Amores

Ovid

Ovid. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Dryden, John, et al., translator. New York: Calvin Blanchard, 1855.

  1. Already thy dominions are too large;
  2. Be not ambitious of a foreign charge.
  3. If thou wilt reign o'er all, and ev'ry where,
  4. The god of music for his harp may fear.
  5. Thus when with soaring wings I seek renown,
  6. Thou pluck'st my pinions, and I flutter down.
  7. Could I on such mean thoughts my muse employ,
  8. I want a mistress, or a blooming boy."
  9. Thus I complain'd; his bow the stripling bent,
  10. And chose an arrow fit for his intent.
  11. The shaft his purpose fatally pursues;
  12. " Now, poet, there's a subject for thy muse,"
  13. He said: (too well, alas, he knows his trade,)
  14. For in my breast a mortal wound he made.
  15. Far hence ye proud Hexameters remove,
  16. My verse is pac'd, and tramell'd into love.
  17. With myrtle wreaths my thoughtful brows enclose,
  18. While in unequal verse I sing my woes.
  1. Ah me! why am I so uneasy grown?
  2. Ah! why so restless on my bed of down?
  3. Why do I wish to sleep, but wish in vain?
  4. Why am I all the tedious night in pain?
  5. What cause is this, that ease, that rest denies?
  6. And why my words break forth in gentle sighs?
  7. Sure I should know if love had fix'd his dart;
  8. Or creeps he softly in with treacherous art,
  9. And then grows tyrant, there and wounds the heart?
  10. 'Tis so, the shaft sticks deep, and galls my breast;
  11. 'Tis tyrant love, that robs my thoughts of rest!
  12. Well, shall I tamely yield, or must I fight?
  13. I'll yield; 'tis patience makes a burden light:
  14. A shaken torch grows fierce, and sparks arise;
  15. But, if unmov'd, the fire looks pale and dies.
  16. The hard-mouth'd horse smarts for his fierce disdain
  17. The gentle's ridden with a looser rein.
  18. Love smooths the gentle, but the fierce reclaims;
  19. He fires their breasts, and fills their souls with flames.
  20. I yield; great Love, my former crimes forgive,
  21. Forget my rebel thoughts, and let me live;
  22. No need of force: I willingly obey,
  23. And now unarm'd, shall prove no glorious prey.
  24. Go take thy mother's doves, thy myrtle crown,
  25. And for thy chariot, Mars shall lend his own;
  26. There thou shalt sit in thy triumphant pride,
  27. And, whilst glad shouts resound on ev'ry side,
  28. Thy gentle hands thy mother's doves shall guide.
  29. And there to make thy glorious pomp and state,
  30. A train of sighing youths, and maids shall wait,
  31. Yet none complain of an unhappy fate.
  32. There newly conquer'd I, still fresh my wound,