Part of an Elegy of Tibullus, translated. (Divitias alius fulvo sibi congerat Auro.) 1729-30. George Lyttelton, 1st Baron Lyttelton Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.002 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. II. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 52-54. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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Part of an Elegy of Tibullus , translated . ( Divitias alius fulvo sibi congerat Auro . ) 1729-30 . By the Same . LET others heap of wealth a shining store , And much possessing labour still for more ; Let them , disquieted with dire alarms , Aspire to win a dang'rous fame in arms : Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest , Humbly secure and indolently blest ; Warm'd by the blaze of my own cheerful hearth , I'll waste the wintry hours in social mirth ; In summer pleas'd attend to harvest toils , In autumn press the vineyard's purple spoils , And oft to Delia in my bosom bear Some kid , or lamb that wants its mother's care : With her I'll celebrate each gladsome day , When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay : With her new milk on Pales' altar pour , And deck with ripen'd fruits Pomona's bow'r . At night how soothing wou'd it be to hear , Shelter'd and warm , the tempest whistling near ; And while my charmer in my arms I strain , Slumber assisted by the beating rain ! Ah ! how much happier , than the fool who braves In search of wealth the black tempestuous waves ! While I , contented with my little store , In tedious voyage seek no distant shore , But idle lolling on some shady seat , Near cooling fountains shun the dog-star's heat ; For what reward so rich cou'd Fortune give That I by absence shou'd my Delia grieve ? Let great Messalla shine in martial toils , And grace his palace with triumphal spoils ; Me beauty holds in strong , tho' gentle chains , Far from tumultuous war and dusty plains . With thee , my love , to pass my tranquil days , How would I slight ambition's painful praise ! How would I joy with thee , my love , to yoke The ox , and feed my solitary flock ! On thy soft breast might I but lean my head , How downy shou'd I think the woodland bed ! The wretch who sleeps not by his fair one's side , Detests the gilded couch's useless pride , Nor knows his weary , weeping eyes to close , Tho' murm'ring rills invite him to repose . Hard was his heart , who thee , my fair , cou'd leave For all the honours prosp'rous War can give ; Tho' through the vanquish'd east he spread his fame , And Parthian tyrants tremble at his name ; Tho' bright in arms , while hosts around him bleed , With martial pride he press'd his foaming steed . No pomps like these my humble vows require ; I ask , in thy embraces to expire : Thee may my closing eyes in death behold ! Thee may my fault'ring hand yet strive to hold ! Then , Delia , then thy heart will melt in woe , Then o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow ; Thy tears will flow , for gentle is thy mind , Nor dost thou think it weakness to be kind . With thee each youth and tender maid shall join In grief , and mix their friendly sighs with thine ; But ah ! my Delia , I conjure thee spare Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevell'd hair : Wound not thy form ; lest on th' Elysian coast Thy anguish shou'd disturb my peaceful ghost . But now nor death , nor parting should employ Our sprightly thought , or damp our bridal joy : We'll live , my Delia , and from life remove All care , all bus'ness , but delightful Love . Old age in vain those pleasures wou'd retrieve , Which youth alone can taste , alone can give ; Then let us snatch the moment to be blest , This hour is Love's — be Fortune's all the rest .