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with us. But my grief has been dissolved with the season. And now the sea is friendly, and its anger has changed. All things make a truce with men: sky, air, stars, the sea. For the one, always pelting with snows, brought danger to our dwellings; the others hid the view; another knit its brows; and the other was shaken by the winds. Now it is possible with clear eyes to see the Bear, which is friendly to us and everywhere directs our voyage. For she does not endure to set with the others, so that she might not overlook a wandering sailor, but stands always proclaiming the cities to those on the sea. It is possible to see also the great Orion, hunting among the stars by his shape. Whenever I see Andromeda, I pity her chains, and I lament her fate. But when I see Perseus, raising his right hand against the sea-monster, "Take courage," I say to the maiden, and I console her within myself, and rejoice with her in her fortune. I am glad, now seeing the Pleiades, which preside over the spring for us, and now the ship Argo in the sky, proclaiming ancient tales: Pelias, the fleece, Medea, the loves, Jason. Why then do I still delay and shrink from the voyage? I have renounced it, being settled in one place, always spending and deprived of profit. For what trade has bestowed, winter has consumed, and my wife, alas, is no more tolerable than winter. For she was always pressing on, bringing some newer expense. And, "I need," she says, "clothing to console the season." I provided it, as I would not have wished. But she was again naked, again she increased the loss. And "So-and-so's wife," she says, "shines all around with golden ornament" and "I must get something similar." And I to her, "Does this too, woman, console the season?" And if I ignored her asking, "I am dishonored," she often cried, and "I get no word from you." And it was necessary to fight day after day, confined together like cattle, until my purse, drained, is gone. But now from want, now from evils I have been freed; now for intercourse with the cities. [We are] free. No longer will the sea hinder my ship. Now indeed the sailor dares the deep, and the traveler sings, and shepherds play the flute and the flocks dance. Now birds sing with a certain varied sound, weaving a strange music, and the trees now hasten to generation, and the earth parades in diverse flowers, shining forth like stars, as if competing against the sky. What then? I will board the merchant ship, I will dare the voyage. I have many fellow sailors in this matter, who in addition to profit also reap a varied sight. One hastens toward Sicily and sees Etna and fire sometimes pouring out, and will see Odysseus's Charybdis. Another, having come to Italy, sees a very great city, in which are the trophies of the inhabited world. Others sail around the islands as if in the middle of a chorus, and another sees Troy and laments its fate, calling Helen to mind. But women again, shall we again remember the evils at home? Another, having arrived in Attica, sees the Piraeus, the islands, Salamis, and the children of the Athenians and ancient tales: how Xerxes threatened, how all things were set in motion, how he who insulted land and sea wept at the hands of the Athenians. And we will not sail past Cyprus and its Aphrodite; I will disembark from the ship, I will see the island of Adonis, and I will console Aphrodite, the image of her passion, the memory of her love. And I will sing to the hunter of his beauty, his strength, his graces, the bows of the boys, the jealousy of Ares, the untimely end, the message, the running, the wound, the blood, the rose itself, a fortunate plant, imaging the passion of Aphrodite in its appearance. Then, having completed the trade, I will be rich with money, but only until I see the little woman. 6 Adonis This was left for you, Fortune, for your plot: not even to seek Adonis, nor to run to him, nor to console your longing with your running, not to come upon him lying there, not to embrace him having fallen, nor to call the dead man most beloved. It was enough to see his eyes even when closed, it was enough for me to see his silent lips. not yet for me at all

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μεθ' ἡμῶν. διαλέλυται δέ μοι μετὰ τῆς ὥρας ἡ λύπη. καὶ νῦν ἡ θάλασσα φίλη, καὶ τοῦ θυμοῦ μεταβέβληται. πάντα σπένδεται τοῖς ἀνθρώποις, οὐρανός, ἀήρ, ἀστέρες, ἡ θάλασσα. ὁ μὲν γὰρ νιφάσι βάλλων ἀεὶ τὸν περὶ τῶν οἰκημάτων ἐπήνεγκε κίνδυνον, οἱ δὲ τὴν θέαν ἀπέκρυπτον, ὁ δὲ συνῆγε τὰς ὀφρῦς, ἡ δὲ συνεδονεῖτο τοῖς πνεύμασι. νῦν πάρεστι καθαροῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς τὴν ἄρκτον ἰδεῖν, τὴν φίλην ἡμῖν καὶ πανταχοῦ τὸν πλοῦν ἀπευθύνουσαν. οὐ γὰρ ἀνέχεται συγκαταδῦναι τοῖς ἄλλοις, ὅπως μὴ ναύτην παρίδῃ πλανώμενον, ἀλλ' ἕστηκεν ἀεὶ τοῖς ἐν πελάγει τὰς πόλεις κηρύττουσα. πάρεστιν ἰδεῖν καὶ τὸν μέγαν Ὠρίωνα, κἀν τοῖς ἄστροις κυνηγοῦντα τῷ σχήματι. ἂν ἴδω τὴν Ἀνδρομέδαν ἐλεῶ τὰ δεσμά, καὶ τὴν ἐκείνης τύχην ὀδύρομαι. ἀλλ' ὅταν ἴδω τὸν Περσέα, τὴν δεξιὰν ἐπὶ τὸ κῆτος ἐπαίροντα, "θάρρει" τῇ κόρῃ φημί, καὶ παραμυθοῦμαι ταύτην ἐν ἑαυτῷ, καὶ τῆς τύχης αὐτῇ συνήδομαι. γέγηθα, νῦν μὲν τὰς Πλειάδας ὁρῶν, αἳ τὸ ἔαρ ἡμῖν πρυτανεύουσι, νῦν δὲ τὴν Ἀργὼ σκάφος ἐν οὐρανῷ, παλαιὰ κηρύττον μυθολογήματα, τὸν Πελίαν, τὸ κῶας, τὴν Μήδειαν, τοὺς ἔρωτας, τὸν Ἰάσωνα. Τί τοίνυν ἔτι μέλλω καὶ πρὸς τὸν πλοῦν ἀναδύομαι; ἀπεῖπον, ἐφ' ἑνὸς χωρίου