Ovid: Amores I.1 Flashcards
arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam
edere, materia conveniente modis.
par erat inferior versus; risisse Cupido
dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem.
I was to preparing to publish arms and violent wars in heavy
Metre, with the subject suiting the beat.
The lower line was equal: Cupid is said
To have laughed and to have stolen away one foot.
‘quis tibi, saeve puer, dedit hoc in carmina iuris?
Pieridum vates, non tua, turba sumus.
quid si praeripiat flavae Venus arma Minervae,
ventilet accensas flava Minerva faces?
Who gave this right over poetry to you, cruel boy?
We are the bards of the Muses, not your crowd.
What, if Venus seized the weapons of fair-haired Minerva,
If fair-haired Minerva fanned the lighted torches?
quis probet in silvis Cererem regnare iugosis,
lege pharetratae virginis arva coli?
crinibus insignem quis acuta cuspide Phoebum
instruat, Aoniam Marte movente lyram?
Who would approve of Ceres ruling in the mountainous forests,
While the fields are tended under the jurisdiction of the virgin with her quiver?
Who would arm Phoebus, distinguished in his locks, with a sharp
Spear, with Mars strumming the Aonian lyre?
sunt tibi magna, puer, nimiumque potentia regna:
cur opus adfectas ambitiose novum?
an, quod ubique, tuum est? tua sunt Heliconia tempe?
vix etiam Phoebo iam lyra tuta sua est?
You have great, and too powerful kingdoms, boy:
Why do you attempt a new task, oh ambitious one?
Or, is that which is everywhere yours? Are the valleys of Mount Helicon yours?
Is for Phoebus his own lyre scarcely even safe any longer?
cum bene surrexit versu nova pagina primo,
attenuat nervos proximus ille meos.
nec mihi materia est numeris levioribus apta,
aut puer aut longas compta puella comas.’
When a new page has started well with the first line,
That next one weakens my strength.
Nor do I have a subject suitable for lighter metres,
Either a boy or a girl combed with long locks.
questus eram, pharetra cum protinus ille soluta
legit in exitium spicula facta meum
lunavitque genu sinuosum fortiter arcum
‘quod’ que ‘canas, vates, accipe’ dixit ‘opus’.
I had complained, when at once with his quiver freed
He chose arrows made for my destruction,
And he bent his arched bow strongly on his knee
And he said, “Take, poet, the work about which you are to sing.”
me miserum! certas habuit puer ille sagittas:
uror, et in vacuo pectore regnat Amor.
sex mihi surgat opus numeris, in quinque residat;
ferrea cum vestris bella valete modis.
Wretched me! That boy had unerring arrows:
I burn, and Love reigns in an empty heart.
Let my work rise in six feet, let it fall down in five:
Farewell wars of iron with your metres.
cingere litorea flaventia tempora myrto,
Musa per undenos emodulanda pedes.
Surround your golden temples with myrtle from the sea-shore,
Muse, you must be put into meter through eleven feet.
