. But neither is the milky stream changed into black pitch; nor does the ivory, which was white, become the turpentine tree. Thy birth is befitting thy spirit; for thou hast a heart that is noble and endowed with the honesty of Hercules. Envy, that spiritless vice, attacks not such high feelings; like a viper, it crawls lurking on the ground beneath. Thy lofty spirit rises superior to thy very descent; and thou hast not a name that is more illustrious than thy character. Let others, then, injure the distressed, and desire to be dreaded; and let them wield their arrows, tipped with the corrosive venom; thy house has ever been accustomed to aid the prostrate: in the number of these, I pray thee to allow me to be.

Book III, Epistle 4

Thy friend Naso sends thee, from the city of Tomi, these words that bear no insincere salutation; and he bids thee, Rufinus, to show favour to his Triumph; if indeed, it comes into thy hands. 'Tis but a little work, and unequal to its vast subject; but, such as it is, I entreat thee, take it under thy protection. Bodies that are healthy are strong of themselves, and seek the aid of no Machaon: the sick man, in his uncertainty, has recourse to medical aid. Great poets have no need of an indulgent reader, they captivate one, however unwilling and difficult to please. I, whose talents protracted toils have impaired, (or may be, I had none even before), infirm in strength, recover health by thy kindness; shouldst thou withhold that, I should think myself deprived of every thing. And, whereas all my productions rely upon partial support, this book has an especial claim to indulgence.

Other poets have written of a temple which they beheld; tis something to set down what we have seen with a recording hand. I write of these things, with difficulty caught by me in public with greedy ear; and rumour has been in place of eyes for me. Does, forsooth, the like enthusiasm, or the same inspiration arise from things when only heard of, as from them when seen? I complain not that the splendour of the silver and of the gold, and the purple which ye beheld, was wanting to me; but still the various places, the nations modelled in a thousand forms, and the battles themselves, would have invigorated my lines. The countenances, too, of the kings, the surest indexes of their feelings, would perhaps, in some measure, have aided that work. Every genius is able to grow warm at the applause of the public, and at its transports of joy. As much vigour should I have acquired, amid such acclamations, as the raw soldier does, when he hears the trumpet sound to arms. Although my heart were made of snow and ice, and were colder than this region that I am now enduring; yet the features of that Chief, as he stands in his ivory chariot, would dispel every chill from my senses. Defective in these respects, and furnished with uncertain authorities, with good reason I have recourse to the aid of thy favour. Neither the names of the leaders nor those of the places are known to me; my hands with difficulty met with subject matter. Of events so great, how large a part was there that Fame could repeat, or that any one could write to me? With greater reason, then, O reader, thou oughtst to pardon me, if there is anything there omitted by me, or in which I am mistaken. Besides, my lyre, that has dwelt upon the everlasting complaints of its master, was with difficulty brought round to a song of joy. Words of gladness hardly recurred to me seeking them after so long a time: to be at all joyful, seemed to me a novelty. And as the eyes dread the sun, to which they are unused, so was my mind averse to joyousness. Novelty is the most endearing of all things, and thanks for a kindness, which delay retards, are lost. I suppose that other works, written in a spirit of emulation about the great triumph, have already been read by the lips of the public. The reader drinks of those cups when thirsty, when now satisfied, of mine; that stream is drunk of when fresh, mine becomes nauseous. I have not been idle, nor has slothfulness made me tardy: the remotest shore of the wide ocean confines me. While report is arriving hither, while my hurried verses are being composed, and, when composed, while they are travelling to you at Rome, a whole year may have passed away. And it makes no slight difference, whether you first pluck the roses before untouched, or whether, with a late hand, when there are scarcely any left. What wonder is there, when the garden is exhausted, the flowers having been picked, if a chaplet has been formed, not worthy of its chief? I entreat no poet to think that this is said against his verses: in her own behalf has my Muse spoken. I have kindred ties with you, ye poets; if it is allowed to the wretched to be of your number. Ye, my friends, have lived with me, as being a large portion of my very life; even in this region, I, still ever present, hold you in esteem. May my verses then be commended to your favour, in behalf of which I cannot address you personally. Writings generally please after death; because envy is wont to attack the living, and to tear them with unfair tooth. If it is a kind of death to live in wretchedness; the earth only awaits me, and the sepulchre alone is wanting to my end. Lastly, although this result of my labours should be blamed on every side, there will be no one to blame my zeal. Although strength is wanting, yet the inclination is to be commended; with this, I trust, the Gods are content. This is the reason, why, even the poor approach the altars acceptably; and why a lamb pleases not less than a slaughtered ox. The subject, too, was so great, that it would have proved a burden even for the great poet of the Æneid to support it. The weak Elegiac measure, too, was not able to bear on its unequal wheels the excessive weight of a triumph.

