Poesis Latina A Marco Moskowitz scripta
Latin Poetry by Marc Moskowitz

Poemata omnia ab hoc poeta / All poems by this poet

Hebe et Ganymedes
Hebe and Ganymede

Hebe Ganymedi

Quid, Ganymêdi, timês? Nunc es, quod scîs, adulescens;
dêdecet iste virô, puerô lûdus tibi grâtus.
Quî cum patre manet, quô tempore eum renovâbit
hic jucundus amor? Didicit quî gaudia adulta,
cûr cum patre manet? Tê clausit Iuppiter ipse.
Ille pater dîvus genuit dîvôs hominêsque.
Nec mortâlis sum, quæ claustra volô reserâre;
recta pocillâtrix, fûdî nectar sûperôrum.
"Hêbê, quam sitiô!" sîc mê properâre jubêbant,
10  nîmîrum cecidî, nîmîrum nectare lâvî
dîvôrum rêgem. Poculum tê sûmere iussit.
Sunt aquilæ rêgî, cum rêge est mûtua forma.
Numinis âligerî tû dulcis præda fuistî.
Annôs hôs multôs pârêbâs, serve, tonantî.
15  Ventus aprîcus adest; tibi sim, lîberte, Juventâs.

Hebe to Ganymede

What do you fear, Ganymede? You are now, as you know, a young man;
the play so pleasing to you as a boy ill-befits you as a man.
Whoever stays with his father, at what time will he be renewed
by this pleasing love? Whoever learns adult joys,
why does he stay with his father? Jupiter himself has enclosed you.
That divine father has begotten gods and mortals.
Nor am I mortal, who wish to unbar your cages;
an upright cup-bearer, once I poured the nectar of the highest.
"Hebe, how I thirst!" thus would they order me to hasten,
10  No wonder I fell, no wonder I washed with nectar
the king of the gods. He ordered you to take up the cup.
There are eagles of the king, with the king their form was shared.
Of a winged power you were the sweet prey.
These many years you, slave, have served the thunderer.
15  A sunny wind is here; let me, freedman, be your Youth.

Ganymedes Hebei

Fîlia Jûnônis, superâvit avunculus altus.
Nôn opus est vîrîs affectû tam muliebrî;
nôn opus est mihi tê. Nôn blanditiæ meretrîcis
ê Jovis amplexû Ganymêdin eî bene grâtum
allectûræ sunt. Quid habês? Præbês mihi quidnam?
Sublâtô poculô, quæ mûnera vestra supersunt?
Ûtibilis nihilô, nûgîs teris ôtia nostra.
Dônî prôdiga, nunc fûrârî vîn' aliênum?
Cêde Jôvî, quæsô, nec frustrâ pergere nîtî.
10  Prævalet âs rêgis quô victa talenta puellæ.

Ganymede to Hebe

Daughter of Juno, your lofty uncle has surpassed you.
Men have no need of such feminine emotion;
I have no need of you. Nor will a whore's flatteries
from Jove's embrace entice the Ganymede so dear to him.
What do you have? What indeed do you offer me?
Your cup put aside, what function remains to you?
Useful for nothing, you take up our time with trifles.
Wasteful of your gifts, now do you wish to steal another's?
Cede to Jove, I pray, nor continue to struggle in vain.
10  The kings penny is worth more than what defeated a girl's riches.

Hebe iterum Ganymedi

Mômentî quantî tibi sunt hæc aurea vincla?
Tê credisne deum, quî captus carcere dîvô?
Num præesse putâs quemquam nâtum moritûrî?
Cûjusnam regnum dandumst tibi? Lûdibriôrum?
Certê lûdibriîs rex aptus es atque suprêmus,
tû quî lûdibriô rêgis longê meruistî,
sed semel omnibus est aliquid dignum faciendum.
Nêmô lûdere vult semper lûsûs puerîlês;
ôlim tê blandî forsan tædêbit amôris.
10  Tum, putridîs gaudîs, pathicê mê quærere nôlî.
Cum nova membra petês, cum præbita bâsia quæres,
hexametrîs lyricîs â servô sprêta puella
nupserit hêrôê. Quâ rê manicâs tibi cârâs,
ob quâs ôra fugis, narrâbô mî placuisse;
15  vêrus eô datus est, vânus quôcumque negâtus.

Hebe again to Ganymede

How much are these golden chains worth to you?
Do you believe yourself a god, because you are held in a divine jail?
Do you think anyone born of a mortal can reign above?
Of what thing would you be the lord? Of playthings?
Certainly you are a ready and supreme king to the toys,
You who so long have served as a toy to the king,
But everyone must at some time do something worthwile.
No one wishes always to play boy's games;
someday perhaps you will tire of your fawning love.
10  Then, when your joys have spoiled, do not lustfully search for me.
When you seek new limbs, when you search for the promised kisses,
the girl spurned by a slave in lyric hexameters
will have been wed in epic verse. Wherefore the manacles so dear to you,
for which you flee my mouth, I will say that they pleased me;
15  The true is given by means of whatever has denied the empty.

Scripsit M. Moskowitz (marc@suberic.net)
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