Book I

Book I, Elegy 1

Without me, little book, you will visit the Roman City, whither it is not allowed your master to go; but I do not envy your fortune. Go on your way, but unadorned, just as becomes the book of an exile; put on the fitting garb, unhappy one, of this season. Let not the hyacinth array you in its purple tints; that is not a colour suitable for mourning. Let not your title be inscribed in vermilion, nor let your leaves he prepared with the oil of the cedar; and do not wear whitened extremities with a blackened page. Let these appliances be the ornaments of more fortunate books: it befits you to keep your fate in remembrance. And let not the two sides of your leaves be polished with the brittle pumice, so that you may appear, as you ought, all rough with your dishevelled hair. And be not ashamed of your blots: he who beholds them will be sensible that they were caused by my tears. Go, my book, and in my words salute those pleasing spots; for, in the only method that is allowed me, I will assuredly reach them. If there shall be any one there not forgetful of me, as in so great a multitude is not unlikely; if there shall be any one who, by chance, may inquire what has become of me; you will say that I am still living: you will say, too, that my state is but an unhappy one; and that the very life that I have I receive as a favour from the God. And you will present yourself, in silence, to be read by any one making further enquiries, lest perchance you may utter what may not be to my advantage.

The reader, put in mind, will at once recall to memory the charges against me; and by the mouth of the public shall I be condemned. But beware that you say nought in my defence, although you will be carped at with reproachful speeches. The cause that is not a good one will be made worse by your support. You will find the person, who will sigh in regret that I was snatched away, and who will not read these verses of mine with unmoistened cheeks; who also, in silence, that no mischievous person may overhear him, will breathe a wish that, Cæsar once appeased, my punishment may be lighter. Whoever he may be, that wishes the Gods to be softened against wretched me, — that he may never be unfortunate is my prayer. And what he wishes, may the same be accomplished; may the wrath of the Prince, once assuaged, grant me leave to die in the home of my fathers.

Perhaps, my book, you will be blamed for having obeyed my commands, and you will be said to be inferior to my usual reputation for genius. As it is the duty of a judge to consider facts, so ought he to take into consideration the circumstances. In your case, when the circumstances are inquired into, you will be safe. When composed by a spirit at rest, verses flow easily; but my days are overclouded by sudden misfortunes. Verses require both retirement and ease for their writer: the sea, the winds, and the cruel storm, are tossing me to and fro. All alarm ought to be afar from him who is composing verses; I, wretched man that I am, each moment, think that a sword is about to be plunged into my throat. A considerate judge will even wonder at this performance of mine; and such as they are, he will read my compositions with indulgence. Give me Homer himself in my place, and then look round upon my calamities: all his genius would vanish amid misfortunes so great! Lastly, my book, remember to go regardless of your reputation; and let it be no cause of shame to you, when read, to have displeased your reader. Fortune does not show herself so favouring to me, that any care needs be taken by you of your fame. So long as I was in prosperity, I was influenced by the love of glory, and ardent was my desire of acquiring reputation. If I do not now abhor all verses, and that pursuit which proved my ruin, let that be enough; for thus was my exile caused by my genius. But go: go instead of me; and do you, to whom it is allowed, behold the city of Rome. Oh!! that the Gods would grant, that, this moment I could be my book! And do not, because you come from afar into the great City, suppose that you come unknown to its people. Although you want a superscription, you will be recognized by your very colour; should you wish to conceal the facty it is clear that you belong to me. But enter by stealth, lest verses of mine should prove an injury to you; they are not now loaded with public favour, as once they were. If there be any one who thinks that because you are mine you ought not to be read, and throws you from his bosom, say to him, Look at my title: I am not the instructor in love; that work has already paid the penalty that it deserved.

Perhaps you may expect that I should order you, thus sent, to ascend to the lofty palace, and the home of Cæsar. May that august spot and its Gods pardon me; from those heights, descended the bolt on this my devoted head. I remember, indeed, that there are in those abodes Deities, full of mercy; but still do I fear those Gods who have wrought my ruin. The dove is startled at the slightest flutter of its wing, when once she has been wounded, O hawk, by thy talons. The iamb, too, dares not stray afar from the sheep-folds, if by chance it has once been seized by the teeth of the ravening wolf. Were Phaeton now living, he would shun the skies; and he would be unwilling to touch the veri, horses which, in his folly, he wished for. And so do I, who have experienced them, confess that I dread the weapons of Jove. When it thunders, I imagine that it is I who am sought by the fires of heaven. Each person in the Grecian fleet that has escaped Caphareus, always makes all sail away from the Euboean waves. My little bark, too, once struck by the o'erwhelming storm, dreads to approach the spot on which it has been shattered! Therefore, beloved book of mine! look around you with timorous feelings, and let it satisfy you to be perused by the middle classes. While Icarus was soaring on high, with wings too weak, he gave a name to the Icarian waves. And yet is a matter of difficulty to say whether you should make use of your oars or of the breezes: circumstances and opportunity will give you fitting advice. If you can be presented when he is at leisure; if you shall see any thing favourable; if his wrath shall have spent its strength; if there shall be any one to present you hesitating and fearing to approach him, and to say first a few words in your favour; then do you approach his presence. May you arrive there at a fortunate hour, more fortunate yourself than me, your master, and may you diminish my calamities. For either no one, or he only, who has inflicted on me the wound, is able to remove it, after the example of Achilles. Only take care that you do not injure me, while you are intending to serve me: for my hope is less strong than the apprehensions of my mind. Beware, too, that the wrath which was lulled be not excited, and that it do not again burst forth; and that you become not a second cause of disgrace to me.

