The Distaff

ERINNA

(Ἠλακάτη – Ἤριννα – English translation)

NOTE: The original poem by Erinna is 300 lines long, according to the Suda. As of now less than 60 incomplete lines remain.


]

] being there


] girls

] brides;

] tortoise

] the Moon.


] tortoise.

] you forget

] lived;

] the leaves


] you soften.

] the Moon

] a ewe-lamb sheared

] into a deep wave;


White, wild they were, that you leapt your feet from the steeds.

Ay ay! I – loudly – called. My dear. You, being the Tortoise,

Leaping friskily, dashed through the pastoral courtyard.

All these for you, poor Baucis, with grievous groans I lament;


All these – for me in my heart, my girl – in lingerings lay

Warm still. Yet that which we made game of are but coals now;

And dolls we used to have as girls in our chambers, that like

Brides they nearly seemed, with us carefree. And she at dawn


– Your mother – she would’ve had wool to give the spinsters;

She’d come and, having some meat, call you down to salt it.

We – little, then – both feared being whisked away by Mormo

Who in sooth from her head's sides grew huge ears, with feet roaming


On all fours; from one form to another she'd remould her looks.

Yet when to the bed of a man you went, was when all this you'd kicked off:

These things – while still a babe – that from your mother you'd heard,

Baucis, dear. Amnesia was at once in your wits, set down by Aphrodite.


Therefore, for you bewailing, your funeral rites I now neglect.

For incapable my feet are of leaving the house into open grounds; –

Nor to see it in daylight do I wish, your corpse; – nor to groan

With uncovered unbound hair, after crimson shame


Strips my roundly tear-drenched [

Yet ever before [

Nineteenth [⠀⠀⠀] year

And Erinna, too, your dear [


A distaff beheld [

You'd known that, see: [

Roundly twirled about your chuckling [

These things a shame for me [


Girls [

Yet you looking upon [

And unbound hair [⠀⠀⠀] women

Gentle-worded, gray-haired, their aged blossoms perishable.


Therefore you, my dear, [

Baucis, bewailing I [

Would a flame itself [

A roaring I hear [


O many from Hymenaios [

Many you touch [

All in one, O Hymenaios, [

Alas! poor Baucis; [