Ovid: HEROIDES

quae legis, ex illo, Theseu, tibi litore mitto
     unde tuam sine me vela tulere ratem,
in quo me somnusque meus male prodidit et tu,
     per facinus somnis insidiate meis.
Tempus erat, vitrea quo primum terra pruina
     spargitur et tectae fronde queruntur aves;
incertum vigilans ac somno languida movi
     Thesea prensuras semisupina manus:
nullus erat. referoque manus iterumque retempto
     perque torum moveo bracchia: nullus erat.

what you read, from that shore, Theseus, I send to you
     whence your sails bore your vessel without me,
on which both my sleep betrayed me ill and you,
     through a crime, laying ambush against my dreams.
It was the time when the earth is first sprinkled with vitreous rime
     and the birds, sheltered by frondage, complain;
uncertain, awake yet languid with sleep, I moved—half-supine—
     hands that were going to grasp Theseus:
he was not there. I draw back my hands and again I try,
     and I move my arms across the couch: he was not there.

excussere metus somnum; conterrita surgo
     membraque sunt viduo praecipitata toro.
protinus adductis sonuerunt pectora palmis
     utque erat e somno turbida, rupta coma est.
Luna fuit; specto siquid nisi litora cernam;
     quod videant oculi, nil nisi litus habent.

fears shook off sleep; terrified I rise
     and my limbs were precipitated from the widowed couch.
straightway my breast resounded with palms drawn together,
     and, just as it was, disordered from sleep, my hair was torn.
The Moon was up; I look to see whether I might discern anything except the shores;
     what my eyes may see, they have nothing except the shore.

nunc huc, nunc illuc et utroque sine ordine, curro,
     alta puellares tardat harena pedes.
interea toto clamanti litore "Theseu!"
     reddebant nomen concava saxa tuum
et quotiens ego te, totiens locus ipse vocabat;
     ipse locus miserae ferre volebat opem.
Mons fuit; apparent frutices in vertice rari;
     hinc scopulus raucis pendet adesus aquis.

now here, now there, and to both sides without order, I run,
     the deep sand slows my maiden feet.
meanwhile, as I cry “Theseus!” along the whole shore,
     the hollow rocks were returning your name,
and as often as I called you, so often the place itself was calling;
     the very place wished to bring aid to the wretched one.
There was a mountain; on its summit scant shrubs appear;
     from here a crag hangs, gnawed by hoarse waters.

adscendo; vires animus dabat; atque ita late
     aequora prospectu metior alta meo.
inde ego—nam ventis quoque sum crudelibus usa—
     vidi praecipiti carbasa tenta Noto.
aut vidi aut fuerant quae me vidisse putarem;
     frigidior glacie semianimisque fui.

I climb; my spirit supplied strength; and thus far and wide
     I measure the deep waters with my own gaze.
Then I—for I too have had experience of cruel winds—
     saw the canvas strained by the headlong South Wind.
Either I saw, or there were things that made me think I had seen;
     I was colder than ice and half-alive.

nec languere diu patitur dolor. excitor illo,
excitor et summa Thesea voce voco.
"quo fugis?" exclamo "scelerate revertere Theseu!

nor does grief allow me to languish long. I am roused by it,
I am roused and with my utmost voice I call Theseus.
"where are you fleeing?" I exclaim "wicked man, return, Theseus!

flecte ratem! numerum non habet illa suum!"
Haec ego. quod voci deerat, plangore replebam;
verbera cum verbis mixta fuere meis.

turn the raft! it does not have its own number!"
I said these things. What was lacking to my voice I was filling with beating;
blows were mingled with my words.

si non audires, ut saltem cernere posses:
iactatae late signa dedere manus.
candidaque imposui longae velamina virgae
scilicet oblitos admonitura mei.
iamque oculis ereptus eras.

if you would not hear, so that at least you might discern:
my hands, tossed far and wide, gave signals.
and I set white veils upon a long rod
no doubt to admonish the forgetful of me.
and already you were rapt from my eyes.

tum denique flevi;
     torpuerant molles ante dolore genae.
quid potius facerent, quam me mea lumina flerent,
     postquam desieram vela videre tua?
aut ego diffusis erravi sola capillis,
     qualis ab Ogygio concita Baccha deo;
aut mare prospiciens in saxo frigida sedi,
     quamque lapis sedes, tam lapis ipsa fui.

then at last I wept;
     my soft cheeks had before been numb with pain.
what rather could my eyes—my lights—do than weep for me,
     after I had ceased to see your sails?
either I wandered alone with hair let loose,
     like a Bacchante stirred by the Ogygian god;
or, looking out over the sea, I sat cold on a rock,
     and as the seat was stone, so stone was I myself.

saepe torum repeto qui nos acceperat ambos,
     sed non acceptos exhibiturus erat
et tua quae possum pro te vestigia tango
     strataque quae membris intepuere tuis.
incumbo lacrimisque toro manante profusis
     "pressimus" exclamo "te duo, redde duos!
venimus huc ambo; cur non discedimus ambo?

