If thou'rt a god, 'tis base to leave thy love
A slave! Whom can a slave invoke but Jove?”
Alone with all her strength that yet remains,
With both her hands she snaps the regal chains,
Then scours with timid foot Cyllene's height,
Her wretched bed the frozen sward by night.
Oft frighted by Asopus' wandering sound,
She thinks her mistress' footsteps beat the ground.
Rough Zethus, and Amphion gentle-soul'd,
Their mother finds, an outcast from their fold;
And as, when billows lay their fury past,
And Eurus wars no more with Notus' blast,
The sands fret fainter on the silent shore,
So sinks the maiden faint and travel-sore.
Though late, affection comes; their error's known :
Old man, well worthy thou to guard Jove's own,
Thou to his sons restor'st their mother dear;
They to the shoulder of a furious steer
Have strapt fell Dirce with a cruel thong,
A wretched victim to be dragged along.
Antiope, acknowledge Jove, and see
Proud Dirce die a thousand deaths for thee.
Zethus, thy meads are stained; Amphion, thou
Thy paean pour'st from Aracynthus' brow.
Then, Cynthia, spare thine unoffending maid;
Thy passion's fury never can be stayed;
May ne'er thine ears be pained by tale of me :
Burnt on the pile, may I adore but thee!
Nox media, et dominae mihi venit epistula nostrae.
Ar midnight came a letter from my love
That bade me speed away to Tibur soon,
Where rise twin towers the gleaming heights above,
And Anio leaps into the wide lagoon.
What shall I do? Trust to the gloom of night,
And in the teeth of armèd ruffians go?
But, if through fear my love's behest I slight,
Her wrath will prove more dire than midnight foe.
Once I transgressed and was exiled a year,
On me no gentle hand my love doth lay :
But then the lover's charmed, he's nought to fear,
Although through Sciron's path he wend his way.
Roam he o'er Scythia's deserts wild and wide,
No boor would work him woe, for love's sweet sake;
The moon is still his ministering guide,
The stars reveal to him the rugged brake.
Blithe Cupid shakes a blazing torch before;
The furious dog, with mouth agape to bite,
Cowers as the lover nears the loved one's door;
Secure he walks by day-secure by night.
What wretch would soil his hands with blood so pure ?*
Lo! Venus keeps her liege sweet company; What though my path to sure destruction lure? Thrice welcome death for her I love shall be!
She'll perfumes bring, my tomb with wreaths array,
And sit and watch beside my clay-cold bed;
Heaven grant I'm laid not near the busy way,
Where onward-hurrying feet for ever tread !
Hence comes dishonour to the lover's tomb :
Lone let me lie beneath the greenwood tree,
Or mound of sand in solitary gloom :
But rear no wayside monument to me.
Nunc, o Bacche, tuis humiles advolvimur aris.
HUMBLY to thine altars now I hasten,
Fill my sails, and waft me o'er the brine:
Bacchus, thou canst haughty Venus chasten,
And dispel the cares of love with wine!
Sanguine tam puro quis enim spargatur amantis
Inprobus? ecce, suis fit comes ipsa Venus.- (Mueller.)
By thy power are lovers joined and parted;
Soothe my troubled soul, for thou as I—
Witness Ariadne—must have smarted,
Ere thy lynxes bore her to the sky.
In my bones the old flames, ever-burning,
Death or wine shall doom to disappear;
Sober nights keep lonely lovers turning
On their couch, distraught by hope and fear.
But if thou this fever fierce dispellest,
Wooing o'er my weary soul to sleep,
I thy vines will plant, train trimly-trellised,
And secure from prowling wild beasts keep.
Foam my vats with purple must, and tender
Grapes ne'er fail my treading feet to stain!
And to thee, O hornèd god! I'll render
Homage all my days that yet remain.
I-thy poet styled-shall sing thy valour,-
Sing thy birth when bolts Aetnean flew ;
Tell how Indian armèd hosts in pallor
Fled before thy dread Nysaean crew;
Sing Lycurgus' fury, unavailing,
At the planting of thy gladsome tree;
Sing of impious Pentheus-theme ne'er failing
To delight thee-slain by Maenads three;
Tyrrhene pirates, changed to dolphins, leaping
From the ship where sprang the sprouting vine;
And thy sweet-breath'd streams through Naxos sweeping,
Whence the men of Naxos quaff thy wine;
Neck with clustered ivy-berries glowing-
Streaming locks with Tyrian turban bound-
Ivory shoulders with sweet unguents flowing—
Trailing robe thy snow-white feet around;
Here, Dircaean nymphs soft tabours dashing, Horn-hoof'd Fauns with gaping reeds in handThere, hoarse cymbals great Cybebe dashing, Turret-crowned, 'mid Ida's roving band;
Golden bowl to pay the meet oblation-
Ministering priest before thy shrine,
Crowning all the rites with due libation,
From the cup a-brim with purple wine :
In no humble strain these themes I'll thunder,
Like a peal from deep-mouthed Pindar's breast-
Only burst this cruel bond asunder,
Lull, O lull my aching head to rest!
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