Roman Elegies (1788-1790)

 

                                                   V

Happy now I can feel the classical climate inspire me,

   Past and present at last clearly, more vividly speak.

Here I take their advice, perusing the works of the ancients

   With industrious care, pleasure that grows every day.

But throughout the nights by Amor I'm differently busied,

   If only half improved, doubly delighted instead.

Also, am I not learning when at the shape of her bosom,

   Graceful lines, I can glance, guide a light hand down her hips?

Only thus I appreciate marble; reflecting, comparing,

   See with an eye that can feel, feel with a hand that can see.

True, the loved one besides may claim a few hours of the daytime,

   But in night hours as well makes full amends for the loss.

For not always we're kissing, often hold sensible converse;

   When she succumbs to sleep, pondering, long I lie still.

Often too in her arms I've lain composing a poem,

   Gently with fingering hand count the hexameter's beat

Out on her back; she breathes, so lovely and calm in her sleeping

   That the glow from her lips deeply transfuses my heart.

Amor meanwhile refuels the lamp and remembers the times when

  Them, his triumvirs of verse, likewise he's served and obliged.

 

 

                                        VIII

When, beloved, you tell me that as a child you were never

Liked by people, and scorned by your own mother herself

All those years of your quiet growth, till mature, I believe you,

            In my mind's eye enjoy seeing the singular child.

Well, the vine-flower, too, is deficient in shape and in colour,

            Yet to gods and mankind, mellow, the grape yields delight.

 

                                                 XVI

"Dear one, this morning, why weren't you there as agreed, at the vineyard?

   On my own, as I said, there I was waiting for you. "­

Love, I was going in; when whom should I see but your uncle

   Prying between the vines, this way and that, as he turned.

Quickly I crept away. "But how foolish of you! What an error!

   To mistake a scarecrow for him! Run for it, too! When the thing

Was a patchwork we made out of canes and old rags, in a hurry,

   Hard I worked at it, too, only to spite my own face."

Well, the old man had his way, and scared off a most feckless

   Bird, for the moment, that steals both from his garden and niece.

 

 

Translated by Michael Hamburger