Often I revisit the couch which had received us both,
     but was not going to exhibit us as accepted;
and I touch, in your stead, what vestiges of you I can,
     and the coverings which grew warm with your limbs.
I sink upon it, and with tears poured forth, the couch streaming,
     "we two pressed you," I exclaim, "give back two!
we came here both; why do we not depart both?

perfide, pars nostri, lectule, maior ubi est?"
Quid faciam? quo sola ferar? vacat insula cultu;
non hominum video, non ego facta boum.

perfidious one, a part of us, little bed, where is the greater part?"
What shall I do? Whither shall I, alone, be borne? The island is vacant of cultivation;
I see not the works of men, nor I the things made by oxen.

omne latus terrae cingit mare; navita nusquam.
nulla per ambiguas puppis itura vias.
finge dari comitesque mihi ventosque ratemque,
quid sequar?

the sea girds every side of the land; a sailor nowhere.
no ship about to go through the equivocal ways.
imagine that companions and winds and a raft are given to me,
what should I follow?

accessus terra paterna negat.
ut rate felici pacata per aequora labar,
temperet ut ventos Aeolus; exul ero.
non ego te, Crete, centum digesta per urbes,
adspiciam, puero cognita terra Iovi.

Access the paternal land denies.
even if with a felicitous raft I should glide through pacified seas,
even if Aeolus should temper the winds; I shall be an exile.
I shall not behold you, Crete, distributed through a hundred cities,
a land known to Jove in boyhood.

at pater et tellus iusto regnata parenti
     prodita sunt facto, nomina cara, meo,
cum tibi, ne victor tecto morerere recurvo,
     quae regerent passus, pro duce fila dedi.
tum mihi dicebas: "per ego ipsa pericula iuro
     te fore, dum nostrum vivet uterque, meam."
Vivimus, et non sum, Theseu, tua, si modo vivis,
     femina periuri fraude sepulta viri.
me quoque, qua fratrem mactasses, improbe, clava!

but my father and the land ruled by a just parent
     were betrayed by my deed—dear names—,
when to you, lest you as victor might die beneath the curving roof,
     I gave, in place of a leader, the threads to steer your steps.
then you kept saying to me: "By the perils themselves I swear
     that you will be mine, so long as each of our two lives."
We live, and I am not, Theseus, yours—if only you live—,
     a woman buried by the fraud of a perjured man.
me too—with the club with which you slaughtered my brother—, shameless one!

     esset, quam dederas, morte soluta fides.
nunc ego non tantum, quae sum passura, recordor,
     sed quaecumque potest ulla relicta pati.
occurrunt animo pereundi mille figurae,
     morsque minus poenae quam mora mortis habet.

     would that the faith which you had given were loosed by death.
now I recall not only the things which I am going to suffer,
     but whatever any woman left behind can suffer.
a thousand forms of perishing occur to my mind,
     and death has less of penalty than the delay of death has.

iam iam venturos aut hac aut suspicor illac,
qui lanient avido viscera dente lupos.
forsitan et fulvos tellus alat ista leones?
quis scit an et saevas tigridas insula habet.

now now I suspect there are about to come either this way or that,
wolves who will rend entrails with an avid tooth.
perhaps even this earth rears fulvous lions?
who knows whether the island also has savage tigresses.

et freta dicuntur magnas expellere phocas;
     quis vetat et gladios per latus ire meum?
Tantum ne religer dura captiva catena,
     neve traham serva grandia pensa manu,
cui pater est Minos, cui mater filia Phoebi,
     quodque magis memini, quae tibi pacta fui!
si mare, si terras porrectaque litora vidi,
     multa mihi terrae, multa minantur aquae.

and the straits are said to drive out great seals;
     who forbids even swords to go through my side?
Only let me not be bound again, a captive, by a hard chain,
     nor, as a slave, draw with my hand great pensums of wool,
whose father is Minos, whose mother is a daughter of Phoebus,
     and what I remember more, I who was pledged to you by pact!
if I have looked upon the sea, the lands, and the outstretched shores,
     many things on land, many things the waters menace me.

caelum restabat; timeo simulacra deorum;
     destituor rapidis praeda cibusque feris.
sive colunt habitantque viri, diffidimus illis;
     externos didici laesa timere viros.
Viveret Androgeos utinam, nec facta luisses
     impia funeribus, Cecropi terra, tuis;
nec tua mactasset nodoso stipite, Theseu,
     ardua parte virum dextera, parte bovem;
nec tibi, quae reditus monstrarent, fila dedissem,
     fila per adductas saepe recepta manus.

