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, Ganymēdi, timēs? Nunc es, quod scīs, adulescens;
dēdecet iste virō, puerō lūdus tibi grātus.
Quī cum patre manet, quō tempore eum renovābit
hic jucundus amor? Didicit quī gaudia adulta,
cūr cum patre manet? Tē clausit Iuppiter ipse.
Ille pater dīvus genuit dīvōs hominēsque.
Nec mortālis sum, quæ claustra volō reserāre;
recta pocillātrix, fūdī nectar sūperōrum.
"Hēbē, quam sitiō!" sīc mē properāre jubēbant,
10  nīmīrum cecidī, nīmīrum nectare lāvī
dīvōrum rēgem. Poculum tē sūmere iussit.
Sunt aquilæ rēgī, cum rēge est mūtua forma.
Numinis āligerī tū dulcis præda fuistī.
Annōs hōs multōs pārēbās, serve, tonantī.
15  Ventus aprīcus adest; tibi sim, līberte, Juventās.

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

Fīlia Jūnōnis, superāvit avunculus altus.
Nōn opus est vīrīs affectū tam muliebrī;
nōn opus est mihi tē. Nōn blanditiæ meretrīcis
ē Jovis amplexū Ganymēdin eī bene grātum
allectūræ sunt. Quid habēs? Præbēs mihi quidnam?
Sublātō poculō, quæ mūnera vestra supersunt?
Ūtibilis nihilō, nūgīs teris ōtia nostra.
Dōnī prōdiga, nunc fūrārī vīn' aliēnum?
Cēde Jōvī, quæsō, nec frustrā pergere nītī.
10  Prævalet ās rēgis quō 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

Mōmentī quantī tibi sunt hæc aurea vincla?
Tē credisne deum, quī captus carcere dīvō?
Num præesse putās quemquam nātum moritūrī?
Cūjusnam regnum dandumst tibi? Lūdibriōrum?
Certē lūdibriīs rex aptus es atque suprēmus,
tū quī lūdibriō rēgis longē meruistī,
sed semel omnibus est aliquid dignum faciendum.
Nēmō lūdere vult semper lūsūs puerīlēs;
ōlim tē blandī forsan tædēbit amōris.
10  Tum, putridīs gaudīs, pathicē mē quærere nōlī.
Cum nova membra petēs, cum præbita bāsia quæres,
hexametrīs lyricīs ā servō sprēta puella
nupserit hērōē. Quā rē manicās tibi cārās,
ob quās ōra fugis, narrābō mī placuisse;
15  vērus eō datus est, vānus quōcumque negātus.

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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