Catullus 64

Original Latin

Peliaco quondam prognatae vertice pinus

dicuntur liquidas Neptuni nasse per undas

Phasidos ad fluctus et fines Aeetaeos,

cum lecti iuvenes, Argiuae robora pubis,

auratam optantes Colchis avertere pellem

ausi sunt vada salsa cita decurrere puppi,

caerula verrentes abiegnis aequora palmis.

diva quibus retinens in summis urbibus arces

ipsa levi fecit volitantem flamine currum,

pinea coniungens inflexae texta carinae.

illa rudem cursu prima imbuit Amphitriten;

quae simul ac rostro ventosum proscidit aequor

tortaque remigio spumis incanuit unda,

emersere freti candenti e gurgite vultus

aequoreae monstrum Nereides admirantes.

illa, atque alia, viderunt luce marinas

mortales oculis nudato corpore Nymphas

nutricum tenus exstantes e gurgite cano.

tum Thetidis Peleus incensus fertur amore,

tum Thetis humanos non despexit hymenaeos,

tum Thetidi pater ipse iugandum Pelea sensit.

o nimis optato saeclorum tempore nati

heroes, salvete, deum genus! o bona matrum

progenies, salvete iter...

vos ego saepe, meo vos carmine compellabo.

teque adeo eximie taedis felicibus aucte,

Thessaliae columen Peleu, cui Iuppiter ipse,

ipse suos divum genitor concessit amores;

tene Thetis tenuit pulcerrima Nereine?

tene suam Tethys concessit ducere neptem,

Oceanusque, mari totum qui amplectitur orbem?

quae simul optatae finito tempore luces

advenere, domum conventu tota frequentat

Thessalia, oppletur laetanti regia coetu:

dona ferunt prae se, declarant gaudia vultu.

deseritur Cieros, linquunt Pthiotica Tempe

Crannonisque domos ac moenia Larisaea,

Pharsalum coeunt, Pharsalia tecta frequentant.

rura colit nemo, mollescunt colla iuvencis,

non humilis curvis purgatur vinea rastris,

non glebam prono convellit vomere taurus,

non falx attenuat frondatorum arboris umbram,

squalida desertis rubigo infertur aratris.

ipsius at sedes, quacumque opulenta recessit

regia, fulgenti splendent auro atque argento.

candet ebur soliis, collucent pocula mensae,

tota domus gaudet regali splendida gaza.

pulvinar vero divae geniale locatur

sedibus in mediis, Indo quod dente politum

tincta tegit roseo conchyli purpura fuco.

haec vestis priscis hominum variata figuris

heroum mira virtutes indicat arte.

namque fluentisono prospectans litore Diae,

Thesea cedentem celeri cum classe tuetur

indomitos in corde gerens Ariadna furores,

necdum etiam sese quae visit visere credit,

utpote fallaci quae tum primum excita somno

desertam in sola miseram se cernat harena.

immemor at iuvenis fugiens pellit vada remis,

irrita ventosae linquens promissa procellae.

quem procul ex alga maestis Minois ocellis,

saxea ut effigies bacchantis, prospicit, eheu,

prospicit et magnis curarum fluctuat undis,

non flavo retinens subtilem vertice mitram,

non contecta levi velatum pectus amictu,

non tereti strophio lactentis vincta papillas,

omnia quae toto delapsa e corpore passim

ipsius ante pedes fluctus salis alludebant.

sed neque tum mitrae neque tum fluitantis amictus

illa vicem curans toto ex te pectore, Theseu,

toto animo, tota pendebat perdita mente.

misera, assiduis quam luctibus externavit

spinosas Erycina serens in pectore curas,

illa tempestate, ferox quo ex tempore Theseus

egressus curvis e litoribus Piraei

attigit iniusti regis Gortynia templa.

nam perhibent olim crudeli peste coactam

Androgeoneae poenas exsolvere caedis

electos iuvenes simul et decus innuptarum

Cecropiam solitam esse dapem dare Minotauro.

quis angusta malis cum moenia vexarentur,

ipse suum Theseus pro caris corpus Athenis

proicere optavit potius quam talia Cretam

funera Cecropiae nec funera portarentur.

atque ita nave levi nitens ac lenibus auris

magnanimum ad Minoa venit sedesque superbas.

hunc simul ac cupido conspexit lumine virgo

regia, quam suavis exspirans castus odores

lectulus in molli complexu matris alebat,

quales Eurotae praecingunt flumina myrtus

aurave distinctos educit verna colores,

non prius ex illo flagrantia declinavit

lumina, quam cuncto concepit corpore flammam

funditus atque imis exarsit tota medullis.

