No More Learning

In the dim distance from amidst the sea-weed, the daughter of Minos
with sorrowful eyes, like a stone-carved Bacchante, gazes afar, alas! gazes
after him, heaving with great waves of grief. No longer does the fragile
fillet bind her yellow locks, no more with light veil is her hidden bosom
covered, no more with rounded zone the milky breasts are clasped; down
fallen from her body everything is scattered, hither, thither, and the salt
waves toy with them in front of her very feet. But neither on fillet nor
floating veil, but on thee, Theseus, in their stead, was she musing: on
thee she bent her heart, her thoughts, her love-lorn mind. Ah, woeful one,
with sorrows unending distraught, Erycina sows thorny cares deep in thy
bosom, since that time when Theseus fierce in his vigour set out from the
curved bay of Piraeus, and gained the Gortynian roofs of the iniquitous
ruler.

For of old 'tis narrated, that constrained by plague of the cruelest to
expiate the slaughter of Androgeos, both chosen youths and the pick of the
unmarried maidens Cecropia was wont to give as a feast to the Minotaur.
When thus his strait walls with ills were vexed, Theseus with free will
preferred to yield up his body for adored Athens rather than such Cecropian
corpses be carried to Crete unobsequied. And therefore borne in a speedy
craft by favouring breezes, he came to the imperious Minos and his superb
seat. Instant the royal virgin him saw with longing glance, she whom the
chaste couch out-breathing sweetest of scents cradled in her mother's
tender enfoldings, like to the myrtle which the rivers of Eurotas produce,
or the many-tinted blooms opening with the springtide's breezes, she bent
not down away from him her kindling glance, until the flame spread through
her whole body, and burned into her innermost marrow. Ah, hard of heart,
urging with misery to madness, O holy boy, who mingles men's cares and
their joyings, and thou queen of Golgos and of foliaged Idalium, on what
waves did you heave the mind-kindled maid, sighing full oft for the
golden-haired guest! What dreads she bore in her swooning soul! How often
did she grow sallower in sheen than gold! When craving to contend against
the savage monster Theseus faced death or the palm of praise. Then gifts to
the gods not unmeet not idly given, with promise from tight-closed lips did
she address her vows. For as an oak waving its boughs on Taurus' top, or a
coniferous pine with sweating stem, is uprooted by savage storm, twisting
its trunk with its blast (dragged from its roots prone it falleth afar,
breaking all in the line of its fall) so did Theseus fling down the
conquered body of the brute, tossing its horns in vain towards the skies.
Thence backwards he retraced his steps 'midst great laud, guiding his
errant footsteps by means of a tenuous thread, lest when outcoming from
tortuous labyrinthines his efforts be frustrated by unobservant wandering.
But why, turned aside from my first story, should I recount more, how the
daughter fleeing her father's face, her sister's embrace, and e'en her
mother's, who despairingly bemoaned her lost daughter, preferred to all
these the sweet love of Theseus; or how borne by their boat to the spumy
shores of Dia she came; or how her yokeman with unmemoried breast forsaking
her, left her bound in the shadows of sleep? And oft, so 'tis said, with
her heart burning with fury she outpoured clarion cries from depths of her
bosom, then sadly scaled the rugged mounts, whence she could cast her
glance o'er the vasty seething ocean, then ran into the opposing billows of
the heaving sea, raising from her bared legs her clinging raiment, and in
uttermost plight of woe with tear-stained face and chilly sobs spake she
thus:--

"Is it thus, O perfidious, when dragged from my motherland's shores, is it
thus, O false Theseus, that thou leavest me on this desolate strand? thus
dost depart unmindful of slighted godheads, bearing home thy perjured vows?
Was no thought able to bend the intent of thy ruthless mind? hadst thou no
clemency there, that thy pitiless bowels might compassionate me? But these
were not the promises thou gavest me idly of old, this was not what thou
didst bid me hope for, but the blithe bride-bed, hymenaeal happiness: all
empty air, blown away by the breezes. Now, now, let no woman give credence
to man's oath, let none hope for faithful vows from mankind; for whilst
their eager desire strives for its end, nothing fear they to swear, nothing
of promises stint they: but instant their lusting thoughts are satiate with
lewdness, nothing of speech they remember, nothing of perjuries reck. In
truth I snatched thee from the midst of the whirlpool of death, preferring
to suffer the loss of a brother rather than fail thy need in the supreme
hour, O ingrate. For the which I shall be a gift as prey to be rent by wild
beasts and the carrion-fowl, nor dead shall I be placed in the earth,
covered with funeral mound. What lioness bare thee 'neath lonely crag? What
sea conceived and spued thee from its foamy crest? What Syrtis, what
grasping Scylla, what vast Charybdis? O thou repayer with such guerdon for
thy sweet life! If 'twas not thy heart's wish to yoke with me, through
holding in horror the dread decrees of my stern sire, yet thou couldst have
led me to thy home, where as thine handmaid I might have served thee with
cheerful service, laving thy snowy feet with clear water, or spreading the
purple coverlet o'er thy couch. Yet why, distraught with woe, do I vainly
lament to the unknowing winds, which unfurnished with sense, can neither
hear uttered complaints nor can return them?