Classic Poem

Ah woe is me, of passion naught I knew
Till Cynthia's glances pierced my poor heart through.
Love ruthless pressed his heel upon my head,
My eyes cast down, my pride all vanquished.
He taught me soon to hate each virgin's face
And reckless live in folly's fond embrace.
And now my madness burns for all a year,
While still the anger of the gods I bear.

Milanion, friend, by labors undismayed
Conquered the scorn of the Iasian maid.
See now he wanders in Parthenian caves,
And now with shaggy monsters blindly raves,
Now the Arcadian rocks repeat his groans
As wounded by Hylaeus' club he moans.
But so at last he tamed the flying fair;
Such power in love have loving deeds and prayer.

With me Love lingers still, nor tries his art
To fly his wonted way, and leave my heart.
Come then ye seers, well skilled the moon to take
And on your altars expiation make;
Come now, my lady's heart to me incline
And make her cheeks turn still more pale than mine.
Then I shall know to you the power belongs
To draw the stars and streams with magic songs.

And you, dear friends, too late my fall to turn,
Seek me some help; with madness now I burn.
I will endure the steel, the cruel fire,
If only I may vent my bitter ire.
Take me to distant lands beyond the sea,
While so no woman knows where I shall be.
Do you remain to whom God has been kind
And grants a mutual bliss with tranquil mind.

Love haunts my days; he never gives me cease;
And Venus turns my nights to bitterness.
I warn you — shun this hell: constant remain,
Nor let your heart range loosely o'er love's plain.
For if too late you give my words belief,
To you remembrance naught will bring but grief.