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Dido, desesperada, decide suicidarse. Contra la voluntad divina he dado comienzo ovidik esta carta. Cual suele el blanco cisne, que en el vado De Meandro se ve cercano a muerte. Estas frescas heroidaa triunfadoras No te incitan a amarme, ni aprovecha Darte un cetro y esta alma donde moras. Ardo cual arde el pino o el madero Que es de licor o azufre mixturado, O como incienso puesto en mi brasero.

Perdona, heroidax Venus, a tu nuera; Da, Cupido, heroidad abrazo al que es tu hermano; Hazle soldado tuyo y que me quiera. De alguna piedra o monte es tu simiente; Los robles duros, las encinas viejas Tus padres son; tu pecho una serpiente. Are you resolved, Aeneas, to break at the same time from your moorings and from your pledge, and to follow after the fleeting realms of Italy, which lie you know not where? What is achieved, you turn you back upon; what is to be achieved, you ever pursue.

One land has been sought and gained, and ever must another be sought, through the wide world. Yet, even should you find the land of your desire, who will give it over to you for your own? Who will herooidas his fields to unknown hands to keep? A second love remains for you to win, and a second Dido; a second pledge to give, and a second time to prove false.

When will it be your fortune, think you, to found a city like to Carthage, and from the citadel on high to look down upon peoples of your own? Should your every wish be granted, even should you meet with no delay in the answering of your prayers, whence will come the wife to love you as I? Aeneas my eyes cling to through all my waking hours; Aeneas is my heart through the night and through the day. Spare, O Venus, the bride of thy son; lay hold of thy hard-hearted brother, O brother Love, and make him to serve in thy camp!

Or make him to whom I have let my love go forth — I first, and with never shame for it — yield me himself, the object of my care! Of rocks and mountains were you begotten, and of the oak sprung from the lofty cliff, of savage wild beasts, or of the sea — such a sea as even now you look upon, tossed by the winds, on which you are none the less making ready to sail, despite the threatening floods. Whither are you flying? The tempest rises to stay you.

Let the tempest be my grace! Look you, how Eurus tosses the rolling waters! What I had preferred to owe to you, let me owe to the stormy blasts; wind and wave are juster than your heart. O that you too were changeable with the winds! What could you worse, if you did not know of the power of raging seas? How ill to trust the wave whose might you have so often felt!

Even should you loose your cables at the persuasion of calm seas, there are none the less many woes to be met on the vasty deep. Nor is it well for those who have broken faith to tempt the billows. O live; I pray it! Thus shall I see you worse undone than by death. You shall rather be reputed the cause of my own doom.


Imagine, pray, imagine that you are caught — may there be nothing in the omen! Straight will come rushing to your mind the perjury of your false tongue, and Dido driven to death by Phrygian faithlessness; before your eyes will appear the features of your deceived wife, heavy with sorrow, with hair streaming, and stained with blood.

What now can you gain to recompense you then, when you will have to say: Nor is it you for whom I am anxious; only let the little Iulus 3 be spared!

For you, enough to have the credit for my death. What has little Heroicas done, or what your Penates, to deserve ill fate? Have they been rescued from fire but to be overwhelmed by the wave? Yet neither are you bearing them with you; the sacred relics which are your pretext never rested on your shoulders, nor did your father. You are false in everything — and I am not he first your tongue has deceived, nor am I the heroidad to feel the blow from you.

Do you ask where the mother of pretty Iulus is? This was the story you told me — yes, and it was warning enough for me! Burn me; I deserve it! The punishment will be less than befits my fault. Over sea and over land you are now for the seventh winter being tossed. You were cast ashore heroidae the waves and I received you to a safe abiding-place; scarce knowing your name, I gave to you my throne.

Yet would I had been content with these kindnesses, and that the story of our union were buried! That dreadful day was my ruin, when sudden downpour of rain from the deep-blue heaven drove us to shelter in the lofty grot.

