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Next Issue Peter Scupham at 85: a celebration Contributions by Anne Stevenson, Robert Wells, Peter Davidson, Lawrence Sail

This poem is taken from PN Review 55, Volume 13 Number 5, May - June 1987.

Idyll 2 (translated by Robert Wells) Theocritus
 
Give me the bay-leaves, Thestylis, give me the charms;
Put a circlet of fine red wool around the cup.
Hurry! I must work a spell to bind my lover.
O how he hurts me! Twelve days without a visit,
Without so much as a knock at my door to learn
If I were alive or dead. Does he care so little
Whose bed he shares? Is his love so slight! Tomorrow
I'll go down to the wrestling-school of Timagetus,
Find him and let him know how he's treated me.
But now I'll bind him with magic. Moon, shine clearly;
Listen to my song; I'll chant it low for you
And for blood-bathed Hecatê, your earthly double,
From whom dogs cower as she wanders among graves.
Be with me, Hecatê, queen of terrors; help me
To make these drugs as strong as any brewed
By Circe, Medea or yellow-haired Perimedê.
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