I.i
Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis,
contactum nullis ante cupidinibus.
tum mihi constantis deiecit lumina fastus
et caput impositis pressit Amor pedibus,
donec me docuit castas odisse puellas
improbus, et nullo vivere consilio.
ei mihi iam toto furor hic non deficit anno,
cum tamen adversos cogor habere deos.
Milanion nullos fugiendo, Tulle, labores
saevitiam durae contudit Iasidos.
nam modo Partheniis amens errabat in antris,
rursus in hirsutas ibat et ille feras;
ille etiam Hylaei percussus vulnere rami
saucius Arcadiis rupibus ingemuit.
ergo velocem potuit domuisse puellam:
tantum in amore fides et benefacta valent.
in me tardus Amor non ullas cogitat artes,
nec meminit notas, ut prius, ire vias.
at vos, deductae quibus est fallacia lunae
et labor in magicis sacra piare focis,
en agedum dominae mentem convertite nostrae,
et facite illa meo palleat ore magis!
tunc ego crediderim vobis et sidera et amnes
posse Cytinaeis ducere carminibus.
aut vos, qui sero lapsum revocatis, amici,
quaerite non sani pectoris auxilia.
fortiter et ferrum saevos patiemur et ignes,
sit modo libertas quae velit ira loqui.
ferte per extremas gentes et ferte per undas,
qua non ulla meum femina norit iter.
vos remanete, quibus facili deus annuit aure,
sitis et in tuto semper amore pares.
nam me nostra Venus noctes exercet amaras,
et nullo vacuus tempore defit Amor.
hoc, moneo, vitate malum: sua quemque moretur
cura, neque assueto mutet amore locum.
quod si quis monitis tardas adverterit aures,
heu referet quanto verba dolore mea!
I.iii
Qualis Thesea iacuit cedente carina
languida desertis Cnosia litoribus;
qualis et accubuit primo Cepheia somno
libera iam duris cotibus Andromede;
nec minus assiduis Edonis fessa choreis
qualis in herboso concidit Apidano:
talis visa mihi mollem spirare quietem
Cynthia non certis nixa caput manibus,
ebria cum multo traherem vestigia Baccho,
et quaterent sera nocte facem pueri.
hanc ego, nondum etiam sensus deperditus omnes,
molliter impresso conor adire toro;
et quamvis duplici correptum ardore iuberent
hac Amor hac Liber, durus uterque deus,
subiecto leviter positam temptare lacerto
osculaque admota sumere avara manu,
non tamen ausus eram dominae turbare quietem,
expertae metuens iurgia saevitiae;
sed sic intentis haerebam fixus ocellis,
Argus ut ignotis cornibus Inachidos.
et modo solvebam nostra de fronte corollas
ponebamque tuis, Cynthia, temporibus;
et modo gaudebam lapsos formare capillos;
nunc furtiva cavis poma dabam manibus:
omniaque ingrato largibar munera somno,
munera de prono saepe voluta sinu;
et quotiens raro duxti suspiria motu,
obstupui vano credulus auspicio,
ne qua tibi insolitos portarent visa timores,
neve quis invitam cogeret esse suam:
donec diversas praecurrens luna fenestras,
luna moraturis sedula luminibus,
compositos levibus radiis patefecit ocellos.
sic ait in molli fixa toro cubitum:
'tandem te nostro referens iniuria lecto
alterius clausis expulit e foribus?
namque ubi longa meae consumpsti tempora noctis,
languidus exactis, ei mihi, sideribus?
o utinam tales perducas, improbe, noctes,
me miseram quales semper habere iubes!
nam modo purpureo fallebam stamine somnum,
rursus et Orpheae carmine, fessa, lyrae;
interdum leviter mecum deserta querebar
externo longas saepe in amore moras:
dum me iucundis lassam sopor impulit alis.
illa fuit lacrimis ultima cura meis.'
Elegi
Propertius
Listen to Elegy I.i read in the original Latin by Henry Walters:
The subjects of Propertius's poems—despite our ignorance about their author—are clearly of a piece: the pangs, toils, and ecstasies of romantic love, and the line they demarcate between this present, palpable world and another. The poems are known as Elegies not in the modern sense of mourning the dead (although they often do), but because they are written in elegiac verse—an alternation of paired hexameter and pentameter lines. Propertius was well known in his lifetime; Maecenas, patron of the arts at the court of the Roman emperor Augustus, took the poet under his wing along with Virgil, his more famous contemporary, and others. Fragments of Propertius' verse show up as graffiti on the walls of Pompeii.
But history, on the whole, has not been kind to him. Classical scholars have had no patience for the twists and turns of his consciousness, much less his moods, and modern readers have found his poems either too dense with mythological allusion or adulterated by a sentimentality they seem to know all too well. At first blush, one thinks, Haven't we heard this sighing, pining, miserable, unrequited voice before? What we now know as romantic love, however, was not Propertius' inheritance. For the Romans, love was more likely to be portrayed as an affliction, a madness, or a regrettable adolescent phase than as an honorable pursuit of a noble heart. This came later, with the devotions—religious, feudal, artistic—of the Middle Ages. In Propertius we find a forerunner of the lover in all his many guises: earnest seeker, ecstatic devotee, jealous prosecutor, groveling scoundrel, haunted and haunting ghost. Here, in one body, is the Proteus of exasperating proportions who works his changes through all the rest of our literature. And where something new begins, one should be able to hear, if one listens closely enough, the urgency and scope of its human feeling.
But history, on the whole, has not been kind to him. Classical scholars have had no patience for the twists and turns of his consciousness, much less his moods, and modern readers have found his poems either too dense with mythological allusion or adulterated by a sentimentality they seem to know all too well. At first blush, one thinks, Haven't we heard this sighing, pining, miserable, unrequited voice before? What we now know as romantic love, however, was not Propertius' inheritance. For the Romans, love was more likely to be portrayed as an affliction, a madness, or a regrettable adolescent phase than as an honorable pursuit of a noble heart. This came later, with the devotions—religious, feudal, artistic—of the Middle Ages. In Propertius we find a forerunner of the lover in all his many guises: earnest seeker, ecstatic devotee, jealous prosecutor, groveling scoundrel, haunted and haunting ghost. Here, in one body, is the Proteus of exasperating proportions who works his changes through all the rest of our literature. And where something new begins, one should be able to hear, if one listens closely enough, the urgency and scope of its human feeling.
Propertius lived in the decades just before the birth of Christ, a Roman at the dawn of the Roman Empire. Practically no historical facts about his life come down to us, neither the year of his birth or death, nor his full name, nor the real name of the beloved whom he praised, cursed, and mourned as Cynthia. Perhaps ninety or so of his Latin poems survive—even where these poems begin and end is uncertain.
Henry Walters is a naturalist, teacher, and practicing falconer. His poems, essays, and translations have appeared or are forthcoming from publications as various as The Old Farmer's Almanac, Tuesday: An Art Project, The Literary Bohemian, Kindred, and Hawk Migration Studies. He lives and writes in the woods of New Hampshire, where he acts as steward of a large tract of conservation land. He is currently at work on a selection of translations from Propertius.
