Erotica Romana | Page 2

she live, Werther's only true love?"
How many times have I cursed those frivolous pages that broadcast
Out among all mankind passions I felt in my youth!
Were he my brother, why then I 'd have murdered poor Werther.
Yet his despondent ghost couldn't have sought worse revenge.
That's the way "Marlborough," the ditty, follows the Englishman's travels
Down to Livorno from France, thence from Livorno to Rome,
All of the way into Naples and then, should he flee on to Madras,
"Marlborough" will surely be there, "Marlborough" sung in the port.
Happily now I've escaped, and my mistress knows Werther and Lotte
Not a whit better than who might be this man in her bed:
That he's a foreigner, footloose and lusty, is all she could tell you,
Who beyond mountains and snow, dwelt in a house made of wood.
V
Do not, beloved, regret that you yielded to me so quickly:
I entertain no base, insolent thoughts about you.
Arrows of Cupid work divers effects. Some do but scratch us:
Slow and insidious these poison our hearts over years.
Yet with a head freshly honed and cunningly fledged, certain others
Pierce to the marrow, inflame rapidly there our blood.
When gods and goddesses in days of heroes made love, then
Lust followed look and desire, with no delay, was indulged.
Surely you don't think the goddess of love lost a moment reflecting
When, in Idean grove, Anchises caught her eye.
Nor did Luna delay about kissing that beautiful dreamer--
Jealous Aurora had else hastily wakened the lad.
At the loud banquet Hero regarded Leander--then promptly
Into dark waters he plunged, ardently swam toward his love.
When Rhea Silvia, princess and virgin, came down to the Tiber
Just to fetch water, a god seized her and that is the way
Mars begat himself sons, a pair of twins whom a she wolf
Suckled. Today a proud Rome claims to be queen of the world.
VI
We are so pious, we lovers. Discreetly we worship all powers,
Hoping for favor from each god and each goddess as well.
We are like you, ye victorious Romans, in this: for we offer
Gods of all peoples and tribes, over the whole world, a home--
May the Egyptian, black and austere out of primeval basalt,
Or from the marble a Greek, form them charming and white--
Yet the eternal ones do not object to particularism
(Incense of most precious sort, strewn for just one of their host).
Therefore we gladly confess to singling a special immortal
And our devotions each day pledging but solely to her.
Mischievous celebrants we at these mysteries gay, and so solemn:
Silence exactly befits rites at which we're adepts.
Rather onto our heels by horrible deeds the Erinyes
We would allure, even Zeus' punishment sooner we'd dare--
Under that rock, or bound to a tumbling wheel we'd endure it--
Than we'd withdraw our hearts from the delights of her cult.
Sweet Opportunity, that is her name. You should meet her.
Often will she turn up, ever in a new form.
Daughter of Proteus might well she be whom he sired upon Thetis.
In metamorphoses they've many a hero deceived.
So now the daughter beguiles the naive and bedazzles the foolish,
Teases you while you're asleep; when you awaken, she's flown.
Eagerly yields herself up to the quick, to the active man only.
He discovers she's tame, playful and tender and sweet.
Once she appeared to me, too: a dark-skinned girl, tumbling
Over her forehead the hair down in waves heavy and dark.
Round about a delicate neck curled short little ringlets;
Up from the crown of her head crinkled the unbraided hair.
When she dashed by me I seized her, mistaking her not. Lovingly
Kiss and embrace she returned, knowing and teaching me how.
O how enraptured I was! Ah, say now no more. It's a bygone.
But, O pigtails of Rome, still I'm entrammled in you.
VII
Happily now on classical soil I feel inspiration.
Voices from present and past speak here evocatively.
Heeding ancient advice, I leaf through the works of the Ancients
With an assiduous hand. Daily the pleasure's renewed.
Throughout the night, in a different way, I'm kept busy by Cupid--
If erudition is halved, rapture is doubled that way.
Do then I not become wise when I trace with my eye her sweet bosom's
Form, and the line of her hips stroke with my hand? I acquire,
As I reflect and compare, my first understanding of marble,
See with an eye that feels, feel with a hand that sees.
While my beloved, I grant it, deprives me of moments of daylight,
She in the nighttime hours gives compensation in full.
And we do more than just kiss; we prosecute reasoned discussions
(Should she succumb to sleep, that gives me time for my thoughts).
In her embrace--it's by no means unusual--I've composed poems
And the hexameter's beat gently tapped out on her back,
Fingertips counting in time with the sweet rhythmic breath of her slumber.
Air from deep in her breast penetrates mine and there burns.
Cupid, while stirring the flame in our lamp, no doubt thinks of those days when
For the triumvirs he similar service performed.
VIII
"Can you be cruel enough to sadden me thus with reproaches?
Germans speak,