Statius (Mozley 1928) v1/Silvae/Book 1

Long and seriously have I hesitated, my excellent Stella—distinguished as you are in your chosen branch of our common pursuit—about these pieces of mine, which were produced in the heat of the moment and by a kind of joyful glow of improvisation, whether I should collect them, after they have issued one by one from my bosom, and send them forth together. For why should I burden myself with the responsibility for this additional publication, when I am still apprehensive for my Thebaid, although it has left my hands? But we read the “Gnat,”^[1] and deign to recognize even the Battle of the Frogs”^[2]; nor is there any of the great poets who has not made prelude to his works in lighter vein. Again, was it not too late to keep these poems back, when others were already in the possession of those in whose honour they were written (yourself among them)? Yet with most people much of their claim to a lenient judgement must disappear, since they have lost their impromptu nature, the only charm that they possessed. For ​none of them took longer than two days to write, while some were turned out in a single day. How I fear lest the poems themselves make that only too plain!

The first piece can appeal to a witness of inviolable sanctity: for “from Jove must I needs begin.”^[3] These hundred lines on the Great Horse I was bidden deliver to our most indulgent Prince the day after he had dedicated it. “Possibly,” some one will say, “you had seen the statue already.” You will answer him, my dearest Stella, you who know that the Epithalamium you demanded of me was written in two days. A bold piece of work, by Hercules! but all the same it contains three hundred hexameters—and perhaps you will tell a fib for a colleague. Certainly Manilius Vopiscus, a man of great erudition, who is foremost in rescuing from decay our almost vanishing literature, often boasts on my account, and quite spontaneously, that my sketch of his country-house at Tibur was done in one day. Then comes a poem dedicated to Rutilius Gallicus on his recovery from sickness, upon which I say nothing, lest I seem to be taking advantage of the death of my witness to exaggerate. For I can prove my case by the evidence of Claudius Etruscus, who received his ‘‘Bath” from me within the interval of a dinner. Last comes “The Kalends of December,” which at all events will find credence: for a night so happily spent and so unprecedented for public amusements . . .

What mighty mass redoubled by the huge form surmounting it stands gathering to itself the Latian forum? Did it glide down, a completed work, from heaven? Was the effigy moulded in Sicilian furnaces, leaving Brontes and Steropes^[4] weary? or have Palladian hands^[5] sculptured thee for us, O Germanicus, in such guise as Rhine of late beheld thee reining thy steed, and the astounded Dacian’s arduous home^[6]?

Come, now, let Fame of old time marvel at the age-long wonder of the Dardan horse, for whom Dindymon abased his sacred head and Ida was shorn of her leafy groves. This horse would Pergamum ne’er have held, though wide its walls were rent, nor could the mingled throng of lads and unwedded girls have drawn it, nor Aeneas himself nor mighty Hector! That one, besides, was harmful, and contained fierce Achaeans: this one is commended by his gentle rider. ’Tis a pleasure to behold that countenance whereon the marks of war are blended with the guise of tranquil peace. And think not that truth is here surpassed; equal beauty and splendour has he, and equal dignity. Not more loftily does the Bistonian^[7] steed bear Mars when the fighting is done, exulting in the mighty weight, and swiftly flies by the river till he is all asteam and with his strong blowing stirs up the waves of Strymon.

​Well suited to the work are its surroundings.^[8] Here facing it he opens wide his portals, who weary with warfare, by the gift of his adopted son,^[9] first showed our deities the way to heaven; and from thy face he learns thy greater gentleness in arms, who not even against the foreigner’s rage art easily stern, but with Cattians and with Dacians makest bond. Under thy leadership both his son-in-law, now the lesser^[10] man, and Cato had bowed to Caesar’s sway. Lengthwise thy flanks are guarded, on this hand by the Julian edifice, on that by the high basilica of warlike Paullus; thy back the Sire beholds, and Concord with tranquil brow.

Thou thyself with lofty head enshrined in the pure air dost tower resplendent over the temples, and seemest to look forth to see whether the new Palace, despising the flames, be rising in greater beauty, or whether the brand of Trojan fire keep silent watch, and Vesta now be praising the proved worth of her ministrants.^[11] Thy right hand bids battles cease; thy left the Tritonian maiden^[12] overburdens not, and holding out Medusa’s severed head incites thy steed as with a goad: never had the goddess choicer resting-place, not even if thou, O Father, didst hold her. Thy breast is such as might avail to solve the riddles of the universe, and thereon ​Temese^[13] has exhausted the wealth of all her mines; a cloak hangs from thy shoulders; the sword sleeps by thy untroubled side: even so vast a blade does threatening Orion wield on winter nights and terrify the stars. But the steed, counterfeiting the proud mien and high mettle of a horse, tosses his head in greater spirit and makes as though to move; the mane stands stiff upon his neck, his shoulders thrill with life, and his flanks spread wide enough for those mighty spurs; in place of a clod of empty earth his brazen hoof tramples the hair of captive Rhine. Seeing him, Adrastus’ horse Arion^[14] would have been sore afraid, yea Castor’s Cyllarus fears as he looks forth upon him from his neighbouring temple. Never will this steed suffer another master’s rein; this curb is his for ever, one star, and one star only will he serve. Scarce doth the soil hold, and the ground pants beneath the pressure of so vast a weight; and not of iron or bronze: ’tis under thy deity it trembles, ay, even should an everlasting rock support thee, such as would bear the peaks of a mountain piled upon it, or have endured to be pressed by the knee of heaven-sustaining Atlas.

