Epistles

Perseus Latin · Perseus Latin · 259 sections

12.114.1
what after this could make me afraid?) though a weak woman, and now a guilty wretch, to trust myself to the sea. Where was then the majesty of heaven? where were the Gods by whom we had falsely sworn? why did we not undergo the just punishment, you of your falsehood, and I of my credulity? Oh! that the meeting Symplegades had crushed us into one, and my bones had been made to incorporate with yours; or that devouring Scylla had made us the prey of hungry dogs (for thus ought Scylla to use ungrateful men); or that the gulf
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which alternately vomits up and drinks in the waves, had overwhelmed us in its circling current! But fate had otherwise decreed; you returned safe and victorious to the Grecian states, and made an offer of the rich fleece to the Gods of your country. Why should I mention the daughters of Pelias, bloody through piety, and the slaughter of a father by the hands of virgins? However others may blame, yet you are bound to commend me, for whose sake I have so often made myself guilty. You had the barbarity, (Oh! words are wanting to equal my grief,) you had the barbarity to forbid me the house of your father Æson. Compelled, I left the house, accompanied only by my two sons, and by that affection for you which never ceases to haunt me. Soon the new nuptial songs reached my ears, and the torches shone with the spreading flame: the flute also struck off the social lines, to me more mournful than the funeral trumpet. I
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was frighted to distraction, nor could yet fancy you so completely base: but a coldness spread itself over all my breast. The rabble shouted, and invoked Hymen; they redoubled their cries, and, as they approached, the word seemed more dreadful. The servants wept in corners, and each strove to hide his tears: for who among them would be the messenger of so great a calamity? I was also better pleased to be ignorant of whatever passed: but still my mind, by some secret foresight, foreboded my misfortune. When my younger boy, by my command, and moved by curiosity, stood at the entrance of the double gate, Look, said he, mother, my father Jason heads the procession, and, arrayed in vestments of gold, urges the harnessed horses. I then tore my garments, and beat my breast; nor was my face safe from the impression of my nails. My rage urged me to rush into the midst of the crowd, and tear the garlands from the well-dressed locks. Scarcely could I restrain myself from appearing with my hair torn, taking hold of him, and claiming him as mine. Injured father, forsaken Colchians, now rejoice, and be satisfied with the sacrifice made to the
12.159.1
manes of my murdered brother. I am deserted by my husband, after abandoning my kingdom, country, and home. He was all to me!
12.163.1
Have I then been able to tame the serpents and raging bulls, and yet cannot vanquish a single man? Could I by magic arts repress the fire-breathing bulls, and not conquer the flames of love that rage in my own breast? Have my enchantments, herbs, and skill, abandoned me? Can Diana and the rites of powerful Hecate yield no relief? Day is odious to me; the nights are full of cruel bitterness; no soft slumbers soothe my anxious breast. I, who can do nothing to myself, could yet lull to rest the dragon; my art is useful to every one but myself. A rival embraces those limbs which I preserved; she now enjoys the fruit of my toil. Perhaps too, while you endeavour to recommend yourself to your silly spouse, and say what may be agreeable to her partial ears, you unjustly ridicule my face and manners. She stupidly laughs, and rejoices at my defects. Laugh on,
12.175.1
proud fair, and pride yourself in your purple bed; soon you shall mourn, and burn with flames more fierce than mine. While fire, sword, and poisons, may be had, no enemy of Medea shall escape her resentment. Yet if prayers are able to touch your obdurate heart, hear me now descend to requests below my usual greatness of soul. I address you with the same submission with which you have often applied to me; nor delay to throw myself at your feet. If I am now despicable to you, yet think of your children, those common pledges of our former love. Shall my offspring be exposed to the rage of a cruel step-mother? Alas! they too strongly bear your likeness, and strike me with the resemblance: as often as I look at them, my eyes swim in tears. I implore you by the Gods above, by the splendor of my grand-father's chariot, by the love I always bore you, and your two sons, those dear pledges of what I once was, restore me to that bed, for which I have made so many sacrifices; make good your promises, and give me relief. I ask not your aid against the bulls, and earth-born heroes, or to lull to rest the watchful dragon: I demand you whom I have dearly purchased, who yourself made a surrender of your heart to me; by whom I likewise have been made a mother. If you enquire for my
12.189.1
dowry, remember the field that was to be ploughed up before you could carry off the golden fleece. My dowry is that golden ram, beautiful by his rich wool; which if I should demand back, would you ever consent? I bring for a dowry your own safety, and that of all the Grecian youths. Go now, perjured man, and boast the ill-gotten wealth of Sisyphus. To me you owe your life, that you have a spouse, a powerful father-in-law, or even that you can be ungrateful. But hold: I will quickly be revenged. Yet what avails it to threaten before-hand? Rage drives me upon the deepest destruction. I will yield to all the madness of rage, however I may afterwards repent. I even now repent the aid I granted to a perfidious wretch. The God who rages in my breast can alone penetrate these designs: I only know that my mind conceives something vast and worthy of myself.
13.1.1
LAODAMIA of Thessaly wishes health to her Thessalian husband, and ardently prays that the Gods may convey this health whither she sends it. It is said that you are detained at Aulis by contrary winds; ah! cruel winds, where were ye when he first parted from me? It was then the seas ought to have opposed themselves to your oars: that was the proper season for the waves to rage. I would nave given him many kisses, many admonitions; for I had an abundance of admonitions to give. You were suddenly hurried
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from me; an inviting gale called forth the sails, a gale grateful to the mariners, not to me; a gale that exactly suited their views, but not those of an unhappy lover. I was torn from the embraces of my dear Protesilaus; my faltering tongue gave you its last charge in broken words, and scarcely was I able to utter the mournful adieu. The north-wind sprang up, and stretched the swelling sails. My Protesilaus was soon carried far from me. While my husband remained in sight, I found a pleasure in looking at him, and incessantly pursued your eyes with mine. Even after I could no longer see you, I still could behold your sails: the sails kept my eyes long fixed upon them. But when I could no more perceive either you or the flying sails, and nothing appeared to my aching sight beside the sea, light fled also with you; a darkness hung round me, nor were my tottering knees longer able to support my pale frame. My father-in-law Iphiclus, the good old Acastus, and my sorrowful mother, hardly recovered me by sprinkling my face with cold water. They were taken up in a kind good-natured office, but ungrateful to me, who mourn that I was not suffered to finish a wretched life. With my senses, my grief also returned; and a just love preyed upon my chaste heart. I now neg-
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lect the care of my hanging locks, and refuse to adorn myself with cloth of gold. I wander where-ever my madness urges me, like those whom Bacchus is supposed to have touched with his rod. The Thessalian matrons flock round me. Put on, they cry, Laodamia, the royal robes. Shall I shine in robes of Tyrian purple, and my husband be engaged in a bloody war under the walls of Troy? Shall I adorn my hair, while his head is loaded with a helmet? or strut in new apparel, while he bears about a coat of mail? I will at least be said to copy your hardships in the negligence of my dress, and pass the time of this fatal war in sadness. O Paris of the house of Priam, beautiful to the destruction of your country, may you prove as cowardly an enemy, as you were a perfidious guest. How could I wish that you had disliked the countenance of the Lacedæmonian queen, or that she had found less cause to admire yours! And you, Menelaus, who shew too great anxiety about one who so easily consented to be ravished from you, how fatal an avenger will you prove to many! Avert, ye Gods, the dire omen from me; and grant that my husband may consecrate his spoils to Jupiter, the author of his safe return! Yet I am full of fears; and, as often as I think of the horrible war, the tears drop from me like snow melted by the sun. Ilion, and Tenedos, and Simois, and Xanthus, and Ida, are names which, by their very sound, strike me with terror. A stranger would not have ventured to carry her away, had he not known himself able to defend the prize: doubtless, he was well acquainted with his own strength.
