Statius (Mozley 1928) v1/Silvae/Book 3

To you at least, my dearest Pollius, than whom none is more worthy of that tranquillity to which you cling so faithfully, to you at least I need not justify at great length the boldness of my verses, for you know that many of them came suddenly to birth under your protecting care, and often have you been alarmed at the audacity of my pen, when in the intimacy of your genius I have ventured deep into the secluded realm of letters, and have been led by you through all the winding ways of poesy.

And so it is without fear that I send you this third volume of my Impromptu verses. For while you lent your witness to the second, to this you have given the authority of your name. For its gates are unbarred by the Surrentine Hercules, to which, when I had seen it after its dedication on your shore, I at once paid my tribute in these lines. Then comes a poem, which, when my charming and distinguished friend, Maecius Celer, was ordered by our sacred Emperor to the Syrian front, since I could not follow him, I sent to attend him on his way. The devotion of my dear Claudius Etruscus also deserved some solace from my pen when in real grief—and how rare that is!—he was mourning ​for his aged father. Next Earinus, freedman of our prince Germanicus—you know how long I have put off the Emperor’s expressed desire that I should write some verses in honour of his tresses, which he was sending to Asclepius at Pergamum together with a mirror and a jewelled box. Finally there is the piece in which I entreat my wife Claudia to retire with me to Naples. This, to tell the truth, is just talk, quite unreserved, from a husband to a wife, and that would persuade rather than delight. You will particularly favour this poem, since you will know that you above all are the object of my proposed retreat, and that my retirement is not so much to my own country as to yourself. Farewell.

Pollius renews thy interrupted rites, O lord of Tiryns,^[2] and makes clear the causes of a year’s neglect, seeing that now thou art worshipped beneath a mightier dome, and no longer hast a beggarly home on the naked shore, a shanty where wandering mariners can lodge, but shining portals and towers upheld by Grecian marbles, as though purified by the brands of ennobling fire thou hadst a second time ascended heavenward from Oeta’s flames.^[3] Scarce can sight or memory be trusted. Art thou verily that ​inglorious warden of a gateless threshold and a puny altar? Whence hath the rustic Alcides this new court and this unwonted splendour? Gods have their destinies and places also! What swift de- votion! Here of late could be seen but barren sands, a wave-beaten mountain-side, and boulders rough with scrub, and cliffs that would scarce admit a foothold. What sudden fortune has embellished these stark crags? Did those walls rise to Tyrian music or to the Getic harp?^[4] The year itself marvels at the toil. and the months in their twelvefold orbit are amazed to see the work of ages. ’Twas the god that brought and uplifted his own towers, and by might and main moved the resisting boulders, and with huge breast drove back the mountain; you would have thought his cruel stepdame bade him.

Come then, whether free at last from thraldom thou dwellest in thy ancestral Argos, and spurnest Eurystheus in his grave, or whether the throne of thy father Jove and the stars thy valour won thee are thy abode, and Hebe with robe upgirt, more charming than the banished Phrygian lad, hands thee the draught of blissful nectar: hither come, and bring thy presence to the new-born shrine. No harmful Lerna calls thee, nor the acres of poor Molorechus^[5] nor Nemea’s dreaded field, nor Thracian caves nor the polluted altars of the Pharian prince,^[6] but a blest and innocent home that knows naught of evil fraud, an abode most worthy of a divine guest. Lay aside thy ruthless bow and thy quiver’s cruel horde and the club that plenteous blood of kings hath stained; cast off the foe that is spread upon thy ​stalwart shoulders: here are high-piled cushions for thee, embroidered with acanthus in purple hue, and a lofty couch all rough with ivory carving. Come in a peaceable and gentle spirit, not turbulent with wrath nor suspicious like a slave, but in such mood as when Auge^[7] the Maenalian maid detained thee, worn out with revel and drenched with thy brother’s wine,^[8] or when Thespius, the father of thy many brides, marvelled at thee after the reproach of that roving night. Here hast thou a festal playing-ground, where ungloved youths in innocent rivalry perform the yearly, swift-recurring contests. Here on thy temple is written thy priest’s name to the joy of his grandsire:^[9] small is he yet, and like to thee when with thy hand thou didst quell the first monsters of thy stepdame^[10] and weep that they were slain.

But come, august Calliope, tell how the sudden shrine arose; Alcides will bear thee company with ringing voice, and twang his bowstring to imitate thy strains.

’Twas the season when the vault of heaven bends its most scorching heat upon the earth, and the Dog-star smitten by Hyperion’s full might pitilessly burns the panting fields. And now the day had come, when the torch-smoke rises from Trivia’s grove at Aricia, refuge of the runaways who reign there, and the lights twinkle on the lake that knew the secret of Hippolytus^[11]; Diana herself sets garlands on her faithful hounds, and polishes her darts and lets the wild beasts go free, while at its virtuous ​hearths all Italy celebrates the Ides^[12] of Hecate.^[13] But I, although beneath Dardanian Alba’s hills^[14] an estate of my own and a rivulet that runs for me by the grace of our great prince^[15] sufficed to soothe my cares and to allay the summer heat, was making the rocks of the Sirens^[16] and the home of eloquent Pollius my abode, no stranger there, and zealously gaining knowledge of his peaceful soul and studying the new Pierian blooms of his innocent Muse. It chanced that, while we were spending Trivia’s day upon the watery shore, and discontented with narrow doors and wonted house were sheltering from the sun ’neath the foliage of a spreading tree, the sky was hid, the bright light gave place to sudden cloud and the faint breeze changed to a heavy downpour from the south; such a storm as Saturnia brought upon Libya, while wealthy Elissa was given to her Ilian lover and the witnessing Nymphs shrieked in the pathless glades.^[17] Helter-skelter we fly, and the slaves snatch up the festal banquet and wreathed goblets; nor was there any refuge for the guests, though countless houses were planted on the happy fields above, and the mountain glittered with a wealth of towers: but the lowering clouds and the assurance that the fair weather, though ruined, would return, urged us to seek the nearest shelter. There stood a mean shanty bearing the name of a sacred shrine, that confined the great Alcides within its humble walls, scarce large enough to house sea-wandering mariners and searchers of the deep Hither all the crowd of us gather, hither throng the band of slaves with the costly couches and the feast, and all the pleasant household of elegant Polla. The doors would not contain us, the narrow shrine lacked room. ​The god blushed, and laughing stole into the heart of his beloved Pollius, a with caressing arms embraced his friend: “Art thou,” said he, “that lavisher of wealth, who with generous heart hast filled full alike the dwellings of Dicarcheus^[18] and youthful^[19] Parthenope? who on my own mount hast set so many towers, so many verdant groves, so many lifelike marbles and bronzes, and waxen forms that the glow of colour animates? For what was that house of thine, that country before it rejoiced in thee? Thou didst clothe bare rock with a long pathway, and where before was but a track, now stands a lofty colonnade with painted pillars, that the road might be seemly. Upon the curving strand thou didst imprison heated waters ’neath cupolas twain. Scarce can I number all thy works: and to me alone is Pollius needy and in want? yet even such a shrine I enter cheerfully, and love the shore thou openest to me. But Juno hard by^[20] scorns my dwelling, and laughs silently at my shrine. Give me a temple and an altar worthy of thy endeavours, an altar such as no vessel would fain neglect^[21] though speeding with prosperous sail, one to which the ethereal Sire and the guests of heavenly banquets and my sister invited from her lofty shrine might come.^[22] Nor be dismayed that a mass of stark, malignant mountain doth confront thee, which unnumbered ages have not worn away; I will myself be present to aid so great an enterprise, and will break through the flinty bowels of the unwilling earth. Begin, and dare the task, trusting in Hercules’ encouragement. ​Amphion’s towers will not have risen more swiftly, nor the toilsome walls of Troy.^[23]” He spoke, and went from out his heart.^[24]

Without delay the design is sketched and the plan shaped. Innumerable workers gather: some have the task of felling trees or planing beams, others sink the foundations in the soil. Moist clay is baked to protect against storm and to keep out frost, and untamed limestone is melted in the round furnace. But the chief labour is to cleave by might and main the opposing rock and the boulders that resist the steel. Hereupon the patron of the place, the Tirynthian himself, lays by his arms and sweats at the work, and himself with strong axe hews at the shapeless mass, when the lowering sky is veiled by the shades of night. Rich Caprae and green Taurubulae^[25] resound, and the mighty echo of the sea returns again to the land. Not so loud is Aetna’s din, when the anvils are busy and Brontes and Steropes ply the hammer, nor greater the noise from the Lemnian caves when Mulciber amid his flames forges the aegis and makes chaste gifts for Pallas. The cliffs diminish, and the workmen returning in the rosy dawn marvel at the achievement. Scarce has a second panting summer come, when the Tirynthian enriched by a mighty dome looks down upon the waves and challenges his stepdame’s neighbouring abode, and invites Pallas to a temple worthy of her. Already the peaceful trumpets give the signal, already the sand smokes and burns with the valiant contests. Such honours would neither Pisaean Jove nor the sire of leafy Cirrha spurn.^[26] No sadness is here: let tearful Isthmos and cruel Nemea give ​place; a luckier infant here makes sacrifice.^[27] The very Nymphs of the green waters leap forth unbidden from their pumice caves; they cling to the streaming rocks nor think shame to gaze unseen on the naked wrestlers. Gaurus^[28] too beholds them with its grove of Icarian vines, and the wood that crowns the peak of Nesis set fast in ocean, and calm Limon and Euploea of good omen for ships and the Lucrine Venus^[29]; thou too, Misenus, from thy Phrygian height shalt learn the Grecian trumpet-calls, while Parthenope smiles with kindly heart upon the ceremonies of her race and the naked bouts of youths and the humble garlands that imitate her own.

Come now thyself, and graciously deign to honour the feats of thine own festival with thy invincible might: whether it please thee to cleave the clouds with the discus, or with thy shaft to outstrip the speedy Zephyrs, or to lock fast thy arms in a Libyan wrestle,^[30] grant our rites this boon, and, if thou hast still the apples of the Hesperides, place them in the lap of venerable Polla; for she is worthy to take them, and will not dishonour so great a gift. Nay, might she but recover the charm and beauty of her youth—forgive me, Alcides—perchance for her^[31] thou hadst even spun the wool.

