Tibullus 1.1, lines 53 - 78

Tibullus’s appeal to Delia

by Tibullus

Like his contemporaries Ovid and Propertius, and his predecessor Catullus, Tibullus deals in his poetry with themes including the challenges of life with a difficult mistress. Details of his life are sparse and unreliable, but there is a little more about them on his Poet page here. In this extract from the first poem in Tibullus’s first book, he has been praising the good, country life in idealised terms not dissimilar to those to be found in Virgil’s poem about farming and the land, the Georgics. Now he addresses his patron, the general and statesman Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus, before concluding the poem with a vision of himself united in love with his Delia, and his own variation on the theme of “carpe diem” constructed around an imaginary deathbed scene.

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Te bellare decet terra, Messalla, marique,
ut domus hostiles praeferat exuvias;
me retinent vinctum formosae vincla puellae,
et sedeo duras ianitor ante fores.
non ego laudari curo, mea Delia; tecum
dum modo sim, quaeso segnis inersque vocer.
te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora,
te teneam moriens deficiente manu.
flebis et arsuro positum me, Delia, lecto,
tristibus et lacrimis oscula mixta dabis.
flebis: non tua sunt duro praecordia ferro
vincta, neque in tenero stat tibi corde silex.
illo non iuvenis poterit de funere quisquam
lumina, non virgo, sicca referre domum.
tu manes ne laede meos, sed parce solutis
crinibus et teneris, Delia, parce genis.
interea, dum fata sinunt, iungamus amores:
iam veniet tenebris Mors adoperta caput,
iam subrepet iners aetas, nec amare decebit,
dicere nec cano blanditias capite.
nunc levis est tractanda Venus, dum frangere postes
non pudet et rixas inseruisse iuvat.
hic ego dux milesque bonus: vos, signa tubaeque,
ite procul, cupidis volnera ferte viris,
ferte et opes: ego conposito securus acervo
despiciam dites despiciamque famem.

Your glory, Messalla, is war on land and sea, so your house-front can display spoils  from the enemy; but chains forged by a lovely girl keep me defeated here, I sit like a janitor before her cruel doors. Praise means nothing to me, my Delia: if I can be with you, let them call me lazy and idle! May I look on you when my final hour has come, and hold you with my failing hand as I die. You’ll weep for me, Delia, on the bier which will burn on the pyre, and give me kisses mixed with tears of sadness. You’ll weep: your breast is not hard-iron-bound, there is no flint in your gentle heart. From that funeral, no young boy or girl will bring dry eyes home. Don’t upset my ghost, Delia, spare your loosened hair and tender cheeks! But for now, while the fates allow, let’s join our love together: soon Death will come,  head veiled in darkness; soon helpless age will creep in and it will no longer feel right to love, or to say sweet nothings when our hair is white. The time for the happy rites of Venus is now, while I’m still not ashamed to break down doors and can enjoy starting a fight! This is the field where I excel, as general or private: away, standards and trumpets! Take your wounds to greedy men, and wealth as well: here, safely sat on what I have saved, let me scorn both wealth and want!

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More Poems by Tibullus

More poems by this author will be added shortly.