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Let me be your wedded mate now you are come back, as I was when you set forth! I was not made acquaint with you in stealthy wise; Juno was there to join us when we were wed, and Hymen, his temples bound with wreaths. Penelope to Ulysses 2. or what constellation shall I complain is hostile to my wretched self? Briseis to Achilles. Whither shall I take myself – I am alone, and the isle untilled. Turn about thy ship! [59] What am I to do? When was Ovid born? and when your wife is stolen away will you be slow to move? Farthest east and west. His horn could not have pierced that iron heart of thine; thy breast was safe, even didst thou naught to shield thyself. [119] Am I, then, to die, and, dying, not behold my mother’s tears; and shall there be no one’s finger to close my eyes? I was resolved at first – but my ill fate drew me on – to drive out with my women’s ban the stranger troop; the women of Lemnos know – yea, even too well – how to vanquish men.3 I should have let a soldiery so brave defend my cause. You add to it your stranger loves, and whoever will may be by you a mother. Remember, too, the same grandsire is ours, Atreus, Pelops’ son, and, were you not husband to me, you would still be cousin.3 Husband, I entreat, succour your wife; brother, your sister! Pyrrhus holds me captive, though my father is returned and a victor – this is the boon brought me by the downfall of Troy! That dreadful day was my ruin, when sudden downpour of rain from the deep-blue heaven drove us to shelter in the lofty grot. Where the bonds of wedlock, and the marriage torch, more fit to set ablaze my funeral pile? During Agamemnon’s absence, Aegisthus won Clytemnestra’s heart, and the two compassed the king’s death. – do you only spare the house which gives itself without condition into your hand. Ovid is today best known for his grand epic, Metamorphoses, and elegiac works like the Ars Amatoria and Heroides. [47] What had I with the Minyae, or Dodona’s pine?2 What had you with my native land, O helmsman Tiphys? In my childhood I had no mother; my father was ever in the wars – though the two were not dead, I was reft of both. She betrayed her sire; I rescued form death my father Thoas.7 She deserted the Colchians; my Lemnos has me still. Theoi Project © Copyright 2000 - 2017 Aaron J. Atsma, New Zealand. Dido to Aeneas 8. “Whither doest fly?” I cry aloud. 7. Choose rather me, and with me my dowry – these peoples of mine, and the wealth of Pygmalion I brought with me. Sappho to Phaon, 16. You furnish forth my death at a cost but slight. Against me conspiring were slumber, wind, and treacherous pledge – treason three-fold against one maid! Yet my unhappy soul has the comfort, when Titan is urging aloft his radiant steeds, of being more free in its wretchedness; but when the dark of night has fallen and sent me to my chamber with wails and lamentation for my bitter lot, and I have stretched myself prostrate on my sorrowful bed, then springing tears, not slumber, is the service of mine eyes, and in every way I can I shrink from my mate as from a foe. – and the stuffs that once grew warm beneath your limbs. 13. If noble blood and generous lineage move you – lo, I am known as daughter of Minoan Thoas! Perchance the island harbours the savage tiger as well. P. OVIDIVS NASO (43 B.C. Nota Bene 3/23: Ovid, Heroides 7.85-128 (Cerise) March 23, 2020 March 30, 2020 cyau Nota Bene Announcements from beginning of class will be sent out in an email Hero to Leander Half waking only, languid from sleep, I turned upon my side and put forth hands to clasp my Theseus – he was not there! Among sepulchres she stalks, ungirded, with hair flowing loose, and gathers from the yet warm funeral pyre the appointed bones. Nor is it you for whom I am anxious; only let the little Iulus3 be spared! Yet look upon me now – not with eyes, for with them you cannot, but with your mind – clinging to a rock all beaten by the wandering wave. Laodamia to Protesilaus When the breeze permits, you shall give your canvas to the gale; now the light seaweed detains your ship by the strand. Love is quick to believe; may it prove that I am hasty, and have brought a groundless charge against my lord! Standing in shrine of marble is an image of Sychaeus I hold sacred – in the midst of green fronds hung about, and fillets of white wool. Dido to Aeneas She vows to their doom the absent, fashions the waxen image, and into its wretched heart drives the slender needle – and other deeds ‘twere better not to know. I speak you well for your safety – so far as you give me chance; yet of this very thing I should have been informed by message of your own. [181] If you yield not, my purpose is fixed to pour forth my life; you can not be cruel to me for long. These only I still have, and still do I let them gush; my cheeks are wet and unsightly from their neverending found. Trying out a poll question – what animal would you be? “This is a woman, I tell thee, Pyrrhus, who has a master of her own!” Deafer to me than the sea as I shrieked out the name of Orestes, he dragged me with hair all disarrayed into his palace. When I have looked on the sea, and on the land, and on the wide-stretching shore, I know many dangers threaten me on land, and many on the waters. Tydeus my brother is exiled on an unknown shore11; my second brother’s life hung on the fateful fire12; our mother drove the steel through her own heart. [1] You are said to have touched the shores of Thessaly with safe-returning keel, rich in the fleece of the golden ram. Dickinson Latin Workshop: Ovid’s Heroides July 16–20, 2020. I myself, at home and widowed, am busied with chaste prayers, in torment lest my husband fall by the savage foe; with serpents and with boars and ravening lions my imaginings are full, and with hounds three-throated hard upon the prey. [153] Alas, for my devoted house! Dido Aeneae. FINIS What changed in the tone/attitude in Heroides? What is the significance of that? If you shame to have me your wife, let me not be called bride, but hostess; so she be yours, Dido will endure to be what you will. 4 Nec quia te nostra sperem prece posse moveri, 5 alloquor: adverso movimus ista deo! You, too have ancestors – Pelops, and the father of Pelops; should you care to count more closely, you could call yourself fifth from Jove.4. What matters aught, if sin is to be set before devotion, and she has won her husband with the very crime she brought him as her dower? ‘vir’, ‘virago’, ‘virgo’, ‘virtus’, ‘vis’. Yet would I had been content with these kindnesses, and that the story of our union were buried! [65] You are the last of your band to board the sacred Argo.4 It flies upon its way; the wind bellies out the sail; the dark-blue wave glides from under the keel as it drives along; your gaze is on the land, and mine is on the sea. The song preceding death. 