Works of Nonnus

by Nonnus

  ἧς ποτε σοῖς στομάτεσσιν ἐγεύσαο, καὶ βίον ἕλκεις

  ἄμβροτον, ἀενάοιο χρόνου κυκλούμενος ὁλκῷ.’

  ὣς εἰπῶν παράμειβε, νέκυν πόθον ἐν φρεσὶ κεύθων.

  [21] But a girl rolling upon the ground was bared, her dress was pulled aside, and armed with her own radiance, wounded she wounded her lusting slayer; her beauty was her bolt, and dying she conquered; her naked thighs were as weapons, and sped the arrows of the Loves against her slayer. Then he would have felt desire for a lifeless corpse, as Achilles did — seeing a new Penthesilei on the ground, he would have kissed the cold lips of the girl, prostrate in the dust, had he not feared the weight of the threat of Deriades. He looked at the skin of the naked girl denied him, he gazed at her white ankles, at the parting of the uncovered thighs, touched her limbs, handled often the swelling rosy breast even now like an apple; he would even have mingled with her in love — but at last, tired, he let these foolish words of desire escape him:

  “Maiden of the rosy arms, wounded yourself you have wounded your lovesick slayer, slain you conquer the living, you pierce your own destroyer with the arrows of your eyes! The spear has been conquered by your beauty; for the radiance of your face deals confusion as much as the barbs of javelins. Your bosom is as a bow, since your breasts are more potent archers of the Loves than arrows are. A strange incredible desire is in me, when I pursue a girls dead love to attain a perished wedlock! A thing without breath goads me, the breathing. If I dare ask it, let those lips have breath and speech, maiden, that I may hear a word from your sweet mouth, speaking something like this: ‘You killed me, you plundered me, rolling upon the ground! Then let a girl be, scoundrel. Touch not my tunic, when your steel has cut me! Why do you hold the side which you have wounded? Stroke no more the cruel wound which you gave me!’ Away my spear, away the boldness of my hand, because it left alone Seilenoi with hoary bristling hair and all the ugly generation of Satyrs, and instead of old men, instead of shaggy chests, it vanquished a tender girl! But now’ I touch the wound in your so desirable flesh, what ridge of the pasturing woodlands must I traverse to summon old lifebringing Cheiron to help your wound? or where can I find medicines, the secrets of the Healer’s painassuaging art? Would that I had what they call the herb centaury, that I might bind the flower of no-pain upon your limbs, and bring you back safe and living from Hades whence none returns! What magic hymn have I, or song from the stars, that I may chant the ditty with Euian voice divine, and stay the flow of blood from your wounded side? Would I had here beside me the fountain of life, that I might pour on your limbs that painstilling water and assuage your adorable wound, to bring back even your soul to you again! O Glaucos, guiding the revolutions of innumerable years, if it be lawful, leave the abyss of the barren sea, and show me the life-sufficing plant, show that which you tasted once with your lips, and now enjoy life incorruptible, circling with the course of infinite time!”

  καὶ πόσιος κταμένου τιμήορος ἄνθορε νύμφη

  80 Πρωτονόη, στενάχουσα καὶ εἰσέτι νεκρὸν Ὀρόντην:

  θηλυτέρην δὲ φάλαγγα διέστιχεν: ἦν δὲ νοῆσαι

  ἄλλην ἀντιάνειραν Ἐρυθραίην Ἀταλάντην.

  Χειροβίη δὲ λαβοῦσα σάκος καὶ Μορρέος αἰχμὴν

  ἔχραε Βασσαρίδεσσι, καὶ εἴκελος ἔπλετο Γόργῃ,

  85 ἣ πάρος εὐπύργοιο τινασσομένης Καλυδῶνος

  Τοξέος αἰθύσσονσα κασιγνήτοιο βοείην,

  μάρνατο θῆλυς ἐοῦσα χολωομένου Μελεάγρου.

  Ὀρσιβόη δὲ φανεῖσα σὺν ἐγρεμόθῳ παρακοίτῃ

  θάρσος Ἐνυαλίης μιμήσατο Δηιανείρης,

  90 ὁππότε Παρνησσοῖο κακοξείνῳ παρὰ πέτρῃ

  θωρήχθη Δρυόπεσσι καὶ ἔπλετο θῆλυς Ἀμαζών.

  πολλαὶ δ᾽ εὐρυχόροισι περικλείοντο μελάθροις,

  καὶ στόνος ἄπλετος ἦεν ὑπωροφίοιο κυδοιμοῦ:

  ἄλλη δ᾽ εἰνοδίην ὑπεδύσατο δηιοτῆτα,

  95 παρθένος ἐγρεκύδοιμος, ὑπὲρ τεγέων δὲ καὶ ἄλλαι

  λαϊνέοις βελέεσσιν ἐθωρήσσοντο γυναῖκες:

  ἐνδόμυχοι δὲ φάλαγγες ἐπεσμαράγησαν Ἐνυώ.

  ὄφρα μὲν ἐγρεμόθοιο δι᾽ ἄστεος ἔβρεμεν Ἄρης,

  [79] Then arose the bride Protonoe, who still mourned Orontes dead, to avenge her slain husband. She dashed through the crowd of women, and one might have thought her another manlike Atalante among the Erythraians. And Cheirobie seizing a shield and the spear of Morrheus attacked the Bassarids, and seemed like that Gorge, who once when well-walled Calydon was attacked wielded the oxhide shield of Toxeus her brother, and fought though a woman while Meleagros sulked. And Orsiboe appeared with her battlestirring husband, imitating the boldness of warlike Deianeira, when beside the inhospitable rock of Parnassus she faced the Dryopes and fought, a woman turned Amazon. Many women were shut up in the wide palace courtyards, and there was infinite lamentation in the turmoil under those roofs. Many a battlestirring maiden entered the fight in the street, other women on the roofs provided themselves with stony missiles; and the crowds within kept up the din of warfare.

  Λύδια Βασσαρίδων ὀρεσίδρομα φῦλα δάΐζων,

  100 τόφρα δὲ Χαλκομέδεια πρὸ τείχεος ἵστατο μούνη

  νόστιμον ἐκ πολέμοιο μεταστρέψασα πορείην,

  οἰστρομανῆ Μορρῆα δεδεγμένη, εἴ ποξεν ἔλθῃ:

  καὶ τότε πουλυέλικτον ἐρωμανὲς ὄμμα τιταίνων,

  παρθένον ὡς ἐνόησε, ποδήνεμος ἵκετο Μορρεύς,

  105 εἰς δρόμον ἱμερόεντα θοώτερα γούνατα πάλλων.

  τῆς δὲ διωκομένης ἀνεκούφισε πέπλον ἀήτης:

  θέλγετο δ᾽ εἰσέτι μᾶλλον ἀνείμονι κάλλεϊ μορφῆς.

  παπταίνων προθέουσαν ἀνάμπυκα λευκάδα νύμφην.

  ἡ δέ μιν ἠπερόπευε, καὶ αἰδομένῃ φάτο φωνῇ,

  110 ὼκυτέρην Μορρῆος ὑποπτήσσουας πορείην:

  [98] While Ares raged throughout the battlestirring city, destroying the hill-ranging Lydian tribes of Bassarids, Chalcomedeia stood alone in front of the wall. She had turned back to retire from the battle, and waited to see if love-maddened Morrheus would appear from any quarter. He was then turning his enamoured eye all round; and when he perceived the maiden, he came windfoot, plying his nimble knees in the race for love. As he pursued her, the breeze lifted her robe. Morrheus was charmed even more by the naked beauty of her body, as he gazed at the white nymph running unveiled before him. She deluded him still as she cried with modest voice, trembling at his quickening speed —

