_He entreats the morning not to hasten on with its usual speed._
|Now over the Ocean does she come from her aged husband _Tithonus_,
who, with her yellow locks, brings on the day with her frosty chariot.
Whither, Aurora, art thou hastening? Stay; _and_ then may the yearly
bird, with its wonted death, honour the shades [189] of thy Memnon, its
parent. Now do I delight to recline in the soft arms of my mistress;
now, if ever, is she deliciously united to my side. Now, too, slumbers
are sound, and now the moisture is cooling the birds, too, are sweetly
waronng with their little throats. Whither art thou hastening, hated by
the men, detested by the fair? Check thy dewy reins with thy rosy hand.
[190]
Before thy rising, the sailor better observes his Constellations; and
he wanders not in ignorance, in the midst of the waves. On thy approach,
the wayfarer arises, weary though he be; the soldier lays upon his arms
the hands used to bear them. Thou art the first to look upon the tillers
of the fields laden with the two-pronged fork; thou art the first to
summon the lagging oxen to the crooked yoke. 'Tis thou who dost deprive
boys of their sleep, and dost hand them over to their masters; [192],
that their tender hands may suffer the cruel stripes. [193] 'Tis thou,
too, who dost send the man before the vestibule of the attorney, [194]
when about to become bail; [195] that he may submit to the great risks
of a single word.
Thou art no source of pleasure to the pleader, [198] nor yet to the
counsel; for fresh combats each is forced to rise. Thou, when the
labours of the females might have had a pause, dost recal the hand of
the worker in wool to its task.
All _this_ I could endure; but who could allow the fair to arise _thus_
early, except _the man_ who has no mistress of his own? How often have
I wished that night would not make way for thee; and that the stars when
put to flight would not fly from thy countenance. Many a time have I
wished that either the wind would break thy chariot to pieces, or that
thy steed would fall, overtaken by _some_ dense cloud. Remorseless one,
whither dost thou hasten? Inasmuch as thy son was black, such was the
colour of his mother's heart. What if [199] she had not once burned with
passion for Cephalus? Or does she fancy that her escapade was not known?
I _only_ wish it was allowed Tithonus to tell of thee; there would not
be a more coarse tale in _all_ the heavens. While thou art avoiding him,
because he is chilled by length of years, thou dost rise early in the
morning from _the bed of_ the old man to thy odious chariot. But if thou
wast _only_ holding some Cephalus embraced in thy arms; _then_ wouldst
thou be crying out, "Run slowly on, ye horses of the night."
Why should I be punished in my affections, if thy husband does decay
through _length of_ years? Wast thou married to the old fellow by my
contrivance? See how many hours of sleep the Moon gave [201] to the
youth beloved by _her_; and yet her beauty is not inferior to thine. The
parent of the Gods himself, that he might not see thee so often, joined
two nights together [202] for _the attainment of_ his desires.
I had finished my reproaches; you might be sure she heard them; _for_
she blushed'. However, no later than usual did the day arise.