Albius Tibullus (c.50-19 BCE) published his first book of poems in 26 bce. Book III is a collection of poems by different authors, attributed to Tibullus, but some appear to have been written by an unknown poetess. Tibullus had spent his early years on his family’s rural estate near Pedum. His preference for a simple rural life over urban and world affairs is mentioned in his elegies, and his distaste for war is matched against his desire to live peacefully with a wife in the country. Unlike Virgil’s idyllic pastoral settings, Tibullus offers an intimate acquaintance with Roman rural life. It is with reference to the rural life that we can find some of his prayers. But the subject of his elegies is mainly love. His love interest in Book I was Delia, an Isiac worshipper. Thus Tibullus included prayers to Isis and Osiris.
To Jupiter
Parce, pater. timidum non me periuria terrent, non dicta in sanctos inpia verba deos.
Spare me, Father Jove, I need
not tremble for promises broken, no vows to the gods with impious words have I
spoken. I.iii.51-2
To Peace
At nobis, Pax alma, veni spicamque teneto, perfluat et pomis candidus ante sinus.
Peace, O come to us, holding corn
with its tassels, and pour from the breast of your robe a harvest of fruit! I.x.67-8
To Apollo
Phoebe, fave: novus ingreditur tua templa sacerdos: huc age cum cithara
carminibusque veni. Nunc te vocales
impellere pollice chordas, nunc precor ad laudes flectere verba meas.
Adnue: sic
tibi sint intonsi, Phoebe, capilli, sic tua perpetuo sit tibi casta soror.
Give your favour, Phoebus, to a
new priest who enters your temple. Be
gracious, and with songs and lyre, come!
When your fingers pluck the chords, and you give voice to song, I pray
you may inspire my words into your praises.
May your hair be ever flowing, Phoebus; may your sister be forever
chaste.
II.v.1-4; 122-3
To Aurora
Hoc precor, hunc illum nobis Aurora nitentem Luciferum roseis candida portet equis.
This I pray: Make our wish come
true, O Aurora, shining star of first light, as you drive your rosy horses of
Dawn. I.iii.93-4
Flava Ceres, tibi sit nostro de rure corona spicea, quae templi pendeat
ante fores.
Golden-haired Ceres, bless this our farm; a crown of wheat I shall hang
before your altar.
I.i.15-6
To Bacchus and Ceres
Bacche, veni, dulcisque tuis e cornibus uva pendeat, et spicis tempora cinge, Ceres.
Di patrii, purgamus agros, purgamus agrestes: vos mala de nostris pellite limitibus, neu
seges eludat messem fallacibus herbis, neu timeat celeres tardior agna lupos.
Come to us, Bacchus, with clusters of grapes dangling from your horns, and you, too, Ceres, a wreath of newly ripened wheat for your temples, come!
Gods of our fathers, we purify
our farmers and our fruitful fields; we ask that you drive away harm from our
borders. Let not the now sprouting
plants succumb before harvest, let not the timid lambs be outrun by swift
wolves. II.i.3-4;
17-20
Sancte, ueni dapibus festis, sed pone sagittas / et procul ardentes hinc precor abde faces
Holy Amor, come to our festive feast, but lay aside the arrows, and
keep far away Your torch; we pray, You do not inflame our land. II.i. 81-2
.
Candide Liber, ades - sic sit tibi mystica vitis semper,
sic hedera tempora vincta feras -
aufer et, ipse, meum, pariter medicande, dolorem: saepe tuo cecidit munere
victus amor.
Splendid Liber, draw near to me!
With your forever mystical vine, and your ivy bound head, carry off my sorrows, in the same manner as
you have so often used wine’s healing powers to overcome the pangs of love. III.vi.1-4
To Venus
[Venus] incolumem custos hunc mihi servet Amor.
May Venus keep him safe for me;
may Amor preserve my love. III.ix.4
“Is sanguine natam, is Venerem e rapido sentiet esse mari.” Ter cane,
ter dictis despue carminibus. “At mihi
parce, Venus: semper tibi dedita servit Mens mea: quid messes uris acerba
tuas?”
“Venus born of blood and thought to be born of the ocean, too.”
Three times sing, (I’m told), and three times spit upon the ground as you say this charm.
“At the very least, Venus,
preserve one who in his heart always serves you: what offerings to appease your
anger shall I set upon your altar?” I.ii.41-2, 56, 99-100
Pomosisque ruber custos ponatur in hortis, terreat ut saeva falce
Priapus aves.
Red guardian, Priapus, placed within this fruitful garden, with your
fierce scythe frighten off the birds from this crop. I.i.17-8
Sic umbrosa tibi contingant tecta, Priape, ne capiti soles, ne noceantque nives: Quae tua formosos cepit sollertia? Certe non tibi barba nitet, non tibi culta coma est, nudus et hibernae producis frigora brumae, nudus et aestivi tempora sicca Canis.'