No lengthy tarrying drew out the time. The present beauty of the god itself makes labour sweet, and the workmen intent upon their task marvel at their greater vigour. Towering cranes creak and rattle; continuous runs the roar over the seven heights of Mars, and drowns the wandering noises of mighty Rome.

​The guardian^[15] of the spot himself, whose memorable name the hallowed chasm and famous pools preserve, hearing the ceaseless clash of bronze and the Forum echoing with vigorous blows, raises his grisly visage, venerable even in decay, and his head revered for the well-deserved oak-wreath. And first, affrighted at the huge form and flashing glance of a mightier steed, he thrice in dismay bowed his lofty neck beneath the lake; then, joyful at the sight of his prince: “Hail, offspring and sire of mighty deities,” he cries, “whose godhead I heard of from afar! Now is my lake blessed, now is it holy, since it has been granted me to know thee nigh at hand, and from my neighbouring seat to watch thy immortal brightness. Once only was I the author and winner of salvation for the folk of Romulus: thou dost win the wars of Jove and the battles of the Rhine,^[16] thou dost quell the strife of citizens,^[17] and in long warfare constrain the tardy mountain to submit. But if our age had borne thee, thou wouldest have ventured to plunge into the lake’s depths, though I dared not; but Rome would have held back thy rein.”

Let that steed^[18] give place, whose statue stands in Caesar’s Forum, over against Dione’s shrine—thy daring work, ’tis said, Lysippus, for the Pellaean chief; thereafter on marvelling back he bore the effigy of Caesar—scarce could your straining sight discover how far the downward view from this monarch to that. Who is so boorish as to deny, ​when he has seen both, that ruler differs from ruler as steed from steed^[19]?

This statue fears no rainy squalls of winter or triple fire of Jove, nor the cohorts of Aeolus’ prison-house nor the long lingering years: it will stand while earth and sky abide, while Rome’s sun endures. Hither also in the silent night, when things of earth find favour with the gods above, will thy kinsfolk, leaving heaven, glide down and join with thee in close embrace. Son and brother, sire and sister will seek thy welcoming arms: about thy sole neck will cluster all heaven’s stars.^[20]

Enjoy for ever the people’s and the mighty Senate’s gift. Fain would the wax of Apelles have portrayed thee, and the old Athenian^[21] would have longed to set thy likeness in a new temple of Elean Jove; yea, soft Tarentum would rather have thy visage, and fierce Rhodes, scorning her Phoebus,^[22] thy flame-like glance. Keep thy affections fixed on earth, and inhabit thyself the shrines we dedicate to thee; let not heaven’s high court delight thee, but mayst thou joyously see thy grandsons offer incense to this our gift.

Whence comes this sound of divine melody upon ​the Latian hills? For whom, O Paean, dost thou ply thy quill anew and hang the eloquent ivory from thy tress-strewn shoulders? Lo! far away the goddesses troop down from musical Helicon, and toss on high with ninefold torch the flame that hallows wedded union and streams of song from Pierian fountains. Among them pert-faced Elegy draws nigh, loftier of mien than is her wont, and implores the goddesses as she goes about, fain to support her one lame foot,^[23] and desires to make a tenth Muse and mingles with the Sisters unperceived. The mother of Aeneas^[24] with her own hand leads forth the bride, downcast of look and the sweet blush of chastity upon her; herself she prepares the couch and the sacred rites, and with a Latin girdle dissembles her deity and tempers the brilliance of eyes and cheeks and tresses, eager to yield before the new bride.

Ah, now do I learn what day is this, what hath caused this solemn rite: ’tis thou, Stella, thou whom that choir—fling wide the gates!—is hymning; for thee Phoebus and Euhan and the swift Tegean^[25] from the shades of Maenalus bring garlands. Nor do winsome Love and Grace grow weary in scattering countless blossoms and cloudy perfumes o’er thee as thou holdest close-locked the snow-white limbs of thy longed-for bride. And now roses, now lilies mixed with violets dost thou receive upon thy brow, as thou shieldest the fair face of thy mistress.

This then was the day, laid up in the white wool of the Fates, whereon the marriage-song of Stella and Violentilla should be proclaimed and sung. Let cares and fears give place, and the clever hints ​of lying fables cease, and, Rumour, be thou silent; that love that ranged so free now brooks control and takes the bridle; we have done with gossip and our citizens have seen the kisses so long talked of. Yet thou in bewilderment—although a night so marvellous has been granted thee—still dost pray, and art affrighted that kindly heaven has given thee thy wish. Sigh no more, sweet poet, she is thine. The door lies open, and thou canst come and go with fearless step; no doorkeeper, no rule of honour stays thee now. At last take thy fill of the desired embrace—it is thine to take!—and remember the while those nights of misery.

Worthy indeed were thy reward, even though Juno set thee Herculean toils, and the Fates gave thee monsters to contend withal, though thou wert swept through the Cyanean surge.^[26] To gain her it were worth while to run the race in terror of Pisa’s law^[27] and hear the shouts of Oenomaus in hot pursuit. Nor had such a prize been thine, hadst thou, a bold shepherd lad, held thy court on Dardan Ida, nor though the warm-hearted Dawn^[28] had preferred thee, and snatched thee up and borne thee in her chariot through the air.

But what was the cause that brought to the poet the unhoped-for joys of wedlock? Do thou teach me, lovely Erato, here by my side, while the halls and portals are astir with folk, and many a staff beats upon the threshold. Time permits apt converse, and the poet’s home knows well how to listen.

