Epistulae

son of Priam, (excuse my freedom,) you were then no more than a slave: nor did I disdain to wed you even in that meanest rank. Oft under the shade of a tree, have we quietly rested amidst the flocks, where the ground, strewn with leaves, afforded a pleasant couch. Oft in our Iowly cottage, secure from hail and freezing winds, have we contentedly reposed on straw or a bed of hay. Who shewed you the forests best stocked with game, or pointed out the rocky caverns where the savage dam concealed her young? A constant companion of your toils, I often spread the knotted net, and cheered your sweeping hounds along the mountain's brow. The beeches still preserve my name carved by your hand; and 'Œnone,' the work of your pruning-knife, is read upon their bark; and, as the trunks increase, the letters still dilate. Grow on, and rise as testimonies of my just claim. There grows a poplar (I remember it) by the river's side, on which is carved the motto of our love. Flourish. thou poplar, fed by the bordering stream, whose furrowed bark bears this inscription: Sooner shall Xanthus hasten back to his source, than Paris be able to live without his Œnone. Xanthus,

flow backward; backward flow, ye streams! Paris still lives, though faithless to his Œnone. My misfortunes began from that unhappy day, in which Venus, Juno, and Minerva (most graceful when clad in shining armor) appointed you judge of the prize of beauty. It was then that a black storm overcast my former peace. My heart failed while you repeated the fatal tale, and a cold trembling shot through all my bones. I acquainted the aged matrons and sages with my just fears; and they all agreed that some misfortune was approaching. Trees are cut down, ships are built; and the sea-green waves bear up your well-appointed fleet. When about to depart, you melted into tears; this at least you need not be ashamed to own; the present love is far more guilty than the past. You wept, and witnessed my melting grief; the mingled tears spoke our

mutual sadness. You clasped your arms round my neck, more closely than the curling vines embrace the towering elm. How did your companions smile, when you complained of the unfriendly winds! They favored; but love detained you. How often at parting did you repeat the ardent kisses; while your tongue was scarcely able to utter a last farewell!

A propitious gale swells your sails bellying from the rigid masts; and the sea foams after the repeated strokes of the oars. Hapless, I pursue with my eyes the lessening canvass, and water the sands with my tears. I implore the Nereids for your speedy return; a speedy return indeed to my sorrow. Have then my prayers brought you back only for the sake of another, and have I solicited the Gods in behalf of an injurious harlot? A high rock formed by nature overlooks the boundless sea. This precipice opposes itself to the beating waves. Hence I first espied your swelling sails, and hardly could forbear plunging into the deep. As I waited with impatience for your arrival, I discerned upon the deck a purple garment; this made me tremble, as I well knew that it was not your dress. The ship approached, and, urged by a favorable gale, reached the land; when with a throbbing heart I espied my hated rival, whose head even (why delayed I to leap into the sea?) rested upon your bosom. At this I tore my hair and beat my breast, and, urged by despair, scratched my face with my inhuman nails. Ida's sacred groves resounded with my mournful complaints; and hence I bore them to those caves which were conscious of our former love. So may Helen also complain, and mourn like me a faithless spouse; may she too taste of those sorrows, which on her account I now so severely feel. You are at present charmed with one who forsakes her lawful husband, and follows you over the wide sea. But when, a poor shepherd, you attended your little flock, Œnone alone made you an offer of her bed. I have no eye to your riches, nor am I moved by your stately palace. I have no ambition to be numbered among the daughters of potent Priam. Yet Priam needs not to be ashamed of owning himself the father-in-law of a Nymph; nor needs Hecuba disscmble that I am

her daughter. I merit, and wish to become the consort of a powerful prince; nor would a regal sceptre ill become my hands. It is no dishonor to have lain with you upon the new-fallen leaves; I am the more fit to ascend a bed of state. Add that you are safe in my love; no wars threaten you; no revengeful ships plough the waves. Fugitive Helen is demanded back by hostile arms, and sees with pride that a war must be her dowry. Ask of Hector your brother, Polydamas, or Deiphobus, whether she ought to be restored. Consult with sage Antenor, and your aged sire Priam, whom years and long experience have taught wisdom. It is scandalous to prefer a mistress to your native country. You engage in a shameful cause: her husband raises a just war against you. Nor flatter yourself that this Lacedæmonian will long prove constant, she who was so easily enticed to your embraces. As young Atrides complains of his dishonored bed, and mourns the injury done to him by a foreign love; so shall you lament in your turn. Chastity, when once sullied, can never be recovered; one false step ruins it for ever.

She now burns for you. Thus she once loved Menelaus. He, too easy of belief, lies now in a forlorn bed. Happy Andromache, the worthy consort of a faithful spouse! My fidelity merited a like return from you. You are lighter than withered leaves driven by the inconstant winds, or than stalks of wheat parched by the continual heat of the sun. Heretofore your sister (now I recollect) forewarned me of all, and, with her hair disheveled, thus prophesied my approaching fate: What is it you hope for, Œnone? Why bury you thus your seed in the sand? Why plough you up the shore with unprofitable steers? The Grecian heifer comes, fatal to you, to Troy, and our ancient house. She comes. Forbid it Heaven; and now, while it may be done, overwhelm the guilty ship. Alas! how is she fraught with Phrygian blood! She said: her servants carried her off full of the God. My