heu misere exagitans immiti corde furores

sancte puer, curis hominum qui gaudia misces,

quaeque regis Golgos quaeque Idalium frondosum,

qualibus incensam iactastis mente puellam

fluctibus, in flavo saepe hospite suspirantem!

quantos illa tulit languenti corde timores!

quanto saepe magis fulgore expalluit auri,

cum saevum cupiens contra contendere monstrum

aut mortem appeteret Theseus aut praemia laudis!

non ingrata tamen frustra munuscula divis

promittens tacito succepit vota labello.

nam velut in summo quatientem brachia Tauro

quercum aut conigeram sudanti cortice pinum

indomitus turbo contorquens flamine robur,

eruit (illa procul radicitus exturbata

prona cadit, late quaevis cumque obuia frangens,)

sic domito saevum prostravit corpore Theseus

nequiquam vanis iactantem cornua ventis.

inde pedem sospes multa cum laude reflexit

errabunda regens tenui vestigia filo,

ne labyrintheis e flexibus egredientem

tecti frustraretur inobservabilis error.

sed quid ego a primo digressus carmine plura

commemorem, ut linquens genitoris filia vultum,

ut consanguineae complexum, ut denique matris,

quae misera in gnata deperdita laeta

omnibus his Thesei dulcem praeoptarit amorem:

aut ut vecta rati spumosa ad litora Diae

venerit aut ut eam devinctam lumina somno

liquerit immemori discedens pectore coniunx?

saepe illam perhibent ardenti corde furentem

clarisonas imo fudisse e pectore voces,

ac tum praeruptos tristem conscendere montes,

unde aciem in pelagi vastos protenderet aestus,

tum tremuli salis adversas procurrere in undas

mollia nudatae tollentem tegmina surae,

atque haec extremis maestam dixisse querellis,

frigidulos udo singultus ore cientem:

'sicine me patriis avectam, perfide, ab aris

perfide, deserto liquisti in litore, Theseu?

sicine discedens neglecto numine divum,

immemor a! devota domum periuria portas?

nullane res potuit crudelis flectere mentis

consilium? tibi nulla fuit clementia praesto,

immite ut nostri vellet miserescere pectus?

at non haec quondam blanda promissa dedisti

voce mihi, non haec miserae sperare iubebas,

sed conubia laeta, sed optatos hymenaeos,

quae cuncta aereii discerpunt irrita venti.

nunc iam nulla viro iuranti femina credat,

nulla viri speret sermones esse fideles;

quis dum aliquid cupiens animus praegestit apisci,

nil metuunt iurare, nihil promittere parcunt:

sed simul ac cupidae mentis satiata libido est,

dicta nihil metuere, nihil periuria curant.

certe ego te in medio versantem turbine leti

eripui, et potius germanum amittere crevi,

quam tibi fallaci supremo in tempore dessem.

pro quo dilaceranda feris dabor alitibusque

praeda, neque iniacta tumulabor mortua terra.

quaenam te genuit sola sub rupe leaena,

quod mare conceptum spumantibus exspuit undis,

quae Syrtis, quae Scylla rapax, quae vasta Carybdis,

talia qui reddis pro dulci praemia vita?

si tibi non cordi fuerant conubia nostra,

saeva quod horrebas prisci praecepta parentis,

attamen in vestras potuisti ducere sedes,

quae tibi iucundo famularer serva labore,

candida permulcens liquidis vestigia lymphis,

purpureave tuum consternens veste cubile.

sed quid ego ignaris nequiquam conquerar auris,

externata malo, quae nullis sensibus auctae

nec missas audire queunt nec reddere voces?

ille autem prope iam mediis versatur in undis,

nec quisquam apparet vacua mortalis in alga.

sic nimis insultans extremo tempore saeva

fors etiam nostris invidit questibus auris.

Iuppiter omnipotens, utinam ne tempore primo

Gnosia Cecropiae tetigissent litora puppes,

indomito nec dira ferens stipendia tauro

perfidus in Cretam religasset navita funem,

nec malus hic celans dulci crudelia forma

consilia in nostris requiesset sedibus hospes!

nam quo me referam? quali spe perdita nitor?

Idaeosne petam montes? at gurgite lato

discernens ponti truculentum dividit aequor.

an patris auxilium sperem? quemne ipsa reliqui

respersum iuvenem fraterna caede secuta?

coniugis an fido consoler memet amore?

quine fugit lentos incuruans gurgite remos?

praeterea nullo colitur sola insula tecto,

nec patet egressus pelagi cingentibus undis.

nulla fugae ratio, nulla spes: omnia muta,

omnia sunt deserta, ostentant omnia letum.

non tamen ante mihi languescent lumina morte,

nec prius a fesso secedent corpore sensus,

quam iustam a divis exposcam prodita multam

caelestumque fidem postrema comprecer hora.

quare facta virum multantes vindice poena

Eumenides, quibus anguino redimita capillo

frons exspirantis praeportat pectoris iras,

huc huc adventate, meas audite querellas,

quas ego, vae misera, extremis proferre medullis

cogor inops, ardens, amenti caeca furore.

quae quoniam verae nascuntur pectore ab imo,

vos nolite pati nostrum vanescere luctum,

sed quali solam Theseus me mente reliquit,

tali mente, deae, funestet seque suosque.'

has postquam maesto profudit pectore voces,

supplicium saevis ecens anxia factis,

annuit invicto caelestum numine rector;

quo motu tellus atque horrida contremuerunt

aequora concussitque micantia sidera mundus.

ipse autem caeca mentem caligine Theseus

consitus oblito dimisit pectore cuncta,

quae mandata prius constanti mente tenebat,

dulcia nec maesto sustollens signa parenti

sospitem Erechtheum se ostendit visere portum.

namque ferunt olim, classi cum moenia divae

linquentem gnatum ventis concrederet Aegeus,

talia complexum iuveni mandata dedisse:

'gnate mihi longa iucundior unice vita,

gnate, ego quem in dubios cogor dimittere casus,

reddite in extrema nuper mihi fine senectae,

quandoquidem fortuna mea ac tua feruida virtus

eripit invito mihi te, cui languida nondum

lumina sunt gnati cara saturata figura,

non ego te gaudens laetanti pectore mittam,

nec te ferre sinam fortunae signa secundae,

sed primum multas expromam mente querellas,

canitiem terra atque infuso puluere foedans,

inde infecta vago suspendam lintea malo,

nostros ut luctus nostraeque incendia mentis

carbasus obscurata decet ferrugine Hibera.

quod tibi si sancti concesserit incola Itoni,

quae nostrum genus ac sedes defendere Erecthei

annuit, ut tauri respergas sanguine dextram,

tum vero facito ut memori tibi condita corde

haec vigeant mandata, nec ulla oblitteret aetas;

ut simul ac nostros invisent lumina collis,

funestam antennae deponant undique vestem,

candidaque intorti sustollant vela rudentes,

quam primum cernens ut laeta gaudia mente

agnoscam, cum te reducem aetas prospera sistet.'

haec mandata prius constanti mente tenentem

Thesea ceu pulsae ventorum flamine nubes

aereum nivei montis liquere cacumen.

at pater, ut summa prospectum ex arce petebat,

anxia in assiduos absumens lumina fletus,

cum primum infecti conspexit lintea veli,

praecipitem sese scopulorum e vertice iecit,

amissum credens immiti Thesea fato.

sic funesta domus ingressus tecta paterna

morte ferox Theseus, qualem Minoidi luctum

obtulerat mente immemori, talem ipse recepit.

quae tum prospectans cedentem maesta carinam

multiplices animo voluebat saucia curas.

at parte ex alia florens volitabat Iacchus

cum thiaso Satyrorum et Nysigenis Silenis,

te quaerens, Ariadna, tuoque incensus amore.

* * * * * * * *

quae tum alacres passim lymphata mente furebant

euhoe bacchantes, euhoe capita inflectentes.

harum pars tecta quatiebant cuspide thyrsos,

pars e divolso iactabant membra iuvenco,

pars sese tortis serpentibus incingebant,

pars obscura cavis celebrabant orgia cistis,

orgia quae frustra cupiunt audire profani;

plangebant aliae proceris tympana palmis,

aut tereti tenuis tinnitus aere ciebant;

multis raucisonos efflabant cornua bombos

barbaraque horribili stridebat tibia cantu.

talibus amplifice vestis decorata figuris

pulvinar complexa suo velabat amictu.

quae postquam cupide spectando Thessala pubes

expleta est, sanctis coepit decedere divis.

hic, qualis flatu placidum mare matutino

horrificans Zephyrus procliuas incitat undas,

Aurora exoriente vagi sub limina Solis,

quae tarde primum clementi flamine pulsae

procedunt leviterque sonant plangore cachinni,

post vento crescente magis magis increbescunt,

purpureaque procul nantes ab luce refulgent:

sic tum vestibuli linquentes regia tecta

ad se quisque vago passim pede discedebant.

quorum post abitum princeps e vertice Pelei

advenit Chiron portans siluestria dona:

nam quoscumque ferunt campi, quos Thessala magnis

montibus ora creat, quos propter fluminis undas

aura parit flores tepidi fecunda Favoni,

hos indistinctis plexos tulit ipse corollis,

quo permulsa domus iucundo risit odore.

confestim Penios adest, viridantia Tempe,

Tempe, quae silvae cingunt super impendentes,

Minosim linquens doris celebranda choreis,

non vacuos: namque ille tulit radicitus altas

fagos ac recto proceras stipite laurus,

non sine nutanti platano lentaque sorore

flammati Phaethontis et aerea cupressu.

haec circum sedes late contexta locavit,

vestibulum ut molli velatum fronde vireret.

post hunc consequitur sollerti corde Prometheus,

extenuata gerens veteris vestigia poenae,

quam quondam silici restrictus membra catena

persolvit pendens e verticibus praeruptis.

inde pater divum sancta cum coniuge natisque

advenit caelo, te solum, Phoebe, relinquens

unigenamque simul cultricem montibus Idri:

Pelea nam tecum pariter soror aspernata est,

nec Thetidis taedas voluit celebrare iugales.

qui postquam niveis flexerunt sedibus artus

large multiplici constructae sunt dape mensae,

cum interea infirmo quatientes corpora motu

veridicos Parcae coeperunt edere cantus.

his corpus tremulum complectens undique vestis

candida purpurea talos incinxerat ora,

at roseae niveo residebant vertice vittae,

aeternumque manus carpebant rite laborem.

laeva colum molli lana retinebat amictum,

dextera tum leviter deducens fila supinis

formabat digitis, tum prono in pollice torquens

libratum tereti versabat turbine fusum,

atque ita decerpens aequabat semper opus dens,

laneaque aridulis haerebant morsa labellis,

quae prius in levi fuerant exstantia filo:

ante pedes autem candentis mollia lanae

vellera virgati custodibant calathisci.

haec tum clarisona pellentes vellera voce

talia divino fuderunt carmine fata,

carmine, perfidiae quod post nulla arguet aetas.

o decus eximium magnis virtutibus augens,

Emathiae tutamen, Opis carissime nato,

accipe, quod laeta tibi pandunt luce sorores,

veridicum oraclum: sed vos, quae fata sequuntur,

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

adveniet tibi iam portans optata maritis

Hesperus, adveniet fausto cum sidere coniunx,

quae tibi flexanimo mentem perfundat amore,

languidulosque paret tecum coniungere somnos,

levia substernens robusto bracchia collo.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

nulla domus tales umquam contexit amores,

nullus amor tali coniunxit foedere amantes,

qualis adest Thetidi, qualis concordia Peleo.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

nascetur vobis expers terroris Achilles,

hostibus haud tergo, sed forti pectore notus,

qui persaepe vago victor certamine cursus

flammea praevertet celeris vestigia cervae.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

non illi quisquam bello se conferet heros,

cum Phrygii Teucro manabunt sanguine

Troicaque obsidens longinquo moenia bello,

periuri Pelopis vastabit tertius heres.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

illius egregias virtutes claraque facta

saepe fatebuntur gnatorum in funere matres,

cum incultum cano solvent a vertice crinem,

putridaque infirmis variabunt pectora palmis.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

namque velut densas praecerpens messor aristas

sole sub ardenti flaventia demetit arua,

Troiugenum infesto prosternet corpora ferro.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

testis erit magnis virtutibus unda Scamandri,

quae passim rapido diffunditur Hellesponto,

cuius iter caesis angustans corporum acervis

alta tepefaciet permixta flumina caede.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

denique testis erit morti quoque reddita praeda,

cum teres excelso coaceruatum aggere bustum

excipiet niveos perculsae virginis artus.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

nam simul ac fessis dederit fors copiam Achivis

urbis Dardaniae Neptunia solvere vincla,

alta Polyxenia madefient caede sepulcra;

quae, velut ancipiti succumbens victima ferro,

proiciet truncum summisso poplite corpus.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

quare agite optatos animi coniungite amores.

accipiat coniunx felici foedere divam,

dedatur cupido iam dudum nupta marito.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

non illam nutrix orienti luce revisens

hesterno collum poterit circumdare filo,

anxia nec mater discordis maesta puellae

secubitu caros mittet sperare nepotes.

currite ducentes subtegmina, currite, fusi.

talia praefantes quondam felicia Pelei

carmina divino cecinerunt pectore Parcae.

praesentes namque ante domos invisere castas

heroum, et sese mortali ostendere coetu,

caelicolae nondum spreta pietate solebant.

saepe pater divum templo in fulgente revisens,

annua cum festis venissent sacra diebus,

conspexit terra centum procumbere tauros.

saepe vagus Liber Parnasi vertice summo

Thyiadas effusis euantis crinibus egit,

cum Delphi tota certatim ex urbe ruentes

acciperent laeti divum fumantibus aris.

saepe in letifero belli certamine Mavors

aut rapidi Tritonis era aut Amarunsia virgo

armatas hominum est praesens hortata catervas.

sed postquam tellus scelere est imbuta nefando

iustitiamque omnes cupida de mente fugarunt,

perfudere manus fraterno sanguine fratres,

destitit extinctos gnatus lugere parentes,

optavit genitor primaevi funera nati,

liber ut innuptae poteretur flore novercae,

ignaro mater substernens se impia nato

impia non verita est divos scelerare penates.

omnia fanda nefanda malo permixta furore

iustificam nobis mentem avertere deorum.

quare nec talis dignantur visere coetus,

nec se contingi patiuntur lumine claro.

