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. I rav'd no longer at another's bliss,
  2. But begg'd the transport of as sweet a kiss.
  3. Smiling she said, " How grateful thy request!
  4. If e'er my kisses please thee, take the best."
  5. Oh, with what gust as from her soul they came!
  6. Such might melt Jove, and stop the vengeful flame;
  7. I fear'd my rival too enjoy'd the same.
  8. These, better than from me she learn'd I thought,
  9. Something taught new, alas! I wish'd untaught;
  10. What most gave pleasure, that now stings the most;
  11. Why were our darting tongues entirely lost?
  12. Nor fret I thou in kissing shouldst excel,
  13. And yet 'tis strange to know to kiss so well;
  14. But ah! such lectures only could be read
  15. By youthful tutors, and imbib'd abed.
  16. That sage who'er these large improvements made,
  17. Was by his pupil preciously repay'd.
  1. Alas! poor Poll, my Indian talker, dies!
  2. Go, birds, and celebrate his obsequies;
  3. Go, birds, and beat your breasts, your faces tear,
  4. And pluck your gaudy plumes instead of hair;
  5. Let doleful tunes the frighted forest wound,
  6. And your sad notes supply the trumpet's sound.
  7. Why, Philomel, dost mourn the Thracian rage?
  8. It is enough, thy grief at last assuage;
  9. His crimson faults are now grown white with age.
  10. Now mourn this bird; the cause of all thy woe
  11. Was great, 'tis true, but it was long ago.
  12. Mourn, all ye wing'd inhabitants of air,
  13. But you, my turtle, take the greatest share;
  14. You too liv'd constant friends and free from strife
  15. Your kindness was entire, and long as life:
  16. What Pylades to his Orestes vow'd.
  17. To thee, poor Poll, thy friendly turtle show'd,
  18. And kept his love as long as fate allow'd.
  19. But, ah! what did thy faith, thy plumes, and tail,
  20. And what thy pretty speaking art, avail?
  21. And what that thou wert giv'n, and pleas'd my miss,
  22. Since now the bird's unhappy glory dies ?
  23. A lovely verdant green grac'd ev'ry quill,
  24. The deepest vivid red did paint thy bill;
  25. In speaking thou didst ev'ry bird excel,
  26. None prattled, and none lisp'd the words so well.
  27. 'Twas envy only sent this fierce disease;
  28. Thou wert averse to war, and liv'dst in peace,
  29. A talking harmless thing, and lov'dst thine ease.
  30. The fighting quails still live 'midst all their strife,
  31. And even that, perhaps, prolongs their life.
  32. Thy meat was little, and thy prattling tongue
  33. Would ne'er permit to make thy dinner long: