What slender boy, drenched in liquid perfumes,
presses hard upon you on many a rose,
Pyrrha, under cover of a pleasing cave?
For whom do you bind back your yellow hair,
Simple with elegance? Alas, how often will he lament
faithlessness and changed gods, and in surprise
He will marvel at
rough waters with black winds,
he who now enjoys you, believing, you are golden,
who hopes that you will be always free, always lovable,
he who is ignorant of the treacherous breeze!
Wretched are they for whom
you, untried, shine. As for me, the sacred wall
with its votive tablet declares that I have
hung up my dripping garments
to the god who rules over the sea.
quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
grato, Pyrrha,1 sub antro?
cui flavam religas comam,
simplex munditiis? heu quotiens fidem
mutatosque deos flebit et aspera
nigris aequora ventis
qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,
qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
sperat, nescius aurae
fallacis! miseri, quibus
intemptata nites. me tabula sacer
votiva2 paries indicat uvida
vestimenta maris deo.