Short Poems

Prima tibi periit soboles ( dilecta Maria,)
Elusitque uterum maesta Diana tuum .
Tunc Caelo, nunc & terris faecunda fuisti,
Quae potes & reges & peperisse deos.
Thy first birth Mary was unto a tombe,
And sad Lucina cheated thy blest wombe.
To heav'n thou then wert fruitfull, now to earth,
That canst give Saints as well as Kings a birth.

I fled from Love; he kindled a small torch (Phanion) from the ashes and found me where I lay hidden; he did not bend his bow but broke off a flake of fire with two nails of his fingers and hurled it at me.
The flames run all through me. O frail spark which has lighted so great a fire, Phanion, in my heart!

Already the soft dawn — and sleepless on the threshold Damis breathes out what little life is left him, for he looked at Heraclitus and under the rays of those eyes he was as wax upon hot charcoal.
Most unhappy Damis, rise up and I who have also a wound from Love will mingle my tears with yours.

I will stand against Zeus himself if he wishes to take you as his cup-bearer, Myiscus.
Again and again he says to me: " What do you fear? I will not torment you with rivals. I have learned to pity desire. "
This he says, but if a fly comes near I am in terror lest it should be Zeus the deceiver!

Swift sea-faring ships which sail through the Hellespont, receiving the fair north wind in your sails, if on the shores of island Cos you see by chance Phanion looking over the blue sea, say to him, beautiful ships, that my love bids me come to him not by sea but on foot.
If you say this, may it bring you luck and Zeus shall breathe a following wind into your sails.

I am caught too, I who laughed so often at the revels of young men wild with love.
Winged Eros makes me stand before your gates, Myiscus, with the inscription: " Spoils from Sophrosyne! "

Eros, pity my entreating Muse and lull my sleepless yearning for Heliodorus. Now by your bow! your bow which does not harm others, but scatters winged arrows against me — if you kill me I will have these words written on my tomb:
" Friend, see the blood-guiltiness of Eros! "

The foeman glories in my shield;
I left it in the battle-field;
I threw it down beside the wood,
Unscathed by scars, unstained by blood;
And let him glory, since from death
Escaped, I keep my forfeit breath.
I soon may find, at little cost,
As good a shield as that I've lost.

O locust, beguiler of my desires, giver of sleep, Muse of the corn-lands with shrill-sounding wings, nature's mimic of the lyre, sing for me some well-loved song, O locust, beating your strident wings with your legs, to deliver me from the pains of sleepless thought, O locust, singer of the music which soothes love!
In the morning I will give you a fresh leek and drops of dew which you shall drink from my lips.

Clearista loosed her maiden knot, wedding no mortal but Hades.
For at night the flutes were shrill at the bride's gate and the doors of the bridal chamber clashed; at dawn they cried out in lamentation and Hymen changed from silence to a mournful wail.
The same torches which lighted the bride-room showed the way underground to the dead girl.