Roman Elegies XIII

Amor is still a rogue: if you trust he’ll betray you! The hypocrite came and said: ‘Trust me again this once. I mean well by you: you have, I know and I’m grateful, Dedicated your life and poetry to my worship. Look, I’ve even followed you to Rome! And I’d like To do you a service of sorts in these foreign fields. Travellers always complain hospitality’s poor: With Love’s recommendation it proves first class. You’re gazing now in wonder at ancient ruins, Sensibly wandering round this sacred place, You revere even more all the works that remain By rare artists, whose workshops I frequented. I created these forms myself! This time, forgive me, I don’t boast: you’ll confess what I say is true. Now you serve me idly where are the lovely forms, Where are the colours and light of your inventions? Do you wish to create, my Friend? The Greek school Is still open, the years haven’t closed its doors. I, the teacher, am ever young: and love youth. I don’t like aged cunning! Listen now, look alive! When those happy ones lived the ancient was new! Live happily, and the past will be living, in you! Where are the themes for your song? I’ll grant them, You’ll only learn of the highest style from Love,’ So spoke the Sophist. Who could argue with him? And alas I follow orders when the master commands. – Now the traitor is keeping his word, granting a theme, Ah, and robbing me too of sense, and time and strength: A loving pair clasp hands, are exchanging glances: Affectionate tones: and words of precious meaning. Here lisping is conversation, stammering sweet speech: A hymn like this rises without verse or metre. Say how I found you, once, Dawn, the Muses’ friend! Aurora, has Amor, the wanton, seduced you too? You appear to me now as his friend, and wake me To a day of feasting again before his Altar. I find the wealth of her hair over my breast! Her hand weighs on the arm that cradles her neck. How gladly I wake to find that the peaceful hours Show traces of the desire that lulled us to sleep! – She moves in her sleep, sinks down in the wide bed, Turns from me, and yet still leaves her hand in mine. True longing and heartfelt love bind us forever, And only our passion retains its right to vary. A touch of my hand, and I’ll see those heavenly eyes Open again. – No! Let me take rest in her Form! Don’t open! You’ll make me drunk, confused, snatch me Too soon from the calm pleasure of pure Beholding. Her shape, how fine! Her limbs how nobly formed! If Ariadne, asleep, was so fair: Theseus how could you go? Just one kiss on those lips! O Theseus, can you leave now! Gaze in her eyes! She wakes! – She holds you fast for ever.