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Updated: June 14, 2025
The roses lay on the ground, the ship from Messina ran into the bay beside the estate, and Semestre hobbled down to the sea to look for Xanthe, and in the place of the master of the house receive her favorite's son, who came as a suitor, like a god. She repeatedly called the girl's name before reaching the marble bench, but always in vain.
Xanthe stopped and questioned him. Semestre had told no lie. Phaon had not yet returned from a nocturnal excursion, and for several days had not reached home until just before sunrise. No, he was not the man to offer support to her sick father. He was looking for a wealthy heiress, and forgot his relatives for the sake of dissolute young men and worthless wenches.
"So is the other," cried Semestre, wholly unmoved by these words. "Have you seen your favorite this morning? No! Do you know where he slept last night and the night before?" "On his couch, I suppose." "In your house?" "I don't run after the youth, now he is grown up." "Neither shall we!
There's something on my mind I would like to discuss with the clever house-keeper, nay, I ought to say the mistress of this house, and faithful guardian of its only daughter." Semestre turned her wrinkled face towards the old man, opened her eyes to their widest extent, and then called eagerly to Dorippe, who was busied about the hearth, "We want to be alone!"
"But not so very courageous this time as it might seem," answered Protarch, smiling. "Praxilla is an estimable widow, and it was for her I purchased in Messina the matron's robes for which you asked, Semestre." "For her?" murmured the old woman. "There is a blue one among them too, which will be becoming, for she has light brown hair very slightly mixed with gray.
The roses lay on the ground, the ship from Messina ran into the bay beside the estate, and Semestre hobbled down to the sea to look for Xanthe, and in the place of the master of the house receive her favorite's son, who came as a suitor, like a god. She repeatedly called the girl's name before reaching the marble bench, but always in vain.
At home she was rarely permitted such an indulgence, for, whenever she looked in the polished metal-disk, Semestre used to say: "If a girl often peers into such useless things, she'll certainly see a fool's image in them."
At these words, Mopsus, keeping time to the music, advanced toward his sweetheart, but Semestre stepped before him, exclaiming half to the lad and half to her master: "There must be no jumping about now. Whoever dances in the morning will break a leg at night." Lysander nodded assent. "Then go into the house, Chloris, and fetch this king of hens a jug of wine, some bread, and two cheeses."
Semestre laughed scornfully, and, striking the hard stone floor with her myrtle-staff, exclaimed: "My spit is enough, and perhaps Eros is helping it with his arrows, for Xanthe no longer asks for your Phaon, any more than I fretted for a person now standing before me when he was young. Eros loves harder work.
At home she was rarely permitted such an indulgence, for, whenever she looked in the polished metal-disk, Semestre used to say: "If a girl often peers into such useless things, she'll certainly see a fool's image in them."
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