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He came, as fame reports, adorned with gold and jewels, and made a show in his person of the riches of Phrygia. He was backed with ships and armed men, by which wars are carried on; and yet how small a part of the population of his country followed him! It was by these, I suspect,
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daughter of Leda, and sister to the famous twins, that your heart was gained: these, I fear, may prove fatal to the Greeks. I have a strong dread of some one named Hector. Hector, Paris was wont to say, knew how to support a war with bloody rage. Beware of this Hector, whoever he is, if you retain any regard for me; let this name be deeply engraven in your mindful breast. When you shun him, remember also to shun others: fancy that there are many Hectors within those walls; and do not fail to say within yourself, as often as you prepare for battle, Laodamia enjoined me to take care of myself for her sake. If fate has ordained that Troy shall fall by the hand of the Greeks, may it fall without your receiving any injury. Let Menelaus fight, and rush among the thickest ranks of the foe, that he may recover from Paris what Paris unjustly ravished from him: let him force his way through them; and, as he triumphs in a better cause, triumph also by arms, and recover his wife from amidst his enemies. The case is different with you; you must fight that you may live, and return safe to your wife's tender caresses. Spare, O Trojans,
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this one out of so many enemies, and spill not my blood by the wounds you give to him. He is not formed to engage cruel foes in close fight, or march up with an undaunted breast to their foremost ranks. He acquits himself better in the combats of love. Let others engage in bloody wars; but let Protesilaus fight under the banners of Cupid. Now I own, that I would gladly have called you back; my heart strongly inclined me to it; but my tongue was silent from the fear of giving a bad omen. When you set out for Troy from your father's gate, your foot gave a presage by striking against the threshold. When I saw it I groaned, and said quietly to myself, May the Gods grant that this may be a presage of my husband's safe return. These circumstances I now relate to you, that you may not be too forward in the field, but by your caution may make all my fears vanish in empty air. Fortune hath also doomed some one to an untimely fate, who shall, first of the Greeks, set his foot upon Trojan ground. Unhappy she, fated first to deplore
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her lost lord! Grant, O ye Gods, that Protesilaus' courage may then fail! May thy ship be the last of a thousand, and in the rear of all the fleet plough the foaming deep. I farther admonish you, that you be the last to leave the ship: the shore to which you hasten is not your native soil. But, when you return, urge the bark with sail and oars, nor delay a moment to set foot upon the coast of your own country. Whether Phœbus hides his beams, or high in his chariot overlooks the earth, both by day and by night you fill my mind with grief and anxiety: yet the mournful image haunts me more at night than during the day: night is grateful to those whose necks are environed by clasping arms. I catch at empty dreams in a forlorn bed, and must put up with false joys, because the true have fled. But why does your pale shadow stand before me? Why do I incessantly hear you uttering mournful complaints? I start from my sleep, and adore the nightly powers. The Thessalian altars cease not to smoke with sacrifices for your sake. Incense is offered, and tears are shed over it in abundance; with which the flame burns bright, as if sprinkled with wine.
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When shall I again clasp you in my longing arms, and be elate with joy in your embraces? When, happily united with you in the same bed, shall I hear you recount your noble deeds in war? Though I shall be pleased with the recital, yet will your relation be often interrupted by our mutual kisses. These always occasion an agreeable pause in discourse: the tongue is rendered more prompt by such alluring delays. But when I think of Troy, of the winds, and the sea, flattering hopes give way to anxious fears. I am alarmed that your fleet is detained by adverse winds. How can you think of sailing when the sea forbids? What man returns to his own country when the winds are against him? why then do you spread your sails to leave it, when the sea forbids? Neptune himself stops up the way to his own city. Whither hurry you so rashly? Let each return to his own home. Whither, I say, O ye Greeks, do you hurry so rashly? Attend to the voice of the forbidding winds. This delay is no work of blind chance; it comes from the Gods. What do you intend by this mighty war, but to regain a base adulteress? Return, ye Grecian ships, while it yet may be done with honor. But why do I thus call you back? Forbid, ye Gods, every bad omen; and may an inviting gale bear you through
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the quiet waves. How I envy the lot of the Trojan wives; for, if they are doomed to see the mournful funerals of their husbands, the enemy is however not far off. The youthful bride will with her own hand fix the helmet upon the head of her gallant spouse, and buckle on his shining armour. She will buckle on his armour, and, as she performs the task, often snatch a kiss. This sportive office will be grateful to both. She will partly attend him in his march, affectionately enjoin him to return, and advise him to caution, that he may triumph, and dedicate his arms to Jupiter. He, bearing in mind the fresh injunctions of his beloved spouse, will fight with due care of himself, and think of her whom he has left at home. At his return, she will take from him his shield, and unbuckle the ponderous helmet, while he reclines his wearied breast upon her soft bosom. Unhappy, we are racked with uncertainty; an anxious fear makes us apt to fancy you surrounded with a thousand dangers. Yet while you bear armour, and are fighting in remote lands, I take a pleasure in contemplating the wax which exhibits your likeness. As if you were present, I make use of the softest expressions, and address it in words due only to my Protesilaus: I even embrace and caress it. Surely it must be so: this
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image is more than what it seems. Add speech to the statue, and it will be my Protesilaus himself. My eyes are incessantly fixed upon it; I press it to my bosom as if it were indeed my husband, and pour out my complaints to it, vainly hoping for an answer. I swear by yourself and your return, so dear to me above all things; by the nuptial torch, and that glowing heart which is only yours; by your beloved head, which, O ye propitious Gods, restore to me unhurt, and give me to see at length venerable with grey hairs; that I am ready to fly whithersoever you call me, and will readily share your fate, whether that should happen which, alas! I too much fear, or the Gods should graciously preserve you. Permit me to conclude my epistle with a small request: If you have yet any love for me, be sure to show it in the care you take of yourself.
14.1.1
HYPERMNESTRA sends to the only survivor of so many brothers: the rest have all perished by the crime of their wives. I am closely confined, and loaded with a weight of chains. My piety is the sole cause of my punishment. I am deemed guilty, because my hand trembled to urge the sword to my husband's throat. Had I dared to commit the bloody deed, I should have been extolled. It is better to be thus deemed guilty, than please a father by an act of barbarity. I can never repent that my hands are unstained withmurder.
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Should my father torture me with the flames that I have not dared to violate, or throw in my face the torches used at the nuptial rites; should be pierce me with the very sword which he gave me for an inhuman purpose, and destroy the wife by the death from which she saved her husband; yet would all his cruelty be insufficient to make my dying lips own repentance: Hypermnestra is not one who will repent of her piety. Let Danaus and my bloody sisters testify penitence for their wickedness; this usually follows deeds of guilt. My heart sickens at the remembrance of that bloody night; and a sudden trembling enervates the joints of my right hand. That hand which was thought strong enough to engage in the murder of a husband, even dreads to write of a murder that it did not commit; yet will I attempt to describe the horrid scene. Twilight had overspread the earth; it was about the close of day, and night hastened on: we, the descendants of Inachus, are led to the palace of the great Pelasgus; and a father-in-law receives, into his house, daughters armed for the
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destruction of their husbands. Lamps adorned with gold shine through all the apartments, and impious incense is offered to the unwilling gods. The people invoke Hymen; but Hymen neglects their call: even the wife of Jove forsook her beloved city. The bridegrooms made their appearance, high in wine, and enlivened by the acclamations of their attendants; their anointed heads were adorned with garlands of flowers: they entered their bed-chambers (chambers doomed to be their graves), and reposed their limbs on beds fitter for their funeral piles. Thus they lay overcome with food, wine, and sleep; and a dead silence reigned in unsuspecting Argos. I seemed to hear around me the groans of dying men; I indeed heard them, and it was really as I feared. At this the blood forsook my limbs, the vital heat departed, and a coldness spread itself over all my joints. As the bending reeds are shaken by the mild zephyrs, or the rough northern blasts agitate the poplar leaves; a like, or more
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violent shaking seised me. You lay quiet, lulled to rest by the sleepy draught I had given. The commands of a violent father had banished fear. I started up, and seised with a trembling hand the deadly sword. Why should I deceive? Thrice I took hold of the pointed steel, and thrice my feeble hand dropped the hated load. I aimed at your throat; blame me not if I acknowlege the truth: I aimed at your throat the blade I had received of my father. But fear and piety opposed the bloody deed; and my blameless right hand refused the hated task. I tore my purple garments, I tore my hair, and with a faint voice uttered this mournful complaint: "A cruel father you have, Hypermnestra; think of executing his commands, and make Lynceus also a companion to his brothers. I am a woman and a virgin, mild both by nature and years; these gentle hands are unfit to wield the fatal steel: but take courage, and, while he lies defenceless, imitate the bravery of your resolute sisters; it is very probable that, ere now, all their husbands are slain. Alas! if this hand could perpetrate a cruel
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murder, it must first be dyed in the blood of its owner. How can they deserve death by possessing their uncle's realms, which yet must have been given to foreign sons-in-law? Even if our husbands have deserved death, what have we done? Why am I urged to a crime, which, if committed, robs me of my claim to piety? What have I to do with a drawn sword? Why are warlike weapons put into the hands of a girl? A spindle and distaff better suit these fingers." These things I revolved with myself; and, as I complained, the mournful words were accompanied with tears, which, gently falling from my eyes, bedewed your naked limbs.
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While you sought to embrace me, and half-awake stretched your clasping arms, your hand was almost wounded by the drawn sword. And now, I began to dread my father, the guards, and the approaching light; when these my words roused you from sleep: Rise speedily, grandson of Belus, now the only survivor of so many brothers; unless you are quick in escaping, this is fated to be your eternal night. You start up in a fright; the fetters of sleep are all loosened, and you behold in my hand the pointed weapon. As you ask the cause; Fly, interrupted I, while night permits. You escape, favored by the darkness of the night; while I remain. And now, morning coming on,
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Danaus numbers over his slaughtered sons; one only was wanting to complete the bloody crime. He storms at his disappointment in the death of a single kinsman, and complains that too little blood had been shed. I am torn from my father as I embrace his knees, and dragged by the hair to prison. Is this the due reward of my piety? So it is that Juno's resentment has ever pursued our race, since Jove transformed Io into a cow, and the cow into a goddess. But was it not sufficient punishment for the unhappy maid to lose her natural form, and, stripped of her beauty, be no longer able to please the almighty Jove? She stood amazed at her new shape, upon the banks of her flowing parent; and beheld, in this paternal mirror, the unusual horns. Striving to complain, her mouth was filled with lowings; and she was equally terrified at her form and
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voice. Unhappy maid, why this mad rage? Why do you wonder at your own shadow? Why do you number your feet formed to new joints? This beauteous rival, once dreaded by the sister of almighty Jove, now allays her raging hunger with leaves and grass: she drinks of the running stream, and is astonished to behold her own shape; she even trembles at the arms she wears, and thinks them aimed against herself. You, lately so rich as to be deemed worthy even of almighty Jove, now lie naked and defenceless in the unsheltered fields. You wildly run through the sea, over lands, and through kindred rivers. Even seas, lands and rivers, permit your wanderings. What is the cause of your flight? Why, Io, do you thus traverse the spacious main? It is impossible to fly from your own shadow. Whither, daughter of Inachus, do you run? It is the same individual who flies and who pursues; you lead, and at the same time follow the leader. The Nile, which pours into the ocean through seven floodgates, restored to her former shape this beloved of Jove. But why should I
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mention remote times, and accounts for which I am beholden to old age? Even the present years afford ground of complaint. My father and uncle are at war: we are driven from our kingdom and home, and wander exiles on earth's remotest verge. My savage uncle singly possesses the throne and sceptre; we, a destitute crowd, follow, disconsolate, a helpless old man. You only (how small a part!) remain of a whole nation of brothers. I mourn both for those who perished, and those who gave the fatal stroke. I have not only lost a multitude of brothers, but also a like number of sisters; and both losses equally demand my tears. Lo, even I am reserved to a cruel punishment, because I saved your life! What fate is left for the guilty, when I, who merit only praise, am thus accused? And must I, once the hundredth of a kindred
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tribe, suffer death for saving one of so many brothers? But, my dear Lynceus, if you have any regard to the piety of your sister, or any remembrance of her love, and the life she gave you, help me in this extremity; or, if death should set me free before you can arrive, bear privately my breathless frame to the funeral pile, and sprinkle my ashes with unfeigned tears. When you have faithfully performed the last obsequies, engrave upon my tomb this short inscription:
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Hypermnestra, an unhappy exile, was, as a reward for her piety, unjustly doomed to that death from which she had saved her brother.
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I wish to write more; but my hand fails, disabled by a weight of chains; and ill-boding fears deprive me of the power of reflection.
15.1.1
AT the sight of this letter written with an anxious hand, will you not instantly know the characters to be mine? Or must even the name of the unhappy writer be added, to prove the person by whom the few lines are sent? You may perhaps wonder why I address you in alternate measures, when lyric numbers so much better suit my genius. But unsuccessful love complains in melancholy notes, and elegy is the most proper for the expression of my woe. No harp can serve to paint my flowing tears. I burn like a ripened field of corn, when driving east-winds spread the catching flames. Phaon honors the distant fields of burning Ætna, while flames fierce as those of Ætna prey upon my heart. I no more take pleasure in forming my numbers to the tuneful strings: music and poetry are the employment of a mind at ease. The dames of Pyrrha, Methymna, and the other cities of Lesbos, please no more. Anactorie and fair Cydno have
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lost their charms; and Atthis, of late so grateful to my sight; with hundreds of others, once the objects of my guilty love. Faithless man, yo alone engross that heart, formerly shared by many. You are happy in a fine face, and years fit for pleasure and dalliance. O enchanting looks, so fatal to me and my repose! Take the harp and bow, and you will pass with all for Apollo. Adorn your head with wreaths of ivy, and you will appear beautiful as Bacchus. Yet Apollo was enamored of Daphne, and Bacchus of the Cretan maid, though neither of them excelled in lyric measures. To me the Muses dictate the sweetest lays, and the name of Sappho resounds through all nations. Even great Alcæus, the partner of my country and my harp, has not more renown,
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though he sings in loftier notes. If unfriendly nature has denied me an engaging form, yet the charms of my wit abundantly compensate that deficiency. I am short of stature; yet I have a name that fills the whole earth, and by my own merit have gained this extensive renown. What if I am not fair? Was not even Perseus pleased with Andromede, an Æthiopian dame? Doves of various colours often unite, and the white turtle matches with the shining green. If no charms can gain your heart but such as equal your own, no charms will be ever able to gain Phaon. yet when you read my lays, I then seemed formed to please: you were never enough delighted with my voice, and swore that it became me alone to speak. I remember when wont to sing (for, ah, how vast a memory have lovers!) how you stopped my tongue with kisses; even these you praised: I pleased in all, but more particularly when united with you is the close bonds of love. Then you were fired by my amorous sport; each motion, each glance, each word inflamed you, till, dissolving in tumultuous raptures, gentle faintness surprised our wearied limbs. But now the Sicilian
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maids take up all your thoughts. Why was I born at Lesbos? Why am I not a native of Sicily?
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But ah! Sicilian nymphs, beware, and banish from your isle this deceitful wanderer. Be not deceived with the fictions of an insinuating tongue; those faithless vows have all been made to Sappho. You too, Erycina, who range the Sicilian hills, think that I am thine, and pity the sorrows of your poetess. Shall cruel fortune still pursue the same sad tenor, and obstinately persist in heaping woes upon me? Scarcely had I completed my sixth year, when the ashes of a deceased parent drank my tears. My brother next, despising wealth and honor, burned with an ignoble flame, and rashly plunged himself into shameful distresses. Reduced to want, he traversed the blue ocean in a nimble bark, and basely hunted after those riches which he had foolishly lost. My many good counsels he repaid with hatred; such was the reward of my piety and plain-dealing. And, as if fortune had determined to oppress me without ceasing, an infant daughter has been lately added to my cares. Yet adverse fate still pursues me, and sends you, the last and greatest of my woes. Alas! How much is this tempestuous voyage of life agitated by unfriendly gales? My locks no more hang curled in ringlets round my neck; nor do the glowing gems adorn my joints. I am clad in homely weeds; no braids of gold bind the flowing tresses, nor do Arabian unguents breathe their sweet perfumes. For whom shall I adorn myself, unhappy wretch? whom shall I thus study to please? The only object of my tenderness is gone. The light darts of Cupid easily wound my gentle heart; and still there is some cause, why Sappho still should love. Whether the Sisters have so fixed my doom from the birth, and formed my life to the softer ties of Venus; or my manners are fashioned by my studies, and those arts in which I excel; the Muse certainly forms my mind to answer the molting notes of my tongue. What wonder, if my tender age yields to the gentle violence, and those years that recommend to the addresses of men? How was I afraid that Aurora might seise you for her Cephalus? And she would have done it, had she not been detained by her
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first love. If Cynthia, whose eye extends over all, should chance to fix it upon you, Phaon would be commanded to prolong his sleep. Venus would have borne you off in a chariot of ivory to the skies; but she foresaw that you would no less charm her beloved Mars. O scarcely a youth, and yet not a tender boy; useful age for lovers! O pride and glory of thy age, come to these arms; return, darling of my soul, to my soft embraces. I ask not your love, but that you will kindly receive mine. I write, and, as I write, the starting tears flow from my eyes: see what a number of blots stain this very place. If you were determined to abandon me, it might yet have been done in a kinder way. Was it too much to say, Farewell, my Lesbian maid? You saw none of my tears, you received no parting kisses; nor did I at all apprehend what a load of grief awaited me. You have left nothing with your Sappho but wrongs and woes; nor have carried any pledge with you to renew the memory of our loves. I gave you no charge; nor indeed had I any other charge to give, than that you would
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be always mindful of me.
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I swear to you by the God of love, by whom let me never be abandoned, and by the sacred nine, those deities whom I adore, that when first told (I hardly know by whom) that you and all my joys had fled, I had neither the power of speaking nor of weeping; my eyes did not grant me the relief of tears, and my tongue was deprived of all motion; a death-like coldness seized my boding heart: but when impetuous grief at last found a vent, I beat my breast, and rent my scattered locks, raving in all the wildness of furious despair; like a pious mother who bears to the funeral-pile the breathless body of her darling son. My brother Charaxus rejoices at the disaster, and barbarously triumphs in my griefs: his hated image is ever before my eyes; and, to reproach me with the shameful cause, he asks, Why all this sadness? Your daughter still lives. Love and shame are ever inconsistent. With garments torn, and my bosom bare, I proclaim to all the world my
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guilt. You, Phaon, take up all my thoughts; my care by day, and the nightly object of my dreams; dreams that charm more than the brightest day. In these I find you, though fled to remote regions; but, alas! the joys of sleep are vain and short-lived. Oft you seem to wind your arms round my yielding neck. Oft my arms fondly encircle thine. I soothe and address you in softest words, and my mouth is prompt to utter the language of my heart. I seem to give and take endearing kisses; and yield to joys which I blush to mention, while yet I must confess how much they please. But when the rising sun spreads his light over all; as if once more deserted, I complain that sleep has fled so soon. I retire to the caves and groves, as if caves and groves could yield relief; and fondly court the haunts that have witnessed your dear embraces. Thither I run, my hair loose and disheveled, like those who are infatuated by some powerful sorceress. There I behold the caves beset with rugged cliffs, that to me were more pleasant than the finest Phrygian marble. I find the grove that hath often afforded us a flowery bed, and sheltered us from the heat by
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its spreading leaves. But I no more find him with whom I haunted these beloved shades: they now can please no more; for to him they owed all their charms. I view the pressed grass on which we have reposed our wearied limbs, where the bending turf retains the print of our double weight. i kiss the earth pressed by your lovely limbs, and bedew with tears the grateful herbs. For thee the trees, dropping their leaves, seem to mourn, and the tuneful birds deny their songs. The Phocian bind alone, that disconsolate mother, who took so cruel a revenge on her Thracian lord, mourns the hard fate of Itys. The nightingale mourns the fate of Itys; Sappho laments that she is deserted by Phaon. All else is silent, and
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involved in the shades of night. A spring there is, whose waters run clear and transparent as crystal: here, as many think, a deity resides. Above, a flowery lotos spreads its shading branches, and seems itself a grove: the banks around are edged with eternal green. Here, while, after an effusion of tears, I rested my wearied limbs, a Naiad suddenly stood before my eyes. She stood, and said, O you who burn with an ill-requited flame, fly to the Acarnanian shore. Apollo from an impending rock surveys the extended ocean below, which is called, by the inhabitants, the sea of Actium and Leucate: hence Deucalion, inflamed with the hopeless love of Pyrrha, plunged himself unhurt into the main. Forthwith love changing, possessed the obstinate heart of Pyrrha; and Deucalion was freed from his flame. Such is the law of the place. Haste then, throw yourself from high Leucadia, nor dread the threatening steep.
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She spoke, and disappeared with the voice. I rose amazed, and my dim eyes overflowed with tears. I go, O nymph,
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to prove these healing rocks; fear recedes, borne down by powerful love. My fate, whatever it is, will be milder than at present. Blow up, gentle gales, beneath my falling body, and lay me softly on the swelling waves. And thou too, gentle Love, bear up my sinking limbs with out-spread wings; and let not Sappho's death profane the guiltless Leucadian flood. I will then hang up my lyre to Phœbus, and under it write this inscription: Grateful Sappho consecrates her harp to Phœbus; a gift that suits both the giver and the God. But why, relentless youth, do you drive me to distant coasts, when you can so easily cure me by your return? Your charms are more powerful than the Leucadian waves; and your merit and beauty make you a Phœbus to me. Can you bear, O more hard-hearted than the rocks and waves, to be reputed the cause of my untimely death? Would'st thou rather see this breast dashed on pointed rocks, than
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pressed to thine? this breast, which you, Phaon, have so often praised as the seat of love and genius. But now genius is no more; grief checks my thoughts, and the edge of my wit is blunted by my misfortunes. My wonted strength no more furnishes the flowing lines; my lute is silent, and the sounding notes sink under a weight of woe. Ye Lesbian virgins and dames, so often celebrated by the Æolian lyre; Lesbians, the objects of my guilty love; cease to hope that I will more touch the sounding harp. Phaon is gone, and with him all my joys have vanished. Unhappy wretch, I had almost called him mine. Make him return; no more shall you complain of the absence of your poetess; it is he, he only, that inspires or quenches the poetic flame. Can prayers avail nothing? Is your savage breast proof against all tender feelings? or have the flying Zephyrs lost my words in air? O that the winds which bear away my words, would bring back your welcome sails! It is what, if you are wise for yourself, you
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ought now, though late, to hasten. Or are you already on the way, and are sacrifices offered for your safety? Why do you tear my heart with cruel delays? Spread your sails: the sea-born Goddess will smooth the waves, and prosperous gales speed your course. Only weigh anchor, and set sail. Cupid himself, sitting at the helm, will govern the bark; he with a skilful hand will unfold and gather in the sails. Or do you choose to fly from unhappy Sappho? Alas! what have I done to be thus the object of your aversion? At least inform me of this by a few cruel lines, that I may plunge myself, with all my miseries, amidst the Leucadian waves.
16.1.1
PARIS, the son of Priam, sends health to helen; that health, which he can himself no otherwise enjoy, than as it is your gift. Shall I then speak? or is it unnecessary to inform you of a passion that betrays itself? Has not my love already laid itself too open? I could indeed wish it to lie conceaied, till the time comes when we can taste of joys unallayed by any mixture of fear. But it is in vain that I dissemble; for who can smother a flame that always discovers itself by its own brightness? If yet you expect that my tongue should confirm what my actions have so long declared,—I burn. This message brings
16.6.1
you the true sense of my heart. Forgive this kind confession; and do not peruse what remains with a severe look, but with one that best becomes your heavenly form. Already it gives me pleasure to think that my letter is well received; for this creates a hope that I may also meet with the same kind entertainment. Heaven grant that my hopes may be confirmed, and that the queen of love, who urged me to this voyage, may not have promised in vain. For, that you may not offend through ignorance, know that I came hither by a divine admonition, and that one, not the meanest of the divine powers, favors my design. The prize I seek indeed is great, yet what I may justly claim; for Venus promised you, fair as you are, to my bed. Guided by her, I abandoned the
16.20.1
Sigean shore, ventured upon a doubtful fate, and did not decline to plough the pathless deep in the Phereclean bark. She commanded a gentle breeze, and stretched the canvass with auspicious gales; for, having sprung from the teeming deep, she still retains her empire over the main. May she still persevere; and, as she calms the sea, so may she calm the tempest that rages in my breast, and bring home all my vows and sighs to their desired port. My flames I brought with me; for I did not first find them here. They were the cause of my undertaking so long a voyage: for no threatening storm or mistaken course drove us hither; my fleet was designed from the first for the coast of Laconia. Nor fancy that I plough the waves in a ship laden with merchandise: the Gods have already blessed me with ample wealth. Nor came I so far to view and admire the cities of Greece; my own kingdom is filled with richer towns. It is you that I seek, whom beautiful Venus promised to my embraces; I wished for the enjoyment of your love, even before I was acquainted with your charms. Long before my eyes beheld you, I had formed an image of you in my mind; for fame was the first messenger of your beauty. Nor is it so great a wonder,
16.32.1
that, pierced by the swift-winged arrow at such a distance, I offer you my heart. So the Fates have ordained; which that you may not strive to resist, attend to a relation that carries in it nothing but truth.
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I was yet enclosed in the womb of my mother, now pregnant with a burthen almost struggling for birth. She in a mysterious dream seemed to herself to be delivered of a burning torch. She was frighted, and related to priam the tremendous visions of the gloomy might: he consulted the sacred seers. The prophet foretold, that the flames of the ruined Troy were portended by the threatening torch; but surely Fate meant the flames that now rage in my breast. Though exposed among shepherds, yet my form and native greatness
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spoke the nobility of my birth.
16.53.1
In the thickest groves of Ida there is a place remarkably retired, and shaded with oaks and pitch-trees. The grass, upon this spot, is not touched by the bleating sheep, the goat delighting in rocks and cliffs, or the laborious ox. As here I stood leaning upon a tree, and beholding from afar the walls, lofty towers, and winding bays of Troy, lo, suddenly, the ground seemed to be shaken with the tread of feet. I speak the truth; yet scarcely will it be able to gain the credit due to truth. The grandson of great Atlas and Pleione, borne through the air on nimble wings, stood before my eyes. As I was permitted to see, so may it be allowed me to relate what I have seen. The God stood, and in his sacred hand was a golden rod: three Goddesses too, Venus, Juno, and Pallas, gently pressed the grass with their tender feet. I stood amazed, and a chilling horror raised my hair in bristles; when the winged messenger thus addressed me: "Banish fear; you are appointed the judge of beauty; settle therefore the contests of the Goddesses, and name one who must claim the prize of beauty from the other two." And, that I might not decline the task, he laid his commands upon me in the name of Jupiter, and then mounted aloft through the aerial way. My mind seemed to gather
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strength, and I was conscious of an unusual boldness; nor did I fear to fix my eyes upon each of them with attention. They all seemed worthy of the victory; and I, their judge, was grieved to think, that all could not equally carry off the prize. yet even then there was one that pleased me more: insomuch, that it was easy to discover in her mien and air the Queen of Love. So strong was the contention for superiority, that they began to solicit my favor by bribes. The wife of Jove offered me a kingdom, Pallas prudence and valour, whilst I myself could not resolve to which to give the preference: but Venus, sweetly smiling, said, "Let not gifts like these, Paris, sway you; for both are full of fears and anxieties. I will give you to taste of the pleasures of love; and fair Leda's yet fairer daughter shall receive your fond caresses." Thus attractively she spoke; and, equally powerful by her gifts and beauty, returned to heaven with victorious pace.