Such is the offering I have brought in joyful revelry to the new-born shrine. Lo! now he himself upon the threshold—I see him opening his mouth and speaking: “A blessing on thy spirit and thy ​wealth, wherewith thou hast imitated my own labours, who canst tame the rugged rocks and the abhorred wastes of barren nature, and turnest to thy use the wild beasts’ lairs, and bringest forth my godhead from shameful hiding! What reward shall I now give thee for thy merits? How show my gratitude? I will hold fast the threads of the Fates and stretch out the wool upon their distaffs^[32]—I can subdue remorseless Death—I will bid sorrow flee and suffer not sad loss to harm thee, and I will renew thee in a green old age untouched by time, and grant thee long to behold thy growing grandchildren, until the one is ripe for a bride and the other for a husband, and from them a new progeny springs, and a merry band now clambers about their grandsire’s shoulders, now run in eager and loving rivalry for the kisses of tranquil Polla. To this shrine shall no term of age be set, so long as the fabric of the flaming sky shall carry me. Not in Nemea or ancient Argos shall I more often dwell, or in my home at Tibur or in Gades,^[33] resting-place of the sun.” So he speaks, and touching the fire that rose upon the altar and nodding his temples white with poplar-leaves he swore by Styx and by the thunderbolt of his ethereal sire.

Ye Gods whose delight it is to preserve adventurous ​ships, and to assuage the angry perils of the gusty sea, make the waters smooth and calm, and listen in peaceful council to my entreaties, and let the waves be gentle nor make uproar as I pray: “Great and rare, O Neptune, is the pledge I commit unto thy deep; young Maecius is entrusted to the doubtful main, and is about to take across the seas the dearer half of my soul. Bring forth your favouring stars, Oebalian^[34] brethren, and sit upon the twin horns of the yard-arm; let your light illumine sea and sky; drive far away, I pray, your Ilian sister’s tempestuous star,^[35] and banish her wholly from the heavens. And ye too, Nereids, sea-blue horde of ocean, to whom the glory and the fortune of the second realm have fallen by lot—suffer me to call you stars of the mighty deep!—arise from the glassy caverns of foam-encompassed Doris, and in peaceful rivalry swim round the bays of Baiae and the shores where the hot springs abound;^[36] seek out the lofty ship whereon Celer, noble offspring of Ausonia mighty in arms, rejoices to embark. Nor need ye long inquire, for lately came she across the seas, the first a her convoy, to the Dicarchean strand, laden with the Pharian^[37] harvest, and first was she to salute Capreae, and over her starboard side to pour libation of Mareotic wine to Tyrrhene Minerva.^[38] Circle gracefully about her on either side, and divide your duties: some stretch taut from the mast the hempen rigging, some set the topsails and spread the canvas to the Zephyrs; let others place the benches, or let down into the water ​the rudder that guides the curving bark; let there be some to make the heavy sounding-lead explore the depths, and others to fasten the skiff that will follow astern, and to dive down and drag the hooked anchor from the depths, and one to control the tides and make the sea flow eastward: let none of the sea-green sisterhood be without a task. Then let Proteus of manifold shape and twy-formed Triton swim before, and Glaucus^[39] whose loins vanished by sudden enchantment, and who, so oft as he glides up to his native shores, wistfully beats his fish-tail on Anthedon’s strand. But above all others thou, Palaemon, with thy goddess mother, be favourable, if ’tis thy desire that I should tell of thine own Thebes, and sing of Amphion, bard of Phoebus, with no unworthy quill. And may the father whose Aeolian prison constrains the winds, whom the various blasts obey, and every air that stirs on the world’s seas, and storms and cloudy tempests, keep the North wind and South and East in closer custody behind his wall of mountain; but may Zephyr alone have the freedom of the sky, alone drive vessels onward and skim unceasingly o’er the crests of the billows, until he bring without a storm thy glad sails safe to the Paraetonian^[40] haven.”

My prayer is heard. The West wind himself calls the ship and chides the laggard crew. Lo! already my heart sinks, chilled with fear, and I cannot, though the omen shocks me, hold back the tears that hover upon my eyelids’ verge. And already the sailor has loosed the rope and sundered the vessel ​from the land, and dropped the narrow gangway into the water. On the stern the ruthless master with long-drawn shout severs our embraces and parts loving lips, nor may one linger long upon the dear one’s breast. Yet last of all will I be to go on land, nor will I leave the ship until she is already under way.

Who made of the strange and sundered sea a highway for miserable men, and cast forth upon the waves the loyal children of the solid earth and hurled them into the jaws of ocean—daring of spirit? for not more adventurous was the valour that joined frozen Pelion to Ossa’s summit, and crushed panting Olympus beneath two mountains. So small a feat was it to traverse sluggish lakes and meres and fling bridges across the narrowed streams? Forth we go into sheer void, and are fled from the native lands about us, enclosed in nought but a few planks and the empty air. Therefore do the winds and angry tempests rage, the sky thunders and many a bolt is sped from the hand of Jove. Before ships were, the waters lay in a slumbrous calm, Thetis dared not foam nor the waves assault the clouds. But when they spied vessels, the billows swelled with rage, and the hurricane arose against man. Then the Pleiads and the Olenian goat^[41] grew dark with storm, and Orion was more wrathful than his wont. Not in vain is my complaint: lo! speeding over the pathless waters flies the ship, lessening by degrees and baffling the eyes that view her from afar; how many fears does she hold within her slender timbers! thee above all must she bear onward, Celer, object of my love! With what feelings can I endure night’s slumbers or the day? Who will tell me, a prey to ​every terror, whether the raging coast of the Lucanian sea has sped thee by on favouring waves, whether eddying Charybdis be heaving or the maid that ravages the Sicilian deep,^[42] how the furious Adriatic aids thy course, whether the Carpathian be at peace, and with what breeze the sea-nymph be wafting thee, that once smiled on the cunning of the Tyrian bull?^[43] But I have deserved to mourn: for why, when thou wert bound for the wars, went I not with thee, an unwearied traveller, to unknown India and Cimmerian gloom?^[44] By my patron’s warlike banner had I been standing, were it weapon or bridle thou wert holding, or whether thou wert giving laws to armed peoples, present if not to share, at least to admire thy deeds. If Phoenix whom great Achilles honoured came long ago to the Ilian shore and Thymbraean Troy, though not a warrior nor bound by oath to proud Atrides, why is my affection cowardly? But my loyal thoughts shall be ever with thee, and my prayers shall follow thy sails to distant lands.

