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(Translated by Major Robert G. MacGregor, 1864)
LATE to Ionis Callignotus swore, | |
| Ne’er than herself to love man-woman-more; | |
| And he swore sooth, but lovers’ oaths, they say, | |
| Ne’er, e’en if heard, in ears Immortal stay. | |
| Now is he fir’d with love of other fair, | 5 |
| Nor has of said Ionis count or care. * * * * * | |
| O holy night! fond lamp! We, lovers both, | |
| Chose none but you to register our oath; | |
| She swore to love me still, and I to leave | |
| Her never. Ye our joint pledge did receive. | 10 |
| Now, while in others’ lap thou seest her sit, | |
| False lamp! she says such oaths in air are writ. * * * * * | |
| Soon Charito will close her sixtieth year, | |
| But, dark, her tresses in full flow appear; | |
| Still, from the band releas’d which circled there, | 15 |
| Her bosom-comes, as marble firm and fair; | |
| Still drops ambrosia from her softest skin, | |
| Persuasion still and myriad graces win; | |
| Lovers! from full desire who flee not yet, | |
| Come hither, and her tens of years forget. * * * * * | 20 |
| Melissa! name and nature both of flow’r-fond bee is thine; | |
| Well have I known it and long kept stampt on this heart of mine; | |
| And from those lips, when meeting mine, drop kisses honey-sweet; | |
| But, when thou askest money—Ah! its central sting we meet. * * * * * | |
| Ye Gods! I knew not that the form was Cytherea’s there | 25 |
| Bathing, whose hands adown her neck had loos’d the lovely hair; | |
| Forgive my fault, if such it were, nor, Mistress! with mine eyes | |
| Be angry, that a godlike form by chance I did surprise; | |
| —I know it now; not Cypris’ ’t was, but Rodocleia mine; | |
| Whence was the beauty then? Hast thou stript even the Divine? * * * * * | 30 |
| I pelt thee with an apple, Fair! if true love stir in thee, | |
| Receive it willingly, and yield thy maiden charms to me; | |
| If pond’ring still to give or keep, this thought at last persuade, | |
| Tho’ youth and beauty now are thine, how quickly both must fade! * * * * * | |
| O fairy foot! O shapely leg! O tempting taper thigh! | 35 |
| O comely back! O clipsome waist! with ivory which vie; | |
| O shoulders soft! O budding breasts! O neck of swan-like fall! | |
| O lovely hands! O lustrous eyes! for which I madden all, | |
| O gestures of transcendant grace! O kisses! sweeter far | |
| Than nectar, and, O voice! to which my senses victims are— | 40 |
| Tho’ ignorant and rustic she, nor such as Sappho sung, | |
| For dusky Andromede of Ind fierce love Perseus stung. * * * * * | |
| Fly, Gnat! swift messenger, and touch—O bliss! | |
| Zenophila’s soft ear, and whisper this: | |
| “Sleepless he waits: thou, sleeping, dost deny | 45 |
| His love.” Fly quick, O fond of music! fly. | |
| —Yet soft, lest rous’d her bedfellow should be | |
| To the worst pains of jealousy by me; | |
| Gnat! bring but her, and I’ll a lion’s hide | |
| Give thee, and club to carry by thy side. * * * * * | 50 |
| O Night! O sleepless fond regret for Heliodora’s sake! | |
| O segments sweet of treach’rous morns! yet smiles and tears now wake; | |
| Lives any remnant of our loves, or is the embrace of erst, | |
| Whose mem’ry should be warm, alone in some cold copy nurst? | |
| Weeps she who partner’d then my couch? my presence does she miss, | 55 |
| And to her loving bosom in soul-cheating visions kiss? | |
| But plaything new of a new love, if now she lie, O Link! | |
| Look not on her, nor guard her bed, who could so vilely sink. * * * * * | |
| Foe to my love, why, Morn! so slowly rise, | |
| Now in a rival’s arms when Demo lies? | 60 |
| But when I cherish’d the slim girl in mine, | |
| Thy early light rejoic’d on me to shine. * * * * * | |
| Love’s nectar will ye drink, O Eyes! how long | |
| Of undiluted beauty tipplers strong? | |
| Flee far, while yet ye may! In calmer hour | 65 |
| We’ll milk-libations to mild Venus pour; | |
| But if, e’en there, this madd’ning sting adheres, | |
| O then at least be moisten’d with cold tears. | |
| Just are your suff’rings ever, since, alas! | |
| From you to these devouring flames I pass. * * * * * | 70 |
| Kissing Hippomene my fancy clung | |
| To Xanthe: while on Xanthe’s lips I hung, | |
| Leandra’s image to my breast I bore, | |
