Carmina

You who dwell on Helicon Hill, sprung from Urania, who carry off the gentle virgin to her mate, O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

Twine round your temples sweet-smelling flowers of marjoram; put on your gold-tinted veil; lighthearted here, come here, bearing on snowy foot the golden-yellow sandal:

And afire with the joyous day, chanting wedding melodies with ringing voice, strike the ground with your feet, with your hand swing aloft the torch of pine.

For Vinia—fair as Venus dwelling in Idalium when came to the Phrygian judge—a virgin fair, weds Manlius amid happy auspices.

She, bright-shining as the Asian myrtle florid in its branches, which the Hamadryads nurture for their pleasure with besprinkled dew.

So come then! convey your approach here, leaving the Aonian cave in cliffs of Thespiae, over which flows the chilling stream of Aganippe.

And summon homewards the mistress, eager for her new husband, firm-prisoning her soul in love; as tight-clasping ivy, wandering here and there, wraps the tree around.

And also you, upright virgins, for whom a like day is nearing, chant in cadence, singing “O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!”

That more freely, hearing himself to his duty called, will he bear here his presence, Lord of honorable love, uniter of true lovers.

What god is worthier to be sought by anxious lovers? Whom of the celestials do men worship more greatly? O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

You for his young the trembling father beseeches, for you virgins unclasp the belt from their breasts, for you the fearful bridegroom harkens with eager ear.

You deliver into the hands of the untamed youth that flower-like maiden, taken from her mother's bosom, O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

Without you Venus can do nothing suitable that good repute sanctions; but she can, with you willing. Who dares to be compared with such a god?

Without you, no house can produce heirs, no parent be surrounded by offspring; but they can, with you willing. Who dares to be compared with such a god?

And lacking your rites no land can give protection to its territory; but it can, with you willing. Who dares to be compared with such a god?

Unbolt, open the gates: the virgin is here. See how the torches shake their gleaming locks? ---

---Her natural modesty detains her: hearing this the more, she weeps because she must go.

Cease your tears. For you there is no peril, Aurunculeia, that any woman more beauteous will ever see the light of day coming from Ocean.

You are like the hyacinth flower, which stands aloft amid varied riches of its master's garden. But you delay, day slips by: advance, new bride.

Advance, new bride, it now seems right, and listen to our speech. See how the torches shake their glittering tresses: advance, new bride.

Nor is your man a fickle husband, given to ill adulteries, seeking shameless acts, ever wishing to lie away from your soft breasts,

But as the lithe vine among neighbouring trees doth cling, so shall he be enclasped in your embrace. But day slips by: advance, new bride.

O nuptial couch which for all---with feet of ivory white.

What joys are coming to your man in fleeting night, in noon of day, let him rejoice! but day slips by: advance, new bride.

Raise high, O boys, the torches: I see the gleaming veil approach. Come, chant in cadence, “O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus.”

Nor longer silent is lewd Fescinnine jest, nor, favorite, hearing your master's love has flown, deny the nuts to the boys.

Give nuts to the boys, O listless favorite; long enough have you played nuts: now you must serve Talassius. O favorite, give the nuts!

The country wives were dirt to you, O favorite, but yesterday: now the barber shaves your face. Wretched, wretched favorite, give the nuts.

They will say when the bridegroom has been annointed that you can scarce abstain from your hairless boys: butabstain! O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus.

We know that these delights were known to you only when lawful: but to the wedded these same no more are lawful. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

You also, bride, what your husband seeks beware of denying, lest he go elsewhere in its search. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

Look, your husband's home is yours, influential and goodly, allow it to serve you (O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!)

Until white-haired old age, shaking your trembling brow, nods assent to everything. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

Bring with good omen your golden feet across the threshold, and go through the polished doorway. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

Look! your husband alone within, lying on Tyrian couch, all-expectant waits for you. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

No less than in yours, in his breast burns an inmost flame, but more deeply inward. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus!

Release the maiden's slender arm, boy with crimson-bordered toga: now let her approach her husband's couch. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus.

You good women of fair renown to aged spouses, put the maiden to bed. O Hymen Hymenaeus io, O Hymen Hymenaeus.

Now you may come, bridegroom: your wife is in the bedroom, with face brightly blushing as white parthenice amid ruddy poppies.

But, bridegroom (so help me the heaven-dwellers) in no way less beautiful are you, nor does Venus slight you. But the day slips by: on! do not delay.

You have not delayed for long, now you are coming. Kindly Venus will help you, since what you desire you take publicly, and do not conceal true love.

Whoever wishes to keep count of your many thousand games, first let him make an accounting of the number of Africa's sands and the glittering stars.

Play as you like, and speedily give heirs. It does not become so old a name to without children, but from similar stock always to be generated.

A little Torquatus I wish, from his mother's lap reaching out his dainty hands, and smiling sweetly at his father with lips apart.

May he be like his father Manlius, and easily acknowledged by every stranger, and by his face point out his mother's faithfulness.