I am doubtful in opinion, what kind of measure I shall now use; for another triumph is approaching; one over thee, O Rhine. The presages of the truth-telling poets are not deceptive, A laurel must be offered to Jove, while the former one is still green. Thou art not now reading my words, who am far removed to the Danube, to streams that are drunk of by the unsubdued Getæ. 'Tis the voice of a Divinity; a Divinity resides within my breast: I foretell and I prophecy this under the influence of a God. Why, Livia, art thou delaying to prepare the chariot and the procession for the triumph? Wars do not now cause thee any delay. Germany throws aside her spear, which she curses; now wilt thou say that my prophecy has its weight. Have faith, and soon will thy confidence be realized; thy son will reiterate his honours, and will, as before, go in procession with the yoked steeds. Prepare the purple, which thou mayst place on the victorious shoulders: the very laurel is able to recognize the head to which it is accustomed. Let the shields and the helmets sparkle with gems and with gold; let the trophies on the lopped trunks stand above the men in fetters. Let the towns in ivory be surrounded with the turreted fortifications; and let an imitation of a thing be supposed to be performed after the manner of the original. Let the squalid Rhine have his hair gathered under his broken reeds, and his waters tinged with blood. Now, captive kings are demanding the ornaments of barbarism, and woven vestments of more worth than their own lot. Prepare, too, the things which the invincible valour of thy family, both has caused, and will cause, to be prepared by thee.

Ye Gods, by whose command I have given utterance to the future, verify my words, I pray, by a speedy fulfilment.

Book III, Epistle 5

Dost thou inquire, whence the letter was sent to thee, that thou art now reading? Tis from here, where the Danube joins the azure waves. When the place has been mentioned, the author, too, ought to recur to thee, Naso the poet, who was ruined by his own talents. Tis he who sends thee, Maximus Cotta, from among the shaggy Getæ the salutation which he would rather give thee in person.

I read, O youth that hast not degenerated from the eloquence of thy father, the fluent language that has been spoken by thee in the crowded court. Although this has been read by me with a hastening tongue, throughout several hours, my complaint is, that there was too little. But this I have made more by often reading it again; and never was it less pleasing to me, than it was at first. And since, when so often read, it loses nothing of its interest, it pleases by its own merit, and not by its novelty. Happy were they, whose lot it was to hear it in reality, and to enjoy the pleasure of language so eloquent! For although there is a pleasant taste in water that is fetched, water is drunk with greater pleasure at the spring itself. It is more gratifying, too, to pluck the apple from the bough pulled downward, than to take one from a sculptured dish. And, unless I am mistaken, had not my Muse caused my exile, thy voice should have given utterance in my presence to the work which I have read. As was my wont, perhaps as one of the hundred men, I should have been sitting as a judge over thy words; and a greater pleasure would have filled my heart, when I was influenced by thy language, and yielded my assent to it. Since fate, yourselves and my country being left behind, has preferred, that I should be among the barbarian Getæ, often send me, I beg, as it is permitted thee to do, the pledges of thy pursuits, to be read hj me, that I may seem still more to be with thee: follow, too, my example, unless thou despisest it — a thing which, more properly, thou thyself shouldst show me. For I, Maximus, who for some time have been dead to you, my friends, endeavour, through the medium of my genius, not to perish utterly. Give a commensurate return; and let jay hands receive no few memorials of thy labours, that will be so pleasing to me. But tell me, O youth, so devoted to my pursuits, art thou not, by those very pursuits, reminded of me? When either thou art reciting the poem which thou hast just composed, to thy friends, or when, as thou art often wont, thou art requesting them to recite, does not thy heart grieve, forgetting what it is that is absent? Assuredly it does feel that an indefinite portion of itself is wanting. And as thou wast wont to speak much of me when among you, is now too the name of Naso often on thy lips? May I, indeed, perish, wounded by the Getic bow (and may that be the punishment of my perjury which thou seeest thus near me), if I do not in thy absence behold thee almost every moment.

Thanks to the Gods, the spirit may range wherever it pleases. In my imagination, when, beheld by none, I have arrived in the City, I often hold discourse with thee; I often enjoy thy conversation. At that moment, it is hard to say, how delightful it is to me; and how happy is that hour, in my thinking. At that moment (if I may be at all trusted), I believe myself received into the abodes of heaven, along with the blessed Gods. Again, when I have returned hither, I leave the heavens and the Gods above; and the Pontic soil is not far removed from the Styx. If, against resisting fate, I am struggling to return thence, do thou, Maximus, divest me of an unavailing hope.

