I. The Temple to Hercules at Surrentum, built by Pollius
	
	LORD of Tiryns,1 Pollius to-day revives thy interrupted 
	honours and shows reason good for the neglectful year. 
	‘Tis that thy ritual has now a more spacious shrine. No longer 
	a poor dwelling on the bare shore, a hut for strayed mariners to inhabit, 
5	but gay portals and lintels resting upon the marbles of Greece 
	are thine, as though a second time thou hadst just risen purified 
	by lustral brands of ennobling fire from thy pyre on Oeta2 to the sky. 
	
	Scarce can one trust the testimony of eye and memory. Art thou 
	that unhonoured warden of tiny altar and threshold with no door? 
10	Whence has Alcides3 of the wilds these new-built courts, this 
	sudden splendour? Gods and scenes have alike their changes. 
	How swift this homage! But yesterday there was nothing here to see 
	save barren sand round about the sea-drenched mountain spur; 
	nothing but brier-clad rock and soil too churlish to allow 
15	any footing. What chance, then, has on a sudden enriched 
	the rugged cliff? Have Theban lyre and Thracian lute conjured up 
	these walls?4 Even the year marvels at the task: 
	those twelve short moons—a narrow span—wonder as at 
	the work of centuries. It is the god: he has brought hither 
20	and upreared towers for his own dwelling. His might has dislodged 
	the struggling crags: his giant breast has stemmed back the mountain. 
	You might think his merciless stepdame5 had enjoined the labour. 
	
	Come then, sire, whether thou dwellest enfranchised in thy 
	native Argos, and tramplest on Eurystheus6 sunk in the grave; 
25	or thy father’s throne and the heaven thy worth has won 
	are now thy home, and Hebe, fairer than slighted Ganymede, 
	reaches to thee draughts of blissful nectar:7—
	come hither! let thy presence fill the new-built shrine. 
	It is not guilty Lerna, nor the plough-lands of needy Molorchus, 
30	not the dreaded field of Nemea nor Thracian cave, 
	nor the polluted altars of the Pharian king that call.8 
	Heaven-blessed and guileless is the home, unwitting 
	of foul deceit, right worthy of a guest from heaven. 
	Lay aside, then, thy deadly bow and the merciless array of thy quiver, 
35	and the club dyed deep with the blood of the oppressor. 
	Do off the lion skin from those stark shoulders. 
	Here is a couch for thee, and piled-up cushions embroidered with 
	purple patterns of acanthus; and high thy throne and rough with carven ivory. 
	Come not in heavy displeasure nor in the suspicious spirit of servitude ; 
40	but mild-eyed and in peace: in the guise wherein Maenalian Auge9 
	stayed thee outworn with revelry and drenched with thy brother’s 
	grapes; or as when Thestius, father of thy fifty brides, marvelled at thee 
	after the reproach of that night’s inconstancies.10 Here are festal games 
	in thy honour; here with innocent rivalry and ungauntleted strife 
45	in swift-recurring rites men yearly celebrate thy contest. 
	Here, to his grand-sire’s joy, a child is written down as priest 
	to thy temple, still young as thou, when thou didst first crush 
	with baby hands thy stepdame’s monsters and then weep their death. 
	
	But say, revered Calliope,11 whence took this shrine 
50	its sudden rise? Speak, and in unison with thee Alcides shall 
	make his tense bowstring ring amain and echo thy song. 
	
	It was in the season when the heavens burn most fiercely 
	over earth, and stricken with the fullness of the sun’s force 
	Sirius12 eagerly scorches the sweltering fields. 
55	The day was come whereon at Aricia Trivia’s grove13 that welcomes 
	the runaway for its king, is lurid with torches, and the lake that shares 
	the secret of Hippolytus gleams with the light of many a flambeau.14 
	The goddess herself frees from the chase and garlands her hounds, 
	and wipes her javelins and suffers the deer to go unharried: 
60	while all Italy at pure altars keeps Hecate’s15 day holy. 
	Now although my own demesne beneath the hills of Dardan Alba16 
	and the stream that by our great lord’s bounty is mine, 
	had full availed to temper the fiery heat and soothe my 
	meditations, yet by the rocks of the Sirens17 and the hearth 
65	of eloquent Pollius I dwelt awhile, a visitor but no stranger, 
	busily seeking to learn the secret of his calm soul and gentle bearing, 
	and gathering the fresh blossoms of his stainless song. 
	It chanced that, weary of narrow doors and wonted shelter, 
	we were keeping Trivia’s day on the dank shore screened 
70	from the sun’s fierce rays by the leafage of a spreading tree, 
	when the sky grew dark: sunshine gave place to sudden storm 
	and the penetrating West was changed to rain-laden South, 
	in such a tempest as Saturnia sent on Libya, 
	when royal Dido was given to a Trojan lover, 
75	and the witness nymphs shrilled through the wilds.18 
	We scattered, and the slaves snatched up the festal meats 
	and garlanded wine. But they knew not where our feast could find shelter. 
	For though houses without number were perched upon 
	the gay fields above, and though the hillside shone bright 
80	with many a cupola, the menace of the storm and the promise that 
	the banished sunshine would return made us seek the nearest covert. 
	There stood a tiny cottage,—a shrine ‘twas called and holy,—
	that beneath its narrow roof- tree cabined and confined the mighty Hercules; 
	scarce was there room within to shelter sea-roaming mariners, 
85	and the searchers of the deep. Here we gathered one and all, 
	with the feast and the costly couches, our thronging attendants 
	and fair Polla’s winsome suite—all crowded here: 
	the doors could not hold us, the narrow temple failed. 
	The god blushed, and laughing stole into the heart 
90	of his loved Pollius. Then with a soft caress,
	
