_He entreats the porter to open to him the door of his mistress's
house._
Porter, fastened (_and_ how unworthily!) with the cruel fetter, [060]
throw open the stubborn door with its turning hinge. What I ask, is but
a trifle; let the door, half-opened, admit me sideways with its narrow
passage. Protracted Love has made my body thin for such an emergency,
and by diminishing my bulk, has rendered my limbs _quite_ supple.'Tis
he who shows me how to go softly amid the watches of the keepers; [062]
'tis he directs my feet that meet no harm. But, at one time, I used
to be afraid of the night and imaginary ghosts; _and_ I used to be
surprised if any one was about to go in the dark: Cupid, with his
graceful mother, laughed, so that I could hear him, and he softly said,
"Thou too wilt become bold." Without delay, love came _upon me_; then,
I feared not spectres that flit by night, [063] or hands uplifted for my
destruction.
I only fear you, _thus_ too tardy; you alone do I court; you hold the
lightning by which you can effect my destruction. Look (and that you may
see, loosen the obdurate bars) how the door has been made wet with my
tears. At all events, 'twas I, who, when, your garment laid aside, you
stood ready for the whip, [064] spoke in your behalf to your mistress
as you were trembling. Does then, (O shocking thought!) the credit which
once prevailed in your behalf, now fail to prevail in my own favour?
Give a return for my kindness; you may _now_ be grateful. As you wish,
[065] the hours of the night pass on; [066] from the door-post [067] strike
away the bar. Strike it away then may you one day be liberated from your
long fetters and may the water of the slave [068] be not for ever drunk
of by you. Hard-hearted porter! you hear me, as I implore in vain; the
door, supported by its hard oaken _posts_, is still unmoved. Let the
protection of a closed gate be of value to cities when besieged; _but_
why, in the midst of peace are you dreading warfare? What would you do
to an enemy, who thus shut out the lover? The hours of the night pass
on; from the door-post strike away the bar.
I am not come attended with soldiers and with arms; I should be alone,
if ruthless Love were not here. Him, even if I should desire it, I can
never send away; first should I be even severed from my limbs. Love
then, and a little wine about my temples, [069] are with me, and the
chaplet falling from off my anointed hair. Who is to dread arms _such_
as these? Who may not go out to face them? The hours of the night pass
on; from the door-post strike away the bar.
Are you delaying? or does sleep (who but ill befriends the lover)
give to the winds my words, as they are repelled from your ear? But, I
remember, when formerly I used to avoid you, you were awake, with the
stars of the midnight. Perhaps, too, your own mistress is now asleep
with you; alas! how much superior _then_ is your fate to my own! And
since 'tis so, pass on to me, ye cruel chains. The hours of the night
pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar.
Am I mistaken? Or did the door-posts creak with the turning hinge, and
did the shaken door give the jarring signal? Yes, I am mistaken; the
door was shaken by the boisterous wind. Ah me! how far away has that
gust borne my hopes! Boreas, if well thou dost keep in mind the ravished
Orithyia, come hither, and with thy blast beat open this relentless
door. 'Tis silence throughout all the City; damp with the glassy dew,
the hours of the night pass on; from the door-post strike away the bar.
Otherwise I, myself, [073] now better prepared _than you_, with my
sword, and with the fire which I am holding in my torch, [074] will
scale this arrogant abode. Night, and lore, and wine, [075] are
persuasive of no moderation; the first is without shame, Bacchus and
Love _are without fear_.
I have expended every method; neither by entreaties nor by threats have
I moved you, O _man, even_ more deaf yourself than your door. It becomes
you not to watch the threshold of the beauteous fair; of the anxieties
of the prison, [076] are you more deserving. And now Lucifer is moving
his wheels beset with rime; and the bird is arousing [077] wretched
_mortals_ to their work. But, chaplet taken from my locks joyous no
longer, be you the livelong night upon this obdurate threshold. You,
when in the morning she shall see you _thus_ exposed, will be a witness
of my time thus thrown away. _Porter_, whatever your disposition, good
bye, and _one day_ experience the pangs of him who is now departing;
sluggish one, and worthless in not admitting the lover, fare you well.
And you, ye cruel door-posts, with your stubborn threshold; and _you,
ye_ doors, equally slaves, [078] hard-hearted blocks of wood, farewell.