Erotica Romana | Page 5

slumber she's moving away now,
From my side turns, as she goes leaving her hand in my hand.
Love in our hearts makes us one, as the genuine need there stays constant;
Only returning desire knows oscillation or change.
Gently her hand presses mine, now she opens her eyes and is looking
Into my own eyes. No--don't. Let my thoughts rest on your form!
Please close your eyes. They're inebriation, confusion, they rob me
All too soon of the joy quiet reflection affords.
Grand are the forms of this body and nobly positioned each member.
Had Ariadne lain thus, Theseus never had fled.
Only a single kiss for these lips and then, O Theseus, leave her;
Look at her eyes--she's awake! Now you're eternally bound.
XVI
Boy, won't you light me a lamp. "But dear master, there's light in the sky yet.
Don't waste your oil and the wick. Don't close the shutters so soon.
Only the houses are blocking the sun there, it's not yet the mountains.
Until the curfew shall ring, full half an hour must pass."
Wretched young fellow, be gone and obey me! My loved one is coming.
Lamplight, console me till then, harbinger warm of the night.
XVII
Poets of old in chorus cried out against those two serpents,
Making them horrible names, hated in all of the world:
Python the one, the other the Hydra of Lerna. These monsters
Both have now been destroyed, thanks to the deeds of the gods.
Fire-breathing, venomous once, they no longer now depredate our
Flocks and meadows and woods, fields of golden grain.
How is it then that some spiteful god in his wrath has
Raised from the poisonous slime offspring so monstrous again?
There's an insidious viper creeps into the loveliest gardens,
Lying in wait to attack all who seek pleasure therein.
Noble Hesperian dragon, I call you courageous and forthright.
Boldly defending your own beautiful apples of gold.
As for this worm, why he is not guarding at all, for his presence
Sullies both garden and fruit, till they deserve no defense.
Secretly coiled beneath bushes, where he befouls the sweet wellsprings,
Turning to poisonous drool Cupid's lifegiving dew.
Happy Lucretius knew how in his day to forego love completely,
Fearing not to enjoy pleasure in anyone's arms.
Fortunate Ancient, Propertius, for you a slave fetched the girls down
From the Aventine Hill, from Tarpeia's grove.
Cynthia then, when driving you out of such unchaste embraces,
Found you unfaithful, it's true, but she did find you whole.
Who would today dare attempt to escape from fidelity's ennui?
Love does not hold one back--only concern for one's health.
Even the woman we love may afford us uncertain enjoyment;
Nowhere can feminine lap safely encouch a man's head.
Matrimonial bed's insecure and so's fornication;
Husband, lover and wife pass to each other the hurt.
Think of those ages of gold when Jupiter followed his urges,
Chose Callisto one day, turned to Semel the next.
It was important to him to find thresholds of temples so sacred
Pure when, enamoured, he sought powerful entry to them.
Can you imagine the ragings of Juno if in love's skirmish
Poisonous weapons on her by her own spouse had been turned?
But we neo-pagans may not after all be abandoned entirely:
Yet there is speeding a god mercifully over the earth,
Quick and assiduous. Everyone knows him and ought to adore him,
Herald of Zeus: Hermes, the healing god.
Although his father's temple be fallen, and though of its pillars
Scarcely a pair yet records ancient glory adored,
Nevertheless the son's place of worship still stands, and forever
Will there the ardent requests alternate with the thanks.
Only one favor I beg of you, Graces (I ask it in secret--
Fervent my prayer and deep, out of a passionate breast):
My little garden, my sweet one, protect it and do not let any
Evil come near it nor me. Cupid will hold out his hand:
O, and entrusting myself to the rascal, I beg you please may I
Do so in pleasure with no danger or worry or fear.
XVIII
I cannot think I'd have gone with Julius Caesar to Britain;
To the Popina right here, Florus would tug me with ease.
Fogs of the dreary north remain a more baleful remembrance
Than in the kitchens of Rome tribes of assiduous fleas.
After today, I'll remember you even more kindly, tavernas,
You osterias, as you are called, aptly by those here in Rome.
That was the place I encountered my mistress today with the uncle
Whom she so often deceives, so that she can have me.
Here's where I sat at a table surrounded by good-natured Germans;
Over on that side the girl, finding a seat for herself
Next to her mother where, frequently shifting her bench, she arranged
Nicely for me to perceive profile and curve of her neck;
Speaks just a little more loudly than women in Rome are accustomed;
Significant glance as she pours--misses the glass with the wine
So that it spills on the table, and she with a delicate finger
Over its surface can draw circles in damp arabesque:
Her name entwining in mine, while my eyes most eagerly follow
All that her fingertip writes. She is of course well aware
That I am