	‘What’ he whispered, ‘lordly giver, whose lavish heart 
	has enriched alike the halls of Dicarcheus and budding 
	Parthenope,19 who on my hill hast set all these pinnacles, 
	all these green groves,—so many lifelike statues of bronze 
95	and of marble, so many figures fashioned in bright wax that 
	seem to breathe,—for what was yonder hill or yonder park, ere 
	it rejoiced in thee? It was thou that over the bare rocks didst draw 
	the covered way. Where there was but a footpath of old 
	stands now, on painted pillars, a high arcade.20 
100	It was thou that didst shut within twin cupolas channels of the warm 
	wave yonder on the margin of the winding shore, to make fair the road. 
	I can scarce count all thy works: and is Pollius niggardly and poor 
	to me alone? Yet joyously I enter even this mean abode and cherish 
	the shore vouchsafed to me by thee. But from hard by 
105	Juno mocks my dwelling and covertly sneers at my shrine. 
	Grant me a temple and altars worthy of thy achievements, so that 
	every ship shall be sorry when fair winds carry her past too quickly; 
	and that the heavenly father, with all the host bidden to the feasts of the 
	gods, aye, and my sister too, from her lofty temple, may resort thither. 
110	Fear not, though hard the stiff, boss of grudging hillside 
	confronting thee, that untold years have not consumed: I, 
	even I, will be at hand. I will aid your high endeavour 
	and will tear the stubborn heart out of the reluctant earth. 
	Begin: fear not: mistrust not the counsel of Hercules. 
115	Not Amphion’s towers, not toil-wrought Pergamus 
	could rise so swiftly.’21 He said, and glided from his heart. 
	
	Forthwith the design and the plan are sketched and shaped. 
	There is gathering of countless toilers. These are set to fell the woods, 
	and these to plane the beams, and those to lay the foundations 
120	deep in earth. Anon there is baking of moist earth 
	to keep winter at bay and be proof against the frost. 
	In rounded furnace is melted the stubborn rock. 
	But the chief task is with might and main to uproot 
	opposing cliffs and crags that gainsay the pick. 
125	Thereon the genius of the spot, the lord of Tiryns, laid aside 
	his weapons, and when the shades of night curtained and obscured the sun, 
	took a stout axe and with the sweat of his face dug in person at the 
	shapeless mass. Rich Capreae and green Taurubulae 
	resounded,22 and loud rang back to land the echo from the sea. 
130	Not so great is the turmoil of Etna when her anvils quake 
	beneath the blows of Brontes and Steropes;23 nor louder 
	the thunder of the Lemnian caves when glowing Mulciber 
	is forging an aegis and fashioning chaste gifts for Pallas.24 
	Down sink the crags, till returning with the rose of morning 
135	the toilers marvel at his work. Scarce was the next panting summer 
	come when Tirynthius25 looked down in state from a towering keep 
	upon the waves. Today he vies in splendour with the halls of his stepdame 
	hard by, and can welcome Pallas his sister to a worthy temple. 
	
	And now there was winding of the bugles of peace; the beach was astir 
140	with a festival of strength. Here is homage that neither 
	Jupiter of Pisa nor the lord of gloomy Cirrha could disdain. 
	No sadness here. Room, dolorous Isthmus, room grim Nemea, 
	give room!26 Here a happier babe inaugurates the rite. 
	Even the sea-maidens leap unbidden from their 
145	pumice-caves, cling to the dripping crags and covertly 
	look on, unashamed, at the bare-limbed wrestle. 
	There, too, Gaurus, thickset with the Icarian plant, looks on, 
	and the woods that crown Nesis rooted in the waves; 
	Limon, the calm, and Euploea, whose name augurs well to ships; 
150	Venus of Lucrinum, and thou, Misenus, from thy Phrygian fastness 
	must now learn the bugle-call of Greece. Yonder, kindly Parthenope 
	smiles on the rites of her own race, on the heroes stripped 
	for the struggle, the little mimicry of her own festival.27 
	
	Nay come, sire, and graciously deign to set thine own 
155	unvanquished hand to the struggle thou lovest, whether it be 
	thy pleasure to hurl cloud-high the quoit, or with the javelin 
	to outrace the wind: or mightily to lock thee in Libyan wrestle. 
	Shun not our festival, and if thou still hast apples of the 
	Hesperides28 fling them in the lap of adorable Polla; 
160	worthy is she and asks, a noble suppliant, for this great gift. 
	Nay, might she but win back the sweet bloom of her golden youth,—forgive me, 
	Hercules,—perchance thou hadst even wound the skein at her bidding. 
	
	This offering I have brought, a joyous reveller, to the 
	new-born altar. Now the god himself is on the threshold. 
165	As I gaze, he opens his lips and speaks:— 
	
	‘Blessings on the spirit and the store that have rivalled 
	my labours, subduer of the rugged rock and of barren Nature’s 
	unsightly wilds, that turnest to men’s use the pathless haunts 
	of wild beasts, and honourest my hidden and slighted 
170	godhead! What reward can I pay thee? What thanks bestow 
	on thy service? My hand shall hold fast the threads of the Sisters, 
	and check their spindles. Am I not skilled to conquer Death?29 
	I will banish Sorrow and bid grim Loss begone. 
	I will renew thy youth and keep thee scatheless in a hale old age. 
175	I will suffer thee to see thy children’s children grow to their strength, 
	till the maiden is ripe for a husband and the boy for his bride, 
	and from them springs another generation, and the romping 
	band now climb their grandsire’s shoulders and now run 
	in eager rivalry to win kisses from gentle Polla. 
180	Never shall the days of my temple reach their close, 
	as long as I am upborne by the fabric of the fiery sky. 
	Nemea shall not more often be my home, nor mansion at Tibur, 
	nor immemorial Argos, nor Gades the chamber of the Sun.’30 
	
	He spoke and touched the fire that flamed up from the altar; 
185	then shook the poplar wreath whitening on his brow, 
	while he swore the vow by Styx31 and by his father’s lightnings.
	
II. A Send-off poem for Maecius Celer
	
	GODS, whose joy it is to guard daring barks 
	and to allay the savage perils of the windy deep, 
	make calm and smooth the sea; pay gentle heed to my 
	vows; let the waves be merciful and drown not my prayer: 
	
5	‘Great and precious, Neptune,32 is the pledge we are committing 
	to your waters. Young is Maecius whom we entrust to the hazard 
	of the sea, and who is making ready to pass—and with him the half of 
	my heart—across the flood. Now may the Spartan brethren33 
	put forth their auspicious stars and alight on the twin peaks 
10	of the yard- arm. Let their radiance be bright on sea 
	and sky to drive far of their Trojan sister’s34 stormy light, 
	and banish her utterly from the sky. 
	Ye too, O Nereids,35 a sea-blue host, to whose lot has fallen 
	the glorious queen-ship of half the upper world 
15	(may it be granted me to call you stars of the sea!), 
	arise from the glassy caves of the foam-queen Doris,36 
	and with soft strokes swim in rivalry round Baiae bay37 
	and the shores that are alive with hot springs. 
	Seek out the tall ship wherein Celer, the noble 
20	foster-son of armed Ausonia,38 prefers to embark. 
	Not for long need ye search: even now across the sea, outstripping all, 
	she came to the shores of Dicarcheus39 freighted with the harvest of Egypt;40 
	outstripping all, she greeted Capreae,41 and on the starboard side 
	poured libation of Mareotic wine42 to Tyrrhene Minerva.43 
25	Around her sides do ye weave your lithe circle, and, with tasks 
	apportioned, some brace taut the mainmast’s hempen stays; 
	some set the topsails; some spread her canvas 
	to the West-wind; let others arrange the thwarts 
	and others dip the tiller in the waves to guide the curved bark; 
30	let there be some to help the big ship try her ponderous oars, 
	some to make fast the skiff to follow in her wake, 
	and some to plunge deep and drag up her moorings. 
	Let one control the tides and slope the waters towards the sunrise. 
	Not one of your sea-sisterhood must lack her task! 
35	On this side manifold Proteus, on that twy-formed Triton must glide on 
	before her, and that Glaucus, whose loins were transformed by sudden 
	magic;44 and still whensoever he returns to his native waters, 
	see, it is a fish that with fawning tail beats Anthedon45 beach. 
	Thou above all, Palaemon, thou and thy goddess mother,46 
40	be propitious, if it is my choice to sing of your dear Thebes, and with 
	no degenerate lyre I hymn the minstrel Amphion, whom Phoebus loved.47 
	Last, let the father, who in his Aeolian prison curbs the winds,48—
	whom the divers blasts and every breeze that blows over 
	the world’s seas, whom storm and storm-cloud obey,—
45	let him, I say, shut faster beneath the mountain barrier North 
	and South and East; let only the West have the freedom of the sky; 
	only the West drive on the bark and glide untiringly over the face 
	of the waters, till, unscathed by storm, the vessel 
	shall furl her sails off the Egyptian shore.’ 
	
50	My prayer is heard. The West-wind himself woos the bark 
	and upbraids the laggard sailors. Ah, but now my heart fails with 
	chill fear, and though warned by dread of the omen, my eyes 
	cannot lock up the tears that quiver on their lids. 
	And now the hawser is cast off: the sailors have unmoored 
55	the bark and flung the narrow gangways into the sea. 
	The hardhearted master on the bridge with long-drawn 
	cry severs our embraces, and parts loving lips: 
	not for long may my arms clasp the dear one’s neck. 
	Yet will I be the last of all the throng to pass to the shore, 
60	nor be gone till the vessel is scudding on her way. 
	
	When the sea was still untried and shut against hapless men, who was 
	the bold spirit who made it a highway and drove out upon the waves 
	loyal fosterlings of the solid earth?—and who launched them upon 
	the gaping flood? Not more reckless was their valour, 
65	who planted snowy Pelion on the peaks of Ossa, 
	and crushed panting Olympus under a twofold burden.49 
	Was it so small a thing to find out a path through clinging 
	marsh and mere and to curb and straiten rivers with bridges? 
	We hurry into jeopardy and on every side flee headlong from our 
70	native lands under the bare sky, with but a narrow plank for bulwark. 
	That is why the winds rage and the storms chafe, the sky 
	moans and the bolts of the Thunderer50 are multiplied. 
	Before barks were, the deep lay sunk in leaden slumber; 
	the sea durst not foam nor the waves lash the clouds. 
75	The waters swelled at sight of ships and the tempest 
	rose against men. Then it was that the Pleiads 
	and the Kids were clouded, and Orion grew fiercer than of old.51 
	
	Not unprovoked is my plaint. See, over the wandering waves speeds the bark 
	in its flight. Fainter it shows and fainter; then fades from the sight 
80	of the watcher afar. How many fears it clasps within its slender timbers! 
	Thee above all, thee, Celer, the brother of my love, it must waft 
	over the waters. Where can I find courage now to endure 
	the sleep-time and the day? Who in my vague dread 
	shall bring me tidings whether the savage coast of the Lucanian sea52 
85	has sent thee on thy way? Whether whirling Charybdis seethes 
	and frets; what of the maiden reiver of the Sicilian deep;53 
	how boisterous Hadria54 serves thy speed; 
	whether the Carpathian55 is calm, and with what breeze the sea, 
	that smiled on the sleight of that Phoenician bull,56 helps thy course? 
90	But I have deserved to sigh, or, when you were going to the wars, 
	why was I not ready to go with you and tire not, even to the unknown Indies 
	or the Cimmerian57 darkness? I should be standing even now under 
	my patron’s banner, whether bridle or sword be yours to hold, 
	or whether you dispense justice by moral authority to armed tribesmen. 
95	So though I could not share, I had marvelled at your achievements. 
	If Phoenix of old, a man of peace not sworn to help 
	the proud Atrides, went an honoured companion with 
	great Achilles to Thymbraean Pergamus and the Ilian shore, 
	why was my love cowardly?58 Yet my faithful thoughts 
100	shall ever be with you and my vows follow your sails far. 
	
	Isis,59 who hadst once thy manger in the caves of Phoroneus,60 
	queen of Pharos61 now and goddess of the breathless East, 
	welcome with the manifold voice of thy timbrels the Mareotic62 bark 
	and the peerless hero, whom the lord of Latium has sent 
105	to curb his Eastern standards and the armies of Palestine. 
	With thine own hand lead him in peace through festal shrine 
	and holy haven and the cities of thy realm. Under thy guidance 
	let him learn the secret of the lawless foison of overflowing Nile: 
	why his waters sink so that the flood is kept within bounds by the banks 
110	which the nesting swallows have overlaid with clay: the jealousy 
	of Memphis, the wanton revelry on the shores of Spartan Canopus;63 
	why Lethe’s sentinel guards the altars of Pharos; 
	why beasts of little worth are honoured as the high gods; 
	what altars the long-lived Phoenix arrays for his rites; 
115	what fields Apis,64 the adoration of the eager shepherds, 
	deigns to crop, and in what pools of Nile to plunge. 
	Aye, and bring him to the Emathian65 grave, where, steeped in honey 
	from Hybla,66 the warrior-founder of your city keeps undecayed his state. 
	Lead him to the snake-haunted shrine, where Cleopatra of Actium, 
120	sunk in painless poisons, escaped Italian chains.67 
	Follow him right on to his Assyrian resting-place, to the camp, 
	his charge, and with the Latian war-god leave him. 
	No stranger guest will he be. In these fields he toiled in boyhood, 
	when the radiance of the broad purple was his only renown: 
125	yet strong was he already in nimble flight to outstrip the horsemen, 
	and with his javelin to put to reproach the arrows of the East. 
	
	Aye, then a day will dawn, when, thy warfare over, 
	Caesar, to give thee nobler station, will bid thee home; 
	when once again we shall stand here upon the shore, 
130	gazing out upon the great waves and praying for another breeze. 
	What pride, then, will be mine! How loudly on my lute shall I sound 
	the votive strain! When about your sinewy neck I cling 
	and you raise me to your shoulders: when, fresh from the ship, 
	you fall first upon my breast, and give me all your treasured talk; 
135	when in turn we tell the tale of the intervening years: 
	you, of the rushing Euphrates and royal Bactra,68 the sacred 
	store of holy Babylon, and Zeugma69 the ford of Roman 
	Peace; how sweet the groves of blooming Edom;70 
	where the costly scarlet of Tyre; and with what dye the purple glows 
140	when it is dipped once and again in the vats of Sidon;71 and where 
	the fertile rods that first from their bud exude the bright spikenard; 
	while I recount what burial I have granted to the vanquished Argives, 
	and what issue closes my laboured tale of Thebes.72
	
III. Consolation for Claudius Etruscus
	
	DUTY, greatest of gods, whose deity, best-beloved of heaven, 
	looks but seldom upon this debased earth,—
	hither with the fillets on thy brow, hither in the glory of white robes, 
	even as when, ere the sins of the guilty had driven thee forth, thou still didst 
5	dwell, a mighty goddess, among innocent nations and the realms of gold,—
	come hither to these peaceful obsequies! Behold the dutiful sorrow 
	of Etruscus,73 commend his eyes and wipe the tears from them. 
	Who, that saw him breaking his heart with insatiable sorrow, 
	clasping the bier and bending over the funeral fire, 
10	who would not think that it was a young wife’s death 
	he bewailed, or that a son’s face just budding with manhood was 
	the prey of yonder pyre? Nay, he weeps a father dead. Come gods 
	and men to our rites. Begone, ye guilty: begone, 
	ye whose hearts harbour some secret sin; if any counts his weary father’s 
15	old age too long; if conscience speaks to any that he has ever struck 
	his mother, so that he dreads the judgement-urn of grim Aeacus74 below. 
	The innocent and the chaste I call. See, gently he clasps 
	and caresses the old man’s brow, bedewing those reverend 
	grey hairs with tears, and cherishing the last cold 
20	breath. Here is a son (believe and marvel!) who thinks his father’s 
	years too soon ended, and the dark Sisters’75 stroke too swift. 
	Rejoice, ye quiet ghosts beside Lethe’s76 wave, and let 
	the halls of Elysium77 exult! Garland the shrines, 
	and let the gay altars make glad your hueless groves. 
25	Happy is yonder shade that comes; too happy, for his son 
	laments him. Avaunt, ye hissing Furies,78 and let Cerberus,79 
	the tri-formed sentinel, begone! Open wide a way for the 
	noble dead! Let him advance and approach 
	the dread throne of the silent king, and pay his last 
30	gratitude, and earnestly entreat like years for his son. 
	
	Blessed be thou, Etruscus, for these duteous tears! We will solace 
	so worthy a sorrow, and to thy sire, unbidden, pay the tribute 
	of an Aonian80 dirge. It is for thee to lavish Eastern 
	perfumes, to sink the princely harvests of Arabia and Cilicia81 
35	on the pyre. Let the fire taste of thy rich inheritance: 
	high on the pyre be heaped such store as burning shall send up 
	duteous clouds to the bright sky. The gift I will bring is not 
	destined for the flames; thy grief by my witness shall endure 
	for years to come. Nor unknown to me is sorrow for a father 
40	dead. I, like thee, have wept outstretched before the funeral-fire. 
	That day moves me to find song to assuage your loss; 
	I have borne alone the plaints that now I offer to you. 
	
