University of Virginia Library

Oenone:

The Deserted Shepherdess.

This epistle is imitated from Ovid, but not literally translated.—Several passages have been here omitted which are in the original, and some additions made which it does not contain.—I mention this that I may not be supposed to have deviated from the latin through mistake, and that these verses may not be considered as a strict copy.

Paris the son of Priam, celebrated in fabulous history for his elegance and beauty; while he kept a stock in Ida's grove, fell in love with Oenone, and received her hand in marriage.—During his residence with her, he was made umpire between the rival goddesses, Venus, Juno and Minerva, to decide who excelled

in charms. He declared in favor of Venus, who promised him the hand of the most beautiful of women.—Soon after this he failed with a fleet to Greece, saw the celebrated Helen queen of Sparta, and neglectful of Oenone, prevailed upon her in her husband's absence, to espouse him and accompany him to Troy. Oenone still faithful to the cruel Paris, and unable to conquer her attachment for him, is represented writing this epistle in order to excite him to a return of his affection for her.

Oenone to Paris.

Read cruel Paris this dejected strain,
And do not treat it with a proud disdain;
Feel as you did when by my faithful side
You sought carresses from no spartan bride!
O read it o'er, it is my last request!
It breathes no threatenings to disturb your rest;
The far-fam'd nymph of Phrygia's tufted grove,
Here mourns your absence and ungrateful love.
Still would my heart call treacherous Paris mine,
If thou would'st call the sad Oenone thine.
What god opposing my once peaceful lot
Has borne my shepherd from this fertile spot?
What have I done, what crime lurks in my breast
That I'm no longer of your love possess'd?
When we deserv'dly suffer pain and ill,
We ought to bear it with resigning will;
But heavily we droop beneath the blow,
Which leaves disgrace and undeserved woe.
You was but poor, a lowly shepherd swain,
And kept a little stock upon the plain,
When I of noble birth beheld your charms,
And first receiv'd you to my loving arms;
Tho' now great Priam's son and prince of Troy,
You then was only a mien shepherd boy;
Nor in that rank, did you I scorn to wed,
But took a youthful stranger to my bed.
Often beneath the still sequester'd shade
Amidst the flocks which wanton'd o'er the glade,
Cheerful we've sat secluded from the heat,
While zephyrs whisper'd thro' our cool retreat—
Oft in our little cot secure from hail,
Descending rains and midnight's hollow gale;
In bed of straw upon each other's breast,
Happy we've lain, and sweetly sunk to rest.
Who led you to the caverns hung with rocks,
Where savage beasts conceal'd their infant flocks?
Who led you to the forests stock'd with game,
To the lone waters where the rein-deer came?
I lost Oenone there your footsteps led,
The knotted net with these soft hands have spread,
Follow'd your paths the mountain's giddy rounds,
And with my presence cheer'd your sweeping hounds.
Beneath the beach-trees, weeping oft I stand
And read my name carv'd by your gentle hand,
As their round trunks increase, expands the name,
To shew and vindicate Oenone's claim.
There grows a poplar on the river's steep,
(Ah well I know it, there I sit and weep)
Which blooms and thrives your treachery to prove,
And bears the motto of our early love:
Flourish thou poplar by the waters fed,
On whose green bark, these well-known lines are read
“Sooner shall Xanthus leave his channel dry,
“Than Paris live without Oenone's by;”
Xanthus flow back! ye murm'ring streams decay,
Paris still lives, is faithless, far away.
On that unhappy day began my woe,
When wandering thro' the woods with bended bow,
Venus and Juno and the queen of arms,
Made you the judge who most excell'd in charms:
Then jealous fears bade every transport cease,
Then blackening storms o'ercast my former peace;
My bosom heav'd, my strength and colour fled,
When you return'd and the dread tidings spread;
To aged matrons I express'd my fear,
Who all agreed that sorrow's hand was near.
When your bold vessels waited your command,
To bear you from me to a foreign land,
You wept and press'd me with a warm embrace