  ‘εἰ ἐτεὸν μεθέπεις ἐμὰ δέμνια, νυμφίε Μορρεῦ,

  κάτθεο σὸν θώρηκα σιδήρεον, οἷα χορεύει

  εἰς γάμον ἁβροχίτων, ὅτε Κύπριδι μίσγεται, Ἄρης,

  εἵματι χιονέῳ πεπυκασμένος, ὥς περ Ἀπόλλων,

  115 ὄφρα Πόθος καὶ Κύπρις ἑνὶ ζεύξειαν ὀχῆι

  ἡμέας ἀμφοτέρους γαμίης ἐπιβ�
�τορας εὐνῆς,

  Μορρέα θοῦρος: ἔρως καὶ Χαλκομέδην Ἀφροδίτη.

  οὐ δέχομαι χάλκειον ἐγὼ πόσιν ύψόθι λέκτρων,

  αἵματι φοινίσσοντα καὶ αὐχμώοντα κονίῃ:

  120 ἀλλὰ ῥόῳ φαίδρυνε τεὸν δέμας, ὄφρα φανείης

  ὡς Φαέθων προχοῇσι λελουμένος Ὠκεανοῖο:

  ῥῖψον Ἐνυαλίην σέθεν ἀσπίδα, ῥῖψον ἀκωκήν,

  μή ποτέ με πλήξειε τεὴ θανατηφόρος αἰχμή:

  κάτθεό μοι δασπλῆτα τεῶν πήληκα κομάων,

  125 ὅττι λόφος κλονέει με τινασσομένης τρυφαλείης:

  μὴ νόθον εἶδος ἴδοιμι σιδηρείοιο προσώπου:

  τίς πόθος εὐφραίνει με καλυπτομένης σέο μορφῆς;

  [111] “If truly you would have my bed, bridegroom Morrheus, put off your steel corselet. Even Ares dances daintily clad to his wedding, when he mingles with Cypris, decked in a snowy robe like Apollo. Be like him, that Cypris and Desire may join us both with one band when we mount the marriage bed, valiant Eros bind Morrheus and Aphrodite bind Chalcomede. I do not want in my bed a husband of bronze, red with blood and dirty with dust. Nay, cleanse your body in the river, that you may shine like Phaëthon bathed in the Ocean stream; throw away your warlike shield, throw away the spear, that your deathdealing point may not strike me. Pray put off that terrifying helmet from your hair, because the crest of the nodding plume disturbs me. Let me not see only the pretended shape of a steel countenance. What desire can warm me if your shape is hidden?

  ούκέτι Μαιονίης ἐπιβήσομαι: οὐδ᾽ ἐνὶ παστῷ

  δέξομαι, ἢν ἐθέλῃς, μετὰ Μορρέα Βάκχον ἀκοίτην:

  130 ἔσσομαι Ἰνδῴη καὶ ἐγώ, φίλος: ἀντὶ δὲ Λυδῆς

  κυδαίνω θυέεσσιν Ἐρυθραίην Ἀφροδίτην

  κρυπταδίη Μορρῆος ὁμευνέτις: ἐν δὲ κυδοιμοῖς

  Ἰνδὸς ἀνὴρ ἐχέτω με συναιχμάζων Ἀφροδίτῃ:

  εἰς δὲ γὰρ ἶσα βέλεμνα καὶ εἰς ἐμὲ διπλόα πέμπων

  135 ἵμερος ἀμφοτέροισι μίαν ξύνωσεν ἀνίην,

  εἰς κραδίην Μορρῆι καὶ εἰς φρένα Χαλκομεδείῃ.

  κάμνον ἐγὼ κρύπτουσα τεὸν πόθον: οὐ γὰρ ἀκοίτην

  παρθένος αἰδομένη προκαλίζεται εἰς Ἀφροδίτην.’

  [128] “I will never more set foot in Maionia. After Morrheus, if that is your pleasure, never will I receive Bacchos in my chamber to sleep by my side. I will be an Indian like you, my friend! Instead of Lydian Aphrodite, I will honour the Erythraian with my sacrifices, I will be the secret bedmate of Morrheus; let a brave Indian have me as Aphrodite’s champion in battle. For Desire has aimed double shots against you and me both alike, and joined us in the same pangs, piercing the heart of Morrheus and the bosom of Chalcomedeia. I suffer, as I hide my longing for you — for a modest maiden does not invite a man to be her lover.”

  ὣς φαμένη παρέπεισε γυνὴ δυσέρωτα μαχητὴν

  140 ψευσαμένη: γελάσας δὲ δυσίμερος ἔννεπε Μορρεύς:

  [139] By these words the woman cajoled the love-pining soldier, all in deceit; but lovesick Morrheus laughed, and said:

  ‘οὐ νέμεσις, Μορρῆα τὸν εὐπήληκα μαχητὴν

  χάλκεον ἔγχος ἔχειν ἐνὶ παστάδι Χαλκομεδείης,

  ὄφρα περιπτύξω σε, φερώνυμε, χαλκὸν ἀείρων:

  ἔμπης φοίνιον ἔγχος ἀναίνομαι, οὐδὲ βοείης

  145 ἅπτομαι: ὡς ἐθέλεις δέ, λελουμένος εἰς σὲ χορεύω

  χερσὶν ἀναιμάκτοισι, καὶ ἔσσομαι ἄλλος ἀκοίτης,

  γυμνὸς Ἄρης μετὰ δῆριν ἔχων γυμνὴν Ἀφροδίτην.

  καύρην Δηριαδῆος ἀναίνομαι: αὐτὸς ἐλάσσω

  ἐκ μεγάρων ἀέκουσαν ἐμὴν ζηλήμονα νύμφην:

  150 οὐκέτι Βασσαρίδεσσι κορύσσομαι, εἴ με κελεύεις,

  ἀλλὰ φίλοις ναέτῃσι μαχέσσομαι: Ἰνδὸν ὀλέσσω

  οἴνοπα θύρσον ἔχων, οὐ χάλκεον ἔγχος ἀείρων:

  ῥίψω δ̓ἔντεα πάντα καὶ ἄνθεα λεπτὰ τινάξω,

  ὑμετέρῳ βασιλῆι συναιχμάζων Δινύσῳ.’

  [141] “What wonder is it, if Morrheus the helmeted soldier should keep his spear of bronze in the bronze lassie’s chamber, to embrace you holding my bronze when there is bronze in your name? Never mind, I will reject my deadly spear, I will not touch my oxhide. I will do your pleasure and bathe me, that I may dance to you with unblooded hands. I will be a different bedfellow, Ares naked holding Aphrodite naked after the battle! The daughter of Deriades I renounce: myself I will drive my jealous bride unwilling out of the house. No longer will I attack the Bassarids, if you say so, but I will fight against my own countrymen; I will take the vine-wreathed thyrsus and destroy Indians, not lifting a spear of bronze. I will throw aw ay all my armour and brandish your little leaves, the champion of your king Dionysos!”

  155 ὣς εἰπὼν παλάμης μελίην ἀπεσείσατο Μορρεύς,

  καὶ λίφον ἰδρώοντος ἀπεσφήκωσε καρήνου,

  μυδαλέης δ᾽ ἔρρεψεν ἑῆς τελαμῶνα βοείης

  εὐκαμάτῳ ῥαθάμιγγι λελουμένον ὴθάδος ὤμου:

  λύσατο καὶ χάλκειον ἀπὸ στέρνοιο χιτῶνα,

  [155] Saying this, Morrheus threw the ashplant from his hand, and undid the crest from his sweating head, and cast off the strap of his oxhide soaking and drenched with the drops of conflict, from the shoulder which knew it well. He unloosed also the coat of mail from his chest, the bloodstained corselet.

  160 αἱμαλέον θώρηκα. καὶ ἔντεα κείμενα γαίῃ

  Μορρέος ἱμείροντος ἐδείκνυεν Ἄρεϊ Κύπρις

  μορφῇ ἀθωρήκτῳ νικώμενα Χαλκομεδείης:

  καί τινα μῦθον ἔειπεν, ἑὸν δ᾽ ἐρέθιζεν ἀκοίτην:

  [160] Then Cypris showed Ares the armour of enamoured Morrheus lying on the ground, conquered by the unarmed beauty of Chalcomedeia, and a word she said in mockery of her paramour —

  ‘Ἆρες, ἐσυλήθης: πολέμους ἠρνήσατο Μορρεύς,

  165 οὐ φορέων θώρηκα καὶ οὐ ξίφος: ἀλλὰ γυναῖκα

  ἱμερτὴν ποθέων ἀπεσείσατο τεύχεα χειρῶν.

  καὶ σὺ τεὸν δόρυ θοῦρον ἀναίνεο, καὶ σὺ θαλάσσῃ

  λούεο σῶν σακέων γυμνούμενος: ἀπτόλεμος γὰρ

  Κύπρις ἀριστεύει πλέον Ἄρεος, οὐδὲ χατίζει

  170 ἀσπίδος, οὐ μελίης ποτὲ δεύεται: ἀμφότερον γὰρ

  ἔγχος ἐμὸν πέλε κάλλος ἐμὸν ξίφος ἔπλετο μορφή,

  καὶ βλεφάρων ἀκτῖνες ἐμοὶ γεγάασιν ὀιστοί:

  μαζὸς ἀκοντίζει πλέον ἔγχ�
�ος: ἱμερόεις γὰρ

  ἀντὶ δοριθρασέος θαλαμηπόλος ἔπλετο Μορρεύς.

  175 μὴ Σπάρτης ἐπίβηθι, μαχήμονες ἧχι πολῖται

  χάλκεον εἶδος ἔχουσι κορυσσομένης Ἀφροδίτης,

  μή σε δόρυ κρατέουσα τεῷ πλήξειε σιδήρῳ.

  οὐ τόσον αἰχμάζεις, ὅσον ὀφρύες: οὐ τόσον αἰχμαὶ

  ἀνέρας οὐτάζουσιν, ὅσον βάλλουσιν ὀπωπαί:

  180 δέρκεο σοὺς θεράποντας, ὑποδρηστῆρας Ἐρώτων,

  καὶ θρασὺν αὐχένα κάμψον ἀνικήτῳ Κυθερείῃ.

  Ἆρες, ἐνικήθης, ὅτι χάλκεον ἔγχος ἐάσας

  νεβρίδα Χαλκομέδης γαμίην ὑπεδύσατο Μορρεύς.’

  [164] “Ares, you are beaten! Morrheus has renounced war, and bears no corselet and no sword; no, for love of a winsome woman he has cast the arms from his hands. You do the same — renounce your own valiant spear, strip off your shields and bathe in the sea! For Cypris without battle plays the champion better than Ares. She needs no shield, she never wants the ashplant; for my beauty is a spear for me, my fine shape also is my sword, the gleams of my eyes are my arrows. My breast lets fly a better shot than a javelin: for Morrheus has turned from a bold warrior to an amiable chamberlain! Do not go near Sparta, where the warlike people have a bronze image of armed Aphrodite, lest spear in hand she strike you with your own steel! You cannot shoot so straight as eyebrows do; your spikes do not wound men as eyeshots do. Look at your servants, the lackeys of the Loves, and bow your bold neck to Cythereia the unconquerable. You are conquered, Ares! For Morrheus has left his spear of bronze and donned the wedding fawnskin of Chalcomede.”

  εἶπε μόθους γελόωσα φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη,