Part
of
an
Elegy
of
Tibullus
,
translated
.
(
Divitias
alius
fulvo
sibi
congerat
Auro
.
)
1729-30
.
By
the
Same
.
LET
others
heap
of
wealth
a
shining
store
,
And
much
possessing
labour
still
for
more
;
Let
them
,
disquieted
with
dire
alarms
,
Aspire
to
win
a
dang'rous
fame
in
arms
:
Me
tranquil
poverty
shall
lull
to
rest
,
Humbly
secure
and
indolently
blest
;
Warm'd
by
the
blaze
of
my
own
cheerful
hearth
,
I'll
waste
the
wintry
hours
in
social
mirth
;
In
summer
pleas'd
attend
to
harvest
toils
,
In
autumn
press
the
vineyard's
purple
spoils
,
And
oft
to
Delia
in
my
bosom
bear
Some
kid
,
or
lamb
that
wants
its
mother's
care
:
With
her
I'll
celebrate
each
gladsome
day
,
When
swains
their
sportive
rites
to
Bacchus
pay
:
With
her
new
milk
on
Pales'
altar
pour
,
And
deck
with
ripen'd
fruits
Pomona's
bow'r
.
At
night
how
soothing
wou'd
it
be
to
hear
,
Shelter'd
and
warm
,
the
tempest
whistling
near
;
And
while
my
charmer
in
my
arms
I
strain
,
Slumber
assisted
by
the
beating
rain
!
Ah
!
how
much
happier
,
than
the
fool
who
braves
In
search
of
wealth
the
black
tempestuous
waves
!
While
I
,
contented
with
my
little
store
,
In
tedious
voyage
seek
no
distant
shore
,
But
idle
lolling
on
some
shady
seat
,
Near
cooling
fountains
shun
the
dog-star's
heat
;
For
what
reward
so
rich
cou'd
Fortune
give
That
I
by
absence
shou'd
my
Delia
grieve
?
Let
great
Messalla
shine
in
martial
toils
,
And
grace
his
palace
with
triumphal
spoils
;
Me
beauty
holds
in
strong
,
tho'
gentle
chains
,
Far
from
tumultuous
war
and
dusty
plains
.
With
thee
,
my
love
,
to
pass
my
tranquil
days
,
How
would
I
slight
ambition's
painful
praise
!
How
would
I
joy
with
thee
,
my
love
,
to
yoke
The
ox
,
and
feed
my
solitary
flock
!
On
thy
soft
breast
might
I
but
lean
my
head
,
How
downy
shou'd
I
think
the
woodland
bed
!
The
wretch
who
sleeps
not
by
his
fair
one's
side
,
Detests
the
gilded
couch's
useless
pride
,
Nor
knows
his
weary
,
weeping
eyes
to
close
,
Tho'
murm'ring
rills
invite
him
to
repose
.
Hard
was
his
heart
,
who
thee
,
my
fair
,
cou'd
leave
For
all
the
honours
prosp'rous
War
can
give
;
Tho'
through
the
vanquish'd
east
he
spread
his
fame
,
And
Parthian
tyrants
tremble
at
his
name
;
Tho'
bright
in
arms
,
while
hosts
around
him
bleed
,
With
martial
pride
he
press'd
his
foaming
steed
.
No
pomps
like
these
my
humble
vows
require
;
I
ask
,
in
thy
embraces
to
expire
:
Thee
may
my
closing
eyes
in
death
behold
!
Thee
may
my
fault'ring
hand
yet
strive
to
hold
!
Then
,
Delia
,
then
thy
heart
will
melt
in
woe
,
Then
o'er
my
breathless
clay
thy
tears
will
flow
;
Thy
tears
will
flow
,
for
gentle
is
thy
mind
,
Nor
dost
thou
think
it
weakness
to
be
kind
.
With
thee
each
youth
and
tender
maid
shall
join
In
grief
,
and
mix
their
friendly
sighs
with
thine
;
But
ah
!
my
Delia
,
I
conjure
thee
spare
Thy
heaving
breasts
and
loose
dishevell'd
hair
:
Wound
not
thy
form
;
lest
on
th'
Elysian
coast
Thy
anguish
shou'd
disturb
my
peaceful
ghost
.
But
now
nor
death
,
nor
parting
should
employ
Our
sprightly
thought
,
or
damp
our
bridal
joy
:
We'll
live
,
my
Delia
,
and
from
life
remove
All
care
,
all
bus'ness
,
but
delightful
Love
.
Old
age
in
vain
those
pleasures
wou'd
retrieve
,
Which
youth
alone
can
taste
,
alone
can
give
;
Then
let
us
snatch
the
moment
to
be
blest
,
This
hour
is
Love's
—
be
Fortune's
all
the
rest
.