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In the mean time, (the Fates beginning to be now more propitious,) I am known by undoubted signs to be the son of royal Priam. The court is over-
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joyed to recover a son who had so long been lost; and grateful Troy adds this day also to her festivals. And, as I now languish for you, so did the beauties of Troy for me: you alone reign over my heart, for which many sighed in vain. Nor was I only desired by the daughters of kings and heroes: I was also the darling and care of heaven-born Nymphs. But all these, Tyndaris, met with a return of cold disdain, when the hopes of your embrace had fired my breast. All the day fancy placed you before my eyes; at night too, when my eyes were sealed by gentle sleep, you stood before me in my dreams. What surprise then must your presence give, whose absent image so far occupied my thoughts? I was consumed with the flame, though it scorched at so great a distance. Nor was I able to restrain my ardent hopes from seeking the desired object through the blue ocean. The stately Trojan pines were cut down with a Phrygian axe, and every tree that was fittest to plough the yielding deep. The steep Gargarean summits were despoiled of their lofty woods; and spacious Ida furnished
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me with the finest planks. Stiff oaks were bent to form the doubling hold, and the rising sides were knit with jointed ribs. Sails and sail-yards were added to the lofty masts; and the bending stern was adorned with painted Gods. On my own ship stood the Goddess, who promised to make me happy in your embraces; accompanied by her little son Cupid.
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The fleet being thus completely prepared, I longed to traverse the wide Ægean sea. My father and mother opposed their entreaties to my desires, and with pious requests withstood my intended voyage. Cassandra too, my sister, with loose and disordered locks, just as the ships were ready to set sail, ex-claimed, Whither do you hurry without thought, to bring back fire and destruction? Alas! you little think what raging flames threaten us from beyond these seas. True were her predictions: I have felt the threatened fires; tyrannic love rages in my yielding breast. Yet I set sail, and, urged by propitious gales, arrived,
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fairest nymph, on your native coasts. There I was kindly entertained by your husband; and this did not happen without the concurrence and contrivance of the Gods. He shewed me every thing that was remarkable or worth notice in Lacedæmon: but in vain these objects solicited the attention of one, who was wholly possessed with the desire of beholding your celebrated beauty. I saw, and stood amazed: stricken to the inmost soul with your charms, I felt my heart well with new cares. Such was Venus, so far as I can remember, when she descended from heaven, to submit to my decision. If you had also come to bear a part in that contest, even Venus could have scarcely pretended to the prize. Fame indeed has so diffused the report of your beauty, that no country is a stranger to your charms. Not even Phrygia can boast of your equal; nor, from the rising to the setting sun, is there one to rival you.
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Believe me when I tell you, that your fame comes far short of the truth; for even report has invidiously denied the share of praise due to your charms. I found you greatly to exceed what that had given ground to hope, and that your fame in every thing fell below your merit. Well therefore might Theseus, who knew all, feel the power of so many charms, and think you a prey worthy of so great a hero; when, after the manner of your country, you contended in the wrestling-ring, and disputed with the other sex the prize of manly exercise. I commend the bold theft, but wonder how he ever could restore you: so inestimable a prize ought always to have been retained. Sooner should this head have been severed from the bloody neck, than any one be suffered to tear you from my embraces. Would ever this right-hand have permitted you to be carried off? Could I, while ought of life remained, have tamely seen you ravished from my bosom? If necessity had compelled me, yet I would not have left you before I had received some pledge of your love, some earnest of the strength of our mutual flame. I would have tasted of your virgin charms, or, if that bliss had been denied, have ravished a thousand kisses. Fly then to my arms, and try the firmness and constancy of Paris. The funeral flames alone shall extinguish the flames that rage in my breast. I preferred you to a kingdom, once offered by the sister and the wife of Jove. Even prudence and valor, the
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gifts of Pallas, were postponed to the sweet pleasure of throwing my arms round your neck. Nor do I repent, or charge myself with having made a foolish choice: my mind continues firm in its first resolve. You only, to obtain whom no labor can appear great, do not, O do not suffer my hopes to vanish into air. I am not one whose birth will disgrace the noble line of his spouse; not is it beneath your dignity to be wedded to Paris. The Pleiades, and great Jove himself, ennoble my pedigree; not to mention the long race of succeeding kings. My father sways the sceptre of Asia, a kingdom rich and fertile, whose ample bounds stretch as far as the rising sun. There you will behold innumerable cities, houses roofed with gold, and temples becoming the Gods to whom they belong. You will see Ilion and its walls strengthened with lofty towers, all built to the harmony of Apollo's lyre.
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Why should I mention the vast multitudes of people? the country is scarcely able to sustain its inhabitants. The Trojan matrons will meet you in troops; nor will our halls accommodate the concourse of Phrygian dames. How often will you say, What a poor naked country is Greece; and that one Phrygian palace is richer than whole cities there! Nor mean I by this to despise your native land; for the region in which you first drew your breath, must ever be to me a dear and happy country. Yet Sparta is poor, whereas you are worthy of the richest ornaments: that sordid city ill suits a form so lovely. Your face ought to shine with rich attire, and be set off with all the ornaments and luxuriance of dress. When you so much admire the habit of the Trojans who attend me, what, think you, must be that of the Phrygian ladies? Only therefore be kind; nor do you, a fair Spartan, disdain to receive a husband of Phrygia. He was of
16.196.1
Phrygia, springing from our race, who is now advanced to temper the nectar of the Gods. Tithonus too was of Phrygia, whom the Goddess that measures out the night received to her rosy bed. Anchises also was a Phrygian, with whom the mother of winged Loves delighted to associate on the summits of Ida. Nor do I think that Menelaus, whether you compare our persons or age, can have the preference, even in your judgement. You certainly will not have a father-in-law who made the sun withdraw his light, and turn away his frighted steeds from the dire banquet. Nor is Priam the son of one stained with the blood of a father-in-law, or whose crime gives a name to the Myrtoan
16.208.1
waves. No great-grandfather of mine catches at apples in the Stygian flood, or, set up to the chin in water, is tortured with thirst. But what does this avail me, if one so descended possesses Helen, and Jove himself is a father-in-law to this line? Yet he (O ye Gods) a wretch unworthy of so much happiness, passes whole nights with you, and shares, uninterrupted, your fondest caresses. I can scarcely have a short glance of you at table; and even then there are many things that give me pain. May such feasts fall to the lot of my worst enemies, as those I often meet with in your palace! I repent of my entertainment at his court, when I see him throw his rude arms round your snowy neck.
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I swell, and am ready to burst with envy (yet why do I thus relate all?) when he folds his flowing robe round your tender limbs. But when you give and take in my presence the melting kisses, I am then forced to take the cup, and hold it before my eyes. As often as you close in strict embraces, I cast my eyes upon the ground; and the loathed food becomes more and more nauseous to my taste. I often sigh to myself, and have observed you repaying my sighs with a scornful smile. Oft have I essayed to conquer my flame with wine; but it continued to increase; and drinking, I found, added fuel to the fire. Sometimes I turned away my eyes, that I might not see too much; but you soon called back my wandering sight. What can I do? I am pierced with grief to witness all; but it is still a greater grief not to gaze upon your charms.
