Epistulae

took my way to the cold beach. We parted in sadness: I entered the virginsea, often looking back, while my mistress remained in view. If any credit is due to truth, when making for your coast I swim with cease, but, as I return, am threatened to be overwhelmed. Believe me farther when I tell you, that the way to my Hero is by a gently declining path; but in leaving you I seem to climb an immoveable mountain of waves. Who can believe it? I return to my native country with reluctance: it is now against my will that I remain in my own city. Alas! why, when thus conjoined in inclination, are we separated by the waves? Why, as we have the same mind, do we not inhabit the same soil? Let me either dwell in your Sestos, or you in my Abydos; for the earth which you tread is as dear to me, as that which I tread is to you. Why am I thus troubled as often as the sea is disturbed by storms? Why are the winds an unstable cause of anxiety to me/ The bending dolphins are now conscious of out tender loves; nor are the fishes of the sea strangers to my flame. The course of the well-known waves is now distinctly marked, like a high-way paved by the frequent attrition of the chariot-wheel. I have often complained that there was no way given but this: but now I complain that this also is shut up by the cruel winds. The streights of the Hellespont foam by the breaking of

the enormous waves; nor are the ships secure even within their harbours. Such, I imagine, was this raging sea, when it first bore the name of the unhappy virgin. This spot is already too infamous by the fate of Helle; and, though I am spared, the name will be a monument of its crime. I envy Phryxus, who safely crossed those stormy seas upon the ram that yielded the golden fleece. Nor do I yet require the aid of ram or bark; let me have only a smooth sea, that with nimble joints I may plough the yielding deep I depend upon no art; let me only have leave to swim; I will at once be ship, mariner, and pilot. I mind not Helice and Arctos, the constellations that guide the Tyrian mariner. A love like mine asks no aid of vulgar stars. Let others

observe Andromeda, or the bright diadem of Ariadne, and the Arcadian Bear that sines from the frozen pole. Nymphs loved by Perseus, Jupiter, and Becchus, are by no means wanted to guide my uncertain paths. I trust to another light, whose directions are much safer: while this points out the way, my love can never wander in darkness. By observing this, I may sail to the Colchian realm, the remotest regions of Pontus, and all the coasts visited by the famed Thessalian ship. In swimming, I would bear away the prize from young Palæmon, and from Glaucus, who was suddenly transformed by powerful herbs

into a sea-God. My arms often languish through the continued agitation; and, nearly exhausted with toil, are scarcely able to bear me over the wide sea. But when I tell them, You shall soon receive the glorious reward of your labor, and encircle the snowy neck of your amiable mistress, instantly they gather strength, and eagerly strive to obtain their reward, as when a fleet horse starts from the Elean lists.

It is mine, therefore, to observe the flames that glow within my breast, and follow you, my charming fair, who better deserve a place among the stars. You merit indeed to be translated into heaven: yet leave not these earthly abodes; or teach me in what manner I also may be exalted among the Gods. You are still here, and yet how seldom in the embraces of your wretched lover! The seas and my mind are in equal disorder. What avails it that I am not separated from you by a vast ocean? Does this narrow streight less oppose our coming together? I doubt whether it would not be better, that, divided from you by earth's whole extent, I might be equally removed from hope and