Μαριανοῦ σχολαστικοῦ, εἰς τὸ αὐτό τᾷδ᾽ ὑπὸ τὰς πλατάνους ἁπαλῷ τετρυμένος ὕπνῳ εὗδεν Ἔρως, Νύμφαις λαμπάδα παρθέμενος. Νύμφαι δ᾽ ἀλλήλῃσι, “τί μέλλομεν; αἴθε δὲ τούτῳ σβέσσαμεν,” εἶπον, “ὁμοῦ πῦρ κραδίης μερόπων.” λαμπὰς δ᾽ ὡς ἔφλεξε καὶ ὕδατα, θερμὸν ἐκεῖθεν Νύμφαι Ἐρωτιάδες λουτροχοεῦσιν ὕδωρ. Marianus Scholasticus, On a bath called Love Here beneath the plane trees, worn out by tender sleep, Love was slumbering, after entrusting his torch to the Nymphs. And the Nymphs said to one another: “What are we waiting for? Oh, that we might extinguish, together with this, the fire in the heart of mortals!”. But a torch thus set fire even to waters; and from that time on, the Love Nymphs have poured hot water into the bath. Sonnet 153 Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep: A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, But found no cure: the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire,-my mistress’ eyes. Sonnet 154 The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warmed; And so the general of hot desire Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy, For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall, Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love. εἰς ἕτερον λουτρὸν ὀνομαζόμενον Ἔρωτα μητέρα Κύπριν ἔλουσεν Ἔρως ποτὲ τῷδε λοετρῷ, αὐτὸς ὑποφλέξας λαμπάδι καλὸν ὕδωρ. ἱδρὼς δ᾽ ἀμβροσίοιο χυθεὶς χροὸς ἄμμιγα λευκοῖς ὕδασι, φεῦ πνοιῆς ὅσσον ἀνῆψεν ἔαρ: ἔνθεν ἀεὶ ῥοδόεσσαν ἀναζείουσιν ἀϋτμήν, ὡς ἔτι τῆς χρυσῆς λουομένης Παφίης. Another poem by Marianus, on the same subject Once upon a time, Love bathed his mother Cypris in this bath, after himself warming its beautiful water with his torch. And when sweat had poured from her ambrosial skin, mixing in disorder with the pale waters; ah! what a scent of spring-time it lighted up! From this time forward, they are forever bubbling up with a smell of roses; as if, even now, the golden Paphian were still bathing.
Timestamps: 00:00 Introduction | 00:08 Marianus 9.627 | 02:15 Sonnet 153 | 05:00 Sonnet 154 | 07:53 Marianus 9.626
Μαριανοῦ σχολαστικοῦ, εἰς τὸ αὐτό
τᾷδ᾽ ὑπὸ τὰς πλατάνους ἁπαλῷ τετρυμένος ὕπνῳ
εὗδεν Ἔρως, Νύμφαις λαμπάδα παρθέμενος.
Νύμφαι δ᾽ ἀλλήλῃσι, “τί μέλλομεν; αἴθε δὲ τούτῳ
σβέσσαμεν,” εἶπον, “ὁμοῦ πῦρ κραδίης μερόπων.”
λαμπὰς δ᾽ ὡς ἔφλεξε καὶ ὕδατα, θερμὸν ἐκεῖθεν
Νύμφαι Ἐρωτιάδες λουτροχοεῦσιν ὕδωρ.
Marianus Scholasticus, On a bath called Love
Here beneath the plane trees, worn out by tender sleep, Love was slumbering, after entrusting his torch to the Nymphs. And the Nymphs said to one another: “What are we waiting for? Oh, that we might extinguish, together with this, the fire in the heart of mortals!”. But a torch thus set fire even to waters; and from that time on, the Love Nymphs have poured hot water into the bath.
Sonnet 153
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian’s this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire,-my mistress’ eyes.
Sonnet 154
The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed;
And so the general of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.
εἰς ἕτερον λουτρὸν ὀνομαζόμενον Ἔρωτα
μητέρα Κύπριν ἔλουσεν Ἔρως ποτὲ τῷδε λοετρῷ,
αὐτὸς ὑποφλέξας λαμπάδι καλὸν ὕδωρ.
ἱδρὼς δ᾽ ἀμβροσίοιο χυθεὶς χροὸς ἄμμιγα λευκοῖς
ὕδασι, φεῦ πνοιῆς ὅσσον ἀνῆψεν ἔαρ:
ἔνθεν ἀεὶ ῥοδόεσσαν ἀναζείουσιν ἀϋτμήν,
ὡς ἔτι τῆς χρυσῆς λουομένης Παφίης.
Another poem by Marianus, on the same subject
Once upon a time, Love bathed his mother Cypris in this bath, after himself warming its beautiful water with his torch. And when sweat had poured from her ambrosial skin, mixing in disorder with the pale waters; ah! what a scent of spring-time it lighted up! From this time forward, they are forever bubbling up with a smell of roses; as if, even now, the golden Paphian were still bathing.