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. Less lovely are their locks, than yours, less fair
  2. The ringlets of their soft dishevell'd hair:
  3. Softer was thine, like fleecy down it felt,
  4. And to the finger did as freely yield,
  5. How didst thou torture it, the curls to turn,
  6. Now with hot irons at thy toilet burn?
  7. This rack, with what obedience did it bear?
  8. "Ah spare," I cried, "thy patient tresses spare!
  9. To hurt them is a sin: this needless toil
  10. Forbear, and do not, what adorns thee, spoil.
  11. 'Tis now too late to give your labour o'er,
  12. Those tortur'd ringlets are, alas ! no more.
  13. Ah, cease the cruel thought, and cease to pass
  14. Such irksome minutes at your faithful glass !
  15. In vain thou seek'st thy silken locks to find;
  16. Banish the dear remembrance from thy mind.
  17. No weeds destroy'd them with their pois'nous juice,
  18. Nor canst thou witches' magic charms accuse,
  19. Nor rival's rage, nor dire enchantment blame,
  20. Nor envy's blasting tongue, nor fever's flame.
  21. The mischief by thy own fair hands was wrought;
  22. Nor dost thou suffer for another's fault.
  23. How oft I bade thee, but in vain, beware
  24. The venom'd essence, that destroy'd thy hair?
  25. Now with new arts thou shalt thy pride amuse,
  26. And curls, of German captives borrow'd, use.
  27. Drusus to Rome their vanquish'd nation sends
  28. And the fair slave to thee her tresses lends.
  29. With alien locks thou wilt thy head adorn,
  30. And conquests gain'd by foreign beauties scorn.
  31. How wilt thou blush, with other charms to please,
  32. And cry, "How fairer were my locks than these !"
  33. By heav'ns, to heart she takes her head's disgrace,
  34. She weeps, and covers with her hands her face.
  35. She weeps, as in her lap her locks she views;
  36. What woman would not weep, such locks to lose!
  37. Ah, that they still did on her shoulders flow,
  38. Ah, that they now, where once they grew, did grow!
  39. Take courage, fair Corinna, never fear,
  40. Thou shalt not long these borrow'd tresses wear:
  41. Time for your beauty shall this loss repair
  42. And you again shall charm with native hair.

Poem 15, in which the poet boasts his work will outlive him, is not here translated.

Poem 1, in which the poet introduces his second book, is not here translated.

Poem 2, addressed to Bagoe, is not here translated.

  1. How hard's my hap, to have my fair consign'd
  2. To one, who is imperfect in his kind;
  3. To one, who ne'er can have the pow'r to prove
  4. As woman, or as man, the mutual joys of love!
  5. Who practis'd first on boys the cutting steel,
  6. Deserv'd himself the fatal wound to feel.
  7. Couldst thou be capable of Cupid's fires,
  8. Or the least sensible of love's desires,
  9. Some pity thou wouldst have on me, and grant
  10. Thy aid, for what thou canst not know I want.
  11. Ill suits thee now, the warrior's lance to wield,
  12. To mount the manag'd horse, or lift the brazen shield:
  13. Arms are for men, and not for such as thee,
  14. Who shouldst from ev'ry manly thought be free.
  15. No banner shouldst thou, but thy lady's bear,
  16. And have no other leader but the fair.
  17. Much it behoves thee then to strive to gain
  18. Her favour, and thou need'st not strive in vain.