May leafy shade shelter you, Priapus, and neither the hot sun nor snowy
storms bring you harm. By what ingenuity
or skill are beauties seized by you? Certainly not by gleaming beard, nor with
stylish hair, as naked you pass through the icy winds of winter, and naked still
beneath the Dogstar you remain through the parching sun of summer. I.iv.1-6
Patrii servate Lares: aluistis et idem, cursarem vestros cum tener ante pedes. Neu pudeat prisco vos esse e stipite factos: Sic veteris sedes incoluistis avi. Tum melius tenuere fidem, cum paupere cultu stabat in exigua ligneus aede deus. Hic placatus erat, seu quis libaverat uva, seu dederat sanctae spicea serta comae, atque aliquis voti compos liba ipse ferebat postque comes purum filia parva favum. At nobis aerata, Lares, depellite tela.
Lares, gods of my fathers,
preserve me! While young and still nursing, you guided me when I played at your
feet. Let none profane your antique images: rough-hewn wooden statues set upon
altars of upturned sod then dwelled among our grandfathers. In those days
humble reverence provided you with sweet honey alone, you stayed in meagre
shrines made of twigs, in tattered robes the gods were pleased with offerings
of grapes and wreathes of wheat set upon carved heads. Granted his wish, a man would bring you honey
cakes and set his virgin daughters to attend your little shrines. Lares, turn away from us those who scheme
against us with their bronze weapons. I.x.15-25
Vos quoque, felicis quondam, nunc pauperis agri custodes, fertis munera vestra, Lares. Agna cadet vobis, quam circum rustica pubes clamet 'io messes et bona vina date'.
Lares, and you gods also, who
earlier made our household fruitful and fortunate, may you guard and bless the
little that remains today on our farm. Lares, accept what your kindred present to
you. For you a lamb shall be offered when around your altar you’ll hear rustic
boys shouting, “Io! Give us fine harvests and fruitful vines!” I.i.19-24
To the
Genius of a Friend on his Birthday
Dicamus bona verba: venit Natalis ad aras: quisquis ades,
lingua, vir mulierque, fave.
Urantur pia tura focis, urantur odores quos tener e terra divite mittit
Arabs. Ipse suos Clenius adsit visurus
honores, cui decorent sanctas mollia serta comas. Illius puro destillent tempora nardo, atque
satur libo sit madeatque mero, adnuat et, Cornute, tibi, quodcumque rogabis.
Speak no ill words today, good men and women, as we
honor our friend on his birthday. Burn frankincense, burn fragrant herbs from
lands at the very ends of the earth, even those sent from Arabia. His own
spirit comes to receive his honors, a holy wreath to crown his soft crown of
hair. This pure nard distilled for his
temples and, sated on wine and honey cakes, he gives his assent. And to you, Cornutus, may everything you wish
for be granted. II.ii.1-9
To the
Juno of a Girl on her Birthday
Natalis Iuno, sanctos cape turis acervos, quos tibi dat tenera docta
puella manu; tota tibi est hodie, tibi se laetissima compsit, staret ut ante
tuos conspicienda focos… Sis iuveni grata ac, veniet cum proximus annus, hic
idem votis iam vetus exstet amor.
Juno of her birth, a young girl
offers to you holy incense heaped in a sacrificial bowl held in her soft
hands. Today she is all yours; most
joyfully adorned she stands before your altar for all to see. Be gracious, and
come shining forth next year, when this same devotion in the ancient tradition
she’ll once more lovingly offer. III.xii.1-4; 19-20
Against Nightmares
Di meliora ferant, nec sint mihi somnia vera, quae tulit hesterna pessima nocte quies. Ite procul vani falsique avertite visus, desinite in nobis quaerere velle fidem…Haec deus in melius crudelia somnia vertat et iubeat tepidos inrita ferre Notos.
O gods, may you bring better
dreams than this evil vision that has awakened me from a peaceful sleep; let it
not be a prophetic vision. Cast far away
from me this vain and false vision, and cease plucking our intestines with your
zealous inquiries. Gods, turn this cruel
dream to good, as night into day, and bid the warm South wind to carry it away. III.iv.1-2;
3-4; 95-6
To Apollo for the Health of a Sick Girl
Huc ades et tenerae morbos expelle puellae, huc ades, intonsa Phoebe superbe coma; crede mihi, propera, nec te iam, Phoebe, pigebit formosae medicas applicuisse manus. Effice ne macies pallentes occupet artus, neu notet informis candida membra color, et quodcumque mali est et quidquid triste timemus, in pelagus rapidis evehat amnis aquis. Sancte, veni, tecumque feras, quicumque sapores, quicumque et cantus corpora fessa levant;…tunc te felicem dicet pia turba deorum, optabunt artes et sibi quisque tuas.
Draw near, Apollo, and expel
the illness from this tender girl, come, draw near. Phoebus of flowing hair unshorn, hear me and
hasten. If, Phoebus, you apply your
healing hand to her, you will not regret saving her. Allow not that she should waste away
emaciated, or that her colour should wane pallor, or that her limbs should lose
their strength, and do not wait until her white limbs turn to a hideous
colour. Whatsoever this illness may be,
whatever sorrow we may fear it will bring, carry it off with the waters of a
swift running stream to the seas. Holy
one, come! And bring with you all your delicacies, all your songs, and all else
that will soothe the sick. Then the gods
will raise a pious tumult of your praises and desire they too had your healing
arts.
