{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35907/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35907","id":"gutenberg_35907","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35907","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Greek poetry -- Translations into English"],"text":"\nLOVE, WORSHIP AND DEATH\n\nSome renderings from the Greek Anthology\n\nBY\n\nSIR RENNELL RODD\n\n\nAUTHOR OF\n\n'BALLADS OF THE FLEET'\n\n'THE VIOLET CROWN,' ETC.\n\n\n\nLONDON\n\nEDWARD ARNOLD\n\n1916\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nAmong the many diverse forms of expression in which the Greek genius has\nbeen revealed to us, that which is preserved in the lyrics of the\nanthology most typically reflects the familiar life of men, the thought\nand feeling of every day in the lost ancient world. These little flowers\nof song reveal, as does no other phase of that great literature, a\npersonal outlook on life, kindly, direct and simple, the tenderness\nwhich characterised family relations, the reciprocal affection of master\nand slave, sympathy with the domestic animals, a generous sense of the\nobligations of friendship, a gentle piety and a close intimacy with the\nnature gods, of whose presence, malignant or benign, the Greek was ever\nsensitively conscious. For these reasons they still make so vivid an\nappeal to us after a long silence of many centuries. To myself who have\nlived for some years in that enchanted world of Greece, and have sailed\nfrom island to island of its haunted seas, the shores have seemed still\nquick with the voices of those gracious presences who gave exquisite\nform to their thoughts on life and death, their sense of awe and beauty\nand love. There indeed poetry seems the appropriate expression of the\nenvironment, and there even still to-day, more than anywhere else in the\nworld, the correlation of our life with nature may be felt\ninstinctively; the human soul seems nearest to the soul of the world.\n\nThe poems, of which some renderings are here offered to those who cannot\nread the originals, cover a period of about a thousand years, broken by\none interval during which the lesser lyre is silent. The poets of the\n_elegy_ and the _melos_ appear in due succession after those of the\n_epic_ and, significant perhaps of the transition, there are found in\nthe first great period of the lyric the names of two women, Sappho of\nLesbos, acknowledged by the unanimous voice of antiquity, which is\nconfirmed by the quality of a few remaining fragments, to be among the\ngreatest poets of all times, and Corinna of Tanagra, who contended with\nPindar and rivalled Sappho's mastery. The canon of Alexandria does not\ninclude among the nine greater lyrists the name of Erinna of Rhodes, who\ndied too young, in the maiden glory of her youth and fame. The earlier\npoets of the _melos_ were for the most part natives of\n\n 'the sprinkled isles,\n Lily on lily that overlace the sea.'\n\nTheirs is the age of the austerer mood, when the clean-cut marble\noutlines of a great language matured in its noblest expression. Then a\ncentury of song is followed by the period of the dramatists during which\nthe lyric muse is almost silent, in an age of political and intellectual\nintensity.\n\nA new epoch of lyrical revival is inaugurated by the advent of\nAlexander, and the wide extension of Hellenic culture to more distant\nareas of the Mediterranean. Then follows the long succession of poets\nwho may generally be classified as of the school of Alexandria. Among\nthem are three other women singers of high renown, Anyte of Tegea,\nNossis of Locri in southern Italy, and Moero of Byzantium. The later\nwriters of this period had lost the graver purity of the first lyric\noutburst, but they had gained by a wider range of sympathy and a closer\ntouch with nature. This group may be said to close with Meleager, who\nwas born in Syria and educated at Tyre, whose contact with the eastern\nworld explains a certain suggestive and exotic fascination in his poetry\nwhich is not strictly Greek. The Alexandrian is followed by the Roman\nperiod, and the Roman by the Byzantine, in which the spirit of the muse\nof Hellas expires reluctantly in an atmosphere of bureaucratic and\nreligious pedantry.