Book I: Elegy the First: The Simple Life

Tibullus (55 BC–19 BC), translated by Theodore Chickering Williams · 1905

iambic pentameter · ABAB · 112 lines · from The Elegies

Give, if thou wilt, for gold a life of toil!Let endless acres claim thy care!While sounds of war thy fearful slumbers spoil,And far-off trumpets scare!

To me my poverty brings tranquil hours;My lowly hearth-stone cheerly shines;My modest garden bears me fruit and flowers,And plenteous native wines.

I set my tender vines with timely skill,Or pluck large apples from the bough;Or goad my lazy steers to work my will,Or guide my own rude plough.

Full tenderly upon my breast I bearA lamb or small kid gone astray;And yearly worship with my swains prepare,The shepherd's ancient way.

I love those rude shrines in a lonely fieldWhere rustic faith the god reveres,Or flower-crowned cross-road mile-stones, half concealedBy gifts of travellers.

Whatever fruit the kindly seasons show,Due tribute to our gods I pour;O'er Ceres' brows the tasseled wheat I throw,Or wreathe her temple door.

My plenteous orchards fear no pelf or harm,By red Priapus sentinelled;By his huge sickle's formidable charmThe bird thieves are dispelled.

With offerings at my hearth, and faithful fires,My Lares I revere: not nowAs when with greater gifts my wealthier siresPerformed the hallowing vow.

No herds have I like theirs: I only bringOne white lamb from my little fold,While my few bondmen at the altar singOur harvest anthems old.

Gods of my hearth! ye never learned to slightA poor man's gift. My bowls of clayTo ye are hallowed by the cleansing rite,The best, most ancient way.

If from my sheep the thief, the wolf, be driven,If fatter flocks allure them more,To me the riches to my fathers givenKind Heaven need not restore.

My small, sure crop contents me; and the stormThat pelts my thatch breaks not my rest,While to my heart I clasp the beauteous formOf her it loves the best.

My simple cot brings such secure repose,When so companioned I can lie,That winds of winter and the whirling snowsSing me soft lullaby.

This lot be mine! I envy not their goldWho rove the furious ocean foam:A frugal life will all my pleasures hold,If love be mine, and home.

Enough I travel, if I steal awayTo sleep at noon-tide by the flowOf some cool stream. Could India's jewels payFor longer absence? No!

Let great Messala vanquish land and sea,And deck with spoils his golden hall!I am myself a conquest, and must beMy Delia's captive thrall.

Be Delia mine, and Fame may flout and scorn,Or brand me with the sluggard's name!With cheerful hands I'll plant my upland corn,And live to laugh at Fame.

If I might hold my Delia to my side,The bare ground were a happier bedThan theirs who, on a couch of silken pride,Must mourn for love long dead.

Gilt couch, soft down, slow fountains murmuring song--These bring no peace. Befooled by wordsWas he who, when in love a victor strong,Left it for spoils and swords.

For such let sad Cilicia's captives bleed,Her citadels his legions hold!And let him stride his swift, triumphal steed,In silvered robes or gold!

These eyes of mine would look on only theeIn that last hour when light shall fail.Embrace me, dear, in death! Let thy hand beIn my cold fingers pale!

With thine own arms my lifeless body layOn that cold couch so soon on fire!Give thy last kisses to my grateful clay,And weep beside my pyre!

And weep! Ah, me! Thy heart will wear no steelNor be stone-cold that rueful day:Thy faithful grief may all true lovers feelNor tearless turn away!

Yet ask I not that thou shouldst vex my shadeWith cheek all wan and blighted brow:But, O, to-day be love's full tribute paid,While the swift Fates allow.

Soon Death, with shadow-mantled head, will come,Soon palsied age will creep our way,Bidding love's flatteries at last be dumb,Unfit for old and gray.

But light-winged Venus still is smiling fair:By night or noon we heed her call;To pound on midnight doors I still may dare,Or brave for love a brawl.

I am a soldier and a captain goodIn love's campaign, and calmly yieldTo all who hunger after wounds and blood,War's trumpet-echoing field.

