Book IV

Book IV, Elegy 1

If there are any blemishes in my books, as there will be, excuse them, reader, on account of the time of their composition. I am an exile; and repose, not fame, is my object: that my mind may not dwell too intently on my misfortunes. This, too, is the reason why the miner sings chained with the fetter, when he lightens his heavy labour with his untaught numbers; and why the man sings, who strives, as he bends forward on the oozy sand, while he drags the slow barge against the tide; and why he, too, who brings together his pliant oars to his breast, moves his arms to time, as he strikes the water. When the weary shepherd leans on his staff, or sits on the rock, he soothes his sheep with the song of his reed pipe. The labour of the handmaid is cheered and beguiled as she sings, and while, as she sings, she draws out her allotted task in spinning. Even Achilles, in his sadness, is said to have lessened his sorrows with the Hæmonian lyre, when the Lyrnessian damsel had been taken from him. Orpheus was in sorrow, having twice lost his wife, when he attracted the woods and the hard rocks with his song. Me also, did the Muse comfort, as I sought the appointed spot in Pontus; she was the only companion of my exile. She alone fears neither the treachery of man, nor the sword of the enemy, nor the sea, nor the winds, nor a state of barbarism. She knows, too, when I was undone, what error it was that deceived lie, and she knows that there was mistake, and not criminality, in what I did. In good truth, for the very reason that she before proved my injury, she is now propitious to me. She has been condemned for a common crime, in conjunction with me. Would that, for my part, I had never employed my hand in the rites of the Pierian maids, since that sacrifice was to prove my ruin.

But what shall I do now? The very potency of the Sisters retains me, and, in my madness, I, ruined by poesy, am still in love with poesy. Thus was the newly-found lotus, when tasted by the palate of him of Dulichium, grateful in flavour to him whom it injured. The lover is generally sensible of his losses; yet he persists in them, and he follows after the very cause of his error.

Me too, my books delight, although they have injured me, and the very weapon that has caused my wounds, I love. Perhaps this attachment may appear to be a madness, but this madness has some advantages. It precludes my mind from always brooding over my woes, and makes me forgetful of my present misfortunes. And just as the Bacchanal, when wounded, feels not the wound while, in her delirium, she howls along the steeps of Edonis; so, when my breast waxes warm, aroused by the verdant Thyrsus, its spirits are superior to mortal woe. They are sensible neither of exile, nor of the shores of the Scythian ocean, nor do they feel that the Deities are incensed. Just as though I had quaffed the cup from the soporific Lethe, does my sense of adversity become blunted. With justice, then, do I venerate the Deities that alleviate my woes, companions from Helicon of my anxious flight; and who have deigned to attend my steps, partly by sea and partly by land, both on board and on shore. May these, at least, I pray, be propitious to me; for the rest of the Gods make common cause with Cæsar, and they load me with as many troubles as the shore has sands, as the sea has fishes, and as the fishes have spawn. You will sooner he able to number the flowers in spring, the ears of corn in summer, the fruit in autumn, and the snow in winter, than the evils which I endured, while, driven over the face of the world, I sought, in my wretchedness, the shores on the left side of the Euxine sea. Nor yet, when I had arrived, was the allotted number of my woes more endurable; hither, too, did my destinies track my steps. Here, too, do I recognize the threads of fate allotted me at my birth, threads made for me with blackened wool. And, not to speak of treachery, and my life being in danger, things true, indeed, but too extraordinary for implicit belief; how sad a thing is it for one, who was always in favour with his fellow-citizens, to be living among the Bessi and the Getæ! How sad a thing is it for one's life to be protected by gate and walls, and to be hardly in safety through the resources of one's place of abode! When young, I avoided the fierce conflicts of warfare, and I touched not arms but with sportive hand. Now, in my old age, I gird my side with the sword, my left arm with the shield, and I place my white locks under the helmet. For when the watchman from his tower gives the signal of some rising, forthwith I take up arms with nervous hand. A savage enemy, that has bows and arrows tipped with venom, surveys the fortifications on his panting steed. And, just as the ravening wolf drags and carries along some sheep, which has not hidden itself in the fold, over corn-fields and through woods, so, if the barbarian foe finds any one in the fields that has not yet betaken himself within the protection of the gates, he carries him off. The person so taken, either follows them, and has chains thrown over his neck, or is killed with a weapon dipped in poison.