\n\nThese few words of introduction should suffice, since the development of\nthe lyric poetry of Greece and the characteristics of its successive\nexponents have been made familiar to English readers in the admirable\nwork of my friend J.W. Mackail. A reference to his _Select Epigrams from\nthe Greek Anthology_ suggests one plea of justification for the present\nlittle collection of renderings, since the greater number of them have\nbeen by him translated incomparably well into prose.\n\nOf the quality of verse translation there are many tests: the closeness\nwith which the intention and atmosphere of the original has been\nmaintained; the absence of extraneous additions; the omission of no\nessential feature, and the interpretation, by such equivalent as most\nadequately corresponds, of individualities of style and assonances of\nlanguage. But not the least essential justification of poetical\ntranslation is that the version should constitute a poem on its own\naccount, worthy to stand by itself on its own merits if the reader were\nunaware that it was a translation. It is to this test especially that\nrenderings in verse too often fail to conform. I have discarded not a\nfew because they seemed too obviously to bear the forced expression\nwhich the effort to interpret is apt to induce. Of those that remain\nsome at least I hope approach the desired standard, failing to achieve\nwhich they would undoubtedly be better expressed in simple prose. And\nyet there is a value in rendering rhythm by rhythm where it is possible,\nand if any success has been attained, such translations probably convey\nmore of the spirit of the original, which meant verse, with all which\nthat implies, and not prose.\n\nThe arrangement in this little volume is approximately chronological in\nsequence. This should serve to illustrate the severe and restrained\nsimplicity of the earlier writers as contrasted with the more complex\nand conscious thought, and the more elaborate expression of later\ncenturies when the horizons of Hellenism had been vastly extended.\n\nThe interpretation of these lyrics has been my sole and grateful\ndistraction during a period of ceaseless work and intense anxiety in the\ntragic years of 1914 and 1915.\n\nR.R.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF AUTHORS\n\n\nMIMNERMUS--CARPE DIEM\n\nSAPPHO--\n I. A BITTER WORD\n II. THE BELOVED PRESENCE\n III. HESPER\n IV. OUT OF REACH\n\nANACREONTICA--\n I. LOVE'S CHALLENGE\n II. BACCHANAL\n III. HER PORTRAIT\n IV. METAMORPHOSIS\n V. APOLOGIA\n\nUNKNOWN--ANACREON'S GRAVE\n\nSIMONIDES--\n I. ON THE SPARTANS\n II. ON THE ATHENIANS\n\nPLATO--\n I. A GRAVE IN PERSIA\n II. STARWORSHIP\n III. THE UNSET STAR\n IV. LAIS\n\nPERSES--A RUSTIC SHRINE\n\nANYTE OF TEGEA--\n I. A SHRINE BY THE SEA\n II. THE GOD OF THE CROSS-ROADS\n\nADDAEUS--THE ANCIENT OX\n\nASCLEPIADES--THE PRAISE OF LOVE\n\nMICIAS--A WAYSIDE FOUNTAIN\n\nCALLIMACHUS--CAST UP BY THE SEA\n\nNOSSIS--\n I. ROSES OF CYPRIS\n II. RINTHO'S GRAVE\n\nLEONIDAS OF TARENTUM--\n I. ERINNA\n II. THE FOUNTAIN HEAD\n\nDIONYSUS--THE ROSE OF YOUTH\n\nDAMAGETUS--THEANO\n\nARCHIAS--\n I. THE HARBOUR GOD\n II. A GRAVE BY THE SEA\n\nMELEAGER--\n I. LOVE'S QUIVER\n II. THE CUP\n III. ZENOPHILE\n IV. LOVE AND DEATH\n V. LOVE'S MALICE\n VI. ASCLEPIAS\n VII. HELIODORA\n VIII. THE WREATH\n IX. LIBATION\n X. THE GRAVE OF HELIODORA\n XI. HIS EPITAPH\n\nCRINAGORAS--ROSES IN WINTER\n\nJULIUS POLYAENUS--\n AN EXILE'S PRAYER\n\nANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA--\n A GRAVE AT OSTIA\n\nUNKNOWN--\n FRIENDSHIP'S EPITAPH\n\nUNKNOWN--\n THE COUNSEL OF PAN\n B\u00c9NITIER\n THE END OF THE COMEDY\n\nSTRATO--THE KISS\n\nAMMIANUS--THE LORD OF LANDS\n\nALPHEUS--MYCENAE\n\nMACEDONIUS--THE THRESHOLD\n\nNOTES\n\n\n\nMIMNERMUS\n\n7TH CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n CARPE DIEM\n\n\n Hold fast thine youth, dear soul of mine, new lives will come to birth,\n And I that shall have passed away be one with the brown earth.