And kiss'd the tears that trickled down my face,
Still loth to part you gaz'd upon my charms
And closer held me fainting in your arms,
You scarce had spirits when you sad withdrew
To bid your shepherdess a last adieu!
The white sea foams beneath your steady oars,
And gales propitious wast you from the shores;
The lessening canvass my dim eyes pursue
And with their tears the moisten'd sand bedew,
With ardent prayers the Nereids I implore,
To speed your passage and my peace restore;
Have then my prayers brought you thus back again
To mock my love and to insult my pain?
Have I call'd heaven for blessings on your head,
To see you partner of a harlot's bed?
A towering rock o'erlooks the boundless waves,
Which frowns defiance and their fury braves;
There first I spy'd from its bleak giddy steep
Your sails approaching o'er the foaming deep,
Scarce in my transport could I then refrain
From plunging headlong in the passing main.
Borne by propitious winds your ship drew nigh
And first my rival met my searching eye,
Round her lov'd form your faithless arms were press'd
Her head enamour'd hung upon your breast:
With furious hands I tore my floating hair,
And beat my breast in wildness of despair;
My cry resounded thro' fair Ida's grove
The happy scenes of once our happy love.
May gaudy Helen too like me complain,
And mourn like me forsaken lover's pain!
May she in future feel those throbbing woes
Which now on poor Oenone she bestows!
You now love one whose false and roving mind,
Has left for you her princely spouse behind;
But when a shepherd here your flock you fed
I made you offer of my virgin bed;
A little cot was all my peaceful home,
I sought not riches nor a costly dome,
I lov'd you not for being Priam's son,
Nor pomp nor splendor e'er Oenone won;
Yet Priam and his wife need not disown
Me as unworthy of their blood and thrown;
Consort to you my merit could command,
Nor would a sceptre ill become my hand.
'Tis no disgrace that I have lain with you
On new fall'n leaves that glitter'd with the dew;
More am I fitted to ascend your bed
Where diamonds dazzle and their lustre shed;
Then in my arms you might securely sleep,
No hostile ships would plow your angry deep;
But Helen's dowry will be wars alarms,
Greece will demand her with revengeful arms;
And pride will swell the haughty fair one's breast,
To see for her two nations in contest.
Shame to the man who for a treacherous bride
Will stab his honor, and his country's pride!
Shame to the man who for a stol'n embrace,
Will bring destruction on the trojan race.
And do not think this Helen will prove true,
False to all others so she'll be to you;
Now young Atrides mourns his injur'd love
You in your turn shall his dishonor prove.
When chastity once droops its sullied form,
No more 'twill blossom, and survive the storm;
One little stain secludes it from the day,
Nor rolling years can mold that stain away.
Helen's warm passions now on you are turn'd,
So once for Sparta's prince they lively burn'd,
But now his gallant unsuspicious heart,
Feels his disgrace and her dissembling art.
O happy woman! godlike Hector's wife
How sweet thy slumbers, how serene thy life!
No jealous fears thy virtuous love controul,
Constant as warlike, is thy Hector's soul;
Had I, in Paris, Hector's virtues found
Like thine, my days had pass'd their fleeting round.
But lighter than the autumn's wither'd leaves,
Scatter'd and blown by every passing breeze;
Paris forsakes me for another's charms,
Nor longer sinks enraptur'd in my arms:
But still my Paris, still for you I sigh,
For you the tear still glistens in my eye,
Faithful to you I spurn with cold disdain,
The love and offers of each wealthy swain.
Not heaven or earth with all its bounteous store,
Can ease my bosom, or my joy restore,
To you alone I plead my languid grief,
'Tis you alone can bring me sweet relief!
Pity a faithful, sad, neglected maid,
Revisit Ida's melancholy shade!
Pity a maid who loves with tenderest woe,
And merits all your pity can bestow!
Ally'd with me no bloody wars you'll dread,
Soft peace shall hover o'er our blissful bed.
I am your own; I am your only wife,
And pass'd with you my virgin years of life:
May heaven look down with mercy on my tears,
And crown with Paris my remaining years.