Ite, meae lacrymae, nec enim moror, ite; sed oro Tantum ne miserae claudite vocis iter. O liceat querulos verbis animare dolores, Et saltem 'Ah periit!' dicere noster amor. Ecce negant tamen; ecce negant, lacrymaeque rebelles Pergunt indomita praecipitantque via. Visne, ô care, igitur te nostra silentia dicant? Vis fleat assiduo murmure mutus amor? Flebit, et urna suos semper bibet humida rores, Et fidas semper semper habebit aquas. Interea, quicunque estis, ne credite mirum Si verae lacrymae non didicere loqui.
Flow, flow, my tears; I stay you not; but pray To my unhappy voice close not the way. My plaintive griefs with words, O let me move; To say, 'Alas, he died!' allow my love. Lo, they say, no--the rebel tears say, no! And with unconquer'd headlong torrent flow. Wouldst thou, O dear one, that our silence speak? Mute love with ceaseless sob moisten our cheek? It shall; and still thine urn drink its own dews, And never its own faithful waters lose. Meanwhile let no one think a wonder wrought, If real tears to speak could not be taught. R. WI.
Quis deus, ô quis erat, qui te, mala foemina, finxit? Proh, crimen superum, noxa pudenda deum! Quae divum manus est adeo non dextera mundo? In nostras clades ingeniosa manus: Parcite; peccavi: nec enim pia numina possunt Tam crudele semel vel voluisse nefas. Vestrum opus est pietas; opus est concordia vestrum; Vos equidem tales haud reor artifices. Heus, inferna cohors, foetus cognoscite vestros. Num pudet hanc vestrum vincere posse scelus? Plaudite Tartarei proceres Erebique potentes, Nae mirum est tantum vos potuisse malum; Jam vestras laudate manus. Si forte tacetis, Artificum laudes grande loquetur opus. Quam bene vos omnes speculo contemplor in isto? Pectus in angustum cogitur omne malum. Quin dormi, Pluto; rabidas compesce sorores; Jam non poscit opem nostra ruina tuam. Haec satis in nostros fabricata est machina muros, Mortales furias Tartara nostra dabunt.
What god? or who was it? I ask, contriv'd Thee, O Woman, evil Woman? who conniv'd Together--who--in this supremest crime Of the divinities, before old Time Was born? Alas, most dire calamity As e'er has come upon humanity! Whence was the hand, ye Powers, so evil-skill'd In sin and mischief, so perversely will'd To curse this world of ours? But hold! I blunder; I must to the dark regions lying under, Ev'n Hell, descend. Not Thee, O God above, For Thou art pitiful, for Thou art Love: Not one of all the gracious Pow'rs supernal; But ye, O Furies, from the pit infernal, Ye, ye the work devis'd, matur'd, achiev'd, And brought to Man; to Man--frail Man! deceiv'd: Ho, hosts of evil! ho! on you I call: Behold your offspring diabolical. Does it a blush raise?--Spirits of evil, speak!-- Such as expos'd crime brings to mortal cheek? Lo, these your works yourselves surpass, I wis; Clap hands, ye potentates of the Abyss. Rulers of Erebus, is it not a wonder, Worthy of Hell's most resonant swift thunder, That ye such thing contrivèd have as Heaven Never cast out, nor e'er to Hell was driven? Take ye your praise, your praise; this work o' your hands Absolute in mischief 'bove compar'son stands. Or if ye silent be, your work will speak Your praise. Ha, ha! what mean ye that ye shriek Thus as I meditate with pulse of fear Upon this monster, Woman? Ah, 'tis clear; I see your guile and skill. The gods above Would have all ills within one scant breast move! To bed, Pluto, king of the nether world; Sleep on in peace; be every banner furl'd; Ye fires, go out; Man's ruin is complete; No need of you--in Woman all woes meet: In her, ye devils, ye have so contriv'd That Tempter, who--better than had ye div'd To furthest Tartarus--Man's protecting wall Shall breach. Earth's fury--Woman--passes all! G.