Shooting the Girl
Spears, memory's companions,
go through me as a piercing stab,
faster than the journey (from two hands)
4 of the arrow through the heap of rushes over there
because of how fervently innately
my darling rejects my praise.
[Let] a sharp, wild, straight, [and] splendidly painful arrow
8 [go] across under her round breast
as long as it does not break (a journey of hurrying movement)
the skin or one stitch of the chemise.
[Let] an iron hook with a haft reach
12 under the chin of the dark-browed girl:
loudly shall I give my full cry,
a louder 'woe!' than 'woe me!' or 'woe him!'.
[Let someone] strike her head (pillar of fame)
16 with a battle-axe with one blow:
very strong is the one who prevents that;
oh, woe me, is the fine girl alive?
If she will die, the radiant fair girl,
20 because of my prayer, great is my woe.
Since it is so hard (a turn of heavy affliction)
to win her (a [long] life to her!)
it would be best, a public gift,
24 [if she made] her escape, because she is so good.