Ye toils and triumphs unto glory dear!Ye riches home from conquest borne!If my small fields their wonted harvest bear,Both wealth and want I scorn!

Words in this poem 18

trumpets n.: A plant (Sarracenia flava) with long, hollow leaves.
scare v. t.: To frighten; to strike with sudden fear; to alarm. [OE. skerren, skeren, Icel. skirra to bar, prevent, skirrask to shun , shrink from; or fr. OE. skerre, adj., scared, Icel. skjarr; both perhaps akin to E. sheer ]
tenderly adv.: In a tender manner; with tenderness; mildly; gently; softly; in a manner not to injure or give pain; with pity or affection; kindly.
pelf n.: Money; riches; lucre; gain; -- generally conveying the idea of something ill-gotten or worthless. It has no plural. [OE. pelfir booty, OF. pelfre, akin to pelfrer to plunder, and perh. to E. pillage. Cf. Pilfer.]
revere v. t.: To regard with reverence, or profound respect and affection, mingled with awe or fear; to venerate; to reverence; to honor in estimation. [L. revereri; pref. re- re- + vereri to fear, perh. akin to E. wary: cf. F. révérer.]
beauteous a.: Full of beauty; beautiful; very handsome. [Mostly poetic] -- Beau"te*ous*ly, adv. --
lullaby n.: A song to quiet babes or lull them to sleep; that which quiets. [From Lull, v. t.]
stride v. t.: To walk with long steps, especially in a measured or pompous manner. [AS. stridan to stride, to strive; akin to LG. striden, OFries. strida to strive, D. strijden to strive, to contend, G. streiten, OHG. stritan; of uncertain orig]
triumphal n.: A token of victory.
steed n.: A horse, especially a spirited horse for state of war; -- used chiefly in poetry or stately prose. [OE. stede, AS. steda a stud-horse, war horse, fr. stod a stud of breeding steeds; akin to G. stute a mare, Icel. stedda, sto, a stud. *163. See Stud of horses.]
shall v. i.: To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
pyre n.: A funeral pile; a combustible heap on which the dead are burned; hence, any pile to be burnt. [L. pure, Gr. Fire.]
rueful a.: Causing one to rue or lament; woeful; mournful; sorrowful.
tearless a.: Shedding no tears; free from tears; unfeeling.
palsied a.: Affected with palsy; paralyzed.
campaign n.: An open field; a large, open plain without considerable hills. [F. campagne, It. campagna, fr. L. Campania the level country about Naples, fr. campus field. See Camp, and cf. Champaign, Champagne.]
wonted a.: Accustomed; customary; usual.
wealth n.: Weal; welfare; prosperity; good. [OE. welthe, from wele; cf. D. weelde luxury. See Weal prosperity.]

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.

About this text

Book I: Elegy the First: The Simple Life is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Elegies, Project Gutenberg ebook #9610, the Theodore Chickering Williams translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.

Cite as: Tibullus, Book I: Elegy the First: The Simple Life, in The Elegies (1905), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9610, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/tibullus-elegies/book-i-elegy-the-first-the-simple-life.html, id L14413.

Form and metre

Book I: Elegy the First: The Simple Life is 112 lines in 28 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 26 of its 28 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%). 95% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.7 syllables. 8 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 26% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.

See other poems in iambic pentameter.

Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.

Rhyme words, stanza by stanza

The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.