Book III, Epistle 6

Naso sends these few lines, from the Euxine waves, to his old companion, to which he was nearly adding the name. And why, when others deem it safe, art thou the only one to request that my lines should not name thee I By me, if thou knowest it not, thou mayst he informed, how great is the mercy of Cæsar, in the midst of his wrath. Were I compelled to be the judge of my own deserts, I should be able to subtract nothing from this punishment which I am suffering. He does not forbid any one to remember his companion; he does not prevent me from writing to thee, nor thee to me. Thou canst commit no crime, if thou consolest thy friend, and dost alleviate his cruel fate by soothing words. Why, while thou art fearing in safety, dost thou cause such dread to become a ground of hatred against the august Deities? We have sometimes seen those that have been blasted by the bolts of the lightning, live and recover, Jove not forbidding it. Because Neptune had shattered the ship of Ulysses, Leucothoe did not refuse to aid him as he swam. Believe me, the Deities of Heaven spare the wretched, and they do not for ever and unceasingly persecute the afflicted. And no God is more lenient than our Prince; he moderates his might by justice. Cæsar has lately placed her in a temple built of marble; he did so, long since, in the temple of his mind. Jupiter hurls his lightnings at random against many, who have not deserved punishment for a commensurate fault. When the God of the ocean has overwhelmed so many in his relentless waves, how large a number of them was deserving to be drowned? Were all the bravest to perish in battle, the choice of Mars, even in his own judgment, would be unjust. But if, perchance, thou shouldst desire to inquire of us Romans, there is no one who would deny that he is deserving of what he endures. Besides, no day can again bring to life those that have perished either by the sea, or by warfare, or by fire. Cæsar has pardoned many, or has modified a part of their punishment: and I. pray that he may will me to be one of that multitude. And dost thou, when we are a people under such a Prince, believe that there is ground for apprehension in the correspondence of an exile? Perhaps, with Busiris for thy master, thou mightst with reason have dreaded this, or with him, who was wont to roast men shut up in the brass. Cease to asperse a merciful spirit with thy vain fears. Why, in the tranquil waves, art thou in dread of the rocks? I seem hardly able to find an excuse for myself, because I first wrote to thee without a name. But fear had taken away the use of reason from me, thus stupified, and all judgment had forsaken me in my misfortunes. Dreading my destiny, not the wrath of the Avenger, I myself was alarmed by the superscription of my own name.

Thus far exhorted, indulge the grateful Poet, that he may insert thy dear name in his sheets. It will be a disgrace to us both, if thy name, connected with me by long acquaintanceship, is to be read in no part of my book. But, that this apprehension may not disturb thy slumbers, I will not be affectionate beyond thy wishes; and I will conceal who thou art, unless thou thyself shalt have first given me permission. No man shall be compelled to receive my gifts. Only do thou, if it is a cause of anxious fear to thee, love him in secret, whom thou couldst even love openly without danger.

Book III, Epistle 7

Words fail me, asking the same thing so often, and I am at last ashamed that my useless entreaties have no end. I suppose that weariness is the result of lines all of the same tenor, and that you have all learned by heart what I desire. Already do ye know what my letter brings, although the paper is not yet loosened from its strings; therefore, let the purport of my writings be changed, that I may not so often go against the stream that carries me away. Pardon me, my friends, if I have confidently reckoned upon you; henceforth there shall be an end of such mistakes. I will not be called a burden to my wife, who, forsooth, is as timid and as inexperienced in my case, as she is virtuous. This too, Naso, shalt thou endure; for worse hast thou already suffered. By this time the weight of no burden can be felt by thee. The bull that is taken from the herd refuses the plough, and withdraws his youthful neck from the galling yoke. I, whom Destiny has been wont to treat with cruelty, have long ceased to be unprepared for any evils. I have come to the Getic land; in it let me die, and let my destiny go on to the end, by the path on which it has begun. Let it delight to adhere to a hope, which does not ever delight to elude us by its frustration; and if you desire anything to happen, think it will come to pass. The next step after this, is, entirely to despair of safety; and to feel convinced, once for all, with a certain assurance that we are ruined. In the healing, we see certain wounds become larger, which it had been better not to have touched. He dies a more easy death, who is overwhelmed by a sudden torrent, than he who wearies his arms in the swelling waves.

