XXII TULLUS, thou askest ever in our friendship's name, what is my rank, whence my descent, and where my home. If thou knowest our country's graves at Perusia, the scene of death in the dark hours of Italy, when civil discord maddened the citizens of Rome (hence, dust of Tuscany, art thou my bitterest sorrow, for thou hast borne the limbs of my comrade that were cast out unburied, thou shroudest his ill-starred corpse with never a dole of earth), know then that where Umbria, rich in fertile lands, joins the wide plain that lies below, there was I born. LIBER SECVNDVS I QVAERITIS, unde mihi totiens scribantur amores, unde meus veniat mollis in ore liber. non haec Calliope, non haec mihi cantat Apollo, sive illam Cois fulgentem incedere cogis, seu nuda erepto mecum luctatur amictu, seu quidquid fecit sive est quodcumque locuta, quod mihi si tantum, Maecenas, fata dedissent, 10 20 THE SECOND BOOK I You ask me, from what source so oft I draw my songs of love and whence comes my book that sounds so soft upon the tongue. 'Tis not Calliope nor Apollo that singeth these things; 'tis my mistress' self that makes my wit. If thou wilt have her walk radiant in silks of Cos, of Coan raiment all this my book shall tell; or have I seen her tresses stray dishevelled o'er her brow, I praise her locks and she walks abroad in pride and gladness; or struck she forth music from the lyre with ivory fingers, I marvel with what easy skill she sweeps her hands along the strings; or when she droops those eyes that call for sleep I find a thousand new themes for song; or if, flinging away her robe, she enter naked with me in the lists, then, then I write whole Iliads long. Whate'er she does, whate'er she says, from a mere nothing springs a mighty tale. 17 But if, Maecenas, the Fates had granted me power to lead the hosts of heroes into war, I would not sing the Titans, nor Ossa on Olympus piled, that Pelion might be a path to heaven. I'd sing not ancient |