My Translation

A long time ago, pines born on Pelion’s ridge 

are said to have swum through 

Neptune’s pure waters, through 

Phasis’s currents, 

to the borders of Aeetes.

Here, young chosen men, 

Argive youth hard like timber, 

who longed to steal the golden fleece 

from Colchis’s clenched grip, 

dared to run a swift ship into the ocean’s 

salty shallows, sweeping 

the blue abyss with fir-wood oars. 

The goddess who guards the city’s 

highest heights, joining pine planks by 

weaving a curved keel, made for them a light wind

on which their swift sleep flew. 

With its voyage, the ship was the first 

to soak rough Amphitrite, and 

cut the windy surface and twisting water–

its oars, churning, 

whitened the waves into foam. 

From these dazzling depths,

the faces of sea-nymphs, marveling, 

stared up at the strangers. 

Then and only then did the mortals see,

with their own eyes, the sea-nymphs, 

nude and rising from their waists

out of the milky white waters. 

They say it was then that Peleus began 

to burn with love for Thetis– and Thetis, 

too, did not resent human marriage; even

her own father knew that the two must be joined. 

O you heroes, born in the chosen age– hail, offspring of the gods!

O blessed children of blessed mothers – hail again!

I will call on you often in my song. 

And you above all, Peleus, 

Thessaly’s shining pillar, 

lifted by fortune’s flames–

Jupiter himself, 

father of the gods, 

granted to you his own beloved daughter!

Did Thesis, most beautiful of the Nereids, 

not hold you?

And did Tethys and 

Oceanus, who encircles 

the whole earth with his sea, 

not allow you to carry away 

their granddaughter?

When the long-awaited wedding day 

finally arrived, all of Thessaly

convened, and crowded the home–

the joyful crowd consumed the palace. 

They gathered at Pharsalus–

deserting Cieros, 

leaving Tempe’s valleys,

Crannon’s homes, and 

Larissa’s walls– they 

poured into the Pharsalian halls. 

No one tills the fields, and 

the oxen’s necks rest. 

No vines are cleared with 

a curved hoe, and 

no bull works the soil with 

a plunging plough. 

No pruning knife thins the trees’ shades–

rust, dirty and tough, 

infects the abandoned tools. 

But whatever lies inside

the rich halls of the royal home,

shines with gleaming silver and gold. 

Ivory glimmers on the chairs, 

cups twinkle on the tables– 

the whole palace, radiant with royal treasures, 

rejoices! 

In the center of it all, 

carved from Indian ivory, 

covered with plum-colored cloth, 

dyed in a rosy shellfish red, 

the goddess’s bridal couch rests. 

The cloth, crafted marvelously, 

depicts each and every deed

of ancient figures and heroes. 

On it, gazing out from the resounding 

shores of Dia, Ariadne watches Theseus and 

his swift fleet sail away, 

her heart holding a storm 

of uncontained anger.

Not yet can she even believe that she truly witnessed 

what she sees–

she was just roused from a 

treacherous sleep, finding herself 

wretched and abandoned on the

lonely sand. 

The young man, forgetful of his love, 

cuts the wave with his oar, 

leaving his empty promises 

to the stormy winds. 

And she, but a speck in the distance, 

watches with tear-filled eyes from 

the edge of seaweed–

like Bacchante’s stone carvings,

she watches and cries out 

great waves of grief. 

She does not hold back her

blond hair with her headband, 

nor covers her breast with a light cloth, 

nor covers her pale nipples with a smooth band. 

All her clothing slips loosely 

from her frame and 

lies scattered before her feet, 

toyed with by the salty waters. 

But she pays no mind – she doesn’t care 

for the headband or drifting cloak –

all of her, 

her heart 

her soul

her ruined mind 

are consumed by you, Theseus, 

alone. 

O poor girl! Unceasing grief 

has driven you half mad!

Venus of Eryx has left to you

these thorny anxieties ever since 

fierce Theseus left behind

Piraeus’s curving shores and 

reached the Cretan halls and their 

unjust king. 

They say that once upon a time, 

when Athens was impelled by 

a cruel plague to pay a penalty for killing Androgeos, 

they chose to pledge certain youth 

and the glory of innocent girls 

for the Minotaur to feast upon. 

Yet these narrow city walls were still 

troubled by such evils when 

Theseus himself chose to sacrifice his own flesh 

for dear Athens, instead of 

letting funeral ships continue to carry the 

Athenian dead to Crete. 

And so, in a speedy ship  carried along by 

gentle breezes, he arrived to

haughty Minos and his powerful throne.

Yet as soon as the royal maiden, 

her gaze burning with longing,

locked eyes with him –

she who was nourished by a pure bed, 

and breathed sweet perfumes, 

raised in her mother’s soft embrace just as 

the streams of Eurotas encircle 

myrtles, whoseflowers the 

spring breeze blesses with shifting color–

her blazing gaze did not turn away, 

until the fire spread through her entire body, 

burning to the depths of 

her bones. 

O holy boy! You mingle with the 

joys and torments of human hearts!

Even she who rules Golgos and leafy Idalia–

even her mind is tossed into storms, 

sighing repeatedly and burning for you,

blond stranger. 

Her faint heart must be consumed with so many fears!

So often she grew paler than 

yellow gold when Theseus, 

itching to face the savage monster, 

sought either death or the prizes of praise. 

Yet never ungrateful, and never in vain, 

she promised small gifts to the gods and 

silently prayed for his life. 

And so, just as an oak on the top of a mountain 

shakes its branches, 

or a cone-bearing pine and its damp bark, 

twisting with violent gusts and 

torn from its roots by a whirlwind, 

hurls forwards and impales whatever stands in its path, 

Theseus, mastering the monster, 

pinned it to the ground and tossed its horns 

into the winds. 

Unharmed and showered in praise, 

he retreated across his wandering path, 

following a slender thread 

so the labyrinth’s winding maze 

would not trick him as he left. 

But why am I straying from 

my first song, and instead describing in detail

how the daughter abandoned her 

father’s sight, departed from her 

sister’s embrace, and last left her 

mother, who, in misery, rejoiced her 

lost daughter?

She chose Theseus’s sweet love over them all–

until, carried in his ship, she arrived at 

Dia’s foaming shores and her husband’s 

forgetful heart abandoned her in sleep.

Often, they say that the rage of her 

burning heart led her to wail–

clear-sounding cries from the depths of

her breast. Now, she climbed

the jagged mountains and peered across the 

vast ocean. Now, she ran 

against the trembling waves and lifted 

her soft hem from her naked calf–

she cried these last words, 

her breath drawing frigid sobs from 

her tear-stained mouth:

“O faithless one, is this how you leave me?

You, carried from my father’s altars, 

is this how you abandon me, Theseus,

alone on these shores?

Is this how you leave me, 

the will of the gods escaping your mind, 

carrying with you your 

broken promises?

Could nothing change your cruel mind?

Have you no mercy, no pity in your savage heart?

Once, you spoke to me–

gave me hope for a joyful marriage, 

sang our wedding songs! 

The airy winds scatter all of it, 

worthless. 

Never again let a woman believe a man’s promises!

Never again let a woman hope that a man’s words aren’t lies! 

Men’s minds once burned with desire–

so much of it that they didn’t fear swearing and promising everything–

but once they are sated, 

they do not give a passing thought to their words,

or regret their broken promises. 

And yet I, yes, I, 

snatched you from the center of death’s whirlpool–

I chose to lose my brother if it meant saving you, 

you faithless one, 

in your final hour.

And for this, you let the beasts tear me apart! 

You give me as prey to the birds,

my dead body unburied and scattered upon this earth. 

What lion gave birth to you under 

a lonely cliff? 

What sea spat you out from its 

foaming waves?

What Syrtis, 

what ravenous Scylla,

what massive Charybdis, 

created you, who is ungrateful

for a life saved by love?

If you did not care to be married to me–

if you shrank away from father’s harsh commands–

you could have still brought me into your home. 

I would have served you, like a 

willing slave, bathing 

your pale feet in pure water and 

spreading plum-colored blankets on your bed. 

But why do I bother complaining 

to deaf ears? Consumed by my grief, 

why am I speaking to one who 

cannot hear and cannot answer?

He is already far out at sea –

nothing human appears on these wasteland shores. 

Even in my last hour, 

savage fate strips my cries 

of any listener.

O all-powerful Jupiter –

if only those Cretan ships, carrying 

tribute to the wild beast, had never 

touched Athenian shores. 

If only their faithless captain 

had never anchored his fleet in Crete, and  

if only this evil man, hiding 

cruelty beneath a beautiful frame, 

had never spent the night as a guest in our home!

Where can I go from here? 

What hope can I, ruined, find?

Should I seek the mountains of Ida?

            No, the wide sea cleaves them 

            with its savage waters.

Should I beg for my father’s help?

            No, I left him, 

            following the young man,

            stained with the blood of my brother. 

Should I comfort myself with my husband’s loyalty?

            No, for he flees, bending 

            his careful oars across the sea. 

This island is empty– 

it has the shelter of no roof, 

it has no path of escape–

it opens only to the threatening waters. 

There is no flight, no hope:

everything is 

silent, deserted, 

dying. 

But before death dims my eyes, 

before life departs from my tired soul, 

I must demand that the gods punish justly–

in my last breath, 

I call on the faith of heaven:

Eumenides, you avengers of human souls, 

with brows made of serpents and 

faces betraying the heart’s rage, 

come here, come here!

Hear my plea– a plea 

my innermost being,

helpless, burning, and blind with raging fury, 

compels wretched me to speak. 

These words are true, born from the 

depths of my heart–

do not let my grief disappear into nothing. 

Since Theseus left me

alone to suffer,

let him destroy himself, goddesses,

with his own savage grief!” 

When these words had poured from her 

saddened heart, demanding punishment for cruelty, 

the king of the gods nodded in agreement:

at his movement, the earth and sea trembled, and 

in heaven, the shining stars shuddered.

And Theseus himself, 

his mind clouded with darkening mist, 

let all the instructions he once held firm 

slip out of his heart–

he did not raise welcome signals to his 

anxious father to show that

he had returned safely to the Athenian harbor. 

Long before, they say that 

when Aegeus trusted the winds with his son, 

he gave him these commands, 

embracing his young man before he left the city:

“My son, you are dearer to me 

than long life itself. 

My son, who fate and fierce courage 

tear from me, forcing me to send you into 

perilous dangers against my will– 

my failing eyes are not yet ready to lose 

the beloved sight of you.

I do not send you away happily, 

or with a joyful heart, and I will not 

let you carry the flags of good fortune.

Instead, carry with you the many complaints 

staining my grey hair with dust and ash, 

while I hang black sails from 

the wandering mast– the dark cloth 

betraying my grief and 

the burning of my heart.

But if the goddess who guards our lineage 

will allow you to stain your hand with 

the blood of the bull, then 

remember these instructions– 

inscribe them into your conscientious heart 

and do not let time erase them:

as soon as your eyes catch sight of our hills, 

cast off the dark sails, and let 

the twisted ropes raise a white canvas, 

so that my joyful heart can see that

good fortune brings you home.”

But these instructions, which once 

Theseus held firmly in his mind, 

left his memory like clouds 

blown by the wind 

from a mountain’s snowy peak. 

As soon as his father, 

watching from the citadel’s heights, with 

eyes exhausted by constant crying, 

saw the dark sails, 

he hurled his body off the cliff, 

believing Theseus, too, 

had been lost to cruel fate. 

Theseus, upon entering

his dead father’s home, was 

struck with fierce grief –

he received the same sorrow 

his forgetful heart had given 

to the daughter of Minos– 

she whose wounded mind, 

still wishing to see the departing ship, 

struggled with endless anxieties. 

But from elsewhere Bacchus came!

Blooming and burning with love, he, 

with the band of Satyrs 

and the Nysa-born Silenes, 

seeks you, Ariadne! 

Everywhere, the Bacchants raved, 

their minds aflame and heads tossing, 

crying “Euhoe!”

Some shook thyrsi wrapped in leaves, 

others threw a calf’s torn limbs, 

still others tied themselves with twisting snakes, 

and still others carried, in hollow baskets, 

the hidden rites that the profane so long to hear. 

And of course, lifted hands beat upon drums 

or clashed thin bronze in ringing beats– 

many blew harsh horns, and 

savage pipes shrieked a dreadful song. 

The sacred couch’s cloth embraced

the splendid scenes that covered it. 

When the people of Thessaly, 

after gazing at it eagerly, were sated, 

they began to withdraw from the goddess’s sanctuary, 

right as Zephyr stirs the slanting waves, 

ruffling the soothing sea with dawn’s breeze, 

while the wandering sun rises beneath Aurora’s threshold. 

First, the waters move slowly, 

stirred by only a soft wind – they laugh gently 

in quiet ripples.

Then, the breeze grows stronger, 

and they continue to rise–

from afar, they gleam purple in the light.

Now, the guests leave the palace doors, 

drifting away with dawdling steps. 

After they left, Chiron came from Pelion’s peak, 

carrying woodland gifts 

(whatever the flowers and fields bear,

whatever Thessaly cultivates on its great mountains, 

whatever blossoms when the warm west wind’s 

fecund breath exhales beside the streams).

These he brought, woven in mismatched garlands, 

and the home, soothed with their scent, 

appeared to smile. 