Once on a time, where the milky region is set in a tranquil heaven, lay kindly Venus in her bower, whence night had but lately fled, faint in the rough embrace of her Getic^[29] lord. About the posts and ​pillows of her couch swarm a troop of tender Loves, begging her make sign where she bids them bear her torches, what hearts they shall transfix: whether to wreak their cruelty on land or sea, to set gods at variance or yet once more to vex the Thunderer. Herself she has yet no purpose, no certain will or pleasure. Weary she lies upon her cushions, where once the Lemnian chains^[30] crept over the bed and held it fast, learning its guilty secret. Then a boy of that winged crowd, whose mouth was fieriest and whose deft hand ne’er sent his arrow amiss, from the midst of the troop thus called to her in his sweet boyish voice—his quivered brethren held their peace.

“Mother,” says he, “thou knowest how no warfare finds my right hand idle; whomsoe’er of gods or men thou dost assign me, he feels the smart. Yet once, O Mother, suffer us to be moved by the tears and suppliant hands, by the vows and prayers of men; for not of steely adamant are we born, but are all thy offspring. There is a youth of famous Latin family, whom nobility rejoicing brought forth of old patrician stock, and in prescience of his beauty named straightway from our sky. Him ere now have I plied relentlessly—such was thy pleasure—with all my quiver’s armoury, and pierced him to his dismay with a thick hail of darts; and for all he is much sought by Ausonian matrons as a son-in-law, I have quelled and mastered him, and bidden him bear a noble lady’s yoke and spend long years in hoping. But her we spared—such was thy command—and did but lightly graze with the flame’s tip and loose-strung bow. Since then I can bear marvelling witness what fires the heart-sick youth is smothering, what strong urgency of mine he suffers night and day. ​None ever, mother, have I so fiercely pressed, thrusting home oft-repeated wounds. And yet I saw eager Hippomenes^[31] run the cruel course, but even at the very goal he was not so pale; and I saw, too, the youth of Abydos,^[32] whose arms did vie with oars, and praised his skill and often shone before him as he swam: yet less was that heat wherewith the savage sea grew warm; thou, O youth, hast surpassed those loves of old. I myself, amazed that thou couldest endure such gusts of passion, have strengthened thy resolve and wiped thy streaming eyes with soothing plumes. How oft has Apollo complained to me of his poet’s grief! Grant him at last, O Mother, the bride of his desire. Our comrade is he, and loyally bears our standard; he could tell of armed prowess and heroes’ famous deeds and fields flowing with blood, but his quill is dedicate to thee and he prefers to walk in gentle poethood and twine our myrtle with bay. The follies of lovers are his theme, and his own or others’ wounds; O Mother, what reverence hath he for thy Paphian godhead! ’twas he that bewailed the death of our poor dove.”^[33]

He made an end, and from his mother’s soft neck hung persuasive, making her bosom warm with his covering wings. With a look that scorned not his petition she replied: “A large request and rarely granted e’en to lovers that I myself have proved, this of Pieria’s young votary! Marvelling at this maiden’s peerless beauty, that rivalled the glory of her sires and her family’s renown, I took her to me at her birth and cherished her in my bosom: nor, child, has my hand grown weary of giving comeliness ​to face and form and smoothing with rich balm her tresses. She has grown up my own sweet image. Behold even from here the lofty beauty of her brow and high-piled hair. Reckon how far she doth tower above the matrons of Rome: even so far as the Latonian maid out-tops the nymphs, or I myself stand out above the Nereids. This girl is worthy to rise with me from out the dark-blue waves; she could sit with me upon my chariot-shell. Nay, could she have climbed to the flaming mansions and entered this abode, even you, ye Loves, would be deceived. Although in my bounty I have given her the boon of wealth, her mind is a yet richer dower. Already I complain that the avaricious Seres are stripping their diminished groves, that Clymene’s fruit is failing, that the green Sisters weep not tears enough; that already too few fleeces are blushing with Sidonian dye, and too rarely freeze the crystals of the immemorial snows.^[34] For her Tagus and Hermus at my bidding run down their yellow sand—nor yet do they suffice for her arraying; for her Glaucus and Proteus and every Nereid go in search of Indian necklaces. If thou, Phoebus, hadst seen her on the fields of Thessaly, Daphne had wandered unafraid. If on Naxos’ shore she had been spied by Theseus’ couch, Euhan, too, would have fled from the Cretan maid and left her desolate. Nay, had not Juno appeased me by her endless plaint, heaven’s lord would for this maid have taken the disguise of horns or feathers, on her lap had Jove descended in true gold. But the youth whom thou ​favourest, my son, my chiefest power, shall have his will, though many a time she refuse with tears to bear the yoke of a second wedlock. She herself, I have noticed, is already yielding, and in her turn grows warm toward her lover.” With these words she raised her starry limbs, and passing the proud threshold of her chamber called to the rein her Amyclaean doves. Love harnesses them, and seated on the jewelled car bears his mother rejoicing through the clouds. Soon appears the Ilian citadel of Tiber: a lofty mansion spreads wide its shining halls, and the swans exulting beat their wings on its bright portals. Worthy of the goddess was that abode, nor mean after the radiant stars. Here is marble of Libya and Phrygia, and the hard green Laconian rock^[35]; here the winding pattern of the onyx, and the vein that matches the deep sea’s hue, and the brilliant stone that is envied by Oebalian^[36] purple and the mixer of the Tyrian cauldron. The ceilings rest poised on columns innumerable; the beams glitter in lavish decking of Dalmatian ore.^[37] Coolness down-streaming from ancestral trees shuts out the rays of the sun, translucent fountains play in basins of marble; nor does Nature keep her wonted order: here Sirius is cool, midwinter warm, and the house sways the altered seasons to its pleasure.