And when now you shall have been received back again inta my closet, and shall have reached the hollow book-case, your destined home, there will you see your brothers arranged in order, whom the same anxiety has composed in its hours of watching. The remaining portion will openly show their titles exposed to view; and will bear their own names on their undisguised front. You will see three hiding apart, in a dark corner. Tis these, too, that teach, what no one is ignorant of, how to love. Do you at least shun these, or even, if you shall have boldness enough, call them so many parricides, like Œdipus and Telegonus. And of the three, I warn you, if you have any regard for your parent, bestow not your love on any one, even if he himself shall instruct you in so doing. There are, too, thrice five volumes on the change of the human shape, verses that were lately rescued from my funereal obsequies: to these I bid you say, that the aspect of my altered fortune may be reckoned in the number of the forms that have been changed. For, on a sudden, it has been rendered unlike to what it was before; and, now a source of sorrow, 'twas once full of joy. If you ask me; I had some further commands to give you; but I fear to be the cause of delay that may retard you. And if, my book, you were to convey every thing that occurs to me, a heavy burden would you become to him who is to carry you. Long is the way; make speed. Meanwhile, the extremity of the earth will be my habitation — a region far removed from my native land.

Book I, Elegy 2

Gods of the sea and skies (for what resource have I but prayers?)?) abstain from rending asunder the joints of our shattered bark; and second not, I pray, the wrath of the mighty Cæsar. Ofttimes, as one God harasses us, does another Deity bring us assistance. Mulciber was arrayed against Troy; Apollo was for Troy; Venus was friendly to the Trojans; Pallas hostile. The daughter of Saturn, more favourable to Turnus, hated Æneas; yet was he safe under the tutelage of Venus. Ofttimes did the fierce Neptune attack Ulysses; as oft did Minerva rescue him from her uncle. And what forbids, far inferior though I be to these, that a Deity should aid me, when a Deity is enraged?? Wretched man that I am; in vain I waste my unavailing words: the heavy billows dash against my very lips as I speak. The raging South wind, too, sweeps away my words, and does not allow my prayers to reach the Gods to whom they are addressed. The same winds, for the reason that I may not be afflicted on one point only, bear away the sails and my prayers, whither I know not.

Ah, wretched me! What mountains of water are heaped aloft! You would think that this very instant they would reach the highest stars. What abysses yawn as the sea recedes! You would suppose that this very instant they would extend to black Tartarus. On whichever side you look, there is nothing but sea and sky; the one swelling with billows, the other lowering with clouds. Between the two, the winds rage in fearful hurricane. The waves of the ocean know not which master to obey. For at one moment, Eurus gathers strength from the glowing East, at another instant comes Zephyrus, sent from the evening West. At one time, the icy Boreas comes raging from the dry North; at another, the South wind wages battle with adverse front. The steersman is at fault: and he knows not what to avoid, or what course to take. Skill itself is at a loss amid these multiplied evils. In truth, we are on the verge of destruction, and there is no hope of safety, but a fallacious one; as I speak, the sea dashes o'er my face. The waves will overwhelm this breath of mine, and in my throat, as it utters vain entreaties, shall I receive the waters that are to bring my doom.

But meantime, my affectionate wife is bewailing nothing else out that I am an exile: this one portion alone of my misery does she know and lament. She is not aware how my body is tossed on the boundless ocean; she knows not that I am driven to and fro by the winds; she knows not that death is impending o'er me. 'Tis well, ye Gods, that I suffered her not to embark with me: so that death might not have to be twice endured by wretched me! But now, although I perish; since she is safe from danger, doubtless I shall still survive in her, one half of myself.

Ah, wretched me! how the clouds glisten with the instantaneous flash. How dreadful the peal that re-echoes from the sky of heaven. The timbers of our sides are struck by the waves, with blows no lighter than when the tremendous charge of the balista beats against the walls. The wave that now is coming on, o'ertops all the others; 'tis the one that comes after the ninth and before the eleventh. I fear not death; 'tis the dreadful kind of death; take away the shipwreck; then death will be a gain to me. 'Tis something for one, either dying a natural death, or by the sword, to lay his breathless corpse in the firm ground, and to impart his wishes to his kindred, and to hope for a sepulchre, and not to be food for the fishes of the sea.