Isis, once stalled in Phoroneus’ caves, now queen of Pharos and a deity of the breathless East, welcome with sound of many a sistrum^[45] the Mareotic bark, and gently with thine own hand lead the peerless youth, on whom the Latian prince hath bestowed the standards of the East and the bridling of the cohorts of Palestine,^[46] through festal gate and sacred haven and the cities of thy land. Under thy protection may he learn whence comes the fruitful licence of marshy Nile, why the waters abate and are hemmed within the banks that the Cecropian bird has coated ​with clay,^[47] why Memphis is jealous,^[48] why the shore of Therapnean Canopus^[49] makes wanton revel, why the warden of Lethe^[50] guards the Pharian shrines, why vile beasts are held equal to mighty gods;^[51] what altars the long-lived Phoenix prepares for his own death, what fields Apis,^[52] adored by trembling shepherds, deigns to graze, and in what waters of Nile he bathes. Lead him also to the Emathian tomb,^[53] where steeped in nectar of Hybla abides the warrior founder of the city, and to the serpent-haunted palace where, sunk in lulling poison, Cleopatra of Actian story escaped Ausonian chains. Escort the youth even to his Assyrian station and the appointed camp, O goddess, and deliver him to the Roman god of war. No stranger will he be there; as a boy he laboured in those fields, known as yet only by his gleaming laticlave,^[54] though already strong to outstrip the squadrons in nimble wheeling flight, and with his javelin to discredit the arrows of the East.^[55]

Therefore that day will come when Caesar, to give ​thee a nobler prize, shall bid thee return from the warfare thou hast ended, and I standing again upon this shore shall view the mighty waves and pray for other breezes. How proud then shall I be! How bravely shall I sound my votive lyre! when you lift me to your shoulders and I cling about your stalwart neck, and you, fresh from the ship, fall first upon my breast, and give me all your stored-up converse, and in turn we tell the story of the years between, you of rapid Euphrates and royal Bactra and the sacred wealth of ancient Babylon, and of Zeugma.^[56] the way of the Peace of Rome; how sweet is Idume’s luxuriant grove, with what dye costly Tyre glows scarlet, and the purple, twice plunged in Sidonian vats,^[57] is stained, where the fruitful sprays first exude the shining spikenard from the bud: while I relate what burial I have granted to the conquered Pelasgians, and rehearse the page that closes the laboured tale of Thebes.^[58]

Duty,^[59] most high among gods, whose heaven-favoured deity rarely beholds the guilty earth, come ​hither with fillets on thy hair and adorned with snow-white robe, as when still a present goddess, before the violence of sinful men had driven thee away, thou didst dwell among innocent folk in a reign of gold; come to these quiet obsequies, and look upon the duteous tears of sorrowing Etruscus, and brush them from his eyes with words of praise. For who that saw him bursting his heart with unsatisfied lament and embracing the pyre and bending o’er the ashes would not think that it was a young wife whose death he mourned, or a son whose face just growing into manhood the flames were devouring? But it is a father whom he weeps. Come, gods and men, to the holy rites. Begone, begone, ye wicked, all in whose hearts is a crime unspoken, any who deems his aged sire has lived too long, or, conscious of ever having struck his mother, fears the urn of unbending Aeacus in the world below: ’tis the pure and guiltless I invite. Lo! gently in his arms he holds the aged face and lets his tears bedew the sacred white hairs of his sire, and lovingly gathers the last cold breath; marvellous, yet true! a son is thinking that his father’s life is swiftly flown, that the black Sisters have brought the end too soon. Exult, ye placid ghosts by the streams of Lethe, rejoice, Elysian abodes! enwreathe the shrines, and let festal altars gladden the pale groves. ’Tis a happy shade that is coming, ay, too happy, for his son laments him. Avaunt, ye hissing Furies, avaunt the threefold guardian^[60]! let the long road lie clear for peerless spirits. Let him come, and approach the awful throne of the silent monarch and pay his last due of gratitude and anxiously request for his son as long a life.

​A blessing on thy pious moans! I will bring solace for a grief so worthy, and unbidden pay thy sire, Etruscus, an offering of song. Do thou with lavish hand plunge Eastern incense in the flames, and the proud harvests of Cilicia and Araby; let the fire consume thy heritage of wealth; heap high the burning mass that shall waft duteous clouds to the bright sky. My gift is not for burning, but my record of thy grief shall endure through the years to come. For I too know what it is to mourn a father; I too have groaned prostrate before the pyre. That day bids me assuage thy loss by song; the lament I offer thee now was once my own.