Here am I placed, a newly-come denizen of an anxious abode. Alas! too long is the duration of my existence! And yet, even amid so many woes, the Muse, a sojourner, endures to return to her numbers and to her former devotions. But there is no one to whom to recite my verses, and none to listen with their ears to Latin words. I myself (what else can I do?) both write and read for myself; and my writings are reviewed by my own judgment alone. Yet many a time have I said on whose account do I labour at these pursuits? Will the Sauromatæ and the Getæ read my writings? Many a time, as I was writing, the tears have trickled down, and the writing: has been moistened with my weeping. My mind, too, is as sensitive to its old wounds as though they were fresh; and showers of sorrowful tears fall upon my bosom. When I call to mind what I am and what I was, my fortune thus changed, and reflect whither and from what quarter my destiny hurries me; many a time, in my desperation, angered at my ruinous studies, has my hand thrown my lines upon the hearth, there to be consumed. And since, out of so many, only a few are remaining, do, whoever thou art, read them with indulgence; and do, as Rome is forbidden to me, take it in good part that my poetry is not any better than my present circumstances.

Book IV, Elegy 2

By this, fierce Germany, like the rest of the earth being overcome, thou mayst have bent the knee to the Cæsars. Perhaps, too, the lofty Palatium is being decorated with wreaths, and the frankincense is crackling in the blaze, and by its smoke is obscuring the day; the white victim, struck on its neck with the planted axe, is dyeing the ground with its crimson blood; and each of the Cæsars is preparing, as conqueror, to offer the promised gifts in the temples of the favouring Gods; the young men, too, who are growing up under the name of Cæsar, that that house may ever rule over the earth; and Livia, with her good daughters-in-law, destined often to present them, is presenting gifts for her son returned in safety, and the matrons as well, and those who, free from imputation, preserve in perpetual virginity the chaste altars. The common people, too, in its veneration, and with the people so revering, the Senate, is rejoicing; and the Knights, of whom but lately I formed a small fraction.

Driven far away, I share not in the public joy, and but little of the news travels thus far. The whole of the people, then, of the City, will be able to be spectators of the triumphs, and will read of captured cities with the titles of their kings; and will behold monarchs, bearing the fetters of the captive, going before the horses wreathed with garlands; and will see the countenances of some changed with their fortunes, those of others still firm, and forgetful of their condition. Some of them will be enquiring the reasons, and the circumstances, and their names; some will be telling, although they themselves know little about it. He who is resplendent on high in Sidonian purple, was the leader in the war; he is next to our general. He, who is now fixing his sorrowful looks on the ground, bore not that countenance while he was in arms. That one in his pride, and who still sends burning glances from his indignant eyes, was the instigator and the adviser of the war. The one who covers his squalid face with his dishevelled locks, in his perfidy, hemmed our troops in an ambuscade. They say that by the priest that follows, the bodies of the captives were many a time offered up to the unpropitious Deity. This lake, these mountains, this number of fortresses, these many rivers, were all filled with slaughter, and were streaming with blood. Drusus, who was the excellent son of a worthy sire, once earned a title in these lands. Rhine, having broken his horns, and vainly concealing himself in his sedge, will be discoloured by his own blood. See too, Germany is borne along with dishevelled hair, and sits in sadness at the feet of the invincible chief; extending her courageous neck to the Roman axe, she is now bearing fetters on the hand with which she wielded arms. Duly, Cæsar, art thou borne towering above these in thy victorious chariot, arrayed in purple, in the presence of thy people; whichever way thou shalt turn, thou shalt receive applause from the hands of thy subjects, as the strewed flowers on every side cover the way. The soldier will have his brow girt with the laurel of Phoebus, and will sing, lo Triumphe, with loud voice. Thou wilt see the horses of the chariot often stop, through the sound and the applause, and the noise of the musicians. Thence thou wilt go to the heights of the Capitol, and to the temples that listened to thy vows; and the promised laurel branch will be given to Jove, who deserves it. I, removed afar, so far as I can, shall mentally behold these things, for my mind has the privilege of resorting to a spot forbidden to me. In freedom it ranges at large over unbounded regions; with swift flight it attains to the Heavens. It directs my eyes to the very midst of the City, and allows them not to be deprived of a blessing so great. It will find out the way, too, to behold the ivory chariot; and thus, doubtless, for a moment, shall I be in my father-land.