hair was erect with fear. Ah, you too truly foretold my wretched fate! This heifer now feeds in my lawns. Though fair to look upon, she is yet a prostitute, whom strangers have easily enticed from her native home. Thus Theseus (if I do not mistake the name), one Theseus, formerly made her a prize. It is likely, no doubt, that she was restored safe and untouched by a youth passionate and fond. If you wonder how I obtained a knowlege of this story, I answer, that I love. You may call it violence, and think to hide her fault by a specious name: it is evident that one who has been carried off so often, must have contrived the rape. But Œnone continues faithful to a perjured spouse; and yet I might have returned the injury in kind. I was pursued by the Satyrs, a lustful crew, and, to escape their violence, concealed myself in the woods. Fauns too, adorned with garlands of pine-leaves, traced me over Ida's swelling

summits. Phœbus, the guardian god of Troy, obtained at last, by violence, what others had struggled for in vain. I tore his hair, and left on his face the marks of my rage. Yet I desired no sordid recompence of jewels or gold, nor would meanly prostitute my free charms for hire. He thought me worthy to be intrusted with the healing art, and rewarded me with the same knowlege for which he is himself so famed. My skill reaches to every herb and healing root which the fertile carth produces. But, unhappy that I am! my art avails not to my own cure; nor are herbs sufficient to heal the wounds of love. Even Phœbus, the founder of our art, fed (we are told) the herds of Admetus; nor could he withstand the pointed flames. Not heaven, nor earth with all its bounteous store, can ease my pain; it is from you alone that I expect relief. Paris can relieve; and I have deserved it. Pity a maid who merits and loves you. My alliance will bring upon you no dangerous bloody wars. I am yours, and with you innocently passed my infant years: Heaven grant that what yet remains of life may be also spent with you!

You are said to have reached the Thessalian coasts in your returning bark, enriched with the prize of the golden fleece. I congratulate your safety, as far as I am permitted: but I ought to have known this by a letter from yourself. For, though unfavorable winds might have hindered you from landing in my kingdom, had you even desired it, yet a letter might have been sealed and sent: surely Hypsipyle deserved this testimony of your love. Why as fame the first

messenger of your success? Why did I first hear from report, that the bulls sacred to the stern god of war had submitted to the yoke,—that harvests of armed men sprang from the sowing of the dragon's teeth, and did not want your right hand to cut them off,—that the yellow fleecy spoils, though guarded by a vigilant dragon, were yet a prey to your valiant arm? If I could assure those who believe with diffidence, that all this was confirmed to me by a letter from yourself, how great would be my happiness! Why do I complain that my husband by so long an absence has failed in the respect he owes me? If your heart continues mine, I have still all I ask. You are said to have brought with you a barbarian enchantress, and admitted her to a share of that bed which you had promised to me. Love is credulous and full of fears. I wish it may be found that I have rashly charged my husband with false crimes. A stranger lately arrived here from Thessaly: scarcely had he touched the threshold, when I enquired how my Jason was. He, overcome with shame, stood silent, and fixed his eyes upon the ground. Impatient, I ran up to him;

and in wild distraction tearing his coat from his breast, Tell me, I cried, does he still live, or has Fate determined also to end my days? He lives, said he. I forced the intimidated stranger to confirm the statement by an oath, and could scarcely be convinced of your existence even by the testimony of a God. After recovering from my surprise, I began to enquire of your exploits. He tells me how the brazen-footed bulls of Mars turned up the furrowed plain; that the teeth of the dragon were thrown into the earth for seed, and a sudden crop of armed men sprang up; and that these earth-born heroes, cut off by civil broils, had filled up the short span of life allotted to them by Fate. Upon hearing of the serpent overcome. I again asked if Jason still lived; my heart beating alternately with hope and fear. While he proceeds in recounting one thing after another, in the current of his discourse, he at last discovers the wounds made in your heart. Alas! where is now your promised faith? where are now the nuptial ties? and Hymen's torch, fitter to have lighted up my funeral pile? I was not known to you by stealth. Juno was witness to our vows; and Hymen also, having his temples bound with garlands. But neither Juno nor Hymen, but cruel Erinnys, bore in procession the inauspicious torch. What concern had I with the Argonauts?

what with the ship of Pallas? Why did your pilot Tiphys think of touching at this coast? Here was no ram to entice you by his golden spoils; nor had Æetes his royal palace at Lemnos. I had determined (but my unhappy destiny overruled me) to expel the strangers with a female band. The Lemnian ladies have too glaringly shown themselves an overmatch for men. My life and peace ought to have been defended by so trusty a band.

I allowed Jason to enter my city, and admitted him into my house and heart. Here two summers and two winters rolled away. It was now the third harvest, when, forced to unfold the spreading sails, with tears in your eyes you uttered these soft and tender words.

"Alas! I am torn from you, Hypsipyle; but, if Heaven grant me a safe return, as I depart thine, so will I ever remain thine, Let the pledge of our mutual love, that you now carry about in your teeming womb, be fondly cherished, that it may prove the joy and blessing of its parents." Thus far you spoke, while, the tears trickling down you deceitful checks, grief deprived you of the power to proceed. You were the last to ascend the sacred ship: she flies, and a favorable wind fills the swelling sails. The sea-green waves recede from before the stemming prow; your eyes are fixed upon the shore, while mine follow you through the deep. An adjacent tower opens a prospect on all sides towards the sea. Thither I bend my course, my face and bosom bedewed with tears. I view you through my tears; and my eyes, favoring the eagerness of my mind, carry forward my sight beyond its usual bounds. I address Heaven with chaste prayers and timorous vows,—vows to the performed, now that you are safe. Must I then pay vows for the triumphs of Medea? My heart yields to grief, and my love flames into rage. Shall I carry offerings to the temples, because Jason lives, and lives for another? Are victims to be slain in return for my disappointments? I was indeed always diffident, and dreaded