Some subtle power, swift working, weaves again
Into our web of dreams. Small wonder then,
Thy sleeping thoughts were filled with marriage beds
And husbands, when thy newly mated lord.
Held thee in his embrace. Does it seem strange
That thou shouldst dream tonight of sounds of woe,745
Of breasts hard beaten and of streaming hair?
Octavia's departure did they mourn
Within her brother's and her father's house.
The torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft
By Agrippina's hand, is but a sign
That hate shall win for thee a mighty name.
Thy marriage couch, in realms infernal seen,750
Portends a lasting state of wedded joy.
Since in Crispinus' neck the sword was sheathed,
Believe that no more wars thy lord shall wage,
But hide his sword within the breast of peace.
Take heart again, recall thy joys, I pray,
Throw off thy fears, and to thy couch return.755
Poppaea: Nay, rather will I seek the sacred shrines,
And there make sacrifice unto the gods,
That they avert these threats of night and sleep,
And turn my terrors all upon my foes.
Do thou pray for me and the gods implore760
That in this happy state I may endure.
[Exeunt Poppaea and Nurse.]
Chorus [of Roman women in sympathy with Poppaea]: If babbling
rumor's tales of Jove,
His secret joys in mortal love,
Are true, he once, in plumage dressed,
Was to the lovely Leda pressed;765
And as a savage bull he bore
Europa from her native shore:
But should he once thy form, Poppaea, see,
He would leave his shining stars to dwell with thee.
For thou than Leda many fold770
Art fairer, or that maid of old
Whom Jove embraced in showers of gold.
Let Sparta boast her lovely dame,
