XV
Χρυσοφάη θεράπαιναν Ἀφροδιτάς·
No angry voice is heard
In Aphrodite's train ;
Rude speech, it is averred,
Meets there with high disdain.
Beside her golden throne
Reproaches have no place ;
Complaint or amorous moan
Will scarcely win her grace :
But she for hours will hold
Persuasion at her feet,
Her handmaid bright as gold,
Than honey-bee more sweet;
And listen how her voice
As water flows along,
Making the ear rejoice,
So like it is to song,
So voluble, so sure
To win and subjugate ;
Yet mortals, who endure
Love's torments, rail and hate,
Detract, and show their spleen,
Unmindful of the maid
Who , dear to Love's own Queen,
Their impotence can aid :
For, soon as on their tongue
Is laid her beauteous speech,
Their rage, their taunts are flung
Aside, and they beseech.
No maiden is so coy
Or heartless as to spurn
Tones that invite to joy,
That sway, encourage, yearn ;
And Aphrodite smiles,
Beholding with what speed
Her servant's suasive wiles
On human lips succeed.
