Propertius carmen I - first draft translation

Cynthia caught me, the wretch, with her eyes,

Touched not at all before by amorousness.

Then he cast down my glance of steadfast scorn,

Love did, and my head crushed with hob-nailed feet,

Until he tutored me chaste maids to hate -

The reprobate! - and to live with no aim.

This spasm has not flagged for a year's length,

Though crossed by gods I'm forced to own as mine.


Milanion recalled, Tullus, that faint-heart never

Fair lady won, when he smashed flint Iaside's tantrum.

Maddened in just this way he staggered in Parthenian grottoes,

And he went on to survey hairy brutes.

He even, smitten with the Hylaean branch's hurt,

Squirming in agony, at Arcady's steeps moaned.

Thus could he housetrain the flighty lass:

So highly are prayers and mighty feats valued in love.


In me sluggard Love cannot think of such crafts,

Nor remember even the known ways he's trodden before.

But you, whose lie it is that you've led off the Moon,

And appease blasphemies by toiled incantations,

Drive and alter then the mind of mistress mine,

And outshine her complexion, that grows paler than I!

Then will I trust you, that both stars and tides

Cytinaean cantrips can command.


And you, who call up a man lately fallen, friends,

Seek remedies for a heart not in full health.

Hardily I'd take surgery or harsh cautery,

If thence might come licence to speak as my wrath wills.

Send me through outland tribes, and send me through waves,

Whither no women might learn of my pathway;

You stay, to whom the god attends and is kind,

And be always equals in a love secure.


In me our Venus lays on nights - bitter ones -

And Love is missing from no hour - unfulfilled.

From this curse, I warn you, fly: anyone should hoard

His affection, nor vary from love assured one jot.

Because he who gives ear to my urging, yet late,

Will - alas - carry back my wail with such sorrow.