	Noble lineage was not thine, O tranquil sire, nor didst thou trace 
	thy descent from forefathers of long ago; but thy high fortune 
45	ennobled thy blood, and hid the reproach of thy parents. 
	For thy masters were not of the common herd, 
	but men to whom East and West alike do service. 
	Nor need such condition shame thee. For in earth and sky 
	there is naught but is bound by law of allegiance. All things rule 
50	and are ruled in turn and in order. Each land has its king. 
	Crowned kings own the sway of fortunate Rome: rulers are set 
	to govern her: and over them towers the sovereignty 
	of the gods; but even the gods bow to rule and ordinance: 
	in vassalage is the swift choir of the stars, in vassalage the nomad moon, 
55	nor is it without command that daylight runs his bright course so often: 
	and—if but the gods suffer me to compare the lowly with the great—
	even the lord of Tiryns brooked the behests of a merciless master, 
	and Phoebus with his flute did not blush to be a slave.82 
	
	But not from a barbarous shore didst thou come over to Latium. 
60	Smyrna83 was thy native place: thou didst drink of the hallowed springs 
	of Meles and the waters of Hermus,84 whither Lydian Bacchus85 
	resorts and renews his horn with that golden silt. 
	Then a happy career was thine: with divers tasks in due succession 
	thy dignity increased. It was granted to thee ever to move near 
65	to the divinity, ever to be at Caesar’s side, and close to the sacred 
	secrets of the gods. First the halls of Tiberius86 were opened 
	to thee when early manhood was but just darkening thy cheeks. 
	There it was and then—for thy worth was beyond thy years—
	that the boon of freedom overtook thee. And the next heir,87 
70	fierce though he was, and hounded by the Furies, drove thee not away. 
	In his train you journeyed far to the frozen North.88 You endured 
	the tyrant—him of the fierce eyes and cruel speech, the terror 
	of his people—as boldly as they who tame terrible beasts 
	and bid them, even after they have tasted blood, release a hand 
75	when it is plunged within their jaws, and live not by rapine. 
	But Claudius89 it was who for thy deserts raised thee 
	to pre-eminent power, ere he passed, an old man, 
	to the starry sky, leaving thee to the service of his nephew’s son. 
	What zealous worshipper was ever suffered to serve as many temples, 
80	or as many altars as thou hast Emperors? The winged Arcadian90 
	is the messenger of Jove on high: rain-bringing Iris is the thrall 
	of Juno: swift to obey stands Triton91 at Neptune’s beck: 
	thou hast duly borne the oft-changed yoke of many leaders 
	scathless, and on every sea thy little bark has ridden safe. 
	
85	And now a great light shone on thy loyal home, and in all 
	her greatness, with steps unchecked, Fortune drew near. 
	Now to thee alone was given the government of our holy 
	Ruler’s treasures; of the wealth all nations yield, the revenue 
	of the big world; the output of Hiberia’s treasure-pits,92 
90	the glistening ore of Dalmatia’s93 hills; all that is gathered from 
	the harvests of Africa, all that is crushed from the threshing-floors 
	of sultry Nile;94 the gleanings of divers in Eastern seas, 
	rich flocks of Spartan Galesus;95 the frost of crystals, 
	the citron-wood of Massylia,96 the glory of the Indian 
95	tusk:97—all is the charge and care of his hands alone, 
	all that the North and cloudy South and wild East send 
	into our coffers: sooner might you count the drops of winter rain 
	or the leaves of the forest. Watchful, too, is he and prudent of heart; 
	shrewdly he reasons out what sum the Roman armies 
100	in every clime, what the tribes and the temples, what the 
	watercourses demand, what the forts that guard our havens, 
	and the far reaching chain of roads; the gold that must gleam 
	upon the Emperor’s panelled ceilings; the lumps of ore 
	that must be melted in the fire to counterfeit the features of the gods; 
105	the metal that must ring under the stamp of Ausonian Moneta’s98 fire. 
	And so was pleasure banished from thy heart and peace was seldom 
	thine: meagre thy fare, thy attention never dulled or drowned 
	in wine. No distaste hadst thou for ties of wedlock. 
	It was thy pleasure with that chain to bind thy mind fast, to make 
110	an auspicious marriage, and be the father of vassals loyal to thy lord. 
	
	Who but must know the high birth and fair beauty of stately 
	Etrusca? Though my eyes never beheld her, yet her picture shows 
	beauty that matches her renown, and like measure of comeliness 
	in her sons reveals their mother in their features. Yes: noble was 
115	her stock; from her brother the lustre of the fasces and the curule throne99 
	was hers. He had led Ausonian swordsmen and loyally marshalled 
	the standards of his charge, when frenzy first launched the Dacians 
	on their savage raid and the nation was doomed to furnish forth that triumph.100 
	Thus all the shortcomings in the father’s blood the mother 
120	made good, and, rejoicing in the union, the house saw its 
	weaker side ennobled. Soon were children too vouchsafed. 
	Twice did Lucina101 bring babes to the birth, and with 
	her own fruitful hands lightly soothed the agony of travail. 
	Happy—ah, had but length of days, had but due span of years suffered her 
125	to see the pride of youth upon the cheeks of her sons and the light 
	in their eyes. But ere her prime had fled, the thread of her joy was snapped 
	and broken, and Atropos102 forcefully shattered the blooming life: 
	even as lilies droop their wan heads, 
	and glowing roses wither at the first sirocco, 
130	or in the fresh meadows the purples of spring die away. 
	About the bier fluttered the arrow-bearing Loves 
	and anointed the fagots with their mother’s perfumes. 
	They ceased not to fling upon it locks of their hair and feathers 
	from their wings: their heaped-up quivers made the pyre.—
135	Ah, what offerings and what sighs, Etruscus, would you have rendered 
	to your mother’s grave, when you reckon your father’s 
	death untimely and lovingly bewail his years. 
	
	He who to-day moves with a nod the heights of heaven, 
	who of his noble sons has granted one to earth and one to the stars, 
140	gladly gave your father the glory of a triumph over Edom; 103
	for, counting him worthy of the rank and renown of the procession of victory, 
	he forbade not the ceremonial; parents of low degree seemed to him no bar. 
	Yet again from among the people into the seats of the knights 
	he withdrew him, and ennobled his stock, struck off from his left hand 
145	the iron ring of humiliation and raised him to the high degree of his sons. 
	
	Prosperously now for twice eight lustres his life glided by: 
	his course ran without a cloud. How lavish in the service 
	of his sons, how ready to resign all his substance, the splendour 
	that princely Etruscus has ever practised since that day bears 
150	witness; thy fatherly fondness taught him noble bearing: 
	with caresses that could not bear a parting thou didst cherish him 
	yearningly with nothing of a father’s sternness: even his brother was 
	more eager for his fame than for his own, and rejoiced to give place to him. 
	
