[ Imitated ] From Propertius . Lib : 2 : Eleg : 1. Gray, Thomas, 1716-1771 Alexander Huber Editor Göttingen State and University Library, University of Göttingen
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[ Imitated ] From Propertius . Lib : 2 : Eleg : 1.

To Maecenas

You ask why thus my loves I still rehearse , Whence the soft strain and ever-melting verse : From Cynthia all that in my numbers shines ; She is my genius , she inspires the lines ; No Phoebus else , no other muse I know ; She tunes my easy rhyme and gives the lay to flow . If the loose curls around her forehead play , Or lawless o'er their ivory margin stray ; If the thin Coan web her shape reveal , And half disclose those limbs it should conceal ; Of those loose curls , that ivory front , I write , Of the dear web whole volumes I indite . Or if to music she the lyre awake , That the soft subject of my song I make , And sing with what a careless grace she flings Her artful hand across the sounding strings . If sinking into sleep she seem to close Her languid lids , I favour her repose With lulling notes , and thousand beauties see That slumber brings to aid my poetry . When less averse and yielding to desires , She half accepts and half rejects my fires ; While to retain the envious lawn she tries , And struggles to elude my longing eyes ; The fruitful muse from that auspicious night Dates the long Iliad of the amorous fight . In brief , whate'er she do , or say , or look , 'Tis ample matter for a lover's book ; And many a copious narrative you'll see , Big with important nothing's history . Yet would the tyrant Love permit me raise My feeble voice to sound the victor's praise , To paint the hero's toil , the ranks of war , The laurelled triumph and the sculptured car , No giant-race , no tumult of the skies , No mountain-structures in my verse should rise ; Nor tale of Thebes or Ilium there should be , Or how the Persian trod the indignant sea ; Not Marius' Cimbrian wreaths would I relate , Nor lofty Carthage struggling with her fate . Here should Augustus great in arms appear , And thou , Maecenas , be my second care ; Here Mutina from flames and famine free , And there the ensanguined wave of Sicily , And sceptred Alexandria's captive shore , And sad Philippi red with Roman gore . Then , while the vaulted skies loud Ios rend , In golden chains should loaded monarchs bend , And hoary Nile with pensive aspect seem To mourn the glories of his sevenfold stream , While prows , that late in fierce encounter met , Move through the sacred way and vainly threat . Thee too the muse should consecrate to fame , And with his garlands weave thy ever-faithful name ; But nor Callimachus' enervate strain May tell of Jove and Phlegra's blasted plain , Nor I with unaccustomed vigour trace Back to its source divine the Julian race . Sailors to tell of winds and seas delight , The shepherd of his flocks , the soldier of the fight ; A milder warfare I in verse display ; Each in his proper art should waste the day . Nor thou my gentle calling disapprove : To die is glorious in the bed of love . Happy the youth , and not unknown to fame , Whose heart has never felt a second flame . Oh , might that envied happiness be mine ! To Cynthia all my wishes I confine ; Or if , alas ! it be my fate to try Another love , the quicker let me die . But she , the mistress of my faithful breast , Has oft the charms of constancy confessed , Condemns her fickle sex's fond mistake , And hates the tale of Troy for Helen's sake . Me from myself the soft enchantress stole : Ah ! let her ever my desires control . Or if I fall the victim of her scorn , From her loved door may my pale corse be borne . The power of herbs can other harms remove , And find a cure for every ill but love . The Melian's hurt Machaon could repair , Heal the slow chief and send again to war ; To Chiron Phoenix owed his long-lost sight , And Phoebus' son recalled Androgeon to the light . Here arts are vain , even magic here must fail , The powerful mixture and the midnight spell . The hand that can my captive heart release And to this bosom give its wonted peace , May the long thirst of Tantalus allay , Or drive the infernal vulture from his prey . For ills unseen what remedy is found , Or who can probe the undiscovered wound ? The bed avails not or the leech's care , Nor changing skies can hurt nor sultry air . 'Tis hard the elusive symptoms to explore : Today the lover walks , tomorrow is no more ; A train of mourning friends attend his pall , And wonder at the sudden funeral . When then my fates that breath they gave shall claim , When the short marble but preserves a name , A little verse , my all that shall remain , Thy passing courser's slackened speed retain ( Thou envied honour of thy poet's days , Of all our youth the ambition and the praise ! ) ; Then to my quiet urn awhile draw near , And say , while o'er the place you drop a tear , Love and the fair were of his life the pride ; He lived while she was kind , and , when she frowned , he died .