Book III

Book III, Elegy 1

I, the book of a trembling exile, sent hither, am come to this City; give me a soothing hand in my weariness, friendly reader; fear not that by chance I should prove a disgrace to thee; there is no line in this sheet that gives precepts for love. The fortune of my master is not of that kind that he ought, in his wretchedness, to gloss it over with any jesting. That work, too, which once, to his cost, he sportively composed in his youthful years, he now, too late, alas! condemns and abhors. Look at my contents: thou wilt see nothing here but what is sorrowful, in verses befitted to their circumstances. That my limping verses halt in each alternate line, either the nature of the measure, or the length of my journey, is the cause. I am neither yellow with cedar oil, nor smoothed with the pumice stone; 'tis because I was ashamed to be more gay than my master. The reason why my smeared letters have blots scattered over them is, that the poet himself has disfigured the work with his tears. If, perchance, anything shall appear not to be expressed in the Latin idiom, the land in which he wrote me was a barbarous one. Tell me, my readers, if it is not a trouble to you, whither I must go, and what abodes in this City I, a stranger book, must seek. When I had stealthily said thus much with a stammering tongue, there was hardly even one person who would show me the way. "May the Gods grant thee what they have not given my parent, to he able to live at thy ease in thy own country. Lead on, I pray, for I follow; although, weary, I am come by land and sea from a distant region. He obeyed my request, and conducting me, he said," This is the Forum of Cæsar; this is the way which derives its name from the Sacred rites. This is the shrine of Vesta, which contains the Palladium and the eternal fire; this was the little palace of the ancient Numa. Then, bearing to the right, he said, "That is the gate of the Palatium; this is Jupiter Stator's temple: on this spot was Rome first founded. While I was admiring each object, I beheld a portal gorgeous with shining arms, and a habitation worthy of a Deity." Is this the house of Jove? said I, for a wreath of oak-leaves caused a presentiment in my mind for taking it to be such. When I learned who was its owner, I said, I am not deceived, and it is true that this is the house of the great Jove. But why is the gate wreathed with the laurel fastened to it, and why does the overshadowing tree surround the doors of majesty? Is it because this one house has deserved everlasting triumphs? or is it because it has been ever beloved by the Leucadian God? Is it that it is festive itself, or because it makes everything joyful? or is that an emblem of the peace which it has bestowed on all lands? As the laurel is always green, and is not plucked with withering leaves; has that house, in like manner, perpetual glory? The cause of the wreath thus placed above, testified by an inscription, declares that the citizens were saved by his aid. Add, most excellent Father, one citizen to the number of the saved; one who, banished afar, lies prostrate in the remotest regions. In him, not criminality, but his own inadvertence, gave occasion for that punishment, which he confesses himself to have deserved. Wretched me; I both dread the place, and I venerate its master, and the writing on me shakes with tremulous fear. Dost thou perceive how my paper becomes white with a pallid colour? Dost thou behold how my alternating feet tremble? That thou, house of Cæsar, one day appeased by my parent, mayst always be seen under the same masters, is my prayer.

Thence, in similar manner, I was led by lofty steps to the white temple, situate on high, of Apollo the unshorn God; where the descendants of Belus and their barbarous father, with his drawn sword, stand as statues, alternately with the columns of foreign marble; and where, those things which the ancients and the moderns have conceived in their learned breasts,?.re made public for the inspection of readers. I sought my brothers, those, forsooth, excepted, whom my parent would fain wish he had never begotten. As I was seeking them in vain, the keeper appointed over that place ordered me to leave the holy spot.

I turned my steps to another temple, adjoining to the neighbouring theatre; this, too, was not allowed to be approached by my feet. Liberty did not permit me to touch her halls, which, first of all, were thrown open for the reception of learned works. The destinies of my wretched author extend to his progeny, and we, his children, suffer the exile which he himself has endured. Perhaps Cæsar, prevailed upon in length of time, will one day be less severe with us and with him. Ye Gods, I pray, and thou Cæsar too, (indeed, to the rest I direct not my entreaties), listen, most powerful God, to my prayers. Meanwhile, since a public place has been denied me, let it be allowed me to lurk in some private spot. And do you, hands of the Plebeians, if it is permitted, receive my verses, ashamed through the disgrace of their rejection.

Book III, Elegy 2

Was it then ordained by my destiny, that I should visit Scythia and the land which lies under the Lycaonian pole? And did not you, Pierian maids, nor thou, son of Latona, a learned body, give aid to your priest? Is it of no avail to me, that I sportively composed without any real ground of offence, and that my Muse was more wanton than my mode of life? But Pontus, pinched with perpetual frost, confines me, after I have undergone many a danger, by sea and by land. I, who avoided business, and was born to careless ease, who formerly was delicate, and unable to endure fatigue, am now suffering in the extreme: and yet neither could seas without harbours, nor varied modes of travel, put an end to me. My mind bore up, too, under my misfortunes; for, from it, my body derived strength, and endured things almost beyond endurance.

