T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Selections from the Greek Anthology
Anonymous(Translated by Major Robert G. MacGregor, 1864) LATE to Ionis Callignotus swore, | |
Ne’er than herself to love man-woman-more; | |
And he swore sooth, but lovers’ oaths, they say, | |
Ne’er, e’en if heard, in ears Immortal stay. | |
Now is he fir’d with love of other fair, | 5 |
Nor has of said Ionis count or care. * * * * * | |
O holy night! fond lamp! We, lovers both, | |
Chose none but you to register our oath; | |
She swore to love me still, and I to leave | |
Her never. Ye our joint pledge did receive. | 10 |
Now, while in others’ lap thou seest her sit, | |
False lamp! she says such oaths in air are writ. * * * * * | |
Soon Charito will close her sixtieth year, | |
But, dark, her tresses in full flow appear; | |
Still, from the band releas’d which circled there, | 15 |
Her bosom-comes, as marble firm and fair; | |
Still drops ambrosia from her softest skin, | |
Persuasion still and myriad graces win; | |
Lovers! from full desire who flee not yet, | |
Come hither, and her tens of years forget. * * * * * | 20 |
Melissa! name and nature both of flow’r-fond bee is thine; | |
Well have I known it and long kept stampt on this heart of mine; | |
And from those lips, when meeting mine, drop kisses honey-sweet; | |
But, when thou askest money—Ah! its central sting we meet. * * * * * | |
Ye Gods! I knew not that the form was Cytherea’s there | 25 |
Bathing, whose hands adown her neck had loos’d the lovely hair; | |
Forgive my fault, if such it were, nor, Mistress! with mine eyes | |
Be angry, that a godlike form by chance I did surprise; | |
—I know it now; not Cypris’ ’t was, but Rodocleia mine; | |
Whence was the beauty then? Hast thou stript even the Divine? * * * * * | 30 |
I pelt thee with an apple, Fair! if true love stir in thee, | |
Receive it willingly, and yield thy maiden charms to me; | |
If pond’ring still to give or keep, this thought at last persuade, | |
Tho’ youth and beauty now are thine, how quickly both must fade! * * * * * | |
O fairy foot! O shapely leg! O tempting taper thigh! | 35 |
O comely back! O clipsome waist! with ivory which vie; | |
O shoulders soft! O budding breasts! O neck of swan-like fall! | |
O lovely hands! O lustrous eyes! for which I madden all, | |
O gestures of transcendant grace! O kisses! sweeter far | |
Than nectar, and, O voice! to which my senses victims are— | 40 |
Tho’ ignorant and rustic she, nor such as Sappho sung, | |
For dusky Andromede of Ind fierce love Perseus stung. * * * * * | |
Fly, Gnat! swift messenger, and touch—O bliss! | |
Zenophila’s soft ear, and whisper this: | |
“Sleepless he waits: thou, sleeping, dost deny | 45 |
His love.” Fly quick, O fond of music! fly. | |
—Yet soft, lest rous’d her bedfellow should be | |
To the worst pains of jealousy by me; | |
Gnat! bring but her, and I’ll a lion’s hide | |
Give thee, and club to carry by thy side. * * * * * | 50 |
O Night! O sleepless fond regret for Heliodora’s sake! | |
O segments sweet of treach’rous morns! yet smiles and tears now wake; | |
Lives any remnant of our loves, or is the embrace of erst, | |
Whose mem’ry should be warm, alone in some cold copy nurst? | |
Weeps she who partner’d then my couch? my presence does she miss, | 55 |
And to her loving bosom in soul-cheating visions kiss? | |
But plaything new of a new love, if now she lie, O Link! | |
Look not on her, nor guard her bed, who could so vilely sink. * * * * * | |
Foe to my love, why, Morn! so slowly rise, | |
Now in a rival’s arms when Demo lies? | 60 |
But when I cherish’d the slim girl in mine, | |
Thy early light rejoic’d on me to shine. * * * * * | |
Love’s nectar will ye drink, O Eyes! how long | |
Of undiluted beauty tipplers strong? | |
Flee far, while yet ye may! In calmer hour | 65 |
We’ll milk-libations to mild Venus pour; | |
But if, e’en there, this madd’ning sting adheres, | |
O then at least be moisten’d with cold tears. | |
Just are your suff’rings ever, since, alas! | |
From you to these devouring flames I pass. * * * * * | 70 |
Kissing Hippomene my fancy clung | |
