BY TORSTEN SCHWAANKE
THE PALLADIUM
O Muse, daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne,
Sing to the Greeks the great tale,
Helen's theft and Troy's atonement,
And sing of the goddess fair and white,
Who gave Paris Helen's desire,
Who consumed Pergamos in fire.
I am the singer of Zeus who dwells above
And whom Troy had invoked,
That he might spare her from his wrath,
The father of Charis and the noble husband,
The queen in whom Troy believes,
Begetting fair Wisdom in his head.
And Ilion cried supplicating prayers,
Since she founded the castle in Asia,
To the city of gods in heaven, city of cities,
Where Zeus, the father of gods, reigns: Sins
Has Troy, O father! give us a sign,
That thou lovest us, a word give of thy mouth!
Burnt offerings of their hearts
Flamed up at the altars,
Prophets chanting round the altar
And call to the goddess from the sea,
The mother of Love, that she may give,
That Tros may live pleasing to the gods.
Then the smoke of sacrifices and prayers rose
To Zeus, king of all the gods.
His long white beard blew in the wind
And his voice spoke like thunder
And thundered through all the kingdom of heaven,
My daughter Minerva is coming!
The daughter of Zeus, the maiden with the fair,
Violet-blue eyes came near.
Golden was the beautiful Charis' girdle, golden
The sandals of the Queen of Heaven
And the bare feet, golden was the fluff
On Minerva's arm, a sweet dream.
She came floating up so softly and gently
And sat down at her father's feet.
She gazed wisely out of her blue eyes
And said softly with the honey-sweet
Song of her voice, with the wisdom of her voice,
O what does my father and my king desire?
O Eternal One, I am your daughter,
From thy head thy hands have lifted
Me, Virgin, clothed chaste and pure,
Since ever I have been thy handmaid. So send
Wherever thou wilt the virgin.
Whom shall I bless there in nature?
Yes, you are right, said Zeus, I want to bless,
Bless all the people of Tros,
As a sign of my covenant, let it rain
In the springtime in the land of Pergamos
And the sun shall shine in Troy
And Iris breathe the breath of hope.
Yes, daughter, may my messenger Iris
Paint her colourful bow in the sky,
The seven beautiful colours are the paths
On which the divine ones walk
Down and up, for heavenly serene
Iris' arch is a ladder to heaven.
On this ladder of heaven you climb,
Virgin, down to Asia
And bring my blessings
To the Trojan people, then come again,
But leave on earth your palladium,
For my nearness is a mystery.
Zeus spoke. And presently the Palladium stood
As the holy of holies in Ilion,
The presence of Wisdom, the mystery
Of Zeus' love, given to the castle
By Minerva. King Priam worshipped
The Queen of Peace, the shield-armed one.
Then out of the night came the Parcaes,
Three Moirs with the fateless tissues.
They sang their ghastly chorus,
Come, love! Troy may shatter at the bottom,
Shattered on the hem of the Mediterranean,
By a woman's lust – O sweet dream!
The seer announced the dark fate,
Which he read from the reasons of fate:
Hecuba from her womb
Will give bith to our sin.
The child that shall be born to Priam,
He is Troy's fire, whom the woman gives life.
Hecuba lamented and Priam,
When Asia's mother of nations was with child,
The star of calamity over Pergamos
Hits us hard with its hot rays,
We must avoid our fate
If it were possible for us who are subjugated!
The child was taken away into the wilderness
By a slave who was to murder it.
But over his sword Mother Night
And Zeus with his flash of anger rumbled.
Then the servant gave the royal son
To a shepherd near Ilion.
The shepherd raised the boy and named him
Alexander: conqueror of men.
The unknown was of the blood of princes
And a stranger among the shepherds' children.
Grace and pride bloomed around his lip,
So he grew up and matured in mind.
He tended the flocks in the pastures
And rested in the shade of high treetops,
When a white and silken maiden appeared to him
Shining in the darkness on Ida's summit.
Then Cupid's arrow struck him with honey glow,
Paris' royal blood was aflame.
Oenone's dark blonde hair flowed
In curls on her shoulders white veiled.
The eyes were large and wonderful
And like the green moon's image.
Flowing light the glorious appearance
Seemed heavenly, all earthly negation.
She was the first love of Paris,
Whom all the peasants called Alexander.
He loved her so much that goddess Charis
And Eros burned with jealousy!
Then Eros sent his gall
Into Oenone's heart like Zeus' weather lightning.
Oenone the youth Paris resented
And turned to a stupid peasant
With a blue stubble beard. For Paris was
For the fate of Asia and Troy's walls
Filled with spurned love's ardour.
Then the goddess smiled on the flood.
And Eros laid down his bow
And Charis hastened to the wedding feast,
Where hymns were heard, Hymenaeus songs,
For to a dying one she sits down,
The goddess Thetis, blue as the sea and bright.
Then she who handed the fruit of the apple to the quarrel:
Who is the fairest goddess of them all?
The queen of heaven with golden sandals?
The virgin whose image fell to Tros?
The lovely one whom all painters paint?
And Charis smiled, sure of victory,
Than all queens more royal.
And Cupid took the feather of a dove
And stroked Charis‘ dove-breast.
Then sang the nightingale of the myrtle arbour
And sighed for the rosebush full of delight,
Then sang of Elysium the swan-genius,
When he saw the mouth of fair Venus...
THE APPLE OF BEAUTY
And Paris walked in his pastures
By dark pine's sweet wistful shade
To find the memories
That Oenone's beautiful eyes
Had imprinted on his pastoral soul,
Like moonlight on a mossy bed.
The wind from the south murmured in the foliage
And moonlight silvered the green leaves,
The moon dew moistened the dust
And little birds sang in the summer weather
A sweet sobbing of sweet love's woe
And lambs lay slumbering in the pastures.
And no nymph showed in the shrub,
To lovingly comfort the lovesick.
And lonely was the moon, lonely too
Was Paris, who could not even call
To the greatest of the gods, so silenced
Paris went wrapped in his lambskin.
Then he took from his shepherd's bag
The shepherd's flute, the carved reed,
And blew as if he sought the wind,
And his dark lamentation was lost
Into the infinitely abysmal night,
Where the forsaken one wakes very lost.
To his left lay Asia so dark,
On his right, Europe, Greece,
His heart between, bloody carbuncle,
Torn inwardly, yet steadfastly
He stared into the depths of his heart,
To see if he could find Oenone's beautiful eyes.
Then from the depths of his heart emerged
And from the heavenly realm of the dark night
A light like a cloud in full course
And like songs full of sweet splendour
There was singing around the cloud of glory,
As softly three persons swayed nearer.
And before the sorrowful youth stepped
The Queen of Heaven in her blue dress
Embroidered with stars and the peacock's wheel.
The mother of the gods saw Paris' sorrow
And looked full of grace on his grief,
So that he shuddered with a stern chill.
Then he bent to greet Hera,
Who surrounded him with sky-blue rays.
He lay before her slender bare feet,
The fragrant ones in golden sandals.
And there Hera lifted her heavenly voice
With sublime majesty and gentle grimace:
The queen of the universe asks
The sorrowful shepherd: Is she to him
The most beautiful? When he says such things
In the secret of conversation intimate,
Hera makes him like a shepherd of nations,
As Macedonian Alexander rich.
The goddess was over-lighted
By the sublime daughter of Zeus, the virgin wise,
She wore her black cloak as heavy as velvet
And her sweet voice sounded very low,
As she gazed at him with blue eyes,
From which all would suck wisdom.
A black veil was around her head,
Wreathed in a silver olive wreath.
Like divine memories echoed
The voice from the face full of radiance,
That Paris wanted to greet the maiden at once
And kiss her slender white hands.
Blue-eyed Minerva, you are beautiful,
You fair maiden, full of grace and light.
Your words bring peace to my heart
And are anointing oil to my soul.
Minerva said, Praise my beauty,
Then I will make you wise like my Plato.
