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or the many-tinted blooms opening with the springtide’s breezes, she bent not her flashing eyes away from him, until the flame spread through her whole body, and burned into her innermost marrow. Ah, hard of heart, urging with misery to madness,
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O holy boy, who mingles men’s cares and their joys, and you queen of Golgos and of foliaged Idalium, on what waves did you heave the mind-kindled maid, sighing often for the golden-haired guest! What dreads she bore in her swooning soul!
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How often did she grow sallower in sheen than gold! When craving to contend against the savage monster, Theseus faced death or the palm of praise. Then gifts to the gods not unpleasing, not idly given, with promise from tight-closed lips did she address her vows.
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For as an oak waving its boughs on Taurus’ top, or a coniferous pine with sweating stem, is uprooted by savage storm, twisting its trunk with its blast (dragged from its roots prone it falls afar, breaking all in the line of its fall)
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so did Theseus fling down the conquered body of the brute, tossing its horns in vain towards the skies. Thence backwards he retraced his steps amidst great laud, guiding his errant footsteps by means of a tenuous thread, lest when coming out from tortuous labyrinthines
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his efforts be frustrated by unobservant wandering. But why, turned aside from my first story, should I recount more, how the daughter fleeing her father’s face, her sister’s embrace, and even her mother’s, who despairingly bemoaned her lost daughter,
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preferred to all these the sweet love of Theseus; or how borne by their boat to the spumy shores of Dia she came; or how her husband with unmemoried breast forsaking her, left her bound in the shadows of sleep? And oft, so it is said, with her heart burning with fury
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