But the people, supremely blest, will see the pageant in its reality, and the joyous crowd will be there with its Prince. By hearsay only will this enjoyment be experienced by me, thus giving range to fancy, and removed afar. There will, too, be scarcely one, sent afar from Latium to a distant clime, to tell me, anxious to hear it, this news. Even then, he will tell me of the triumph when it is long since past and grown old; but at whatever time I shall hear of it, I shall rejoice. When that day shall come, I will lay aside my griefs, and the cause of the public will rise superior to my private sorrows.

Book IV, Elegy 3

Ye Bears, both the Greater and the Less, of which the one guides the Grecian, the other the Sidonian ship, and both are untouched by the waves; since, situate in the lofty sky, ye survey all things, and set not in the Western wave; and your circuit, in its circumference, embracing the topmost height of heaven, is free from contact with the horizon of the earth. Cast a look, I beseech you, on those walls which Remus, son of Ilia, is said once lucklessly to have overleapt; turn your shining eyes on my wife, and tell me whether she keeps me in her memory or not. Alas! why do I inquire what is too well known? Why fluctuate my hopes, mingled with doubting apprehensions? Believe that that which thou wishest to he true, is true; cease to fear for what is secure; and have a certain assurance of undoubted constancy. And that which the stars set in the sky are unable to tell thee, do thou repeat to thyself, with voice that will not deceive; say that she who is thy greatest care keeps thee in her memory, and, so far as she is able, retains thy name in her mind. She clings to the recollection of thy features as though thou were present; and, far away, she loves thee, if only she lives.

And does not, at times, when her afflicted mind has been overcome with virtuous grief, soft slumber depart from her anxious breast? Then do your woes recur to you, my wife, when my couch and my wonted place affect you, and allow you not to be forgetful of me. Anxieties arise, and the night appears without an end; and the wearied bones of your restless body are sore. For my part, I doubt not, that these and other like things happen; that your love of me gives proof of its pure sorrow, and that you are not less distressed than when Andromache, the Theban matron, beheld the blood-stained Hector dragged along by the Thessalian chariot. Yet what to pray I know not; and I am unable to say what are the feelings I would wish you to have. Are you sad? I am grieved to be the cause of your sorrow. Are you not sad? Would that you were worthy of the husband lost to you.

But grieve at your loss, my dearest wife, and pass a life embittered by my woes. Weep for my afflictions; there is a certain pleasure in weeping. Tears both satisfy sorrow and give vent to it. And, oh! that not my life, but my death were mourned by you; and that by my death you had been left in solitude! That this spirit, by your aid, had mingled with the air of my father-land! That the tears of affection had bedewed my breast! That your hands had closed my eyes, looking on my native sky at the last moment! That my ashes had rested, laid in the tomb of my forefathers! That the same earth had held me that was touched by my body at my birth! And, lastly, that as I had lived, so I had died without stain! Now, through my disgrace, my very life is a source of shame;

Ah! wretched am I, if you think it a disgrace to be known as my wife! Wretched am I, if you are now ashamed of being mine! Where are those times gone when you were wont to take a pride in your husband, and not to conceal his name? Where are those times gone (unless, perchance, you desire to forget them), when it pleased you, as I remember, both to be called mine and to be mine? As became a virtuous woman, I then was pleasing to you in all of my qualities; and the esteem of yourself, who loved me, added much in my favour to what was true. No other man was there whom you would prefer (so great a prize did I seem to you), or whom you would rather have made your husband. And now be not ashamed that you are my wife; your shame, and not your grief, ought to be laid aside. When the rash Capaneus fell by a sudden stroke, do you read that Evadne blushed for her husband? Not because the King of heaven subdued the flames of the world with his bolts, wast thou. Phaeton, thyself to be disavowed by thy relations? Semele was not disowned by her father Cadmus, because, through her ambition, she met her death by her entreaties. And do not, because I have been struck by the cruel bolts of Jove, let the crimson blush arise on your placid face; but rather arouse yourself to the care of defending me, and prove yourself the very pattern of a good wife for me: and adorn with your virtues your state of sorrow. Let glory, so difficult of attainment, mount the steep path. Who would have known of Hector, had Troy been flourishing? A path has been laid open for fortitude, through the midst of sorrows. Thy art, Tiphys, is thrown away, if there are no storms on the ocean; if men are always in health, thy skill, Phoebus, is worthless. The virtue which, in prosperity, is concealed and lies unknown, makes its appearance and is proved in adversity. My fate gives you an opportunity for fame, and your piety has a height to which to raise its head aloft. Use, then, this opportunity, and trust in reliance on its advantages. Behold!! a wide field lies open for your fame.