But while I was tossed to and fro by wind and waves, occupation beguiled my cares and the sadness of my heart. When my wanderings were concluded, and the fatigue of travelling had ceased, and the land of my exile was reached by me, then my only pleasure was in weeping, and a shower flowed from my eyes, not less than the stream from, the wintry snows. The Roman City and my home recur to me, and longing for my former haunts, and whatever remains connected with me in that City, now lost to me. Ah, wretched me! that so oft the gate of my tomb should have been knocked at, and yet at no time opened! Why did I escape so many weapons, and why did no storm, when so often threatening, overwhelm my wretched head?

Ye Gods, whom I experience as too constant in your hostility, whom one Divinity has as partners in his wrath, urge on, I pray, my lingering destiny, and forbid the gates of death to be longer closed to me.

Book III, Elegy 3

If, perchance, you are wondering why this letter of mine is written by the hand of another, 'tis because I was ill. Ill, tooy at the very extremity of an unknown region, and almost in doubt of my life. What, do you suppose, are my feelings, now placed here in this dreadful country, between the Sauromatæ and the Getæ? I can neither endure the open air, nor can I accustom myself to the water here; and the country itself is repulsive to I know not what degree. My habitation is not sufficiently convenient; the food here is unsuited for an invalid, and there is no one to relieve disease by the art of Apollo. There is no friend nigh to console me, no one to beguile my moments with his conversation, as they slowly creep along. I am lying here worn out, among the remotest tribes and regions; and whatever is at a distance, now recurs to mc, thus indisposed. And though all things so recur; yet you, my wife, are chief of all, and occupy more than your equal share in my heart. I address you far away; my voice names you only; no night, no day comes to me without you. They even say, that I speak so wildly, that your name is ever on my wandering lips. If at any time, my mouth being closed, my voice fails me, scarcely to be restored by pouring wine down my throat, any one should tell me that his mistress is come, I should arise at once, and the hope of seeing you would be a source of strength to me, I am then in doubts as to my life; are you, perchance, forgetful of me, there, at a distance, passing a happy life? You are not doing so, I affirm it; I am sure, O dearest one! that without me life is only passed in sadness by you.

If, however, my fate has completed the number of years which it was destined to complete, and the end of my life is so very near at hand, how grand a thing was it, ye great Gods, to spare a man on the point of death! at least, I might have received sepulture in my native land. Either my punishment might have been delayed to the moment of my death, or an accelerated end might have forestalled my exile. Unscathed, I might but lately have well left this world in happiness; but now, my life has been granted me, that I might die an exile. Shall I then depart, so far away in unknown regions? and will death be embittered by the very spot? Will my body not waste away on my wonted couch? will there be no one to lament me at my sepulture? and will not a few moments be added to my life, as the tears of my wife fall upon my face? And shall I give no last injunctions? And shall no friendly hand close my failing eyes, amid the sobs attending my last moments? But shall barbarian earth cover this head, unlamented, without funereal rites, and without the honour of a tomb? And will you not, when you hear of it, be afflicted to the greatest degree; and will you not beat your faithful bosom with a trembling hand?? And will you not, as you vainly stretch your arms in this direction, call upon the departed name of your wretched husband? Yet desist from tearing your cheeks, and rend not your hair. I shall not then, my life, have been torn from you for the first time. When I left my country, fancy that then I died; that was the first and the more grievous death to me. Now, if you but could, (but you cannot), rejoice, best of wives, that my many troubles are ended in death. As far as you can, diminish your griefs, by enduring them with a courageous heart, evils against which you have already had your mind too well prepared. And oh! that my soul would perish with my body, and that no part of me would escape the consuming pile! For if my immortal spirit soars aloft into the vacant air, and the words of the Samian sage are true, a Roman shade will be wandering amid Sarmatian ghosts, and will ever be a stranger amid uncivilized spirits.

ij Yet do you cause my bones to be brought back in a little urn; and thus I shall not be an exile, even when dead. No one forbids thee. The Theban sister placed her slain brother in the tomb, even when the king forbade it. And do you mingle them, with leaves and powdered amomum, and place them, when inurned, in the ground near the City. And cut an inscription in large characters on the marble of my tomb, which the traveller may read with glancing eye: — "I who lie here, the poet Naso, the sportive composer of tender loves, was undone through my own genius. And let it not be a hardship for thee, the passer-by, who has felt what is love, to say, 'May the bones of Naso repose herein peace."

This is enough for my inscription; for, indeed, my books are greater and more lasting memorials of me. And these, I trust, although they have injured him, will give fame and lasting years to the author. But do you perform the funereal rites for me when dead, and offer chaplets wet with your tears. Although the fire shall have changed my body into ashes, yet the sad dust will be sensible of your pious affection. Fain would I write more; but my voice, weary with speaking, and my parched tongue, deny me strength to dictate. Receive the farewell uttered by me, perhaps for the last time, and which applies not to the lot of him who sends it you.

Book III, Elegy 4

O thou! always beloved by me, but especially in adversity, after my fortunes were ruined; if thou puttest any faith in a man taught by experience, live for thyself, and keep at a distance from the names of the great. Live for thyself, and, so far as thou canst, avoid splendour. It is from a resplendent heaven that the ruthless lightning descends. For although the powerful alone are able to aid, if one of them can do thee harm, he would not choose rather to do thee a service. The sailyard, hanging low, escapes the wintry storms, and wide sails cause more fear than small ones. Thou beholdest how light cork floats on the surface of the water, whereas the heavy weight sinks, together with itself, the net attached thereto. If I, now the adviser, had only been formerly advised of these things, I, perhaps, should now have been in the City in which I ought to be. While I lived in intimacy with thee, while a gentle breeze was bearing me on, this bark of mine ran through still waters. The man that falls on smooth ground (scarcely, however, does such a thing happen), falls so, that when he has touched the ground, he can rise again; but the wretched Elpenor, falling from the top of the house, met his king as a miserable phantom. Why did it happen that Daedalus waved his wings in safety, whereas Icarus impressed the boundless waters with his name? It is because the latter soared aloft, and the former ei at a more humble distance. And yet did not they each of them have wings for himself?

Believe me, he who has the good fortune to escape notice lives the happiest life, and every one ought to hve within his means. Eumedes would not have been deprived of his son if, in his folly, he had not hankered after the horses of Achilles. And Merops would not have seen his son in flames, and his daughters changed mio trees, had he, as being his father, owned Phaeton. Do thou, too, always shun what is too lofty, and, remembering my determination, gather in thy sails. For thou deservest to pass along the course of life without a stumbling foot, and to enjoy a happier lot. That I should entertain these wishes for thee, thou deservest for thy kind affection, and thy fidelity that will adhere to me at all times. I beheld thee, bewailing my destiny, with such a countenance as may be supposed to have been presented by my own visage. I beheld thy tears as they fell over my face; at the time that I drank in thy words breathing constancy. And now thou defendest thy distant friend with energy, and dost alleviate evils that can hardly be alleviated in any degree. Live on, without envy; pass in obscurity thy tranquil years, and attach thy equals to thyself in friendship. Love, too, the name of thy own Naso, the only part of him which is not yet exiled. The Scythian Pontus confines the rest of him. The land nearest to the Constellation of the Erymanthian She-bear, pinched with hard frosts, confines me. Bosphorus and Tanais, and the swamps of Scythia, and a few other names of a region almost unknown, are beyond. Further than these, there is nothing but uninhabitable cold. Alas! how near to me is the end of the earth! But my country is afar; afar my dearest wife; and whatever, besides these two, was delightful to me. Yet so are they afar from me, that, in my mind, those can all be seen whom, bodily, it is not possible to touch. Before my eyes, flit my home, the City, and the aspect of the various spots; and then follows, in order, everything as it happens in its appropriate place. The form of my wife, as though she were present, is before my eyes. She both increases my misfortunes and she alleviates them. She increases them, because she is absent; she alleviates them, by shewing her affection; and she bears with firmness the burden that is imposed on her.

You, too, my friends, remain attached to my heart; you, whom I long to mention, each by name. But cautious fear restrains this act of duty, and I believe that you would prefer not to be inserted in my lines. Once you were anxious for it; and it was as good as a pleasing mark of distinction, for your names to be read in my compositions. But, as now it is a matter of doubt, I will address each one in my own thoughts, and to none of you will I be a cause of apprehension. My verses, shall betray my concealed friends by no hint; if any one has been attached to me in secret, let him still be attached. But know that although I am removed to a distant land, you are always present to my thoughts. So far as each of you can, do alleviate my misfortunes in some degree; and refuse not a faithful hand to me, thus prostrate. May Fortune be ever propitious to you; and may you never, experiencing a similar lot, have to implore the aid of others.