| And while Leandra pressing to my core, | |
| Back to Hippomene my soul return’d. | 75 |
| Cold to each fair for whom so late I burn’d, | |
| All whom I have I hate: with constant change | |
| My inconstant arms from one to other range, | |
| Till fixt by some rich love: if any chide | |
| Let her, in want, remain of one the bride. * * * * * | 80 |
| A soft kiss Demo gives, but Doris bites, | |
| Daphne’s is loud and long. Which most excites? | |
| Ears judge not kisses; but, all three mouths tried | |
| And tasted round, the pebble shall decide. | |
| My heart of Demo the soft kisses sips, | 85 |
| And the sweet honey of her dewy lips. | |
| Wander no further, Fool! Abide by these, | |
| She wins the garland fairly, and with ease; | |
| And if another some one else prefer, | |
| Let him—my love from Demo shall not stir. * * * * * | 90 |
| Titter and hem a conquest both foreshow; | |
| A gentle nod—in vain you tempt me so: | |
| With mild eyes on the girl who love could scorn, | |
| Never to look again I thrice have sworn. | |
| Play by yourself at kisses: vainly smack | 95 |
| Yourself with naked lips, since lovers lack. | |
| I elsewhere go: For me there others are | |
| At Venus-votaries superior far. * * * * * | |
| Soft is the kiss of Sappho, soft and slim | |
| Her snowy form’s contour, soft ev’ry limb, | 100 |
| But hard as stone her soul; love only creeps | |
| Far as her lips; all else the virgin keeps. | |
| The man who will, or can, endure this worst | |
| Would bear with ease of Tantalus the thirst. * * * * * | |
| With two fair girls—dark night above—was I, | 105 |
| Caressing one, carest the other by: | |
| While, greedily, Rose drew me to her kiss, | |
| More rare with Susan was my stolen bliss; | |
| Careful to cheat—lest lips too loud betray’d— | |
| The jealous anger of each neighbour maid. | 110 |
| Inly I groan’d: To love, and lov’d to be, | |
| Alas! alike is punishment to me. * * * * * | |
| Mine arms around thee, and my lips to thine, | |
| Love-mad, I revel on thy neck divine; | |
| But still I toil—not yet all mine the prize— | 115 |
| Waiting a damsel who at last denies: | |
| Half of herself has vow’d to Venus been, | |
| Half to Athene—both I waste between. * * * * * | |
| Divine Rodanthe, when my mouth in doubt | |
| To kiss, her slim waist’s virgin zone held out, | 120 |
| And kiss’d: then I, as one who from its source | |
| Leads water, led love’s stream a second course, | |
| Her kiss imbibing, and, with loving smack, | |
| On the girl’s belt, from far, her kiss gave back: | |
| So was our strait reliev’d: ’tween lips of both | 125 |
| That sweet belt serv’d to signal love and troth. * * * * * | |
| Wait for me, Sweet-heart! what’s thy pretty name? | |
| Not see me, why? I’ll give whate’er thy claim. | |
| Still silent! where dost live? I’ll some one send | |
| To mark thy home. Is any man thy friend? | 130 |
| Farewell, thou haughty one! who dost not deign | |
| Farewell to me. Again and yet again | |
| I’ll come to thee. I Woman know to quell | |
| Colder than even thou—Woman! farewell. * * * * * | |
| The bold and high, who look’d from lordly eyes, | 135 |
| The plaything of a feeble virgin lies: | |
| Who, with his maid, though erst by pride to cope, | |
| Himself subdued, departs without a hope: | |
| Falling, his piteous pray’rs but show him weak, | |
| While flashing eyes her manly spirit speak. | 140 |
| Lion-soul’d Virgin! tho’ just anger try, | |
| Lay down this manhood, Nemesis is nigh! * * * * * | |
| So soon, Ye twitt’ring Swallows! why? | |
| Ye Nightingales! bough-perch’d on high, | |
| Waken her not. Upon my breast | 145 |
| A fair cheek nestles in warm rest; | |
| Soft arms are round me twining. Since | |
| Ever the female sex evince | |
| A chatt’ring turn, grant this my prayer, | |
| Leave her in quiet slumber there. * * * * * | 150 |
| If, Stranger, thou hast anywhere | |
| A maiden met of beauty rare, | |
| The lovely and surpassing she, | |
| But sure! was Apollodoté. | |
| And, Stranger! if, that marvel seen, | 155 |
| Thou hast not conquer’d, captiv’d, been, | |
| Nor felt thy bosom, as with fire | |
| Burning of passionate desire, | |
| Then either art thou God, or stone, | |
| So cold and hard thy nature shown. | 160 |
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