The Portable Roman Reader (Portable Library) (30 page)

How rapidly the iron gales of March
are melted in the crucible of spring!
Away, Catullus! Swift as swallow, fly
from breathless summer when the sun will parch
Nicxa’s fields; fly without faltering
to where in fame and foam great seaside cities lie.

 

To yearning heart of wanderer give rein
with fervid foot; so bid a long farewell
to that fond band of friends, who once left home
together, but who must return again
from separate paths, through mottled scenes to swell
the ranks that sway along the spidered roads to Rome.

Equal to Jove that youth must be—
Greater than Jove he seems to me—
Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms.
The cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserved for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia, though ‘tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly;
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parched to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support,
Cold dews my pallid face o’erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veiled in starless night;
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

You that from the mother’s side
Lead the lingering, blushing bride,
Fair Urania’s son—
Leave awhile the lonely mount,
The haunted grove and holy fount
Of chilling Helicon.

 

With myrtle wreaths enweave thy hair—
Wave the torch aloft in air—
Make no long delay:
With flowing robe and footsteps light,
And gilded buskins glancing bright,
Hither bend thy way.

 

Join at once, with airy vigour,
In the dance’s varied figure,
To the cymbal’s chime:
Frolic unrestrain’d and free—
Let voice, and air, and verse agree,
And the
torch
beat time.

 

 

Hymen, come, for Julia
Weds with Manlius today,
And deigns to be a bride.
Such a form as Venus wore
In the contest famed of yore,
On Mount Ida’s side;

 

Like the myrtle or the bay,
Florid, elegant, and gay,
With foliage fresh and new,
Which the nymphs and forest maids
Have foster’d in sequester’d shades,
With drops of holy dew.

Leave then, all the rocks and cells
Of the deep Aonian dells,
And the caverns hoar;
And the dreary streams that weep
From the stony Thespian steep,
Dripping evermore.

 

Haste away to new delights,
To domestic happy rites,
Human haunts and ways;
With a kindly charm applied,
Soften and appease the bride,
And shorten our delays.

 

Bring her hither, bound to move,
Drawn and led with bands of love,
Like the tender twine
Which the searching ivy plies,
Clinging in a thousand ties
O‘er the clasping vine.

 

Gentle virgins, you besides,
Whom the like event betides,
With the coming year;
Call on Hymen! call him now!
Call aloud! A virgin vow
Best befits his ear.

 

 

“Is there any deity
More beloved and kind than he—
More disposed to bless;
Worthy to be worshipp’d more;
Master of a richer store
Of wealth and happiness?

 

“Youth and age alike agree,
Serving and adoring thee,
The source of hope and care:
Care and hope alike engage
The wary parent sunk in age
And the restless heir.

 

“She the maiden, half afraid,
Hears the new proposal made,
That proceeds from Thee;
You resign and hand her over
To the rash and hardy lover
With a fix’d decree.

 

 

“Hymen, Hymen, you preside,
Maintaining honour and the pride
Of women free from blame,
With a solemn warrant given,
Is there any power in heaven
That can do the same?

 

 

“Love, accompanied by thee,
Passes unreproved and free,
But without thee, not:
Where on earth, or in the sky,
Can you find a deity
With a fairer lot?

 

 

“Heirship in an honour’d line
Is sacred as a gift of thine,
But without thee, not:
Where on earth, or in the sky,
Can you find a deity
With a fairer lot?

 

“Rule and empire—royalty,
Are rightful, as derived from thee,
But without thee, not:
Where on earth, or in the sky,
Can you find a deity
With a fairer lot?”

 

 

Open locks! unbar the gate!
Behold the ready troop that wait
The coming of the bride;
Behold the torches, how they flare!
Spreading aloft their sparkling hair,
Flashing far and wide.

 

Lovely maiden! here we waste
The timely moments;—Come in haste!
Come then.... Out, alack!
Startled at the glare and dim,
She retires to weep within,
Lingering, hanging back.

 

Bashful honour and regret
For a while detain her yet,
Lingering, taking leave:
Taking leave and lingering still,
With a slow, reluctant will,
With grief that does not grieve.

