Statius, Silvae Book 1
Translated by D. A. Slater
Formatted and with notes by C. Chinn

I. The equestrian statue of Domitian

	WHAT ponderous mass is this that, magnified to twice the size by the giant 
	surmounting figure, stands as if with the Roman Forum in its clasp? Has the work 
	dropped down completed from the sky? or did the finishing of it in the 
	foundries of Sicily leave the hands of Brontes and of Steropes wearied out?1 
5	or have Athenian masters2 fashioned thee for us, Germanicus, 
	in such guise as was thine when the Rhine, and the Dacian,3 panic-stricken 
	in his mountain fastnesses, saw thee but yesterday curb thy charger? 
	Go to now, let the legend of the elder days marvel at the immemorial fame 
	of the Dardan horse,4 for the building of which the holy heights 
10	of Dindymus and of Ida5 shrank stripped of their leafy pines. 
	This charger Troy could not have admitted, though her walls were rent in a breach; 
	nor mingled crowd of boys and unwedded maidens, 
	nor even Aeneas nor great Hector6 could have brought it in. 
	Aye, and laden with death, with merciless Achaeans was the horse of Epeus;7 
15	to this the gentleness of his rider lends winning graces. Sweet it is to see 
	that countenance clouded with the scars of war, yet wearing promise of gentle peace. 
	But think not the statue fairer than the man; like form, like grace, 
	like goodliness has he. Mars towers not higher after the battle 
	on the Thracian steed that exults to bear his giant bulk, 
20	and swiftly with steaming flanks gallops by the river side, 
	and his mighty breathing makes Strymon8 roll down the swifter. 
	
	The place is worthy of the work; on one side our war-weary Founder’s 
	open gates, who first by the grace of his adopted son pointed 
	to our Emperors and Gods the path to Olympus. 
25	From thy countenance he learns how much greater is thy clemency in war; 
	for thou art not fain to vent thy rage even on the madness of strange peoples, 
	but to Cattians9 and Dacians dost allow a charter. Hadst thou been chief, 
	Caesar’s son- in-law10 and Cato11 had bowed and come to terms with Caesar. 
	Upon his broad flanks from this side the Julian halls,12 
30	from that the proud Basilica of warlike Paulus13 looks down; 
	behind thee thy father’s temple and mild-eyed Concord.14 
	Thou thyself, thy head encircled by the unbroken air, 
	dost outsoar and outshine the temples, seeming to watch and see 
	whether the new pile on the Palatine,15 scorning the flames, rises more lovely 
35	than the old;16 whether the Trojan fire still keeps secret watch; 
	whether Vesta now approves her handmaids whom reform has purged;17 
	thy right hand bids war to cease; thy left the Tritonian maid18 
	burdens not, but holding out Medusa’s severed neck, 
	rouses, as with a goad, the mettle of thy charger. 
40	Nowhere has the goddess a happier resting-place, not even on her father’s hand. 
	That breast is a breast that can unravel the cares of the whole world 
	and the cloak that falls flowing from thy shoulders is one to fashion 
	which Temese19 has yielded all her ore. Thy side fears nothing though the sword 
	be at rest—a sword as huge as the blade with which great Orion20 
45	menaces the winter nights and strikes fear into the stars. 
	
	The horse, emulous of his rider’s gallant air uplifts his head 
	more eagerly and makes as if to break into career. 
	The mane stands stiff upon his neck; the shoulders thrill 
	as with life; broad his flanks and able to bear 
50	that mighty spur; the brazen hoofs planted on no sod 
	of barren earth, but upon the hair of captive Rhine. 
	The charger of Adrastus21 had trembled to behold him, 
	and the horse of Leda’s son is afraid in the temple hard by 
	at the sight. He shall never obey but one master’s rein ; 
55	never a change of bridle for him; to one star alone shall he be true. 
	
	Scarce can the earth support him; the ground gasps and faints 
	beneath such a burden,—a burden not of iron or of bronze, 
	but of godhead,—though everlasting the pedestal that upholds it; 
	so strong it might have supported the peaks of a mountain charged upon it, 
60	and had endured the grinding pressure of Sky-bearer Atlas.22 
	
	No long delay was there either. The very presence of our God23 
	lightened the task. The workers, bent upon their labour, 
	marvelled to find unusual power in their hands. Huge cranes creaked 
	with the strain. Ceaselessly over the seven hills of Mars 
65	went the din, drowning the wandering noises of mighty Rome. 
	
	Even the Warden of the spot,24 whose hallowed chasm 
	and legend-haunted pools preserve the record of his name, 
	marked the myriad beat of bronze, felt the Forum bellow at the brutal 
	stroke, and forthwith uplifted his countenance, grisly and mouldering 
70	yet full of awe; his brow hallowed with the well-won oak- leaves. 
	At first he trembled at the flashing brilliancy, the giant port, 
	of this mightier steed; and thrice in terror plunged his 
	erected head in the chasm ; anon, in joy at beholding our Prince, 
	‘All hail,’ he cried, ‘scion and sire of mighty Gods; 
75	from afar have I heard the fame of thy godhead. To-day, to-day is my marsh 
	blessed and hallowed, now that it is granted me to see 
	thee and thy deathless glory in thy home hard by. 
	Once alone did counsel and contrivance of mine save 
	Rome. Thou art Jove’s champion; thou art the conqueror of Rhine; 
80	thou hast checked cursed sedition, and in stubborn warfare subdued 
	a mountain people slow to make peace. Hadst thou been born 
	in my day, though I had quailed, thou hadst essayed to plunge 
	into the pit, but Rome would have caught thee by the bridle-reins’ 
	
	Henceforth let the steed give place that over against the temple of our Lady 
85	of Latium stands in Caesar’s forum, the steed which men say Lysippus 
	hazarded for the lord of Pella, and which anon in amazement bore on its back 
	a sculptured Caesar.25 With straining eyes scarce 
	couldst thou discern how far below this it falls. 
	None so dull but when he has seen both will count 
90	the horses as ill-matched as their riders. 
	