May such praise confirm his birth from true mother, such fame as rests only with Telemachus from best of mothers, Penelope.

Close the doors, virgins: enough we've played. But, fair bride and groom, live you well, and diligently fulfil the office of vigorous youth.

Over the vast main borne by swift-sailing ship, Attis, as with hasty hurried foot he reached the Phrygian wood and gained the tree-girt gloomy sanctuary of the Goddess, there roused by rabid rage and mind astray, with sharp-edged flint downwards dashed his burden of virility. Then as he felt his limbs were left without their manhood, and the fresh-spilt blood staining the soil, with bloodless hand she hastily took a tambour light to hold, your taborine, Cybele, your initiate rite, and with feeble fingers beating the hollowed bullock's back, she rose up quivering thus to chant to her companions.

“Haste you together, she-priests, to Cybele's dense woods, together haste, you vagrant herd of the dame Dindymene, you who inclining towards strange places as exiles, following in my footsteps, led by me, comrades, you who have faced the ravening sea and truculent main, and have castrated your bodies in your utmost hate of Venus, make glad our mistress speedily with your minds' mad wanderings. Let dull delay depart from your thoughts, together haste you, follow to the Phrygian home of Cybele, to the Phrygian woods of the Goddess, where sounds the cymbal's voice, where the tambour resounds, where the Phrygian flutist pipes deep notes on the curved reed, where the ivy-clad Maenades furiously toss their heads, where they enact their sacred orgies with shrill-sounding ululations, where that wandering band of the Goddess flits about: there it is meet to hasten with hurried mystic dance.”

When Attis, spurious woman, had thus chanted to her comity, the chorus straightway shrills with trembling tongues, the light tambour booms, the concave cymbals clang, and the troop swiftly hastes with rapid feet to verdurous Ida. Then raging wildly, breathless, wandering, with brain distraught, hurries Attis with her tambour, their leader through dense woods, like an untamed heifer shunning the burden of the yoke: and the swift Gallae press behind their speedy-footed leader. So when the home of Cybele they reach, wearied out with excess of toil and lack of food they fall in slumber. Sluggish sleep shrouds their eyes drooping with faintness, and raging fury leaves their minds to quiet ease.

But when the sun with radiant eyes from face of gold glanced over the white heavens, the firm soil, and the savage sea, and drove away the glooms of night with his brisk and clamorous team, then sleep fast-flying quickly sped away from wakening Attis, and goddess Pasithea received Somnus in her panting bosom. Then when from quiet rest torn, her delirium over, Attis at once recalled to mind her deed, and with lucid thought saw what she had lost, and where she stood, with heaving heart she backwards traced her steps to the landing-place. There, gazing over the vast main with tear-filled eyes, with saddened voice in tristful soliloquy thus did she lament her land:

“Mother-land, my creatress, mother-land, my begetter, which full sadly I'm forsaking, as runaway serfs do from their lords, to the woods of Ida I have hasted on foot, to stay amid snow and icy dens of beasts, and to wander through their hidden lurking-places full of fury. Where, or in what part, mother-land, may I imagine that you are? My very eyeball craves to fix its glance towards you, while for a brief space my mind is freed from wild ravings. And must I wander over these woods far from my home? From country, goods, friends, and parents, must I be parted? Leave the forum, the palaestra, the race-course, and gymnasium? Wretched, wretched soul, it is yours to grieve for ever and ever. For what shape is there, whose kind I have not worn? I (now a woman), I a man, a stripling, and a lad; I was the gymnasium's flower, I was the pride of the oiled wrestlers: my gates, my friendly threshold, were crowded, my home was decked with floral garlands, when I used to leave my couch at sunrise. Now will I live a ministrant of gods and slave to Cybele? I a Maenad, I a part of me, I a sterile trunk! Must I range over the snow-clad spots of verdurous Ida, and wear out my life beneath lofty Phrygian peaks, where stay the sylvan-seeking stag and woodland-wandering boar? Now, now, I grieve the deed I've done; now, now, do I repent!”

As the swift sound left those rosy lips, borne by new messenger to gods' twinned ears, Cybele, unloosing her lions from their joined yoke, and goading, the left-hand foe of the herd, thus speaks: “Come,” she says, “to work, you fierce one, cause a madness urge him on, let a fury prick him onwards till he returns through our woods, he who over-rashly seeks to fly from my empire. On! thrash your flanks with your tail, endure your strokes; make the whole place re-echo with roar of your bellowings; wildly toss your tawny mane about your nervous neck.” Thus ireful Cybele spoke and loosed the yoke with her hand. The monster, self-exciting, to rapid wrath spurs his heart, he rushes, he roars, he bursts through the brake with heedless tread. But when he gained the humid verge of the foam-flecked shore, and spied the womanish Attis near the opal sea, he made a bound: the witless wretch fled into the wild wood: there throughout the space of her whole life a bondsmaid did she stay. Great Goddess, Goddess Cybele, Goddess Dame of Dindymus, far from my home may all your anger be, 0 mistress: urge others to such actions, to madness others hound.