To Xanthe: while on Xanthe’s lips I hung, | |
Leandra’s image to my breast I bore, | |
And while Leandra pressing to my core, | |
Back to Hippomene my soul return’d. | 75 |
Cold to each fair for whom so late I burn’d, | |
All whom I have I hate: with constant change | |
My inconstant arms from one to other range, | |
Till fixt by some rich love: if any chide | |
Let her, in want, remain of one the bride. * * * * * | 80 |
A soft kiss Demo gives, but Doris bites, | |
Daphne’s is loud and long. Which most excites? | |
Ears judge not kisses; but, all three mouths tried | |
And tasted round, the pebble shall decide. | |
My heart of Demo the soft kisses sips, | 85 |
And the sweet honey of her dewy lips. | |
Wander no further, Fool! Abide by these, | |
She wins the garland fairly, and with ease; | |
And if another some one else prefer, | |
Let him—my love from Demo shall not stir. * * * * * | 90 |
Titter and hem a conquest both foreshow; | |
A gentle nod—in vain you tempt me so: | |
With mild eyes on the girl who love could scorn, | |
Never to look again I thrice have sworn. | |
Play by yourself at kisses: vainly smack | 95 |
Yourself with naked lips, since lovers lack. | |
I elsewhere go: For me there others are | |
At Venus-votaries superior far. * * * * * | |
Soft is the kiss of Sappho, soft and slim | |
Her snowy form’s contour, soft ev’ry limb, | 100 |
But hard as stone her soul; love only creeps | |
Far as her lips; all else the virgin keeps. | |
The man who will, or can, endure this worst | |
Would bear with ease of Tantalus the thirst. * * * * * | |
With two fair girls—dark night above—was I, | 105 |
Caressing one, carest the other by: | |
While, greedily, Rose drew me to her kiss, | |
More rare with Susan was my stolen bliss; | |
Careful to cheat—lest lips too loud betray’d— | |
The jealous anger of each neighbour maid. | 110 |
Inly I groan’d: To love, and lov’d to be, | |
Alas! alike is punishment to me. * * * * * | |
Mine arms around thee, and my lips to thine, | |
Love-mad, I revel on thy neck divine; | |
But still I toil—not yet all mine the prize— | 115 |
Waiting a damsel who at last denies: | |
Half of herself has vow’d to Venus been, | |
Half to Athene—both I waste between. * * * * * | |
Divine Rodanthe, when my mouth in doubt | |
To kiss, her slim waist’s virgin zone held out, | 120 |
And kiss’d: then I, as one who from its source | |
Leads water, led love’s stream a second course, | |
Her kiss imbibing, and, with loving smack, | |
On the girl’s belt, from far, her kiss gave back: | |
So was our strait reliev’d: ’tween lips of both | 125 |
That sweet belt serv’d to signal love and troth. * * * * * | |
Wait for me, Sweet-heart! what’s thy pretty name? | |
Not see me, why? I’ll give whate’er thy claim. | |
Still silent! where dost live? I’ll some one send | |
To mark thy home. Is any man thy friend? | 130 |
Farewell, thou haughty one! who dost not deign | |
Farewell to me. Again and yet again | |
I’ll come to thee. I Woman know to quell | |
Colder than even thou—Woman! farewell. * * * * * | |
The bold and high, who look’d from lordly eyes, | 135 |
The plaything of a feeble virgin lies: | |
Who, with his maid, though erst by pride to cope, | |
Himself subdued, departs without a hope: | |
Falling, his piteous pray’rs but show him weak, | |
While flashing eyes her manly spirit speak. | 140 |
Lion-soul’d Virgin! tho’ just anger try, | |
Lay down this manhood, Nemesis is nigh! * * * * * | |
So soon, Ye twitt’ring Swallows! why? | |
Ye Nightingales! bough-perch’d on high, | |
Waken her not. Upon my breast | 145 |
A fair cheek nestles in warm rest; | |
Soft arms are round me twining. Since | |
Ever the female sex evince | |
A chatt’ring turn, grant this my prayer, | |
Leave her in quiet slumber there. * * * * * | 150 |
If, Stranger, thou hast anywhere | |
A maiden met of beauty rare, | |
The lovely and surpassing she, | |
But sure! was Apollodoté. | |
And, Stranger! if, that marvel seen, | 155 |
Thou hast not conquer’d, captiv’d, been, | |
Nor felt thy bosom, as with fire | |
Burning of passionate desire, | |
Then either art thou God, or stone, | |
So cold and hard thy nature shown. | 160 |