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I strive with all my power to hide my flame; but the dissembled passion breaks through all restraints. Nor is it my aim to deceive; my wounds are well, to well known to you: O that they were only known to you! How often have I turned away my face, to hide the falling tears, lest he should enquire the cause of my sadness! How oft, when warmed with wine, have I told some tale of love, applying every word to your dear face; and, under a feigned name, have made a discovery of my own passion? In these instances, if you knew it not, I was the true lover. Sometimes I have even feigned intoxication, to excuse my greater freedoms in discourse. Once I remember your loose garments revealed your naked breasts, and discovered them freely to my gazing eyes; breasts whiter than milk, or the purest snow; whiter than Jove, when in the shape of a swan he made love to your mother. Whilst surprised at the sight I stood gazing (for by chance the cup was in my hand), the wreathed handle insensibly slipped from my fingers. If you kissed your young Hermione, I instantly snatched from her lips the envied bliss. Sometimes, laid supinely along, I sang love-songs, and by winks and nods gave secret signs of my flame. I even tried, with all the softness of eloquence, to persuade your favorite attendants, Æthra and Clymene, to promote my addresses: but their answers served only to heighten my despair, and they cruelly deserted me in the midst of my entrea-
16.259.1
ties. O that the Gods would make you the reward of some gallant enterprise, and crown the victor with the possession of your charms! As Hippomenes carried off Atalanta, the prize of his dexterity in the chariot-race; as Hippodamia was pressed to the bosom of a Phrygian hero; as brave Alcides broke the horns of the God Achelous, while he fought for the prize of Deianira's charms;
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my courage would have nobly dared the rude encounter, and you would have soon found yourself the reward of my bravery. Now nought remains but to address you in suppliant prayers, and, prostrate at your feet, embrace your knees.
16.266.2
O you who are the glory of your family and ornament of the brother stars! O worthy of the bed of Jove, but that you sprang from himself! I will either re-enter the Phrygian ports, carrying you as my wife; or here, an exile, be covered with Laconian earth. My breast is not lightly pierced with the pointed arrow; the wound hath reached even to my bones. My sister truly foretold (for now I recollect), that I should be wounded by a heavenly dart. Beware therefore, Helen, of despising a love ordamed by the Fates; so may you have the Gods still propitious to your desires! Much more I have to add; but, that I may say all to yourself, receive me into your apartment during the silent night. Are you ashamed? Or do you fear to loosen the matrimonial tie, or
16.267.1
violate the just rights of a lawful bed? Is it possible then, Helen, you should be so simple as to fancy, that so lovely a face can be exempt from faults? Either change that face, or you must be less cruel; for chastity and beauty are ever at variance. Even Jupiter, and lovely Venus herself, indulge these stolen delights. It is in consequence of these that you boast of Jupiter for your father. If you retain aught of your parents, can the daughter of Jupiter and Leda be chaste? Yet then may you be chaste, when I with you shall have reached Troy; and let a compliance with me be your only crime. Let us now commit a fault which marriage shall afterwards amend, if Venus has not deluded me be false promises.
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Even your husband, if not by words, yet by his actions, persuades you to this; and, that he may not be an obstacle to the stolen joys of his guest, he is absent. Had he no time more opportune for a visit to the isle of Crete? O husband of wonderful sagacity! He went, and in going said, My dear, I recommend it to you, that you take the same care of our Idean guest, as you are wont to do of me. You neglect (I aver it) the commands of your absent husband, nor ever think about the care of your guest. And can you hope, fairest Tyndaris, that one of so little discretion understands the just value of such a treasure of charms? You are deceived; he is far from understanding it; nor, if he thought the jewel valuable, would he trust it in the hands of a stranger. If neither my persuasions, nor the ardor of my passion, avail; yet how can we avoid taking advantage of the inviting opportunity? We should exceed even him in folly, if we should neglect a conjuncture so secure and tempting. He has, in a manner, with his own hands, forced a lover upon you; let us then make the best of the simplicity of this thoughtless man. You lie in a solitary bed during the long winter nights: I also lie single in a desolate bed. Let mutual joys join us strictly together; and that night will outshine the brightest noon. Then will I swear by all the powers above, and bind myself to you for ever in your own words. Then, if my confidence does not deceive me. I will prevail that you fly with me to my kingdom. If shame and fear dissuade you from the appearance of a voluntary flight, I will free you from blame, by taking all the crime upon myself. For I will follow the example of
16.291.1
Theseus and your brothers; nor are there any others that can touch you more nearly; Theseus carried you off, and they bore away the two daughters of Leucippus; I shall be named the fourth, in this illustrious roll. The Trojan fleet is at hand, well appointed with arms and men: oars and an inviting gale shall forward us with nimble speed. You shall walk a mighty queen through the cities of Phrygia, and the people will adore you as a new deity. Whereever you tread, the finest spices shall smoke, and the falling victims beat the bloody ground. My brothers, my sisters and mother, will load you with gifts; the Ilian matrons and all Troy following the example. Alas! all I have yet said is nothing; you shall there meet with much more than this letter mentions.
16.341.1
Nor fear that this rape will draw after it a cruel war, or that powerful Greece will summon her strength to recover you. Who, of the many that have been thus stolen, was demanded back by arms? These, trust me, are vain and frivolous fears. The Thracians, under the name of Boreas, stole the daughter of Erechtheus; and yet the kingdom of Thrace was not attacked by war. Jason of Thessaly carried off in his flying bark the Colchian maid; yet Thessaly was got invaded or distressed by an army from Colchis. Theseus too, who stole you, stole also the daughter of Minos; yet Minos did not once think of arming the Cretans to recover her. In these cases, the fear always exceeds the danger; and, when that is over, we begin to be ashamed of our fear. But suppose, if you will, that a dreadful war may ensure; I have strength to repel it, and my darts can wound. Nor does the power of Asia yield to that of Greece;—it is a rich land, abounding both in men and horses. Nor does Menelaus exceed Paris in bravery, or deserve the preference for military skill. While I was a mere boy, I recovered the stolen herds after slaying my foes, and thence borrowed a new name. While yet a boy, I carried off the prize in various exercises from the other youths, among whom were even Ilioneus and Deiphobus. Nor think
16.360.1
that I am only to be dreaded in close combat; my arrows always hit the appointed mark. Can you ascribe to him these acts of early youth? Can you honor the son of Atreus with my envied skill? But were you to allow him all these, will you also boast that he has such a brother as Hector? This one hero is equivalent to whole armies. You know not the extent of my power; my strength is in a great measure hidden from you; nor do you imagine what kind of man he is, who solicits to be received for your husband. Either therefore no war will be raised to demand you back; or the Grecian army must be vanquished by my superior force. Nor think that I shall be unwilling to draw the sword for such a wife. A prize so noble, is well worthy of the contest. You too, if all the world should arm for your sake, will acquire a name famous to the remotest ages. Fly hence then, full of hope, while the Gods are propitious, and demand with full assurance that I make good these promises.
17.1.1
WHEN your epistle violated my chaste eyes, it seemed no small glory to write back my resentment. Dare you, a stranger, in defiance of the most sacred rights of hospitality, presume thus to invade the just allegiance of a lawful wife? Was it for this that our Laconian harbours sheltered you from stormy winds and seas? Were our palace gates frankly opened to you, though from a foreign court, that you might return this injury, as the reward of so much good usage?
17.7.1
Was it a stranger or an enemy whom we received with so much kindness and friendship? These just complaints, I doubt not, will to your partial judgment appear rustic. Of what consequence is the imputation of rusticity, while my chastity is unstained, and the whole tenor of my life above reproach? Though I have not a countenance severe with dissembled looks, nor form my eye-brows into an artful frown, my fame is yet unspotted; my easy frankness never rose to a crime; nor can any vain seducer boast the spoils of my virtue. I therefore may reasonably be astonished at the bold scheme, and wonder whence your hopes came to share of my favors. Was it because the hero of Neptune's race forced me away? Did you conclude that, being once compelled, I was fit to
17.21.1
be made a second prey? Mine would have been the crime, had I been enticed to a compliance; but, as I was carried off by violence, what could I do more than show reluctance? Nor did he ultimately obtain the desired reward of his boldness; I returned unhurt by any thing but fear. The forward youth snatched by rude force a few reluctant kisses; but that was all he ever had of me. You, wicked as you are, would not have been thus satisfied: but the Gods were more favorable; he was of a temper very different from you. He restored me untouched, and by a modest usage atoned for his crime: it is evident that the young man repented the bold insult. Did Theseus repent, that Paris might succeed, and my name never cease to be the object of busy tongues? Nor am I yet displeased, (for who was ever offended with love?) if the affection you profess is sincere and undissembled. But that I doubt; not that I suspect your honor, or distrust the power of my own charms; but, because I know that a too easy faith often proves fatal to our sex, and dissembling man ruins us by feigned professions. What if others yield, or matrons are seldom chaste; may not my name occur among the rare instances of virtue? My mother's story seems, at the first view, a fit example to soften me to a compliance: but my mother was
17.35.1
deceived by a borrowed shape, and harmless feathers covered the unsuspected ravisher. If I offend, what have I to plead? by what error can I excuse the darling sin? Her frailty was happily redeemed by the dignity of the ravisher; but what Jupiter will take from the infamy of my crime?