	Neither stormy winter nor Jove’s triple lightnings, 
	not the armies of the Aeolian prison-house26 nor the lingering years 
	does this statue dread. It shall stand as long as heaven and earth, as long as 
	the date of Rome endures. Hither, in the silent night-time, 
95	when gods love to visit earth, thy kindred 
	shall glide down from heaven to thy embrace, 
	sister and brother, father and son shall assemble. 
	On thy neck alone shall all these heavenly visitants fall. 
	
	From the nation and our noble senate is this gift. 
100	May it be for ever thine. Ah, an Apelles27 were fain to paint thee; 
	the old Attic master in a fresh temple to mould thee to 
	the semblance of Elean Jove.28 Soft Tarentum29 and rugged Rhodes,30 
	in scorn of her sculptured sun-god, would rather have 
	pictured the starlike brightness of thine eyes. 
105	Yet be constant: love thou thy earth: inhabit in person 
	the temples we dedicate to thee. Let not the heavenly court delight thee, 
	but live, live happy to see thy sons’ sons offer incense to this thy statue. 
	
II. The marriage of Stella and Violentilla. 

	WHY did the hills of Rome ring with that solemn music? 
	For whom, Paean,31 dost thou take up the plectrum anew and hang 
	among the tresses on thy shoulders the sounding ivory? Hark, from afar, 
	from murmurous Helicon the Muses are journeying.32 From their nine torches 
5	they shake the ritual flame for the joining of the bridal; 
	and pour forth a wave of song from the Pierian springs.33 
	Amongst them pert-faced Elegy34 draws near, 
	prouder than her wont, and courts and counsels the Nine, 
	her limping35 foot stealthily hidden, and fain would be thought 
10	a tenth Muse and goes undetected in their midst. 
	The mother of Aeneas36 with her own hand leads the bride,—whose eyes 
	are downcast and a winsome blush of shame upon her cheek;—
	with her own hand she prepares bridal rite and bridal bed, with Latin girdle 
	dissembles her godhead, and makes her countenance and brow 
15	and hair less lovely, rejoicing to give way before the bride. 
	
	Ah, now I know what day this is, and what the occasion of this solemnity. 
	It is of thee, Stella,37 of thee that these gods sing in chorus. Fling wide thy doors. 
	It is for thee that Phoebus and Euhan and the winged lord of Tegea bring chaplets38 
	from bowery Maenalus,39 while the fond Loves and Graces cease not 
20	to pelt thee with countless flowers and to sprinkle thee with 
	a cloud of fragrance as thou claspest thy longed-for lady snowy-white. 
	And now roses, and now lilies and violets shower 
	on thy brow, as thou shelterest that fair face. 
	
	And so the day was there for which the Fates had set up a snow-white 
25	skein,—the day whereon the nuptials of Stella and Violentilla must 
	be noised abroad before all. Away with Care and Fear! 
	Truce to sly shafts of sidelong satire! Let Rumour 
	hold her peace. The old unbridled love has yielded to law and taken 
	the bit in his mouth. The whispers of the people are at an end, 
30	and now Rome has seen the caresses it had talked about so long. 
	But thou, Stella, art spellbound still, although the promise of such happiness 
	is thine! Still at thy sighs and vows! Still afraid of the bliss kind heaven 
	has granted! Truce, sweet minstrel, truce to thy sighing! 
	Is she not thine? Her bower stands wide, and with steps unchecked 
35	thou mayest go to and fro. No warder forbids, no law, 
	no shame. At length have thy fill of the embrace thou hast sought,
	—’tis thine,—and dream with her of the loveless nights of old. 
	Nay, for that matter, the prize was worth the quest, though Juno had enjoined 
	on thee the labours of Hercules, and the Fates constrained thee to battle 
40	with monsters of Hell; yea, though thou hadst been swept through the Cyanean surf. 
	For her it had been meet ordeal to run the race at Pisa, quaking all the while 
	to think of the terms and to hear Oenomaus thundering behind.40 
	Though thou hadst been the presumptuous shepherd who sat on 
	Dardan Ida,41 or though thou hadst been he whom the kindly Dawn 
45	caught up and bore off in her car, yet thou hadst not had so fair a prize. 
	
	But now, while the crowd surges round the gates, while hall 
	and threshold ring with the beat of many a wand, 
	let the merry Muse even here tell what has bestowed 
	on the bard, beyond his hope, the joy of this bridal. Time is ours 
50	to hold due debate, and the poet’s home is skilled to listen. 
	
	It happened on a day, in the milk-white region of the cloudless sky, 
	that gentle Venus was resting in her bower. The night had just fled. 
	Her Thracian lord42 had released her from his rugged embrace. 
	About the pillars of the bed thronged the boy Loves, 
55	asking what torches she bade them bear, what hearts transfix. 
	Would she have them riot on land or sea, or embroil the 
	Olympians, or still keep torturing the Lord of the thunder?43 
	With heart and will still unresolved, weary on her 
	couch she lay, where the witnesses of guilt, the Lemnian’s toils, 
60	stole upon and surprised that lawless passion of old;44 
	when out of the crowd of winged Cupids one, 
	on whose mouth the fire burned fiercest, in whose hands 
	was a never-erring shaft, gently murmured with boyish lips, 
	while his quivered brothers kept still silence: 
65	‘Mother,’ he said, ‘ thou knowest how my hand has never failed 
	in the fray. Kindled to love is every god or man whom thou hast given up 
	to me. Yet suffer thyself at last to be moved, mother, 
	by tears and praying hands, yea and by the vows and entreaties of men: 
	for we are not fashioned of unyielding adamant: 
70	thy children are we. A lover there is,45 of Latin blood, and scion 
	of a lordly stock, whom Nobility recognized with joy 
	as her own son, and gave him at his birth a name borrowed 
	from our empyrean, in prescience of his starlike beauty. 
	Relentlessly of old with every arrow from my quiver I pierced him,—such 
75	was thy pleasure,—and, as he staggered I drove shaft upon shaft through him. 
	Eagerly Ausonian46 mothers sought him for their daughters, 
	yet I tamed and overcame him, and made him bear a great 
	lady’s yoke, and for long years sue on in hope. 
	But her, as thou badest, I lightly touched, sparing to strike, 
80	with the tip of my torch, and grazed her with a strengthless shaft. 
	From that day (I am the amazed witness of it), how fierce the fire 
	that broods in his lovesick heart, what force of my onset he sustains 
	night and day! Never, mother, have I beset another so fiercely, 
	and again and again driven my arrows home. 
85	I saw Hippomenes47 in those merciless lists run his eager 
	course; yet even at the goal he paled not so. 
	I saw Leander48 swimming the strait. Sturdy were his arms 
	as oars, and I praised his strength and often lighted him upon his way; 
	yet his fire, that warmed even the heartless sea, was not so fierce 
90	as thine, young lover, who hast surpassed all passion of old days. 
	I myself have marvelled that thou hast outlasted such a fever of love, 
	and have strengthened thy heart and dried with my soft wings thy 
	streaming tears. How often has Apollo chid me that his bard 
	should go thus sorrowful!49 Mother, grant him at last 
95	the bride he loves. He is our comrade and loyally 
	bears our standard. He might have sung the travail of war, 
	doughty deeds of heroes and blood-drenched battlefields.50 
	But he vowed his lyre to thee and chose rather to be the poet 
	of love and to twine our myrtle leaves among his bays. 
100	His song is of young lovers’ slips and his own wound that 
	is not of yesterday: oh, what devotion to the Paphian51 power is his, 
	mother! It is he that mourned the fate of our dove.’52 
	