	Great sovereign, what gratitude for their father’s second birth, 
155	and what loyal vows these young men, thy vassals, render to thee! 
	Thou assuredly,—whether it was Age that erred, outworn with service 
	and wasted with decay, or whether Fortune, so long his friend, now had 
	a fancy to retire,—thou, when the old man was astounded 
	and dreaded that thy lightnings would consume him, 
160	wast content to admonish him with thy thunder alone and a bolt 
	that destroyed not. So when the partner of his trouble was banished 
	far from Italian soil across the rude sea, Etruscus was bidden to depart 
	to the mild Campanian coast, and the hills of Diomedes,104—
	no exile there, but a guest. And soon, Germanicus,105 
165	thou didst open to him once more the gates of Romulus, 
	solacing his sorrow and upraising his fallen fortunes. 
	What wonder? This is that clemency, gentle ruler, 
	that bestowed upon the conquered Chatti106 so merciful a charter, 
	and gave back to the Dacians107 their fastness: 
170	that but now, when the grisly war was over, disdained that Latium 
	should triumph over the Marcomani108 and the nomad Sauromates.109 
	
	Now his sun is setting: the remorseless thread fails. 
	And sorrowful Etruscus out of his love asks me for a sweeter dirge 
	than ever was echoed by Sicilian crags,110 or chanted by the bride 
175	of savage Tereus,111 or swan that knows its death at hand. 
	Alas!—for I saw him—his arms were weary with beating 
	his breast: he laid his face prone upon his father’s kiss. 
	Scarce could friend or slave restrain him, scarce the towering pyre 
	daunt him. Even so upon Sunium’s crags did Theseus make lament, 
180	when by his false sails he had beguiled Aegeus to his death.112 
	Anon with stains of mourning on his face and agony in his cry 
	he greeted the burning corse: ‘Father, true heart, why forsake us 
	at the return of prosperity? But yesterday we appeased 
	our great Ruler’s godhead and Heaven’s shortlived wrath; 
185	yet thou reapest not thy fruits, hut robbed of the joy of this 
	princely bounty passest, ungrateful, into the silence. And may we 
	not melt the Fates or appease the angry powers of baleful Lethe?113 
	Happy be, for whom, as he bore his father on his stalwart shoulders, 
	the Grecian flames were awed and opened out a path!114 
190	and he, the beardless Scipio, who from the savage Poeni rescued 
	his sire;115 and happy Lausus the Tuscan for his daring and his love!116 
	Is this then, the ordinance of Heaven? Could the wife of that Thessalian king 
	give her life for his;117 could the Thracian, by his entreaties, soften the 
	obdurate Styx;118 and were there not a stronger claim to save a father? 
	
195	Yet thou shalt not wholly be taken; I will not banish thy ashes 
	afar: here, here under my own roof-tree I still will keep thy spirit. 
	Thou art the warden and lord of the home: to thee all that is thine 
	shall do homage. I will ever be second to thee, as is meet, and serve thee. 
	Without ceasing will offer meat-offering and drink-offering to 
200	thy shade and worship thine image. Now in the gleaming marble, 
	now in the lines of cunning -paintings thy likeness shall return to me: 
	now Indian ivory and tawny gold shall express thy features: 
	and in the picture I shall read the path of duty and the lesson 
	of long life; and words of love and dreams of guidance.’ 
	
205	He ceased: with gladness and joy his father heard 
	him. Slowly he passed down to the remorseless shades 
	and bore the message to tell his beloved Etrusca. 
	
	Hail for the last time, O aged father, and for the last time farewell! 
	Farewell, O gentle heart, who, while thy son lives, shall never 
210	know the gloom of the pit and the sorrow of a forgotten grave. 
	Thy altars shall ever be fresh with fragrant flowers; 
	Assyrian perfumes and tears, a truer tribute, 
	thy happy urn shall ever drink. Thy son shall pay to thy spirit 
	auspicious sacrifice, and of thine own soil build thee a barrow. 
215	My song, too, which by his example he has earned, he consecrates 
	to thee, rejoicing with this burying place to endue thy dust.
	
IV. Flavius Earinus’ Hair
	
	SPEED, tresses, speed:119 and smooth be your passage 
	over the sea, as softly ye lie on the garlanded gold. 
	Speed! for gentle Cytherea120 shall grant you fair voyaging. 
	She shall still the winds and haply take you from 
5	the fearful bark and waft you overseas in her own shell. 
	
	Honoured are these tresses, the gift of Caesar’s favourite. 
	Take them, son of Phoebus, take them with joy and show them 
	to thy father ever-young. Let him match with Bacchus 
	their bright lustre and long account them his brother’s locks. 
10	Perchance of his grace he will cut off one of his own 
	immortal tresses and set it for thee in another coffer of gold. 
	
	More blessed by far art thou, Pergamus,121 than pine-clad Ida, 
	though Ida exult in the cloud wherein Jove’s favourite was snatched away.122 
	Why, Ida gave to the gods him on whom Juno never looks but with 
15	a frown,123 and shrinks from his hand and refuses the nectar; 
	thou art beloved of heaven and renowned for thy fair fosterling. 
	Thou hast sent to Latium a cupbearer on whom our 
	Roman Jove and Roman Juno124 both look with 
	kindly brows and both approve. Not without the will of the 
20	gods above was such joy granted to the mighty lord of earth. 
	
