Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AMORES [THE LOVES]: BOOK II. ELEGY 9. TO LOVE, by PUBLIUS OVIDIUS NASO


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AMORES [THE LOVES]: BOOK II. ELEGY 9. TO LOVE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O love! How cold and slow to take my part
Last Line: The vassal world is then thy own.
Alternate Author Name(s): Ovid
Subject(s): Love


O Love! how cold and slow to take my part,
Thou idle wanderer about my heart.
Why thy old faithful soldier wilt thou see
Oppressed in my own tents? They murder me.
Thy flames consume, thy arrows pierce thy friends;
Rather, on foes pursue more noble ends.
Achilles' sword would generously bestow
A cure as certain as it gave the blow.
Hunters who follow flying game give o'er
When the prey's caught; hope still leads on before.
We thine own slaves feel thy tyrannic blows,
Whilst thy tame hand's unmoved against thy foes.
On men disarmed how can you gallant prove?
And I was long ago disarmed by love.
Millions of dull men live, and scornful maids:
We'll own Love valiant when he these invades.
Rome from each corner of the wide world snatched
A laurel; else 't had been to this day thatched.
But the old soldier has his resting place,
And the good battered horse is turned to grass.
The harassed whore, who lived a wretch to please,
Has leave to be a bawd and take her ease.
For me, then, who have freely spent my blood,
Love, in thy service, and so boldly stood
In Celia's trenches, were 't not wisely done
E'en to retire, and live at peace at home?

No! Might I gain a godhead to disclaim
My glorious title to my endless flame,
Divinity with scorn I would forswear,
Such sweet, dear, tempting mischiefs women are.
Whene'er those flames grow faint, I quickly find
A fierce black storm pour down upon my mind.
Headlong I'm hurled, like horsemen who in vain
Their fury-foaming coursers would restrain.
As ships, just when the harbor they attain,
By sudden blasts are snatched to sea again,
So Love's fantastic storms reduce my heart
Half-rescued, and the god resumes his dart.
Strike here, this undefended bosom wound,
And for so brave a conquest be renowned.
Shafts fly so fast to me from every part,
You'll scarce discern your quiver from my heart.
What wretch can bear a livelong night's dull rest,
Or think himself in lazy slumbers blessed?
Fool! Is not sleep the image of pale death?
There's time for rest when fate has stopped your breath.
Me may my soft deluding dear deceive:
I'm happy in my hopes whilst I believe.
Now let her flatter, then as fondly chide;
Often may I enjoy, oft be denied.
With doubtful steps the god of war does move
By thy example led, ambiguous Love.
Blown to and fro like down from thy own wing,
Who knows when joy or anguish thou wilt bring?
Yet at thy mother's and thy slave's request,
Fix an eternal empire in my breast;
And let th' inconstant charming sex,
Whose willful scorn does lovers vex,
Submit their hearts before thy throne:
The vassal world is then thy own.





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