The sky remained; I fear the images of the gods;
     I am left, prey and food for the swift wild beasts.
Whether men cultivate and inhabit it, I distrust them;
     wronged, I have learned to fear foreign men.
Would that Androgeus were living, and that you had not paid
     for impious deeds with your own funerals, Cecropian land;
and that your right hand had not immolated with a knotted club, Theseus,
     one lofty, in part a man, in part a bull;
nor had I given to you the threads which would demonstrate your return,
     threads often received back through hands drawn tight.

non equidem miror, si stat victoria tecum
     strataque Cretaeam belua planxit humum.
non poterant figi praecordia ferrea cornu;
     ut te non tegeres, pectore tutus eras.
illic tu silices, illic adamanta tulisti,
     illic, qui silices, Thesea, vincat, habes.

I for my part do not marvel, if victory stands with you,
     and the beast, laid low, beat the Cretan ground.
your iron precordia could not be pierced by the horn;
     though you did not cover yourself, you were safe in your breast.
there you bore flints, there you bore adamants;
     there you have, Theseus, that which conquers flints.

Crudeles somni, quid me tenuistis inertem?
     aut semel aeterna nocte premenda fui.
vos quoque crudeles venti, nimiumque parati
     flaminaque in lacrimas officiosa meas;
dextera crudelis, quae me fratremque necavit,
     et data poscenti, nomen inane, fides:
in me iurarunt somnus ventusque fidesque:
     prodita sum causis una puella tribus.

Cruel dreams, why have you held me inert?
     or at once I should have been pressed by eternal night.
you too, cruel winds, and over-ready,
     and breezes officious for my tears;
cruel right hand, which killed me and my brother,
     and the faith—an empty name—given to one who begged;
against me sleep and wind and pledge have sworn an oath:
     I, one girl, have been betrayed by three causes.

Ergo ego nec lacrimas matris moritura videbo
     nec mea qui digitis lumina condat, erit.
spiritus infelix peregrinas ibit in auras
     nec positos artus unguet amica manus.
ossa superstabunt volucres inhumata marinae;
     haec sunt officiis digna sepulcra meis.

Therefore I, about to die, shall not see my mother’s tears
     nor will there be one who with fingers shall close my eyes.
my unhappy spirit will go into foreign airs
     nor will a friendly hand anoint my laid-out limbs.
sea-birds will stand over my unburied bones;
     these are sepulchers worthy of my services.

ibis Cecropios portus patriaque receptus,
     cum steteris urbis celsus in arce tuae
et bene narraris letum taurique virique
     sectaque per dubias saxea tecta vias;
me quoque narrato sola tellure relictam;
     non ego sum titulis subripienda tuis!
nec pater est Aegeus, nec tu Pittheidos Aethrae
     filius; auctores saxa fretumque tui.
Di facerent ut me summa de puppe videres,
     movisset vultus maesta figura tuos.

you will go to the Cecropian harbors and, received by your fatherland,
     when you stand lofty on the citadel of your city,
and you will duly tell the death of both the bull and the man,
     and the stony roofs hewn through dubious ways;
tell also of me, left on a lonely land;
     I am not to be filched from your titles!
nor is Aegeus your father, nor are you the son of Aethra, of Pittheus’s line;
     your begetters are the rocks and the strait.
May the gods bring it about that you should see me from the topmost stern,
     my mournful figure would have moved your face.

nunc quoque non oculis, sed qua potes, adspice mente
     haerentem scopulo quem vaga pulsat aqua;
adspice demissos lugentis more capillos
     et tunicas lacrimis sicut ab imbre graves!
corpus ut impulsae segetes aquilonibus horret
     litteraque articulo pressa tremente labat.
non te per meritum, quoniam male cessit, adoro;
     debita sit facto gratia nulla meo.

now too, not with your eyes, but, as you can, behold with your mind
     me clinging to a crag, whom the wandering water buffets;
look at my hair let down in mourner’s manner
     and my tunics heavy with tears, as from a rainstorm!
my body shivers like crops driven by the north winds,
     and my letter, pressed by a trembling finger-joint, wavers.
I do not beseech you on the score of merit, since it has turned out ill;
     let no gratitude be owed to my deed.

sed ne poena quidem. si non ego causa salutis,
     non tamen est cur sis tu mihi causa necis.
Has tibi plangendo lugubria pectora lassas
     infelix tendo trans freta lata manus;
hos tibi qui superant ostendo maesta capillos;
     per lacrimas oro, quas tua facta movent:
flecte ratem, Theseu, versoque relabere vento;
     si prius occidero, tu tamen ossa feres.

but not even punishment. If I am not the cause of your salvation,
     nevertheless there is no reason you should be to me the cause of death.
These hands, wearied by beating a lugubrious breast,
     I, unhappy, stretch to you across the broad straits;
I show to you these locks which remain, sad;
     through tears I beseech, which your deeds move:
turn the ship, Theseus, and with the wind reversed glide back;
     if I shall have perished first, you nevertheless will bear my bones.