I weep for Adonis, "The lovely Adonis is dead." "Dead the lovely
Adonis," the Loves weep too.
No longer in crimson cover, Cypris, sleep. Arise in dark robes, and
beat your breasts and say to all, "The lovely Adonis is dead."
I weep for Adonis. The Loves weep too.
The lovely Adonis lies in the hills, his thigh struck with the tusk,
white against white, and Cypris grieves as he breathes his delicate
last. His black blood drips down his snowy flesh, his eyes are numb
beneath his brows, and the rose flees from his lips. The kiss dies
too. Cypris will have it never again. The kiss of the dead is enough,
but Adonis knows not that she's kissed him dead.
I weep for Adonis. The Loves weep too.
Savage the wound that Adonis has in his thigh. Cythereia bears a
greater wound in her heart. His own hounds howl for that boy. The
Oread nymphs bewail him too, and Aphrodite unbraids her hair, and
through the oak woods she wails, distraught, disheveled, unsandaled,
and the wild brambles tear and cull her sacred blood. Shrilling
through the long glens she goes, calling her Assyrian lord, her
child. The black blood spouted about his navel. His chest was
crimsoned from his thighs. His breasts, white as snow before, were
scarlet now.
Alas for Cythereia. The Loves wail too.
She lost her lovely man. She lost her sacred beauty, the beauty she
had while Adonis lived. Her beauty died with Adonis. "Alas for
Cypris," all the mountains say, and the oaks, "For Adonis woe and the
rivers weep for Aphrodite's grief, and the springs in the hills shed
tears for Adonis, and the blossoms blush red from grief Cythera
through all its vales, through every glen, sings, "Alas for
Cythereia. The lovely Adonis is dead."
And Echo replies, "The lovely Adonis is dead." Who would not have
wept for Cypris' dreadful love? When she saw Adonis' fatal wound,
when she saw the crimson blood around his wasting thigh, spreading
her arms, she cried, "Wait, Adonis, allow me to touch you one last
time. I want to embrace you, press my lips to yours.
"Adonis, stay, kiss me one last time. Kiss me just so long as the
kiss lives. Until you breathe your life away into my mouth, your
breath into my heart, your sweet kiss I'll milk. I'll drain your
love. I'll keep this kiss as I do Adonis himself since you abandon me
and go to far-off Acheron, to its grim and hateful king, while I,
alas a goddess, must live and cannot follow you. Persephone, take my
spouse. You're stronger than I. All that is lovely comes to you, but
I am ill-fated. I have insatiable grief, and I weep for Adonis who's
dead to me. I'm afraid of you. You die, O thrice-desired. Like a
dream my love has fluttered away, and Cythereia is widowed now.
Bereft are the Loves in her house. Her embroidered sash is lost too.
Oh, why were you so bold? Why did you hunt? Why, being fair, were you
so mad to wrestle the beast?"
270
So did Cypris lament. The Loves wailed too. Alas Cythereia, the
lovely Adonis is dead.
The Paphian sheds as many tears as Adonis shed blood and every drop
becomes a bud; the blood bears roses; the tears, anemones.
I weep for Adonis, "The lovely Adonis is dead."
No longer in the oak thickets mourn your man, Cypris. The lonely
leaves make no bed for Adonis. Let Adonis, now dead, share your bed,
Cythereia. He is a lovely corpse, a lovely corpse, just as though he
slept. Lay him in soft coverlets in which he spent the night in
sacred sleep with you. On the golden couch lay the disheveled Adonis.
Cover him with garlands and flowers. As he died, so also all the
blossoms withered. Sprinkle him with Syrian ointments and myrrh. Let
all the perfumes die. Your perfume is dead. Delicate Adonis lies in
robes of purple. Around him the Loves moan and wail. They cut their
hair for Adonis. One cast arrows, another a bow, a quiver, a feather.
One loosed Adonis' sandal. One bore water in a golden pitcher,
another washed his thighs. One, behind, fanned the lad with his
wings.
"Alas, Cythereia," the Loves wail too.
Hymen has quenched every lamp at the door and scattered the bridal
wreath. No longer does he sing the wedding song but more "Woe for
Adonis." The Graces weep for the son of Cinyras, "Lovely Adonis is
dead." More shrilly they cry "Woe" than they sing the Paean. Even the
Fates weep and wail, "Adonis," two-handled, freshly carved, and
fragrant yet from the knife. Ivy winds around above its lip, ivy
dusted with clusters of gold. Along it trails the tendril, all aglow
with its yellow fruit. Inside a woman like a wondrous creation of
gods is carved. She wears a headband and cloak. Beside her two men
with fair long hair contend with one another from either side with
words, but this doesn't touch her heart, for now she looks at one and
smiles, and now she casts her thought to the other, while they, long
hollow-eyed from love, struggle to no avail. Next to them is carved
an old fisherman and a rugged rock upon which the ancient man
struggles to draw up a great net to make a cast. He is like a man who
labors mightily. You would say that he was fishing with all the force
of his limbs. So do the sinews swell all about his neck, though his
hair is white; he has the strength of youth. Not far from the ancient
sea-worn man there is a vineyard, beautifully weighted with darkening
clusters. A little boy sits on a dry-stone wall and guards it. Two
foxes skulk about. One roams up and down the rows and plunders the
vines of the ripe grapes. The other plots against his purse and says
she'll never let him go until she's got his breakfast bread. But the
boy plaits a pretty cricket cage with rush and asphodel and cares
less for his pouch or for the vine rows than he takes joy in his
plaiting. Everywhere about the cup the pliant acanthus spreads, a
marvel to goatherds and a wonder to strike your heart too. I paid the
ferryman of Calydna a goat for it and a big cheese of white milk, but
never yet has it touched my lips. It lies immaculate still. I'll give
you gladly the pleasure of it, my friend, if you will sing that
lovely song, nor do I mock you at all. Come, my good man, for surely
you never can keep your song down there in Hades that brings oblivion
of all.