Kindly Venus rejoiced to see the house of her queenly fosterling, no less than if from the deep sea she were drawing nigh to Paphos or her Idalian ​home or her shrine at Eryx. Then she addressed the maiden, as she reclined alone upon her couch: “How long this slothfulness, this modest, unshared bed, O well-beloved of me among Laurentian^[38] girls? What limit wilt thou set to chastity and thy sworn vow? Wilt thou never submit to a husband’s yoke? Soon sadder years will come. Employ thy beauty and use the gifts that are quick to fly. Not for that end did I give thee such charm and pride of countenance and my own spirit, to see thee pass year after year of loneliness, as though thou wert not dear to me. Enough, ay and too much to have despised thy former suitors. For truly this one with his whole manhood’s reverent devotion loves thee alone among all others, nor lacks he beauty or noble birth; and, for his poetry, what youths, what maidens all the city through have not his songs by heart? Him also shalt thou see—so far may the Ausonian prince^[39] prove gracious!—raise high the twelvefold rods before the due age; of a truth already has he opened Cybele’s gates and read the Euboean Sibyl’s song.^[40] Soon will the Latian Father, whose purpose I may foreknow, bestow upon the youth the purple raiment and the curule ivory,^[41] and will permit him to celebrate (a greater glory this) the spoils of Dacia and the laurels newly won. Come, marry then and have done with youth’s tarrying. What races, what hearts has my torch failed to subdue? Birds, cattle, savage herds ​of beasts, none have said me nay:^[42] the very air, when rain-showers empty the clouds, do I melt into union with the earth. Thus life succeeds to life, and the world’s age is renewed. Whence could have come Troy’s later glory and the rescuer of the burning gods, had I not been joined to a Phrygian spouse? how could Lydian Tiber have renewed the stock of my own Iuli? Who could have founded the walls of sevenfold Rome, the head of Latium’s empire, had not a Dardan priestess^[43] suffered the secret embrace of Mars, which I forbade not?”

By such winning words she inspires the silent girl with the pride of wedlock; her suitor’s gifts and prayers are remembered, his tears and wakeful pleading at her gates, and how the whole city sang of the poet’s Asteris,^[44] before the banquet Asteris, Asteris at night, Asteris at dawn of day, as never Hylas’ name resounded.^[45] And now she begins gladly to bend her stubborn heart, and now to account herself unfeeling.

Blessing on thy bridal couch, gentlest of Latian bards! Thou hast endured thy hard voyage to the end and the labours of thy quest, and gained thy haven. So does the river^[46] that fled sleek Pisa, aflame for an alien love afar, flow with unsullied streams through a channel beneath the sea, until at last arriving he drinks with panting mouth of the Sicanian ​springs; the Naiad marvels at the freshness of his kisses, nor can believe her lover has come from the open main.

What a day was that, O Stella, for thy eager spirit, when the gods showed thee signal bounty! How thy hopes surged within thy heart, when thy lady’s favouring look gave promise of the bliss of wedlock! Thou didst seem to tread the sky and walk among the shining heavens. Less exultant was the shepherd on Amyclae’s sand when Helen came to the ships of Ida; less eager seemed Peleus to Thessalian Tempe, when Chiron high on his horse’s body looked forth and beheld Thetis draw nigh to the Haemonian strand. How tardy are the lingering stars! how slow is Aurora to a lover's prayer!

But when the son of Leto, sire of poets, and Euhan, Semele’s son, perceived from afar that Stella’s marriage-chamber was preparing, from Ortygia the one, from Nysa the other they set their swift companies in train. To Apollo the Lycian hills and cool resorts of shady Thymbra sound responsive, and thou, Parnassus; Pangaea and Ismara re-echo Bacchus, and the shores of Naxos, once his bridal bower.^[47] Then did they enter the doors they loved, and brought to their tuneful friend their gifts of lyre and quill, of dappled yellow fawnskin and mystic wands: the one adorns the poet’s brow with bay, the other sets a Minoan crown^[48] upon his hair.

Scarce is the light of day sent forth, and already the omens of a happy union are at hand, already either house is aglow with festal pomp. The doorposts are green with foliage, the cross-roads bright with flame, and the most populous part of immeasurable Rome rejoices. No office of State, no ​train of lictors but seeks that threshold; Senators’ robes are jostled by crowds of common folk; yonder are knights, and women’s gowns that mix and struggle in a throng of youths. Each they call happy, but more among the multitude envy the bridegroom. Long since leaning against the portal hath Hymen sought to utter a new song in honour of their marriage, and to gladden the poet’s heart. Juno brings the holy bonds, and Concord marks the union with twofold torch. Such was that day: of the night let the bridegroom sing! This only may we know: ’twas thus that Ilia, bride of Mars, o’ercome by deceitful slumber, laid her side on the river's bank; less fair was Lavinia when she tinged her snow-white cheeks and blushed ’neath the eyes of Turnus; not so did Claudia^[49] turn to meet the people’s gaze, when the ship moved and her maidenhood was sure.

Now, comrades of the Aonian^[50] sisters and ministers of the tripods, now must we strive in manifold measures: send forth the inspired train, chapleted and ivy-crowned, each bard in the strength of his own exultant lyre. But above all, ye who spoil of its last pace^[51] your noble rhyme, bring songs that are worthy of the marriage feast. Philetas himself with Cos to applaud him and old Callimachus and Propertius in his Umbrian grot would fain have praised this day, and Naso too right gladly e’en in Tomi, and Tibullus by the glowing hearth that was his wealth.

