_Phaedra:_ O mighty Crete, thou mistress of the deep, 85 Whose ships uncounted sail through every sea Wherever Nereus shows their beaks the way, E'en to Assyria's shores; why dost thou here Compel me thus in woe and tears to live, A hostage given to the hated foe, 90 And to a foeman wed? Behold my lord, Deserting me, his bride, is far away, And keeps his wonted faith. Through shadows deep Of that dark pool which may not be recrossed, This doughty follower of a madcap prince Has gone, that from the very throne of Dis 95 He might seduce and bear away his queen. With such mad folly linked he went away, Restrained by neither fear nor shame. And so, In deepest Acheron, illicit love This father of Hippolytus desires. But other, greater griefs than this oppress My sorrowing soul; no quiet rest by night, 100 No slumber deep comes to dissolve my cares; But woe is fed and grows within my heart, And there burns hot as Aetna's raging fires. My loom stands empty and my listless hands Drop idly from their tasks. No more I care 105 To make my votive offerings to the gods, Nor, with the Athenian women mingled, dance Around their sacred shrines, and conscious brands Toss high in secret rites. I have no heart With chaste and pious prayers to worship her, That mighty goddess who was set to guard This Attic land. My only joy is found 110 In swift pursuit of fleeing beasts of prey, My soft hands brandishing the heavy spear. But what will come of this? Why do I love The forest glades so madly? Ah, I feel The fatal malady my mother felt; For both have learned within the forest depths To sin in love. O mother, now my heart 115 Doth ache for thee; for, swept away by sin Unspeakable, thou boldly didst conceive A shameful passion for the savage lord Of the wild herd. Untamable was he, That stern and lustful leader of the flock; And yet he loved. But in my passion's need 120 What god can help me? Where the Daedalus Who can my love relieve? Should he return Who shut our monster in the labyrinth, He could not by his well-known Attic skill Avail to save me from this dire mischance. For Venus, filled with deadly hate of us, The stock of Phoebus, seeks through me to avenge 125 The chains which fettered her in shame to Mars, And all our house with direful love she fills. No princess of our race has ever loved In modest wise, but always monstrously.