And tell that man divine what error duped me,

That, my fault deemed no crime, he may relent,

And what you know my punisher may know too;

If his godhead’s appeased, I’ll be content.’

I made that prayer to gods above; my wife made

Adore, but her sobs cut short the words she said.

She even lay before the hearth, hair flowing;

Her trembling lips touched embers cold and dead.

She poured her words to Household Gods unhearing;

No help to him for whom her tears were shed.

The hasting night allowed no time to linger;

Around the Northern pole the Wain had rolled.

What could I do? I loved my country dearly,

But that night was my last—go, I was told.

How often I said when someone tried to hurry me,

Why rush? Think whence and where you’re hastening.

How often I said, quite falsely, I had fixed on

The time convenient for travelling.

Thrice I was on the doorstep, thrice was called back;

In kindness to my thoughts my feet were slow.

Often ‘Goodbye’, and then again much talking

And kisses given as if I meant to go.

Often I gave the same instructions, fooling

Myself, and on my dear ones turned my gaze.

‘Why haste?’, I said, ‘it’s Scythia I’m sent to,

Rome I must leave—both reasons for delays.

‘I live, my wife lives, barred from me for ever,

My home and household too, so loyal to me,

And my companions whom I loved as brothers,

Hearts bound to me with Theseus’ loyalty.

I’ll hug while I still may; perhaps I may not

Ever more. Each hour I’m granted gain will be.’

No lingering! I left my words unfinished

And in my arms held everything most dear.

While our tears fell, bright in the sky had risen

The Morning Star, that star to me so drear.

Sundered I was, as if my body’d lost its

Limbs and I left behind a part of me.

Such was the pain of Mettus when the horses

Were driven apart to avenge his treachery.

Ah, then arose my dear ones’ lamentations

And on bare breasts fell many a sad blow.

Ah, then, as I was leaving, my wife hugged me

And mingled with my tears her words of woe:

‘We can’t be parted. We shall go together:

An exiled wife, I’ll share an exile’s fate.

Mine too’s the way: there’s room for me at the world’s end;

To your ship in its flight I’ll add small freight.

‘You Caesar’s wrath compels to leave our country,

Me, love. For me that love shall Caesar be.’

She tried, as she had tried before, and hardly

Surrendered, yielding to expediency.

I left, more like a corpse without a funeral,

Bedraggled, cheeks unshaven, hanging hair.

She, mad with grief I’m told, and almost lifeless

Slumped where she was, her mind in darkness there.