Iam super oceanum venit a seniore marito
flava pruinoso quae vehit axe diem.
‘Quo properas, Aurora? mane!—sic Memnonis umbris
annua sollemni caede parentet avis!
nunc iuvat in teneris dominae iacuisse lacertis;
si quando, lateri nunc bene iuncta meo est.
Now over the ocean comes from her elderly husband the golden goddess who brings the day on her frost-covered chariot. “Where do you hurry, Aurora? Stay! – thus may the bird pay annual tribute to Memnon’s shade with solemn death! Now it delights me to lie in my mistress’s tender arms; if ever, now she is well-joined to my side.”
Aurora, goddess of dawn, was married to Tithonus, who was granted immortality but not eternal youth, thus becoming increasingly aged. The “bird” refers to the Memnonides, birds that supposedly sprang from the funeral pyre of Memnon, Aurora’s son who was killed by Achilles at Troy. According to legend, these birds would return annually to Memnon’s tomb and fight to the death in commemoration of their origin.
The speaker is lying in bed with his lover and protests against Aurora’s arrival, which will end their night together. The complaint against dawn (paraclausithyron) is a common motif in Roman love poetry. The mention of Aurora’s “frost-covered chariot” suggests the cool morning air as she brings the dawn, while also serving as a metaphor for her loveless marriage to ancient Tithonus, contrasted with the warmth of the speaker’s young love.
nunc etiam somni pingues et frigidus aer,
et liquidum tenui gutture cantat avis.
quo properas, ingrata viris, ingrata puellis?
roscida purpurea supprime lora manu!
Ante tuos ortus melius sua sidera servat
navita nec media nescius errat aqua;
Now too sleep is deep and the air is cool, and birds sing clear notes with their delicate throats. Where do you hurry, unwelcome to men, unwelcome to girls? Hold back your dewy reins with your rosy hand! Before your rising, the sailor better keeps track of his stars and does not wander lost in the middle of the waters.
The passage addresses Aurora, goddess of dawn, expressing frustration at her arrival. The “rosy hand” (purpurea manu) is a traditional epithet for Aurora, referring to the pink colors of sunrise. The description of her “dewy reins” combines two aspects of dawn: the morning dew and Aurora’s role driving her chariot across the sky to bring daylight.
The reference to sailors and stars reflects ancient navigation practices. Before modern instruments, sailors relied heavily on celestial navigation, particularly the positions of stars. These were most visible in the dark hours before dawn, making this time crucial for determining position at sea. Dawn’s arrival would render the stars invisible, making navigation more difficult. This practical complaint is woven into what is otherwise a lover’s protest against the ending of night.
The poem includes typical elements of natural description - the cool morning air, birds beginning their dawn chorus - but repurposes these traditionally positive images as unwelcome harbingers of dawn’s arrival.
te surgit quamvis lassus veniente viator,
et miles saevas aptat ad arma manus.
prima bidente vides oneratos arva colentes;
prima vocas tardos sub iuga panda boves.
tu pueros somno fraudas tradisque magistris,
ut subeant tenerae verbera saeva manus;
At your coming the traveler rises, though weary, and the soldier prepares his fierce hands for weapons. You are the first to see farmers burdened with the two-pronged hoe working the fields; you are the first to call slow oxen under curved yokes. You cheat boys of sleep and hand them over to teachers, so that their tender hands may endure cruel blows.
The passage continues addressing Aurora (Dawn), but shifts from the lover’s complaint to a broader societal view of dawn’s arrival. It presents a cross-section of Roman daily life, showing how different groups begin their day. The mention of the bidens reflects Roman agricultural practices - this two-pronged hoe was a common farming implement used for breaking up soil.
The reference to schoolboys and their punishment reflects the harsh reality of Roman education. Physical punishment was routine in Roman schools, where teachers (magistri) commonly used corporal discipline. The “tender hands” receiving blows might refer both to actual physical punishment and to the hardships of writing exercises on wax tablets.
The curved yoke (iugum pandum) describes the wooden harness fitted across the necks of a pair of oxen for plowing. This was the standard method of tilling soil throughout antiquity. The emphasis on oxen being “slow” (tardos) reflects both their natural pace and perhaps the farmer’s impatience at dawn to begin the day’s work.
atque eadem sponsum incautos ante atria mittis,
unius ut verbi grandia damna ferant.
nec tu consulto, nec tu iucunda diserto;
cogitur ad lites surgere uterque novas.
tu, cum feminei possint cessare labores,
lanificam revocas ad sua pensa manum.
And you, the same goddess, send unwary suitors before the law courts, so that they may suffer great losses from a single word. You are neither pleasant to the legal expert nor to the skilled orator; each is forced to rise for new lawsuits. You, when women’s work might cease, call back the wool-working hand to its allotted task.
The poem continues its criticism of Aurora (Dawn) by describing the resumption of daily activities in Roman society. The atria mentioned were the entrance courts of Roman houses, but also refers to the law courts where legal business was conducted early in the morning. The “single word” causing great losses likely refers to legally binding verbal contracts or statements that could lead to litigation.
The Roman legal system heavily relied on precise verbal formulas. Making a mistake in the exact wording could result in losing a case, regardless of its merits. Legal proceedings began at dawn, requiring both lawyers (consulti) and orators (diserti) to rise early. The distinction between these roles reflects the Roman legal profession’s division between legal experts who gave advice and orators who argued cases.
Women’s work, particularly wool-working (lanificium), was considered a fundamental virtue in Roman society. Even wealthy women were expected to oversee household textile production. The poem presents this as another burden imposed by dawn, suggesting that even these traditional domestic duties might pause during the night’s respite. The term “pensum” specifically refers to the daily allocation of wool that female slaves and household members were expected to spin or weave.