No brilliant lineage indeed was thine,^[61] serene old man, no descent traced down from distant ancestors, but high fortune made good thy birth and hid the blemish of thy parentage. For thy masters were not of common stock, but those to whom East and West are alike in thrall. No shame is that servitude to thee;^[62] for what in heaven and earth remains unbound by the law of obedience? All things in turn are ruled and in turn hold sway. To its own monarch every land is subject: fortunate Rome lords it o’er monarchs’ crowns: ’tis her rulers’ duty to bridle Rome: o’er these in turn rises the sovereignty of heaven. But even deities have their laws: in thraldom is the swift choir of the stars, in thraldom is the wandering moon, not unbidden is the light whose path so oft returns. And, if only it be not a sin to compare the lowly with the highest, the ​Tirynthian also performed his dread covenant with the cruel king, nor did bondage shame the pipe of Phoebus.^[63]

But neither wert thou sent to Latium from barbarous shores: Smyrna was thy native soil, and thou didst drink the honoured^[64] springs of Meles and of Hermus’ stream, where Lydian Bacchus bathes and tricks his horns anew in the golden silt.^[65] Thereafter a prosperous career was thine, and divers offices in due succession increased thy dignity: it was thy privilege ever to walk near divinities, ever to be close to Caesar’s person^[66] and to share the holy secrets of the gods. The palace of Tiberius first was opened to thee while early manhood scarce changed as yet thy boyish countenance; here—since thy varied gifts surpassed thy years—freedom came to thee unsought; nor did the next heir,^[67] though fierce and Fury-haunted, banish thee. In his train didst thou go, frail as thou wert, even to the frozen North, and endure the tyrant terrible in word and look and cruel to his subjects, as those who tame the dread rage of beasts and command them, though they have tasted blood, to let go the hand thrust down their jaws, and to live without need of prey. But Claudius for thy merit raised thee to highest office in his old age,^[68] ere he was summoned to the starry vault, and gave thee over to the keeping of his nephew’s late-born ​son. Who that fears the gods was ever suffered to serve so many temples, so many altars? The winged Arcadian is the messenger of supreme Jove; Juno hath power over the rain-bringing Thaumantian;^[69] Triton, swift to obey, stands ready at Neptune’s bidding: thou hast duly borne unharmed the yoke of princes, changed so many times, and thy little boat has weathered every sea.

And now from on high a light illumined his loyal home, and Fortune towering to her loftiest entered apace. Now was entrusted to him alone the controlling of the sacred treasure, wealth drawn from every race, the revenue of the mighty world. All that Iberia hews from out her gold-mines,^[70] the glittering metal of Dalmatian hills, the produce of African harvests: all that is threshed on the floors of sultry Nile, or gathered by the divers who search the Eastern seas: the tended flocks of Lacedaemonian Galaesus, frozen crystals, Massylian citron-wood, the glory of the Indian tusk: all is committed to his charge and subject to him alone, all that the North wind and fierce East wind and the cloudy South bring with them; sooner would you count the winter rains or forest leaves. Watchful too is he and shrewd of mind, and quick to reckon what the Roman arms beneath every sky demand, how much the tribes^[71] and the temples, how much the lofty aque​ducts, and the fortresses by the sea, or the far-flung lines of road; what wealth of gold gleams on the high ceilings of our prince, what weight of ore must be melted in the fire and shaped into the countenance of gods, how much shall ring when stamped in the fiery heat of Ausonia’s mint. Therefore hadst thou but scant repose, thy mind took no thought for pleasure, thy feasting was meagre and thy cares never assuaged by plenteous draughts of wine; yet thou hadst joy in the ties of marriage, in binding thy heart with chains of love, in the union of festal wedlock, and in begetting faithful clients for thy lord.

Who can but know the high birth and loveliness of fair Etrusca? Never with my own eyes have I beheld her, yet the trusty image of fame reflects her peerless beauty, and a like charm of countenance in her sons reveals it. No common birth was hers; her brother wielded the rods and the highest curule power,^[72] and faithfully led Ausonian swordsmen and the standards entrusted to him, when frenzy first inspired the ruthless Dacians, and their race was doomed to afford us a mighty triumph.^[73] Thus whatsoe’er was lacking in the father’s blood was made good by the mother, and the household rejoicing in the union saw its obscurity turned to brightness. Children too were nigh at hand; twice was Lucina^[74] present at the birth and deftly with fruitful hand eased the pain of travail. Ah! happy, had length of days and a due measure of years suffered thee to behold the faces of thy children and the bloom of youth upon their cheeks! but in the midst of thy prime those joys fell shattered, and Atropos roughly tore the thread of flourishing life; even so do lilies ​droop pale heads and roses die at the first South wind, or on fresh meadows the purple flower of spring withers away. Around that funeral train did ye hover, ye arrow-bearing Loves, and anoint the bier with your mother’s balm; freely did ye scatter your torn hair and feathers on the flames, and your quivers were heaped to build the pyre. What offerings, what tears wouldest thou have paid at thy mother’s grave, Etruscus, who deemest thy father’s death untimely and mournest with true affection for his years!