Suppose that I am worthy of such a death as this; I am not the only person that is carried here. Why does my punishment involve the innocent?

Oh, ye Gods above, and ye azure Deities, in whose tutelage is the ocean! Do you, each of your number, desist from your threatenings. Suffer, that, in my wretchedness, I may take to the appointed destination that life which the most lenient wrath of Cæsar has granted me. If you wish me to endure a punishment which I have merited, still, in my own thinking, my fault is not deserving of death. If Cæsar had wished now to send me to the Stygian waves, in that, he had not needed your aid. He has a power over my life, amenable to the envy of none; and that which he has given, when he shall please, he will take away. Only do you, ye Gods, whom I assuredly think that I have injured by no misdeeds, be content with your present misfortunes. And yet, even if you all wished to preserve unhappy me, it is not possible that one who is utterly undone can be in safety. Although the sea be calmed, and I avail myself of favouring winds; although you should spare me: shall I, any the less, be an exile? I am not ploughing the wide ocean for the exchange of my merchandize, greedy of acquiring wealth without limit. I seek not Athens, which once, when studious, I sought; I seek not the cities of Asia, nor spots which once I visited. Nor yet do I wish, that carried to the famed city of Alexander, I should behold thy luxuries, thou revelling Nilus. The object, for which I desire favouring winds (who could credit it?) is the Sarmatian land, to which my prayers now tend. I am bound to reach the barbarous shores of Pontus, situate on the left hand; and what I lament is, that my flight from my country is so tardy. In my prayers do I make my travel of short duration, that I may see the people of Tomi situate in some obscure corner of the globe. If so it is, that you favour me, restrain the waves thus overwhelming, and let your powers be propitious to my bark: if rather you hate me, bring me to the appointed land. A part of my punishment is in the situation of the spot. What do I here? Speed on my canvass, ye raging winds. Why do my sails even look on the Italian shores? Cæsar willed this not to be: why do ye detain him, whom Cæsar drives afar? Let the Pontic land behold my face. He both orders this, and I am deserving of it; and I deem it neither just nor righteous for those accusations to be defended, on which he has condemned me. But if the deeds of mortals never escape the Gods, you are aware that wilful crime is no part of my fault. So it was: and ye know it. If my ignorance has carried me away, and if my mind was foolish, but not imbued with crime; if though but one of the least, I have been devoted to that house; if the public edicts of Augustus have been sufficient for me for my own guidance: if, in this Prince, I have pronounced the age to be blessed: and if, in my reverence, have offered frankincense for Cæsar and the Cæsars; if such: have been my feelings: then pardon me, ye Gods; but if not, then let the wave, falling from on high, overwhelm my head. Am I deceived? Or are the clouds, pregnant with storms beginning to disappear, and does the wrath of the sea now changed in aspect, diminish! This is no chance; but when invoked on these terms, you, whom it is not possible to deceive, bring me this assistance.

Book I, Elegy 3

When the most sad remembrance recurs to me of that night, which was my last in the City — when I recal that night, in which I left so much that was dear to me — even now does the tear start from my eyes.

Now was the day near at hand, on which Cæsar had ordered me to depart from the limits of even the extremity of Ausonia: neither my feelings nor the time allowed, were well adapted for me, to make my preparations; my senses had become by protracted delay. I paid no regard to procuring attendants, nor to making choice of a companion, nor to providing clothes or means suitable for an exile. I was astounded, just as when a man, struck by the bolts of Jove, lives on, and himself is unconscious that he lives.

But when grief itself removed this cloud from my mind, and my senses at last regained their strength, about to depart, for the last time I addressed my sorrowing friends, who out of so many, were only one or two in number. My affectionate wife, bitterly weeping, herself clung to me weeping; as the shower of tears flowed down her cheeks, undeserving of sorrow. My daughter was far distant from me, in the Libyan regions; nor could she be informed of my fate. On whichever side you might look, grief and tears re-echoed within the house: there was the semblance of a funeral, not celebrated in silence. Both wife and husband, and my servants, too, were lamenting at my obsequies; and in the house, every corner had its share of tears. If, in a small matter, I may make use of great examples, such was the appearance of Troy when it was taken.

And now the voices of men and the baying of dogs were lulled, and the Moon on high was guiding the steeds of the night. Looking up to her, and from her, turning my eyes to the Capitol, which, in vain, was adjacent to my house, I said, — Ye Deities that inhabit these neighbouring abodes, and ye temples, never again to be beheld by these eyes; and ye Gods, whom the lofty city of Quirinus contains, that must be left by me, be ye bade adieu by me for ever! and although 'tis but late after my wounds that I assume my shield, yet do ye divest this my exiled state of hatred against me; and tell that heaven-born person what error it was that deceived me: lest, instead of a fault, he may think it was a crime on my part; so that, what you are aware of, of that same the author of my punishment may be sensible. I can still be not unhappy, that Divinity once being appeased.