	He ended and clung caressingly about his mother’s soft neck; 
	his nestling feathers warmed her breast. 
105	She answered and frowned not on his gaze of entreaty: 
	‘It is a great reward, and seldom vouchsafed even to the heroes of my choice, 
	that this poet-lover seeks. Marvelling at the glory of her beauty 
	(and the renown of her forefathers and the fame of her house 
	rivalled her loveliness) I myself took her in my arms at her birth 
110	and cherished her in my bosom: my hands were never weary 
	of smoothing brow and neck, and with rich ointments 
	shaping her tresses. Now she has sprung up into a lovely 
	reflection of me. See even from afar the building of her tresses, 
	the beauty of her queenly brow. Consider how much taller 
115	she is than the mothers of Latium: even as Latonia53 
	towers above her nymphs and I among the Nereids.54 
	She is worthy to have been born like me from 
	the blue waters, and to sit in my car of pearl; 
	aye, and had she been suffered to ascend to the starry sky 
120	and enter these bowers, even ye Loves had been perplexed. 
	Though I have lavished on her rich revenues, yet her mind is greater 
	than her wealth. I am sad that the Seres55 are niggardly, 
	and the groves they despoil too scanty: that the pearls of Clymene 
	are failing and the tears of the poplar sisters suffice us not:56 
125	that too few are the fleeces that blush with Sidonian purple,57 
	and rare the crystals that freeze out of the immemorial snows. 
	For her I have bidden Hermus and Tagus pour down their golden ooze58 
	(such store is not enough to array her worthily), for her Glaucus 
	and Proteus59 and every Nereid to bring the necklets of the Indies. 
130	Hadst thou seen her, Phoebus, in the fields of Thessaly, 
	Daphne had roamed secure:60 if on Naxos beach 
	she had stood by Theseus’ couch, Euhan too 
	had left Ariadne forlorn and fled to her.61 
	And had not Juno with endless plaints softened my heart, 
135	for her the Lord of heaven had even now disguised him as winged bird 
	or horned bull, or else in very gold come down to woo her.62 
	Yet she shall be given, my son and prime dignitary, to him for whom 
	thou seekest her, though often sadly she cries that for no second lord 
	will she bear the yoke. Of herself at last, I know it, she is yielding 
140	and in turn has melted to her lover.’ So Venus said and rose, 
	fair as a star, and crossed her proud threshold, 
	and called to her yoke her Amyclaean swans.63 
	Love harnessed them and sat him on the jewelled pole, and drove his mother 
	rejoicing through the clouds. Full soon they descried the Trojan towers 
145	of Tiber.64 A lordly mansion opened its glistening halls, 
	and gladly the swans perched dapping on the gleaming threshold. 
	
	The home was worthy of a goddess, fair as the stars they had left. 
	Marble of Libya and of Phrygia was there and the hard green stone 
	of Laconia; there was patterned onyx and blocks that matched 
150	the deep sea, and porphyry that often moves envy in 
	Oebalian purple and in masters of the vats of Tyre.65 
	The architraves hung poised on many a column, the 
	woodwork glistened with the abundance of Dalmatian metal.66 
	The cool shade streaming from immemorial trees banished 
155	the sun’s rays, and little springs ran crystal-clear in channels of marble. 
	Nature keeps not here her changing seasons : Midsummer is cool 
	and Winter warm ; the mansion turns and controls the year at its own will. 
	
	Glad was gentle Venus to see the palace of her great 
	fosterling, and rejoiced as if from the deep sea she were 
160	come to Paphos, to bower in Idalium or shrine at Eryx.67 
	Then to her daughter, as she rested, alone, upon her couch, she spoke: 
	‘Why dost thou ever dally thus? Why so shamefaced and unmated? 
	What limit shall there be, lady, my delight among the daughters of Latium, 
	what limit to thy fealty and thy faith? Wilt thou never bow thee 
165	to a husband’s yoke? Tears less bright will soon be upon thee. 
	Let not thy beauty be idle: enjoy these fleeting gifts. 
	Not for this did I give thee all that loveliness, that proud brow 
	and my own spirit, that thou shouldst pass through the years unmated, 
	as though I loved thee not. It is enough and more than enough that thou hast 
170	flouted thy lovers of old. Why, here indeed is one whose 
	whole heart is thine: comely he is and noble, and he worships 
	and he loves thee above all: what man is there in Rome, 
	what maid that knows not this scholar-poet’s songs? 
	Soon, too, thou shall see him uplift the twelve rods (so may the grace 
175	of our Lord of Ausonia68 still be with him!), and that before 
	his day. Assuredly even now he has opened the gates of Cybele,69 
	and it is his to read the strains of the Sibyl of Cyme.70 
	Soon the Father of Latium, whose thoughts it is granted me 
	to foreknow, will give him, young though he be, the purple robe 
180	and the ivory seat,71 and suffer him to celebrate (no common honours 
	these!) the plundering of Dacia and his laurels newly-won.72 
	Come then, be thou his bride: let not thy youth languish. 
	All nations and all hearts with nuptial torch I couple. 
	Birds and flocks and tribes of savage beasts disown 
185	me not. The sky itself melts at my will to wed 
	with earth, as the clouds break into showers. Thus it is 
	that the life of the world and all things after their kind are renewed. 
	Whence had Troy’s renown been born again; whence he who snatched 
	the gods from the fire, had I not wedded a Phrygian lord?73 
190	Aye, whence had Tuscan Tiber revived the stock of my own luli? 
	Who had founded the towers of sevenfold Rome, 
	the crown of Latian sway, had I not suffered the Dardan 
	priestess,74 unforbidden, to steal the war-god’s love?’
	
	With these words Venus charmed her, and in the secrecy of her heart 
195	breathed a thought of the glory of wedlock. His gifts and his entreaties, 
	his tears and his sleepless sighs at her gates—these now came back to her: 
	and how the minstrel’s Asteris75 had been proverbed throughout Rome; 
	at morning and at evening and before the feast always the name of Asteris 
	sounded louder than once the hue and cry for Hylas.76 At last she began 
200	to unbend her hard heart to kindness, and at last to account herself cruel. 
	
	Blessings on thy bridal, gentlest of all the bards of Latium! 
	for thou hast traversed the hard path and finished thy troublous task 
	and made the haven. Even so the River, that with 
	heart on fire fled from the midst of Pisa to win 
205	an alien bride, draws through his channel underseas 
	a stainless flood, at last to struggle forth and drink with panting lips 
	of the Sicilian spring: the Nymph marvels at the sweet kisses 
	and dreams not that her lover has come to her under the sea.77 
	
	How bright a day then dawned, Stella, to cheer thee by the bright grace 
210	of Heaven! With what joy thy heart throbbed when 
	thy lady’s brow softened and she granted thee the bliss 
	of her love! Thou didst seem to tread on air and roam through 
	the bright sky. A colder rapture had the shepherd 
	on the Spartan shore when Helen came to the Trojan barque;78 
215	Thessalian Tempe saw not such a light on Peleus’ brow, 
	when Chiron reared his horse-part erect and marked Thetis 
	drawing near to the Haemonian strand.79 How long seemed the stars 
	to tarry! How slow Aurora to appease the yearnings of the bridegroom!80 
	
	But when from afar Leto’s son,81 lord of all minstrels, 
220	and Semeleian Euhan82 knew that Stella’s bridal was at hand, 
	from Ortygia and from Nysa they hurried with their eager companions.83 
	The Lycian hills, the bowers of cool Thymbra and Parnassus rang84 
	again as Phoebus came: and at Euhan’s coming Pangaea and Ismarus 
	and the shores of Naxos,85 that saw his wooing, echoed the song. 
225	Then they passed the doors they loved and gave to their comrade 
	bard, the one a lyre, the other the tawny skin of a spotted deer, 
	the one his wands, the other the quill to strike the lyre: and one bound 
	the poet’s brow with bays and one with Ariadne’s crown. 
	
	Scarce was the day abroad, when already auguries of bliss 
230	were vouchsafed and both homes were astir with a festal company. 
	The gates were green with leafage, and the crossways bright 
	with fire, and all that is noblest in great Rome kept festival. 
	Every great office was there and all the retinues thronged the threshold: 
	and gay robes hedged about with the folk in mean attire; 
235	on this side knights, and on this, mingling and struggling with the youthful throng, 
	the long-robed matrons. There are blessings for both, but in the crowd 
	more envy the bridegroom. Hymen86 has been standing long since 
	in the gateway, seeking to greet their espousals with a new song, 
	to bewitch the minstrel’s heart. And Juno87 honours the knot that 
240	binds them, and Concord with twofold flambeau hallows their union. 
	Such was that day: of the night let Stella sing. But shamefast methinks 
	was the bride as Ilia, the bride of Mars, when overcome 
	by treacherous sleep she lay down on the river bank. 
	Lavinia was not so coy when beneath the gaze of Turnus 
245	the scarlet flamed on her snow-white cheeks;88 
	nor Claudia so stainless when, proved a maiden 
	by the movement of the barque, she gazed upon the people.89 
	
	Now must the comrades of the Nine, the slaves of the tripod, vie with 
	one another in divers strains. Come, bards inspired, with garlands 
250	and ivy on your brows according as each is of power to make the rapturous lyre 
	obey him. But, above all, come ye who filch away the last beats from the great Hexameter; 
	sing ye a song worthy of this merry bridal. This day Philetas90 himself would have sought 
	the privilege of singing, and Cos approved his choice; old Callimachus,91 too, 
	and Propertius in his Umbrian grotto;92 Ovid defying e’en the gloom of Tomi,93 
255	and Tibullus,94 whose only wealth was the fire that twinkled upon his hearth.
	
	Assuredly it is not a love for poetry alone, or a single motive 
	that gives birth to my lay. My Muse, Stella, is like unto and 
	close knit to thine. Kindred spirits, we revel oftentimes at 
	like altars, and at the fountains of song slake a common thirst. 
260	And as for thee, lady, at thy birth my own Parthenope95 took thee 
	to her embrace: a tottering child thou wast already the delight and glory 
	of our land. So let that Euboic city be exalted to the glowing 
	skies and Sebethos exult in his fair fosterling.96 
	Let them not be outdone by the pride of the Lucrine Naiads97 in their 
265	teeming grottos, or of the calm retreat of Pompeian Sarnus.98 
	
	Soon let a noble offspring be born of ye to Latium, 
	to govern camp and courts and make merry songs. 
	Let Cynthia99 be kind and bless the tenth month with early fruit. 
	Only may the birth-goddess be merciful and the pledge wound not the parent tree! 
270	Spare, child, that delicate frame, those swelling breasts; 
	and when Nature has moulded thy brow in secret, 
	may’st thou be born much like thy father, like thy 
	mother more. But for thee, fairest of all the daughters 
	of Italy, at last thou hast a worthy master and lord: 
275	cherish the bond he sought so long to knit; so may thy beauty 
	never diminish; so may thy young brows keep the bloom of youth 
	for many a year, and that loveliness be slow to fade into decay. 
	