καθιδρυμένος, καὶ δαπανῶν ἀεὶ καὶ τοῦ κέρδους ἐστερημένος. ἃ γὰρ ἐμπορία δεδώρηται, ταῦτα χειμὼν ὑπανάλωσε, καὶ σύνοικος, οἴ μοι, μηδὲν τοῦ χειμῶνος ἀνεκτοτέρα. ἐπέκειτο γὰρ ἀεὶ πρὸς ζημίαν φέρουσά τι καινότερον. καὶ "δεῖ μοί" φησιν "ἐσθῆτος παραμυθουμένης τὴν ὥραν". παρέσχον, ὡς οὐκ ἂν ἠβουλόμην. ἡ δὲ πάλιν ἦν γυμνή, πάλιν τὴν ζημίαν ἐπέτεινε. καὶ "ἡ δέ" φησιν, "ἡ τοῦ δεῖνος κόσμῳ περιλάμπει χρυσῷ" καὶ "δεῖ με τῶν παραπλησίων τυχεῖν". ἐγὼ δὲ πρὸς ταύτην, "μὴ καὶ τοῦτο, γύναι, παραμυθεῖται τὴν ὥραν;" εἰ δὲ παρεῖδον αἰτοῦσαν, "ἄτιμος ἐγώ" πολλάκις ἐβόα, καὶ "λόγος οὐδεὶς ἐμοὶ παρὰ σοῦ". καὶ ἦν ἀνάγκη καὶ δι' ἡμέρας ζυγομαχεῖν, βοσκημάτων δίκην συγκαθειργμένων, ἕως μοι διαρρυὲν οἴχεται τὸ βαλάντιον. ἀλλὰ νῦν ἐνδείας, νῦν κακῶν ἠλευθέρωμαι νῦν ἐπιμιξίαι ταῖς πόλεσιν. ἐλευθέριοι. οὐκ ἔτι μοι κωλύσει τὸ σκάφος ἡ θάλασσα. ἢ δὴ καὶ ναύτης τοῦ πελάγους κατατολμᾷ, καὶ ὁδοιπόρος ᾄδει, καὶ ποιμένες αὐλοῦσι καὶ χορεύει τὰ ποίμνια. νῦν ὄρνιθες ᾄδουσι ποικίλῳ τινὶ φθόγγῳ, πλέκουσαι ξένην μουσικήν, καὶ τὰ δένδρα νῦν ἐπείγεται πρὸς γονήν, καὶ γῆ διαφόροις ἐμπομπεύει τοῖς ἄνθεσιν, ἄστρων δίκην ἐκλάμπουσα, καθάπερ ἁμιλλωμένη πρὸς οὐρανόν. τί οὖν; ἐπιβήσομαι τῆς ὁλκάδος, θαρρήσω τὸν πλοῦν. πολλοὺς ἔχω κοινωνοῦντας ναύτας τοῦ πράγματος, οἳ πρὸς τῷ κέρδει καὶ ποικίλην θέαν καρπούμεθα. ὁ μὲν πρὸς Σικελίαν ἐπείγεται καὶ τὴν Αἴτνην ὁρᾷ καὶ πῦρ ἐσθ' ὅτε χεόμενον, καὶ τὴν Ὀδυσσέως ὄψεται Χάρυβδιν. ὁ δὲ πρὸς Ἰταλίαν ἐλθὼν πόλιν ὁρᾷ μεγίστην, ἐν ᾗ τῆς οἰκουμένης τὰ τρόπαια. ἕτεροι τὰς νήσους ὡς ἂν ἐν μέσῳ χορῷ περιπλέουσιν, ὁ δὲ τὴν Τροίαν ὁρᾷ καὶ τὴν ταύτης τύχην ὀδύρεται, τὴν Ἑλένην εἰς μνήμην λαβών. ἀλλὰ πάλιν γυναῖκες, πάλιν τῶν οἴκοι κακῶν μνημονεύσομεν; ἕτερος τὴν Ἀττικὴν ἀφικόμενος ὁρᾷ τὸν Πειραιᾶ, τὰς νήσους, τὴν Σαλαμῖνα, καὶ παῖδας Ἀθηναίων καὶ παλαιὰ διηγήματα, ὡς ἠπείλη Ξέρξης, ὡς πάντα κεκίνητο, ὡς ὁ γῆν ὑβρίσας καὶ θάλατταν ὑπ' Ἀθηναίων ἐδάκρυεν. ἡμεῖς δὲ τὴν Κύπρον καὶ τὴν ταύτης Ἀφροδίτην οὐ παραπλεύσομεν, ἀποβήσομαι τῆς νεώς, ὄψομαι νῆσον Ἀδώνιδος, καὶ τὴν Ἀφροδίτην παραμυθήσομαι, τὴν εἰκόνα τοῦ πάθους, τὴν μνήμην τοῦ ἔρωτος. καὶ ᾄσω τῷ κυνηγέτῃ τὸ κάλλος, τὴν ῥώμην, τὰς χάριτας, τῶν παίδων τὰ τόξα, τὸν ζῆλον τοῦ Ἄρεος, τὴν ἄωρον τελευτήν, τὴν ἀγγελίαν, τὸν δρόμον, τὴν πληγήν, τὸ αἷμα, τὸ ῥόδον αὐτό, φυτὸν εὐτυχές, Ἀφροδίτης πάθος εἰκονίζον τῇ θέᾳ. εἶτα, τὴν ἐμπορίαν ἀνύσας, πλουτήσω τοῖς χρήμασι, ἀλλ' ἕως ἴδω τὸ γύναιον. 6 αδονις Τοῦτό σοι, Τύχη, πρὸς ἐπιβουλὴν ὑπελείπετο, μηδὲ ζητῆσαι τὸν Ἄδωνιν, μηδὲ δραμεῖν ἐπ' αὐτόν, μηδὲ παραμυθήσασθαι τῷ δρόμῳ τὸν πόθον, μὴ κειμένῳ περιτυχεῖν, μὴ περιπλέξασθαι πεπτωκότι, μηδὲ φίλτατον καλέσαι νεκρόν. ἤρκει τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς καὶ μεμυκότας ἰδεῖν, ἤρκει μοι πρὸς θέαν καὶ σιγῶντα τὰ χείλη. οὔπω μοι πάντως