Then a fire arose in the vault
And Paris became a log in the embers of the fire.
The embers ate up his inner belly,
The chamber of his heart was flooded with the sea
And sprays of white foam.
Then he saw Aphrodite combing her hair!
The comb carved from pearly horn,
Which she drew from upswept hair.
She wrung out her hair like a sponge,
Her hair wet with a frothy spray,
Then she let her henna curls flow,
Which fell to her fair hip.
Orange was her cloak wrapped around her
And green as myrtles of the May was her skirt.
On Ida's summit young goats jumped
And rams bleated loudly and billy goats
And lambs ran down the slope:
She played with the fire-locks again.
Then she wriggled out of her cloak's glow
And let the skirt fall like green billows:
Unfurling roses in the early morning,
The doves their dove-breasts waved:
And skirt and mantle sank to earth.
And Venus stood in a silken gown gauzy.
Perfect figure so sweetly flowed around
The transparent, breathed silk.
She held the flood of curls in front of her lap
And held the source of all lust and sorrow
And touches with her red curly tips
The red tips of the dew-white breasts.
Then the goddess shook her curls,
Then silver chains swayed on her ears,
Then from her tresses fell bells of blossom:
O to lie sweetly in these blossoms
And to discharge lustful griefs
Was Paris' wholly drunken desire!
Around her naked white round arm
She wore a silver clasp coiled.
The eyes glowed with ardent charm,
Then he stood like a hare before the serpent
And wanted in the eyes of the sea of fire
To be consumed by this serpent!
Regardless of whether he was wise or victorious -
As fool and loser he would
To be eaten by the woman, the tiger
Of Hirkania, to whom he was the viand
As a sacrifice to reconcile this beast:
To the cruelest he gave the prize of the beautiful!
O, this apple, the prize of all beauty,
To the apples of thy round breasts!
Ah, give me nothing! For if thou wouldst give, I know,
Into the abyss of death these lusts have plunged me,
Which I can receive from Aphrodite,
The heavenly one, entwined by the serpents!
Like a brown she-bear thou comest, hard
Is thy dreadful cruelty,
O lovely Urania with beard -
Giver of pleasure and sorrow to all men,
Great is thy beauty, great, very great
Is thy love, is the grave's womb!
Then smiled the goddess sweetly beguiling
Like nightingales, turtledoves, roses
And sang so honey-sweet, and Paris listening
Heard her cooing, cooing, melting, caressing:
Beloved youth, dear shepherd Paris,
I am the gracious one, I am Charis!
For your praise, your soul's show,
Born of the greatest love, yes,
I promise you the most beautiful woman
Of all Greece, the fair Helen,
With her thou shalt enjoy love's bliss...
Till in eternity you melt in my sight!
THE RAPE OF HELEN
Sent by his goddess of love Charis
Went from the Ida pasture to Tros
The divinely overwhelmed shepherd Paris
And there he discovered himself to Priam
As a king's son. And immediately through this discovery
The king's spouses were struck with hot terror.
And Paris entered his brothers' council
And stood there gloriously at the pillar post
And called the youth from all the state
To a journey that from Tros in the east
To Sparta far in the west.
He called as if he were calling to a wedding feast:
To you, brothers, I read from love's charter,
Given to me by the goddess. Trust
You must in trust Urania: In the land of Sparta
The most beautiful women await you, brothers!
But the most beautiful waits there
For Paris only, the beautiful Helen!
Shouted one, dedicated to reason, a brother,
Who already had his wife in the house:
If thou wilt steer thine oar into the Spartan land,
On the shore will meet the husband,
Helen's husband, the dove's dove,
He will not let the fair one be stolen.
What shall a husband do to me who is not worthy of her?
Not worthy of her, who can never be enough for her,
The stupid Menelas of Helen?
I will plough Venus's ocean tide
And flatter her and praise like the praisers
And will conquer her with beautiful jewels.
So Troy's youth set out on a voyage
And sailed up and down the crests of the waves.
Their fleet was led by Aphrodite
Through the dark grave of the valley of waves
And on the bright foamy peak,
Where Venus' foamy blossoms splash them.
And Paris after the long voyage stood
Wetted by the blue sea's white spray
On Sparta's rocky shore, on the beach
In a red mantle, all of hot glow
For Helen and rapturous desire.
The sun of fire emerged from the sea.
He stepped to Menelaus' princely house,
But Menelaus was on his sea voyage.
Then out of her hall stepped the fair Helen,
The beautiful Helen - and revealed
Were in the fair one who glowed with beauty,
All the glories of Aphrodite!
Red-brown curls blew long in the wind,
The eyes glowed blue like evening stars.
The glorious figure, like sweet sin,
As sweet and white as bitter almond kernels.
With bare feet she stood on the shore,
From her garment her breasts sprang.
The henna curls' loveliest confusion
Paris confused his manly soul.
The sweet dove's voice girreth
And her eyes' flashing jewels
Thrilled him, thrilled him like shivers -
Then he saw Troy's wall fall!
He had no more power over himself,
Delight and lust flashed through his limbs,
When in the face of the woman alone
He laid down his treasure from Asia
And gave her silk and silver chains
To bed her bare of all silk!
The earrings of lapis lazuli
She put on her white shell ears
And between her breasts she hung
The silver chain she chose,
And took off the ring from her finger, which
The old husband had put on as a fetter.
And in the night, when all the maids were asleep,
Helen in her white silk dress
Came to the youth Paris. And the two ran
To the ship, and cast off, and sailed far away
In the moonlight, which flowed down silver
And slumbered like dew in her bosom.
And Aphrodite came to Aeolus,
King of the winds, to help and blow.
He blew all night long with pleasure
And ended in a light breeze,
When Helen and Paris arrived
On an island of love, they swam round the sea.
Aurore rose with a red glow
Of red roses that glowed gold,
And Aphrodite's sea tides sprayed
And wave rolls and wave rolls
And splashes sweetly on the rock disperse,
As Helen and Paris gyrate and melt.
They built themselves a bed in moss and roses
And lay in myrtle-leaves of May,
Where like nightingales they sobbed, they caressed
On the day of love like turtledoves
And play war in love lust battles
And intertwine neck and neck.
Ah, then Daphne fled from Apollo no more,
Ah, Syrinx never fled from Pan.
In all the shells songs of lust resounded
Bewitching as a boundless madness.
There lay (and far away a hoopoe called)
In her womb the youth's beautiful head.
There the dear woman laid her body
As beautiful as if Venus were her ancestress,
In the crystal pond's clear dew
And was as white and beautiful as a swan.
And smiling from the goblet of a sea-rose
The arrow with honey Eros put on.
And as they both walked by the rivers
And thought they were in Elysium's paradises
Where they kissed hot and long,
Then once they both heard Eros sneeze:
It is a blessing when Eros sneezes,
When sweet mouth and mouth flow together.
O what lips, wonderfully curved,
Oh, what lips to kiss forever!
O what a flood of honey on the tongues
And in the palate milk in abundance!
Cupids must come, messengers
Of Venus, to knot mouth to mouth.
O how the tips of her breasts pierced him,
Openly offered to the kiss of the air,
O what a blaze, when her eyes flash,
And tan flames at the swaying of her hips,
O what a shuddering thrill flowed through him,
He saw the apple of Callipigos!
And at last, in blissful languor
He lost himself slumbering in her lap.
Then he entered the realm of shadows, dreaming,
Where the lily bloomed pale by the moss,
Orpheus sang the wedding song of love.
And the horn of Morpheus gave milk of the poppy.
And all the bliss, the foam of delight
Of love's magic of Helen
Opened to him the gate to a dream,
And to the heavenly Urania...
As a soul-shadow full of fear -
And Charis, full of grace, blesses Paris.
And was it there the mouth of Helen,
That gleamed like beautiful scarlet red?
Was it Urania's mouth that he kissed?
That he kissed? and was he then dead?
A lusty moment of time
Like an eternity of bliss....
SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA
And Menelaus became a fury, an avenger,
And called all Greece together
To hunt down the accursed adulterer
And his wife, and he lifted up his hand,
To bring back those who had so reviled him.
And priests prayed a war prayer:
Ye gods, let Hellas hunt holy,
To punish the sin we have committed,
That we may smite the wild Asiatics,
Give our sails winds of favour!
We will bring Troy to ruin
And therefore bless our weapons of vengeance!
To bring home Sparta's Helen,
Stolen by Asia's and Paris' fault,
Called from the island of Ithaca
Was he who was called to patience,
The patient one, also called the cunning one,
Ulysses, like Hermes the god.
Called by the people of the Myrmidons
Achilles, son of the goddess Thetis,
Hidden among the maidens, to spare him,
He was guarded by his mother. Mockery and scorn
Of Ulysses lured him from the women's chamber,
He took to his hand the thunderbolt of wrath.
His friend Patroclus went with him on his journey,
Two hearts both as in one bosom.
The praise of friendship was revealed
Of Jovis' daughters, deep-bosomed muses,
To the Cyprian poet, the hero
Achilles praised the blind Homer.
But the prince of nations, shepherd of nations, was
Menelaus' brother Agamemnon.
Aurore's rose gate adorned with gold
Opened, the golden column shaft of Memnon
Sounded as Hellas' fleet sailed forth,
To chase a guilt-stained moth.
But in Aulis all the winds stayed away
From the sea of their sea voyage.
They suspect a crime, a sin,
The seer shall consult his star
And see signs of God that do not deceive,
And read instruction from the birds' flights.
Was it not Calchas who was a seer?
He was from the office of Tiresias,
To whom Thebes' fate was once revealed.
But now Duke Menelas asked
The seer, what made the heavenly ones
So discontented. What was revealed?
And Calchas sent the prophet's disciple
Of fourteen years with an arrow
And a bow, which out of the summery air
Shot himself the oracle for salvation
And plucked off feathers and broke wings
And laid bare the entrails of the birds.
And Calchas took the insides of the beasts.
Apollo he invoked, who was the giver
Of every prophecy. He saw the kidney
And saw the bloody heart, and saw the liver,
Then he was enlightened by Apollo,
That sister Artemis denied the wind.
Latona, mother of the son of God,
As a swan entwined with the olive tree
As white as the milk of the poppy, thou didst behave
Lonely on the isle of Delos entwined with the sea
(The virgin's constellation drew the pure path)
The divine virgin Dian!
Dian - who may turn up his nose at that? -
Was ever virgin chaste and pure,
Walked through the forest with sisterly nymphs,
Standing barefoot on the moonlight,
So pure, that in madness she hunted for Actaeon,
As he feasted on her nakedness!
The seer spoke (the column sounded of Memnon
On the beach of Aulis): If you want to fetch Helen,
The shepherd Agamemnon must bring home
The daughter, virgin Iphigenia,
To the goddess Artemis today,
Or else we shall all be a prey to death.
And Agamemnon coldly felt the trembling
Of divine terror when he heard this.
Dian, above the white moon
You reign virginal as the never beguiled,
I always thought you so gentle and mild -
And are you a bloodthirsty idol wild?
Behold my daughter Iphigenia,
Clytemnestra's much-loved child,
She is much purer than Helen,
Let live Iphigenia, let the wind
Forever be silent, never the ships drift,
Forever Hellas here in Aulis remain.
From Ithaca Ulysses, cunning,
Called from the tents Iphigenia,
We give thee the hero Achilles,
He loves thee well since he saw thine eye,
So come hither, come hither to the altar of fire.
And Iphigenia frightened was.
Achilles shall I, the high one, marry,
In his heroic flesh to be loosed?
Surely he has the noblest of souls,
But I will always remain a virgin!
Then the maiden saw her father weeping
And light saw the maiden shine white.
And Calchas came to Iphigenia:
Dian wants your body for sacrifice,
Or else we shall never bring Helen back,
That unfaithful wife.
And Iphigenia said, Dian, yes,
To thee, goddess, Iphigenia consecrates herself!
The priest anointed her with the oil of myrrh
And piled up the wood on the altar.
Alas, Agamemnon's soul was dry,
He cursed Helen's accursed pride
And cursed all the Asiatics' lusts,
That now he must sacrifice his daughter.
And Iphigenia was by the curse,
As if she bore the curse upon the altar,
To offer him up there as an incense,
That the blessing might be revealed,
The goddess was good! She will already
Bless the divine Parthenion!
As Iphigenia climbs into the flames,
She stripped of her white veil,
For a moment there was profound silence,
The deity paid respect to her sacrifice,
And a white hind, chaste and cautious.
Stepped softly out of the thicket, brambled with thorns.
The people sank to their knees and sang cheers
And realised, as they sang to Dian,
In their godly joyous hubbub
Not at all that a white cloud descended,
That carried the maiden Iphigenia away
To a far unknown place.
And when at last it was noticed,
The flesh of the hind was offered to the deity
(Only Calchas thought of the libation)
And suddenly the winds blew again wonderfully,
The favourable winds blew towards the east,
Free of charge, which only cost faith.
And Greece praised with loud voices
The goddess Artemis Parthenion,
Who in her favour made the maiden swim
And also the fleet now to Ilion,
To free the beautiful Helen.
And blessed was Iphigenia praised!
DEATH OF CYGNUS
Out of a crowd of nymphs stood lonely
The most graceful nymph, full of grace,
Who, together with her sisters, often
Lay down by the pine and acacia trees
And indulged in colourful flower kingdoms
And bathed alone in silent pools.
Evadme was her name and she was
A melian nymph, born from the foam,
From which Aphrodite rose
In her first days. And lost in dreams
Was her soul's sensuality
Often to a silent nymph's sadness.
Evadme sang like nightingale notes,
Beguiling a god with her song:
I am the brown one and I am the beautiful one
And brown from the sun is my cheek,
Brown am I like the sultanas of India
And in Atlantis once the night in spring.
And because she was pure from the bath of dew
And because she was the fairest of all nymphs,
The god of the sea showed her his mercy
And approached her wonderfully in the shade -
Nothing certain do the poets know of
Evadme's blessing by Poseidon.
The sea god withdrew with a roar
In the shadow of his silver-white gulls,
To listen long to the shells of the Tritons
And the howl of the bearded sea lions,
And the hawsers of the sea rose up like the spray,
As the god served himself with the fruit of the sea.
Evadme but in the flower garden
Swelled like a ripening shell.
She had to wait nine times for Luna's nuptials
Until she gave birth. In that hour
From the kingdom of heaven like a flame of love
Lucina, the divine midwife, approached her.
But Evadme died in childbirth,
As she gave life to a son:
A new life emerged from the ford,
The mother of life sank into the watery grave,
And so Evadme died out of the suffering
Of a beloved child's radiant joy.
But the gods did not leave alone
Evadme's son, they gave him for a mother
A being who was radiant and pure,
The lip golden as honey, and like butter
So white and flowing it flowed on the course:
From Charis' flock it was a swan.
The swan drew her circles in the water
And she held the child in her shimmering plumage
And when night came, the swan sang softly
To Evadme's son sweet lullabies.
She often dived down to where the fish were fighting,
Her head to nourish the child with seaweed.
The son was seen nuzzling the swan's neck
And glow from the swan's bosom.
The swan took him with her on her flights
And sang him prophecies of Elysium
And praised the deity of love, honoured Venus
As Stella Matutina, Stella Maris.
And when the swan had raised
Evadme‘s shoot, he left her.
He became a bridegroom, he became a husband,
And he fulfilled a prophecy
And became a little king in Asia.
All the people loved him and called him Cygnus.
He ruled wisely in Colonae
And was a faithful friend to Priam.
He also fought so that Asia could withstand
The storm of Hellas on the fortress of Tros,
And stood mightily on the plain of Scamander
In shimmering-beautiful armour splendid.
But the Greeks pitched tent upon tent
On the shore and believed in victory.
But with Cygnus the world of Asia fought
And went to war with her swan:
For Zeus and Paris! they called to battle.
And white stood Cygnus in the black night.
He stood armed on the silver chariot,
Which was adorned with silver plumage.
They saw him strike with the golden sword
Hellenic lights deadly down,
So that rivers of blood flowed in the dust.
And there came Achilles with his steeds.
Achilles, raging, made a breach for himself,
Who with his sword through the warriors drives,
He threw at Cygnus his spear of ash.
And struck at his shoulder with his sword,
Then the ash spear stuck in Cygnus' side
And the sword caused a woe.
His armour was splashed with red blood,
The red blood of all his men,
He leaned wounded against the parapet
Of the silver chariot, yet fled not from thence,
But cried words to the hero Achilles,
I will not die until my father wills it!
You can still beat me with weapons,
For Asia I will endure it all,
Because since ancient days
I owe allegiance to mother Asia,
I will die here for the Asiatics
By Hellas' Hades-like acts of hatred!
Achilles burned his soul with rage
Before this king's heroic end,
Then he laid at his swan's throat
Murderous his blood-stained hands -
And Cygnus' soul swung away -
Achilles was as drunk with tears from the deed.
Yes, Cygnus' soul has swung away
On the path of his destiny,
And at the hour of his death
The song of bliss sounds from a swan,
For there appeared the sea-foam-white swaness
As genius and ancestress of his soul.
The swaness took in her silver wings
The soul of her son and flew away,
To bring her son's soul home
To his divine father's hall
In the deepest depths of the ocean,
That there his wound might be healed.
The swan settled down on the waves,
Then Atlantis' pearly gates opened.
Four white swans sang songs of praise
And dances danced all around the nymphs' choir
And Triton blew the conch shell
And Neptune's shell throne was revealed.
The bright colours around the throne
Embellished the shell's mother-of-pearl shine
And Neptune spoke like the sound of white waves
And all the depths of the sea were still,
As murmuring Poeidon murmured:
Welcome to me, my beloved son!
And from the sisterly nymphs' circle
His mother came forth, Evadme beautiful,
And all the silver swans sang softly
And the Tritons moaned their moans
And all the nymphs were a whisper:
Evadme is Poseidon's fairest shell!
Her hair fell like black seaweed,
She was clad only in fishing nets.
Intoxicating songs rustled in all the shells,
The god of the sea feasted on her...
As a bride for his divine desire,
He crowned her queen of the sea.
CASSANDRA
Apollo was called the son of the father of the gods,
Who wanted to acquire a pure bride,
He would give her gifts of grace as a reward,
That she might see the light of a fair future,
That she might ascend in the swan chariot
Apollo's into happiness not to utter!
Apollo's face was the pure sun,
That sank red in the land of the Hyperboreans,
Drowned in black night, in abyssal bronze,
And the god of the seers ascended
From the aurora red rose gate,
To bless all Asia with his word.
He rode to heaven in a chariot of fire,
From whose wheels golden sparks fly
Like tongues of flame, to tell all,
Apollo's fire-glow, Apollo's love,
Which no one knew fully and sufficiently,
His heart that turned to a maiden.
He saw her in the little garden of Pergamos
In the myrtle shade, and by the crimson
Adonis roses, the rose of all beauty,
On a string of countless knots
Counting the pearly beads of Charis,
The most pious of Asiatic souls.
He saw her woven in the golden hair
Looking out from the blue eye-stars,
In sea-blue dress and rose robes
Learning the lesbian songs of Sappho
And sing to the Kitharra the song
Of Kythereia white and lily-slim.
On Mount Ida the lambs grazed,
Feasting on the spring of the scamander.
The maiden was silent in the twilight, so gentle,
The blue veil of evening
Around her temple pomegranate slice.
The spirit of the seers approached the woman.
Apollo, lovely as a genius,
As the grotto paintings of the Greeks paint him,
With a golden rose on his white foot,
In the hair of the Vesper diadem's rays,
Entered the myrtle grove and rose garden,
To be courted in the maiden's heart.
In his right hand he held arrows of fire,
But not the ember of Eros' bow,
But to bring light to Asia's salvation,
The light born from the waves of the sea,
Born from the sea of the Orient,
The light, lovingly risen in the spring.
In his left hand he held a lyre
As the god of the Asian poets,
Who sang God's son's celebration of peace
As spirit-anointed pagan prophets.
As a song of love surrender,
Apollo, the pure virgin-seer!
Behold, Troy's daughter lived as a pure virgin,
To give birth only to the word of vision.
Ah woe! what I see is very dreadful,
And Troy sinks in seas of flame!
Apollo said, Thy heart be always open
To the son of the father Zeus, so may you hope!
Cassandra, for that was the seer's name,
Beheld with the pure mind's vision
The genius of light. Lord, I am
Not ready for love, I am a virgin,
Who refuses all manly love,
That she may give birth only to holy words.
Then Eros laughed mockingly on the lap
Of Aphrodite in the Olymp above,
He spun the projectile of fiery passion
So that Cynthius' senses raged fiercely.
(O Zeus! soon disarm the blind Eros!)
And again Cynthius thought of Daphne.
How hotly he had once burned with love,
As the sun's flaming orbit reeled,
Setting fire to sea and land
With Cynthius' burning love's madness,
The seer's madness, a god's folly -
Was maiden Daphne all his truth!
Was Daphne his love and his life,
The maiden full of grace, pure and young,
Nothing but intimate interweaving
With her, and eternal union
The god with the maiden fair and sweet
Was Cynthius' infinite desire!
He rose from his bright white throne,
Left the glories in the zenith
And wandered through sweet dreams
And sang in love a long love song
Of beauty that his eyes beheld,
To the maiden he would in love draw near.
O love! Primordial power! O uncreated
Enthusiasm for all good work!
Here is your image, the beautiful Daphne,
The soul to her encounter strong,
She meets the god of hot flames,
Lest she melt into pure nothingness!
O love! Primordial power! O uncreated
And highly praised power with creator's strength!
Here is your image, the beautiful Daphne,
Grant that she may know the love of a god!
Receive, Daphne, the light of my flame!
O sweet, O sweet, flee not from me!
Stop, O Daphne! Who can forgive this,
Virgin, the disappearance of thy beauty?
I would wreathe glory and honour around thee,
My song with a laurel wreath crown thee,
I praise thee like Charis, O maiden,
In aphrodisiac immortality!
Ah woe, ah woe! sighed Cynthius,
How the heavy fate repeats itself!
The sun-god's flame-sweet kiss
Does not inflame the virgin, chaste and fair,
Nor Apollo's love's babe longs for him,
No, only prophethood and seership!
What do you want to see, O seers?
What purity, O virgins pure,
May you not love Cynthius like fire
And not be like embers in his flame?
Zeus hath given you a life in vain,
That ye should seek his son's kiss!
Cassandra, Asiatic prophetess,
The divine kiss hast thou rejected?
Ah woe, ah woe! thy fate is written in
The tablets of fate in Olympus' meadows,
To whom, as a son of Zeus, I must obey:
I give you what you want, the gift of sight!
I give the charisma of the seer
Tp Cassandra, that she may behold the work
Of Charis and her likeness Helen
And see how through the adultery of Paris
The Asiatic plain emptied
Of war and fire and Troy all devastated.
Then shall Cassandra prophecy in foam
And warn the Trojans of Venus,
Who shall say: Fool, leave thy dreaming!
Who mockingly harp before the tent of Cassandra,
And she, most holy of sisters,
As a whore or a foolish fool!
She shares the fate of all prophets,
Who are esteemed less than fools!
The guilty ones despise holy prayer
And are thus lost in conflagration!
Fainting you see it, it must be done!
Said Cynthius. Who may resist him?