1 ABAB toil^A · care^B · spoil^A · scare^B
2 ABAB hours^A · shines^B · flowers^A · wines^B
3 ABAB skill^A · bough^B · will^A · plough^B
4 ABAB bear^A · astray^B · prepare^A · way^B
5 A-A- field^A · reveres · concealed^A · travellers
6 ABAB show^A · pour^B · throw^A · door^B
7 ABAB harm^A · sentinelled^B · charm^A · dispelled^B
8 ABAB fires^A · now^B · sires^A · vow^B
9 ABAB bring^A · fold^B · sing^A · old^B
10 ABAB slight^A · clay^B · rite^A · way^B
11 ABAB driven^A · more^B · given^A · restore^B
12 ABAB storm^A · rest^B · form^A · best^B
13 ABAB repose^A · lie^B · snows^A · lullaby^B
14 ABAB gold^A · foam^B · hold^A · home^B
15 ABAB away^A · flow^B · pay^A · no^B
16 ABAB sea^A · hall^B · be^A · thrall^B
17 ABAB scorn^A · name^B · corn^A · fame^B
18 ABAB side^A · bed^B · pride^A · dead^B
19 A-A- song^A · words · strong^A · swords
20 ABAB bleed^A · hold^B · steed^A · gold^B
21 ABAB thee^A · fail^B · be^A · pale^B
22 ABAB lay^A · fire^B · clay^A · pyre^B
23 ABAB steel^A · day^B · feel^A · away^B
24 ABAB shade^A · brow^B · paid^A · allow^B
25 ABAB come^A · way^B · dumb^A · gray^B
26 ABAB fair^A · call^B · dare^A · brawl^B
27 ABAB good^A · yield^B · blood^A · field^B
28 ABAB dear^A · borne^B · bear^A · scorn^B

Scansion, line by line

Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.

