Catullus 63.1-11 (Kline)
Mischa Hooker / Catullus
- Created on 2023-09-21 20:45:04
- Modified on 2023-09-26 21:58:31
- Translated by A. S. Kline
- Aligned by Mischa Hooker
Latin
English
Super alta vectus Attis celeri rate maria ,
Phrygium ut nemus citato cupide pede tetigit ,
adiitque opaca silvis redimita loca deae ,
stimulatus ibi furenti rabie , vagus animis ,
de volsit ili acuto sibi pondera silice ,
itaque ut relicta sensit sibi membra sine viro ,
etiam recente terrae sola sanguine maculans ,
niveis citata cepit manibus leve typanum ,
typanum tuum , Cybebe , tua , mater initia ,
quatiensque terga tauri teneris cava digitis
canere haec suis adorta est tremebunda comitibus .
Phrygium ut nemus citato cupide pede tetigit ,
adiitque opaca silvis redimita loca deae ,
stimulatus ibi furenti rabie , vagus animis ,
de volsit ili acuto sibi pondera silice ,
itaque ut relicta sensit sibi membra sine viro ,
etiam recente terrae sola sanguine maculans ,
niveis citata cepit manibus leve typanum ,
typanum tuum , Cybebe , tua , mater initia ,
quatiensque terga tauri teneris cava digitis
canere haec suis adorta est tremebunda comitibus .
As
soon
as
Attis
,
borne
over
the
deep
seas
in
a
swift
boat
,
had reached the Phrygian woods , with rapid eager steps ,
had returned to a dark corner of the goddess’s grove ,
goaded by mad fury , and there , his wits wandering
had sliced off his testicles with a sharp stone ,
and had seen his remaining members devoid of power ,
and that country’s soil spotted with fresh blood ,
he took up the drum lightly in his pale hands ,
your drum , Cybele , yours , Great Mother , in your rite ,
and striking the sounding bull’s-hide with delicate fingers ,
chanted to his followers , as it quivered from his assault :
had reached the Phrygian woods , with rapid eager steps ,
had returned to a dark corner of the goddess’s grove ,
goaded by mad fury , and there , his wits wandering
had sliced off his testicles with a sharp stone ,
and had seen his remaining members devoid of power ,
and that country’s soil spotted with fresh blood ,
he took up the drum lightly in his pale hands ,
your drum , Cybele , yours , Great Mother , in your rite ,
and striking the sounding bull’s-hide with delicate fingers ,
chanted to his followers , as it quivered from his assault :