It chanced that Venus had one day retired into the bosom of a cave overgrown with vine to woo sleep mid its alluring cool, and had laid her goddess limbs on the thick grass, her head upon a heap of flowers. The vine branches stir gently in the breeze and sway the full-veined grapes. Slumber befits the disorder of her brow, the midday heat will none of coverings, and the leaves show through them the gleam of her bare breast. Round her lie the nymphs of Ida and hard by beneath a lofty oak-tree the three Graces sleep with interlaced arms. Here and there, where’er the shade invites them, repose winged Cupids. Their bows are unstrung and their quivers hang from the branches of neighbouring trees, instinct with latent fire. Some
[80] This poem and the marriage it celebrates probably belong to the year 399. We know little of P. save that he was the friend and colleague (tribunus et notarius, cf. Introduction, p. xii) of Claudian. His father (l. 61) was probably prefect of Egypt in 382 (Cod. Theod. viii. 5. 37). Celerina’s grandfather held the same post (l. 73); her father (ll. 82 et sqq.)—the socer of line 2 of the preface—was primicerius notariorum (so Godefroy on Cod. Theod. vi. 2).
pars vigiles ludunt aut per virgulta vagantes
scrutantur nidos avium vel roscida laeti
mala legunt donum Veneri flexusque sequuntur 15
palmitis et summas pennis librantur in ulmos;
defendunt alii lucum Dryadasque procaces
spectandi cupidas et rustica numina pellunt
silvestresque deos longeque tuentibus antrum