Book IV, Elegy 4

O thou! who, whilst ennobled by the names of thy ancestors, excellest thy high birth in the nobleness of thy manners: in whose mind exists the reflection of thy father's integrity, but in such degree that that integrity is not without its proper strength; whose gift is eloquence in thy native language, so great, that there was none superior to it at the Latian bar. Far from my wishes, thou art described by signs, employed in place of thy name. Pardon for this the extent of thy fame. In nothing have I erred; it is thy good deeds that betray thee; if thou art seen to be what thou really art, then is my fault absolved. And do not suppose that esteem shown for thee in my verses could hurt thee, under a Prince so just. The Father of his country himself (who more observant of the laws than he?) endures often to be mentioned in my poetry. And Cæsar cannot prevent it, because he belongs to the public; and a part is lie, that belongs to us, of the common welfare. Jupiter proffers his own majesty to the scope of the poet's genius, and allows himself to be sung by the lips of all. Thy case is safe in the precedents of two of the Gods above; of these, the one is seen, and the other is believed to be a God.

Though I ought not, yet will I cling to this error of mine: my writings are not subject to thy control. The injury arising from my addressing thee is nothing new; for oft, while I was yet safe, had I conversed with thee.

Therefore thou mayst have the less apprehension that I should cause thy disgrace by being a friend of thine: I, the origin of it, can bear the blame, if there is any. For thy father was always respected by me from my earliest years (at least conceal not that fact): he used to praise my talents (this, perhaps, you can remember); yes, even more than I deserved, in my opinion; and he used to tell about my verses in that voice in which some part of his high nobility of descent was conspicuous. It was not thee, then, but thy father, that was imposed upon, for it was his house that gave me a reception. And yet, believe me, there was no deceit; but in all my actions, if the last is excepted, my life cannot be impugned. Thou wouldst deny, too, that this fault, through which I was undone, was a crime, if the lengthened detail of so great a misfortune were known to thee. Either timidity or mistake, say rather mistake, proved my downfall. Ah, suffer me to lose the recollection of my fate, and let me not, by handling them, burst open my wounds not yet closed; scarcely will rest itself be of any avail to them. Although, therefore, I am justly punished, yet all criminality and all had intention were no part of my error. And of that the God is sensible; for which reason, I have neither been deprived of life, nor does any other person possess my property taken from me. Perhaps (should he live) he will one day put an end to this banishment, when his wrath shall have become moderated. Now, my entreaty is, that he will order me to go hence: if my desire is not wanting in becoming moderation. I pray for a more civilized place of exile, and one a little nearer to Rome, and a spot which is at a greater distance from a savage enemy. And so great is the clemency of Augustus, that if any one asked him this for me, perhaps he would grant it. The cold shores of the Euxine Pontus confine me; by the ancients it was called Axenus. For its seas are ruffled by no moderate breezes; and there no stranger ship enters a quiet harbour. Around are tribes which seek their prey through bloodshed, and the land has no fewer sources of alarm than the faithless waves. Those whom thou hearest of as revelling in the blood of human beings, are situate almost under the sky of the same star. And not far from me is the place where the Tauric altar of the quivered Goddess fed with dreadful slaughter. These regions formed once, as they tell, the realms of Thoas — realms not hateful to the wicked, nor desirable for the good. Here the virgin descendant of Pelops, the hind having been substituted for her, presided over the rites of the Goddess, such as they were. After Orestes, (whether more pious or wicked, is a matter of doubt,) driven by his avenging Furies, had come here, and his companion; from Phocis, a pattern of true friendship, they who were two in body and one in mind: forthwith they were led in bonds to the altar of Trivia, which stood, all bloodstained, before the twofold doors. Neither did his own fate affect the one or the other of them; each was in affliction, on account of the other's death. And now, with drawn sword, the priestess had taken her station, and a barbarian fillet had girded the Grecian locks; when Iphigenia, in the course of conversation, recognised her brother, and gave him embraces in place of death. She joyfully transported the statue of the Goddess, who holds cruel rites in abhorrence, from those regions into more happy climes.