THE QUEEN OF HEAVEN
The mother of the gods, Hera, queen of heaven,
Was faithful guardian to the people of the Greeks,
Who in the war with vengeance sense
Crawling in the throng of torn corpses,
Where corpse worms bloat fat,
Therefore the Greeks implore the goddess.
Zeus reigned on Ida's summit
And resisted the Greek desire,
He looked at the Greek warriors like fleas,
Who senselessly defended themselves
Against the power of fate. (But Jupiter was fate always
Like eternal nights without a glimmer)!
The Queen of Heaven decided to act,
To intercede for her Greek children.
To Zeus in the Idaean districts
She will pray as his bride,
That he, out of pure magnanimity unparalleled.
Let Hera soften his heart.
But how could the wrath of the father of the gods
Be appeased but with love?
So she poured herself ointment from a horn,
Spices she rubbed through the powder sieves,
Cyprian henna she dyed in nights
In her long-curled golden tresses.
The Queen of Heaven's beloved maidens
In the ivory palace lyres stroked,
That red on her cheek did stir,
That they had to veil them transparently,
For full of sweetness was the song of the Muses,
Melodious fell the veil on her bosom.
From this bosom the starry stream
Sprayed, as Heracles so strongly sucked.
A bunch of myrrh gave sweet aroma
In the valley between the mountain waves.
But then the blue dress closed at the neck
The beautiful queen of the universe.
The maids approached, to cover the toes
Of her feet with henna paint crimson,
But then the foot was hardly to be seen
And hidden sweetly in the gold sandals,
In which the kingdom of heaven saw her walk
On a carpet of white-blossomed almonds.
The Queen of Heaven entered gloriously
Into her friend's fragrant chamber,
Who, as her beloved daughter.
Sang with a sweet-voiced tone of voice
Adonis‘ sweetheart Anadyomene
(In the fair eye her sorrow's tear).
Beloved friend Anadyomene,
You dream sprouted from your father's seed,
The loveliest thing about you is your tear,
That oh so bewitches Vulcan the lame,
But more lovely than thy tear
Thy womb that binds all.
Forgive me, beautiful Aphrodite,
Celestial maiden, all dreams' maid,
I mean not the womb's secret blossom
In thy heavenly virginity,
I mean the girdle of gold about thy loins,
Which never man with his hands touches.
Of all the artfully wrought masterpieces
Of Vulcanos, thy girdle is the best,
It holds the universe's rapturous delight
Like a gentle turtledove in the nest,
That is lined with the softest moss,
There virgin pure blooms the pink rose.
O sweetest, O more than nectar sweetness,
Give me this girdle for King Zeus,
That with thy grace I may greet Jove,
Beguile Jove with thy charms.
And Venus let down the golden girdle
And her slender thighs quivering flash.
And with love's golden magic belt
The queen of heaven went heavenly fair
And soon approached the black ford of Lethe
And with a shout to Jove she entered
The eerie hall of black night,
Where Morpheus watches at the wreathed gate.
To help Greece against Tros,
The queen of heaven heroically went
To the dark angel of death Thanatos -
She dared, because her soul's mind
Untouched by all curse and stain,
So that bitter death would not tempt her.
And Charon guided her with his oar
To Morpheus' poppy-flowered residence.
The god of dreams was death's brother,
His cheeks blooming like the poppies of spring,
With milk of the poppy he held his horn,
The fountain of men's and the gods' dreams.
Then spoke the noble queen of heaven
To that dream-drunk Morpheus,
Give a dream's flowery meaning
And a rhyme for me from the book of Orpheus
And all the beauty of dreams' seas
And nymphs cute, no more to transfigure,
Give me sensuality with its moisture
And most beautiful woman's glory and splendour
And give me a miraculous lamp
And a star to shine in the inner night
And give me white milk of red beans,
Give me visions of Elysium.
Whom wilt thou spice with the milk of poppies
And blissfully lower into drunkenness?
I would charm Zeus with a dream
Of wonderful magic rarity,
To appease the wrath of the Most High.
And then Morpheus gave her the red horn.
So with the magic band of Aphrodite
And with the dreaming god's horn
From a single crimson blossom
She went to appease the king's wrath,
Who watched grimly on Mount Ida,
Whether Asia slaughtered Europe victoriously.
Who saw the queen of heaven gird herself
With the golden buckle of Urania,
Would be drunk with the scent of myrtle
And would never think of Helen again,
For all earthly things were but a parable,
The inexpressible became event here.
Who ever saw the queen of heaven in the glow
Of glowing love, beauty's dream,
A marvel of milk and snow and roses
(From her long curls the foam dripped),
He would never, had he seen her,
Had he seen another, would have been enraptured.
Yet came to Aphrodite's girdle-buckle
And to the loose fall of the girdle's ends
The milk of the poppy from Morpheus' hall,
That flowed from her curls to her loins
And in supreme beauty contained the gestures.
(Can a goddess still be glorified?)
And with the poppy's blossom purple
Hera touched her mild mouth
And sang like dream and like blissful death
And like the swan of the Elysian pool
And like all fate's mother divine-glorious
And like the night of primordial beginning:
O Zeus, O Zeus, glorious of heaven,
Hear my plea for the Greeks,
See how they are in the wildness of the tumult,
Let them smell the incense of their faith,
Give them joy, peace, pious victory!
Jove heard her, who wisely kept silent.
HECTOR'S DEATH
Vulcan made Achilles his shield,
Almost as beautiful as Venus' magic band.
He formed a flourishing region
With mountains and pastures for lambs
And hillsides where the goats bleat,
And blue flowers in the golden fields.
He created the wild Mediterranean waves,
Where silver fishes rainbow-coloured,
Dolphins and triton people went to Neptune.
With white swans to Neptune's table,
Where they sought the ocean's spring
And fed on Neptune's sea-fruit.
He made the sky wild with Orion
And like the Pleiades defend themselves from the hunter
And created the chaste virgin's pure image
And created the sea star in the Great Bear
And gave Orpheus Lyra her course
Near the white Vega and the swan.
Then he built Arcadia's realms
With blue flowers, red roses, myrtles,
Myrtle-wreathed nymphs graceful,
With their darlings, the young shepherds,
Who pressed oak leaves into their curls,
The nymphs with the soft fluff charmed.
Then he created the most beautiful image of the nymphs,
The melic maiden of the Mediterranean, Ephyre.
A singer in love approached her mildly
And sang a song, that he might carry her off
On his love's wing, on the tracks of Erato
In Elysium's gardens of delight!
And finally the god Vulcan made
The marriage of Venus with Dionysus,
The rose with the vine. All saw
Achilles' shield of arms before Pergamos
Shielding him, for a god was his defence.
Prince Hector was murdered by his spear!
Achilles chased Hector around the city,
They circled the ramparts of Tros three times,
Achilles was wounded, Hector languid,
A strong one was the Prince of Pergamos,
A stronger Achilles, the Myrmidon,
For he was the son of a sea-goddess!
The falcon swooped down on the turtledove
And struck his beak into the white breast,
That he might rob the dove of blood and life
And make her the song of the lamenting muses
And make the cypresses howl and the cedars,
In this the dove lost her feathers.
The strong Hector sank to the pale dust
And was ready for his obsequies.
The falcon smote the white turtledove,
The pure lamb the vulture slew.
The spear turned in Hector's wounds
Achilles, to give the body to wild dogs.
To deliver to the birds and the dogs
Hector's royal body
In a tattered state and with bleeding wounds,
That was the mind of Achilles, the wild beast,
To avenge his friend Patroclus' death,
Hector's neck was about to be broken.
And Hector moaned aloud, Give me a grave,
That Troy may worship my body,
For I have fought for the freedom of Asia
And murdered the enemy's thousand men,
They all came for Menelaus' wife
Helen, the bride of Chaos!
Achilles sneered, Not for all the gold
Of Asia and India I'll give
A tomb to the Trojan fiend,
Who in my soul is repugnant,
Rather, receive the stroke of my sword,
Hector, and go down to the realm of the dead!
Hecuba saw from Troy's wall
The murder of her beloved son Hector
And was seized with wild woe and horror,
When she saw him lying in the purple nectar
Of precious royal blood -
My child! My child! In his blood he rests -
In his blood my dear son swims,
In the ambrosia of blood red,
A taunt to demons, a mockery to all foes,
Flee me my best life to death,
Flee my soul into Hades' maw,
Alas! from Hector's wounds I am sore!
The weapon of the Pelid shall bore
With all the sharpness of a Greek sword
And cursed and sworn to death
In a pitying mother's heart!
From the fiery arrow of evil melts like butter
In nothing this heart of a mother!
Demons have corrupted my son,
Who rose from Hades, the demons,
Yes, by Achilles' weapon died
My prince, murdered by the Myrmidons‘
Leader, ah woe is me! I call him: the beast,
That today robbed me of my dearest!
Does anyone know a pain as painful as mine,
Now that Troy lies desolate and forsaken
And wailing women on the walls weep
And the jackals prowl the alleys
And black waves roar on the shore
And all the mothers beat their breasts
And all the women tear their hair
And cry wailing, misery, want and woe!
The Prince of Pergamos is dead!
The true son of Asia! O sing, Melpomene,
O let your lyre's strings shiver
And sing to the heavens of a mother's woe!
Andromache, bride of Prince Hector,
The beautiful woman, the warm, the soft,
From her inner chamber looks
And rushed straight to her lover's corpse,
To marry with the bloody dust,
That their souls might be eternally united!
And that diadem, the jewel of the curls,
And that transparent silk veil
Adorned with crimson bells of blossom -
A gift from Venus at the wedding feast -
Disappeared from her and sank into the dust.
How she cried! deaf to all words of comfort!
How threw Andromache, the nectar-sweet,
With her tresses unraveled
On the blood-wetted Hector's feet
And kissed every drop of the blood,
As if she would drink his life with the blood
And then sink with him into the realm of death!
How her tears flowed in abundance,
How was her kidney, heart and liver pierced!
Thus once Anadyomena cried and wept,
When her Adonis was slain by the evil boar
Crushed and torn and torn!
How Charis was horrified by Andromache:
O Hector, Hector, O my dear Hector!
How blood-reddened is the marble of thy body!
O your blood's ambrosia and nectar!
Tell me, gods, does Cupid rule in Hades?
Then let Cupid lead us to each other,
In the hereafter adorn us eternally bridal!
I kiss the dead with my mouth,
Press my bosom hotly to his breast!
I love him from the bottom of my heart
And stronger is love's heavenly lust
Than Hades' power! I'll go with Hector
In love eternally in Elysium!
PENTHESILEA
The daughter of Mavor arrived from Pontus,
To Troy from the river Thermodon.
The daughter of Mavor knew no man
(How could she bear a son?)
For she was queen of the Amazons,
Virgin-warlike was all her mind.
Twelve Amazon maidens were with
Penthesilea, their queen,
Who, a mistress, strode in the midst,
Slave girls about her. So she went
To Pergamos' lord Priam
And said, Lord, I crush the enemy of Tros!
She was as golden as Aurora
In her dawning rosary,
When she, surrounded by the golden horns
In the Orient begins the dance of the roe
And then from Olympus' height she floats
And weaves all around in purple blossoms.
She was like Bellona in the ore,
Curls flowing from her helmet.
Then she saw Eros, and her heart was suddenly
By the little rascal's heart set on fire,
And since he could not have her,
Cupid resolved her martyrdom.
In her features was the horror
Of male murder wonderfully mixed
With the most beautiful feminine loveliness,
By which every youth is refreshed.
The roses on her lips smiled sweetly,
Cupid wanted to kiss, to kiss, to kiss!
The lashes were morning glory lashes
And veiled the blue eye-rays.
The chaste never coquettishly batted her eyelashes,
Blushes of shame were often seen painting the cheeks,
The scarlet blood reddened the snowy cheeks,
That maiden's wrath and fury did seize.
The Amazon Queen learned in a dream,
In her sleep, Minerva's sacred commands,
She touched the hem of the virgin-goddess.
And united with the goddess her soul
And was inflamed with marvellous fire
And set out on warlike adventure.
Of silver and ivory was the scabbard,
Therein thou queen didst wield thy weapon.
The shield was white as moonlight or silk.
Double-edged was the maiden's double axe.
So shone she in her armour steel
Like Jove's lightning and his ray of wrath.
And with the Amazon Queen
Maiden Clonia went to the dance of arms
And gave herself up to man-slaying,
Till Menippus pierced her with his long lance
And the man sank down.
And blood-reddened her bosom was bare.
Penthesilea immediately struck Menippus
The warlike hand from his right.
Bremusa fought fiercely and zealously
With Idomeneus; as they both fenced,
He drills the sword into her left bosom,
The only breast of the warrior Bremusa.
The warrior Euandra was slain
And also the Amazon Thermodessa
Reddened with blood by the Greek Meridones
And no one read the women's requiem,
The bodies were left for the vultures to eat
And their mother Gaea's virginal womb.
By Ajax's sword of the hand Derione sank,
Alcibia fell down, Derimacheia
Spilled blood like crimson poppies,
Bellona brought them home, Cythereia
Gave their souls a home on the island
Of love on a living clot.
Like a slender black pantheress,
As a lioness from the land of the Ethiopians,
As a leopardess the queen went
To the horned buck of the antelopes,
Whom she will devour in embers and turf,
The blue goddess of the sea's son, Achilles.
Achilles cried, Queen Penthesilea!
We are descended from the thunderer of heaven,
Living and weaving in the son of Rhea,
Who, in the night of the struggling throng.
Helps us with the thunder's stone hammer -
If thou wilt smite us, seek thy woe!
Then Achilles threw his long lance,
The indomitable one, in fury,
That flashed through the air in its brilliance
And opened the queen's blood,
That flowed from her, the long-suffering black.
But the parade did not yet cut the thread.
Her eye was shrouded in darkness,
The double axe fell from the maiden's hand,
Who, with a firmer hand, pulled herself together,
Resisted the beast to the death,
The heroine thought not of fleeing,
She raised her hand to draw her sword again.
Achilles saw the Amazon's courage
And maiden's pride: she will not surrender.
So he bathed his sword in her blood
And robbed her of the life she loved,
Then by the hand of the Greek hero
Eros sealed the fate of the heroic maiden.
The Amazon's father Mavor wept,
That Greece had so humiliated the maiden.
You wicked Eros! because she did not unite,
Thou hast satisfied thy lust with guilt,
You enemy of the pure! Tear upon tear
Cried the friend of Anadyomene.
Mavor's beloved Aphrodite stepped
To her little son, the god Cupid.
Beauty gave Love a counsel:
Transfigure the marble of the maiden's body,
That everyone may call her most beautiful.
And Achilles too will burn with love's ardour.
And then Eros let a flame shine
On her pale pale cheeks fall,
Which reddened gluten-red like wine.
From his honeycomb he let honey flow,
So he made her pale lips smile,
As if she were sipping nectar of Elysium.
Then he let drop seven pure tears
And let them flow down through the clouds
(Dripped from the eye of Anadyomene)
And pearl on the lashes of pale eyelids
As a sign of a blessed sorrow -
Achilles was seized with a hot shiver!
Even though the warriors mocked him as a fool,
He sank to the dust in tears of love,
Kissing the lips of those adorned by death,
In beauty like Anadyomene.
To the enemy he burns with love's ardour!
He dedicated a marble monument to her.
May she rest in a royal tomb,
Immortal be her body, be embalmed
With myrrh, with myrrh! Incense give fragrance!
And gold and silver ornaments adorn the virgin
And her tomb adorned with images of the gods.
With such honour the dying becomes milder.
Twelve virgins were laid by her side,
Young women with bows and arrows.
Achilles, in deep sorrow of soul
Returned alone to his tent,
Offering prayers to Zeus for his friend,
The most lovely - the enemy!
DEATH OF PARIS
In the turmoil of war Paris was also wounded,
He languished miserably on his sickbed.
How many hours have I been spared,
My doctor, and who will repay my debt?
And who will now give me the olive wreath
Of peace, and lead me to Elysium's splendour?
My beautiful body, praised by many people,
Admired as the loveliest, will one day lie
In the dust. And in Elysium's meadows
My soul's eternal flame shall blaze,
Which yet with the evil impulses causes,
That not one stone remained upon another?
Rightly falls my soul too much in love
With the pain and the bodily decay!
How pained I am to think of all I have missed!
Of thistles I have only read thorns
And yet I have sought with my heart's strength
The will of the goddess and the fruit of love!
With sadness of soul he fell asleep.
Sleep's balm soothed the pain.
In his dream he saw starlight,
The Virgin's stars flamed like candles for him,
The soul left the body and rose lightly,
Till it reached the Parcae's dark house.
Lachesis was not present with Clotho,
Only the great-grandmother Atropos
He saw the scissors move in her hand
And hold the thread that was the lot
Of Paris' life and death
And death was destined unchangeable.
And Atropos raised her thin voice
And said in a trembling, aged tone,
You can never escape the fury of death,
But you, Paris, seek Oenone's
Mercy that was your first love,
That she may be thy last love.
On the morrow after the Parcae‘s dream
Paris rose, still weak in all his limbs.
From Eos' womb a shower of roses burst,
As Paris left the city unrecognised,
Wounded and weighted, limping on his staff,
He saw Phoebus flashing above Ida.
Lost in his fate's dream, he staggered
To the pastures of the Idaean mountains,
The prince of Troy. His opinion wavered,
Whether his first love would sweeten
And more sweeten his bitter death.
Then he came to a shepherd's hare.
And by the dear lambs he saw her,
The wonderful shepherdess of his youth,
Her dress, like snow, flowed like melody
And was not quite so white as her virtue.
He looked at her and smiled, lost
In dreams, as he had once chosen her.
As once her hair fell so dark blond
And her eyes still looked so green.
In the east Phoebus stood on the horizon,
Enlighting the fair one with the glow
Of first love and the sun's glow.
In the heart of Paris red roses bloomed.
Oenone, he said, glorious Oenone,
Do you remember our love?
Thou dost often emerge from my dreams' poppies
And when I think of thee, all others are torment,
Thinking of your purity I curse the urges
Of the flesh and adore my first love.
Oenone looked at him with a hard gaze:
Why dost thou vainly dream the past
And long in thy dreams to return?
Rather cling to the transparent dress
Of Helen of Sparta, her full breasts
Were Troy's downfall, and thy lust!
Depart from me and die! said Oenone
And spoke it like the sentence of fate.
And Paris staggered under her mockery
And Paris staggered under her curse
And staggered home to Pergamos,
Died under Helen's clouded gaze.
He breathed out the soul in love,
Heart more sore than flesh.
A lamentation sounded from his mother's house
And Helen's mouth, so sweet as a date,
Sounds a lamentation of sorrowful woe
And cries of lamentation never to be uttered.
She beat her breasts, her splendour,
With her fists she beat her snow,
The white marble; called the black night,
To cover her soul's woe:
On this breasts Paris once hung,
Now in her bosom venomous serpents bite!
She ruffled her henna-brown curls
And tore the dissolved tide of curls.
The breaths chase, flee, falter,
Like the maenad's wild rage
Is her mind raging with grief,
Then again like the night of misery broods.
From her dusky blue slits of eye
And from the gleam of glorious jewels
Crystal lightnings of despair flash,
Crystal tears of her soul's grief,
That flow in heavy torrents on her cheeks,
On which Paris' mouth once hung.
Ah woe is me! Helen of Sparta cried aloud,
I am called to the blackest misery,
Called by Zeus to be death's bride,
I became death's wife when, choosing love.
Love united me to Prince Paris.
The fair one like Castile's fountain wept.
But in heaven saw the goddess Charis,
In the third heaven saw Urania,
The dead body of her favourite Paris
And like death her beloved Helen
And came to her son full of compassion,
That Cupid reached the heart of Oenone.
And Eros stretched his bow of flame,
Dipping the tip of the flame in the honey.
The arrows of love flew at once
Into the heart of Oenone - who breathed sighs
Laughed softly in foolish love
And wept aloud, thinking of Paris.
How it was when I first saw
The youth, that shepherd Alexander?
Who can resist the god Cupid?
Even in the meanderings of life
My love for Paris was never lost!
Ah woe is me! Oenone cried out.
Then she rushed away from the pasture,
With mingled feelings of love and grief,
In each case, sighs around her mouth,
So she hastened and came to Troy's walls
(As Troy stood only in ruins)
Where all cried aloud for Paris! Paris! lamenting.
The gravedigger came from Pergamos
And piled up the wood to burn the corpse,
The prince was carried away by fire from Tros
To his Father Ether in a better land
And the west wind blew the smoke and ashes mildly
Far away to the Hesperian realm.
Wretched Oenon! Bliss
Is for me alone the love-death of ardour!
With Paris I die of love's woe!
The fire never quenches my tears,
Since Eros' fire spiced my soul!
And so Oenone threw herself into the fire.
CASSANDRA'S DEATH
Alas, thou glorious Laocoon,
How the wet, slippery serpents
Of the sea assailed thee! thy strength faded away,
As elemental forces of damp depths wrestled
With thy life that thou didst surrender,
As if you had no strength left in you.
What can one do against such tongues,
As they licked at this naked body,
What to do against such serpents that slithered
Around thee, that were in the iridescent garment,
From which they flayed themselves seven times
And exploited you in your flesh.
You were under the naked serpents' spell,
By their duplicity wooed
And their death-wish! Like a man
Died in the fight against carnality
Thou art sunk; still the serpents writhe;
With thee the wall of Troy is fallen.
And by Ulysses' cunning with that horse
The wild Ajax stormed into Tros,
He ravaged Asia's hallowed ground
And hunted down the princess of Pergamos,
The seeress Cassandra, who flew
And gasped breathless before the image of Minerva.
O sacred palladium! O covenant
Of the Most High, given to us by Minerva!
I kiss your gold with my chaste mouth,
And my lips tremble and quiver,
I touch with chaste virgin's kiss
The treasure in the midst of golden geniuses.
Minerva I call, the virgin,
Who from Zeus' head sprang pure:
Save me from that wild man
And let me be a virgin unharmed,
Preserve my virginity! And must I therefore
Also go down to Lethe's river!
The shepherd of the nations Agamemnon entered
In the temple of Minerva, his people
Remained before the gate according to his counsel,
The shepherd took the maiden for his prey.
(The beauty Helen had escaped
To Egypt before the man Menelas.)
And Troy had sunk into rubble and dust
And on the ruins pale smoke smoked,
The Greeks had drunk Troy's blood
And now wreathed themselves with the palm of victory
And prepared their fleet for the homeward voyage
And consecrated their journey to the god of the sea.
The shepherd of the nations, a man of the best polish,
Took Cassandra with him as the spoils of war
And led her bound on the ship
(This was only to protect the maiden from the mob,
Who would have ravished the Trojan).
The Parce now turns Cassandra's fate.
But Cassandra's brother, Aeneas,
Had fled from Tros before the Greek army.
He called to Charis and to the son of Rhea,
To Zeus, all-powerful and high,
And saw the smoke of Troy blow away with the winds.
And his sister with the ship vanish.
Aeneas in his piety called
To the beloved of Anchises, Charis:
Goddess of love, watch over the maiden
And shine upon her as Stella Maris
And bless her as Stella Matutina,
That she may endure as saint virgin.
Foxes have pits, doves have nests,
But where shall your Aeneas rest today?
Though I am restless, my sister rests
In thy grace, Charis, safe now
And evermore, wheresoever her star leads her,
That thy goodness may ever attend her.
