C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
To Cynthia
By Propertius (c. 50c. 16 B.C.)
S
Justly to halcyons lone my wail I pour;
No more Cassiope my bark will see,
And all my vows fall fruitless on the shore.
Hark to the threatening tempest’s fitful gust!
Will no kind fortune this dread storm allay?
Must a few grains of sand conceal my dust?
But say this night at sea my fault atones!
Or canst thou paint my fate with tearless eyes,
Nor in thy bosom bear to hold my bones?
In sail-rigged craft dared tempt the unwilling sea!
’Twere better I had soothed my mistress’s heart—
Hard though she was, how peerless still to me!—
And woo the longed-for Twins that calm the wave.
Then earth had veiled my woes, life’s fever o’er,
And some small stone—love’s tribute—marked my grave.
’Mid sweet-breath’d roses laid my bones at rest;
Called o’er my dust my name, and breathed a prayer
That earth might lightly lie upon my breast.
Speed our white sails with your auspicious band!
And oh, if Love e’er sought your azure home,
Grant one who loved like you, a sheltered strand!