Hymn to Venus

Immortal Venus, throned above
In radiant beauty, child of jove,
O skilled in every art of love
And artful snare;
Dread power, to whom i bend the knee,
Release my soul and set it free
From bonds of piercing agony
And gloomy care.
Yet come thyself, if e'er, benign,
Thy listening ears thou didst encline
to my rude lay, the starry shine
Of jove's court leaving,
In chariot yoked with coursers fair,
Thine own immortal birds that bear
Thee swift to earth, the middle air
With bright wings cleaving.
Soon they were sped-and though, most blest,
In thine own smiles ambrosial dressed,
Didst us what griefs my mind oppressed-
What meant my song-
What end my frenziedthoughts pursue-
For what loved youth i spread anew
My amorous nets-"who, Sappho, who
Hath done thee wrong?
What though he fly, he'll soon return-
Still press thy gifts, though now he spurn;
Heed not his coldness-soon he'll burn,
E'en though thou chide."
_ And saidst thou thus, dread goddess? O,
Come then once more to ease my woe;
Grant all, and thy great self bestow,
My shield and guide!

( j.h. Marivale)