If there be any faults in my little books, as there will be, hold them, reader, as excused by their own time.
§4.1.3exul eram, requiesque mihi, non fama petita est, §4.1.4mens intenta suis ne foret usque malis.
I was an exile, and peace of mind was sought by me, not fame, lest my mind should be continually intent upon its own evils.
§4.1.5hoc est cur cantet vinctus quoque compede fossor, §4.1.6indocili numero cum grave mollit opus.
This is why even the fettered digger sings with his shackle, when he softens his heavy labor with an untaught rhythm.
§4.1.7cantat et innitens limosae pronus harenae, §4.1.8adverso tardam qui trahit amne ratem; §4.1.9quique refert pariter lentos ad pectora remos, §4.1.10in numerum pulsa brachia pulsat aqua.
He also sings, leaning forward upon the muddy sand, who drags the slow raft against the opposing stream; and he who brings back the flexible oars equally to his chest, strikes his arms in rhythm with the beaten water.
When the tired shepherd has leaned on his staff or sat on a rock, he soothes his sheep with a reedy song.
§4.1.13cantantis pariter, pariter data pensa trahentis, §4.1.14fallitur ancillae decipiturque labor.
The labor of the handmaid, as she sings and at the same time spins her allotted task, is beguiled and deceived.
It is said also that sad Achilles, when the daughter of Lyrnesus was taken away, lessened his cares with the Haemonian lyre.
When Orpheus was drawing the woods and hard rocks by singing, he was mournful for his wife, lost twice.
§4.1.19me quoque Musa levat Ponti loca iussa petentem.
Me too the Muse comforts as I seek the commanded places of Pontus.
§4.1.20sola comes nostrae perstitit illa fugae; §4.1.21sola nec insidias, Sinti nec militis ensem, §4.1.22nec mare nec ventos barbariamque timet.
She alone remained as the constant companion of our flight; she alone fears neither treachery, nor the sword of the Sinti soldier, nor the sea, nor the winds, nor barbarism.
§4.1.23scit quoque, cum perii, quis me deceperit error, §4.1.24et culpam in facto, non scelus, esse meo, §4.1.25scilicet hoc ipso nunc aequa, quod obfuit ante, §4.1.26cum mecum iuncti criminis acta rea est.
She also knows, when I perished, what error deceived me, and that there is a fault in my deed, not a crime, surely being fair to me now for this very reason, that she harmed me before, when she was accused with me as the defendant of a shared charge.
Indeed I could wish, since they were destined to harm me, that I had not laid my hand upon the sacred rites of the Pierides, but now what should I do?
§4.1.29sed nunc quid faciam? vis me tenet ipsa sacrorum, §4.1.30et carmen demens carmine laesus amo.
The very power of the sacred rites holds me, and, madman that I am, though hurt by song, I love song.
So the fresh lotus tasted by the Dulichian palate was pleasing for that very flavor with which it harmed.
§4.1.33sentit amans sua damna fere, tamen haeret in illis, §4.1.34materiam culpae persequiturque suae.
A lover feels his own losses for the most part, yet clings to them, and pursues the material of his own fault.
§4.1.35nos quoque delectant, quamvis nocuere, libelli, §4.1.36quodque mihi telum vulnera fecit, amo.
Me too my little books delight, although they harmed me, and I love the very weapon that made my wounds.
§4.1.37forsitan hoc studium possit furor esse videri, §4.1.38sed quiddam furor hic utilitatis habet, §4.1.39semper in obtutu mentem vetat esse malorum, §4.1.40praesentis casus inmemoremque facit, §4.1.41utque suum Bacche non sentit saucia vulnus, §4.1.42dum stupet Idaeis exululata modis, §4.1.43sic ubi mota calent viridi mea pectora thyrso, §4.1.44altior humano spiritus ille malo est.
Perhaps this study might seem to be madness, but this madness has a certain utility, it forbids the mind to be always gazing upon its evils, and makes it unmindful of present disasters, and just as the wounded Bacche does not feel her wound, while she is amazed, screamed over in Idaean measures, so when my breast, stirred, grows warm with the green thyrsus, that spirit of mine is higher than human evil.
It feels neither exile nor the shores of the Scythian sea, nor does it feel that it has angry gods.
And as if I were drinking cups of soporific Lethe, so does the sense of adverse times depart from me.
§4.1.49iure deas igitur veneror mala nostra levantes, §4.1.50sollicitae comites ex Helicone fugae, §4.1.51et partim pelago partim vestigia terra §4.1.52vel rate dignatas vel pede nostra sequi,
Rightly therefore do I worship the goddesses who lighten our evils, the companions of my anxious flight from Helicon, and who deigned to follow my steps, partly by sea and partly by land, either by raft or on foot.
§4.1.53sint, precor, haec saltem faciles mihi! namque deorum
May these at least, I pray, be favorable to me!