This region, then, the most remote part of the vast world, from which both Gods and men have taken their flight, is neighbouring to me. Close to my country are these deadly rites, if, indeed, a land of barbarians can be the country of Naso. Would that those winds, by which Orestes was borne away, would bear back my sails, as well, the Divinity being appeased.

Book IV, Elegy 5

O thou, especially allotted to me by destiny among my beloved companions, the only altar that I have found in my calamities; through whose discourse, this spirit of mine, about to perish, resumed life, just as the watchful flame waxes strong by the infusion of oil, the invention of Pallas; thou, who didst not fear to open thy friendly doors, a refuge to my bark when struck by the lightnings; through the aid of whose fortune I should not have found myself in want, had Cæsar even deprived me of my patrimonial property. While my feelings are carrying me away, forgetful of present circumstances, how very nearly did thy name escape me. Yet thou dost recognize thyself; and, moved by the desire of applause, thou wouldst wish to say openly, It is I. Truly would I, if thou wouldst allow me, be ready to give thee glory, and to commend thy remarkable constancy to Fame. But I fear lest I should injure thee by my grateful strains, and lest an honour paid to thee at a not fitting season, should be to thy prejudice. What thou mayst do in safety, rejoice in thy heart that I remember thee, and that thou keepest me in thy memory. And, as thou art doing, strive with all thy oars to bear me aid, until a more gentle breeze arise, the God being propitiated. Do thou defend that person who can be saved by the aid of none, if he who has overwhelmed him on the Stygian wave should not give him his assistance. Do thou, also, what seldom happens, show thyself with constancy ready for every duty of a friendship not to be shaken.

Then may thy good fortune have everlasting increase; then mayst thou never stand in need of aid thyself, and mayst thou always help thy friends. May thy wife share with her husband in lasting felicity, and may but few complaints occur in your married life. And may thy brother, thy companion in blood, always love thee with that affection with which his attached brother loved Castor. May the youth, thy son, be like to thee, and, by his manners, may every one recognize that he is thy son. May thy daughter make thee a father-in-law, by lighting her marriage torch, and may she speedily confer the name of grandsire on thee while yet a young man.

Book IV, Elegy 6

In time, the bull becomes accustomed to the plough that tills the fields, and yields his neck to be pressed by the curving yoke. In time, the spirited horse obeys the flowing reins, and, with quiet mouth, receives the hard bit. In time, the anger of the Punic lions is assuaged, and the fierceness which once was, exists in their nature no longer. The Indian beast, too, which obeys the commands of its master, overcome in time, submits to servitude. Length of time, too, causes that the grape swells out on the spreading clusters, and that the berries can scarcely contain the juice that they hold within. Time, too, pushes forth the seed into the whitening ears of corn; and makes the apple to be not of a sour flavour. Tis this that blunts the edge of the plough that renews the land; 'tis this that wears the hard flint and the adamant. This, too, by degrees, mitigates raging anger; this lessens sadness and elevates the sorrowing heart. Length of time, then, as it glides on with silent foot, is able to lessen everything except my cares. Since I have been deprived of my country, twice has the threshing floor been beaten with the corn; twice has the grape, pressed with the bare foot, been burst asunder. And yet, in so long a space of time, patience has not been acquired; and my mind retains its sensitiveness to its recent woes. In fact, the oxen, even when old, fly from the curving yoke; and the horse that has been broken in, often struggles against the bit. My present sorrow is even more bitter than it once was; for though it be similar to its former self, it has waxed stronger, and increases as time wears on. My woes, too, were not SO well known to me once as they now are: but the better I become acquainted with them, the more heavily do they press upon me. This, too, is not the least evil, for one to bring fresh strength to their endurance, and not to become utterly spent beforehand by the passing sorrows. A fresh wrestler on the yellow sand is stronger than he whose arms are wearied with exertion for a length of time. The gladiator that comes fresh, is better in shining arms than he whose arms are red, stained with his own blood. The ship, but lately built, bears well the impetuous storm; the old one is battered to pieces by ever so slight a gale. I, too, at first endured my sufferings with patience, and, by length of time, my evils have become multiplied.