2. I climb its slope – my spirit gave me strength – and thus with prospect broad I scan the billowy deep. 12. Come, say, what if, driven by unfriendly gales, you had entered my harbours, as ‘twere fitting you had done, you and your companion, and I had come forth to meet you with my twin babes – surely you must have prayed earth to yawn for you – with what countenance could you have gazed upon your children, O wretched man, with what countenance upon me? Over my cheeks the tears roll, and fall upon the drawn steel – which soon shall be stained with blood instead of tears. [23] I am all ablaze with love, like torches of wax tipped with sulphur, like pious incense placed on smoking altar-fires. By Oeneus, for slaying a brother. A woman has borne the darts blackened with the venom of Lerna, a woman scarce strong enough to carry the spindle heavy with wool; a woman has taken in her hand the club that overcame wild beasts, and in the mirror gazed upon the armour of her lord! Who knows but that this shore breeds, too, the tawny lion? Nor does my heart now for the first time feel a weapon’s thrust; it already bears the wound of cruel love. And suppose I did find those to go with me, and winds, and ship – yet where am I to go? – if indeed a woman lives who is buried by the treason of a perjured mate. This unlucky child will join in his mother's death, and you will be responsible for the death of … Scarce with a god to witness could I believe you living. Acontius to Cydippe No one could now call the Heroides a neglected part of Ovid’s oeuvre. Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abiectus in herbis 3 ad vada Maeandri concinit albus olor. . The letter you read comes from Briseis, a captive: its Greek, hardly written well by … Phaedra to Hippolytus Base and shameless was the way that mad became your bride; but the bond that gave me to you, and you to me, was chaste. Over hard paths I fly, and my enemy pursues. For you, enough to have the credit for my death. [75] And am I to absolve these vows – vows but for Medea to enjoy? More meet for the locks of Hercules were the white poplar. [119] And now, too, I have brought forth; rejoice for us both, Jason! 1. Burn me; I deserve it! [83] Would that Peleus’ son had escaped the bow of Apollo!8 The father would condemn the son for his wanton deed; ‘twas not of yore the pleasure of Achilles, nor would it be now his pleasure, to see a widowed husband weeping for his stolen wife. What have you gained but to spread the knowledge of your wretched shame, if a final act of baseness blots your former deeds? Of rocks and mountains were you begotten, and of the oak sprung from the lofty cliff, of savage wild beasts, or of the sea – such a sea as even now you look upon, tossed by the winds, on which you are none the less making ready to sail, despite the threatening floods. 20. In weeping I let pour forth my ire, and over my bosom course the tears like a flowing stream. 3. Am I to bear gifts to the shrines because Jason lives, though mine no more? Your mother is away, and laments that she ever pleased the potent god, and neither your father Amphitryon is here, nor your son Hyllus; the acts of Eurystheus, the instrument of Juno’s unjust wrath, and the long-continued anger of the goddess – I am the one to feel. What now can you gain to recompense you then, when you will have to say: “’Tis my desert; forgive me, ye gods!” when you will have to think that whatever thunderbolts fall were hurled at you? Dido to Aeneas (translated by Míceál F. Vaughan [1999]) Receive, Dardanian, the song of dying Elissa; What you read from me are the final words I have read. The entrails of slain victims stir my fears, the idle images of dreams, and the omen sought in the mysterious night. If ‘twas my fate to err, my error had honourable cause; so only he keep faith, I shall have no reason for regret. 8. My father’s realm forbids me to approach. – 17 A.D.) METAMORPHOSES. It’s not an outlier, however. [1] Thus, at the summons of fate, casting himself down amid the watery grasses by the shallows of Maeander, sings the white swan.1. Has anyone in hearing of Hermione said aught against Orestes, and have I no strength, and no keen sword at hand? I should submit my arms to your shameful act. A series of letters purportedly written by Penelope, Dido, Medea, and other heroines to their lovers, the Heroides represents Ovid's initial attempt to revitalize myth as a subject for literature. Both bonds press you on to your duty. [95] A woman like this can you embrace? Let him be endlessly proud because of his father’s deeds; you, too, have a sire’s achievements of which to boast. [73] They say that you have held the wool-basket among the girls of Ionia, and been frightened at your mistress’ threats. Each moment, now here, now there, I look to see wolves rush on me, to rend my vitals with their greedy fangs. [159] This one thing I deprecate, by the most sacred bonds of our marriage-bed – that I seem to have plotted for your doom. Phyllis to Demophoon 3. [31] I was given to you by Tyndareus, weighty of counsel both for his life and for his years; the grandsire was arbiter of the grandchild’s fate. 7. You are to me what my sire is to my mother, and to the part which once the Dardanian stranger played, Pyrrhus now plays. 9. You shall rather be reputed the cause of my own doom. [9] Why was it rumour brought me tidings of you, rather than lines from your hand? Yet neither let me suffer for it! Even as I write comes rumour to me saying my lord is dying of the poison from my cloak.

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