For my part, verily, ’tis no one love, no single ​impulse that makes me sing: thou, Stella, hast a Muse like to and closely joined with mine, at similar altars do we feel the poet’s rage, and together draw water from the springs of song. Thee, lady, at thy birth my own Parthenope^[52] first fostered in her bosom, and in thy infancy thou wert the glory and delight of my native soil. Let the Euboean^[53] land be exalted to the starry pole, and Sebethos swell with pride of his fair nursling; nor let the Lucrine Naiads boast more of their sulphur caves, nor Pompeian Sarnus^[54] in his sweet repose.

Come now, hasten ye to bestow on Latium noble sons who will make her laws and rule her armies, and practise poesy. May merciful Cynthia hasten the tenth month for the bringing-forth, but spare her, Lucina, I pray thee; and thou, O babe, spare thy mother, hurt not her tender womb and swelling breasts; and when Nature in secrecy has marked thy features, much beauty mayst thou draw from thy father, but more from thy mother. And thou, loveliest of Italian maids, won at last by a husnabd worthy of thee, cherish the bonds he sought so long; so may thy beauty suffer no loss, and the fresh prime of youth abide for many a year upon thy brow, and that comeliness be slow to age.

If anyone has been privileged to behold eloquent Vopiscus’ cool retreat at Tibur and the double dwelling threaded by Anio’s stream, or to see the friendly intercourse of bank with bank, and each villa striving to keep their master to itself, on him the hot star of Sirius has not barked, nor leafy Nemea’s offspring^[55] looked with fierce aspect; such icy coolness is in the house, so pitilessly does the cold break the sun’s power, nor does the dwelling swelter in Pisa’s summer heat.^[56]

Pleasure herself with her own delicate hand <is said> to have traced with thee . . . Then Venus poured Idalian perfumes upon the roof-tops and caressed them with her hair, and left a winsome charm upon the house and bade her winged sons abide there for ever.

O ever memorable day! What raptures of the mind, what cloying of the sight by countless marvels do I recall! How kindly the temper of the soil! How beautiful beyond human art the enchanted scene! Nowhere has Nature more lavishly spent her skill. Lofty woods lean over rushing waters; a false image counterfeits the foliage, and the reflection fences unbroken over the long waves. Anio himself—marvellous to believe—though fully of boulders ​below and above, here silences his swollen rage and foamy din, as if afraid to disturb the Pierian days and music-haunted slumbers of tranquil Vopiscus. On either shore is home, and that most gentle river parts thee not in twain. Stately buildings guard either bank, and complain not that they are strange to each other, or that the stream bars approach. Now let Fame boast of the Sestian gulf, and the bold youth who swam the sea and outstripped the dolphins!^[57] Here is eternal quiet, storms have here no power, waters ne'er grow angry. Here can one see and talk, ay all but join hands across the stream. Thus do the ebbing waves repel Chalcis, thus the eurve of Bruttian Shore that the deep has sundered regards Sicanian Pelorus.

What shall be my first, what my middle theme, whereon shall I conclude ? Shall I marvel at the gilded beams, the Moorish lintels^[58] on every side, patterned veins of glittering marbles, the water-nymphs that hie them through every bed-chamber? This way my eyes, that way my mind would see me. Shall I tell of the forest’s venerable age? Of the courtyard which sees the river’s lower reaches, or of that other which looks back towards the mute woodland, where it hath quiet unbroken and the silence of night unmarred by any storm, and murmuring sounds that invite to gentle slumber? Or of the smoking baths upraised on the grassy bank and the fire kindled upon the icy flood? Or where the river, chained to the vaporous furnace, laughs at the nymphs that gasp in its stream hard by?

Works of art I saw and masterpieces of the ancients ​and metals that lived in manifold forms. A labour is it to tell of the shapes of gold, the ivories and the gems worthy to adorn a finger, and of all that the artist’s hand first playfully wrought in silver or smaller bronze, and made trial of huge colossal forms. While I wandered gazing and cast my eyes on all, I was treading on riches unaware. For the radiance down-streaming from on high and the tiles that reflected the brilliant light displayed to me the floor, where the ground rejoices in manifold skill of painting, and with strange shapes surpasses the Unswept Pavement^[59]: awe held my steps.

Why should I now marvel at the central buildings, or at the outer wings each with its upper story^[60]? why at thee, preserved in the very heart of the house, thou tree that risest up through roof and roof-beam to the pure air above, and under any other lord wouldest endure the cruel axe? Even now, though thou^[61] knowest it not, some lissome Naiad or Hamadryad perchance doth owe to thee the life that no stroke has severed.

Why should I tell of feasts held now on this bank, now on that, of white-gleaming pools and springs deep-hidden ’neath the flood, or of thee, O Marcia,^[62] that glidest athwart the river’s depths and in bold lead dost cross its channels? Shall only the river of Elis come safe by an unsalt path to Aetna’s haven beneath Ionian waves?^[63] There Anio himself, leaving ​his grotto and his spring, in night’s mysterious hour puts off his grey-green raiment and leans his breast against the soft moss hereabouts, or plunges in all his bulk into the pools and swimming splashes among the glassy waters. In that shade Tiburnus reclines, there Albula would fain dip her sulphurous tresses;^[64] this bower could steal woodland Phoebe from Egeria^[65] and empty cold Taygetus of Dryad choirs and summon Pan from the Lycean glades. Ay, did not the Tirynthian shrine as well give oracles, even the Sisters of Praeneste might change their abode.^[66] Why should I belaud the twice-bearing apple-orchards of Alcinous and the boughs that never stretched unladen to the air?^[67] Let the domain of Telegonus give place and Turnus’ Laurentian fields, and the Lucrine dwellings and the shore of cruel Antiphates; let the perfidious height of glassy Circe yield, where the Dulichian wolves once howled, and Anxur’s haughty towers and the home that the kind old nurse owes to her Phrygian foster-child; let the shores of Antium give place, which when the suns are narrowed in their path and winter’s storms are come will call thee to them.^[68]

