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.
- Then cry, "My life, I ne'er shall thee disgrace,
- And I am light; give me my proper place.
- Still let me stick when in the bath you are;
- If I catch damage,'tis not worth your care.
- Yea, when the ring thy naked body spies,
- It will transform, and I a man arise."
- Why do I rave? thou little trifle, go,
- And that I die for her let the dear creature know.
- I'm now at—where my eyes can view,
- Their old delights, but what I want in you:
- Here purling streams cut thro' my pleasing bowr's,
- Adorn my banks, and raise my drooping flow'rs;
- Here trees with bending fruit in order stand,
- Invite my eye, and tempt my greedy hand;
- But half the pleasure of enjoyment's gone;
- Since I must pluck them single and alone;
- Why could not nature's kindness first contrive,
- That faithful lovers should like spirits live,
- Mix'd in one point and yet divided lie,
- Enjoying an united liberty?
- But since we must thro' distant regions go,
- Why was not the same way design'd for two?
- One single care determined still for both,
- And the kind virgin join'd the loving youth?
- Then should I think it pleasant way to go
- Oe'r Alpine frost, and trace the hills of snow;
- Then should I dare to view the horrid moors,
- And walk the deserts of the Libyan shores;
- Hear Scylla bark, and see Charybdis rave,
- Suck in and vomit out the threat'ning wave;
- Fearless through all I'd steer my feeble barge,
- Secure, and safe with the celestial charge,
- But now, though here my grateful fields afford
- Choice fruits to cheer their malancholy lord;
- Though here obedient streams the gard'ner leads,
- In narrow channels through my flow'ry beds;
- The poplars rise, and spread a shady grove,
- Where I might lie, my little life improve,
- And spend my minutes 'twixt a muse and love:
- Yet these contributes little to my ease,
- For without you they lose the power to please;
- I seem to walk oe'r the fields of naked sand,
- Or tread an antic maze in fairy land,
- Where frightful specires, and pale shades appear,
- And hollow groans invade my troubled ear;
- Where ev'ry breeze that through my arbour flies,
- First sadly murmurs, and then turns to sighs.
- The vines love elms; what elms from vines remove?
- Then why should I be parted from my love?
- And yet by me you once devoutly swore,
- By your own eyes, those stars that I adore,
- That all my bus'ness you would make your own,
- And never suffer me to be alone:
- But faithless woman nat'rally deceives,
- Their frequent oaths are like the falling leaves,
- Which when a storm has from the branches tore
- Are lost by ev'ry blast, and seen no more:
- Yet if you will be true, your vows retrieve,
- Be kind, and I can easily forgive ;
- Prepare your coach, to me direct your course,
- Drive fiercely on, and lash the lazy horse;
- And while you ride I will prolong the day,
- And try the power of verse to smooth your way.
- Sink down ye mountains, sink ye lofty hills,
- Ye vallies be obedient to her wheels,
- Ye streams be dry, ye hindr'ing woods remove,
- 'Tis love that drives, and all must yield to love !
- If there's a wretch, who thinks it is a shame,
- To serve a lovely and a loving dame:
- If such a slave he loads with infamy,
- I'm willing he should judge as hard of me;
- I'm willing all the world should know my shame
- If Venus will abate my raging flame.
- Let me a fair and gentle mistress have,
- And then proclaim aloud that I'm her slave.
- Beauty is apt to swell a maiden's mind,
- And thus Corinna is to pride inclin'd:
- But as she is above all maiden's fair,
- What's pride in them is insolence in her;
- Less fair I wish she was, or knew it less;
- How learnt she, she is lovely by her face!
- Her mirror tells her so, she often tries
- Her mirror, and believes her charming eyes.
- The looks she then puts on, are still her best,
- And she ne'er uses it but when she's dress'd.
- Though wide the empire of your beauties spread,
- Beauty to draw my am'rous glances made:
- Compare your servant's merit with your eyes,
- You'll find no cause his service to dispise.
- Don't think I press upon your pride too hard.
- For little things may be with great compar'd:
- We're told Calypso, an immortal pow'r,
- Detain'd a mortal in th' Ogygian pow'r,
- And when her pray'r to stay he would not grant,
- So strong her love, she kept him by constraint.
- A Nereid took the Pythian to her arms.
- And Numa knew divine Egeria's charms.
- Vulcan though lame, and of a form obscene,
- Was oft made happy by the Paphian queen;
- She matter'd not his limping, but approv'd
- His flame, and saw no faults in him she lov'd
- My verses are unequal like his feet,
- Yet the long kindly with the shorter meet.
- As they with them, why shouldst thou not with me
- Comply, my life and my divinity !
- Myself, when I am in thy arms, I'll own
- Thy subject, and the bed shall be thy throne;
- Thou there, my lovely queen, shall give me laws,
- Nor in my absence, to rejoice have cause,
- Nor ever shall my services be blam'd
- Nor shalt thou of thy servant be asham'd.
- My poetry's my purse, my fortun's there,
- I have no other way to win the fair;
- Nor is that way the worst; the brightest dames
- Would in my verse immortalize their names.
- My muse the place of an estate supplies,
- And none that know her worth, her wealth despise.
- Some tempted by Corinna's spreading fame,
- In envy rob her, and usurp her name;
- What would they give, d'ye think, to be the same ?
- But neither could Eurotas, nor the Po,
- With poplar shaded, in one channel flew;
- By diff'rent, and by distant banks they glide,
- Are rivers both, but various in their tide.
- There are more beauties, but there's none like thine,
- There are more versed, but thou hast only mine;
- No other charms can e'er inspire my muse,
- And other themes I with disdain refuse.
- While, Macer, you Achilles' choler sing,
- And Greece before the walls of Ilium bring;
- While feats of arms in Phrygian fields you tell,
- And how old Tory by Grecion vengeance fell;
- I my soft hours in softer songs employ,
- And all my leisure give to love and joy.
- When to high acts, my voice I strive to raise,
- Love laughs at my attempt, and mocks my lays;
- "Begone!" I often to my mistress cry,
- But have not courage, yet, myself to fly.
- Whene'er she sees me in this sullen fit,
- She fondles me, and, on my knee will sit: