Epistles

Perseus Latin · Perseus Latin · 259 sections

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the enormous waves; nor are the ships secure even within their harbours. Such, I imagine, was this raging sea, when it first bore the name of the unhappy virgin. This spot is already too infamous by the fate of Helle; and, though I am spared, the name will be a monument of its crime. I envy Phryxus, who safely crossed those stormy seas upon the ram that yielded the golden fleece. Nor do I yet require the aid of ram or bark; let me have only a smooth sea, that with nimble joints I may plough the yielding deep I depend upon no art; let me only have leave to swim; I will at once be ship, mariner, and pilot. I mind not Helice and Arctos, the constellations that guide the Tyrian mariner. A love like mine asks no aid of vulgar stars. Let others
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observe Andromeda, or the bright diadem of Ariadne, and the Arcadian Bear that sines from the frozen pole. Nymphs loved by Perseus, Jupiter, and Becchus, are by no means wanted to guide my uncertain paths. I trust to another light, whose directions are much safer: while this points out the way, my love can never wander in darkness. By observing this, I may sail to the Colchian realm, the remotest regions of Pontus, and all the coasts visited by the famed Thessalian ship. In swimming, I would bear away the prize from young Palæmon, and from Glaucus, who was suddenly transformed by powerful herbs
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into a sea-God. My arms often languish through the continued agitation; and, nearly exhausted with toil, are scarcely able to bear me over the wide sea. But when I tell them, You shall soon receive the glorious reward of your labor, and encircle the snowy neck of your amiable mistress, instantly they gather strength, and eagerly strive to obtain their reward, as when a fleet horse starts from the Elean lists.
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It is mine, therefore, to observe the flames that glow within my breast, and follow you, my charming fair, who better deserve a place among the stars. You merit indeed to be translated into heaven: yet leave not these earthly abodes; or teach me in what manner I also may be exalted among the Gods. You are still here, and yet how seldom in the embraces of your wretched lover! The seas and my mind are in equal disorder. What avails it that I am not separated from you by a vast ocean? Does this narrow streight less oppose our coming together? I doubt whether it would not be better, that, divided from you by earth's whole extent, I might be equally removed from hope and
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my mistress. The nearer you are, the more violent is the flame that rages within me; and though the object of my hope is often absent, yet hope itself never ceases to haunt me. I almost touch with my hand (so near our abodes) the darling of my soul. But alas! this almost often fills my eyes with sorrowing tears. Wherein loes this differ from catching at the flying apples, or following after the deceitful flood? Shall I then never hold you in my arms, but when the unstable waves permit? Must storms ever be a bar to my happiness? and while nothing is more uncertain than the winds and waves, must my happiness ever depend upon the winds and waves? It is now too the warm season: what am I to expect when the Pleiades, Arctophylax, and the Goat, deform
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the sea? Either I mistake in judging of the rash attempts of Love, or even then, thoughtless, he will urge me to plunge into the waves. Nor imagine that I promise this because the time is distant; you shall soon have a proof of the reality of my design. Let the sea continue to rage for a few nights longer: I will again attempt to force my way through the opposing billows. Either, happily daring, I shall safely reach your beloved shore, or a speedy death will put an end to all my anxieties. Yet I could wish to be cast where my Hero lives, and that my shipwrecked limbs might be borne into your ports. You will mourn my fate, and honor my breathless body with a last embrace; then sighing, say, "Alas! I have been the cause of his death." Perhaps you will be offended with this threatening omen of a sudden fate, or alarmed by the suspicions which my letter betrays. But I desist: dispel therefore your fears, and join your prayers with mine, that the rage of the sea may abate. It is requisite that it should be
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calm for a time, till I convey myself to yonder shore: when once I have reached the coast of my Hero, let the storm return in all its violence. There, is the fittest asylum for my shattered bark; there, my ship may with the greatest security ride at anchor. Let the North-wind shut me up there, where delay is sweet. Then, if ever, I shall be averse to swimming, and cautiously avoid danger. No reproaches will be thrown out against the unrelenting waves; no complaints made, that the sea forbids a return to my native shore. Let me be alike detained by the winds and your folding arms: let both these causes conspire to prolong the sweet delay. When the storm abates, my arms shall cut the liquid way: only remember always to place in view the guiding torch. Till then, let this epistle supply my place; and heaven grant that I may follow it without delay.
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COME, my Leander, that I may really enjoy that welfare which you so kindly wish me in your letter. Every delay that stands in the way of our happiness seems doubly tedious. Pardon the confession; but I love not according to the common measure. We glow with an equal flame; but my strength is unequal to yours; for I imagine that men are endued with more steady and resolute souls. In women the mind is weak, as well as the body. Delay a little longer, and I sink under the weight of your absence. You can elude the tedious hours, by differently dividing your time; sometimes intent upon hunting, sometimes employed in cultivating the prolific earth. The forum perhaps may interpose,
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or the inviting honors of the palæstra: perhaps you are busy in forming the generous steed, and teaching him to obey the rein. Now snares are laid for the feathered tribe; now hooks are baited for the finny prey; and the lingering hours of night are lost in copious goblets of wine. As for me, to whom all these reliefs are denied, what remains, were I even less the slave of a headstrong passion, but to love and endure? It is so: I indulge this sole relief, and love you, O my only happiness, above expression or return. Either I engage with my faithful nurse in silent discourse about you, and wonder what cause can so long delay your coming; or, casting a look upon the sea, I chide, almost in your own words, the waves tossed by spiteful winds: or, when the angry sea remits a little of its rage, I complain that you might, but have no desire to come. Amidst these complaints, the tears flow in streams from my love-sick eyes, and are wiped away by the trembling hand of my aged nurse. I often search if I can find the prints of your feet upon the shore, as if sand could retain the deepening mark. Eager to hear of you, or write to
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you, I am always enquiring whether any one has arrived from Abydos, or who thinks of going thither. Why should I mention the many kisses I lavish upon the clothes you put off, when about to plunge into the waters of the Hellespont? But when light vanishes, and the more friendly hour of night, in chasing away the day, exhibits the sparkling stars; forthwith we plant the watchful light upon the tower's top, the known guide and mark of your watery way; and, lengthening by the swiftly-turning spindle the twisted threads, elude the tedious hours in feminine employment. Perhaps you may enquire what I am talking all this while. No name but that of Leander is in your Hero's mouth. "What do you say, my nurse; do you think that my only hope has yet left his father's house? or are all awake, and is he afraid of being observed by his parents? Do you think that he is now pulling the clothes from his shoulders, and anointing his limbs with oil?" She gives a nod of assent; not that she is moved by my embraces, but sleep, gently stealing upon her, shakes her aged head.
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Then, after a short delay, I say, "It is certain now that he swims, and tosses his pliant arms amidst the yielding waves." Then, after finishing a few treads, in letting the winding spindle touch the ground, I ask whether you may have yet reached the middle of the streight. Sometimes I look wishfully forward; sometimes I pray with a faltering voice, that propitious gales may give you an easy run. I greedily catch at every sound, and fondly imagine I hear the noise of your approach. When thus the greater part of the eluded night is past, sleep insensibly steals upon my wearied eyes.
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Then in dreams I find you by my side, and perhaps much against your will, you are induced to come. For sometimes I seem to behold you swimming near the shore, sometimes you recline your humid arms upon my shoulders: now I reach you the robe to
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throw round your yet moist limbs; anon I clasp you shivering to my panting breast; with much more besides, not fit to be mentioned by a modest pen; what in doing may give great pleasure, but which when done delicacy forbids me to name. Unhappy wretch! it is but a short and fleeting pleasure; for you always vanish with my dream. Grant, Heaven, that such ardent lovers may at length be joined together by surer bonds, nor let our enjoyments be destitute of a firm basis. Why have I passed cold and comfortless so many solitary nights? Why, my dear swimmer, are you so slow; why so often absent from me? The sea, I own, is rough and intractable; but last night it blew a gentler gale. Why was that opportunity lost? why did you not dread that following storms might hinder you? why was so fair an offer suffered to escape, and no attempt made? Should a like opportunity of crossing with case invite you, yet the other, as first in time, was far the best. Soon, it is true, was the face of the
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troubled deep changed: but, when eager, you have hastened across it in a shorter time. If you are detained here by storms, ought this to make you complain? No tempestuous sea can hurt you when locked in my embraces. I could then calmly listen to the loud threatening winds, nor fatigue Heaven with prayers to smooth the swelling deep. But what has lately happended to cause this unusual dread of the sea? why do you tremble at those waves you formerly despised? For I remember your coming when the sea was no less obstinate and threatening, or at least not much less so. Then I conjured you to be wisely daring, that I might not have cause to lament the fatal effects of your boldness. Whence arises this new fear? Whither has your former courage fled? where is that illustrious swimmer, who nobly despised the threatening waves? Yet rather continue thus, than again expose yourself to former hazards, and
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plunge secure into a calm inviting sea; provided only you are unalterably the same, provided you love with the same ardor with which you write, and this noble flame never changes into cold lifeless ashes. I am not so much afraid of the winds that disappoint my earnest wishes, as of your love, that it may prove, like the wind, changeable and inconstant. I fear the not being held in the same esteem; that the dangers may be thought greater than the reward, or that I am accounted too mean a recompence of your toil. Sometimes I am uneasy, from an idea that my country may detract from me, and that a Thracian girl may seem an unequal match for a citizen of Abydos. Yet I can patiently bear any affliction whatever, sooner than the apprehension of your being detained by another flame. Ah! let me rather perish, than suffer under so cruel a distress; may fate end my days before I hear of the dreadful crime!
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Nor do I mention this from any reason you give me to suspect approaching grief, or because I am alarmed by some new spreading rumor. But I am subject to every fear; (for when did love yet settle in a quiet mind?) distance and absence feed my anxious thoughts. Happy they, who, always together, know at once what they have to fear, nor feel the piercing grief of false alarms. We are as much disturbed by unjust fears, as ignorant of real injuries; and each error begets equal anxiety.
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Oh how I wish that you were here, that either the winds or your parents, and no rival fair, may be the cause of your long stay! For, believe me, to hear of a rival would kill me with grief; and it is now long that you have been in fault, if you thus aim at my destruction. But you are not in fault: these my terrors I know are groundless; the envious winds alone oppose your desired approach. Dreadful! how the shores are lashed by the vast billows! How the day is hidden by gathering clouds! Perhaps
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the disconsolate mother of Helle hovers over the deep, and her unhappy daughter is lamented in distilling drops. Or does her step-mother, changed into a sea-goddess, deform the channel that bears the hated name of her daughter-in-law? This sea, such as it is now, is far from being propitious to tender maids. Here Helle perished: I also am crossed by these obstinate waves. But you surely, Neptune, if you call to mind your many flames, can never be an enemy to gentle love; if neither Amymone, nor Tyro of exquisite form, are vain rumours of your guilt; if fair Alcyone, Circe, and the daughter of Alymone;
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Medusa (her hair not yet wreathed with serpents), blooming Laodice, and Celæno ranked among the stars, with many other names I remember to have read, were ever dear to you. These, Neptune, with many more, are sung by the poets to have lain in your embraces. Why then, having yourself so often felt the power of love, do you shut up the accustomed way by rough whirlwinds? Be mild, stern father, and reserve your tumults for the wide ocean. This is merely an arm of the sea, that disjoins two neighbouring tracts. It is yours, triumphant, to toss the vast bulk of ships, or sternly boisterous disperse whole fleets. It is below the God of the ocean to terrify an adventurous youth; a praise unworthy the boast of the meanest lake. He indeed is the noble offspring of an illustrious line, but derives not his pedigree from Ulysses of hated memory. Permit him then to come, and save the life of two. He only, it is true, swims;
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but my hope hangs upon the same waves with Leander. Hark! the taper crackles; for it burns beside me as I write: it crackles, and gives propitious signs. See, my nurse pours wine upon flames that yield a favorable omen: she cries, To-morrow we shall be more, and bears the goblet to her mouth. O Leander, whose image only fills my heart, strive to surmount the dividing waves, and add in yourself another to our number. Return to your own camp, thou deserter of social love. Why are my limbs single in the midst of the bed? Nor is there any ground of fear: Venus herself will favour the attempt; and, sprung from the sea, will smooth the sea-green way. I have oft myself resolved to plunge amidst the waves; but this stormy streight is more favorable to the other sex. For why, when attempted by Phryxus and his sister, did she only give name to this vast bulk of water? Perhaps you fear there will be no opportunity of returning, or you cannot bear a weight of double toil.
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Let us then, setting out from opposite shores, meet in the midst of the sea, and snatch the mutual kisses upon the surface of the waves. Let us then each return home; a small enjoyment indeed, but still better than none! How could I wish that powerful shame, which obliges us thus to conceal our love, would yield to desire, or trembling love give way to the dictates of fame! Honor and passion (things alas! incompatible) combat each other. Which shall I follow, or where end my suspense? On one side is decency, on the other pleasure. Jason of Thessaly, soon after entering Colchis, bore away Medea in his nimble bark. When the faithless Trojan had once arrived at Lacedæmon, he quickly returned triumphant with his prey. As often as you grasp the object of your love, you abandon her; and swim even then when it is dangerous for ships to cut the liquid way. But yet remember, O daring youth, who have so often braved the swelling waves, that you so despise the threatening deep, as not to venture rashly in times of danger. Ships, formed with exquisite art, are often mastered by the foaming sea: can your feeble arms cut the deep like laboring oars? You, Leander, fondly spring forward to swim, an attempt that startles
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the daring mariner; this is their last resource when compelled by shipwreck. Alas, how unhappy! I want to dissuade you from what I yet carnestly wish, and pray you may be bolder than my own admonitions allow: yet so that you may still come safe, and clasp my exulting shoulders with your wearied arms, often plunged in the foaming waves. But as often as I turn my eyes towards the blue extent of the sea, I know not what coldness spreads over my panting breast. Nor am I less disturbed by the vision of last night, although expiated by many sacred rites. For about the approach of morning, when the taper gave a faint and glimmering light (at the time when dreams are usually accounted true), my fingers, deadened with sleep, had dropped the lengthening threads, and my neck was gently reclined on the barren ridge. Here I espied a dolphin glide through the raging waves: I saw it a real spectre, and no deluding phantom; which, after being dashed by the waves upon the bubbling sand, was at once abandoned byits element and life. Whatever it may portend, I am full of fears. Despise not the ominous dream, nor trust your limbs but to a calm unruffled sea. If you are regardless of yourself, yet think of
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your dearer half, who will never be able to survive your untimely fate. But I hope for a sudden calm to the troubled waves; then plunge with safety, and glide along the level tides. Meantime, as the threatening waves forbid your desired course, let this epistle soften the hated delays.
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BANISH all fear: you shall not here again swear in favor of your lover; it is enough that you have once solemnly vowed yourself to me. Read: so may that painful illness which spreads over all your joints, and racks my soul with a
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thousand fears, leave every affected part. Why does the blush kindle in your check? For I fancy I see your color change, as in the temple of Diana. I demand nothing criminal; I only ask that affinity and allegiance which you promised in the temple of Diana; I love you as a lawful husband, not an infamous adulterer. Ah! only repeat to yourself those binding words, which the unthinking fruit thrown by my hands presented to your chaste eyes. There you will find yourself to be bound by that vow, which I could wish you had rather remembered than the Goddess. But now I tremble even for that, while this hope has already gathered strength, and my flame increases every moment. For that love, which was always violent, is now increased by tedious delays, and by the hope you have cherished in my breast. You gave me hope; my love rested upon this foundation; nor can you deny a thing that was done in the presence of the Goddess. She was present, and overheard your vow; and her statue was seen to give a nod of approbation. I allow you to accuse me of having deceived you by an artful management, if, at the same time, you own it was love that prompted me to the ingenious deceit. What did all my artifice
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aim at, but to be joined to you alone? What you complain of, should render me rahter doubly dear to you. My ingenuity came neither from nature, nor from long practice; it is only you, dear girl, that can make me thus inventive. Love, fertile in expedients, turnished the form of words by which I bound you so close to myself; it indeed I really bound you. I inscribed a marriage-contract in words dictated by him; it was by following his suggestions, that I became so expert in the law. Let this stratagem then bear the name of fraud; let me be called cunning and deceitful, if it can be called a fraud to aim at the possession of what we love. See! I write a second time, and send you my prayers and entreaties. This too, no doubt, is a fraud; you have in this also a ground
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of complaint. If it is a crime to love, I own it, and must still be guilty without end. I must still pursue you, should even you yourself avoid my cager hopes. Others have carried away by force the virgin whom they loved; and can it be a crime in me to write a few words with artifice? How earnestly do I wish I could bind you by a thousand other ties, that no liberty might remain to plight your faith to another! A thousand stratagems are still left: I struggle hard to mount the difficult steep; nor will my ardent flame leave any expedient unessayed. It is uncertain, perhaps, whether you can be gained; but assuredly you shall. True; the event belongs to Heaven; still you shall be mine. Should you escape some, it will be impossible to elude all my snares; Love has spread more than you are well aware of. If artifice be unsuccessful, recourse must be had to violence, and you shall be borne by force into the arms of your eager admirer. I am none of those who blame the brave attempt of Paris, or of any who have shewn themselves men of steadiness and courage. I also will
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— But I am silent. Were death to be the punishment of the daring rape, yet that is still less than to be deprived of you. Were you moderately fair, you would be pursued with a moderate impatience; but a form so enchanting, makes us rash and resolute. You and your deluding eyes do ail this; those eyes that eclipse the sparkling stars, and have raised the flame that rages in my breast. Why lay you not the blame upon your golden locks and ivory neck, and those fair hands, which, Oh how happy, were they fondly circled round my neck? Why not upon your comely looks, and that enchanting face, where modesty shines without rusticity; your feet, which I can scarcely imagine are equaled by those of Thetis? Where I able to commend the rest also, I should be much happier; nor do I question that the whole frame is uniformly beautiful.
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What wonder then, if, overruled by so many powerful charms, I was anxious to have your promise, as a pledge of your love? Let it be so then; provided you are forced to own that you are deceived. I shall grant likewise that you
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were deceived by my address. Let me bear the envy; but let not the sufferer go without his reward. Why do I not reap the harvest of so great a crime? Telamon forced away Hesione, and Achilles Briseis: each captive followed her conqueror. Blame me as much as you will; I allow you even to be angry with me, if, though angry, I may be yet permitted to call you mine. I, who have raised this storm, will do all in my power to appease it; let me only have some opportunity of softening and quieting your resentment. Let me stand before you drowned in tears, and second my tears with the language they will naturally dictate; and, as is usual with slaves when they are afraid of the whip, let me clasp my suppliant hands round your knees. You seem not to know the right you have over me; summon me before you: why am I accused in my absence? Command me to appear in the right of one that has been long my mistress. Though full of resentment you tear my hair, and disfigure my face with your nails, I will patiently suffer all. I may indeed perhaps be apprehensive that those fair hands may be hurt in taking revenge. It will be needless to secure me with chains and fetters: love is a bond that will retain me beyond the power of an escape. When your resentment is fully satiated, you will be forced to sax, How patiently he loves! When you observe me submissively endure all, surely you cannot avoid saying, Who serves so well, let him continue to serve. Now I am accused in my absence; and my cause, though highly just, is lost for want of an advocate. But if it be allowed that the words I wrote, induced by love, are an injury, you have cause of complaint only against me.