He who with his nod now sways the heights of heaven,^[75] and has given of his glorious offspring to earth and sky alike, gladly granted to him the honour of an Idumaean^[76] triumph, and deeming him worthy the distinction and rank that the procession of victory brings forbade it not, nor did obscurity of birth diminish his renown.^[77] He too led him down to the benches of the knights from among the people, and ennobled him and took off the humble iron ring and made him equal to his sons in lofty eminence. Twice eight lustres of prosperity flowed by, and his life’s course was without a cloud. How lavish he was in the service of his sons, how willing to strip himself of all his wealth, the wonted splendour of Etruscus from that day to this bears witness, for it was thy indulgence that gave him his lordly mien. Thou didst clasp him in an embrace that ever called him back to thee, and didst rule by the love and not the sternness of a father; to him even his brother rejoiced to give way, more anxious for his renown than for his own.

What gratitude, greatest of princes, what loyal vows do these youths, devoted to thy service, pay ​thee for their sire’s rebirth! For whether he erred through age, fatigued by decay and exhausted by affairs, or whether Fortune so long favourable now had a mind to leave him, thou wert content, while in shuddering dismay he awaited the coming lightning-stroke, to warn the old man by thunder alone and by a storm that spared him; and when the partner of his cares left far behind him the fields of Italy and crossed the raging seas, he was bidden retire to Campania’s mild coast and the towers of Diomede,^[78] a stranger but no exile. Nor didst thou wait long, Germanicus, before thou didst once more unbar the gates of Romulus and console his grief and raise again the stricken house. No wonder, most tranquil prince; for this is that clemency that gives terms of mercy to the conquered Catti^[79] and restores their mountain to the Dacians; that lately though after a fierce struggle deigned not that the Marcomanni and the Sarmatian Nomads should furnish forth a Roman triumph.

And now his day is ended, and the inexorable thread runs out. The sorrowing heart of Etruscus asks me for a dirge, such as even the cliffs of Sicily re-echoed not, nor doomed swan ever sang nor cruel Tereus’ bride.^[80] Ah! with what violent beating of his breast did I see him wearying his arms, flung prostrate with face bowed down to kiss his sire! Scarce can his friends and servants hold him, scarce do the towering flames make him withdraw. Not otherwise did Theseus on the Sunian shore mourn Aegeus whom his false sails had deceived. Then fearfully groaning, with disfiguring marks upon his ​face, he cries to the warm ashes: “Why, truest of fathers, dost thou leave us, when Fortune smiles once more? Only of late did we assuage the godhead of our mighty prince and the brief anger of the gods, but thou, naught profiting, dost lose the enjoyment of a boon so great, and fleest, ungrateful, to the shades. And is it not granted to move the Fates, or appease the ruthless deities of deadly Lethe? Happy he, before whom as he carried his father on stalwart shoulders the Grecian flames gave way in reverent awe^[81]! and Scipio too, who while yet a lad rescued his sire from the cruel Carthaginians^[82]; happy also the daring devotion of Lydian Lausus^[83]! Is it so, then, that the Thessalian consort could give her life to save her lord? that the suppliant Thracian could defeat remorseless Styx?^[84] surely a father’s life hath a juster claim! Yet shalt thou not be wholly taken, nor will I send thy ashes far: here, here within the house will I keep thy shade. Thou art the guardian and master of the hearth, all that is thine shall obey thee; I will ever, as is right, be second, and hold a lesser place, and to thy sacred shade bring constant offering of meat and drink, and worship thy image; shining marble and the cunning lines of wax shall repeat thy likeness to me; now ivory, now tawny gold shall imitate thy features. There in thy long life’s story will I seek a guide for conduct, and loving converse and dreams that bring good counsel.”

So he spoke, and his father heard him with joy and gladness, and went down slowly to the pitiless shades, bearing the message to tell to his beloved Etrusca.

Hail for the last time, aged sire, gentlest of fathers, ​and for the last time farewell! Never while thy son lives shalt thou suffer the despair of Tartarus, or the sorrow of a grave forgotten. Ever shall thy altar exhale the scent of flowers, ever shall thy happy urn drink Assyrian perfumes, and tears, a greater honour. Thy son shall make sacrifice to thy spirit, and from thy own soil raise a monument to thee. My song too, won by his own worth, he dedicates to thee, glad to have given this sepulchre also to thy ashes.

Speed, ye tresses, and may ocean smile upon your passage! Speed, while ye softly rest upon the enwreathed gold! Speed onward, for gentle Venus will give you a fair voyage, and make the South winds tranquil, and perchance will take you from the dangerous bark and convey you over the sea in her own shell. Accept, O son of Phoebus,^[85] these much-praised locks that Caesar’s favourite presents to thee, accept them joyfully and show them to thy unshorn sire. Let him compare their beauteous sheen, and long deem them the tresses of his brother Lyaeus. Perchance too with his own hand he will shear a lock from his hair’s unfailing glory, and enclose it for thee in other gold.

Pergamus, more blest by far than pine-clad Ida, ​though she boast the cloud that veiled the heavenly rape^[86]! She verily gave to the gods him on whom Juno ever looks in wrath, and withdraws her hand and refuses the nectar; but thou, beloved of heaven and famed for thy fair foster-son, hast sent to Latium him whom Ausonian Jove and Roman Juno^[87] alike behold with favouring brow and both approve. Nor without the will of heaven was such pleasure vouchsafed to the lord of earth.