Line	Syl.	Stress
Give, if thou wilt, for gold a life of toil!	10	··········
Let endless acres claim thy care!	8	·/˘/˘···
While sounds of war thy fearful slumbers spoil,	10	·····/˘/˘·
And far-off trumpets scare!	6	···/˘·
To me my poverty brings tranquil hours;	11	···/˘˘·/˘/˘
My lowly hearth-stone cheerly shines;	8	·/˘··/˘·
My modest garden bears me fruit and flowers,	11	·/˘/˘····/˘
And plenteous native wines.	7	·/˘˘/˘·
I set my tender vines with timely skill,	10	···/˘··/˘·
Or pluck large apples from the bough;	8	···/˘···
Or goad my lazy steers to work my will,	10	···/˘·····
Or guide my own rude plough.	6	······
Full tenderly upon my breast I bear	10	·/˘˘······
A lamb or small kid gone astray;	8	······˘/
And yearly worship with my swains prepare,	10	·/˘/˘···˘/
The shepherd's ancient way.	6	·/˘/˘·
I love those rude shrines in a lonely field	10	·······/˘·
Where rustic faith the god reveres,	8	·/˘···˘/
Or flower-crowned cross-road mile-stones, half concealed	10	·/······˘/
By gifts of travellers.	6	···/˘˘
Whatever fruit the kindly seasons show,	10	·/˘··/˘/˘·
Due tribute to our gods I pour;	9	·/˘·/˘···
O'er Ceres' brows the tasseled wheat I throw,	10	·/˘··/˘···
Or wreathe her temple door.	6	···/˘·
My plenteous orchards fear no pelf or harm,	11	·/˘˘/˘·····
By red Priapus sentinelled;	7	····/˘˘
By his huge sickle's formidable charm	10	···/˘/˘˘˘·
The bird thieves are dispelled.	6	····˘/
With offerings at my hearth, and faithful fires,	10	·/˘····/˘/
My Lares I revere: not now	7	···˘/··
As when with greater gifts my wealthier sires	10	···/˘··/˘·
Performed the hallowing vow.	7	˘/·/˘˘·
No herds have I like theirs: I only bring	10	·······/˘·
One white lamb from my little fold,	8	·····/˘·
While my few bondmen at the altar sing	10	·······/˘·
Our harvest anthems old.	7	/˘/˘/˘·
Gods of my hearth! ye never learned to slight	10	·····/˘···
A poor man's gift. My bowls of clay	8	········
To ye are hallowed by the cleansing rite,	10	···/˘··/˘·
The best, most ancient way.	6	···/˘·
If from my sheep the thief, the wolf, be driven,	11	·········/˘
If fatter flocks allure them more,	8	·/˘·˘/··
To me the riches to my fathers given	11	···/˘··/˘/˘
Kind Heaven need not restore.	7	·/˘··˘/
My small, sure crop contents me; and the storm	10	····/˘····
That pelts my thatch breaks not my rest,	8	········
While to my heart I clasp the beauteous form	11	·······/˘˘·
Of her it loves the best.	6	······
My simple cot brings such secure repose,	10	·/˘···˘/˘/
When so companioned I can lie,	9	··˘/˘˘···
That winds of winter and the whirling snows	10	···/˘··/˘·
Sing me soft lullaby.	6	···/˘·
This lot be mine! I envy not their gold	10	·····/˘···
Who rove the furious ocean foam:	9	···/˘˘/˘·
A frugal life will all my pleasures hold,	10	·/˘····/˘·
If love be mine, and home.	6	······
Enough I travel, if I steal away	10	˘/·/˘···˘/
To sleep at noon-tide by the flow	8	········
Of some cool stream. Could India's jewels pay	10	·····/˘/˘·
For longer absence? No!	6	·/˘/˘·
Let great Messala vanquish land and sea,	10	·····/˘···
And deck with spoils his golden hall!	8	·····/˘·
I am myself a conquest, and must be	10	···/·/˘···
My Delia's captive thrall.	6	·/˘/˘·
Be Delia mine, and Fame may flout and scorn,	10	·/˘·······
Or brand me with the sluggard's name!	8	········
With cheerful hands I'll plant my upland corn,	10	·/˘····/˘·
And live to laugh at Fame.	6	······
If I might hold my Delia to my side,	10	·····/˘···
The bare ground were a happier bed	9	·····/˘˘·
Than theirs who, on a couch of silken pride,	10	·······/˘·
Must mourn for love long dead.	6	······
Gilt couch, soft down, slow fountains murmuring song--	10	·····/˘/˘·
These bring no peace. Befooled by words	9	······˘··
Was he who, when in love a victor strong,	10	·······/˘·
Left it for spoils and swords.	6	······
For such let sad Cilicia's captives bleed,	10	····˘/˘/˘·
Her citadels his legions hold!	8	·/˘··/˘·
And let him stride his swift, triumphal steed,	10	······˘/˘·
In silvered robes or gold!	6	·/˘···
These eyes of mine would look on only thee	10	·······/˘·
In that last hour when light shall fail.	9	···/˘····
Embrace me, dear, in death! Let thy hand be	10	˘/········
In my cold fingers pale!	6	···/˘·
With thine own arms my lifeless body lay	10	·····/˘/˘·
On that cold couch so soon on fire!	9	·······/˘
Give thy last kisses to my grateful clay,	10	···/˘··/˘·
And weep beside my pyre!	7	··˘/·/˘
And weep! Ah, me! Thy heart will wear no steel	10	··········
Nor be stone-cold that rueful day:	8	·····/˘·
Thy faithful grief may all true lovers feel	10	·/˘····/˘·
Nor tearless turn away!	6	·/˘·˘/
Yet ask I not that thou shouldst vex my shade	10	··········
With cheek all wan and blighted brow:	8	·····/˘·
But, O, to-day be love's full tribute paid,	10	·······/˘·
While the swift Fates allow.	6	····˘/
Soon Death, with shadow-mantled head, will come,	10	···/·/˘···
Soon palsied age will creep our way,	9	·/˘···/˘·
Bidding love's flatteries at last be dumb,	10	/˘·/˘˘····
Unfit for old and gray.	6	˘/····
But light-winged Venus still is smiling fair:	10	···/˘··/˘·
By night or noon we heed her call;	8	········
To pound on midnight doors I still may dare,	10	···/······
Or brave for love a brawl.	6	······
I am a soldier and a captain good	10	···/˘··/˘·
In love's campaign, and calmly yield	8	··˘/·/˘·
To all who hunger after wounds and blood,	10	···/˘·····
War's trumpet-echoing field.	7	·/˘/˘˘·
Ye toils and triumphs unto glory dear!	10	···/˘··/˘·
Ye riches home from conquest borne!	8	·/˘··/˘·
If my small fields their wonted harvest bear,	10	·····/˘/˘·
Both wealth and want I scorn!	6	······

The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.

More by Tibullus

The Elegies