Book III, Elegy 5

The extent of my acquaintanceship with thee was not great, so that thou mightst have concealed it without any difficulty, hadst thou not united me to thyself in closer ties, while my bark, perchance, sped on with favouring gales. When I fell, and all fled through fear of my wreck, and turned their backs upon my acquaintanceship, thou didst dare to touch a body struck by the bolts of Jove, and to enter the threshold of a woe-stricken house. And that, thou, a recent acquaintance, and known by no prolonged intimacy, didst do, which scarcely two or three of my old friends did for wretched me. I beheld thy alarmed countenance, and I marked what I saw. I beheld thy face bedewed with tears, and more pale than my own; and, seeing thy tears as they fell at each word, I drank in those tears with my face, those words with my ears. I felt, too, thy arms, as they hung around my sorrowing neck, and thy kisses, mingled with the sound of thy sobs. By thy efforts, too, Carus, in my absence, am I defended. Thou knowest that Carus is put in the stead of thy real name. I receive, besides, many tokens of thy evident kindness, that will never be effaced from my heart. May the Gods grant thee power ever to defend thy friends, and mayst thou assist them on a more fortunate occasion. But if, in the mean time, thou makest inquiry what I, a ruined man, am doing in these parts, (and I may suppose that thou dost make the inquiry), I am influenced by a slight hope (and do not thou deprive me of it) that the offended Majesty of the God can be appeased. Whether I am rash in my expectations, or whether it is possible to attain that object, do thou prove to me, I pray, that what I desire is possible. And, whatever eloquence of language thou possessest, employ it for the purpose of showing that my wishes may possibly attain success. For the greater any one is, the more placable is he in his anger, and a noble disposition easily receives an impression. It is sufficient for the noble-hearted lion to have brought the body to the ground; the contest is ended when the enemy lies prostrate. But the wolf and the disgusting bears attack even the dying, and so does each wild beast that is inferior in nobleness of blood. What have we greater at Troy than the brave Achilles? He was not proof against the tears of the Dardanian old man. Porus, and the ceremonial of the celebrated funeral, show how great was the clemency of the Emathian general. And not to mention cases where the wrath of mortals has been turned into milder feelings; he who once was her enemy, is now the son-in-law of Juno. Besides, it is impossible that I can despair of some favour, as the cause of my punishment is not one deserving of death. The life of Cæsar, which is a life belonging to the whole world, has not been attempted by me, endeavouring to spread universal ruin. I have said nothing, nor has my tongue uttered threats; and no profane words have been let slip, in excess of wine. I am punished, because my unguarded eyes were witnesses of a sin; and my crime is, that I had eyes. For my part, I cannot entirely defend my fault; but mistake embraces a part of my accusation. A hope therefore remains, that that will cause him to moderate my punishment, on the terms of a change of the place of my exile. I pray that the brilliant Lightbearing star, the forerunner of the beauteous Sun, may bring on that day, pressing onward his steed.

Book III, Elegy 6

Thou neither desirest, my dearest friend, nor canst thou, shouldst thou perchance desire it, conceal the ties of our friendship. For so long as it was permitted me, no one was dearer to me than thee, nor was any one in all the City more intimate with thee than myself; and that was so well proved to the public, that our friendship was almost better known, than thou and I were, ourselves. The kindness that exists in thy mind towards thy friends, is known to the man whom thou makest thy friend. Thou wast wont to conceal nothing, so that I was not conscious of it; and thou didst impart many things to be concealed in my breast. Thou, too, wast the only one to whom I used to tell whatever secrets I had, except that one which has proved my ruin. Hadst thou known that, as well, thou wouldst have been blessed with thy friend in safety, and I should have been saved, my friend, by thy advice. But, doubtless, my destinies dragged me onwards to destruction, and closed every avenue to my own benefit.

However, whether by caution I could have avoided this misfortune, or whether no reasoning is able to control destiny, still do thou, most closely united to me by lengthened intimacy, and thyself almost the greatest object of my regrets, keep me in remembrance; and, if favour has given thee any influence, make use of it, I pray, in my behalf; so that the anger of the offended Deity may be less violent, and my punishment may be lessened by a change of locality. And this I ask thee, since there is no criminality in my heart, and mistake holds the chief place in my offence. It is no light matter, nor is it safe to say, by what accident my eyes became acquainted with so shocking a disaster. My mind, too, shudders at that time, as though at its own wounds, and by the recollection, my grief itself is renewed. Whatever can be productive of such disgrace, is proper to be concealed in the obscurity of the night. I will, then, mention nothing, except that I offended; but that from that fault no advantage was sought to be gained by me; and that my offence ought rather to be styled foolishness, if you would give a thing its proper name. And if this is not the ruth, seek some other place, where I may be still more distant, and let this region be but a city suburb in comparison to it.

Book III, Elegy 7

My letter, now you are finished, go forthwith, the faithful messenger of my words, to salute Perilla. You will either find her sitting with her charming mother, or among her books and her Muses. Whatever she shall be doing, she will leave it, when she knows that you have come; there will be no delay; she will ask why you have come, and what I am doing? You will say that I am living; but in such a way that I would prefer not to be living; and you will say, that my woes have not been alleviated in such a length of time; that I have returned to the Muses, though they have proved my ruin, and that I am fitting my words to alternate measures. Do you say, too, Why dost thou apply thyself to ordinary pursuits, and why dost thou compose learned poems in Greek, and after a manner not that of thy country? For nature, with the Destinies, has granted thee chaste manners, and rare endowments and genius. I was the first that led thy genius to the Pegasian streams, lest the spring of gushing water should unfortunately be wasted. I was the first to perceive it in thy tender years, when yet a girl; and, as is seen, I was the guide and the companion of this tendency. Therefore, if the same fires still dwell in thy breast, the Lesbian Sappho will be the only poetess to excel thy works. But I fear that my fortune may now retard thee, and that thy spirit may flag after my downfall. While there was the opportunity, often didst thou read thy own works to me; often did I read mine to thee. I either gave my attention to the verses thou hadst just composed, or when thou hadst neglected to do so, I was the cause of a blush. Perhaps, after my example, because my books injured me, thou, too, hast traced retribution in my punishment. Lay aside thy fears, Perilla; only let no woman be led astray, or learn from thy writings how to love.