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Does Diana also deserve to be deceived? If you will not perform the promise made to me, perform your promise to the Goddess. She was present, and saw your blushes on finding yourself deceived; she treasured up your words with a recollective car. May all the omens vanish in air: yet it is certain that no one takes a severer revenge, when (which Heaven forbid should be your case) she thinks the homage due to her neglected. As an instance of this, the Calydonian boar may be mentioned; for we know that a mother was found more barbarous towards her son, than even the savage beast. Other examples may be found in Actæon, who appeared a savage to those very dogs, with which he had formerly hunted down savages; and in that haughty mother turned into a stone, who now stands disconsolate in the Mygdonian plains. Alas! Cydippe, I am afraid to speak the truth, lest you should think I admonish you falsely for
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my own sake. Yet I must speak: it is on this account (believe me) that you are so often seized with sickness, when preparing to wed. Diana herself wishes you guiltless, and strives to hinder you from running into perjury; she desires, that, with faith unstained, you may avoid giving offence. Hence, as often as you are in danger of being perfidious, the Goddess prevents the fatal crime. Cease then to provoke the deadly bow of the implacable Goddess; she may yet be softened, if you will not obstinately persist. Forbear, amiable nymph, to enfecble your tender limbs by preying fevers; preserve that blooming face for the sake of Acontius; preserve those enchanting looks formed to raise a flame in my breast, and the lively bloom that varies your snow-white face. If any enemy interpose to obstruct my happiness, may he feel the same torments under which I languish, when sickness threatens you.
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I am equally upon the rack whether I hear of your intended marriage or illness; nor is it easy to determine which apprehension gives most anxiety. Sometimes I am distracted to think that I should be the unhappy cause of your grief, and fear that my innocent artifice may have fatal effects. Grant, Heaven, that Cydippe's perjurics may be upon the head of her lover, and that the punishment may be transferred to me alone. Yet always restless till I know how it is with you, I creep silently to your gate full of anxiety. There whispering privately to some one of the slaves, I enquire whether you have been relieved by gentle slumbers, or refreshing food.
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O were I blest, as the physician, to reach out the cordial draughts, press your soft hand or lean gently upon the bed! But how hard, and yet more than wretched is my fate; to be thus banished from your presence, while he whom most I fear sits perhaps close by you. Hated alike by the Gods and me, he is yet allowed gently to squeeze your hand, and lean over your fading cheeks. Fond of every pretence to feed the beating vein, he slides his daring hand along your snowy arm, hides it in your bosom, and snatches the fragrant kisses, a roward too great for his officious care. What right have you to reap the harvest of my bliss? Or how are you empowered to encroach upon another's bounds? I hat bosom is mine; you basely rob na or my kisses. Take off your hand from a body promised to me. Traitor, take off your hands; you touch a bosom that will soon be mine; in doing this hereafter, you will become an intamous adulterer Choose from among others, where no prior right is claimed; for know, that another lore commands that breast: nor trust to my testimony; read the form by which she engaged herself; and, to prevent a possibility of deceit, make even Cydippe repeat the binding vow. Again then I say, Depart from another's bed. What brings you here? He gone; this bed is already possessed: for, even if it be allowed that you also have a promise of the beauteous prize, yet the justice of your claim comes-far short of mine.
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I rely upon a promise made by herself you claim the promise of a father. Surely she is to herself in a degree nearer than that of father. Her father barely promised; she hath vowed herself to her lover: he called men to witness, but she bound herself in the presence of a Geddess. He fears a breach of promise, she dreads the guilt of perjury: can you doubt, after this, which has the juster ground of concern? In fine, that you may be the better able to compare the danger on both sides, reflect only upon the events that threaten each; he enjoys perfect health, she lies in hazard of her life. We also enter the lists unequally matched; neither our hopes nor our fears are alike. You unconcernedly solicit the fair; to me a repulse is more insupportable than death. I am at present deeply enamored of what you perhaps may love some time hence. If you have any regard to right and justice, you ought frankly to yield to my superior flame. And now, when he inhumanly contends in an unrighteous cause, be attentive, Cydippe, to the counsel my epistle gives you. It is he that brings on your present iliness, and makes you suspected by Diana; forbid him therefore, it you are wise, any more to appreach your gate. It is your compliance in this case, that subjects you to these painful calamities of life. Why is not he who occasions all these disasters punished in your stead? Banish him only from you, nor show an affection to one disapproved by the Goddess; you will instantly recover your health, and restore me to myself and happiness. Banish therefore fear, amiable maid; you shall enjoy an established health; only neglect not the temple, conscious to your sacred vow. The heavenly powers are not appeased by slaughtered beasts; truth only, and a faithful regard to our vows, can avert their anger.
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Let others to recover health run through fire and sword: let them hope for relief from bitter draughts. You have no need of these: avoid only the guilt of perjury, perform the promised vow, and preserve both yourself and me. The not knowing that you were in fault, will excuse what is past; the form by which you bound yourself may have slipped out of your mind. But now you are fully admonished, both by my words, and those fetters, which, as often as you endeavour to break from them, bind you the faster. But could you get happily clear of even these, still remember that you must invoke her aid in
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the pressing hours of child-bed. She will attend; and, calling to mind the promise you made, enquire to what husband the birth belongs. If then you make a vow for your recovery, the Goddess will disregard it, knowing you to be false; if you confirm it by an oath, she still knows you can forget your engagements to the Gods themselves. I am not so much concerned for my own fate: a still greater care burthens my mind, and fills me with fear and anxiety for your life. Why do your trembling parents mourn your doubtful fate, while you keep them in ignorance of your daring crime? And why are they kept in ignorance? It is proper that you disclose all to your mother. There is nothing, Cydippe, of which you need be ashamed. Repeat all to her in order; say that I first saw you as you were engaged in the solemnities of the buskined Goddess. Tell her that, as soon as I saw you, (if perhaps you gave any attention to what I then did,) my eyes were immoveably fixed upon every limb and feature; that, while I was thus lost in admiration, (the sure sign of a growing love,) my cloak insensibly dropped from my shoulders; and that afterwards you perceived an apple, uncertain whence, come rolling towards you, but cunningly marked with ensnaring words; which, as they were read in the sacred presence of Diana, made the Goddess a witness that your faith is tied down to me.
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But that she may not be ignorant of what was contained in the writing, repeat to her the words you at that time read in the temple. Marry without hesitation, will she say, the youth to whom the gracious Gods have joined you: let him only be my son-in-law, whom you have solemnly sworn to accept in that character. Whoever he may be, as he has already made himself agreeable to Diana, he is agreeable also to me. Such will be your mother's behaviour, if she really acts the part of a mother to you. Yet you may admonish her to enquire who and what I am; nor will she find the Goddess to have been wholly regardless of your happiness. An isle, by name Ceos, formerly ennobled by the Corycian nymphs, is surrounded by the Ægean sea. This is my native country: and, if you are pleased with illustrious names, my ancestors will not fall below your hopes. I have also riches; my morals are without reproach; and, if no other recommendations existed, love makes you mine by the justest claim. You might even be pleased with such a husband, had no vow passed your lips; such an one might be acceptable, did no prior engagement intervene. These words the illustrious huntress dictated to me in my sleep; these too wakeful love commanded me boldly to write. I am already deeply wounded by Cupid's darts; it is yours, fair nymph, to beware of being pierced by the
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arrows of Diana. Our welfare is inseparable; have compassion both on me and yourself. Why do you delay the only cure that remains for both? If I should accomplish this object, I will, when the sacred solemnity begins, and Delos is sprinkledwith votive blood, consecrate a golden image of the happy apple, and upon it inscribe our fates in the following distich:
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"Acontius proclaims, by the consecrated image of this apple, that the inscription engraven upon it, was fulfilled to his desire."
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But not to fatigue you, already too much exhausted by a long epistle, and to end all in the usual terms of concluding, Farewell.
21.1.1
I READ over your letter in silent fear, nor suffered so much as a murmur to escape me, lest my tongue might rashly swear by some of the gods. I even think you would have ensnared me again, but that, as you own yourself, you knew it was enough I was once promised to you. Nor would I have read it over, but from a fear that my obstinacy might have encreased the anger of the too cruel goddess. Although I forget nothing to appease her, and adore her with the smoke of pious incense, yet the partial Goddess still remains your friend; and, according to your own wish, leaves no room to doubt, that the injury with which you are threatened is the cause of her resentment. Scarcely was she so favorable to her own Hippolytus.
21.1.2
It is surely more proper for a virgin, not to shorten a virgin's years: I am afraid she has only allotted a few to fulfil my fate. For the wasting illness remains; the cause lies hidden; and I languish without hope of relief from the physician. You can scarcely conceive how thin and feeble I am, when I write you this, or with what difficulty I support my wasted limbs in the bed. I am also full of apprehensions, that some beside my faithful nurse may know of our thus conversing with each other. She always sits by the door, and, that I may write to you with the greater security, tells every one who enquires after me, that I am asleep. But when sleep, the best pretence in the world for long privacy, ceases to be a plausible excuse for the tedious retirement, and when she observes persons coming, to whom she can hardly with a good countenance deny admittance, she coughs, and warns me of the danger by some known sign.
21.1.3
Intent as I am, I leave the half-written words, and slip the well-dissembled epistle into my beating bosom. I take it out thence when alone; and it again fatigues my moving fingers. Judge only yourself what pain and anxiety it costs me. And yet (to be honest) let me die if you deserve it; but I am kind beyond what is due, or even what you could in reason expect. Have I then, on your account, so often hazarded my life? Have I suffered, and do I still suffer the punishment of your too successful artifice? Is this the fruit I reap from a beauty that made you an admirer? And must I pay so dearly for appearing agreeable to you? Had it been my good fortune to seam ugly, how happily might I have escaped this train of disasters! Now, because I am admired, I groan in anguish; now I am undone by your rival contentious, and perish by the wounds I receive from my own beauty. For while you refuse to yield, and he imagines himself in no respect your inferior, each stands an invincible obstacle to the other's desires. I, in the mean time, am tossed like an uncertain ship, driven by a strong North-wind to the open sea, but forcibly kept back by the tide and waves. When now the nuptial day, so earnestly wished by my dear parents, is at hand, a burning fever spreads over all my joints; and, at the very time
21.42.1
appointed for the threatening solemnity, stern Proserpine knocks hideous at the palace gate. I blush; and, though conscious of no crime, dread that I may be thought to have in some respect merited the wrath of Heaven.