With these prayers did I address the Gods above; with more entreaties did my wife, as the sobs broke her sentences in the midst; she even, prostrated before the household Gods with her hair dishevelled, touched the extinguished hearths with trembling lips, and many words did she pour forth to the Penates, now alienated, to be of no avail for her lamented husband.

And now, the advanced night refused any time for delay, and the Parrhasian Bear was turning from the North Pole, What could I do? I was detained by affectionate love for my country; but that was the last night before my prescribed banishment. Ah! how often did I say, as any one put me in mind, — "Why dost thou hurry me? Consider both whither thou art hastening me, and whence! Ah! how often did I falsely say, that I had fixed on a certain hour, which was suited for commencing my destined journey. Thrice did I touch the threshold; thrice was I called back, and my lingering foot itself proved indulgent to my feelings: often, having bade farewell, did I again give utterance to many a word, and, as if now departing, I gave the last kiss. Oft did I give the same injunctions, and I became my own deceiver, looking back with my eyes upon my dear pledges. At last I said, — Why do I hasten? It is Scythia to which I am banished — Rome must be left by me: either way my delay is justified; my wife, while living, is for ever denied to me still in life; my home, too, and the dear members of my faithful household; the companions, too, whom I loved with the attachment of a brother — hearts that, alas! were linked to me in an affection worthy of Theseus." While yet I may, I will embrace them; perhaps, never again shall I be allowed to do so. The moment that is conceded to me, is so much gained. I delay no longer; I leave the words of my discourse but half finished, while embracing each that is dearest to my heart.

While thus I was speaking, and we were in tears, the Lightbearing star had risen in its effulgence in the lofty heavens — a star full of woe for us. I was then torn away, just as though I was leaving my limbs; and one part of me seemed to be dissevered from its trunk. So did Priam grieve at the time, when the horse, changing to the contrary of its supposed purpose, held within it those who were to avenge the treason. Then, indeed, arose the sobs and the lamentations of my family, and their sorrowing hands beat their bared bosoms; and then my wife, clinging to my shoulders as I departed, mingled tliese!?ad words with her tears, — Thou can'st not be torn from me: together, alas! — together with thee will I also go. She said, — Thee will I follow; and I, an exile, will be the wife of an exile. For me, too, has this journey been destined; and me do the remotest lands receive: I shall prove but a slight burden, to add to the flying bark. The wrath of Cæsar bids thee depart from thy country — affection bids me do the same! This duty shall be in place of Cæsar to me. Such attempts as these did she make; thus, too, had she pressed me before; and scarcely did she yield, overcome by a sense of my advantage. I go forth (that, indeed, was to be borne to the grave, with no funereal rites!) all neglected, with my hair hanging about my unshaven face. She — overwhelmed with sorrow — is said, a faintness coming over her, to have fallen down lifeless in the midst of the house; and when she rose again, with her hair soiled with the foul dust, and lifted her limbs from the cold ground, they say that she bewailed her household Gods, that moment left destitute, and many a time called on the name of her husband, just torn away from her; and they say that she grieved no less than if she had seen the erected pile receive the body of our daughter, or my own; and that she wished to die, and in death to put an end to her sufferings; but that, from regard for me, she did not terminate her life. May she live on; and, since the Fates have thus decreed, may she live ever to relieve me, far, far away, by her aid.

Book I, Elegy 4

The guardian of the Erymanthian Bear is immersed in the ocean, and, by the influence of her Constellation, arouses the waves, while I am ploughing the Ionian sea by no inclination of my own; but apprehension itself forces me to be bold. Ah, wretched me! by how tremendous a gale is the sea aroused, and how the sand seethes again as it is ploughed up from the lowest depths. The waves, no lower than a mountain, are hurled over the prow and the curving poop, and dash against the resemblances of the Deities. The pinewood texture creaks; the rigging, with loud noise, is beaten to and fro; and the very ship groans responsively to my woes. The sailor, betraying his fear by the paleness of an ice-cold chill, now massively follows his bark o'ercome hy the storm, and guides it not by his skill. Just as the driver, failing in his strength, loosens the useless reins on a horse of unbending neck, so do I behold our charioteer set the sails of the ship, not in thi direction that he desires, but whither the raging current of the sea is driving us; and, unless -olus sends breezes from another quarter, I shall be carried to lands now forbidden to be approached hy me. For Illyria, being descried afar to the left, the forbidden shores of Italy are beheld by me. May the wind, I pray, cease to blow towards the forbidden regions, and, together with me, may it obey the great Deity. While I am speaking, and am, at the same moment, both longing and fearing to be hurried back again, with what tremendous force does the wave lash upon our sides! Spare me, ye Deities of the azure ocean, spare me; let it be enough that Jove is incensed with me: save my wearied life from a cruel death, if, indeed, one who is already undone can possibly be saved from perishing.