17.51.1
You boast your descent from a race of kings and heroes. What then? Our line too is sufficiently ennobled by illustrious names. Not to mention my father-in-law Atreus, the great-grandson of Jupiter, or the honorable pedigree of Tyndareus, and Pelops the son of Tantalus; Leda, deceived by a borrowed shape, who fondly cherished in her bosom the unsuspected bird, gives me Jupiter for my father. Go then, and boast your Phrygian descent, and the honorable race of Priam, which I am far from undervaluing: but Jupiter, who ennobles your line,
17.60.1
is the fifth from you, from me the first. The sceptre of Troy I am apt to believe powerful; but still I fancy that our own is not less so. If you exceed us in riches and number of people, yet yours is only a country of barbarians. Your letter is filled with ample promises, such as might move even Goddesses to yield; but if ever I violate the laws of chastity, yourself shall be the more powerful cause of my crime. For either I will always retain my honor without a stain, or follow you, rather than the high hopes you give: not that I despise or slight them; for those gifts are always most acceptable, which derive a value from the giver. But it is still more that you love me, that you run such hazards for my sake, and follow hope through all the dangers of the main. Nor do I overlook the signs you make at our table, though I artfully dissemble all notice. I observe your ardent wistful looks, and those meaning eyes that almost dazzle mine. Sometimes you sigh, and, snatching the cup, fix your lips where mine had been before. Ah! how oft have I marked the hidden signs wafted from your fingers, and the lively language expressed in your eye-brow! I often dreaded that my husband might observe it, and blushed at the too open signs you made. Oft I said murmuring to myself, This man will stick at nothing; nor was my conjecture erroneous. I have also upon the edge of a table read, marked with wine under my own name, I love. I, with a frowning eye, seemed not to believe; but now, alas! I have learned to speak the same language. Were I capable of being won, it must have been by those soft allurements: these only could have made an impression upon my heart. You have (it must be owned) an enchanting face, and charms that may make any one gladly fly to your embraces. A more fortunate maid may possess you with innocence; but my engagements forbid a foreign love. Learn by my example to live without the desired beauty; it is the highest degree of virtue, to abstain from unlawful pleasures. How many youths wish for the same happiness as you, who make no advances? Or do you fancy that Paris only has eyes? It is not that you see better, but that you rashly venture more; your passion is not greater, but your confidence.
17.103.1
Oh that you had then visited our coasts in a nimble bark, when a thousand rivals solicited my virgin love! Had you appeared, you would have triumphed over the thousand; nor could my husband have justly blamed my choice. Now, alas! you come too late, to joys that are the right of another; and your slow hope invades a plighted love. But although it would have been
17.72.1
more to my wish, to live with you, yet does not Menelaus possess me against my will. Cease then, for heaven's sake, to urge a too sensible heart; nor strive to injure one whom you profess to love. Suffer me to live contented with the lot which fortune has given me, nor aim at the ruin of my unspotted fame. But Venus, you say, promised this reward; and three goddesses offered themselves naked to your judgment in the vales of towering Ida. One offered you a kingdom, another the glory of successful war; and the third promised to make you husband to a daughter of Tyndareus: but I can scarcely believe that heavenly Nymphs would have submitted to your decision in the case of beauty. And were this even true, yet the other part is undoubtedly feigned, where you pretend that I was offered to bribe your judgment. I am not yet so vain of my own charms, as to fancy myself the greatest reward, even in the opinion of the Goddess. I am fully contented with my share of human praise; the applause of Venus can only produce envy. But I deny nothing; these flatteries are also grateful; for why should I reject what I so fondly wish? Nor be you too much displeased, that I am rather incredulous; for things of moment are not credited with ease. My chief joy is to have the applause of Venus; and my next, that I was esteemed the greatest reward by you; that neither the honors offered by Pallas, nor those of Juno, were preferred to the famed beauty of Helen. You therefore chose me in place of valor, in place of a noble kingdom; it would be inhuman, not to receive a heart so wholly mine. But trust me, I am far from
17.135.1
being inhuman; and only struggle against loving a man, whom I scarcely can hope ever to possess.
17.135.2
Why do I vainly strive to tear up the thirsty sand with a bending plough, and cherish a hope which every thing conspires to deteat? I am a stranger to the artifices of love; witness beaven, that I never yet by any decent abused my faithful husband. And now that I privately commit my thoughts to writing, my hand engages in a new and unusual task. Happy are they whom practice hath rendered expert; I, un-killed in intrigue, imagine the way to vice hedged round with thorns. This fear perpetually haunts me; even now I am covered with blushes, and imagine the eyes of all fixed upon me. Nor is this apprehension wholly groundless; for already the rumor spreads among the crowd: and Æthra accidentally overheard some whispers. It is fit you dissemble
17.146.1
all, unless you think it better to desist; but why desist? you who can to well dissemble. Love still, but secretly: the absence of Menelaus gives more freedom, but does not allow of all. He is gone upon a long journey, called by urgent affairs; a great and weighty concern occasioned his sudden departure: at least so it appeared to me. I, seeing him unresolved what to do, said, Go and return with all possible dispatch.
17.159.1
He, pleased with the omen, fondly kissed me: To your care, says he, I recommend my palace, my kingdom, and the Trojan guest. Scarcely could I refrain from laughter; and, while I strove to stifle it, I would only answer, It shall be so. He, it is true, spread his sails for Crete with a favorable wind; yet do not, from this, fancy yourself wholly secure. My husband, though absent, has still watchful eyes over me. Are you unacquainted with the proverb, that princes have long hands? My fame too is a great obstacle; for the more lavish you are in my praise, the more reasonable ground has he for suspicion. That glory, once so grateful, is now my bane; far better it had been to be less known to fame. Nor wonder at his absence, or that I am here left with you: he trusted to my virtue and unspotted life. My beauty and shape implied danger; but my probity and fame made him secure. You desire me not to lose so fair a season, or neglect the opportunity given by the simple good-natured man. I am willing, but afraid; my resolution is still unfixed, and my breast glows with all the anguish of
17.172.1
suspense. My husband is absent; you pine in a solitary bed, and we are each blest with a form that mutually pleases. The nights are long; we often converse; one house contains us; and you are kind and pressing. Let me die, if all things do not conspire to crown our loves; and yet I do not know what fear still holds me back. It would be better to employ force, than court with words; my bashfulness might have been overcome by a gentle violence. Wrongs are sometimes grateful even to those who suffer them; it is thus I would be made happy by a seeming force: but let us strive rather to suppress in its birth the growing flame; a little water easily extinguishes the kindling spark. Strangers are incapable of a lasting love; their passion wanders like themselves; and while we fondly believe it to be sure and unchanged, all is over. Hypsipyle and the Minoian maid are examples of this, who both were left to
17.193.1
mourn their deserted beds. You too, faithless man, are said to have abandoned Œnone, who had been dear to you for so many years. You must not attempt to deny it; for know, that it has been my care to search narrowly into all. Add, that, were you inclined to a constant faithful love, it is not in your power; already the impatient Trojans prepare your sails. While you are yet in discourse with me, while the wished-for night is assigned, a propitious gale calls you away to your own country. You must abandon the unfinished pursuit, and break asunder our new-felt joys; the relentless winds will bear away my love. Shall I then follow, as you advise, and visit the famed towers of Troy? Shall I become a wife to the grandson of mighty Laomedon? I am not yet so indifferent to the reports of spreading fame, as to suffer it thus to fill the earth with the sound of my reproach. What may Sparta say of me, and all Greece? What the nations of Asia, and even your own Troy? What will Priam, Hecuba, and your brothers think? and what will all the modest Phrygian matrons? And even you, what confidence can you have in my fidelity, or how avoid an anxiety from my compliance in your own case?