Why have I imagined that I could depart from the Scythian regions, and be blessed with a happier land? Why did I ever hope for any more leniency in my behalf? Was my fortune thus experienced by me? Behold! I am tormented still more bitterly, and the beauty of places, called to my memory, renews the sadness of exile, and begins it afresh. Still, it is better for the zeal of my friends to have slumbered, than for the entreaties which they have used, to have been of no avail. Great, indeed, is the thing, my friends, which ye dare not do; but, had any one asked it, there was one who would have granted it. If only the wrath of Cæsar has not denied you that, I will die courageously amid the Euxine waves.

Book III, Epistle 8

I was considering what presents the country of Tomi is able to send thee, testifying my attentive affection. Thou art worthy of silver, more worthy still of yellow gold: but they are wont to delight thee only when thou thyself givest them. Besides, this soil is not enriched by any metals: the foe scarcely permits it to be turned up by the husbandman. Often has the glistening purple covered thy under garments; but that is not dyed by the Sarmatian hand. The sheep bear coarse fleeces, and the matrons of Tomi have not learned to employ the arts of Pallas. The woman bruises the gifts of Ceres, instead of spinning wool, and she carries the heavy weight of water, her head placed beneath. The elm here is not clothed with the clustering vines; no apples bend the branches with their weight. The unsightly plains produce the bitter wormwood, and the soil shows, by its productions, how bitter it is. There was nothing, then, in all the region of Pontus, that lies on the left hand, which my attention could send thee. Still I have sent thee some arrows, enclosed in a Scythian quiver, may they be stained, I pray, with the blood of thy foe. Such pens as these, such books as these, does this land possess: this is the Muse that flourishes, Maximus, in the place of my abode. Although I am ashamed of sending them, because they seem so trifling; still I beg thee to take it in good part, that I have sent them.

Book III, Epistle 9

Thou tellest, me, Brutus, that some one, who, I know not, finds fault with my poems, because in these books the subject is always the same; that I pray for nothing but to enjoy the favour of a spot not so remote, and that I complain that I am surrounded by a numerous foe. Oh! how is it, that out of so many faults, but one alone is censured? 'Tis well, if my Muse is wrong in this only. I myself am sensible of the faults of my works; whereas, usually, every one approves of his own verse more than it deserves. The author naturally praises his own works. Thus, perhaps, in days of yore, Agrius said that Thersites had good features. But that error does not lead my judgment astray; nor do I forthwith fall in love with anything to which I have given birth. Dost thou ask then, why, if I see my error, I continue to commit faults, and suffer grounds for censure to exist in my writings? The art of perceiving and removing diseases, is not the same. The sense of feeling exists in all; by skill alone, disease is removed. Often, when I wish to change a word, I leave it; and my ability falls short of my judgment. I often (for why should I hesitate to confess the truth to thee?) feel it a trouble to make a correction, and to endure the tedium of protracted exertion. Enthusiasm itself aids the writer, and diminishes his toil; and, as the work grows, it waxes warm along with his feelings. But, to correct, is a thing as much more difficult, as the illustrious Homer was greater than Aristarchus. It galls the mind, by the languid chill of anxiety, just as the charioteer pulls in the reins of the anxious steed. And so may the benignant Deities mitigate the wrath of Cæsar against me, and may my bones be covered by a soil that enjoys tranquillity; as sometimes, when I endeavour to exert pains, the cruel form of my destiny presents an obstacle. And I hardly appear to myself of sound mind, for writing verses, and for taking care to correct them, amid the savage Getæ.

But there is nothing more pardonable in my writings, than that but one idea almost pervades them all. When joyous, I have usually sung joyous songs; when sad, I compose what is sad. Either season is suitable to its own productions. On what should I write, but on the miseries of this dreadful spot, and entreat that I may die on a more agreeable soil? Oft as I say the same things, I am heard by hardly any one; and my wordsj unnoticed, fail of effect. And yet, although they are the same things, I do not write them to the same persons; and my single voice seeks aid through many intercessors. Ought one only of my friends to have been intreated, Brutus, lest the reader might twice meet with the same subject? It was not of so much consequence to me: Pardon the confession, ye learned: the reputation of my works is of less value than my own safety.

Lastly, whatever subject-matter any poet has planned out for himself, he varies many things, according to his own judgment. My Muse, also, is a too faithful indicator of my misfortunes; and she carries the weight of an uncorrupted testimony. And it was not either my purpose or my intention that a book should be composed, but that to each person should be delivered his own letter. Afterwards, I united them when collected, without any order, however; that thou mayst not suppose by chance that it was a work of selections by me. Pardon my writings, of which fame was not the cause with me, but self-interest and affection united.