And Agamemnon's fleet came home,
As his Clytemnestra received them.
The wife went out to the quay,
As if she were much attached to her husband,
Adorned like a loose coquette
The fleet awaited her in the harbour.
And Agamemnon stepped from his ship,
And mounted the triumphant king's chariot,
With him an image of the purest polish
And a purity never to be told,
The image of the pure virgin-goddess:
The seeress Cassandra mild of grace.
When Clytemnestra, her hair black with confusion
Beheld the spotless seeress,
In one black instant it was
Cassandra's martyrdom that enraptured her.
Yes, Clytemnestra was fierce as Parthians
And Medes, and resolved the maiden's torture.
Cassandra saw in her the wooer,
Who hated spotless maidenhood,
Then the seer looked death in the eye
And beseeched Minerva for strength,
In the moment and in the hour of death,
When mortal hatred wounded her to death.
At that moment Athena appeared
With her ladylike head bending:
I turn your tear into a miracle
And your death into a dance of joy
And lead your soul into the distance,
To the Platonic Athens of the stars!
And in the night Clytemnestra entered,
With her suitor, a wicked rascal.
Into her husband's bosom bored
And into Cassandra's heart the sharp dagger
The wooer put and laughed aloud hideously.
Cassandra died a virgin martyrdom.
But Clytemnestra's soul, black as plague,
Was caught up in the Erinyes' vengeance -
With a sword Orest pierced her -
The Pythian Apollo and the dragon!
The matricide could not escape
The black avengers, the Erinnyes.
They chased him the wide earthly plan,
Dressed in snakeskin to scourge him
With black anguish of soul and black delusion,
To carve in him heavy self-accusation,
Into his bosom they drove the hammer
And ceaselessly fed his misery.
Faithfully stood by him the loyal friend Pylades
And always said, Carry only your sorrow,
Cleanse your heart, a god will pardon it.
The goddess of most holy virginity
And friend of all wisdom, all beautiful,
May she reconcile your broken heart.
Orest was seized with despair,
Which black furies had measured out to him,
Flamed with the tongues of Hades‘ serpents
He heard only demons oblivious
And as if possessed by demon voices
A god seemed to grimace at him forever.
He was very afraid of Jove's fury and wrath
And had only one last hope,
To drink from Minerva's fount of grace,
Therefore he went to Athens the pilgrim's way,
Where he was weary and lame in body and soul
Arrived at the temple of the blue-eyed maiden.
With blue eyes she looked into his heart,
The gaze sank steeply into the depths of his heart
And brought the broken one full of pain
From a beautiful wisdom spring the salvation of his soul.
His tears dripped with gratitude,
Then he wreathed himself with a cord of olives.
CYNTHIA'S IMAGE OF IPHIGENIA
And an oracle had chosen Orest
To the pure virgin-goddess' image
In a consecration and in a feast
To bring her home to her native clime.
Dian languished with the barbarians
In the north, who were cold-hearted.
So Orest went on pilgrimage with his brother
Pylades (brother he was to his soul)
And steered his pilgrimage ship's oars
Towards Tauris. Crown jewels of the sea
Ornamented like white lily blossoms
Waving the curly hair of Amphitrite.
Phoebus Apollo treated himself to a holiday,
Which he earned by long glow,
He wandered into western Hesperia
In golden shoes, his legs splinted with gold,
Past Heracles' gigantic posts,
To taste the golden fruit of the Hesperides.
The old goddess stepped into her right hand,
The great mother of the gods, Mother Night.
Dionysus caroused with the Maenads
And Priap showed his body's splendour
And followed light nymphs on the tracks
To blue-blossomed gardens of joy.
The golden shining Hyperion
In the waterbed lay sad and alone,
While the caric Endymion
Selene saw in the silver-white glow,
Pan slumbered alone, and Syrinx slept
Near the reeds in waters still and deep.
Pylades and Orest on their boat
Also slept in their blue mother's cloak,
Waiting for the dawn
And new the sun-god's golden change.
Only one did not rest: the poet's lyre,
Who love sang to the grace of Ephyra.
But in the morning the boat was washed
By divine grace to the shore
Of Tauris. Amphitrite plays merrily
And waves surge around the goddess' breasts,
White as marble, like foam and melting,
She made her bed in the moss on the rock.
There lay the ship of the brothers on the rock
And rocked in the foamed tide,
As the swans swayed with their necks,
Fathomed the depths with ease,
To see if they could find a bronze snake to feast on.
Pylades jumped, Orest jumped to the land.
To the temple of Taurian Dian
Pylades and Orest went alone.
On the horizon thunderclouds rolled
And distant thunder and lightning resounded
And darkness fell over the land.
O Artemis of Tauris, O Artemis!
O Artemis of Tauris, Cynthia,
Grant that we may find thy Taurian image!
Here we are close to terrible barbarians,
With cold faith, terrible sins,
They live here in lust and wickedness
And often blaspheme thy virginal purity!
The virgin Pallas once pointed us here,
The voice spoke to us through the oracle,
That we should fetch home, home to Hellas,
The pure virgin-goddess without blemish,
Let us find her here on these shores,
O virgin Artemis with nineteen breasts!
On this hill where you once appeared
Before a poor beggar, stands thy temple,
Where they now serve thee in their sins,
Give to thy cult the stamp of sin,
But thou help that we in our guilt
Your image free, help by your grace!
And from the sanctuary of Cynthia
The priestess stepped forward with dark eyes,
This was the virgin Iphigenia.
Orest was her brother, but
In the priestess's dress he
And through the long years no longer recognised her.
In a pure skirt and holy white shirt
She came from the ritual sacrifice
And saw the two of them standing there.
Who are you, strangers? she asked Pylades and Orest.
(The myths confuse this fable here
And show fate's labyrinthine wandering).
Finally Orest discovered himself to his sister,
Since he discovered his little sister in her.
Then he celebrated a high friend's feast
And she was delighted, Pylades hatched
The plan of escape from the barbarian land
And stretched out his hand towards Hellas.
We want to flee, let us hurry to the coast,
But with us must go the image of Cynthia,
Let every one of her nineteen breasts
The dew of blessing shiver on Iphigenia,
With Iphigenia and Artemis
We flee the barbarian darkness.
So they hastened to the sea, to the rock,
Where their ropes were tied.
They heard the wild waves rolling before them,
But at their backs, the band of barbarians,
Who wanted to keep the image of their goddess.
But the divine Dian was resentful!
Dian, standing on the moon's lamp,
In the shining robe of Cynthia,
Let her gleam sink to the dampness
Of the sea tide on Iphigenia
And gave the priestess and pure maiden
Glory of her divine glory.
Orest longed long and always
To gaze upon Dian himself,
Then he saw her moon-white gleam
And dew her sweet loveliness
With her divine beauty
The sister, image of divine grace.
Of Iphigenia was so enraptured
Orest, as no suitor ever was.
And when he gazed into her soft eye,
He was healed in soul and mind,
For in the eye of that pure maiden
He saw the goddess in the starry dress.
In her chaste virgin's eye he saw
The eternal aeons hovering,
Through which he passed on the wings of enthusiasm
And came admiringly to the throne of the goddess
With only one request, that she spare
His heart, the goddess standing on the moon.
Yes, on the moon she stood with bare feet,
At her feet turned the Python-Dragon.
Then the maiden-goddess spoke sweet
To Orest, My beloved, see,
Do not become intoxicated with lust, entreat,
That ever I see my image with thee.
Look here, God Cynthius lends me his dress,
For this light I have not of myself.
To thee will I be goddess, mother and maiden,
To thee I'll be yellow as honeycomb, but more yellow
Is my beloved brother, my delight,
From him I got the light, from the god of the sun!
And in my glow you see his light,
Then in his light you will find the lightning -
The lightning that breaks from the highest heaven,
Illuminates the Father Jove‘s seat...
And on her knees sank Iphigenia,
Worshipped before the Divine Sapience!