IBIS: Curse of Ovid

 

Ibis 67-127

 

            Gods of land and sea, and you who hold a better place with Jove than lies between the poles, hurry here, I pray, come hither, to your fellow countryman and kin attend your minds and lend your backing to my endeavors.  And you yourself, Tellus, Mother Earth, and you as well Seas, with your moving waves, and Air on high, receive my prayers; you stars, too, and you whose face is surrounded by light beams, and Luna, you who never shines with the same face as before, and you whose dark beauty fills the night, venerable Nox, and you Fates who with triple thumb spin the appointed thread, and you who loudly murmur through the terrors of infernal valleys, your gliding stream of waters unperjured, and you who is tortured by the tresses of snakes that bound your head and sit before the gloomy prison gates, and you as well, the lesser celestial gods, Fauns, Satyrs, Lares, river spirits and nymphs, and all semidivine beings, and lastly Gods, old and new, from the more ancient of times, born from Chaos, down to our own times, be present and witness as terrible charms are sung upon that unfaithful head, and grief and anger called upon to do their parts.  Give your consent to all my desires, each in turn, and let no part of my vows fail.  Whatever I pray, so may it be.  May he think not by my words, but by the words of Ariadne, daughter of Pasiphae, and whatever punishment I should pass over, let him suffer these as well. Let him be filled with more misery than I can imagine.  Neither less harmful may it be to a cursed name, nor vows move any less powerful gods to action. He it is that I devote with curses, whom the mind knows, Ibis, he who knows himself deserving of these curses.  No delay is in me, as priest I perform the appointed vow.  Whosoever you are who attends my rites, speak no words to abort their progress.  Whosoever attends my rites, speak mournful words and, weeping, approach Ibis, run to him with left foot foremost and all evil omens, dressed in dark robes to conceal your bodies.  And also you (who is about to be sacrificed), what doubts have you to lay hold of the sacred chaplets? Already, as you see for yourself, your funeral altar is prepared.  The procession is prepared for you, let my doleful vows not be delayed further. Give your throat, fearful victim, to my knife.

 

            May the earth deny you her fruits; may the streams deny you their waters, may the winds and breezes deny you breath.  May the sun never warm you, nor Phoebus light your way, may the clear stars desert your eyes.  May neither Vulcanus nor Aer be before you.  May neither land nor sea offer you a path.  May you ever wander an exile, a destitute alien on foreign borders, begging with trembling lips for a scanty supper.  May neither your body nor your anguished mind ever be free of querulous pain.  May night be more burdensome for you than day, and each day more so than the night before.  May you ever remain miserable without anyone to lend you pity.  May men and women take pleasure in your misery.  May hatred come to your tears, and may you be thought worthy, who has borne so many evils, to carry even more.  And may it be, though it is rare, accustomed to the defection of Her favor, may Fortuna become spiteful to you.  May the cause not fall short, may abundant reasons not fail for you to desire death; yet may your life flee from your desire to die.  May your narrow spirit long struggle in its torment, and torture you ever the while before death takes you. All these things will come to pass. 

 

 

Di maris et terrae, quique his melior tenetis / inter diversos cum Jove regna polos, / huc, precor, huc vestras omnes advertite mentes, / et sinite optatis pondus inesse meis: / ipsaque tu Tellus, ipsum cum fluctibus aequor, / ipse meas aether accipe summe preces; / sideraque et radiis circumdata solis imago, / Lunaque, quae numquam quo prius orbe micas, / Noxque tenebrarum specie reverenda tuarum; quaeque ratum triplici pollice netis opus, quique per infernas horrendo murmure valles / inperiuratae laberis amnis aquae, / quasque ferunt torto vittatis angue capillis / carceris obscuras ante sedere fores; / vos quoque, plebs superum, Fauni Satyrique Laresque / Fluminaque et numphae semideumque genus: / denique ab antiquo divi veteresque novique / in nostrum cuncti tempus, adeste, chao / carmina dum capiti male fido dira canentur / et peragent partes ira dolorque suas. / Adnuite optatis omnes ex ordine nostris, / et sit pars voti nulla caduca mei. / Quaeque precor, fiant: ut non mea dicta, sed illa / Pasiphaes generi verba fuisse putet. / Quasque ego transiero poenas, patiatur et illas; / plenius ingenio sit miser ille meo! / Neve minus noccant fictum execrantia nomen / vota, minus magnos commoveantve deos: / Illum ego devoveo, quem mens intellegit, Ibin, / Qui se scit factis has meruisse preces. / Nulla mora est in me: peragam rata vota sacerdos. / Quisquis ades sacris, ore favete, meis; / Quisquis ades sacris, lugubria dicite verba, / et fletu madidis Ibin adite genis: / omnibusque malis pedibusque occurrite laevis, / et nigrae vestes corpora vestra tegant ! / Tu quoque, quid dubitas ferales sumere vittas? / Iam stat, ut ipse vides, funeris ara tui.  Pompa parata tibi est: votis mora tristibus absit: / Da iugulum cultris, hostia dira, meis.

 

Terra tibi fruges, amnis tibi deneget undas, / deneget afflatus ventus et aura suos. / Nec tibi sol calidus, nec sit tibi lucida Phobae, / destituant oculos sidera clara tuos. / Nec se Vulcanus nec se tibi praebeat aer, / nec tibi det tellus nec tibi pontus iter. / Exul, inops erres, alienaque limina lustres, / exiguumque petas ore tremente cibum. / Nec corpus querulo nec mens vacet aegra dolore, / Noxque die gravior sit tibi, nocte dies. / Sisque miser semper, nec sis miserabilis ulli: / gaudeat adversis femina virque tuis. / Accedat lacrimis odium, dignusque putere, / qui, mala cum tuleris plurima, plura feras. / Sitque, quod est rarum, solito defecta favore / Fortunae facies invidiosa tuae. / Causaque non desit, desit tibi copia mortis: / optatam fugiat vita coacta necem: luctatusque diu cruciatos spiritus artus / deserat, et longa torqueat ante mora.

 

Evenient