III. The villa of Manlius Vopiscus at Tibur. 

	IF any has been privileged to see at Tibur100 the cool retreat of eloquent Vopiscus,101 
	if any the twin dwellings, betwixt which the Anio102 flows dividing: 
	if any has known those neighbouring banks united, and the 
	pavilions that vie with one another in sheltering their master,— 
5	on such a one the fierce denizen of leafy Nemea103 has 
	never looked, nor the sultry star of Sirius snarled;104 
	such winter’s cool is in the dwelling; so persistently does the shade defeat 
	the sun, that through the sweltering season of Pisa’s games it is temperate ever. 
	Venus herself with dainty hands (it is a joy even to write 
10	the tale!) has bedewed his house with chrism of fairy essences 
	and charmed it with her tresses, and left therein a balmy 
	fragrance and bidden her winged Loves never flee away. 
	
	O day never to be forgotten ! O joys treasured in my 
	heart! O eyes tired with gazing on so many marvels! 
15	How kindly the natural spirit of the soil! How fair before ever 
	handicraft touched them the beauty of these happy haunts ! Nowhere has 
	Nature shown so opulent a fancy. Over the swift stream the deep woods 
	brood; each leaf is mirrored in the shifting picture; 
	the reflection travels unchanged down the long river reaches. 
20	Even Anio (believe and marvel!), though up stream and down 
	stream his bed be rocky, here curbs his angry flood and stills his 
	murmuring eddies, as though afraid to ruffle the poetic 
	days and songful nights of tranquil Vopiscus. 
	Both banks are within the bound of home, unsevered by 
25	the gentle stream. On this shore and on that stand sentinel towers, 
	not foreign to each other or fretting that the stream is a barrier between them. 
	Go to now,—let legend boast the Sestian inlets and the Swimmer 
	of the Strait;105 or tell of the dolphin steeds that bold youth outdid.106 
	Here is unending peace: here no storms have any charter 
30	nor ever seethes the surge. Over the waters eyes and voices— 
	nay, well nigh hands—may meet. Is it thus that the returning tide estranges 
	Chalcis from the mainland;107 thus that the Bruttian shore 
	beholds Sicanian Pelorus severed from it by the waters?108 
	
	What shall be the prelude and the heart of my song? Where shall I make 
35	an end? The gilded beams, the Moorish lintels on every hand; 
	the patterned veins of lustrous marble, the fountain-fairies that 
	haunt every room,—shall these move me to wonder? Now this way 
	and now that my eyes and my thoughts are allured. Shall the sacred grove 
	of aged oaks be my theme? The hall that looks upon the shallows 
40	below, or the chamber that regards the silent woods, 
	where is the stillness of rest secure and night unruffled by the wind 
	or but such murmurs as woo dreams in the darkness? 
	or shall my song be of the steaming baths high uplifted 
	upon the grassy bank and the fires piled on the cool marge? 
45	or how the River is harnessed to the glowing furnaces and laughs 
	to see the nymphs panting with the heat from his stream beside them? 
	
	Pictures and handiwork of men of old and many a breathing 
	bronze I saw. It were hard to recount the statues of ivory and 
	of gold, the precious stones worthy to grace the hand; 
50	and all that in silver first or in bronze statuettes the artist 
	hand assayed, that was hereafter to shape giant statues also. 
	While my eyes wandered and I gazed upon the scene, my foot was set 
	upon wealth and I never knew it. Light streamed from above: 
	tiles bright as the bright sky fixed the eye upon the ground, 
55	where decked with all manner of skill the earth smiled, 
	and with brede of strange shapes outdid the illusions of the Unswept Floor.109 
	My feet trembled. Why marvel now at the roofs, 
	here connecting, there parting in triple measured chambers; 
	or at the tree cherished in the heart of the home, 
60	that over roof and lintel climbs into the clear air—
	that were doomed under any other master to be felled by the cruel axe? 
	Even now some nymph of gliding stream it may be or of oaken grove, though Vopiscus 
	know it not, shall by her death loose from it the burden of years that have known no curtailment. 
	Shall my song tell of the feast spread now on this bank, now on that? 
65	of the white pools; of the springs deep down in the river-channels; 
	of the Marcian conduit110 gliding aslant through the Anio, 
	and speeding in daring leaden duct under his flood, to see 
	if it be only the river of Elis that can be lured on 
	a lover’s path under the Ionian wave to a haven in Sicily?111 
70	In those caves Anio himself finds rest; yes, he forsakes his source, 
	and when in the secret night he has put off his sea-blue garments, 
	stretches himself upon the springing moss, or into the deep 
	pool plunges his huge bulk, and with rhythmic stroke 
	claps against the glassy waters. In yonder shade Tiburnus rests; 
75	there Albula is fain to wash her sulphurous tresses.112 
	A bower like this might lure, from Egeria, forest Phoebe,113 
	rob cold Taygetus of his Dryad bands,114 
	and charm Pan from the Lycean woods.115 
	Nay, but that the Tirynthian temple116 gives other oracle, 
80	the very Praenestine Sisters had changed their house for this.117 
	Ah, praise no more the twice-yielding orchards 
	of Alcinous and the tall trees ever fruitful.118 
	Hills of Telegonus, fields of Laurentine Turnus, give place!119 
	Give place, ye Lucrine homes, ye shores of murderous 
85	Antiphates:120 ye treacherous hills of glassy Circe, 
	beset of old with yelping Dulichian wolves;121 proud steeps 
	of Anxur; homes granted to kindly Caieta by her Phrygian 
	foster-son, and the beach of Antium that will call back Vopiscus 
	in the rainy winter at the shortening of the days.122 
	