Book I, Elegy 5

Oh thou! that must be recorded as second to none of my companions; oh thou! to whom especially my lot seemed to be his own; thou, most beloved friend, who first of all didst dare to cheer me, when overwhelmed, by thy words; thou who didst give me the kind advice to live, when desire of death was existing in my wretched heart! Thou knowest well whom I am addressing by allusions and not by name; and thy kind attention is not forgotten by thee, my friend. These things will ever remain impressed upon my very innermost marrow; and I shall ever be indebted to thee for this life of mine. My breath shall go forth to vanish in the vacant air, and shall leave my bones upon the heated pile, before forgetfulness of thy deserts comes o'er my mind; only by dint of length of time may that affection fade from my memory. May the Gods be propitious to thee; may they also grant thee a fate that needs the assistance of no one, and quite unlike to mine. But if this ship were not now being borne on by favouring breezes, perhaps the extent of that friendship would have remained unknown to me. Pirithous would not have experienced Theseus as being so much his friend, had he not descended, while yet living, to the infernal streams. Thy persecuting Furies, sad Orestes, caused Pylades, the Phocian, to be an example of true friendship. Had not Euryalus fallen, when fighting against Rutulian foes, no praise would there have been for Nisus, sprung from Hyrtacus.

Just as the yellow gold is beheld in the flames, so is fidelity to be tested in the season of distress. While Fortune aids us, and smiles with serene countenance, all good attends undiminished wealth. But soon as peals the thunder, all fly afar, and by none is he recognized, who, the moment before, was surrounded with troops of acquaintances. And this fact, long since gathered by me from the instances of those of olden times, is now known to be true, from my own misfortunes. Out of so many friends, scarcely are two or three of you now remaining to me. The rest of the crowd belonged to Fortune, not to me. Do you, then, the more, O ye few, aid my broken fortunes, and afford a saving shore for my shipwreck. And be not too much alarmed with an ill-grounded dread, fearing lest the Divinity should be offended at this your affection. Ofttimes, even in adverse warfare, has he praised fidelity; Cæsar loves it in his friends, and in his foe he approves of it. My case is a still better one, as I have not favoured adverse arms; but by my sincerity have I earned my exile. Therefore, I entreat you, watch over my misfortunes, if by any means the wrath of the Divinity can be assuaged.

Should any one wish to know of all my woes, he would be asking more than possibility allows of. Evils have I endured, as many as there are shining stars in the heavens, and as many as the little particles which the dry dust contains. Many woes, too, have I endured, great beyond credibility; such as, though they really have befallen me, would not receive implicit credence. A certain portion, too, it is fitting should perish together with me; and would that it may be concealed, while I strive to hide it. Had I a voice that could never grow weak; had I a breast stronger than brass; had I many mouths, together with many tongues; not even on that account would I include every subject in my words; the very extent of the topic exhausting my strength.

Ye learned poets, write of my woes, instead of the chief from Neritos; far more evils have I endured than he of Neritos. He, for many a year, wandered in a limited space between the settlements of Dulichium and those of Troy. Me, Fortune has borne to the Getic and Sarmatian shores, having traversed distant seas through all the ranges of the seasons. He had a faithful band, and faithful friends had he; me banished, have my companions deserted. He, exulting and a conqueror, sought his country; I, overpowered and an exile, fly from my country. Neither Dulichium, nor Ithaca nor Same is my home (places from which it was no great punishment to be far away); but Rome, the seat of empire and of the Gods, which from her seven hills looks round on the whole earth, is my home. Hardy was his body, and able to endure toil; my powers are but weakly and enfeebled. He was continually engaged in savage warfare; I have been accustomed to the pursuits of refinement. A God has crushed me, there being none to alleviate my woes; to him, the warrior Goddess brought assistance. And whereas he who holds sway over the billowy waves is inferior to Jove; 'twas the wrath of Neptune that pursued him; Jove's anger presses upon me. Besides, the greater part of his labours is fictitious; in my misfortunes, no fabulous story is told. In fine, still did he arrive at his desired home; and still did he reach the fields which long he sought. But by me must the land of my fathers be left for ever, unless the wrath of the incensed Deity become appeased.

