Odes 3.11 (Martin): Mercuri, Nam Te

O Hermes, taught by whom Amphion's throat
Charm'd into motion stones and senseless things,
And thou sweet shell, that dost with dulcet note
Make music from thy seven melodious strings,

Thou once nor sweet, nor voluble, but now
In fane, or rich man's feast, a welcome guest,
Give to my song the charmer's might, to bow
Lyde's unyielding ear, and unrelenting breast!

Lyde, who, like a filly full of play
That frisks and gambols o'er the meadows wide,
And fears e'en to be touch'd, will never stay
To list the burning tale that woos her for a bride.

Thou listening woods canst lead, and tigers fell,
And stay the rapid rivers in their course;
Yea, the grim janitor of ghastly hell
Crouch'd on his post, subdued by thy persuasive force.

Though countless serpents — sentinels full dread —
The ridges of his fateful brows empale,
And, loathly steaming, from his triple head
Swelters black gore, and poisonous blasts exhale.

Ev'n Tityus and Ixion grimly smiled
Through all their anguish, and awhile hung dry
The toiling urn, whilst the sweet strain beguiled
The Danaids, that stood in soothed oblivion by.

In Lyde's ear reverberate their guilt,
And its dread punishment, to draw forever
Ajar of water that is ever spilt,
Through the pierced bottom lost in the sad-flow-ing river.

Show her the vengeance sure, howe'er delayed,
Which even in Orcus crimes like theirs must feel,
Those impious girls, stain'd with guilt's blackest shade,
Those impious girls, who slew their lords with savage steel!

One only, worthy of the bridal bed,
Of all the train, was to her perjured sire
Magnificently false, and fame shall spread
Her praise through endless time, link'd to the living lyre.

"Rise, rise! "Thus to her youthful mate she spoke,
"Lest thou from hands, whose guilt is little fear'd,
Receive a sleep, that never shall be broke!
Fly from my father false and ruthless sisters weird!

"Who now, like lions ravening o'er their prey,
Butcher their wedded lords, alas, alas!
I strike thee not — I, gentler-soul'd than they,
Nor keep thee prison'd here, but bid thee freely pass.

"My sire may load my arms with cruel chains,
Because in pity I my lord did spare,
Or o'er the seas to far Numidia's plains
May banish me, yet all for thee I'll gladly bear!

"Go! speed thee hence, unfurl thy swelling sail,
While Venus favours, and this midnight gloom!
The gods defend thy steps! And let the tale
Of what I loved and lost be graven upon thy tomb!"