Believe me, I despair, and, judging from my body, so far as I can form an opinion, but few days will be added to my sorrows. For I have neither the strength nor the colour that I used to have, and scarcely have I a thin covering of skin for my bones. But my mind is more diseased than my sickening body, and it stands eternally gazing upon its afflictions. No sight is there here of the City; my companions, my delight, are afar, and my wife, than whom nothing is dearer to me, is far distant. There is here a Scythian multitude, and crowds of the Getæ wearing trowsers; and so, both what I see, and what I cannot see, are a cause of misery to me. Yet one hope there is, which consoles me amid these things; that, through my death, these woes will not last long.

Book IV, Elegy 7

Twice has the Sun visited me after the frosts of icy winter, and twice, passing through the Constellation of the Fish, has he run his course. In so long a time, why did not thy right hand employ itself on some lines to me, however few? Why has thy affection grown tardy, while those have written to me with whom I had but little acquaintanceship? Why, often as I untied the fastenings of any packet, have I been hoping that it enclosed thy name?? Oh, that the Gods may grant that a letter has often been written by thy right hand, but that out of so many not one has reached me! What I pray I am sure is the case. I will sooner believe that the face of Medusa, the Gorgon, is surrounded by locks formed of serpents; that there are dogs beneath the stomach of the virgin Scylla; that there is a Chimæra, which amid her flames divides the form of the lioness from that of the dreadful dragon; that there are quadrupeds that have their breasts joined to the breasts of human beings; that a man exists with three bodies, and a dog with three bodies; that the Sphinx exists, the Harpies, and the Giants with serpents for their feet; that Gyges, with his hundred hands, and the man half a bull exist. I will believe all these things sooner, my dearest friend, than I will believe that thou, changed, hast ceased to care for me. Innumerable mountains and roads, and rivers and plains, and no httle of the ocean, he between thee and me. The letter which has been often sent by thee, may, for a thousand reasons, never have reached my hands. Yet overcome these thousand reasons by writing repeatedly: that I may not, my friend, always have to be excusing thee to myself.

Book IV, Elegy 8

Now do my years assume the hue of the feathers of the swan, and hoary age tints my black locks. Now hours of weakness are coming on, and old age more desirous of repose; and now it is a matter of difficulty to support myself in my weakness. Now was the time that I ought to live, having put an end to my toils, while no cares were harassing me to enjoy, too, that repose which was ever pleasing to my mind, and to be at ease amid my own pursuits; to live in my humble home, and in my dwelling-place of old, and amid my patrimonial fields, which now are deprived of their master. Now I ought to be growing aged, free from care, in the bosom of my wife, among my dear grandchildren, and in my native land. My youth once hoped that this would come to pass; and then I was worthy thus to spend these latter years. Otherwise did it seem to the Gods, who have exposed me in the Sarmatian regions, tossed to and fro by sea and by land. The shattered ships are taken into the excavated docks, that they may not go to pieces at hazard in the midst of the waves. The steed, worn out, crops the grass in the meadows, that he may not stumble, and thereby disgrace the many victories that he has won. The soldier, when, through length of years, he is no longer useful enough for wary puts away the arms which he has borne, at the home of his youth. So, too, as old age slowly creeping on, diminished my strength, it was time for me, as well, to be presented with my discharge. It was time for me neither to be breathing a foreign atmosphere, nor to be quenching my parching thirst at a Getic spring, but rather, to be at one time retiring at my leisure to the gardens which I possessed, at another, enjoying the intercourse of men and the pleasures of the City.

Thus, in my former days, with a mind having no presage of the future, used I to desire to spend my old age in calm repose. The Fates refused it; who, though they granted me an early life full of delights, are now rendering my latter days wretched. And now, having passed fifty years without any stain, I am afflicted in the decline of my life. Not far from the goal, at which I seemed almost to have arrived, a dreadful crash befel my chariot. Did I, in my madness, compel him to be angered against me, than whom the unbounded earth contains no one more full of mercy? And was that very clemency overpowered by the magnitude of my faults? And still was life not denied to my errors? A life to be spent afar from my country, under the Northern pole, where the land extends on the left of the Euxine sea. Had Delphi and Dodona itself foretold me this, either place would have appeared untruthful to me. There is nothing strong enough, even though it be riveted with adamant, to be able to endure the impetuous bolt of Jove. Nothing is there so lofty, and that soars so high above dangers, that it is not lower than the Deity, and submissive to his will. For although a part of my sorrows was earned by my own fault, yet the wrath of the God awarded the greater share of my downfall, for the better manifestation of his power.