Book I, Elegy 6

Not so much was Lyde beloved by the poet of Claros; not so much was Battis adored by him of Cos, as you, my wife, are endeared to my heart, worthy of a husband, less unhappy, though not a kinder one. By you, as though a beam for my support, was my fall upheld; if still I am anything, 'tis all of your giving. 'Tis you that are the cause that I am not become a prey, and am not despoiled by those who have sought the remnants of my shipwreck. As, when hunger stimulates him, the wolf, ravenous and greedy of blood, surprises the unguarded sheepfold; or, as the hungry vulture looks around if he can see any carcase uncovered by the earth — so a certain perfidious wretch, treacherous in my sore adversity, would have fallen on my property, if you had suffered him. Him did your firmness displace, aided by strenuous friends, to whom no sufficient thanks can be returned by me. Therefore are you approved of by the testimony of one as wretched as he is honest; if only that witness has any weight. In fidelity neither is the wife of Hector your superior, nor Laodamia, who followed as a companion in death to her husband. Had it been your lot to gain the Mæonian Homer as your poet, the glory of Penelope had been inferior to yours. Whether is it to yourself you owe it, that you became virtuous by the tuition of no instructress, and that virtue was granted you at the moment of your birth? or is it that the princely woman, venerated by you all your life, has instructed you by the example of a good wife, and, by long practice, has made you like herself? — if it may be allowed me to compare mighty subjects with those of humble nature. Ah me! that my verses have no great weight, and that my praises are inferior to your deserts! If even there was formerly some native vigour in me, it has all departed, extinguished by my prolonged miseries; you ought to have place the first of all among the pious women of story; you ought to be conspicuous, the first of all, for the goodness of your disposition. Yet, so far as any praises of mine shall avail, to all future time shall you live in my verse.

Book I, Elegy 7

If there is any one of you who has a likeness of me in a portrait, take off from my locks the ivy, the garland of Bacchus. Those happy tokens befit only the joyful poet; the garland is not befitting my circumstances. Thou dost not confess it, but thou knowest that this is addressed to thee, thou who dost carry me to and fro on thy finger, and who having set my likeness in the yellow gold, beholdest the beloved features of the exile, so far as it is now possible to do. Oft as thou dost look upon them, perhaps it may occur to thee to say, "How far away from us is our friend Naso I" Pleasing is thy affection; but a more faithful likeness are my verses, which, such as they are, I bid thee read; verses that celebrate the changed forms of men; a work that the wretched exile of its master cut short. These, at my departure, like a good many more of my works, did I myself, in my sorrow, throw into the flames with my own hand. As the daughter of Thestius' is said to have burnt her son by means of the brand, and to have proved a better sister than mother, so did I place the innocent books, my offspring, on the blazing pile, to perish with myself. 'Twas either because I held in abhorrence the Muses, as being the causes of my condemnation; or because my poem was still imperfect, and in an unpolished state. But since these have not been utterly destroyed, but are in existence (I believe that they were written out in several copies), I low pray that they may still exist, and delight the leisure of the reader, not idly spent, and may put him in remembrance of me.

But it is not possible that they can be read with patience by any one, if he shall be ignorant that the finishing hand was not a to them. That work of mine was snatched from the anvil in the midst, and the concluding polish was wanting to my lines. Pardon, too, in place of praise, do I crave; abundantly shall I be praised, reader, if I shall not cause you disgust. Insert, too, these six lines at the beginning of the little book, if thou shalt deem them worthy to be prefixed. Whoever thou art, that art touching these volumes, deprived of their parent, let at least some spot be granted to them in thy City. And, the more to ensure thy favour, 'tis not by himself that they have been made public, but they have been snatched, as it were, from the funeral 'pile of their master. Whatever faults, therefore, the rugged verse in them shall chance to have, these should I have corrected, had it been allowed me so to do.

Book I, Elegy 8

The deep rivers shall flow back again to their sources from the sea, and the sun shall repass his course, having turned his steeds. The earth shall bear stars, the heavens shall be cleft by the plough; the waves shall send forth flames, and the fire shall produce water. All things shall proceed contrary to the laws of nature, and no part of the system shall hold on its usual course. All things shall now come to pass which I was wont to call impossible; and there is nothing which is not worthy of belief. This is my prophecy; because by him have I been deceived, whom I expected to aid me in my wretchedness.

Has so great forgetfulness of me, deceiver, taken possession of thee? Was it so great a disgrace to approach one distress? Wouldst thou neither look upon nor console me, lying prostrate, oh cruel man? Wouldst thou not attend my funeral rites? Is the holy and venerated name of friendship trodden by thee under foot as a worthless thing? What so great matter was it for thee to visit thy companion, prostrated by an affliction so heavy, and to alleviate it by a share of thy discourse? and if not to shed a tear at my misfortunes, yet, at least, to utter a few words of complaint in feigned sorrow? at least, too, to bid me farewell, which even strangers do? and to imitate the language of the many, and the expression of public sorrow? Was it not thy duty on the last day, and while it was allowed thee, to behold, for the last time, my tearful face, never to be beheld again? and to give and receive, with like voice, the farewell, never again to be repeated during all my life? This even those did that were united to me in no intimacy, and they shed tears, the evidence of their feelings. Why was it? even had I not been bound by intimacy and the most stringent reasons, and the attachment that grows in length of time; Why? even if thou hadst not known so much of my moments of relaxation and of my serious hours, and if I had not known so much of thy moments of relaxation and of thy serious hours; Why? I even if thou hadst been only known to me at Rome, thou who wast so often invited by me to every kind of place; have all these things fled as unavailing, amid the blasts of the ocean? Are all these things borne away, sunk amid the streams of Lethe?

