Epistulae

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