The Immortality of Genius

Propertius (c. 50–c. 16 B.C.)

From the Latin by Dr. James Cranstoun

ORPHEUS, ’t is said, the Thracian lyre-strings sweeping,

Stayed the swift stream and soothed the savage brute;

Cithæron’s rocks, to Thebes spontaneous leaping,

Rose into walls before Amphion’s lute.

With dripping steeds did Galatea follow,

’Neath Ætna’s crags, lone Polyphemus’s song:

Is ’t strange the loved of Bacchus and Apollo

Leads captive with his lay the maiden throng?

Though no Tænarian blocks uphold my dwelling,

Nor ivory panels shine ’tween gilded beams;

No orchards mine Phæcia’s woods excelling,

No chiselled grots where Marcian water streams,—

Yet Song is mine; my strain the heart engages;

Faint from the dance sinks the lithe Muse with me:

O happy maid whose name adorns my pages!

Each lay a lasting monument to thee!

The pyramids that cleave heaven’s jewelled portal;

Elean Jove’s star-spangled dome; the tomb

Where rich Mausolus sleeps,—are not immortal,

Nor shall escape inevitable doom.

Devouring fire and rains will mar their splendor;

The weight of years will drag the marble down:

Genius alone a name can deathless render,

And round the forehead wreathe the unfading crown.