I do not believe that thou wast born in the gentle clime of the City of Quirinus, a City never to be paced again by my foot; but rather amid rocks, which this coast of Pontus, lying to the left, claims as its own, and amid the savage steeps of Scythia and of Sarmatia. Round thy heart, too, are veins made of flint, and the ore of iron possesses thy hardened breast. The nurse, also, which once gave thee her full breast, to be drawn by thy tender mouth, was a tigress, otherwise thou wouldst have thought my loss less a matter of indifference to thee than thou now dost, and thou wouldst not now be convicted by me of hardness of heart. But since this, too, is added to my destined evils, that my recent life should miss its wonted harmony of friendship, do thou cause me not to bear in remembrance this lapse of thine, but rather that, with the same lips with which I complain, I should also proclaim thy affection.

Book I, Elegy 9

May it be granted thee to arrive at the limit of life free from misfortune, thou who readest this work with no unfriendly feeling towards me. And would that these prayers of mine may be of avail for thee, which have not moved the cruel Deities in my behalf. So long as thou shalt be fortunate, thou wilt number many friends; if the weather becomes o'ercast, thou wilt be alone. Thou seeest how the pigeons resort to the whitened roofs, and how the begrimed turret receives no bird. The ants never proceed to empty granaries; no friend will attend the ruin of the wealthy. And just as the shadow accompanies those who walk in the rays of the sun, but flies when he lies hid overwhelmed with clouds, e'en so does the crowd follow the brightness of Fortune, and departs, soon as it is obscured by night coming on. It is my prayer that this may always appear a fiction to thee, but that it is the truth must be confessed by my experience. While I stood erect, a house, well known, but, of no pretensions, entertained a circle sufficiently large. But, soon as that house was shaken, all dreaded the crash, and, in their caution, joined the common flight. And I am not surprised if they do fear the ruthless thunderbolts, by whose fires they see each nearest object blasted. But yet in an enemy hated ever so much, Cæsar approves of him that adheres as a friend in adversity; and he is not wont to be angered (indeed, no one is more lenient than he) if a person loves him still in his affliction, whom he has loved before. Thoas himself is said to have approved of Pylades, when he learned the story of the friend of Argive Orestes. The faithful ties that existed between the son of Actor and the great Achilles used to be praised by the lips of Hector. They say that the God of Tartarus grieved that the affectionate Theseus had attended his friend to the shades below. Tis worthy, Turnus, of belief, that thou didst bedew thy cheeks with tears when the attachment of Nisus and Euryalus was related to thee. Towards the wretched, there is a duty, which, even by an enemy is praised. Ah, me! how few are moved by these words of mine! Such are my circumstances, such is the downfall of my fortunes, that no limit ought to be set to anguish.

But my heart, though filled with sadness at my own lot, is made joyful at thy advancement. I foresaw, dearest friend, that this would come to pass, while a gentler breeze was still speeding on thy bark. If there is any value in good morals, or in a life free from stain, no one will be more deserving of esteem than thee; or if any one has raised himself through the liberal arts; through thy eloquence, every cause becomes a good one. Influenced by these considerations, I forthwith said to thee, a wide field, my friend, awaits thy endowments. Not the entrails of sheep, not the thunders on my left, or the voice or the wing -f some bird observed by me told me this. Reason is my augury, and my estimate of the future; from this did I predict, mi from facts did I derive this knowledge. And since now it is verified, with all my heart do I congratulate myself and thee that thy genius did not escape me. But would that mine had lain concealed in the deepest shades! It were my interest that fame had not attended my productions. And as, eloquent man, serious studies promote thy welfare, so have those of no like character been my ruin. And yet my life is well known to thee; thou knowest that the morals of the author refrained from the pursuits therein dedicated. Thou knowest that the poem was sportively composed by me long ago, when a youth; and that those lines, although worthy of no encouragement, are yet but so many sportive trifles. Therefore, as I think that my sins can by no plea be defended, so do I beheve that they may yet be palliated. So far as thou canst, excuse me; and forsake not the cause of thy friend. Mayst thou always proceed well in the steps in which thou hast commenced to go.