21.49.1
Some imagine that my illness is merely from chance; others pretend that the present nuptials are not favored by the Gods. Nor think that you have wholly escaped censure on this occasion; for many believe it brought on by your dark contrivances. The cause is unknown: my sufferings appear to all. You, banishing peace, are engaged in restless opposition: I bear the punishment of all. It is now indeed my desire that you continue to deceive me in the manner usual to you: for what will you do in your hatred, if, where you love, you create so much mischief? If you thus bring misery upon every thing you love, it will be wise in you to love your enemy. Pray make it your wish that I may be
21.57.1
undone; for this only, I find, can save me. Either you have lost all regard for the girl you so much loved and coveted, in thus cruelly suffering her to perish by an undeserved fate: or, if you in vain supplicate the unrelenting Goddess in my behalf, why do you boast of her concern for you? It is evident that you have no farther power with her. Choose which you will. If you are not inclined to mitigate the Goddess, this is being forgetful of me; if you cannot, she has then abandoned you. Oh! I could wish that Delos, surrounded by the Ægean sea, had remained ever unknown to me, or at least had not been visited by me at that time. The ship that carried me, sailed through an inauspicious sea; and in an unhappy hour I entered upon the intended voyage. With what foot did I first set out? With what step did I leave the gate of my father's house, or touch the painted texture of the nimble bark? Twice our sails drove
21.69.1
us back, swelled by adverse winds. Adverse did I say? far from it: that indeed was the favorable gale. That, I say, was the favorable gale, which retarded my unhappy steps, and struggled to prevent an ill fated voyage. How I wish that it had continued obstinately to oppose the spreading sails! But it is ridiculous to complain of the inconstancy of the wind. Attracted by the fame of the place, I was eager to come within sight of Delos, and seemed to traverse the deep with languid pace. How often did I chide the oars, as slow in bearing us along? How often complain that our sails were not stretched by the stinted blasts? And now I had passed Mycone, Tenos, and Andros, and bright Delos was within view; which I no sooner saw, that I cried out, Why does the island seem to fly me? Do you, as in time past, fluctuate in the vast ocean? Nor reached I land till towards the close of day, when Phœbus was preparing to unharness his purple horses. When these had been recalled to their accustomed way, my mother gave orders to dress my flowing locks. She
21.81.1
adorned my fingers with gems, and my tresses with braids of gold, and threw over my shoulders the embroidered robe. We then walked towards the temple, and offered frankincense and wine to the guardian deities of the island. While my mother was engaged in sprinkling the altars with votive blood, and throwing the sacred entrails upon the smoking fuel, my officious nurse led me through the several courts of the temple, and we traversed the sacred place with wandering steps. Sometimes I walked under magnificent porticoes, sometimes admired the rich gifts of kings, and the finished statues that adorned every part. I admired too the famous altar made of innumerable horns wonderfully derfully joined together, and the tree that supported the pregnant Goddess; with whatever other curiosities (for I cannot now recollect them, nor am I inclined to mention all I then saw) Delos boasts.
21.103.1
While I was thus busy in viewing every thing, you, Acontius, by chance espied me; and my simplicity made me seem fit to be ensnared. I returned to the temple of Diana, placed high on rising steps. What place should yield a surer defence from harm than this?
21.105.1
The apple, with the insidious lines, is thrown at my feet. Ah me! I had almost sworn to you a second time. My nurse first took it up; and wondering what it might be, desired me to read it. I read, too successful poet, your ensnaring words. At the name of wedlock, overwhelmed with shame, I felt a blush spread over all my face: my eyes remained fixed upon my bosom, those eyes which had been so subservient to your deceitful aims. Traitor, why do you triumph? What glory will this add to your name? Or where can be the praise, to have deluded an unsuspecting maid? I did not stand fenced with a buckler, and armed with an Amazonian axe, like Penthesilea when she traversed the Ilian plains. No girdle adorned with studs of gold, as that gained from Hippolyte, remains the prize of your victory. What cause of boasting that I was deceived by your well-framed words, or that an unthinking imprudent girl should fall into the cunning snare? Cydippe was deceived by an apple; it was an apple that deceived also Atalanta. You are now be-
21.123.1
come a second Hippomenes. Doubtless it had been better (if urged by the little boy, who, you say, wounds with I know not what dangerous arrows), according to the rule inviolable with men of honor, not to debase your hope by fraud. I ought to have been openly solicited, not artfully circumvented. Why did you not think of asking me in marriage, and urging those considerations that might have made you appear worthy of being solicited by me? Why did you prefer deceit to persuasion, if the knowlege of your rank was sufficient to have gained me? What advantage can you expect from the form of the oath you tendered, or my tongue's invoking the present Goddess? It is the mind that swears; but no oath binds me there. It is that only can give authority to what we say. Design, and a soul conscious of its own views, can alone give validity to an oath; nor can any chains bind us, but those of the judgment. If my consent accompanied the promise I made to be joined to you in wedlock, you are at liberty to insist upon the rights of a nuptial bed: but if all amounted only to a few sounds, without will or meaning, it is in vain to depend upon words destitute of validity. I took no oath, I barely read a form; nor was that a
21.125.1
decent way of choosing a husband. Endeavour by the same artifice to deceive others; let the apple be followed by an epistle; if a promise thus made binds, make over to yourself the large possessions of the rich. Make kings swear that they will resign to you their dominions, and artfully secure whatever on earth is to your liking. Believe me, this would make you more considerable than even Diana herself, if every letter you write commands the care of so powerful a Goddess.