\n\n\n\n\n SAPPHO\n\n 7TH AND 6TH CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n A BITTER WORD\n\n\n Dying thou shalt lie in nothingness, nor after\n Love shall abide here nor memory of thee;\n For thou hast no portion in the roses of Pieria;\n But even in the nether world obscurely shalt thou wander\n Flitting hither thither with the phantoms of the dead.\n\n\n Note 1\n\n\n\n II\n\n THE BELOVED PRESENCE\n\n\n Blest as the Gods are esteem I him who alway\n Sits face to face with thee and watching thee forgoes not\n The voice that is music and the smile that is seduction,\n Smile that my heart knows\n Fluttered in its chambers. For lo, when I behold thee\n Forthwith my voice fails, my tongue is tied in silence,\n Flame of fire goes through me, my ears are full of murmur,\n Blinded I see naught:\n Sweat breaketh forth on me, and all my being trembles,\n Paler am I grown than the pallor of the dry grass,\n Death seemeth almost to have laid his hand upon me.--\n Then I dare all things.\n\n\n Note 2\n\n\n\n III\n\n HESPER\n\n\n Thou, Hesper, bringest homeward all\n That radiant dawn sped far and wide:\n The sheep to fold, the goat to stall,\n The children to their mother's side.\n\n\n\n IV\n\n OUT OF REACH\n\n\n Like the apple that ripens rosy at the end of a branch on high,\n At the utmost end of the utmost bough,\n Which those that gather forgot till now.\n Nay, did not forget, but only they never might come thereby.\n\n\n\n\n ANACREONTICA\n\n ANACREON, 6TH CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n LOVE'S CHALLENGE\n\n\n Love smote me with his jacinth wand and challenged me to race,\n And wore me down with running till the sweat poured off my face,\n Through breaks of tangled woodland, by chasms sheer to scale,\n Until my heart was in my lips and at the point to fail.\n Then as I felt his tender wings brush lightly round my head,\n ''Tis proven that thou lackest the strength to love,' he said.\n\n\n Note 3\n\n\n\n II\n\n BACCHANAL\n\n\n When Bacchus hath possessed me my cares are lulled in wine,\n And all the wealth of Croesus is not more his than mine:\n I crown my head with ivy, I lift my voice to sing,\n And in my exultation seem lord of every thing.\n So let the warrior don his arms, give me my cup instead,\n If I must lie my length on earth, why better drunk than dead.\n\n\n\n III\n\n HER PORTRAIT\n\n\n Master of all the craftsmen,\n Prince of the Rhodian art,\n Interpret, master craftsman,\n Each detail I impart,\n And draw as were she present\n The mistress of my heart.\n\n First you must match those masses\n Of darkly clustered hair,\n And if such skill be in your wax\n The scent that harbours there;\n And where the flowing tresses cast\n A warm-toned shadow, trace\n A forehead white as ivory,\n The oval of her face.\n Her brows you must not quite divide\n Nor wholly join, there lies\n A subtle link between them\n Above the dark-lashed eyes.\n And you must borrow flame of fire\n To give her glance its due,\n As tender as Cithera's\n And as Athena's blue.\n For cheek and nostril rose-leaves\n And milk you shall enlist,\n And shape her lips like Peitho's\n Inviting to be kissed.\n Let all the Graces stay their flight\n And gather round to deck\n The outline of her tender chin,\n The marble of her neck.\n And for the rest--bedrape her\n In robe of purple hue,\n With here and there to give it life\n The flesh tint peeping through.\n Now hold thy hand,--for I can see\n The face and form I seek,\n And surely in a moment's space\n I think your wax will speak.\n\n\n Note 4\n\n\n\n IV\n\n METAMORPHOSIS\n\n\n If she who, born to Tantalus,\n As Niobe we know,\n Was turned to stone among the hills\n Of Phrygia long ago;\n If Proene by such magic change\n Was made a bird that flies,\n Let me become the mirror\n That holds my lady's eyes!