Array Anacreon - The Greatest Classics of Ancient Greece

HERO, OF GYARA

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner;

Swifter far was she than Atalanta,

When through clinging fleece of her wind-rippled

Garments blushed the glimmer of her limbs.

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner;

Lovelier was she than Atalanta,

When the straining vision of the suitor

Saw her beauty mock impending death.

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner,

All the singing numbers of Terpander,

Metres of Archilochus and Alcman,

And my melic verse that glows supreme.

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner,

Sapphics with their triple surge of music

Melting in the final verse Adonic,

Like the foam fall of a spended wave.

COURAGE

Faint not in thy strong heart!

Nor downcast stand apart;

Beyond the reach of daring will there lies

No beauty's prize.

Faint not in thy strong heart!

Through temple, field and mart,

Courage alone the guerdon from the fray

May bear away.

THE BOAST OF ARES

Ares said he would drag

Hephestus by force

From Poseidon's palace

Deep down in the sea;

Where he had fashioned

The cunning throne

With the secret chains.

He presented the throne,

Forsooth, as a gift

To the queen of heaven;

But Hera soon found

For revenge on her

Who had him cast

From the home of Gods.

For secure in its clasp

Of adamant gold

She was held imprisoned,

The prey of his guile;

And Hephestus knew

By him alone

Could the queen be freed.

But the great God of war

Made boast of his strength;

He would bring the forger

Of metals and tricks

On high to release

Hera, and end

Her enraged despair.

Ares said he would drag

Hephestus by force,

But was made to waver

And flee when assailed

With a blazing brand

By the dark God

Of the underworld.

GOLD

Gold is the son of Zeus,

Immortal, bright;

Nor moth nor worm may eat it,

Nor rust tarnish.

So are the Muse's gifts

The offspring fair,

That merit from high heaven

Youth eternal.

GNOMICS

I

My ways are quiet, none may find

My temper of malignant kind;

For one should check the words that start

When anger spreads within the heart.

II

Who from my hands what I can spare

Of gifts accept the largest share,

Those are the very ones who boast

No gratitude and wrong me most.

III

He who in face and form is fair

Must needs be good, the Gods declare;

But he whose thought and act are right

Will soon be equal fair to sight.

IV

Beauty of youth is but the flower

Of spring, whose pleasure lasts an hour;

While worth that knows no mortal doom

Is like the amaranthine bloom.

PRIDE

Pride not thyself upon a ring,

Or any trinket thing

Of fleeting value, dross or gold.

Wealth, lacking worth, is no safe friend,

Though both to life may lend,

In just proportion, joy untold.

LETO AND NIOBE

Leto and Niobe were friends full dear,

The Goddess' heart and woman's heart were one

In that maternal love that men revere,

Love that endures when other loves are done.

But Niobe with all a mother's pride,

Artless and foolish, would not be denied;

And boasted that her children were more fair

Than Leto's lovely children of the air.

The proud Olympians vowed revenge for this,

Irate Apollo, angered Artemis;

They slew her children, heedless of her moan,

And with the last her heart was turned to stone.

THE DYE

From Scythian wood they brew

The dye whose yellow hue

Turns gold the lovely hair

Of Lesbians fair.

So, Zanthis, slave of mine,

Shall dip the fleeces fine,

And dye the robes I made

A saffron shade.

Table of Contents

HYMN TO PAPHIA

Immortal Paphia! have I earned thy hate,

That I should burn in passion's fatal flame?

Is not my constant service thine to claim,

My prayer's appeal with praise of thee elate?

Has not my life been one sole hymn of thee,

One quivering chord on Love's harp overwrought?

My soul has trembled up to thee in thought,

Probed to its depth thy every ecstasy.

Are not my countless heart-beats each a vow,

Of tribute throbs a garland? For thy gain

The Fates have drenched my soul in passion's rain,

Pieria's roses twined about my brow.

The virgin harvest of my heart was thine,

I shuddered in the joy that half consumed;

The votive garlands on thy altar bloomed,

My days were songs to nights of bliss divine.

Why try me, then, with torture, gracious Queen?

Why verge me on this rapture's dread abyss,

Hold breast from breast and stay the yearning kiss?

Ah, couldst thou fashion pain that stung less keen?

The throe of Tantalus is mine to bear,

Beauty that Thetis-like eludes my clasp;

Glances that lure, that make each breath a gasp,

And then disdainful gloat at my despair.

Scornful she dwells beyond my ardor's clutch,

Bathed in an aureole of carnal fire;—

O bind her equal slave to fond desire,

Let passion's tingling warmth her being touch!

Come to me, Goddess, come as once of old,

Hearing my voice implore thee from afar,

I drew to earth thy dazzling avatar;

Accord the smile of piercing bliss untold.

Ask me the dear suave question phrased of yore;

"Sappho, who grieveth now thy mad fond heart?

Wouldst win her beauty, she who frowns apart?

Wild as thou lovest, she soon shall love thee more."

O fair Olympian, answer thus, I pray!

Release me from this torment, yield my arms

The transport thirsted of her folded charms,

In glow that welds her heart to mine for aye.

EROS

From the gnarled branches of the apple trees

The heavy petals, lifted by the breeze,

Fluttered on puffs of odor fine and fell

In the clear water of the garden well;

And some a bolder zephyr blew in sport

Across the marble reaches of my court,

And some by sudden gusts were wafted wide

Toward sea and city, down the mountain side.

Lesbos seemed Paphos, isled in rosy glow,

Green olive hills, the violet vale below;

The air was azure fire and o'er the blue

Still sea the doves of Aphrodite flew.

My dreaming eyes saw Eros from afar

Coming from heaven in his mother's car,

In purple tunic clad; and at my heart

The God was aiming his relentless dart.

He whom fair Aphrodite called her son,

She, the adored, she, the imperial One;

He passed as winds that shake the soul, as pains

Sweet to the heart, as fire that warms the veins;

He passed and left my limbs dissolved in dew,

Relaxed and faint, with passion quivered through;

Exhausted with spent thrills of dread delight,

A sudden darkness rushing on my sight.

PASSION

Now Love shakes my soul, a mighty

Wind from the high mountain falling

Full on the oaks of the forest;

Now, limb-relaxing, it masters

My life and implacable thrills me,

Rending with anguish and rapture.

Now my heart, paining my bosom,

Pants with desire as a mænad

Mad for the orgiac revel.

Now under my skin run subtle

Arrows of flame, and my body

Quivers with surge of emotion.

Now long importunate yearnings

Vanquish with surfeit my reason;

Fainting my senses forsake me.

APHRODITE'S PRAISE

O Sappho, why art thou ever

Singing with praises the blessed