Standing in shrine of marble is an image of Sychaeus I hold sacred — in the midst of green fronds hung about, and fillets of white wool. Forgive me my offence! He was worthy who caused my fall; he draws from my sin its hatefulness. That his mother was divine and his aged father the burden of a loyal son gave hope he would remain my faithful husband. My husband fell in his blood before the altars in his very house, and my brother possesses the fruits of the monstrous crime; myself am driven into exile, compelled to leave behind the ashes of my lord and the land of my birth.

Over hard paths I fly, and my enemy pursues. I land on shores unknown; escaped from my brother and the sea, I purchase the strand that I gave, perfidious man, to you. I established a city, and lay about it the foundations of wide-reaching walls that stir the jealousy of neighbouring realms. Wars threaten; hardly can I rear rude gates to the city and make ready my defence.

Las Metamorfosis y Las Heroidas de Ovidio En La General Estoria de Alfonso El Sabio

A thousand suitors heroidws fond eyes on me, and have joined in the complaint that I preferred the hand of some stranger love. Why do you not bind me forthwith, and give me over to Gaetulian Iarbas?

I should submit my arms to your shameful act. Lay down those gods and sacred things; your touch profanes them!

Las heroidas de Ovidio: tomo segundo

It is not well for an impious right hand to worship the dwellers in the sky. Is this, forsooth, the god under whose guidance you are heroidsa about by unfriendly winds, and pass long years on the surging seas? Choose rather me, and with me my dowry — these peoples of mine, and the wealth of Pygmalion I brought with me.


If your soul is eager for war, if Iulus must have field for martial prowess and the triumph, we shall find him foes to conquer, and naught shall lack; here there is place for the laws of peace, here ovidoo, too, for arms. Do you only, by your mother I pray, and by the weapons of your brother, his arrows, and by obidio divine companions of your flight, the gods of Dardanus — so may those rise above fate whom savage Mars has saved from out your race, so may that cruel war be the last of misfortunes to you, and so may Ascanius fill happily out his years, and the bones of old Anchises rest in peace!

What can you charge me with but love? I am not of Phthia, 5 nor sprung of great Mycenae, nor have I heroidzs a husband and a father who have stood against you. If you shame to have me your wife, let me not be called bride, but hostess; so she be yours, Dido will endure to be what you will. When the breeze permits, you shall give your canvas to the gale; now the light ce detains your ship by the strand.

Entrust me with the watching of the skies; you shall go herpidas, and I myself, though you desire it, will not let you to stay. Your comrades, too, demand repose, and your shattered fleet, but half refitted, calls for a short delay; by your past kindnesses, and by that other debt I still, perhaps, shall owe you, by my hope of wedlock, I ask herroidas a little time — while the sea and my love grow calm, while through time and wont I learn the strength to endure my sorrows bravely.

Could you but see now the face of her who writes these words! Over my cheeks the tears roll, and fall upon the df steel — which soon shall be stained with blood instead of tears. How fitting is your gifts in my hour of fate! You furnish forth my death at a cost but slight. Nor when I have been consumed upon the pyre, shall my inscription read: The song preceding death.


Ovid has the fourth book of the Aeneid in mind as he composes this letter. Another name for Ascanius, the son of Aeneas. The home of Achilles.

Se trata de una figura importante de las leyendas griegas y romanas. Su fama se debe principalmente al relato incluido en la Eneida del poeta romano Virgilio. Una noche, Eneas embarca con su gente y Dido corre a convencerle de que permanezca a su lado, mas en vano.

Huidos de una patria arrasada, los troyanos llegan a Cartago desviados de su rumbo hacia Italia a causa de la tempestad provocada por la diosa Juno. A instancias de JunoVenus acuerda con ella propiciar que Dido y Eneas se casen y reinen juntos en Cartago. Esa noche yacen juntos, momento a partir del cual se solazan largamente en los placeres del amor.

Tremendamente heeroidas y ofendida, Dido intenta olvidarlo con ayuda de su hermana, pero no puede. Es por eso que decide suicidarse maldiciendo el abandono de Eneas.

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