\n Or let me be the water\n In which your beauty bathes,\n Or the dress which clinging closely\n Your gracious presence swathes;\n Or change me to the perfume\n You sprinkle on your skin,\n Or let me be the pearl-drop\n That hangs beneath your chin;\n And if not these the girdle\n You bind below your breast;\n Or be at least the sandal\n Your little foot hath pressed.\n\n\n\n V\n\n APOLOGIA\n\n\n The brown earth drinks from heaven, and from the earth the tree,\n The sea drinks down the vapour, and the sun drinks up the sea,\n The moon drinks in the sunlight; now therefore, comrades, say\n What fault have you to find in me if I would drink as they?\n\n\n\n\n AUTHOR UNKNOWN\n\n\n\n ANACREON'S GRAVE\n\n\n You that pass this place of graves\n Pause and spill a cup for me,\n For I hold Anacreon's ashes,\n And would drink as once would he.\n\n\n\n\n SIMONIDES\n\n 556-467 B.C.\n\n\n\n _THE PLATAEAN EPITAPHS_\n\n\n\n I\n\n ON THE SPARTANS\n\n\n These who with fame eternal their own dear land endowed\n Took on them as a mantle the shade of death's dark cloud;\n Yet dying thus they died not, on whom is glory shed\n By virtue which exalts them above all other dead.\n\n\n\n II\n\n ON THE ATHENIANS\n\n\n If to die nobly be the meed that lures the noblest mind,\n Then unto us of all men in this was fortune kind.\n For Greece we marched, that freedom's arm should ever round her fold;\n We died, but gained for guerdon renown that grows not old.\n\n\n\n\n PLATO\n\n 429-347 B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n A GRAVE IN PERSIA\n\n\n Far from our own \u00c6gean shore\n And the surges booming deep,\n Here where Ecbatana's great plain\n Lies broad, we exiles sleep.\n Farewell, Eretria the renowned,\n Where once we used to dwell;\n Farewell, our neighbour Athens;\n Beloved sea, farewell!\n\n\n Note 5\n\n\n\n II\n\n STARWORSHIP\n\n\n Thou gazest starward, star of mine, whose heaven I fain would be,\n That all my myriad starry eyes might only gaze on thee.\n\n\n\n III\n\n THE UNSET STAR\n\n\n Star that didst on the living at dawn thy lustre shed,\n Now as the star of evening thou shinest with the dead!\n\n\n\n IV\n\n LAIS\n\n\n I that through the land of Hellas\n Laughed in triumph and disdain,\n Lais, of whose open porches\n All the love-struck youth were fain,\n Bring the mirror once I gazed in,\n Cyprian, at thy shrine to vow,\n Since I see not there what once was,\n And I would not what is now.\n\n\n\n\n PERSES\n\n 4TH CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n A RUSTIC SHRINE\n\n\n I am the god of the little things,\n In whom you will surely find,\n If you call upon me in season,\n A little god who is kind.\n You must not ask of me great things,\n But what is in my control,\n I, Tychon, god of the humble,\n May grant to a simple soul.\n\n\n Note 6\n\n\n\n\n ANYTE OF TEGEA\n\n 4TH CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n A SHRINE BY THE SEA\n\n\n This is the Cyprian's holy ground,\n Who ever loves to stand\n Where she can watch the shining seas\n Beyond the utmost land;\n That sailors on their voyages\n May prosper by her aid,\n Whose radiant effigy the deep\n Beholding is afraid.\n\n\n\n II\n\n THE GOD OF THE CROSS-ROADS\n\n\n I, Hermes, by the grey sea-shore,\n Set where the three roads meet,\n Outside the wind-swept garden,\n Give rest to weary feet;\n The waters of my fountain\n Are clear, and cool, and sweet.\n\n\n\n\n ADDAEUS\n\n 4TH CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n THE ANCIENT OX\n\n\n The ox of Alcon was not led to the slaughter when at length\n Age and the weary furrow had sapped his olden strength.\n His faithful work was honoured, and in the deep grass now\n He strays and lows contentment, enfranchised from the plough.\n\n\n\n\n ASCLEPIADES\n\n 3RD CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n THE PRAISE OF LOVE\n\n\n Sweet is the snow in summer thirst to drink, and sweet the day\n When sailors see spring's garland bloom and winter pass away.\n But the sweetest thing on earth is when, one mantle for their cover,\n Two hearts recite the Cyprian's praise as lover unto lover.