_He says that he is obliged by Cupid to write of Love instead of the
Wars, of the Giants, upon which subject he had already commenced._
|This work, also, I, Naso, born among the watery Peligni, [301]
have composed, the Poet of my own failings. This work, too, has Love
demanded. Afar hence, be afar hence, ye prudish matrons; you are not a
fitting audience for my wanton lines. Let the maiden that is not cold,
read me in the presence of her betrothed; the inexperienced boy, too,
wounded by a passion hitherto unknown; and may some youth, now wounded
by the bow by which I am, recognise the conscious symptoms of his flame;
and after long wondering, may he exclaim, "Taught by what informant, has
this Poet been composing my own story?"
I was (I remember) venturing to sing of the battles of the heavens,
and Gyges [302] with his hundred hands; and I had sufficient power of
expression; what time the Earth so disgracefully avenged herself, and
lofty Ossa, heaped upon Olympus, bore Pelion headlong downwards. Having
the clouds in my hands, and wielding the lightnings with Jove, which
with success he was to hurl in behalf of his realms of the heavens, my
mistress shut her door against me; the lightnings together with Jove did
I forsake. Jupiter himself disappeared from my thoughts. Pardon me, O
Jove; no aid did thy weapons afford me; the shut door was a more potent
thunderbolt than thine. I forthwith resumed the language of endearment
and trifling Elegies, those weapons of my own; and gentle words
prevailed upon the obdurate door.
Verses bring down [303] the horns of the blood-stained Moon; and they
recall the snow-white steeds of the Sun in his career. Through verses do
serpents burst, their jaws rent asunder, and the water turned back flows
upward to its source. Through verses have doors given way; and by verses
[304] was the bar, inserted in the door-post, although 'twas made of
oak, overcome. Of what use is the swift Achilles celebrated by me? What
can this or that son of Atreus do for me? He, too, who wasted as many of
his years in wandering as in warfare? And the wretched Hector, dragged
by the Hæmonian steeds? But the charms of the beauteous fair being
ofttimes sung, she presents herself to the Poet as the reward of his
verse. This great recompense is given; farewell, then, ye illustrious
names of heroes; your favour is of no use to me. Ye charming fair, turn
your eyes to my lines, which blushing Cupid dictates to me.