Nor let the childless only taste delights,
For Fathers also may enjoy their nights.
IN CHARIDEMUM
YOU, Charidemus, who my
cradle swung,
And watched me all the days that I was young;
You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake,
And both the bailiff and the
butler quake;
The barber's suds now
blacken with my beard,
And my rough kisses make the maids afeared;
But with
reproach your awful eyebrows twitch,
And for the cane, I see, your fingers itch.
If something daintily attired I go,
Straight you exclaim: "Your father did not so."
And fuming, count the bottles on the board
As though my
cellar were your private hoard.
Enough, at last: I have done all I can,
And your own
mistress hails me for a man.
DE LIGURRA
YOU fear, Ligurra - above all, you long -
That I should smite you with a stinging song.
This
dreadful honour you both fear and hope -
Both all in vain: you fall below my scope.
The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull,
He does not harm the midge along the pool.
Lo! if so close this stands in your regard,
From some blind tap fish forth a
drunken barn,
Who shall with
charcoal, on the privy wall,
Immortalise your name for once and all.
IN LUPUM
BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till;
I have a larger on my window-sill.
A farm, d'ye say? Is this a farm to you,
Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue,
And that so rusty, and so small a thing,
One
shrill cicada hides it with a wing;
Where one
cucumber covers all the plain;
And where one
serpent rings himself in vain
To enter
wholly; and a single snail
Eats all and exit fasting to the pool?
Here shall my
gardener be the dusty mole.
My only
ploughman the . . . mole.
Here shall I wait in vain till figs be set,
And till the spring
disclose the violet.
Through all my wilds a tameless mouse careers,
And in that narrow
boundary appears,
Huge as the stalking lion of Algiers,
Huge as the fabled boar of Calydon.
And all my hay is at one swoop impresst
By one low-flying
swallow for her nest,
Strip god Priapus of each attribute
Here finds he
scarce a
pedestal to foot.
The gathered
harvestscarcely brims a spoon;
And all my vintage drips in a cocoon.
Generous are you, but I more
generous still:
Take back your farm and stand me half a gill!
AD QUINTILIANUM
O CHIEF
director of the growing race,
Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace,
Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive
Before from labour I make haste to live?
Some burn to gather
wealth, lay hands on rule,
Or with white statues fill the atrium full.
The talking
hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke,
Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke:
A
sturdy slave, not too
learned wife,
Nights filled with
slumber, and a quiet life.
DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS
MY Martial owns a garden, famed to please,
Beyond the glades of the Hesperides;
Along Janiculum lies the chosen block
Where the cool grottos
trench the
hanging rock.
The
moderatesummit, something plain and bare,
Tastes
overhead of a serener air;
And while the clouds
besiege the vales below,
Keeps the clear heaven and doth with
sunshine glow.
To the June stars that
circle in the skies
The
dainty roofs of that tall villa rise.
Hence do the seven
imperial hills appear;
And you may view the whole of Rome from here;
Beyond, the Alban and the Tuscan hills;
And the cool groves and the cool falling rills,
Rubre Fidenae, and with
virgin blood
Anointed once Perenna's
orchard wood.
Thence the Flaminian, the Salarian way,
Stretch far broad below the dome of day;
And lo! the traveller toiling towards his home;
And all unheard, the
chariot speeds to Rome!
For here no
whisper of the wheels; and tho'
The Mulvian Bridge, above the Tiber's flow,
Hangs all in sight, and down the
sacred stream
The sliding barges
vanish like a dream,
The seaman's
shrilling pipe not enters here,
Nor the rude cries of porters on the pier.
And if so rare the house, how rarer far
The
welcome and the weal that
therein are!
So free the
access, the doors so widely thrown,
You half imagine all to be your own.
AD MARTIALEM
GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be
To enjoy our days set
wholly free;
To the true life together bend our mind,
And take a furlough from the falser kind.
No rich
saloon, nor palace of the great,
Nor suit at law should trouble our estate;
On no vainglorious statues should we look,
But of a walk, a talk, a little book,
Baths, wells and meads, and the
veranda shade,
Let all our travels and our toils be made.
Now neither lives unto himself, alas!
And the good suns we see, that flash and pass
And
perish; and the bell that knells them cries:
"Another gone: O when will ye arise?"
IN MAXIMUM
WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed;
But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede:
When quite
contented }thou canst dine at home
Thou shall be free when }
And drink a small wine of the march of Rome;
When thou canst see
unmoved thy neighbour's plate,
And wear my threadbare toga in the gate;
When thou hast
learned to love a small abode,
And not to choose a
mistress A LA MODE:
When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be,
Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free.
AD OLUM
CALL me not rebel, though { here at every word
{in what I sing
If I no longer hail thee { King and Lord
{ Lord and King
I have redeemed myself with all I had,
And now possess my fortunes poor but glad.
With all I had I have redeemed myself,
And escaped at once from
slavery and pelf.
The
unruly wishes must a ruler take,
Our high desires do our low fortunes make:
Those only who desire palatial things
Do bear the fetters and the frowns of Kings;
Set free thy slave; thou settest free thyself.
DE COENATIONE MICAE
LOOK round: You see a little supper room;
But from my window, lo! great Caesar's tomb!
And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath
Bid you be merry and remember death.
DE EROTIO PUELLA
THIS girl was sweeter than the song of swans,
And daintier than the lamb upon the lawns
Or Curine
oyster. She, the flower of girls,
Outshone the light of Erythraean pearls;
The teeth of India that with
polish glow,
The
untouched lilies or the morning snow.
Her tresses did gold-dust outshine
And fair hair of women of the Rhine.
Compared to her the
peacock seemed not fair,
The
squirrellively, or the phoenix rare;
Her on whose pyre the smoke still hovering waits;
Her whom the
greedy and
unequal fates
On the sixth dawning of her natal day,
My child-love and my
playmate - snatcht away.
AD PISCATOREM
FOR these are
sacred fishes all
Who know that lord that is the lord of all;
Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand
That sways and can beshadow all the land.
Nor only so, but have their names, and come
When they are summoned by the Lord of Rome.
Here once his line an
impious Lybian threw;
And as with
tremulous reed his prey he drew,
Straight, the light failed him.
He groped, nor found the prey that he had ta'en.
Now as a
warning to the
fisher clan
Beside the lake he sits, a beggarman.
Thou, then, while still thine
innocence is pure,
Flee
swiftly, nor
presume to set thy lure;
Respect these fishes, for their friends are great;
And in the waters empty all thy bait.
End