But be ye instructed, too, by my misfortunes, to deserve favour at the hands of one who is equal to the Gods above.

Book IV, Elegy 9

If it is allowed me, and if thou sufferest me to do so, I will be silent on thy name and thy misdeeds; thy actions shall be given to the waters of Lethe, and my forgiveness will be obtained by thy entreaties, even thus late. Only take care that it is clear that thou hast repented. Only remember to condemn thy own conduct, and to show a desire to cleanse thy life of these moments devoted to the Furies. But if not, and if thy breast is still burning with hatred against me, my sad state of misery will assume the arms that have been forced upon it. Although, as I have been, I am sent to the extremity of the earth; still even, thus far, shall my anger stretch forth its hands. Cæsar, if thou knowest it not, has left to me all my rights as a citizen, and my sole punishment is to he deprived of my country. From him, too, if he only lives, do I hope for a return to my country. Often does the oak thrive again, that has been struck by the bolts of Jove. In fact, if I have no means of vengeance, the Pierian maids will give me strength, and weapons of their making. Although I am living removed afar, amid the Scythian regions, and although the Constellations that avoid contact with the waves are close to my eyes, yet my commendations will travel through nations innumerable, and my complaints will become known as far as the earth extends. Whatever I shall give utterance to, will travel from the East to the West, and the climes of the morn will be conscious of the voice from Hesperia. Beyond the land, beyond the wide waves, shall I be heard, and greati will be the echo of my laments. Nor will thy own age only be acquainted with thy guilt; thou wilt be a disgrace to late posterity. I am now summoned to the combat, but not yet have I assumed my horns, my weapons of defence; and I would rather that there was no cause for assuming them. The Circus is as yet in quietude; but the fierce bull is already spurning the sand, and is beating the ground with hostile hoof. Even this is more than I wished to say. Sound the retreat, my Muse, while yet it is allowed this man to conceal his name.

Book IV, Elegy 10

That thou mayst know. Posterity, the man whose works thou art reading, understand that I am he who sportively sang of: voluptuous love.

Sulmo is my native place, which, abounding in itsi cold streams, is distant ninety miles from the Roman City. Here was I born, and (that you may know the date) at the time when two Consuls fell with a similar death. If that is anything, I am heir to an hereditary Equestrian rank, descended from my ancestors; and I was not created a Knight merely through the chance of riches. I was not the eldest son; I was born after my brother, whose birth was thrice four months before mine. The same light-bearing day was the birthday of us both; one day was honoured by two sacrificial cakes. This day is one of the five festival days of the armed Minerva, the one that is wont to be the first stained with gladiatorial blood. When young, we were attentively educated, and, through the care of our father, we resorted to men in the Roman City distinguished in the arts. My brother had a turn for eloquence from his earliest years, born, as it were, to the vigorous warfare of the wordy Forum. But, while yet a boy, the rites of the heaven-born maids delighted me, and imperceptibly the Muse attracted me to her vocation. Many a time did my father say, Why are you striving at a worthless pursuit? Even the Mæonian bard himself left no wealth. I was influenced by his words; and having entirely deserted Helicon, I endeavoured to write words disengaged from poetic measures. Spontaneously, my lines ran according to befitting numbers, and whatever I tried to express, the same was poetry. In the mean time, as years rolled on with silent pace, the gown of freedom was assumed by my brother and myself. The purple with the broad hem was put on our shoulders, and the attachment which before existed still remained. And now my brother had lived twice ten years, when he died; and then was I first deprived of one half of myself. I enjoyed, too, the first honours that belong to a tender age, and once I formed one of the Triumviri. The Senate-house still remained; the breadth of my distinctive hem was still restricted: that nas a burden too onerous for my shoulders. My body was not fitted for labour, my mind could not endure fatigue, and I was one who shunned the anxieties of ambition. The Aonian sisters, too, persuaded me to seek a repose free from care, that had been always courted by my inclination. I loved and I honoured the poets of those days; and as many bards as there were, I thought them to be so many Gods. Macer, when stricken in years, many a time repeated to me his poem on birds, and each serpent that is deadly, each herb that is curative. Many a time was Propertius wont to repeat to me his love songs; he was united to me by the ties of friendship. Ponticus, famous in heroic measure; Bassus, too, famed in Iambics, were delightful members of my circle. Horace, too, with his varied numbers, used to captivate my ears, while he sang his beauteous strains to his Ausonian lyre. I only saw Virgil; and bitter destiny did not grant time for my friendship to Tibullus. He was thy successor, Gallus; Propertius was his. In order of time, I was the fourth of them; as I honoured my seniors, so did those who were younger, honour me; and my poetic talents were not long in becoming known. When first I recited my juvenile poems before the people, my beard had been shaved but once or twice. Corinna (so called by a fictitious name), the subject of song throughout the whole City, had imparted a stimulus to my genius.

Much did I write, but what I considered faulty, I myself committed to the all-correcting flames. At the time, too, when I was banished, I burnt some things that would have afforded amusement, being enraged both with my pursuits and with my verses.

My heart was tender, and not proof against the darts of Cupid, and a slight cause could easily affect it. And yet, though this was my nature, and I caught fire with the slightest flame, there never was any scandalous story attached to my name. While yet but almost a boy, a wife was given me, neither worthy of me, nor good for anything; she was married to me but a very short time. A wife succeeded her, who, though without any fault, was not destined long to be united to me. My last, who remained with me up to my later years, has endured to be the wife of a banished man. My daughter, who twice bore children in her early youth, but not by the same husband, made me a grandfather. And now my father had completed his allotted time, and to nine lustra had added nine other lustra. I bewailed him in no other degree than he would have bewailed me, if carried off. I performed the prescribed funereal rites for my mother, immediately after him. Happy were they both, and timely in their burial, that they died before the day of my punishment I Fortunate, too, am I, that I am wretched when they no longer live, and that they had no misery on my account! But yet, if anything remains to the dead besides their name, and if the unsubstantial ghost survives the erected pile, if the news about me reaches you, shades of my parents, and if my offences are taken cognizance of in the Stygian hall of judgment; understand, I pray (and you I may not deceive), that error was the cause of my prescribed exile, and not criminality. This is enough for the shades below. I turn to you, studious minds, who enquire into the events of my life. Hoary age had now come upon me, the years of my prime having fled, and had tinted with its hue my hair, now grown ancient. And now, since the hour of my birth the victorious steed, crowned with the olive of Pisa, had ten times carried away the prize; when the anger of the offended Prince commanded me to seek the people of Tomi, situate on the left side of the Euxine sea. The cause of my ruin, which is too well known to all, needs not to be pointed out by my testimony. "Why should I make mention of the wickedness of my attend ants, and how my servants injured me? Many things did I endure, not less afflicting than my exile. My spirit disdained to succumb to misfortune, and showed itself unconquered, using its native energy. Forgetting, too, the arts of peace, and how my life was passed in tranquillity, I took up arms for the occasion" with hand unused to them. I endured as many dangers, both by land and sea, as there are stars between the pole that is concealed, and the one that is seen. At last, the Sarmatian shore, that is adjoining to the quivered Getæ, was touched by me, tossed about in wanderings so protracted. Here do I, though on every side I am stunned by the neighbouring warfare, alleviate my sad lot, so far as I am able, by my poesy. And, though there is no one to whose ear I can repeat it, yet in this way do I consume and beguile my time. Thanks then to thee, my Muse, that I still live, and bear up against my heavy calamities, and that the irksomeness of a life of anxiety does not take possession of me. For it is thou that affordest me a solace, thou art a rest for my cares, a cure for my woes; thou art my leader, thou art my companion; 'tis thou, that sendest me afar from the Danube, and that givest me a place in the midst of Helicon. Thou hast given to me (what rarely happens) that distinguished name while yet living, which Fame is wont to give after death. Envy, who disparages what is present, has never fastened on any work of mine with her unjust tooth. For, although my age has produced great poets. Fame has not been unkind to my talents. And though I prefer many to myself, I am said to be not inferior to them; and my works are much read throughout the whole world. If, then, the prophecies of poets contain any truth, though I should die at once, I shall not be thine, O Earth. Whether through kindly feeling, or whether, through my verses, I have gained this celebrity of my own right, candid reader, I return thee thanks.