 

Aurunculeia, cease your tears,
And when tomorrow’s morn appears,
Fear not that the sun
Will dawn upon a fairer face—
Nor in his airy, lofty race
Behold a lovelier one.

 

Mark and hear us, gentle bride;
Behold the torches nimbly plied,
Waving here and there;
Along the street and in the porch,
See the fiery-tressed torch
Spreads its sparkling hair.

 

Like a lily, fair and chaste,
Lovely bride, you shall be placed
In a garden gay,
A wealthy lord’s delight and pride;
Come away then, happy bride,
Hasten, hence away!

 

Mark and hear us—he your Lord,
Will be true at bed and board,
Nor ever walk astray,
Withdrawing from your lovely side;
Mark and hear us, gentle bride,
Hasten, hence away!

Like unto the tender vine,
He shall ever clasp and twine,
Clinging night and day,
Fairly bound and firmly tied;
Come away then, happy bride,
Hasten, hence away!

 

Happy chamber, happy bed,
Can the joys be told or said
That await you soon;
Fresh renewals of delight,
In the silent fleeting night
And the summer noon.

 

 

Make ready. There I see within
The bride is veil’d; the guests begin
To muster close and slow:
Trooping onward close about,
Boys, be ready with a shout—
“Hymen! Hymen! Ho!”

 

Now begins the free career—
For many a jest and many a jeer,
And many a merry saw;
Customary taunts and gibes,
Such as ancient use prescribes,
And immemorial law.

 

 

“Some at home, it must be fear‘d,
Will be slighted and cashier’d,
Pride will have a fall;
Now the favourites’ reign is o‘er,
Proud enough they were before—
Proud and nice withal.

 

 

“Full of pride and full of scorn,
Now you see them clipt and shorn,
Humbler in array;
Sent away, for fear of harm,
To the village or the farm—
Pack’d in haste away.

 

“Other doings must be done,
Another empire is begun,
Behold your own domain!
Gentle bride! Behold it there!
The lordly palace proud and fair:
You shall live and reign

 

“In that rich and noble house,
Till age shall silver o‘er the brows,
And nod the trembling head,
Not regarding what is meant,
Incessant uniform assent
To all that’s done or said.

 

 

“Let the faithful threshold greet,
With omens fair, those lovely feet,
Lightly lifted o‘er;
Let the garlands wave and bow
From the lofty lintel’s brow
That bedeck the door.”

 

See the couch with crimson dress—
Where, seated in the deep recess,
With expectation warm,
The bridegroom views her coming near—
The slender youth that led her here
May now release her arm.

 

With a fix’d intense regard
He beholds her close and hard
In awful interview:
Shortly now she must be sped
To the chamber and the bed,
With attendance due.

 

 

Let the ancient worthy wives,
That have pass’d their constant lives
With a single mate,
As befits advised age,
With council and precaution sage
Assist and regulate.

She the mistress of the band
Comes again with high command,
“Bridegroom, go your way;
There your bride is in the bower,
Like a lovely lily flower,
Or a rose in May.

 

“Ay, and you yourself in truth
Are a goodly comely youth,
Proper, tall, and fair;
Venus and the Graces too
Have befriended each of you
For a lovely pair.

 

“There you go! may Venus bless
Such as you with good success
In the lawful track;
You that, in an honest way,
Purchase in the face of day
Whatsoe‘er you lack.”

 

Sport your fill and never spare—
Let us have an infant heir
Of the noble name;
Such a line should ever last,
As it has for ages past,
Another and the same.

 

 

Fear not! with the coming year,
The new Torquatus will be here,
Him we soon shall see
With infant gesture fondly seek
To reach his father’s manly cheek,
From his mother’s knee.

 

 

With laughing eyes and dewy lip,
Pouting like the purple tip
That points the rose’s bud;
While mingled with the mother’s grace,
Strangers shall recognise the trace
That marks the Manlian blood.

 

So the mother’s fair renown
Shall betimes adorn and crown
The child with dignity,
As we read in stories old
Of Telemachus the bold,
And chaste Penelope.

 

Now the merry task is o‘er
Let us hence and close the door,
While loud adieux are paid:
“Live in honour, love and truth,
And exercise your lusty youth
In matches fairly play’d.”