	They say that as golden Venus drawn by her gentle swans 
	was journeying from the peaks of Eryx125 to the woods of Idaly,126 
	she entered the halls of Pergamus, where the staunch helper 
	of the sick, he who stays the swift-ebbing fates, 
25	the kindly god, broods over his health-giving snake. 
	There, even in front of the god’s altars she marked 
	a child at play, fair as a star, with wondrous comeliness. 
	She was duped for a moment by the form that flashed upon her 
	and thought him one of her own Cupids: but he had no bow, 
30	nor any shadowy wings upon his shining shoulders. 
	In wonder at his boyish beauty she gazed upon his curly brow 
	and said: ‘Shalt thou go to towered Rome? 
	Shall Venus slight thee and let thee bear with a mean dwelling 
	and the yoke of common slavery? Not so I, even I, 
35	will find for thy beauty the master it deserves. Come now with me, 
	come, child, and in my swift car I will bear thee through the sky 
	to be a Carious gift to a king. No mean thraldom shall await thee. 
	Thou art destined to be the favourite of the palace. 
	Never, never, in all the world have I beheld or bred 
40	so fair a child. Endymion and Atys,127 unchallenged, 
	will yield to thee, and he who died for fruitless love of a 
	fountain-shadow.128 The Nymph of the blue waters had chosen thee 
	before Hylas,129 and more resolutely seized thine urn and drawn thee to her. 
	Child, thou dost surpass all: only he, to whom I will give thee, is comelier.’ 
	
45	So spoke Venus—and raising him with her own hands 
	through the buxom air, bade him sit in her swan-drawn car. 
	Forthwith they came to the hills of Latium, and to the home 
	of old-world Evander,130 which renowned Germanicus,131 lord of the world, 
	now adorns with new palaces and makes fair as the stars on high. 
50	Then ‘twas the goddess’s first thought to see, what tiring best became 
	his locks, what raiment was fittest to make the roses burn on his cheeks, 
	what golden ornaments were worthy of his hands and of his neck. 
	She knew our Master’s piercing eye. She had herself with 
	bounteous hand bestowed on him his bride and knitted the bond. 
55	So cunningly she decked those locks, so shrewdly unfolded that Tyrian 
	purple,132 and gave him the radiance of her own light;—the troops of slaves 
	and the favourites of other days gave way forthwith. He it is who now pours out 
	the first cup of our great ruler, and in hands fairer than the crystal bears goblets 
	of crystal and of ponderous fluor spar: so that the wine tastes sweeter. 
	
60	Boy, thou art beloved of heaven, in that thou art chosen 
	to sip first of the Emperor’s nectar and to touch so often 
	the strong right hand that Getae and Persians, Armenians 
	and Indians are fain to kiss;133 born under a gracious star 
	art thou and abundantly blessed by the grace of the gods. 
65	Once, that the first down might not mar the bloom 
	upon thy cheeks, or that fair face be darkened, 
	the god of thy native land came from lofty Pergamus 
	over the seas. None other was suffered to take away thy 
	manhood, but only the son of Phoebus, he of the gentle hand 
70	and quiet skill, with never a wound and without pain 
	unsexed thee. Yet, even so, care-stricken and affrighted 
	was Cytherea, fearing pain for her favourite. 
	That was before the splendid mercy of our ruler set to preserve 
	all men whole from their birth. To-day it is forbidden 
75	to change and unman our youth. Nature rejoices now to see 
	only the sex she saw at birth, and no slave- mother any longer 
	fears, by reason of that baleful law, to bear a man child. 
	
	Thou too, hadst thou been born in a later year, 
	wert now a man; with bearded cheeks and more virile prime 
80	thou hadst sent other gifts to the temple of Phoebus.134 
	Now to the shores of thy country the bark must bear this lock 
	alone: our Lady of Paphos135 has steeped it in rich essences, 
	and the three Graces have combed it with their young hands. 
	To this the purple lock of mangled Nisus,136 and the tress 
85	that proud Achilles cherished for Spercheius will yield.137 
	When first it was resolved to rob that snow-white brow 
	and forcefully despoil those shining shoulders, 
	unbidden the winged boy-Loves with their mother, the Paphian 
	queen,138 flew to thee, and undid thy tresses and about thee cast a robe 
90	of silk. Then with linked arrows they severed the lock 
	and set it in the jewelled gold. Their mother herself, Cytherea,139 caught it 
	as it fell and once and again anointed it with her mysterious perfumes. 
	Anon one of the thronging Loves, who, as it befell, had brought 
	in upturned hands a fair mirror framed in jewelled gold, 
95	cried aloud: ‘Let us give this too—what gift more welcome!—
	to the shrines of his land, a treasure more -precious than gold. 
	Only do thou gaze upon it and leave a look for ever within.’ 
	He ceased, and caught the boyish presentment and shut the glass. 
	
	Then the fair boy lifted up his hands to heaven and said: 
100	‘Gentle guardian of mankind, do thou (if such is my desert) vouchsafe 
	for this gift to make-our Master young again with never-passing youth 
	and keep him safe for the world. Not I alone, but the land and sea 
	and stars beseech thee. Grant him, I pray, as many years 
	as the man of Ilium and he of Pylos lived.140 Let him see the shrine of his 
105	house and the Tarpeian temple141 grow old along with him, and rejoice!’ 
	He ceased, and Pergamus marvelled that her altars rocked.
	
V. To Claudia, the poet’s wife
	
	WHY are you so downcast, my wife, in the day and in the nights 
	of our companionship? Why do you sorrow and sigh as though 
	your trouble knew no rest? I have no fear that you have broken 
	your troth or that another love harbours in your breast. No shaft 
5	can pierce you. No, though Nemesis142 may frown to hear my words, 
	that cannot be. Had I been torn from my country, and after 
	twenty years of war and voyaging were still a wanderer, 
	you too, a stainless Penelope,143 would drive from your doors a thousand 
	suitors, and not by plotting to weave a second time a torn web, but openly 
10	and without guile, sword in hand, you would refuse to wed another. 
	But tell me, why are your brows bent? Why that cloud upon your 
	countenance? Is it that for weariness I am purposing to return to my 
	Campanian home,144 and rest these aged limbs there upon my native soil? 
	Why sadden at the thought? Assuredly there is no wantonness 
15	in your heart: the jousts in the entrancing Circus bewitch you not: 
	the turmoil of the noisy theatre touches not your soul. 
	Innocence, and sheltering peace and pure joys are yours. 
	
