HKB
Far all household love, every familiar urn, 100 Tomb'd in Troy the malign, in Troy the unholy reposing, Strangely the land's last verge holds him, a dungeon of earth. (100)
Thither in haste all Greece, one armed people assembling, Flock'd on an ancient day, left the recesses of home, Lest in a safe content, unreach'd, his stolen adultress. 105 Paris inarm, in soft luxury quietly lain.
E'en such chance, fair queen, such misery, Laodamia, (105) Brought thee a loss as life precious, as heavenly breath. Loss of a bridegroom dear; such whirling passion in eddies Suck'd thee adown, so drew sheer to a sudden abyss, 110 Deep as Graian abyss near Pheneos o'er Cyllene, Strainer of ooze impure milk'd from a watery fen; (110) Hewn, so stories avouch, in a mountain's kernel; an hero Hew'd it, falsely declar'd Amphytrionian, he, When those monster birds near grim Stymphalus his arrow 115 Smote to the death; such task bade him a dastardly lord. So that another God might tread that portal of heaven (115) Freely, nor Hebe fair wither a chaste eremite. Yet than abyss more deep thy love, thy depth of emotion; Love which school'd thy lord, made of a master a thrall. 120
Not to a grandsire old so priz'd, so lovely the grandson One dear daughter alone rears i' the soft of his years; (120) He, long-wish'd for, an heir of wealth ancestral arriving,-- Scarcely the tablets' marge holds him, a name to the will, Straight all hopes laugh'd down, each baffled kinsman usurping 125 Leaves to repose white hairs, stretches, a vulture, away; Not in her own fond mate so turtle snowy delighteth, (125) Tho' unabash'd, 'tis said, she the voluptuous hours Snatches a thousand kisses, in amorous extasy biting. Yet, more lightly than all ranges a womanly will. 130 Great their love, their frenzy; but all their frenzy before thee Fail'd, once clasp'd thy lord splendid in aureat hair. (130)
Worthy in all or part thee, Laodamia, to rival, Sought me my own sweet love, journey'd awhile to my arms. Round her playing oft ran Cupid thither or hither, 135 Lustrous, array'd in bright broidery, saffron of hue. What, to Catullus alone if a wayward fancy resort not? (135) Must I pale for a stray frailty, the shame of an hour? Nay; lest all too much such jealous folly provoke her. Juno's self, a supreme glory celestial, oft 140 Crushes her eager rage, in wedlock-injury flaring, Knowing yet right well Jove, what a losel is he. (140)