\n\n\n\n\n MICIAS\n\n 3RD CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n A WAYSIDE FOUNTAIN\n\n\n Rest here beneath the poplars,\n When tired with travelling,\n And drawing nigh refresh you\n With water from our spring.\n So may you keep in memory\n When under other skies\n The fount his father Simus set\n By the grave where Gillus lies.\n\n\n\n\n CALLIMACHUS\n\n 3RD CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n CAST UP BY THE SEA\n\n\n Who were you, shipwrecked sailor? The body that he found,\n Cast on the beach, Leontichus laid in this burial mound;\n And mindful of his own grim life he wept, for neither he\n May rest in peace who like a gull goes up and down the sea.\n\n\n\n\n NOSSIS\n\n 3RD CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n ROSES OF CYPRIS\n\n\n Of all the world's delightful things most sweet is love. The rest,\n Ay, even honey in the mouth, are only second best.\n This Nossis saith. And only they the Cyprian loves may know\n The glory of the roses that in her garden grow.\n\n\n\n II\n\n RINTHO'S GRAVE\n\n\n Give me a hearty laugh, and say\n A friendly word and go thy way.\n Rintho was I of Syracuse,\n A modest song bird of the muse,\n Whose tears and smiles together sown\n Have born an ivy all my own.\n\n\n Note 7\n\n\n\n\n LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM\n\n 3RD CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n ERINNA\n\n\n The lyric maid Erinna, the poet-bee that drew\n The honey from the rarest blooms the muses' garden grew,\n Hath Hades snatched to be his bride. Mark where the maiden saith,\n Prophetic in her wisdom, 'How envious art thou, Death!'\n\n\n Note 8\n\n\n\n II\n\n THE FOUNTAIN HEAD\n\n\n Pause not here to drink thy fill\n Where the sheep have stirred the rill,\n And the pool lies warm and still--\n Cross yon ridge a little way,\n Where the grazing heifers stray,\n And the stone-pine's branches sway\n O'er a creviced rock below;\n Thence the bubbling waters flow\n Cooler than the northern snow.\n\n\n\n\n DIONYSUS\n\n 2ND CENTURY B.C. (?)\n\n\n THE ROSE OF YOUTH\n\n\n Girl with the roses and the grace\n Of all the roses in your face,\n Are you, or are the blooms you bear,\n Or haply both your market ware?\n\n\n\n\n DAMAGETUS\n\n 2ND CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n THEANO\n\n\n These words, renowned Phoc\u00e6a, were the last Theano said,\n As she went down into the night that none hath harvested.\n Hapless am I, Apellichus, beloved husband mine,\n Where in the wide, wide waters is now that bark of thine?\n My doom hath come upon me, and would to God that I\n Had felt my hand in thy dear hand on the day I had to die.\n\n\n\n\n ARCHIAS\n\n 1ST CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n THE HARBOUR GOD\n\n\n Me, Pan, whose presence haunts the shore,\n The fisher folk set here,\n To guard their haven anchorage\n On the cliff that they revere;\n And thence I watch them cast the net\n And mind their fishing gear.\n Sail past me, traveller: for I send\n The gentle southern breeze,\n Because of this their piety,\n To speed thee over seas.\n\n\n\n II\n\n A GRAVE BY THE SEA\n\n\n I, shipwrecked Theris, whom the tide\n Flung landward from the deep,\n Not even dead may I forget\n The shores that know not sleep.\n Beneath the cliffs that break the surf\n My body found a grave,\n Dug by the hands of stranger men,\n Beside the cruel wave:\n And still ill-starred among the dead\n I hear for evermore\n The hateful booming of the seas\n That thunder on the shore.\n\n\n\n\n MELEAGER\n\n 1ST CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n I\n\n LOVE'S QUIVER\n\n\n By Heliodora's sandalled foot, and Demo's waving hair,\n By Dorothea's wreath of blooms unbudding to the air,\n By Anticlea's winsome smile and the great eyes of her,\n And by Timarion's open door distilling scent like myrrh,\n I know the god of love has spent his arrows winged to smart,\n For all the shafts his quiver held I have them in my heart.\n\n\n\n II\n\n THE CUP\n\n\n The cup takes heart of gladness, whose boast it is to be\n Sipped by the mouth of love's delight, soft-voiced Zenophile.\n Most favoured cup! I would that she with lips to my lips pressed\n Would drink the soul in one deep draught, that is my body's guest.\n\n\n\n III\n\n ZENOPHILE\n\n\n Sweet is the music of that air, by Pan of Arcady,\n Thou drawest from the harpstrings, too sweet, Zenophile;\n The thronging loves on every side close in and press me nigh,\n And leave me scarce a breathing space, so whither can I fly?\n Is it thy beauty or thy song that kindles my desire,\n Thy grace, or every thing thou art? For I am all on fire.\n\n\n\n IV\n\n LOVE AND DEATH\n\n\n Friend Cleobulus, when I die\n Who conquered by desire,\n Abandoned in the ashes lie\n Of youth's consuming fire,\n Do me this service, drench in wine\n The urn you pass beneath,\n And grave upon it this one line,\n 'The gift of Love to Death.'\n\n\n\n V\n\n LOVE'S MALICE\n\n\n Cruel is Love, ah cruel, and what can I do more\n Than moaning love is cruel, repeat it o'er and o'er?\n I know the boy is laughing and pleased that I grow grim,\n And just the bitter things I say are the bread of life to him.\n But you that from the grey-green wave arising, Cyprian, came,\n 'Tis strange that out of water you should have borne a flame.\n\n\n\n VI\n\n ASCLEPIAS\n\n\n Like the calm sea beguiling with those blue eyes of hers,\n Asclepias tempteth all men to be love's mariners.\n\n\n\n VII\n\n HELIODORA\n\n\n Say Heliodore, and Heliodore, and still say Heliodore,\n And let the music of her name mix with the wine you pour.\n And wreath me with the wreath she wore, that holds the scent of myrrh,\n For all that it be yesterday's, in memory of her.\n The rose that loveth lovers, the rose lets fall a tear\n Because my arms are empty, because she is not here.\n\n\n\n VIII\n\n THE WREATH\n\n\n White violet with the tender-leaved narcissus I will twine,\n And the laughing lips of lilies with myrtle blooms combine;\n And I will bind the hyacinth, the dark red-purple flower,\n With crocus sweet and roses that are the lovers' dower,\n To make the wreath that Heliodore's curl-scented brow shall wear,\n To strew with falling petals the glory of her hair.\n\n\n\n IX\n\n LIBATION\n\n\n Pour out as if for Peitho, and for the Cyprian pour,\n Then for the sweet-voiced Graces, but all for Heliodore;\n For there is but one goddess whose worship I enshrine,\n And blent with her beloved name I drink the virgin wine.\n\n\n\n X\n\n THE GRAVE OF HELIODORA\n\n\n Tears for thee, Heliodore, and bitter tears to shed,\n If all that love has left to give can reach thee with the dead;\n Here at thy grave I offer, that tear-drenched grave of thine,\n Libation of my longing before affection's shrine.\n Forlorn I mourn thee, dearest, in the land where shadows dwell,\n Forlorn, and grudge the tribute death could have spared so well.\n Where is the flower I cherished? Plucked by the god of doom;\n Plucked, and his dust has tarnished the scarce unbudded bloom.\n I may but pray thee, mother earth, who givest all thy best,\n Clasp her I mourn for ever close to thy gentle breast.\n\n\n\n XI\n\n HIS EPITAPH\n\n\n Tread softly, ye that pass, for here\n The old man rests his head,\n And sleeps the sleep that all men must\n Among the honoured dead.\n Meleager, son of Eucrates,\n Who linked the joyous train\n Of Graces and of Muses\n With love's delicious pain.\n From Gadara, the sacred land,\n I came and god-built Tyre,\n But Meropis and pleasant Cos\n Consoled life's waning fire.\n If thou be Syrian, say Salaam,\n Or Hail, if Greek thou be,\n Say Naidios, if Ph\u0153nician born,\n For all are one to me.\n\n\n\n\n CRINAGORAS\n\n 1ST CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n ROSES IN WINTER\n\n\n In spring it was we roses\n Were used to bloom of old,\n Who now in midmost winter\n Our crimson cells unfold,\n To greet thee on the birthday\n That shall thy bridal bring.\n 'Tis more to grace so fair a brow\n Than know the suns of spring.\n\n\n\n\n JULIUS POLYAENUS\n\n 1ST CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n AN EXILE'S PRAYER\n\n\n Among the myriad voices that seek to win thine ear\n From those whose prayers are granted, from those who pray in fear,\n O Zeus of Scheria's holy plain, let my voice reach thee too,\n And hearken and incline the brow that binds thy promise true.\n Let my long exile have an end, my toil and travel past,\n Grant me in my own native land to live at rest at last!\n\n\n\n\n ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA\n\n 1ST CENTURY B.C.\n\n\n\n A GRAVE AT OSTIA\n\n\n Ausonian earth contains me\n That was a Libyan maid,\n And in the sea's sand hard by Rome\n My virgin form was laid.\n Pompeia with a mother's care\n Watched o'er my tender years,\n Entombed me here among the free,\n And gave me many tears.\n Not as she prayed the torch was fired,\n She would have burned for me;\n The lamp which took the torch's place\n Was thine, Persephone.\n\n\n\n\n AUTHOR UNKNOWN\n\n\n\n FRIENDSHIP'S EPITAPH\n\n\n This stone, my good Sabinus, although it be but small,\n Shall be of our great friendship a witness unto all.\n Ever shall I desire thee, and thou, if this may be,\n Forbear to drink among the dead the lethe-draft for me.\n\n\n Note 9\n\n\n\n THE COUNSEL OF PAN\n\n\n In this green meadow, traveller, yield\n Thy weary limbs to rest:\n The branches of the stone pine sway\n To the wind from out the west;\n The cricket calls, and all noon long\n The shepherd's piping fills\n The plane-grove's leafy shadows\n By the spring among the hills.\n Soothed by these sounds thou shalt avoid\n The dogstar's autumn fires,\n And then to-morrow cross the ridge;--\n Such wisdom Pan inspires.\n\n\n\n B\u00c9NITIER\n\n\n Touch but the virgin water, clean of soul,\n Nor fear to pass into the pure god's sight:\n For the good a drop suffices. But the whole\n Great ocean could not wash the unclean white.\n\n\n\n THE END OF THE COMEDY\n\n\n Fortune and Hope, a long adieu!\n My ship is safe in port.\n With me is nothing left to do,\n Make other lives your sport.\n\n\n Note 10\n\n\n\n\n STRATO\n\n 2ND CENTURY A.D.\n\n\n\n THE KISS\n\n\n It was at even and the hour in which good-nights are bid\n That M\u0153ris kissed me, if indeed I do not dream she did.\n Of all the rest that happened there is naught that I forget,\n No word she said, no question of all she asked,--and yet\n If she indeed did kiss me, my doubt can not decide,\n For how could I still walk the earth had I been deified!\n\n\n\n\n AMMIANUS\n\n 2ND CENTURY A.D.\n\n\n\n THE LORD OF LANDS\n\n\n Though till the gates of Heracles thy land-marks thou extend,\n Their share in earth is equal for all men at the end;\n And thou shalt lie as Irus lies, one obol all thy store,\n And be resolved into an earth that is thine own no more.\n\n\n Note 11\n\n\n\n\n ALPHEUS\n\n 2ND CENTURY A.D.\n\n\n\n MYCENAE\n\n\n The cities of the hero age thine eyes may seek in vain,\n Save where some wrecks of ruin still break the level plain.\n So once I saw Mycenae, the ill-starred, a barren height\n Too bleak for goats to pasture,--the goat-herds point the site.\n And as I passed a greybeard said, 'Here used to stand of old\n A city built by giants, and passing rich in gold.'\n\n\n Note 12\n\n\n\n\n MACEDONIUS\n\n 6TH CENTURY A.D.\n\n\n\n THE THRESHOLD\n\n\n Spirit of Birth, that gave me life,\n Earth, that receives my clay,\n Farewell, for I have travelled\n The stage that twixt you lay.\n I go, and have no knowledge\n From whence I came to you,\n Nor whither I shall journey,\n Nor whose I am, nor who.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nNote 1.\n\nIn this, No. 68 of the Sappho fragments, I have followed the reading\n\n _\u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b8\u03ac\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b1 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03c3\u03b5\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u03ad \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bc\u03bd\u03b1\u03bc\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b1_\n _\u03c3\u03ad\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd_\n _\u1f14\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03c4' \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4' \u1f14\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03c2 \u1f54\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u00b7_\n\nrather than\n\n _\u03ba\u03b1\u03c4\u03b8\u03ac\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b1 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03c3\u03b5\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03cc\u03c4\u03b1, \u03ba\u03c9\u1f50 \u03bc\u03bd\u03b1\u03bc\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c3\u03ad\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd._\n _\u1f14\u03c3\u03c3\u03b5\u03c4' \u03bf\u1f54\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03cc\u03c4' \u03bf\u1f54\u03c4' \u1f54\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u00b7_\n\n 'Dying thou shalt lie in nothingness, nor of\n thee\n There nor thereafter shall memory abide.'\n\n\nNote 2.\n\nA portion of this fragment was adopted by Catullus.\n\n\nNote 3.\n\nAnacreon's date is 563-478 B.C. It must, alas, be admitted that the\npoems attributed to him are, with the exception of a few fragments, all\nof them dubious and most of them certainly spurious. He had a great\nnumber of imitators down to a much later time, and a considerable number\nof the pseudo-Anacreontic poems are preserved in an appendix to the\nPalatine anthology. It may be assumed that some of them reflect a\nportion of his spirit, and many of them are graceful in conceit and\nbeautiful in form. The specimens here given must be classed upon the\nproductions of his later imitators, although they are inserted in the\nplace where in chronological order the real Anacreon would have\nfollowed.\n\n\nNote 4.\n\nThe portraiture of the Greeks was executed with tinted wax, and not with\ncolours rendered fluid by a liquid or oily medium. The various tints and\ntones of wax were probably laid on with the finger tips or with a\nspatula.\n\n\nNote 5.\n\nThere was more than one Plato, but the great Plato is evidently referred\nto in the prefatory poem of Meleager as included among the poets of his\nanthology.\n\nCaptives from Eretria were established in a colony in Persia by Darius\nafter the first Persian war. The colony at Ardericca was, however,\nhundreds of miles from Ecbatana.\n\nIf the epigram on Lais is not attributed to the great Plato by the most\ncompetent authorities, the dates of the two famous courtesans who bore\nthe name would not exclude the possibility of his being the author.\n\n\nNote 6.\n\nTychon is identified with Priapus.\n\n\nNote 7.\n\nRintho founded a new school of serio-comic drama about 300 B.C. The ivy\nwas sacred to Dionysus, in whose worship the drama had its origin.\n\n\nNote 8.\n\nAlso attributed to Meleager. The phrase, _\u03b2\u03ac\u03c3\u03ba\u03b1\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f14\u03c3\u03c3' \u1f08\u0390\u03b4\u03b1_, here\nquoted is from Erinna's lament for Baucis, one of the rare surviving\nlyrics of the Rhodian poetess.\n\n\nNote 9.\n\nThe anonymous epigrams here inserted are probably not in their proper\nchronological places. But as they could not be definitely assigned to\nany date I have placed them between the two categories of B.C. and A.D.\n\n\n\nNote 10.\n\nThere is a Latin version of this epigram on a tomb in the pavement of a\nchurch in Rome (S. Lorenzo in Panisperna).\n\n Inveni portum, spes et fortuna valete,\n Nil mihi vobiscum, ludite nunc alios.\n\n\nNote 11.\n\nIrus was the beggar of the Odyssey who ran messages for the suitors of\nPenelope. The obol referred to is the small coin placed between the lips\nof the dead to pay the toll to the ferryman of Hades.\n\n\nNote 12.\n\nIt is interesting to know from the evidence of Alpheus, who visited the\nsites of the Homeric cities, that nearly two thousand years ago the site\nof Mycenae was just as it remained until the excavations of Schliemann.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
","title":"Love, Worship and Death: Some Renderings from the Greek Anthology","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":5009}