Golden Venus, it is said, while on her way from the height of Eryx to the Idalian groves, driving her gentle swans, entered the shrine at Pergamum, where the great helper of the sick is present to aid, and stays the hurrying fates and bends, a kindly deity, o’er his health-bringing snake. Here she espies a lad of wondrous, starlike beauty, playing before the very altars of the god. And at first deceived somewhat by the sudden sight of his fair form she deems him one of her own sons; but he had no bow nor shade of wings on his bright shoulders. She marvels at his boyish charm, and gazing at his features and his locks, “Shalt thou go,” she cries, “to the Ausonian city, neglected by Venus, and endure a mean dwelling and slavery’s base yoke? May that never be! I myself will find a master worthy of that beauty. Come, lad, come with me! I will convey thee in my winged chariot through the air, a wondrous present to a monarch. No common servitude awaits thee: to the Palace art thou destined, to be the minister of love. Never, I declare, never the whole world over have I beheld or given birth to aught so fair.^[88] Straightway will the Latmian ​yield to thee, and the Sangarian youth, and he whom the fruitless image in the fountain and barren love consumed. The Nymph of the dark-blue water would have preferred thee, and grasped thy urn and drawn thee down more boldly. Thou, boy, dost surpass them all; only he to whom I shall give thee is more beautiful.” So speaking she lifted him with her own hand through the light air, and bade him sit in the swan-drawn chariot. Straightway appeared the Latian hills^[89] and the home of ancient Evander, which Germanicus, renowned lord of the world, is adorning with new structures and making as glorious as the stars above. Then more anxious grew the goddess, what tiring of the hair best suited him, what raiment was fittest to light up his rosy countenance, what gold was worthiest of his neck or his finger. She knew the Emperor’s godlike glance: herself she had joined the torches of wedlock, and with lavish hand bestowed on him his bride. So decks she his hair, so drapes the Tyrian folds about him, and gives him her own radiant fire. The former favourites yield, and the crowds of slaves; ’tis he who bears the first goblet to our great Chief, and the crystal cups and heavy murrhine vessels in hands that are fairer than they; there is a sweeter savour in the wine.

O youth beloved of heaven, who hast been chosen to sip first the sacred nectar, and so oft to touch the mighty hand that the Getae seek to know, and the Persians and Armenians and Indians to kiss! O born under a favouring star, the gods have blest thee with much goodwill! Once, lest the first down should spoil thy radiant cheeks and the charm of thy comeliness be darkened, the god of thy land left his lofty Pergamum and crossed the sea. None else was ​trusted to unman the lad, but the son of Phoebus with quiet skill gently bids his body lose its sex, unmarred by any wound. But Cytherea is devoured by anxious care, and fears lest the boy suffer. Not yet had the noble clemency of our prince^[90] begun to keep our males untouched from birth; to-day it is forbidden to destroy sex and violate manhood, and nature rejoices to behold none but as she brought them forth, nor does a harsh law make slave-mothers afraid to bear the burden of sons.

Thou too, had thy birth been later, wert now a man, and with darkened cheeks and limbs full-grown and strong hadst gladly sent not one gift only to Phoebus’ fane; now let this single tress make voyage to thy country’s shores. This did the Paphian^[91] steep in much balm, this did the fresh Graces comb with threefold hand; to this will yield the ravished purple tress of Nisus,^[92] and that which wrathful Achilles kept for Spercheus. When first it was decreed to spoil that snow-white brow and by force to rob those gleaming shoulders, winged Cupids with their Paphian mother flew to thee, and prepared thy locks and put a silken robe about thee. Then with joined arrows they cut off the tress, and laid it on gold and jewels, and Venus their mother seized it as it fell, and anointed it once and twice with her mystic essences. Then one of the troop of boys, who by chance had brought in his upturned hands a mirror finely set in jewelled gold, cried: “This too let us give, no gift could be more pleasing to his country’s shrine, and more powerful even than gold. Do thou but gaze ​therein, and leave thy likeness here for ever.” He spoke, and shut the mirror, imprisoning the image.

But the peerless boy stretched forth his hands to heaven, and cried: “Most gentle guardian of men, vouchsafe in reward for my gift, if I so deserve, to keep our prince in the freshness of undying youth, and save him for the world. The sky, the sea, and the earth join with me in my prayer. May he live, I pray, through the years of a Priam and a Nestor both, and rejoicing see his own home and the Tarpeian shrine grow to old age with himself.” He spoke, and Pergamus marvelled that her fanes were shaken.

Why are you sad, my wife, in the day-time and in the nights we share together? Why do you sigh for anxiety and wakeful sorrow? I have no fear lest it be unfaithfulness and a rival passion in your heart; you are safe against all poisoned shafts, ay—though the Rhamnusian^[93] hear my words and frown—safe indeed! Even were I torn from my native shores and after twenty years of war and seafaring a wanderer still, you would repel unharmed a thousand wooers;^[94] nor would you plan to weave again the unravelled web, but would be frank and open, and even with arms deny your chamber. But say, whence comes this sullen brow, this clouded countenance? Is it that, broken in health, I purpose to return to my Euboean home, and to settle in old age on my ​native soil? Why does this cause you sorrow? Certainly there is no wantonness in your heart; the contests of the rushing Circus have no charm for you, no clamorous theatre-crowds find a place in your soul, but virtue and sheltered quiet and innocent joys.