21.151.1
And yet, after all I have said, after this peremptory refusal to be yours, and fully weighing the case of my extorted promise, I must own that I still dread the wrath of avenging Diana, and suspect that the present calamity comes from her hand. For why, as oft as the nuptial rites are to be solemnised, do the languid joints of the bride sink under a load of sickness? Thrice glad Hymen approaching the sacred altars fled: thrice he turned away frighted from my chamber-door. The lamps too, thrice filled up by the wearied hand, are with difficulty lighted; scarcely are they to be lighted up by the flaming torch. Ointments often distil upon his hair crowned with garlands; and his mantle, of bright saffron dye, sweeps the ground. But no sooner did he reach our gates, than nought was to be seen but tears, a dread of my approaching fate, and every thing the reverse of his joyful rites. Instantly he tears the crown from
21.164.1
his mournful forehead, and wipes the rich essence from his flowing tresses. He is ashamed to appear joyful in so disconsolate a crowd; and the red that was in his mantle, mounts into his face. But my limbs are wasted by the raging heat of a fever, and the coverings seem to press upon me with double weight. I see my parents weeping over me with earnest looks; and, instead of the nuptial, am threatened with the funeral torch. Compassionate my sufferings, O Goddess that delightest in the painted bow; and grant me relief by the healthrestoring aid of your brother. It is a reproach upon you, that he should ward off the causes of death, while you bear the blame of my untimely fate. Did I ever, as you bathed in a shady fountain, impertinently gaze at you in your retirement? Did I neglect to offer sacrifice to you alone of all the heavenly powers? Or did my mother ever treat Latona with contempt? I have offended in nothing but reading what led me into an unwilling perjury, and understanding too well the force of those ensnaring lines. But do you also, Acontius, if
21.181.1
the love you pretend is not mere dissimulation, offer incense for me; and let the hands that have done me so much hurt, be now employed for my relief. Why does the Goddess, so much incensed that the maid promised to your embrace brace has not yet fulfilled her vow, herself obstruct the execution of that promise? Every thing is to be hoped from the living. Why does the cruel Goddess threaten to take away my life, and blast all your promising hopes? Nor would I have you imagine that he to whom I am destined for a wife, is suffered to cherish my sickly limbs with his gentle hand. He sits indeed at my bed-side, for that is allowed him; but he at the same time remembers that mine is the bed of a virgin. Besides, he seems to be sensible of my coldness; for tears often fall from him, without any apparent cause. He caresses me with less boldness, and seldom snatches kisses: when he calls me his dear, it is with a faltering tongue.
21.197.1
Nor do I wonder that he perceives my repugnance to his addresses, when I myself have betrayed it by manifest sings. If he approaches the bed, I turn upon my other side. I refuse to speak, and close my eyes, as if inclined to sleep; or, if he offers to touch me with his hand, reject it with some warmth. He groans and sighs within himself; and, though far from deserving such usage, observes me cold and averse to him. Ah me, how you rejoice! what pleasure this confession gives you! How silly to own thus frankly my
21.189.1
thoughts of him! If I were to speak like myself, you, who contrived these snares for me, were far more deserving of my disdain. You write for leave to visit me in my present illness. You are far from me; and yet, distant as you are, you wound deeply. I wondered with myself how you came to be named Acontius; but find now that you can dart wounds from far. It is certain that I have not yet recovered from this wound, pierced from far by your letter, as by a javelin. But to what end should you come here? To see my feeble body, the double trophy of your ingenuity? I am wasted to a skeleton, my color is become pale, such as I remember to have observed in the apple you threw at me. My fair cheeks are no more adorned with a becoming red, but have rather the appearance of newly-polished marble; or silver at a feast, when deadened by the chillness of water. Were you to see me now, you would deny me to be the same with her you first saw, nor think me worthy to be sought by so
21.214.1
many artifices. You would gladly release me from the promise I made of being joined to you for ever, and wish that the Goddess herself might also cease to exact the performance. Perhaps too you might endeavour to make me swear the contrary of my former oath, and throw at me another form of words, to be in like manner read over. Yet I could wish that according to your request you might see me, and learn the feeble condition of one whom you wish for your bride. Had you a heart, Acontius, more hard than steel, yet you could not forbear addressing the Gods in my behalf. But not to keep you ignorant of the only means left to restore me to my health, recourse has been had to the God who predicts futurity at Delphi. He also, as fame reports, complains of broken vows. This a God, this a poet, this even my own lines proclaim. But nothing of that kind is wanting to give force to your wishes. Whence all this favor to you? unless perhaps you have found the secret to bind the Gods themselves by a new form of words. If you thus find the Gods propitious, it is fit that I submit to their will, and, as they have made you their choice, make you also mine. I have already acquainted my mother with the vow into which you artfully betrayed me; keeping my eyes, full of shame, fixed all the time upon the ground. The rest must be left to your care: it is even more than becomes a virgin, that I have thus ventured to make known my sentiments to you by a letter. My feeble fingers are now sufficiently tired by the pen, and my sickly hand is unable to bear longer fatigue. What remains for me to write, but that it is now my wish to be for ever thine? Farewell.

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.