§4.1.54cetera cum magno Caesare turba facit, §4.1.55meque tot adversis cumulant, quot litus harenas, §4.1.56quotque fretum pisces, ovaque piscis habet, §4.1.57vere prius flores, aestu numerabis aristas, §4.1.58poma per autumnum frigoribusque nives, §4.1.59quam mala, quae toto patior iactatus in orbe, §4.1.60dum miser Euxini litora laeva peto.
For the rest of the crowd of gods sides with great Caesar, and they pile upon me as many adversities as the shore has sands, as many as the sea has fish, or a fish has eggs; you will sooner count flowers in spring, ears of grain in summer, fruits in autumn, and snow in winter colds, than the evils which I suffer, tossed about the whole world, while I, wretched, seek the left shores of the Euxine.
§4.1.61nec tamen, ut veni, levior fortuna malorum est: §4.1.62huc quoque sunt nostras fata secuta vias.
Yet, though I have arrived, the fortune of my evils is not lighter: hither also the fates have followed our paths.
Here too I recognize the threads of my nativity, threads made for me from a black fleece.
§4.1.65utque neque insidias capitisque pericula narrem, §4.1.66vera quidem, veri sed graviora fide, §4.1.67vivere quam miserum est inter Bessosque Getasque §4.1.68illum, qui populi semper in ore ruit.
And so that I may not speak of treachery and dangers to my life, true indeed, but harder to believe than truth, how wretched it is to live among the Bessi and Getae for him who was always rushing in the mouths of the people.
How wretched it is to protect one's life with a gate and a wall, and to be scarcely safe by the strength of one's place!
§4.1.71aspera militiae iuvenis certamina fugi, §4.1.72nec nisi lusura movimus arma manu; §4.1.73nunc senior gladioque latus scutoque sinistram, §4.1.74canitiem galeae subicioque meam.
As a young man I fled the harsh contests of military service, nor did we move arms except with a hand destined to play; now, older, I gird my side with a sword and my left hand with a shield, and subject my grey hair to a helmet.
For when the guard from the watchtower has given the signals of tumult, straightway we put on arms with a trembling hand.
§4.1.77hostis, habens arcus imbutaque tela venenis, §4.1.78saevus anhelanti moenia lustrat equo, §4.1.79utque rapax pecudem, quae se non texit ovili, §4.1.80per sata, per silvas fertque trahitque lupus, §4.1.81sic, siquem nondum portarum saepe receptum §4.1.82barbarus in campis repperit hostis, habet: §4.1.83aut sequitur captus coniectaque vincula collo §4.1.84accipit, aut telo virus habente perit.
The enemy, having bows and weapons dipped in poison, fiercely circles the walls on his panting horse, and just as the ravenous wolf carries and drags through fields and woods the sheep that did not protect itself in the fold, so, if the barbarian enemy finds anyone in the fields who is not yet received within the protection of the gates, he holds him: he either follows as a captive and accepts the chains cast on his neck, or perishes by a weapon holding poison.
§4.1.85hic ego sollicitae lateo novus incola sedis.
Here I, a new inhabitant, lurk in an anxious dwelling.
§4.1.86heu nimium fati tempora longa mei!
Alas, too long are the times of my fate!
§4.1.87et tamen ad numeros antiquaque sacra reverti §4.1.88sustinet in tantis hospita Musa malis, §4.1.89sed neque cui recitem quisquam est mea carmina, nec qui §4.1.90auribus accipiat verba Latina suis.
And yet, in the midst of such great evils, the guest Muse endures to return to rhythms and ancient sacred rites, but there is neither anyone to whom I may recite my poems, nor who may receive Latin words with his ears.
§4.1.91ipse mihi—quid enim faciam?—scriboque legoque, §4.1.92tutaque iudicio littera nostra suo est.
I myself—for what indeed should I do?—both write and read to myself, and my writing is safe by its own judgment.
§4.1.93saepe tamen dixi cui nunc haec cura laborat?
Yet often I have said: 'For whom does this care now labor?
§4.1.94an mea Sauromatae scripta Getaeque legent? §4.1.95saepe etiam lacrimae me sunt scribente profusae, §4.1.96umidaque est fletu littera facta meo, §4.1.97corque vetusta meum, tamquam nova, vulnera novit, §4.1.98inque sinum maestae labitur imber aquae, §4.1.99cum vice mutata, qui sim fuerimque, recordor, §4.1.100et, tulerit quo me casus et unde, subit,
Will the Sauromatae and Getae read my writings?' Often also tears have been poured forth while I was writing, and the letter has been made wet by my weeping, and my heart feels old wounds as if they were new, and a shower of sad water glides into my bosom, when, with my lot changed, I recall who I am and who I was, and it comes to my mind whither and whence my fortune has brought me.
§4.1.101saepe manus demens, studiis irata sibique, §4.1.102misit in arsuros carmina nostra focos, §4.1.103atque ita de multis quoniam non multa supersunt, §4.1.104cum venia facito, quisquis es, ista legas.
Often my hand, mad, angry at its studies and at itself, has cast our poems into the hearths destined to burn them, and so, since not many of the many survive, see to it, whoever you are, that you read those with indulgence.