The cestus to her eager arms she straps,
Now twirls the quoit, now treads the equestrian's realm, Girds on her snow-white side her sword, and caps
Her virgin head with hollow brazen helm.
Bathes as the Amazons with bosom bare-
A warrior band—bathe in Thermodon's flood; Now climbs Täygetus with rime-sprent hair, Scouring the hills with hounds of native blood.
Bears, as on fair Eurotas' sands of yore
With the young boxer-twin and twin-born knight
Helen with naked breast the combat bore,
Nor blushed in her immortal brothers' sight.
Hence Spartan law forbids clandestine love;
Each in the streets may seek his darling's side.
No fears-no warder stern to disapprove,
No churlish husband's dreaded wrath to bide.
No need of aid: thy suit in person ply;
No scorn repays thy weary waiting there; No Tyrian vestments cheat the roving eye;
No perfumed tresses trimmed with toilsome care.
While here with crowds so great our maidens walk,
One cannot turn a finger for the throng;
He knows not how to look or how to talk :
A darksome way the lover walks along.
But if, O Rome! thou too shouldst imitate
The Spartan contests and the Spartan laws,
How I would bless thee, and with heart elate
Esteem thee dearer for that very cause !
TO CYNTHIA, CONCERNING LYCINNA.
Sic ego non ullos jam norim in amore tumultus.
So from love's crosses let me now be free,
Nor spend the sleepless night away from thee:
When with my boyish dress went boyish shame,
And liberty to tread love's pathway came,
Lycinna, true, versed in the tender art,
Unbribed, first schooled my all-untutored heart.
But now, in nigh three years, my winsome Venus,
I scarce remember of ten words between us—
Thy love has buried all; nor, in thy reign,
Hath e'er my heart felt charmer's silken chain.
Think, too, of Dirce's bitter jealousy
Of Lycus' former love Antiope—
How oft the queen her beauteous tresses tore,*
And ploughed her tender cheeks with scratches o'er !
Opprest the girl with grievous tasks, ah me!
And bade the rugged ground her pillow be;
Left her to pine in loathsome gloom, nor gave
A cup of water to her famished slave!
"Jove, wilt thou ne'er relieve my woes?" she cried : "My hands with galling manacles are tied;
* Ah quotiens pulcros vulsit regina capillos.—(Kuinoel.) --Vulsit is the conjecture of Heinsius. Most editors read ussit.
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.)
|