_To Cupid._
O Cupid, never angered enough against me, O boy, that hast taken up thy
abode in my heart! why dost thou torment me, who, _thy_ soldier, have
never deserted thy standards? And _why_, in my own camp, am I _thus_
wounded? Why does thy torch burn, thy bow pierce, thy friends? 'Twere a
greater glory to conquer those who war _with thee_. Nay more, did not
the Hæmonian hero, afterwards, relieve him, when wounded, with his
healing aid, whom he had struck with his spear. [390] The hunter follows
_the prey_ that flies, that which is caught he leaves behind; and he is
ever on the search for still more than he has found. We, a multitude
devoted to thee, are _too well_ acquainted with thy arms; _yet_ thy
tardy hand slackens against the foe that resists. Of what use is it to
be blunting thy barbed darts against bare bones? _for_ Love has left my
bones _quite_ bare. Many a man is there free from Love, many a damsel,
too, free from Love; from these, with great glory, may a triumph be
obtained by thee.
Rome, had she not displayed her strength over the boundless earth,
would, even to this day, have been planted thick with cottages of
thatch. [391] The invalid soldier is drafted off to the fields [392]
that he has received; the horse, when free from the race, [393] is sent
into the pastures; the lengthened docks conceal the ship laid up; and
the wand of repose [394] is demanded, the sword laid by. It were
time for me, too, who have served so oft in love for the fair, now
discharged, to be living in quiet.
_And yet_, if any Divinity were to say to me, 'Live on, resigning love
I should decline it; so sweet an evil are the fair. When I am quite
exhausted, and the passion has faded from my mind, I know not by what
perturbation of my wretched feelings I am bewildered. Just as the horse
that is hard of mouth bears his master headlong, as he vainly pulls in
the reins covered with foam; just as a sudden gale, the land now nearly
made, carries out to sea the vessel, as she is entering harbour; so,
many a time, does the uncertain gale of Cupid bear me away, and rosy
Love resumes his well-known weapons. Pierce me, boy; naked am I exposed
to thee, my arms laid aside; hither let thy strength be _directed_:
here thy right hand tells _with effect_. Here, as though bidden, do thy
arrows now spontaneously come; in comparison to myself, their own quiver
is hardly so well known to them.
Wretched is he who endures to rest the whole night, and who calls
slumber a great good. Fool, what is slumber but the image of cold death?
The Fates will give abundance of time for taking rest.
Only let the words of my deceiving mistress beguile me; in hoping,
at least, great joys shall I experience. And sometimes let her use
caresses; sometimes let her find fault; oft may I enjoy _the favour_ of
my mistress; often may I be repulsed. That Mars is one so dubious,
is through thee, his step-son, Cupid; and after thy example does thy
step-father wield his arms. Thou art fickle, and much more wavering
than thy own wings; and thou both dost give and refuse thy joys at thy
uncertain caprice. Still if thou dost listen to me, as I entreat thee,
with thy beauteous mother; hold a sway never to be relinquished in my
heart. May the damsels, a throng too flighty _by far_, be added to thy
realms; then by two peoples wilt thou be revered.