90	Yes, this is a place for the grave broodings of your 
	well-schooled mind; this is a shelter for your fruitful leisure; 
	your noble and unruffled virtue,—temperate splendour, 
	chaste delights,—a home for which even the old man 
	of Gargettus123 had left his garden and forsaken Athens. 
95	This were worth seeking through Aegean storms, 
	beneath the snow-laden Hyades and the Olenian star.124 Yes; though 
	the ship had to double the Cape of Malea and steer a course over the 
	Sicilian surges.125 Why seems beauty less beautiful when it is at our doors? 
	Here do the fauns of Tibur and even Alcides and Catillus,126 
100	sung by a mightier lyre, delight in thy minstrelsy; 
	whether it be thy fancy to vie with Pindar’s127 strains; 
	or whether thou dost to vigorous heroics attune thy lay; 
	or whether thou wouldst wield thy hurtling missile, the lampoon, charged with 
	biting venom ; or whether it be some sparkling letter of no less carefully polished wit. 
105	Worthy art thou of the wealth of Midas and of Croesus,128 worthy of all 
	the treasure of the East. Be thy bliss the wealth of the mind! Hermus through 
	thy well-watered fields should have poured his yellow stream 
	and Tagus his sands of gold.129 So mayst thou enjoy 
	thy lettered ease; so, with a heart unclouded and serene, 
110	mayst thou overstep the limit of a Nestor’s years!130 

IV. The restoration to health of Rutilius Gallicus

	YES, ye are real, ye gods; Clotho131 the spinner is not deaf to prayer; 
	gentle Astraea132 does look upon the good; she has come back reconciled to Jove, 
	and Gallicus133 discerns the full radiance of the stars he wellnigh despaired of. 
	Indeed and indeed our Lord God Germanicus134 is, beyond gainsaying, 
5	dear to high heaven! Fortune was abashed to rob his rule 
	of so great a viceroy. Erect once more are the shoulders that, next to his, 
	bear that Atlantean load.135 Gallicus has shaken off the deadly toils 
	of decay: and for a fresh term of years puts on a more vigorous prime. 
	Therefore right eagerly let the companies that worship the city standard,136 
10	the laws, that oftentimes fly to thy bosom, sire, to protest against 
	the confusion of the courts,—and the cities of our dominion in all the world, 
	that invoke thy verdict upon their distant plaints, vie with one another 
	in gladness. In its turn let the hill we live on shout for joy. 
	Let every murmur of sadder news be hushed. 
15	He lives and long shall live,—his youth renewed,—in whose hands 
	is placed the kindly sway of an untroubled Rome, 
	nor shall Fate cause the fresh Aeon to put on so black a reproach, 
	nor the altar of Tarentus137—once more upreared—thus offend. 
	
	But for me,—not upon Phoebus,—though save for him my lyre 
20	were dumb,—nor upon the Aonian Nine,138 with Pallas added to their number, 
	nor upon kindly fosterling of Tegea or of Dirce will I call.139 
	Be thou my aid as thou art my theme. Give me fresh strength, fresh 
	courage. Not without inspiration from heaven art thou so great, 
	and hast given such glory to our gown, such wisdom and 
25	shrewd counsel to our courts. Though inspired Pimplea 
	slake not my minstrel thirst and no draught from conspiring 
	Pirene be vouchsafed to me;140 rather let me drink deep 
	of the wells of thy music, whether in melodious prose thy tale 
	is told, or whether the sweet stream of thy eloquence 
30	is broken in to discipline and obeys our canons. 
	Come then, since to Ceres141 we yield gifts of her own bestowing, and 
	to Bacchus his own unwatered wine; and since Diana, though rich 
	in booty, yet in all her temples welcomes the spoil, and the Lord of war 
	the captured sword; do not thou, Gallicus, though thy eloquence 
35	is greater, though mighty thou art and rich in flowing speech, scorn 
	to be hymned by a lowlier lyre. The nomad moon is surrounded 
	by stars, and humble fountains pay their tribute to the ocean. 
	
	What rich reward for thy worth a nation’s anxious love 
	doth pay thee! What sorrow I read that day in the eyes of knight 
40	and senator, and commoners not wont to mourn the great! 
	Such fear came not upon the prosperous Senate at the passing of Numa,142 
	nor on the noble knights when Pompey fell, nor on women at Brutus’ death.143 
	This is the secret of that sorrow: Thou wast loath to hear the dismal clank 
	of fetters; and fain to spare the rod, to shun the path prescribed by high 
45	dignity, to abate much of the power of the sword, to deign 
	to regard the entreaties of the lowly and the prayers of the suppliant, 
	to restore justice to the Courts, to maintain the magistrates in their seats, 
	to temper might with right. This is the path to nobility of soul. 
	Thus it comes that awe of the ruler is mingled with love till awe trusts love. 
50	In itself, too, the relentless harshness of Fate startled all men;—
	the cavalier suddenness of the peril, the very rapidity 
	of the disease. Not with old age was the blame 
	(for scarce was thy sixtieth year past), 
	but the strain of toil and the sway of the strong mind over 
55	the body, and sleepless cares,—thy task beloved,—for the Caesar 
	of their worship. Thus came the treacherous lethargy to steal over 
	thy weary limbs and with it a deadening indifference to life. 
	