III.x.1-10; 25-6
Come, Phoebus, with Your golden
hair loosely floating, soothe her torture, restore her fair complexion. Come quickly, we pray, we implore, use Your
happy skills, such charms as You never spared before. Grant that her frail fame shall not waste
away with consumption, or her eyes grow languid, and her bloom fade. Come now with Your favoring aid. IV.iv.1 sqq.
To Proserpina
and Pluto
Proserpina warns the darkness grows near for me; O
Goddess, why take the young and innocent?
I have not attempted to learn the secrets of Bona Dea’s holy rites, or
reveal them. I have not dealt poisons,
or pounded abortive herbs to serve in wine.
Not by my hand have temples been set aflame; no shameful crimes have I
committed. Never has rage or frustration
caused me to have an impious tongue III.v.
5-14.
Great Pluto, lord of bleak lands and dark marshes, drawing
last when They cast lots for realms, spare me, delay the day I shall look upon
Lethe, look upon the Elyssian Fields, and the damp Cimmerian sands. III.v.21-4
To the lords of death, black sheep do I offer, and wine
intermixed in a cup of milk. III.v.
Pleas over
the Gods of Death
Adsis et timidis faveas, Saturnia, votis, et faveas concha, Cypria, vecta tua. Aut si fata negant reditum tristesque sorores, stamina quae ducunt quaeque futura neunt, me vocet in vastos amnes nigramque paludem dives in ignaua luridus Orcus aqua.
Come, Saturn’s daughter, give
favor to my prayer! Hear me, Cyprian
Venus, who was born along on a conch shell!
Rather let my fate be denied, than that my life should now be sorrowfully
ended by those sisters who spin the threads of everyone’s future, and called
down by ghastly Orcus into the desolate swamps and sluggish streams of black
waters.
III.iii.33-8
Parcite, pallentes undas quicumque tenetis duraque sortiti tertia regna dei. Elysios olim liceat cognoscere campos Lethaeamque ratem Cimmeriosque lacus. Interea nigras pecudes promittite Diti et nivei lactis pocula mixta mero.
Spare me, pallid waves of
Pluto, who lastly took hold of his realm when the gods cast lots. Delay my rafting upon the Cimmerian basin, my
drinking the draft of Lethe, and my departing to those Blessed Fields of
Elysium. Meanwhile black sheep I promise
to offer, and pure wine mingled in a cup of snow-white milk, to the gods of
that dark place. III.v.21-4;33-4
Abstineas avidas, Mors, modo, nigra, manus. Abstineas, Mors atra, precor: non hic mihi mater quae legat in maestos ossa perusta sinus, non soror, Assyrios cineri quae dedat odores et fleat effusis ante sepulcra comis, Delia non usquam; quae me cum mitteret urbe, dicitur ante omnes consuluisse deos.
Refrain your greedy hands, O
black Death! Wait, Death, I pray: my
mother is far away; she cannot gather my burned bones to her grieving
breast. I have no sister here to
sprinkle Assyrian perfumes over my ashes, nor with disshelled hair to weep
beside my sepulcher. Neither is my love
Delia near, who would not let me leave her until she was assured by the gods of
my safe return. I.iii.4-10
To Isis
Nunc, dea, nunc succurre mihi—nam posse mederi picta docet templis multa tabella tuis, at mihi contingat patrios celebrare Penates reddereque antiquo menstrua tura Lari.
Help me
now, Isis! Give succour to me beneath your breast. I’ve seen, drawn on the walls of your temple,
the many pictures of your worshippers who have received your aid…Help me, that
I may return to stand at my family altars offering each month a gift of incense
to our Lar.
I.iii.27-8, 33-34
To Osiris
Non tibi sunt tristes curae nec luctus, Osiri, sed chorus et cantus et levis aptus amor, sed varii flores et frons redimita corymbis, fusa sed ad teneros lutea palla pedes et Tyriae vestes et dulcis tibia cantu et levis occultis conscia cista sacris. Huc ades et Genium ludis Geniumque choreis concelebra et multo tempora funde mero: illius et nitido stillent unguenta capillo, et capite et collo mollia serta gerat. Sic venias hodierne: tibi dem turis honores, Liba et Mopsopio dulcia melle feram.
At tu, Natalis
multos celebrande per annos, candidior semper candidiorque veni.
Somber cares and lamentations,
Osiris, were never part of your realm, but song and dance and joyfulness you
love. Copious flowers and clusters of
ivy berries crown our forehead; yellow skirts and robes of Tyrian purple swirl
about the tender feet and limbs of those who dance around your vase of sacred
objects to the sound of sweet music.
Come celebrate in the spirit of these games, in the spirit of these
dances, in the joyous spirit of this temple, where many times pure libations
are poured in your honor. Allow us to
present you with the sweet scents of glistening ointments to drip upon your
hair, garlands of flowers to place upon your head and soft neck. Come, Osiris, that we may present you with
incense, and cakes sweetened with Grecian honey. Come, gentle Osiris, to this annual
celebration of your birth, O ever bright, ever shining spirit, come! I.vii 43-54;
63-4
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