Book I, Elegy 10

The yellow-haired Minerva has the guardianship of my bark, and long may she hold it, I pray; from the helmet, too, painted therein, does it take its name. Is there need for spreading sail? She runs well at the very slightest breeze; are the oars to be plied? with them she hastens on her way. Nor is she contented to surpass her companions in the swiftness of her course; she overtakes the vessels that have gone out of harbour ever so long before. She makes head against the seas; she bears up against the waves that assail her, rolling from afar; and, when struck by the raging billows, she springs no leak. She, first known to me at Cenchreæ, of Corinth, abides as the faithful leader and companion of my flight. And, throughout so many casualties, and through so many seas lashed by the hostile gales, under the tutelage of Pallas, is she safe and sound. Now, too, I pray, may she cleave her way in safety along the straits of the extended Pontus; and may she enter the waves of the Getic shore, whither she is steering.

After she had brought me to the sea of the Æolian Helle, and proceeded on her long voyage between the narrow limits, we bent our course to the left, and from the city of Hector we came to thy harbours, land of Imbros. Then, after having made the shores of Zerynthus with a gentle breeze, the weary bark touched at the Thracian Samos. From this spot to Tempyra is but a short passage for the traveller; up to this point did she accompany her master; but I preferred to travel by land over the Bistonian plains. Again she sailed over the waters of the Hellespont; and steered for Dardania, that bears the name of its founder, and thee, Lampsacus, safe under the care of thy rustic God, and where the sea divides Sestos from the city of Abydos, by means of the straits named after the virgin that was so badly carried; and thence, Cyzicus, situated on the shores of Propontis, the renowned work of the Hæmonian nation; and where the coasts of Byzantium skirt the entrance of Pontus; (this spot is a vast inlet to two seas). May she pass these spots, I pray; and, impelled by the fresh south winds, may she bravely pass the moving isles of Cyanea; and may she steer her way along the Thynnian bays; and thence impelled past the city of Apollo, may she pass on her course the walls of Anchialus. Thence may she pass the harbours of Mesembria and Odessus, and the towers, Bacchus, that are called after thy name, and where they say that those sprung from the city of Alcathous re-established their exiled homes in these parts. Thence may she arrive in safety at the city sprung from Miletus, whither the wrath of the offended God has driven me. If she arrives thither, a lamb shall be slain to Minerva, meriting it; a larger sacrifice does not suit my circumstances. Do you also, ye brothers, sons of Tyndarus, whom this island holds in veneration, be present with your favouring protection, on my two-fold journey. For the one ship is preparing to steer her course through the straits of the Symplegades, while the other is about to cleave the Bistonian waters. Grant ye, that when we are going on our way to different points, the one may have favouring breezes, and the othe may have them not less favourable.

Book I, Elegy 11

Every letter that has been read by thee in the whole of this book was composed by me at the time of an anxious voyage. Either the Adriatic sea beheld me writing it in the midst of its waves, while I was shivering in the month of December; or, after I had passed on my route the Isthmus of the two Seas, and another ship was taken for my voyage. I verily believe that the Ægean Cyclades were astounded that I could compose verses amid the jarring tumults of the ocean. I myself am now surprised, that, amid such billowy conflicts both of my spirit and of the sea, my genius did not vanish. Whether insensibility or madness is the proper name for this anxious feeling, my intellect was entirely upheld by this pursuit. Ofttimes was I tossed, full of apprehension, under the influence of the stormy Constellation of the Kids; often was the sea threatening under the Constellation of Sterope, the keeper, too, of the Erymanthian bear made the day o'ercast; or the South, wind had heaped the raging torrents on the Hyades. Often did she ship a sea; yet still, with trembhng hand, did I compose my verses, such as they are. Now, the rigging rattles, blown out by the North wind, and the curving wave rises like a hill aloft. The helmsman himself, raising his hands to the stars, forgetful of his art, implores aid in his prayers. Whichever way I look, there is nothing but the form of death, which, with anxious mind, I fear, and, as I fear, I pray. If I gain my port, by that very port I shall be frightened; the shore has more horrors for me than the hostile waves. For by the deceit both of men and of the ocean am I buffeted, and the sword and the wave give me double grounds for fear. I fear lest the one, through shedding my blood, should hope for my spoil, and lest the other should wish to have the credit of my death. The part on my left hand is a barbarous region, surrounded by greedy rapine; a region which bloodshed, slaughter, and wars are always in possession of. And, although the sea be agitated by the wintry storms, yet is my breast more agitated than the sea itself. Therefore thou oughtst, candid reader, the more to pardon these lines, if they are, as really they are, inferior to thy expectation. These I write not, as once I did, amid my gardens; nor dost thou, my wonted little couch, now receive my body. I am tossed on the unruly deep on a wintry day, and my very paper is dashed o'er by the azure waves. The boisterous storm battles and rages because I dare to write, while it hurls its cruel threats. Let the storm prove stronger than man. Yet, at the same instant, I pray that I may put an end to my lines it to its threats.