	What are these stormy seas over which I would bear you to be 
	my companion? Nay, for that matter even though I were journeying 
20	to set up my rest in the frozen North, or beyond the gloomy waters 
	of Thule145 in the West, or the wayless sources of sevenfold Nile, you 
	would have sped me on my path. For you, you, whom Venus of her 
	gracious bounty wedded to me in the heyday of youth and guards 
	for mine into old age, you, who at the first, when I was yet virgin, 
25	did with a first love fix my roving fancy,—
	you it is whose guidance I have welcomed with cheerful obedience: 
	even as a steed that will know no change but keep ever true to the master 
	whose control he has once acknowledged. When my brow was bright 
	with the Alban wreath and Caesar’s golden chaplet was on my head,146 
30	it was you who clasped me to your heart and showered breathless 
	kisses on my laurels: it was you, when the Capitol disdained 
	my lays,147 you who shared my defeat and fretted with me at the 
	ingratitude and cruelty of Jove. You with wakeful ears 
	snatch the first essays of my melodies and those 
35	nights of whispering: you who alone share the secret of my long, long 
	toil, and with the years of your love my Thebaid has grown to full stature. 
	What sorrow I read in your eyes but now, when I was well nigh swept 
	to Stygian darkness,148 when the waters of Lethe149 sounded in my ears hard 
	at hand, and I saw, and seeing kept my eyes from sinking in death. 
40	Be sure it was but for pity of you that Lachesis150 
	renewed my skein outworn; the high gods 
	feared your reproaches. And, after that, do you hesitate to 
	bear me company for a brief journey and to that desirable bay? 
	Alas, where then is your loyalty, in many a service tried and tested, 
45	wherein you come up to the Heroines of Greece, and bygone 
	daughters of Latium? What can hold love back? Penelope had 
	gone rejoicing to the towers of Ilium, had not Ulysses forbidden. 
	And sad was Aegiale151 and sad was Meliboea152 to be left behind. 
	Sad too was she whose bitter sorrow stung her to a Maenad’s frenzy.153 
50	Yet great are you as these wives of old to recognize allegiance and to 
	lay down your life. Assuredly it is with loyalty such as theirs that you yearn 
	still over those ashes and that vanished shade. So you embrace the relics of 
	your minstrel lord and make your bosom resound with blow on blow of sorrow 
	even now that you are mine. Nor less is your loyal care for your daughter. 
55	As a mother, you love as warmly: your daughter is never 
	far from your thoughts: night and day her image lives 
	in your inmost heart. Alcyone of Trachis cherishes not her fledglings 
	so tenderly: nor Philomela, that in spring hovers yearningly 
	about her nest and breathes her own warm life into her young.154 
60	And yet in that now she sits alone and unmated in her bower, 
	she is letting the spring of her bright youth pass fruitlessly away. 
	But the day will come: the torches of consummation will be kindled: 
	the bridal will dawn. Assuredly a face so fair, a heart so sweet, deserve true lover. 
	Whether she clasps and strikes the lute, or whether with the voice her father 
65	loved she wakes strains worthy for the Muses to rehearse and shapes my songs, 
	or whether in swift movement her snow-white arms part and sway: 
	her innocence is sweeter than her art, her maidenly reserve outdoes 
	her cunning skill. Surely the lithe Loves and Cytherea155 will blush 
	that such beauty should be mateless. But it is not Rome alone 
70	that is rich in gift of marriage rites and in kindling 
	the nuptial torch. In my country too will suitors be found. 
	The Vesuvian peak, the tempest of fire from that ominous height, 
	have not so utterly cowed and drained our cities of men. 
	They still stand strong in their sons. Westward the halls of Dicarcheus156 
75	that arose at Phoebus’ ordinance, the haven and the shore that 
	welcomes all the world: northward the towers that rival the expanse 
	of imperial Rome, the towers that Capys filled with his Teucrian pilgrims.157 
	And there too is our own Parthenope,158 that can scarce shelter her own 
	people, and has scant room for settlers. Parthenope who came over the sea, 
80	and Apollo himself sent the Dionaean dove159 to guide her to a rich soil. 
	
	This is the home to which I would have you pass.—
	Not savage Thrace nor Libya gave me birth:—
	mild is the winter and cool the summer that rule the land: 
	and soft the seas that with sluggish waves wash our shores. 
85	Peace with never a care is in our coasts, the calm of 
	an untroubled life, unruffled ease, and sleep unbroken. 
	No turmoil in our courts, no laws, sword- like, unsheathed to strike: our statutes 
	spring from the heart of our people; Right rules alone without rods or axes.160 
	
	And need I now praise the gorgeous scenes and decorations 
90	of that country; the temples, the squares disposed in endless 
	porticoes; the twin massy theatres, this roofed, that open to the sky; 
	or the quinquennial contests that rival the Capitoline festival; 
	the shore, the freedom of Menander,161 in which the staidness 
	of Rome mingles with the recklessness of Greece? 
95	All phases of life yield their delights on every hand, 
	whether it be your pleasure to repair to steaming Baiae’s 
	alluring beach, or to the haunted shrine of the inspired Sibyl.162 
	The cape that bears upon it for monument the Trojan’s oar:163 
	or the flowing vineyards of Bacchus-haunted Gaurus164 and the homes 
100	of the Teleboae,165 where the Pharus, to guide anxious mariners, 
	uplifts a beacon bright as the nomad Queen of night;166 
	or to those Surrentine ridges, dear to sturdy Lyaeus,167 
	that Pollius, my friend, honours above all with his dwelling place; 
	to the healing waters of Inarime168 or to Stabiae169 reborn. 
105	Must I rehearse to you the thousand charms of my country? 
	No, it is enough, my wife, enough to say: ‘This is the land 
	that bore me for thee, and bound me to thee for many a year. 
	Surely it is worthy, then, to be mother and poster- mother to us both?’ 
	
	But it were ingratitude to add reason to reason, and to doubt 
110	your heart. Dearest, you will come with me, aye or e’en 
	go before. Without me Tiber, king of Rivers, and the halls 
	of armed Quirinus170 will have no charms for you.