17.215.1
Every stranger who may arrive upon the Phrygian coast will be a fresh cause of fear on my account. In your rage you will not fail to upbraid me with my crime, forgetting the part you bear in it yourself. You, who are the author of my guilt, will be the first to reproach me. O may the earth rather overwhelm me for ever! But I shall shine in Troj in riches, and all the ornaments of a happy dress. You tell me, that I shall meet with a reception far beyond even your promises; that purple and embroidered garments shall be given me; and that I shall be enriched by a mass of gold. But forgive the trank confession; these gifts have no charms for me: the ties that bind me to my own country, are far more powerful. Who among the Phrygians will resent the injuries which may be offered? What aid from brothers or a father could I there implore? Deceitful Jason won Medea by his unbounded promises; but was he less ready to banish her from the house of his father Æson? She had then no Aeetes to whom she could fly for relief, no mother Ipsea, or sister Chalciope to hear her complaints. I indeed fear none of this; but neither did Medea fear: love often contributes to its own deceit. What ship now tossed by stormy waves did not sail first from the port with a favorable wind? I am terrified too by the flaming torch, which, in your mother's dream, seemed to spring from her womb before your birth. Add to this the prophecies which fortell that Ilium shall be consumed with Grecian fire. It is true that Venus favors us, because she carried off the prize, and by your judgement triumphed over two. But then I fear again the resentment of the two, who in this contest, so much to your honor, lost their cause by your sentence. Nor can it be doubetd, if I follow you, that troops will be raised to recover me. Our love (alas!) must make
17.233.1
its way through sword and slaughter. Did Hippodamia of Atrace instigate the Thessalian heroes to that cruel slaughter of the Centaurs? And can you fancy that Menclaus will be slow to revenge in so just a cause, or that my brothers and father will not contribute their aid? You boast highly of your valor, and recount your noble acts: but your face gains no great credit to your words. Those limbs are better formed for the delights of Venus, than the rude encounters of Mars: let heroes distinguish themselves in war; Paris will shine in the softer pursuits of love. Hector, whom you so much commend, may bravely defend you against the foe: a different warfare suits those graceful motions. Were I bold and daring as many of my sex, I would throw myself into your soft embraces; but time and you may at last bring me to yield, when, laying aside this foolish shame, I will gladly extend my consenting hand. You demand a private meeting, that you may acquaint me fully with all: I know your meaning, and what you aim at by this conference. But you are too forward; now is your harvest yet come to ripeness. This short delay may perhaps
17.268.1
promote the object of your hopes. Thus far my epistle bears the secret message of my heart; but the betraying pen has tired my tender hand. The rest you will learn of Æthra and Clymene, my faithful companions and counsellors.
18.1.1
LEANDER of Abydos sends, to his girl of Sestos, those wishes for her health, which he would rather bring himself, if the rage of the sea should abate. If the Gods are favorable, and wish well to my love, you will run over this with discontented eyes. But they, alas! are far from being favorable. Why else are my hopes deferred? why am I forbidden to swim over the known seas? You
18.4.1
see that the heavens are dark as pitch; the billows swell with the wind, too fierce to be stemmed by the hollow ships. One mariner, more daring than the rest, who brings you this epistle, ventured to leave the harbour. Here I intended to embark, if, when he weighed anchor, all Abydos had not viewed us from the eminences. I could not, as before, have dissembled with my parents, and that love, which prudence requires us to conceal, would no longer have been unknown. Writing being now my only relief, I wrote: Go, said I, happy epistle! Soon, with a graceful smile, will she extend to thee her fair hand. Perhaps too thou mayest be pressed to her ruby lips, as with her ivory teeth she eagerly breaks the seals. After muttering this in gentle whispers, my ready right-hand quickly marked down the rest. How much would I rather it should dash through the swelling flood, than thus in languishing accents write my complaints! How much rather it should bear me sedulous though the well-known waves! Far better does it indeed serve to lash the foamming deep; yet it is no unfit minister of my warmest thoughts and wishes. It is now the seventh night (a space to me more tedious than a year) that the raging sea has tossed her
18.12.1
sounding billows. May the angry sea prolong her rage with ten-fold heat, if in all these lingering nights my distracted breast has tasted the sweets of soothing rest! Mounted on some rocky cliff, I pensive view the beloved shore, and am carried in thought whither I cannot convey myself in person. My eyes too behold, or seem to behold, upon the tower's top, the watchful light that is to guide my course. Thrice I stripped, and laid my clothes upon the dry sand; thrice I attempted, naked, the threatening watery way. But the swelling sea opposed my bold youthful attempts, and, as I swam, overwhelmed me with adverse waves. But you, North, the most inexorable of all the raging winds, why do you obstinately raise up against me a malicious opposition? If you are not already aware, know, that It is against me, and not the seas, that you thus terribly rage. What would you do, were you wholly a stranger to love? Cold as you are, perverse Boreas, you cannot deny that you were once warmed by Actæan fires. When keen to snatch the joys of love, had any one shut up the aërial way, how would you have taken it? Pity me then for heaven's sake, and blow more mildly the gentle gales: so may Æolus lay no harsh commands
18.46.1
upon you. In vain I beg: he murmurs and rages at my petitions, nor offers to smoothe the billows which he has so violently agitated. Oh that Dædalus would gift me with daring wings! the Icarian shore so near, causes no terror in me.
18.51.1
I will boldly venture, whatever be the issue; let me only mount my body aloft in air, as it has often hovered upon uncertain waves. Meantime, while the winds and waves thus cross all my hopes, I revolve in my mind the first moments of our stolen delights.
18.51.2
Night was coming on, (for there is a pleasure in calling to remembrance past enjoyments,) when, full of love, I left the gates of my father's house. Then without delay pulling off my clothes, and casting away at the same time all fear, I with pliant arms cut the yielding tide. The Moon, like a faithful attendant to direct my way, furnished a trembling light as I traversed the flood. Regarding her with a wishful look, "Bright Goddess," I said, "favor my design, and call to mind the happy Latmian cliffs. Endymion cannot allow that you should
18.62.1
be of an unrelenting mind; favor therefore with a friendly look these my stolen delights. You, though a Goddess, left heaven in quest of a mortal: Why should I not speak the truth? she whom I pursue is a very Goddess. For, not to mention her manners, the truest tokens of a heavenly mind, a beauty so exquisite can only fall to the share of a Goddess. No face, Venus and you excepted, can equal hers: nor trust entirely to my words, but view her yourself. As all the stars of heaven disappear before your superior brightness, when you shine out in the full splendor of your silver rays; in like manner when she approaches, all other beauties are overlooked. To doubt of this, Cynthia, would be owning yourself destitute of sight." Having addressed her thus, or in words to the like purport, I in the silent night bore through the yielding waves. The surface of the deep shone with the reflection of the moon's rays, and in the dead of night was a light clear as that at mid-day. No voice, no sound reached my ears, but the deep murmurs of the broken waves. The king-fishers alone, mind-
18.77.1
ful of the once dearly-loved Ceyx, uttered, in the softest strains, I know not what moving complaints. And now my arms from each shoulder being spent with toil, I raise myself high upon the surface of the waves; and discerning at some distance a light, "My flame (cried I) is there; these shores point out the darling light." Swift as though, my wearied arms feel the returning vigor; and the billows seem to bear me up more gently than before. The love that warms my panting breast, prevents me from feeling the coldness of the briny sea. The more I advance, the nearer I come to the wished-for shore: in fine, as the distance lessens, I feel my strength greater to proceed. But no sooner had I come within sight, than, observing you a spectator from the top of your tower, I felt a new accession of spirits, and a fresh tide of vigor, flowing in upon me. I study to please my mistress, by shewing a dexterity in swimming, and toss my arms graceful in her sight. Scarcely was your tender nurse able to restrain you from rushing into the sea. I saw this also; nor was it an artifice to deceive me. Even all her endeavours could not wholly keep you back: you pressed forward to meet me, till your ancles were covered by the dashing waves. You received
18.85.1
me into your embraces, and almost smothered me with fragrant kisses; kisses, (great Gods!) more than a full reward for the dangers of crossing the sea. You gave me the robes which you had taken from your own shoulders, and smoothed my locks wet with briny dew. Ourselves, the night, the tower, and that shining light which guided my way through the uncertain deep, were conscious of the rest. The joys of that happy night are no more to be numbered, than the sea-weed cast upon the shore by the raging waves of the Hellespont. The less the time allowed us for these stolen pleasures, the greater was our care that not a moment should be lost.
18.111.1
And now, the wife of Tithonus preparing to drive away the night, Lucifer, the fore-runner of Aurora, rose above the earth. We rushed into each other's arms, and mutually snatched the ardent kisses; we complained of the night, that her stay was so short. At length, after many admonitions from your rigid nurse, and as many delays, I left the tower, and
18.115.1
took my way to the cold beach. We parted in sadness: I entered the virginsea, often looking back, while my mistress remained in view. If any credit is due to truth, when making for your coast I swim with cease, but, as I return, am threatened to be overwhelmed. Believe me farther when I tell you, that the way to my Hero is by a gently declining path; but in leaving you I seem to climb an immoveable mountain of waves. Who can believe it? I return to my native country with reluctance: it is now against my will that I remain in my own city. Alas! why, when thus conjoined in inclination, are we separated by the waves? Why, as we have the same mind, do we not inhabit the same soil? Let me either dwell in your Sestos, or you in my Abydos; for the earth which you tread is as dear to me, as that which I tread is to you. Why am I thus troubled as often as the sea is disturbed by storms? Why are the winds an unstable cause of anxiety to me/ The bending dolphins are now conscious of out tender loves; nor are the fishes of the sea strangers to my flame. The course of the well-known waves is now distinctly marked, like a high-way paved by the frequent attrition of the chariot-wheel. I have often complained that there was no way given but this: but now I complain that this also is shut up by the cruel winds. The streights of the Hellespont foam by the breaking of

Perseus Latin. CTS URN phi0959.phi002.perseus-eng2. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0. Source.