	Then the god who, nigh unto the heights of the Alpine ridge, 
	with his holy name of Apollo hallows the sacred groves, too long, 
60	alas, careless of his great foster-son, had regard unto him, 
	and forestalling delay cried aloud:144—’My son, lord of Epidaurus,145 
	up now, and hasten blithely with me. ‘Tis ours (seize we the chance) 
	to heal a man of renown. Grasp we and hold the spindles that 
	are straining his thread to the breaking- point. Fear not the blackening 
65	thunderbolt.146 Jupiter, ere we entreat him, will praise our skill. 
	‘Tis no low-born life I seek to save, but a favourite of heaven. 
	In few words, while we approach his home, I will tell you 
	the story. He is himself the pedigree of his family, and sheds a lustre back 
	upon his forefathers. Not that his lineage is hidden; but the parent light is outshone 
70	by the radiance that follows after, and rejoices to yield to so great a descendant. 
	His first excellence in peace was that eloquence, for which he was renowned 
	and honoured. Anon in countless camps teas he disciplined. 
	East and West? over broad expanse of sea and land in every 
	clime, he fought in sworn fealty to Caesar, never suffered 
75	to unbend in tranquil peace and to unbelt his sword. 
	Great Galatia dared to provoke him—aye, and me too,— 
	to war,147 and for nine harvest-tides fear was upon Pamphylia 
	and bold Pannonia, upon dread Armenia’s crafty archers 
	and upon the Araxes that at last had brooked a Roman bridge.148 
80	What need to recount how twice he ruled and held sway over 
	great Asia?149 Thrice and four times she would fain have him for Master, 
	but the Records and high Magistracy of Rome, oft promised to him, 
	called him back. What need to rehearse the wonder of Africa’s tribute 
	and allegiance?150 Why praise the triumph-spoils sent to Rome in years 
85	of peace, so rich an offering as even be who had assigned the task 
	durst not expect? There is joy at Trasymene and on the Alps, 
	and among the souls of them that fell at Cannae. And first the shade 
	of mangled Regulus himself claims without disguise a special meed.151 
	Time would fail me to tell of thy battles in the North; of insurgent Rhine, 
90	of captured Veleda’s entreaties152 and, latest and greatest triumph, 
	Rome placed in thy hands (to govern) while the destruction 
	of the Dacians was going on, when Gallicus, the chosen, 
	took up the leadership of our great chief, and Fortune marvelled not.153 
	This is the man, if these reasons have weight enough, whom we, my son, 
95	from the harsh Ruler of the underworld will rescue now. The renowned lord 
	of Latium sues for his life, yes, and has earned the boon. Not in vain did 
	the children of Rome the other day, clad in the purple, sing their lay to my praise. 
	If there be any simples in the health-giving cave of Chiron the Centaur;154 
	if any store of thine be hidden in that domed temple on Trojan Pergamus; 
100	if aught of power spring from the healing sands of bountiful Epidaurus, 
	or balm of blooming dittany flourish under the shade 
	of Cretan Ida, or froth and foam of snake;— 
	and I will add my own cunning to thine and lavish every drug 
	that I learned in Arabia’s fragrant plains 
105	or gathered, a shepherd, on Amphrysian lawns.’155 
	
	He ended, and they came to Gallicus. Listlessly they found his 
	limbs outstretched, and laboured his breath: when each girded himself 
	like a true leech and eagerly did guide and readily obey, 
	until with divers drugs they overcame the destroying sickness 
110	and scattered the deadly cloud, the treacherous lethargy. 
	He himself helped his divine helpers and, too strong for plague to master, 
	clutched at deliverance. Not so swift was the healing of Telephus 
	by the Thessalian’s skill, or of the grisly wounds 
	of shrinking Atrides by Machaon’s simples.156 
	
115	What place can there be for thought or vow of mine amid this gathering 
	of the senate and the nation? Yet I call the stars on high and the Lord 
	of Thymbra,157 father of poetry, to witness, what fear was mine 
	each day, each night, as ceaselessly I haunted the gate, 
	with ear and eye alert to catch every sign. 
120	Even as in a furious tempest the little boat 
	fast-bound to some great ship bears its part 
	of the raging billows and tosses in the same gale. 
	
	Twine now, ye sisters, gaily twine a snow-white 
	skein. Let none tell the tale of his past years. 
125	This day shall be his birthday. Worthy art thou, Gallicus, to outlive 
	the patriarchs of Troy, to number more years than the dust of the Sibyl, 
	to outlast Nestor’s mouldering antiquity.158 Poor as I am, how can censer of mine 
	make intercession for thee? It were not enough that Mevania should empty 
	her valleys or the meadows of Clitumnus furnish me with their snow-white 
130	bulls.159 Yet, time and again, amid such lordly offerings has a single turf, 
	a handful of meal, with scant salt besprinkled, won grace from the gods.160

V. The Baths of Claudius Etruscus

	NOT at Helicon’s gates does my tuneful lute sound with solemn rapture; 
	not on the Muses do I call, who so often have wearied their godhead for me. 
	Phoebus and Bacchus, from my song I set you free; 
	and do thou too, winged Lord of Tegea,161 keep mute the melodious 
5	tortoise shell! Other gatherings my music summons. 
	It is enough to lure forth the Naiad-queens of the fountains, 
	and the Lord of gleaming fire,162 still wearied, and still ruddy from 
	his Sicilian smithy. Truce for awhile to the guilty strife of Thebes;163 
	for my loved companion I fain would sing a lighter strain. 
10	Fill cup upon cup, my lad,164—why so careful to count the measure?—
	and string the laggard lyre. Sorrow and Care, begone, 
	while I sing of the bright rock, and the jewelled baths; 
	while my muse in wanton ivy and ribbons wreathed—all sober leafage 
	put away—sounds a sportive measure for Etruscus.165 
15	Come, goddesses of ocean, turn hitherward your looks out of the waters 
	and bind your sea tresses with clusters of soft ivy-berries, 
	unrobed as when you rise from the deep pools 
	and torment the love-sick Satyrs with your beauty. 
	Not unto you would I call, who have stained with guilt the honour 
20	of your waves. Banished far hence be the treacherous streams 
	of Salmacis, forlorn Oenone, too, and her grief-parched 
	fountain, and she that filched from Hercules his foster-son.166 
	Ye rather, denizens of Latium and the Seven Hills, 
	ye that haunt the Tiber and with fresh waves swell his flood; 
25	ye that delight in headlong Anio, in the Maiden Water 
	that is fain to welcome the swimmer, and in Marcia that draws down the cool 
	of Marsian snows;167 all ye whose travelling wave swells along ducts 
	of tall masonry and over countless arches passes on its airy way. 
	Yours is the work that I assay to sing; yours the home my mild lay 
30	celebrates. Never in other grottos have you found a costlier bower. 
	Venus herself guided her husband’s168 hand and gave him 
	fresh cunning; and that no mean flame might fire his furnaces, 
	herself kindled there under the torches of the winged Loves. 
	
