THE FIRST BOOK OF HEROIC EPISTLES

BY PUBLIUS OVIDIUS NASO

PENELOPE TO ULYSSES

This letter your Penelope sends to you, O lingering Ulysses. Write nothing back to me; instead, come yourself. Troy certainly lies in ruins, hated by the daughters of Greece; original: "danais... puellis" hardly was Priam The King of Troy or all of Troy worth such a price. O, how I wish that the adulterer Paris, who sparked the war by taking Helen had been overwhelmed by the raging waters when he sought Sparta with his fleet. Then I would not have lain cold in a deserted bed, nor would I, left behind, complain of how slowly the days pass. Nor, as I seek to beguile the vast night, would the hanging loom weary my widowed hands.

When have I not feared dangers more grave than the truth? Love is a thing full of anxious fear. I imagined the violent Trojans rushing at you; at the mention of Hector’s name, I always turned pale. Whether someone told of Antilochus being defeated by Hector, Antilochus was the cause of my fear; or if they told how the son of Menoetius Patroclus, who wore Achilles' armor fell in disguised arms, I wept that deceptions could fail of success. Tlepolemus had warmed the Lycian spear with his blood; by the death of Tlepolemus my care was renewed. In short, whoever was' slain in the Greek camp, the heart of this lover grew colder than ice.

But the gods, who are fair to chaste love, have looked kindly upon me: Troy has been turned to ashes while my husband is safe. The Greek leaders have returned; the altars smoke. The barbarian spoils are placed before the gods of our fathers. Brides bring grateful gifts for their safe husbands; the men sing of the Trojan fates conquered by their own. Just old men and trembling girls marvel; the wife hangs on the words of her narrating husband. And now, someone points out the fierce battles on the table set for a meal, and paints all of Troy original: "pergama" with a little drop of wine. "Here flowed the Simois; here is the Sigean land; here stood the lofty palace of old Priam. There the grandson of Aeacus Achilles pitched his tent; there Ulysses stayed. Here mangled Hector terrified the galloping horses."