Array Anacreon - The Greatest Classics of Ancient Greece

Her low voice, laughter-laden.

Sing yet again her thousand charms,

Her eye’s entrancing splendour,

Her swarthy cheeks and supple arms

And bosom dark and tender.

Yea, sing forevermore of her,

My mistress soft-beguiling,

Fairest of all who are, or were,

My Sappho, sweetly-smiling.

From ends of earth thou comest home,

Bearing a glittering blade,

Whose hilt of precious ivory

With gold is overlaid.

For thou hast aided Babylon,

Achieved a glorious deed,

And been a bulwark of defence

In hour of sorest need.

Yea, thou hast fought a goodly fight,

Slaying a mighty man

Who lacked of royal cubits five

Only a single span.

The spacious hall in brazen splendour gleams,

And all the house in Ares’ honour beams.

The helmets glitter; high upon the wall

The nodding plumes of snowy horse’s hair,

Man’s noblest Ornaments, wave over all;

And brightly gleaming brazen greaves are there,

Each hanging safe upon its hidden nail,

A sure defence against the arrowy hail.

And many coats of mail, and doublets stout,

Breast-plates of new-spun linen, hollow shields,

Well-worn and brought from foe-abandoned fields,

And broad Chalcidian swords are stacked about.

Bear well in mind these tools of war, they make

Easy and sure the work we undertake.

I know not how to meet the tempest’s rage!

Now here, now there the furious billows form

And compass us. We in the good black ship

Between the opposing waves are hurled, and wage

A desperate struggle with the darkling storm,

The straining sails grow clamorous; they rip,

And fly in rags. The foaming waters burst

Into the hold. The anchors loose their grip.

And now a billow, greater than the first,

Rushes upon us, fraught with perils grave,

While the ship plunges deep into the wave.

Not in hewn stones, nor in well-fashioned beams,

Not in the noblest of the builder’s dreams,

But in courageous men, of purpose great,

There is the fortress, there the living State.

Alcaeus hath escaped the hand

Of Ares on the battle-field ;

He fled unto his native land,

But left behind his sword and shield.

The Attics held the spoils divine,

And hung them in Athena’s shrine.

This upstart Pittacus, this base-born fool,

They greet with joy, and acclamations great,

And set the willing tyrant up to rule

The strife-torn city, most unfortunate.

This man, this raving idiot here,

With rank supreme and power great,

Will quickly overthrow the state,

Already is the crisis near.

Now for wine and joy divine,

Myrsilus is dead!

Now ’t is meet the earth to beat

With quick and happy tread.

For Myrsilus is dead!

Myrsilus is dead!

(in alcaic metre)

O Queen Athena, mighty in war’s alarms,

O keeping guard by river Coralio,

And on the steeps of Coronea,

Over the house of thy sacred worship!

O Queen perchance thou movest above the camp,

The camp of our divided armies.

(in sapphic metre)

Cyllenean Ruler and Lord, a paean

Raise I now. ßeloved of the son of Cronos,

Maia brought thee forth on the sacred moun-tain’s

Loftiest summit.

He sprang, of gods the mightiest god,

From Zephyr, golden-tressed,

And gentle Iris, neatly-shod,

When Love these lovers blessed.

In Sparta once Aristodemus,

So the story ran,

A maxim full of wisdom uttered:

“Money makes the man.”

For valour leaves the wretch that’s poor,

And honour shuns the pauper’s door.

A grievous weight, too heavy to endure,

Bitter, and full of woe,

Is Poverty, who, with her sister, Want,

Cripples the people so.

’T is beautiful with pleasures gone

To put away desires,

For neither man nor maid can quench

Their all-consuming fires.

What bird is this from ocean,

From ends of earth remote,

With wings wide-spread in motion,

And many-coloured throat?

Child of the aged rocks,

Child of the hoary sea,

Thou fillest with joy

The heart of the boy,

O cockle from the sea.

If you must freely utter

Whatever things you will,

Be then prepared to listen

To things that please you ill.

Table of Contents

. . . Eater of water-nuts; for it was not a reproach to the Arcadians to eat acorns.

On my head of many sorrows pour myrrh, and o’er my hoary breast.

Plant no other tree before the vine.

I pray that some one call in the charming Menon if it be fitting that he be a delight to me at the banquet.

Drawing wine now as sweet as honey, now more bitter than nettles.

(It is said that) Ajax of kingly birth, sprung from Kronos, the greatest hero after Achilles (went to Troy in the army of the Danaians).

Achilles, ruling in the land of Scythia.

You drink from cups, sitting by the side of Dinnomenes.

Drink and be glad, my friend. Come hither and drink with me.

Wine, dear child, and Truth!

I feil by the hands of the Cyprus-born.

The tender Graces took thee up in their bosom, O Lily.

The stormless breathings of the gentle winds.

Between the earth and the cloud-flecked heavens.

Melanchrus (in his actions) towards the City was worthy of respect.

Brandishing the Carian crest.

Not yet has Poseidon lashed into fury the salty floods; for then he comes upon the shore, shaking the earth.

They cowered as birds when the swift hawk suddenly appears.

Ares foe-scattering, heart-cleaving.

More valiant than Ares.

For it is noble to die in battle.

But they fought hand to hand in battle.

O King Apollo, son of mighty Zeus.

So that not one of the Olympian gods except him could loosen it.

For that honour shall remain inviolate by the will of those gods who have been made thy protectors.