Ay, here that serious mind broods on weighty themes; here silence shrouds a fruitful quiet and grave virtue tranquil-browed, sane elegance and comfort that is not luxury, such as the Gargettian sage^[69] had himself preferred and left his own Athens and his garden behind him; these were ​worth seeing despite Aegean storms and the Hyades’ snowy constellation and the Olenian star,*^[70] even though the bark must be thrown on Malea’s mercy and the way lie through Sicilian surges^[71]: why do men look slightingly on pleasure near at hand? Here thy lyre delights the Fauns of Tibur and Alcides himself and Catillus, sung of by a mightier harp,^[72] whether thou hast a mind to strive with the Pindaric quill or dost lift thy lyre to the height of heroic deeds or stirrest up the black venom of thy bitter satire, or whether thy letters glow and sparkle, composed with no less skill.

O worthy of the wealth of Midas and of Croesus and of Persian treasure, all blessing on thy wealth of soul, thou o’er whose watered fields Hermus should have flowed with yellow channel and Tagus with his shining sand! So mayst thou full oft enjoy thy learned leisure, I pray, so with heart unclouded mayst thou outpass the limits of old Nestor’s age!

Hurrah! ye exist then, ye gods, nor is Clotho’s spinning inexorable; kindly Astraea^[73] hath regard ​for pious folk, and comes back reconciled with Jove, and Gallicus beholds the stars he doubted e’er to see again. Beloved of heaven art thou, divine Germanicus,^[74] who can deny it? Fortune was ashamed to rob thy empire of so great a minister. Those shoulders with their immense burden rise once more next to thine, and have cast off the ruinous doom of eld and revive more vigorous yet for many a year. Therefore let the brisk cohorts^[75] that venerate the City’s eagles, and the laws that ofttimes take refuge in thy bosom, complaining of the courts’ confusion, and the cities of the toga wheresoe’er they be, that with far-travelling pleas implore thy Justice—let them vie in their rejoicing, and let our own hill^[76] duly join its shouts to theirs, and the mutterings of ill report be silent. For he abides, and long will abide in his new span of life, in whose merciful hand is placed the guardianship of fearless Rome. No such grave reproach will the new age lay upon the fates, nor will the altar of Tarentum,^[77] late restored, so deeply sin.

But I will call neither on Phoebus, although my quill is mute without him, nor on the Aonian goddesses with Pallas the tenth Muse, nor on the gentle sons of Tegea and of Dirce^[78]: come thou thyself and bring new strength and spirit, thou that art my theme; for not without genius heaven-sent wert thou so mighty to shed great glory upon the Ausonian gown and to give judgement and understanding to the Hundred.^[79] Though god-possessed Pimplea shut ​out the thirsty bard and conspiring Pirene^[80] be not granted me, yet dearer are the lavish draughts snatched from the flood of thy own fountain, whether thou dost create free and flowing prose or whether thy sweet eloquence is broken in to rules of art and obeys our laws.^[81] Wherefore come—if we make return to Ceres of her gifts and to Lyaeus of his wine, and if Diana though rich in booty yet receives spoils in every temple and the Lord of War our trophies of the fight—and spurn not, Gallicus, since thou hast a mightier utterance and aboundest in wealth of speech sublime, spurn not the worship of a humbler lyre. The wandering moon is ringed with stars, and lesser streams run down into the Ocean.

What rich reward for thy virtues did the City’s loving anxiety give thee! What famous Senators and Knights, what champions of the obscure multitude saw I then in tears! The prosperous Curia feared not so when Numa was failing, nor the noble Knights at Pompey’s danger nor the women at Brutus’ death.^[82] And this is the cause thereof: thou wert loth to hear the sullen chains, didst spare the scourge nor go as lofty office bade thee, but didst renounce much of thy armed force, and deign to regard the petitions of the lowly and their humble prayers; thou broughtest back justice to the Forum nor didst vex the curule magistrates, but temperedst force by law. So is a way won to the deep places of the heart, so doth reverence trust the love wherewith it mingles. Terrible too to all was the dire severity of P ate and the impetuous violence of the sudden peril, as the mischief tarried not. ’T'was not the fault of thy age—scarce had that begun to withdraw from its twelfth lustre—but of straining toil ​and a strong mind’s mastery o’er the body and unsleeping dilig ence in thy Emperor’ s cause, a labour of love to thee. Hence came creeping deep into the weary limbs a treacherous quiet and dull forgetfulness of life.

