Io. Georgius Walchis, Publii Ovidii Nasonis, Leipzig 1731

Pūblius Ovidius Nāsō

(Original lat.: "spes est, quae pascat amorem.")
"Die Hoffnung ist es, die die Liebe nährt." - Metamorphosen Buch IX, 750

SyrinxClaude Debussy (1862–1918)


Syrinx - Henry Kendall (1839-1882)

A heap of low, dark, rocky coast,
⁠Unknown to foot or feather!
A sea-voice moaning like a ghost;
⁠And fits of fiery weather!

The flying Syrinx turned and sped
⁠By dim, mysterious hollows,
Where night is black, and day is red,
⁠And frost the fire-wind follows.

Strong, heavy footfalls in the wake
⁠Came up with flights of water:
The gods were mournful for the sake
⁠Of Ladon's lovely daughter.

For when she came to spike and spine,
⁠Where reef and river gather,
Her feet were sore with shell and chine;
⁠She could not travel farther.

Across a naked strait of land
⁠Blown sleet and surge were humming;
But trammelled with the shifting sand,
⁠She heard the monster coming!

A thing of hoofs and horns and lust:
⁠A gaunt, goat-footed stranger!
She bowed her body in the dust
⁠And ealled on Zeus to change her;

And ealled on Hermes, fair and fleet,
⁠And her of hounds and quiver,
To hide her in the thickets sweet
⁠That sighed above the river.

So he that sits on flaming wheels,
⁠And rules the sea and thunder,
Caught up the satyr by the heels
⁠And tore his skirts asunder.

While Areas, of the glittering plumes,
⁠Took Ladon's daughter lightly,
And set her in the gracious glooms
⁠That mix with moon-mist nightly;

And touched her lips with wild-flower wine,
⁠And changed her body slowly,
Till, in soft reeds of song and shine,
⁠Her life was hidden wholly.