Lay aside, then, most learned girl, all grounds for slothfulness, and return to the liberal arts and to thy pursuits. That beautiful form will be spoiled by length of years, and the wrinkle of age will be on thy antiquated brow. Withering old age, too, which comes with noiseless step, will lay his hand on thy good looks. And when any one shall say, She once was a beauty, thou wilt grieve and wilt complain that thy mirror is deceitful. Thy means are but moderate, although thou art most deserving of great wealth; but fancy that thy means are equal in amount to immense riches. For, in good truth. Fortune both gives to whom she pleases, and takes away again; and he is Irus on a sudden, who was Croesus the moment before. Why should I enter into details?? We have nothing that is not perishable except the blessings of the heart and of the intellect. Behold how I am deprived of my country, yourselves, and my home, and how everything has been torn from me that could be taken away; and yet I have my genius as my companion and source of enjoyment; over this, Cæsar could hold no sway. Let who pleases put an end to my life with the cruel sword, yet when I am dead, my fame will survive me, and, so long as victorious Rome, sprung from Mars, shall look down from the hills on the whole earth subdued, my writings will be read. And do thou too, whom may a happier result of thy studies await, so far as thou canst, avoid extinction in time to come.

Book III, Elegy 8

At this instant could I wish to ascend the chariot of Triptolemus, who planted the unknown seed in the ground then unused to it. At this moment could I wish to harness the dragon-steeds of Medea, which she had, Corinth, at her flight from thy citadel. At this moment could I wish to assume the waving wings, either thine, O Perseus, or thine, O Daedalus; that, the thin air yielding to my flight, I might on a sudden behold the delightful soil of my native land, and the face of my deserted home, and my companions that still remember me, and, chief of all, the dear features of my wife.

Fool! why, with thy childish desires, dost thou vainly hanker after that which no day brings thee, or will bring thee I If this must ever be thy ardent desire, pray to the divine power of Augustus, and address in prayer that God, whose wrath thou hast experienced: he is able to give thee both the wings and the swift chariot. Should he grant thy return, at once thou wilt be fitted with wings.

Should I pray for these things, (and more I cannot pray for,) I fear that my prayers would be too exorbitant. Perhaps, at a future day, when his anger shall have expended itself, this favour will have to be asked by me with anxious mind; meantime, what is less than that, but equal to an ample boon to me, would that he would order me to depart from this region to any other place: neither the climate, nor the water, nor the soil, nor the air agrees with me, and a perpetual weakness pervades my body. Whether it is that the contagion of a diseased mind affects my limbs, or whether the cause of my illness lies in the situation of the place: soon as I arrived in Pontus, sleeplessness distressed me; my leanness scarcely kept my bones covered, and food became repulsive to my palate. That hue which exists in leaves smitten with the first cold in autumn, and which the fresh-come winter has nipped, the same do my limbs present, I obtain relief by no medicines, and some occasion for complaining misery is never wanting.

I am not more healthy in my mind than in my body; both of them are equally affected with infirmity, and twofold ills do I endure. The hideous aspect of my fate haunts me, and stands before my eyes to be scanned, just as if it were a body that could be seen. When I look on the spot, the manners of afterwards became a proverbial expression for a beggar. Croesus was the rich king of Lydia, who was conquered by Cyrus the Great. His wealth was so enormous that his name passed into a proverb, meaning the very converse of that of Irus the people, their dress, and their language, and it occurs to me what I am, and what I have been, so great is my desire for death that I complain of the wrath of Cæsar, because he did not avenge his grievances with the sword; but since he has once satisfied his hatred by legal means, may my exile, I pray, become more tolerable by a change of situation.

Book III, Elegy 9

Here too, then, do Grecian cities exist: who could have believed it! here, among the names of savage barbarism. Hither, too, have come the colonists sent from Miletus, and among the Getæ have they founded Grecian homes. But the ancient name of this spot, and one, older than the city built here, was clearly derived from the murder of Absyrtus. For the impious Medea, flying from her deserted father in a ship which, made by the care of the warlike Minerva, was the first to speed through waves which before were untried, is said to have plied her oars in these fords. Soon as the sentinel beheld her father from the lofty hill, — "A stranger comes from Colchis, he cries; I recognize the sails. While the Minyans are hastening, while the rope is being loosened from the quay, while the anchor, drawn up, follows their swift hands, the Colchian dame, conscious of her crimes, beats her bosom; she who had dared, and who was to dare, many impious deeds with her own hand. Although abundance of audacity remains in her spirit, paleness is impressed on the astonished features of the virgin. "When, therefore, she beholds afar the approaching sails, she says," We are overtaken; and my father must be delayed by some stratagem. While she is considering what to do, while she turns her eyes on every side, by chance she fixes them, as they turn towards, her brother. When his presence occurs to her, we are the conquerors, says she; "he, by his death, shall be productive of my safety. On the instant, with the cruel sword, she pierces his innocent side, he not suspecting it, and fearing no such fate; and she tears him in pieces, and scatters his limbs, torn asunder, about the fields, so as to be found in many places; and that her father may not be ignorant of it, she exposes on a lofty rock both the pallid hands and the head dripping with blood, in order that her parent may be arrested in his course by a new sorrow, and that he may be delayed on his sad road, while he is gathering up the lifeless limbs. Thence was this place called Tomi; because in it the sister is said to have cut to pieces the limbs of her brother.

Book III, Elegy 10

If any one, yonder, remembers the banished Naso, and if, without me, my name still survives in the City, let him know that I am living in the midst of barbarism, exposed under stars that never set in the ocean. The Sauromatæ, a savage race, the Bessi and the Getæ surround me, names how unworthy of my genius to mention! yet, while the air is mild, we are defended by the intervening Danube; while it flows, it repels invasion by its waves. But when dire winter has put forth his rugged face, and the earth has become white with ice, hard as marble; when Boreas is at liberty, and snow has been sent upon the regions under the Bear; then it is true that these nations are distressed by a shivering climate. The snow lies deep; and as it lies, neither sun nor rains melt it; Boreas hardens it, and makes it endure for ever: hence, when the former ice has not yet melted, fresh succeeds, and in many a place it is wont to last for two years.

So great is the strength of the North wind, when aroused, that it levels high towers with the ground, and carries off roofs borne away; the inhabitants poorly defend themselves from the cold by skins and sewn trowsers; and of the whole body, the face is the only part exposed. Often, the hair, as it is moved, rattles with the pendant icicle, and the white beard shines with the ice that has formed upon it. Liquid wine becomes solid, preserving the form of the vessel: they do not quaff draughts of liquor, but pieces which are presented.

Why shall I mention how the frozen rivers become hard, and how brittle water is dug out of the streams. The Danube itself, which, no narrower than the river that bears the papyrus, mingles, through many mouths with the vast ocean, freezes as the winds harden its azure streams, and it rolls to the sea with covered waters; where ships had gone, they now walk on foot; and the hoof of the horse strikes the waters hardened by freezing. Sarmatian oxen drag the uncouth waggons along unwonted bridges, as the waters roll beneath; indeed, I shall scarcely be believed; but inasmuch as there is no profit in untruths, an eye-witness ought to receive full confidence. I have seen the vast sea frozen with ice, and a slippery crust covered over the unmoved waters. To have seen it is not enough: I have trod upon the hardened ocean, and the surface of the water was under my foot, not wetted hy it. If, Leander, in days of old thou hadst had such a sea, thy death would not have been a charge laid against the narrow stream. At that time, too, the curved dolphins cannot raise themselves to the air; the severity of the winter hinders them striving to do so; and, although Boreas resounds with agitated wings, there is not a wave on the sea then blocked up. The ships stand, hemmed in by the frost, as though by marble, and no oar can cleave the stiffened water.

I have seen fish remain bound fast in ice, and even then some part of them retained life; whether, therefore, the severe power of the mighty Boreas congeals the waters of the sea, or those flowing in the river, immediately, the Danube being made level by the drying Northern blasts, the barbarous enemy is carried over on his swift steed: an enemy, strong in horses, and in the arrow that flies from afar, depopulates the neighbouring region far and wide. Some take to flight, and no one being left to protect the fields, the unguarded property becomes a prey; such as cattle, and the creaking waggons, the little treasures of the country, and the riches besides that the poor inhabitant possesses; some are driven along as captives, with their arms fastened behind their backs, looking back in vain upon their fields and their homes; some die in torments, pierced by barbed arrows, for on the winged steel there is a poison, in which it has been dipped. What they cannot carry with themselves, or lead away, they destroy, and the flames of the enemy consume the unoffending cottages; even when there is peace, they cause alarm from the apprehension of war, and no one ploughs the ground with the pressed ploughshare. This spot either beholds the enemy, or is always in dread of a foe which it does not behold; the earth deserted, becomes worthless, left untilled in ruinous neglect. Here the luscious grape does not lie concealed under the shade of the foliage, and the fermenting new wine does not fill the deep vats; the country does not bear fruit, and Acontius would have nothing here on which to write a line to his mistress. You may behold naked plains without trees — without leaves; places, alas! not to be visited by a fortunate man! Since, then, the extensive globe is so wide, has this land been discovered for the purpose of my punishment?

Book III, Elegy 11

If thou art one, unfeeling man, to insult my misfortunes, and endlessly, in thy cruelty;o persecute me with accusations, surely thou wast born of a rock, and nourished with the milk of savage beasts; I should say, too, that flint fills thy breast. What further lengths remain, to which thy anger can proceed? or what dost thou see to be wanting to my misery? A barbarous region, the inhospitable shores of Pontus, and the Mænalian she-bear, with her attendant Boreas, behold me. I have no intercourse in language with this savage nation; all places for me are filled with anxious apprehensions. As the fleeing stag, when caught by the greedy bears, or as the lamb, when surrounded by the mountain wolves, trembles, so am I filled with dread; hemmed in on every side by warlike tribes, while the enemy almost pierces my side. Suppose it were a trifling punishment to be deprived of my dear wife, my country, and my pledges of affection; suppose I suffered no misfortune, but barely the wrath of Cæsar — is the bare wrath of Cæsar too light a misfortune to me? And yet there is one who can handle again my bleeding wounds; and who can open his eloquent lips against my morals? On an easy subject every one can be eloquent; and but little strength is required to break what is already bruised. It is true courage to overthrow towns and standing walls: tis only cowards that destroy what is already prostrate. I am not what once I was. Why dost thou trample on an empty shadow? Why with stones dost thou press upon my ashes and my tomb? Twas Hector himself, at the time when he fought in battle; but he who was fastened to the Hæmonian horses was not Hector: remember, too, that I am not the person whom thou didst formerly know — the phantom only of that person is left. Why, insulter, dost thou persecute a phantom with reproachful words? Cease, I pray, to harass the mere ghost of myself.

Suppose all my crimes to exist; let there be nothing in them which thou mayst suppose to be rather the result of error than of criminality. Lo! as an exile, I pay the penalty — a penalty both dreadful in the banishment itself and in the place of banishment; glut thy anger, then!

My lot might appear worthy of tears, even to an executioner; yet, in thy sole judgment, 'tis not sufficiently dreadful: thou art more cruel than the savage Busiris, — more cruel than he who heated the fictitious bull by the slow fire, than he, too, who is said to have given the bull to the Sicilian tyrant, and by his words to have recommended his invention. "O king! says he," there is utility in this gift, and that greater than would appear: not only is the appearance of my work worthy of approval. Dost thou see, on the right hand, this side of the bull that can be opened? Here the person must be inclosed, whom thou wouldst put to death. Forthwith, when he is inclosed, burn him with a slow fire: he will roar out, and it will be exactly the voice of a real bull. To recompense one present with another, give me, I pray, in return for this invention, a reward worthy of my ingenuity! He had spoken; but Phalaris said, Wonderful inventor of punishment! be thou at once the first to make trial of thy work! There was no delay; dreadfully roasted on the fires, his own invention, he gave a specimen of the cries of suffering with shrieking voice. What have I to do with the Sicilians, among the Scythians and the Getæ I Whoever thou art, my complaint reverts to thee. That thou mayst be able, too, to satiate thy thirst with my blood, and that thou mayst experience as much pleasure with greedy heart as thou mayst wish; so many evils have I suffered by land and by sea, in my journey, that I could think that even thou, on hearing them, wouldst grieve. Believe me, were Ulysses compared with me, the wrath of Neptune is less than that of Augustus. Therefore, whoever thou art, refrain from opening my wounds afresh, and take off thy hands from my painful sores; and, that oblivion may take possession of the story of my fault, permit my destiny to heal my scars. Keeping, too, the lot of man in thy recollection, which raises and crushes the same persons, do thou stand in awe of the chances of uncertainty; and since, what I never supposed could happen, thou hast so much anxiety about my affairs, thou hast no reason to be alarmed. My fate is a most wretched one. The wrath of Cæsar brings with it every woe. That this might be the better proved, and I might not be thought to deceive thee in this, I could wish that thou thyself wouldst make trial of my punishment.

Book III, Elegy 12

Now the Zephyrs moderate the cold; and, the year now finished, this Mæotian winter has seemed to me more protracted than any former ones; and now, the Ram, which did not safely carry Helle when placed on him, makes the length of the days equal with that of the nights. Now the boys and the sportive lasses are gathering the violet, which the ground in the country bears, no one planting them. The meadows, too, become clad with flowers of various tints, and the prattling birds revel with their untaught throats; the swallow, that she may avoid the crime of her cruel ancestress, makes her nest and her little home under the rafters; the blade, which has lain hid, covered in the ridges devoted to Ceres, puts forth its tender top from the warmed earth; and in whatever region the vine exists, the bud is pushed forth from the shoot: but from the Getic shores the vine is far distant. In whatever region any tree exists, the branch begins to swell on the tree; but trees are far removed from the Getic land. At Rome there, it is now a time of enjoyment, and the garrulous warfare of the wordy Forum gives place to the games, as they succeed in order. Now the horse is employed, now they sport with light arms; now the ball is tossed, and now the hoop is rolled with its whirling circle; now, when the youths have been besprinkled with the flowing oil, they bathe their wearied limbs in the Virgin's aqueduct. The stage is frequented, and the applause waxes loud with divided opinions; and the three theatres now resound, in place of the three Forums.