Then the god who hard by the peaks of the Alpine ridge^[83] sets his sacred name of Apollo upon the groves, turns to behold, long alas! neglectful of so precious a ward. Then cutting short delay: “Come with me on the instant, Epidaurian son,” he cries, “away, and gladly too! ’Tis in our power—the chance must be seized!—to restore to health a mighty hero. Let us advance and grasp the thread that e’en now the distaff stretches.^[84] Fear no dread thunderbolt:^[85] Jupiter will be the first to praise this skill of ours. For ’tis no plebeian life I save nor one unblest in its begetting. Briefly while we draw nigh his house will I unfold his story. Himself he gives pedigree to his line, and reflects thereon his own nobility; yet his origin is not obscure, but surpassed by the glory that follows it, and gladly gives place to its famous progeny. He too first excelled in the arts of peace: in eloquence brilliant and powerful; then loyal to his oath he served in East and West and under every sun, bearing the brunt of countless camps, nor was he suffered to relax his ardour in peaceful ease nor to ungird his sword. Him did Galatia dare to provoke to war in lusty pride—ay, and me also^[86]—and for the space of nine harvests Pamphylia feared him, and the bold Pannonian and Armenia’s ​dire retreating bowmen and Araxes that now brooks a Roman bridge. Why should I tell of the double command^[87] and the twice repeated governorship of Asia? who thrice and four times would fain have him for herself, but our Annals and the higher curule chair,^[88] oft promised, call him back. Why extol the tribute and wondrous obedience of Libya,^[89] and the spoils of triumph sent to Rome from the midst of peace, and such wealth as not even he who gave the charge had dared to expect? Trasimene and the Alps exult and the ghosts of Cannae; and the mangled shade of Regulus first appears and claims its glorious reward. Time allows not to recount the armies of the North and rebellious Rhine and the prayers of captive Veleda,^[90] and, latest and greatest glory, Rome given thee in charge, when the Dacians were falling before us and thou wert chosen, Gallicus, to take up the reins of so great a chief, and Fortune marvelled not.

“Him then, if my words find favour, we will rescue, my son, from Pluto’s cruelty. This is the prayer of the illustrious Father of the Latian City,^[91] and he has deserved it; for not in vain of late did ye sing my praise, ye boys, clad in patrician purple. If there be any herb in twy-formed Chiron’s health-giving cave, all that Trojan Pergamus stores for thee in thy shrine or blest Epidaurus nurtures in her healing sands, all the aid of flowering dittany that Crete brings forth in the glens of Ida, the abundant ​spume of serpents—<these bring>, and I will join thereto my skill of hand, and every kindly juice that I learned in Arabia’s balmy fields, or gathered as a shepherd in the meadows of Amphrysus.”

He ended; they find the sufferer lying languid and battling foe life:^[92] each girds himself in Paconian wise, and willingly both teach and both obey, until with varied art of healing they have shattered the deadly plague and dispersed the dire cloud of baneful lethargy. He himself aids the heavenly ones, and prevailing o’er the utmost power of the disease anticipated the help they bring. Not more swiftly was Telephus restored by Haemonian skill,^[93] nor the cruel wounds of which Atrides stood in terror stanched by Machaon’s healing balm.

What place, amid such a gathering of Senators and people, for anxious prayers of mine? Yet I call the high stars to witness, and thee, Thymbraean sire of bards,^[94] what terror held me night and day while I clung to the portals and in unremitting vigilance caught every hint with eye or ear: just as a tiny skiff trailing behind a mighty vessel, when the tempest rages, bears its small share of the waters’ fury and is tossed in the self-same gale.

Twine now, ye Sisters, joyfully twine your threads of shining white! Let none reckon the measure of life already spent: this day is the birthday of life to be. Thou dost deserve to outlast the age-long lives of Troy,^[95] the Euboean Sibyl’s dust and Nestor’s mouldering decay. What censer of mine can avail, needy as I am, to supplicate for thee? Not if Mevania should empty her valleys or the fields of Clitumnus vouchsafed their snow-white bulls, were ​that sufficient. Yet amid such offerings a simple turf, some meal and a humble salt-cellar have ofttimes pleased the gods.^[96]

Not at Helicon’s gates doth my harp resound in fierce, ecstatic melody, nor call I on the heavenly Muses, so often wearied by my prayer; thou Phoebus, and thou, Euhan, art released from my choral song, and do thou, swift Tegean, keep in mute silence thy tuneful tortoise-shell^[97]: other choirs doth my song demand. ’Tis enough to lure the Naiads hither, queens of the wave, and the lord of the flashing fire, weary still and glowing with the Sicilian anvil’s heat.^[98] Thebes, lay down thy sinful arms awhile^[99]: I would fain make revel for a friend I love. Cup after cup, lad!—nay, trouble not to count them! Tune the tardy lyre! Toil and Care, avaunt! while I sing of the baths that sparkle with bright marbles, and while my Clio, wantoning in ivy chaplets and free from the sober laurel, makes sport for Etruscus. Come then, ye Nymphs of the waters, turn hither your clear countenances and bind up your glass-green tresses with tender vine-shoots, your bodies all unclothed as when ye emerge from the deep springs and torture your Satyr-lovers with the sight. You, who with guilt have defamed the ​honour of the streams, I care not to solicit: far hence remove thou, O Salmacis, with thy deceiving fount, and the river of Cebrenis left forlorn, that grief made dry, and the ravisher of Hercules’ young ward!^[100] But ye Nymphs who dwell in Latium and on the Seven Heights and make Thybris swell with your fresh waters, ye whom headlong Anio delights and the Maiden destined to welcome the swimmer, and Marcia that brings down the Marsian snow and cold,^[101] ye whose travelling waves flood through the lofty masonry and are carried high in air over countless arches—yours is the work I fain would sing, yours the home whereof my gentle verse doth tell. Never in other grottos dwelt ye more sumptuously. Cytherea herself guided her lord’s hand, and taught him skill; and that no baser flame might scorch the furnace, herself she kindled the brands of her winged Loves thereunder. Neither Thasos nor wave-lashed Carystos are suffered here;^[102] far off the onyx mourns, and the serpent-stone rejected makes complaint; only the porphyry gleams, hewn from the Nomads’ tawny rocks, only that which in the hollow caves of Phrygian Synnas Attis bedewed with the bright drops of his own blood, and the snow-white cliffs that Tyre and Sidon quarry.^[103] Scarce is there space for stone from ​the Eurotas, where the long line of green picks out the marble of Synnas. The doorways yield not in splendour, the ceilings are radiant, the gables glitter with mosaics of pictured life. The very fire is astounded at the riches he encompasses, and tempers the fierceness of his sway. Everywhere is flooding light, where the sun pierces the roof with all his rays, and, spite of all his fierceness, is scorched by a heat that is not his own. Nought is common there, nowhere will you mark bronze of Temese,^[104] but from silver is the glad wave poured and into silver it falls, and marvelling at its own beauty stands poised upon the gleaming brim and refuses to go its way. But the dark-blue stream without, running gaily between snow-white banks, all clear to see from lowest depth to surface—whom would it not tempt to throw off his lazy robe and plunge into the water? From these deeps had Cytherea chosen to be born; here, Narcissus, hadst thou seen thyself more clearly; here would swift Hecate fain bathe, e’en though discovered. Why now should I tell of the floors laid upon the earth, destined to hear the noise of balls, where languidly creeps the warmth about the house and a scant haze rolls upward from the furnaces below? Such beauty would no guest despise, though fresh from the shore of Baiae, nor, if I may compare great things with small, would one who had bathed of late in Nero’s baths^[105] refuse to sweat here once more. A blessing, Claudius, on thy brilliant cleverness and careful thought! may this work grow old with thee, and thy fortune learn to rise to a new and more glorious birth.

