Читать книгу Yale Classics (Vol. 2) - Луций Анней Сенека - Страница 110
LXI.
ОглавлениеGod, on verdurous Helicon
Dweller, child of Urania,
Thou that draw'st to the man the fair
Maiden, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus:
Wreathe thy brows in amaracus'
Fragrant blossom; an aureat
Veil be round thee; approach, in all
Joy, approach with a luminous
Foot, a sandal of amber.
Come, for jolly the time, awake.
Chant in melody musical
Hymns of bridal; on earth a foot
Beating, hands to the winds above
Torches oozily swinging.
Such, as she that on Idaly
Venus dwelleth, appear'd before
Him, the Phrygian arbiter,
So with Mallius happily
Happy Junia weddeth.
Like some myrtle of Asia
Bright in airily blossoming
Boughs, the wood Hamadryades
Nurse with showery dew, to be
Theirs, a tender plaything.
So come to us in haste; away,
Leave thy Thespian hollow-arch'd
Rock, muse-haunted, Aonian,
Drench'd in spray from aloft, the cold
Drift of Nymph Aganippe.
Homeward summon a sovereign
Wife most passionate, holden in
Love fast prisoner: ivy not
Closer closes an elm around,
Interchangeably trailing.
You too with him, O you for whom
Comes as joyous a time, your own.
Virgins stainless of heart, arise.
Chant in unison, Hymen, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
That, more readily listening,
Whiles your song to familiar
Duty calls him, he hie apace,
Lord of fair paramours, of youth's
Fair affection uniter.
Who more worthy than he to list
Lovers wearily languishing?
Bends from heaven a sovereign
God adorabler? Hymen, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
You the father in years for his
Child beseecheth; a virginal
Zone falls slackly to earth for you,
You half-fear in his hankering
Lists the groomsman approaching.
You from motherly lap the bright
Girl can sever; your hand divine
Gives dominion, ushering
Warm the lover. O Hymen, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Nought delightful, if you be far,
Nought unharmed of envious
Tongues, Love wins him: if you be near
Much he wins him. O excellent
God, that hath not a rival.
Houses cannot, if you be far,
Yield their children, a babe renew
Sire or mother: if you be near,
Comes renewal. O excellent
God, that hath not a rival.
If your great ceremonial
Fail, no champion yeomanry
Guards the border. If you be near
Arms the border. O excellent
God, that hath not a rival.
Fling the portal apart. The bride
Waits. O see ye the luminous
Torch-flakes ruddily flickering?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nought she hears us: her innocent Eyes do weep to be going.
Weep not, lady; for envious
Tongue no lovelier owneth, Au-
Runculeia; nor any more
Fair saw rosily bright the dawn
Leave his chamber in Ocean.
Such in many a flowering
Garden, trimm'd for a lord's delight,
Stands some delicate hyacinth.
Yet you tarry. The day declines.
Forth, fair bride, to the people.
Forth, fair bride, to the people, if
So it likes you, a-listening
Words that please us. O eye ye yon
Torches ruddily flickering?
Forth, fair bride, to the people.
Husband never of yours shall haunt
Stained wanton, a mutinous
Fancy shamefully following,
Tire not ever, or e'er from your
Dainty bosom unyoke him.
He more lithe than a vine amid
Trees, that, mazily folded, it
Clasps and closes, in amorous
Arms shall close thee. The day declines.
Forth, fair bride, to the people.
Couch of pleasure, O odorous Couch, whose gorgeous apparellings, Silver-purple, on Indian Woods do rest them; adown the bright Feet in ivory glisten;
When thy lord in his hour attains,
What large extasy, while the night
Fleets, or noon the meridian
Passes thoro'. The day declines.
Forth, fair bride, to the people.
Lift the torches aloft in air,
Boys: the fiery veil is here.
Come, to measure your hymn rehearse.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Nor withhold ye the countryman's
Ribald raillery Fescenine.
Nor if happily boys declare
Thy dominion attaint, refuse,
Youth, the nuts to be flinging.
Fling, O womanish youth; the boys
Ask thee charity. Time agone
Toys and folly; to-day begins
Our high duty, Talassius.
Hasten, youth, to be flinging.
Thou didst surely but yestereve
Mock the women, a favourite
Far above them: anon the first
Beard, the razor. Alack, alas!
Hasten, youth, to be flinging.
You, whom odorous oils declare
Bridegroom, swerve not; a slippery
Love calls lightly, but yet refrain.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Lawful only did e'er delight
You, we know; but it is not, O
Husband, lawful as heretofore.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Bride, thou also, if he demand
Aught, refuse not, assent, obey.
Love can angrily pipe adieu.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Look! thy mansion, a sovereign
Home most goodly, by him to thee
Given. Reign as a queen within,
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Still when hoary decrepitude,
Shaking wintery brows benign,
Nods a tremulous Yes to all.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
With fair augury smite the blest
Threshold, sunnily glistening
Feet: yon ivory door approach,
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
See one seated, a banqueter.
'Tis thy lord on a Tyrian
Couch: his spirit is all to thee.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Not less surely in him than in
Thee love lighteth a bosoming
Flame; but deeper, a fire within.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Thou, whose purple her arm, the slim
Arm, props happily, boy, depart.
Time the bride be at entering.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
You in chastity tried the long
Years, good women of agedest
Husbands, lay ye the bride to-night.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, O
Hymen, O Hymenaeus.
Husband, stay not: a bride within
Coucheth ready, the flowering
Spring less lovely; a countenance
White as parthenice, beyond
Yellow poppy to gaze on.
Thou, so help me the favouring
Gods immortal, as heavenly
Fair art also, adorned of
Venus' bounty. The day declines.
Come nor tarry to greet her.
Not too slothfully tarrying,
Thou art here. Benediction of
Venus help thee, a man without
Shame of blameless, a love that is
Honest frankly revealing.
Dust of infinite Africa,
Stars that sparkle, a myriad
Host, who measureth, your delights
He shall tell them, ineffable,
Multitudinous, over.
Make your happy delight, renew'd
Soon in children. A glorious
Name and olden is ill without
Children, unto the first a new
Stock as goodly begetting.
Some Torquatus, a beauteous
Babe, on motherly breasts to thee
Stretching, father, his innocent
Hands, smile softly from inchoate
Lips half-open a welcome.
Like his father, a Mallius
New presented, of every
Eyeing stranger allowed his own;
Mother's chastity moulded in
Features childly revealing.
Glory speak of him issuing
Child of mother as excellent
She, as only that age-renown'd
Wife, whose story Telemachus
Blazons, Penelopea.
Virgins, close ye the door. Enough
This our carol. O happiest
Lovers, jollity live with you.
Still that genial youth to love's
Consummation attend ye.