Not long after came Peneus,

who left green, walled Tempe with its overhanging forests–

he did not come empty-handed:

he brought tall beech trees, torn from the roots, 

and straight-trunked laurels with long leaves, 

and he did not arrive without the nodding planes 

and pliant poplars– the sister of blazing Phaethon–

and airy cypress. 

He set these in a wide circle around the 

halls– the vestibule itself

grew green with gentle leaves. 

After him, smart, skilled Prometheus arrived, 

bearing the worn scars of his ancient punishment–

once, bound with chains to a stone, 

he hung from the rocky cliffs. 

Then, the father of the gods himself approached, 

with his sacred wife and children, 

leaving only you, Phoebus, and your twin,

who haunts Ida’s ridges, behind;

both of you despise Peleus, and 

would not celebrate his marriage. 

They settled their limbs on the ivory seats 

before tables heaped high with bounty, 

and meanwhile, 

twisting their bodies with subtle movements, 

the Fates began to sing their always honest song.

Their shaking bodies were wrapped 

in white robes bordered with plum, 

and rose-red braids rested on their snow-white locks.

Their hands draw out an endless spool of wool–

the left hand held the spindle, 

covered in a soft fleece, and

the right’s lifted fingers drew out the threads, 

twisting them on the downward thumb and 

setting the balanced spindle whirling–

a plucking tooth  =smooths the wool, 

and bits of it cling to their dry lips.

Before their feet, 

soft baskets guard shining thread. 

Then, striking the fleece with pure voices, 

they foretell fate in a divine song, 

which no later age will prove false:

“O safeguard of Thessaly, 

dearest of Jupiter’s descendants, 

you add glory to your arsenal of mighty powers 

and receive the truthful oracle the sisters unfold for you

on this brilliant day. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

Soon the Evening Star will come to you, 

carrying the bride that husbands long desired–

with that lucky star, your wife shall arrive, 

who will flood your heart with surrendering love, 

who will lay her soft arms beneath your strong neck 

and join you in gentle slumber. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

No house will have ever woven such loves–

no love has ever bound lovers more strongly 

than the love between Thetis and Peleus. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

To you both, Achilles will be born–

fearless and known to enemies for never turning his back–

in swift races, he will outrun even the 

deer’s blazing tracks. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

No hero will match him in battle, even when 

the fields of Troy are soaked with Teucrian blood, 

and deceitful Pelops’s third heir 

lays waste to the city’s walls in 

this brutal conflict. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

At funerals for their sons, 

mothers will often recall his glorious deeds, 

untying the grey hair on their heads and 

striking their sagging breasts with trembling fists. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

Now, as a reaper, under the burning sun,

cuts down the thick-growing grain of the yellow fields too early, 

Achilles destroys Trojan bodies 

with a fierce blade.  

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

The river Scamander, spreading everywhere 

to the swift Hellespont, sees it all–

its current narrowed by heaps of corpses, 

its deep waters warmed and mixed with blood. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

It sees, too, the prize given to death–

beside the overflowing tomb a 

white-limbed maiden falls, 

struck down upon the mound of the dying. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

When at last fate grants the Greeks power 

to breach the walls of Troy, 

Achilles’s tomb will be drenched in the 

blood of Polyxena–

like the victim of a double-edged blade,

she sinks to the earth. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

Come! Join your yearning hearts with love!

Let the groom and the goddess consummate their fortunate union!

Let the bride finally be given to her eager husband!

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!

No nurse visiting at dawn will rebind 

her neck with the thread of yesterday,

and no anxious mother will grieve, 

lying in her husband’s bed, 

a dead daughter, 

and dead grandchildren. 

Hurry on, draw the threads– hurry on, spindles!”

The Fates, speaking

from their divine hearts, sang these true 

songs for Peleus– for in those days, 

the gods often visited the pure 

homes of heroes, showing themselves

openly to mortal eyes. 

The father of the gods, too, was 

often seen lingering in shining temples. 

When yearly rituals resumed,

often a hundred bulls fell to the earth. 

Wandering Bacchus drove 

partying women from Parnassus’s heights, 

and Delphos rushed to welcome 

the god at smoking altars. 

And Mars himself, often in a deadly battle, 

or Minerva, Lake Tritonis’s lady, 

or maiden Artemis, 

urged on soldiers. 

But after the earth was stained with 

an unspeakable crime, and the greedy minds 

of men expelled justice,

brother’s hands were soaked in brother’s blood, 

sons shed no tears for their dead fathers, 

fathers wished for the funeral of their firstborn sons

so they may court their sons young, flower-like brides, 

faithless mothers lay beside their sons, shameless, 

defiling the household gods. 

This evil frenzy compounded 

everything lawful and unlawful alike,

so the gods turned their just minds away from us. 

They no longer visit our gatherings, 

nor allow themselves to be 

touched by mortal eyes.