Oh four times, aye, immeasurably blest is he who is allowed to enjoy the delights of the City, not forbidden to him I but by me is beheld snow melted by the vernal sun, and water which can hardly be dug out of the hardened stream. The sea is not now congealed with ice, and no longer, as before, does the Sauromatian herdsman drive the creaking waggon over the Danube; a few ships, too, will be beginning to sail this way, and the stranger bark will be on the Pontic shore. I will be careful to meet the sailor, and having saluted him, I will enquire why he comes? who he is? and from, what country? Wonderful, indeed, will ii be, if he has not merely ploughed in safety the neighbouring waters from some adjacent place. Few are the sailors that cross so large a tract of sea from Italy; few are they that come to these shores, destitute of harbours; yet, whether he knows how to speak in the Greek, or whether in the Latin language, assuredly on the latter account will he be more pleasing. It is possible, also, that one may have directed his course hither, with a steady South wind from the mouth of the straits of the Hellespont, and from the waves of the prolonged Propontis: whoever he is, he can tell the news with in faithful narrative, and it may be a portion of, and a substitute for, the topics of the day. I pray that he may be able to tell me the triumphs of Cæsar that he has heard of, and of the vows that have been fulfilled for Latian Jove; and that thou at length, rebellious Germany! hast laid thy weeping head beneath the feet of the great General. He who brings me this news, of things which I shall grieve not to have seen — the same shall forthwith be a guest at my home.

Ah, me! and is the home of Naso in the Scythian land? and does punishment give me a place of its own for my home? May the Gods grant that Cæsar make this but a temporary shelter in my disgrace, and not my lasting abode and my home!

Book III, Elegy 13

Behold, my birth-day comes round at its usual time; needless, indeed, for of what use to me was it to be born? Why, in thy cruelty, didst thou come, an addition to the wretched years of the exile? Thou oughtst rather to have put an end to them. If thou hadst had any care of me, or had there been any shame in thee, thou wouldst not have accompanied me beyond my country. In the place where first I was unfortunately known to thee as an infant, in that same thou wouldst have tried to be my last. Thou, too, in thy sorrow, wouldst have said farewell (as said my friends) in the City, when now about to be left by me.

What hast thou in common with Pontus? Has the wrath of Cæsar sent thee as well, to the extreme region of the freezing climates? Dost thou expect, forsooth, the honour of thy wonted tribute, and that the white robe should hang from my shoulders? that the smoking altar should be girt with flowery chaplets? that the morsel of frankincense should crackle in the flames? that I should off'er the sacrificial cakes to mark the day of my birth? and that I should give utterance to auspicious prayers, my lips uttering words of good omen? I am not so situated; and my circumstances are not such that I can be joyful at thy arrival. A funereal altar, wreathed with the mournful cypress, and flames prepared on the erected pile befit me. I choose not to offer the frankincense that fails to conciliate the Gods; and words of good omen occur not to me, amid evils so great. If, however, any thing can be gained by me on this day, I pray thee never to return in these regions, so long as Pontus, almost the remotest spot in the earth, and wrongly called by the name of Euxinus, retains me.

Book III, Elegy 14

Thou worshipper, and holy guardian of learned men, my friend, who art ever the favourer of my talents; and dost thou not, as once thou wast wont to honour me in my prosperity, now too, have a care that I seem not wholly lost? Art thou compiling my poems, those Arts alone being excepted which have brought ruin on their composer? Do so, I pray, thou admirer of the modern poets, and to the best of thy power retain my body in the City. Exile has been awarded to me; exile has not been awarded to my books, which have done nothing to deserve the punishment of their master. Often is the banished father an exile in most distant lands; yet it is allowed the children of the exile to remain in the City. After the example of Pallas, verses have been born of me without a mother. These are my own offspring, and my own progeny. These I commend to thy care: the more they are deprived of their parent, the greater will be the burden to thee, their protector. Three have been born to me that have followed my unhappy example; remember to make the rest of them thy care in the eyes of men. There are also thrice five volumes on the changes of figure, poems that were snatched from the funeral pile of their master. That work might have gained a surer reputation from my correcting hand, had not my ruin happened first. Now, uncorrected, it has come into the presence of the public — if, indeed, anything of mine is still before the public.

Add to my works, this composition, such as it is, which comes sent to thee from a distant region; and when any one reads it (should any one do so), let him first consider under what circumstances, and in what place it was written. He will be considerate to writings whose time of composition he will know was a time of exile, and which were written in a barbarous clime. And, amid so many misfortunes, he will be surprised that I was capable of framing any poem with my trembling hand. Misery has ruined my powers, the fountain of which even before was not prolific, and the vein but unproductive. But, such as it was, it has disappeared, for want of exercise, and, dried up, it has perished by lengthened stagnation. Here is no abundance of books, by which I might be both invited and instructed: instead of books, there is the sound of the bow and of armour. There is no one in this region, should I recite my verses, whose ear I could engage so as to understand me. There is no spot for me to retire to: the guard of the city walls, and the closed gate, keep off the Getic foe. Many a time do I enquire about some word, name, or place, and there is no one to inform me. Often (I am ashamed to own it) words fail me, when endeavouring to say something; and I have forgotten how to speak.

I am almost stunned with the Thracian and the Scythian jargon on every side; and I seem as though I could write in Getic measures. Believe me, I am afraid lest Pontic words should be mixed with Latin ones, and thou shouldst read them in my writings. Deign, then, to grant pardon to my book, such as it is, and excuse it, on the ground of my wretched lot.