But what are the waters o’er which I fain would hurry you with me? although even if I went to dwell at the cold North, or beyond the misty seas of western Thule, or to the unattainable source of sevenfold Nile, you would be urging our departure. For it is you—you, whom Venus of her grace united to me in the springtime of my days, and in old age keeps mine, you, who while yet I roved in youth nor knew aught of love did transfix my heart—you it is whose rein in willing submission I obeyed, and yet press the bit once put within my mouth, without e’er thought of change. When the Alban wreath^[95] adorned my gleaming locks, and I put on Caesar’s sacred gold, you clasped me to your bosom, and showered breathless kisses on my garlands; when the Capitol rejected my lyre, you shared my defeat and mourned the cruelty and ingratitude of Jove. Your wakeful ears caught the first notes of the songs I ventured and whole nights of murmured sound; you alone knew of my long labour, and my Thebaid grew with the years of your companionship. When lately I was near snatched away to the Stygian shades, and already heard close at hand the stream of Lethe, how grateful wert thou to my sight! My eyes, already failing in death, were stayed. Surely it was in pity of thee alone that Lachesis prolonged ​my exhausted term of life, and the gods above feared thy displeasure. After that do you hesitate to go with me on this short journey to the desirable bay? Ah! where is that loyalty of yours, well-known and put to many a test, that makes you one with the heroines of Greece and Rome? Penelope would have rejoiced to go to Ilium’s town—for what deters true lovers?—had Ulysses suffered her; Aegiale chafed, and Meliboea chafed to be left behind,^[96] and she too whom grief—how savage!—drove to frenzy.^[97] Yet you no less than these are loyal, and your life is devoted to your lord. Not otherwise indeed do you still seek the ashes and shade of your former husband,^[98] and embracing the relics of your poet-spouse renew your bitter heartfelt lamentation, even now that you are mine. As great too is your care and devotion for your daughter; your love as a mother is as tender; she is never absent from your heart, but the thought of her abides day and night in the inmost chambers of your being. Less lovingly does Alcyone of Trachis^[99] flutter round her nest, and Philomela cherish her vernal home, and give her young ones the warmth of her own life. ’Tis she now keeps you, because alone and unmarried she is wasting her youth and beauty in barren leisure. But wedlock will come, ay come with all its festal torches. So assuredly does she deserve for her sweet face and virtuous mind; whether she clasp and strike the lute, or with voice as tuneful as her sire’s sing melodies that the Muses ​might learn, while she follows the course of my songs, or whether with lithe movement she toss her snow-white arms: her innocence and modesty surpass her talent and her skill. Surely the nimble Loves, surely thou, Cytherea, wilt feel shame that such loveliness is wasted. Nor is it only Rome that is fruitful in marriage unions and blazing festal torches: in my country too are bridegrooms found. Not so utterly has Vesuvius’ peak and the flaming tempest of the baleful mountain drained of their townsmen the terror-stricken cities; they stand yet and their people flourish. Here are the dwellings of Dicarchus, founded with Phoebus’ auspices, and the harbour and the shores that the whole world visits; there are the walls that counterfeit the vastness of mighty Rome, which Capys filled with newcomers from Troy. There too is my own Parthenope, too small for her own citizens, yet with no lack of strangers, Parthenope, whom after she had fared across the sea Apollo himself by the help of Dione’s dove guided to a kindly soil.^[100]

This is the spot—for neither barbarous Thrace nor Libya is my native land—whither I fain would bring you; mild winters and cool summers temper its climate, its shores are lapped by the sluggish waters of a harmless sea. Peace untroubled reigns there, and life is leisurely and calm, with quiet undisturbed and sleep unbroken. No madness of the forum, no laws unsheathed in quarrel; our citizens admit but duty’s ordinance, and Right holds sway without rod or axe. Why should I now praise the gorgeous scenes and adornments of that land, the temples and wide halls spaced off by countless columns, the two great theatres, one open and one covered, and the ​quinquennial contests that rival the Capitoline festival? Why should I praise the shore and the freedom of Menander,^[101] a blend of Roman dignity and Grecian licence? Nor are there lacking all around the amusements that a varied life affords: whether you please to visit Baiae with its steaming springs and alluring coast, or the prophetic Sibyl’s inspired abode, or the hill made memorable by the Ilian oar^[102]; whether you prefer the flowing vineyards of Bacchic Gaurus, or the dwellings of the Teleboae,^[103] where the Pharus raises aloft the beacon that rivals the night-wandering moon and is welcomed by affrighted sailors, or the Surrentine hills beloved of fiery Bacchus, which my friend Pollius before all men honours by his dwelling, or the health-giving lake of Aenaria and Stabiae reborn^[104]? Shall I recount to you the thousand beauties of my country? No; ’tis enough, my wife, enough to say: This land bore me for you. and bound me to you in partnership for many a year. May it not worthily be deemed the mother and foster-mother of us both? But ’twere ingratitude in me to add more words and to doubt your loyalty; you will come with me, dearest wife, ay, even go before me; without me Tiber, prince of streams, and the halls of armed Quirinus will seem dull and worthless in your eyes.