	Here neither Thasos nor the sea-stone of Carystus finds place: 
35	the onyx pines afar, the snake-stone, too, is outcast and sorrowful.169 
	Nothing is here but gleaming porphyry quarried from Numidia’s tawny rocks; 
	nothing but the stone that, in the deep caves of Phrygian Synnas, 
	Attis has flecked with glistening drops of his own blood, 
	and marble of a deeper purple than fine linen dyed at Tyre.170 
40	Scarce is room found for blocks from the Eurotas, where that long 
	green line picks out the Synnas-stone.171 Gay is each threshold, 
	gay and bright the ceilings; the gables shine with glass of many hues 
	to produce a picture and characters of life. The very fire marvels 
	to enfold such store of riches, and tempers its tyranny. 
45	Everywhere is a glory of light, for the untiring sun pours in all his beams 
	and finds himself scorched, the rogue, by a heat not his own. 
	Nothing common is there nor mean. Nowhere will you mark bronze 
	of Temese.172 From silver into silver pours and plunges 
	the blithe wave, poised upon the gleaming edge, 
50	spellbound by its own loveliness and loath to pass. 
	Without is the dark-blue river sparkling on the snow-white 
	verge, bright and clear from lowest depth to surface. 
	Whom might it not tempt to fling off his sluggish raiment 
	for a plunge in the flood? Rather had Cytherea173 have sprung from these waters; 
55	clearer here hadst thou, Narcissus, gazed on thine own beauty.174 
	Here would swift Hecate fain bathe though espied.175 
	And shall I now tell of the floors laid there upon the earth, 
	soon to hear the pulsing ball, as the vapour finds its way through 
	the house and the vaults upheave the penetrating heat? 
60	Not though a guest came fresh from the beaches of Baiae176 will he 
	scorn all this loveliness. Nay, let me be suffered to compare the little with 
	the great, not even he who is fresh from the baths of Nero would be loath 
	here once more to sweat. Blessings, Claudius, on thy brilliant taste 
	and cunning thought! May thy works grow old with thee, 
65	and thy star learn to rise again to a livelier splendour. 

VI. The Emperor’s Saturnalia

	HENCE Father Phoebus and Pallas the austere! 
	Away ye Muses, keep ye holiday; 
	at the new year we will call you back. 
	But come hither to me, Saturn, thy chains struck off; 
5	and come December flushed with many a bumper!177 
	Come wanton Quips and laughing Jollity! 
	Be with me while I sing the glad feast-day 
	of blithe Caesar and the midnight revel.178 
	
	Scarce was the dawn rising anew, when 
10	sweetmeats rained from the awnings.179 
	Such was the dew shed by the breeze of the morning. 
	All the wealth of the nut-groves of Pontus, 
	all the spoils of the rich slopes of Edom; 
	the fruits of the trees of god-fearing Damascus, 
15	the figs that ripen early on the canes 
	of Ebusea are lavished in generous showers.180 
	Luscious cakes, dainty cates, 
	pears from Ameria not spoiled by the sun; 
	mustcake and teeming dates—so thick you cannot 
20	see the palm—showered down.181 
	Not stormy Hyades nor angry Pleiades182 
	hurl such rains upon the earth, 
	as the storm that with fair-weather hail 
	lashed the people in the theatre of Rome. 
25	Ah, let Jupiter above marshal his clouds throughout 
	the world, and menace the broad plains with storm, 
	if only our Jupiter in Rome183 sheds such showers upon us! 
	
	But lo ! through all the tiers, beautiful 
	to behold in bright raiment a fresh people, 
30	as numerous as the seated commons!184 
	Vessels of dainties, napery snow-white, 
	cates yet richer they bring anew; 
	while others pour bumpers of languorous wine: 
	you would think every man of them a Ganymede.185 
35	The circle of noble and grave and the clans 
	that wear the gown thou feastest alike. 
	But although so many houses banquet on thy bounty, 
	Annona186 for all her pride has no part in the festival. 
	Go to now, hoary Eld;187 compare with our day 
40	the days of love’s youth, and the golden time!188 
	Wine flowed not so freely then; 
	crops forestalled not the tardy autumn. 
	At one board feast all ranks, knight and 
	senator, children and women and commons alike;189 
45	freedom has relaxed awe. 
	Thou190 too, moreover—what God would brook 
	to find such leisure or grant such pledge?—
	thou, too, hast feasted with us. 
	Now prince and pauper, whoe’er he be, 
50	can boast himself an Emperor’s guest. 
	
	Amid the clamour and the strange delicacies 
	the pleasant show flies swiftly by. 
	See, women, novices and strangers to battle—
	see, how untiringly they assay the weapons of men!191 
55	You would think that this was some wild combat of 
	Thermodon’s daughters on the banks of Tanais or barbarous Phasis.192 
	Then in turn come forth the bold battalions of dwarfs, 
	whom Nature from their birth cramped 
	and bound once for all into a knotted lump.193 
60	These join in battle and deal wounds; see, 
	with Lilliputian hands they menace each his fellow with death; 
	while Father Mars and murderous Valour, 
	and the cranes, ere in random raid they pounce, 
	marvel at the courage of the pygmies.194 
	
65	Then, as the shades of night are approaching, 
	what riot waits upon the shower of good cheer! 
	Hither come maidens not difficult to win;195 
	here is all that in the theatres wins favour 
	and applause for skill or comeliness. 
70	In one company buxom Lydian beauties clap their hands, 
	here is tumult of the cymbals and the jingling music of Spain;196 
	here are Syria’s noisy troups; here the common folk of the theatre; 
	here they whose trade is to barter 
	their cheap sulphur for scraps of glass. 
	
75	Amid the riot, with sudden swoop, 
	as from the stars, fall in clouds the birds 
	of holy Nile and wintry Phasis, and those 
	on which the Numidians prey in the rainy south.197 
	No hands are left to seize them; the armfuls of spoil 
80	hamper those who would gather fresh largess still. 
	Myriad voices are raised to heaven in praise 
	of the Prince’s carnival. With affectionate 
	enthusiasm they salute their Lord; this measure 
	of liberty—and this alone—Caesar forbade.198 
	
85	Scarce was dark night climbing the sky, 
	when from the midst of the arena, up through 
	the gathering gloom, soared a ball of fire,199 
	brighter than the radiance of Ariadne’s crown.200 
	The sky blazed with light; banished 
90	was the power of midnight; 
	banished was sluggish sleep; 
	and dull repose fled to other cities at the sight. 
	Who can recount the spectacle and the licence 
	of jollity, or who the revel, the unbought 
95	feast, the rivers of generous wine? 
	I faint, I fail; and heavy with thy Naxian,201 
	drag myself at last away to sleep. 
	
	For how many years shall this day be handed down! 
	Never, never shall it be blotted out by time. 
100	As long as the hills of Latium endure, as long as Father Tiber flows, 
	as long as thy city shall remain and that Capitol 
	which thou hast restored to the world, the memory shall live.