4 bk. I_). But it is not all. War, he says, is
only the strife of robbers. Its motive is the spoils. Therefore, of course, we fight. While I agree with those who find the
third book doubtful, I have included it. New York, 1905. The Simple Life
II. Sickness and Absence
IV. Messala
IX. To Venal Beauty
XI. He Died for Love
III. This lot be mine! No! I am myself a conquest, and must be
My Delia's captive thrall. Befooled by words
Was he who, when in love a victor strong,
Left it for spoils and swords. Embrace me, dear, in death! Give thy last kisses to my grateful clay,
And weep beside my pyre! And weep! Ah, me! The curses my mad rhymes upon thee threw,--
Forgive them!--Ah! Thine own resolve must break
Thy prison, Delia, and its guards evade. Be bold! Thou, man or maid, away! Ask me no names! Walk lightly there, I pray! Should some slave our loves behold,
Let him look on, and at his liking stare! He will surely spy
All else--to me, me only, magic-blind! And, hark! Spare me, dark death! Help me, great Goddess! O that my fathers' gods this prayer could find! Now Jove is king! Nay! O blissful day! "Comply with beauty's lightest wish," said he,
"Complying love leads best to victory. "But nay! Let him obey her! Let each his glory boast! Alas! alas! My cunning fails, and all my arts are vain. Have mercy, fair one, lest my pupils all
Mock me, who point a path in which I fall! Aye! Twist me! Plague me! O, but my dreams were fair! Mad hope! Why wouldst thou, goddess, thine own harvest burn! 'tis true! Ah me! O cruel girl! Vain is my song. O fear me, my proud rival, fear thy foes! By me, alas! Hear me! When she goes out, beware! Oh! I wronged thee, aye! Forgive, for I confess. Yes, it was I, unblushing I declare. He seems to pass. Beware, beware! Whatever beaux accost her, all is well! Not for thyself do I forgive thee, no! dear, kind and faithful heart! Be what she will, she is not less thy child. Oh, teach her to be chaste! O, Delia dear! On thee they call! Garlands deck thee, god of wine! Immortal guest, our games and pageant share! O Genius of this natal day,
May many a year thy gift declare! Or give thy fingers, Girl! Nay, nay! no gifts! Ay! Too late, alas! O listen, Pholoe! "What use are all my arts, if still my lady answers nay! "And while I say 'She comes, she comes!' "I'll wear my toga loose no more, as happier lovers do." Ah! Ye gods, be merciful! Oh! But I shall be avenged. I let thee go. Myself the torches made,
And kept thy secret for a live-long night. And thou, O thou whose beauty is a trade,
Begone, begone! Nay, not for thee! I praise her for it. Go, weep! Go, weep! But I shall laugh. Ah! But blame not him! Save me, dear Lares of my hearth and home! Grant me but this! What harvest down below, or vineyard green? Till then, let Peace on all our fields abide! Peace! But mocking Love
Teaches more angry words, and while they rave,
Sits with a smile between! But he who gives her blows!--Go, let him bear
A sword and spear! Come, holding forth thy blade of ripened corn! Messala! Be with me, thou! Oh! Come, boy divine! Sing to this god, sweet shepherds! Lo! "His glorious tresses, where?" "O, where are Delphi and its train? "The Sibyl, whither fled?" I am told. Young Bacchus, giver of the vine! Our furrowed fields they did not need,
Nor did love's harvest fail. No chaperone was there, no door
Against a lover's sighs to stand. Nay, take me! I bear them meekly now. farewell, liberty! Whether I smile or curse, love just the same
Brands me and burns. O, cruel woman, spare! Yes, Venus' shrine shall suffer worst of all. He makes them greedy. It spoils them all. "Farewell, true heart!" Come, Lares! "O Rome! A noble weapon! but when Cupid takes
His arrow,--ah! Therefore, my darling, since the powers on high
Protect the poets,--O! Smile, Phoebus there! Thy virgin sister, too, stoop with thee from the sky! Venus, good-bye! Now, off I go! Good-bye, sweet ladies all! I am all valor, and delight to hear the trumpets call. Large is my brag! Come now, ye lovers all! Ah! Love! Nay! Woe is me! Take the trifle, though a "brother" now is all he seems to thee. Ah! No! not dominion, nor Pactolian stream,
Nor all the riches the wide world can give! My fondest dream
Is, poor but free, with my true wife to live. your vain, delusive spells undo,
Nor ask me to receive! Therefore, minstrel dear! O woman, faithless name! "Go, then, and ply her with persuasive woe! Thou wert not gendered by the Pontic Sea,
Nor where Chimaera's lips fierce flame out-pour,
Nor of that dog with tongues and foreheads three,
His back all snakes and gore;
Nor out of Scylla's whelp-engirdled womb;
Nor wert thou of fell lioness the child;
Nor was thy cradle Scythia's forest-gloom,
Nor Syrtis' sandy wild. No, but thy home was human! Have mercy! Live lucky, friends! live loyal unto me,
Though life, though death be mine! Dear, jovial friends, let not a lip be dry! Drink as I drink, and every toast obey! Just and benign is he, if mortal wight
Him and his vines adore! But, O! he rages, if his gift ye spurn. Drink, if ye dare not a god's anger brave! O, I am mad! O may my curse be broke,
And melt in misty air! Back to my cups I go. This wine has brought
After long storms, the sun. Alas! O wretched me! How fortunate is he,
Who learns of others' loss his own to shun! O that my long, long nights brought peace and thee! Thou wert most false and cruel, woe is me! False! Bring water, boy! Make the cup strong, I tell you! Wine only! Save me this annoy! If Heaven should send a goddess to my bed,
All were in vain. She brands the proud, and smiles on lovers true. So Nemesis and Delia have a name,--
A poet's earliest passion and his last. Build shrines! Lo, Tibullus dies!