Omnia perpeterer—sed surgere mane puellas,
quis nisi cui non est ulla puella ferat?
optavi quotiens, ne nox tibi cedere vellet,
ne fugerent vultus sidera mota tuos!
optavi quotiens, aut ventus frangeret axem,
aut caderet spissa nube retentus equos!
I could endure everything—but girls rising early, who could bear that except someone who has no girlfriend? How often I wished that night would not want to yield to you, that the moving stars would not flee from your face! How often I wished that either the wind would break your axle, or that your horses, held back by thick cloud, would fall!
The speaker directs his complaints to Aurora, goddess of dawn, wishing for various catastrophes to befall her chariot to delay the sunrise. This continues a long tradition of paraclausithyron (complaints to dawn) in ancient love poetry. Aurora was imagined driving a chariot across the sky, much like the sun god Sol/Helios, with her arrival causing the stars to fade.
The mention of girls rising early (surgere mane puellas) reflects social expectations in Rome - respectable women were expected to rise early to oversee household duties. The speaker’s complaint thus pits love against social propriety, a common theme in Roman love poetry.
The imagery of Aurora’s chariot draws on widespread ancient beliefs about celestial mechanics. Gods were thought to drive various heavenly bodies across the sky in chariots. The poet’s wish for mechanical failure (broken axle) or meteorological interference (thick clouds) playfully applies mundane travel hazards to divine transportation.
quid, si Cephalio numquam flagraret amore?
an putat ignotam nequitiam esse suam?
invida, quo properas? quod erat tibi filius ater,
materni fuerat pectoris ille color.
Tithono vellem de te narrare liceret;
fabula non caelo turpior ulla foret.
What if Cephalus had never burned with love? Or does she think her wickedness is unknown? Spiteful one, where do you hurry? The fact that your son was dark—that was the color of his mother’s heart. I wish Tithonus were allowed to tell about you; no story in heaven would be more disgraceful.
The passage contains several mythological references central to understanding its meaning. Cephalus was a mortal whom Aurora (goddess of Dawn) kidnapped out of love, taking him from his wife Procris. This led to a tragic series of events ending in Procris’s death. The “dark son” refers to Memnon, Aurora’s son who was killed fighting at Troy - his darkness is used here as a metaphor for his mother’s evil nature.
Tithonus was Aurora’s immortal but eternally aging husband. The suggestion that his story would shame heaven refers to Aurora’s neglect of him in favor of younger lovers. The Romans considered it particularly scandalous for a woman to prefer younger men to her husband.
The term “ater” for darkness carries strong negative connotations in Latin, unlike other words for dark or black. It often suggests death, evil, or ill omens. The wordplay connecting the son’s dark skin to his mother’s dark heart would have particular force for a Roman audience, who associated moral qualities with colors.
illum dum refugis, longo quia grandior aevo,
surgis ad invisas a sene mane rotas.
at si, quem mavis, Cephalum conplexa teneres,
clamares: ‘lente currite, noctis equi!’
Cur ego plectar amans, si vir tibi marcet ab annis?
num me nupsisti conciliante seni?
While you flee from him, because he is too old with his long lifetime, you rise early from the old man to your hated wheels. But if you were holding Cephalus, whom you prefer, in your embrace, you would cry: “Run slowly, horses of the night!” Why should I, a lover, be punished if your husband is withered from age? Did you marry the old man with me as matchmaker?
The lines continue a lover’s complaint to Aurora, goddess of Dawn, playing on the myth of her marriage to the aged Tithonus. Zeus granted Tithonus immortality at Aurora’s request but not eternal youth, resulting in his endless aging. The myth serves as an archetype of ill-matched marriage between young and old.
The reference to Cephalus recalls Aurora’s kidnapping of this handsome youth, whom she seized from his wife Procris. The suggestion that Aurora would delay dawn for a younger lover while hastening it to escape her aged husband employs a common poetic device of attributing human motivations to divine actions.
The horses mentioned are those that pull Aurora’s chariot across the sky, bringing dawn. The Romans imagined most celestial phenomena as deities in chariots - the sun, moon, and dawn were all depicted this way. The speaker’s bitter tone in questioning Aurora’s marriage choices reflects the Roman cultural assumption that significant age differences in marriage were problematic, particularly when the husband was the elder partner.
adspice, quot somnos iuveni donarit amato
Luna!—neque illius forma secunda tuae.
ipse deum genitor, ne te tam saepe videret,
commisit noctes in sua vota duas.’
Iurgia finieram. scires audisse: rubebat—
nec tamen adsueto tardius orta dies!
Look how many sleeps Luna granted to her beloved youth! And her beauty is not second to yours. The father of the gods himself, to avoid seeing you so often, joined two nights together for his desires. I had finished my complaints. You could tell she had heard: she was blushing—yet the day arose no later than usual!
The passage references two famous mythological tales. The first alludes to Selene (Luna) and Endymion - the moon goddess caused her young mortal lover to sleep eternally to preserve his youth and beauty. The second refers to Jupiter extending the night he spent with Alcmena to double length, resulting in the conception of Hercules.
The personification of Dawn (Aurora) blushing refers to the reddish colors of sunrise, but also suggests the goddess’s embarrassment at hearing these mythological examples of divine passions. Roman poetry often played with such double meanings, linking natural phenomena with divine emotions and actions.
The poem’s conclusion is tinged with irony - despite the speaker’s elaborate mythological arguments and Aurora’s apparent response, nature continues its usual course. This reflects a common theme in Roman love poetry: the intersection (and often tension) between cosmic forces and human desires.