Hence, father Phoebus and stern Pallas! Away, ye Muses, go, keep holiday; we will call you back at the New Year. But Saturn, slip your fetters^[106] and come hither, and December tipsy with much wine, and laughing Mirth and wanton Wit, while I recount the glad festival of our merry Caesar and the banquet’s drunken revel.

Scarce was the new dawn stirring, when already sweetmeats were raining from the line,^[107] such was the dew the rising East wind was scattering; the famous fruit of Pontic nut-groves, or of Idume’s fertile slopes,^[108] all that devout Damascus grows upon its boughs^[109] or thirsty Caunus^[110] ripens, falls in a generous profusion. Biscuits and melting pastries,^[111] Amerian fruit^[112] not over-ripe, must-cakes, and bursting dates from invisible palms were showering down. ​Not with such torrents do stormy Hyades o’erwhelm the earth or Pleiades dissolved in rain, as the hail that from a sunny sky lashed the people in the theatre of Rome. Let Jupiter send his tempests through the world and threaten the broad fields, while our own Jove sends us showers like these!

But lo! another multitude, handsome and well-dressed, as numerous as that upon the benches, makes its way along all the rows. Some carry baskets of bread and white napkins and more luxurious fare; others serve languorous wine in abundant measure; so many cupbearers of Ida^[113] would you think them. Thou dost nourish alike the circle of the noble and austere and the folk that wear the toga, and since, O generous lord, thou dost feed so many multitudes, haughty Annona knoweth nought of this festival.^[114] Come now, Antiquity, compare with ours the age of primeval Jove and the times of gold: less bounteously then did the vintage flow, not thus did the harvest anticipate the tardy year. One table serves every class alike, children, women, people, knights, and senators: freedom has loosed the bonds of awe. Nay even thyself—what god could have such leisure, or vouchsafe as much?—thou didst come and share our banquet. And now everyone, be he rich or poor, boasts himself the Emperor’s guest.

Amid such excitements and strange luxuries the pleasure of the scene flies quickly by: women un​trained to the sword take their stand, daring, how recklessly, men’s battles! you would think Thermodon’s bands^[115] were furiously fighting by Tanais or barbarous Phasis. Then comes a bold array of dwarfs, whose term of growth abruptly ended has bound them once for all into a knotted lump. They give and suffer wounds, and threaten death—with fists how tiny! Father Mars and Bloodstained Valour laugh, and cranes,^[116] waiting to swoop on scattered booty, marvel at the fiercer pugilists.

Now as the shades of night draw on, what commotion attends the scattering of largess! Here enter maidens easily bought; here is recognized all that in theatres wins favour or applause for skill or beauty. Here a crowd of buxom Lydian girls are clapping hands, here tinkle the cymbals of Cadiz, there troops of Syrians are making uproar, there are theatre-folk and they who barter common sulphur for broken glass.^[117]

Amid the tumult dense clouds of birds swoop suddenly down through the air, birds from holy Nile^[118] and frost-bound Phasis, birds that Numidians capture ’neath the dripping South. Too few are there to seize them all, exultantly they grasp their fill and ever clutch fresh plunder. Countless voices are raised to heaven, acclaiming the Emperor’s festival; with ​loving enthusiasm they salute their Lord. This liberty^[119] alone did Caesar forbid them.

Scarce was dusky night shrouding the world, when through the dense gloom a ball of flame fell gleaming into the arena’s midst, surpassing the brightness of the Gnosian crown.^[120] The sky was ablaze with fire, and suffered not the reign of darkness: sluggish Quiet fled, and lazy Sleep betook himself to other cities at the sight. Who can sing of the spectacle, the unrestrained mirth, the banqueting, the unbought feast, the lavish streams of wine? Ah! now I faint, and drunken with thy liquor drag myself at last to sleep.

For how many years shall this festival abide! Never shall age destroy so holy a day! While the hills of Latium remain and father Tiber, while thy Rome stands and the Capitol thou hast restored to the world, it shall continue.