Читать книгу Yale Classics - Ancient Greek Literature - Anacreon - Страница 132

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

Queen of the heaven?

Why does the heart in thy bosom

Ever revert in its yearning

Throb to the Goddess?

Why are thy senses unsated

Ever in quest of elusive

Love that is deathless?

Ah, gracious Daughter of Cyprus,

Never can I as a mortal

Tire of thy service.

Thou art the breath of my body,

The blood in my veins, and the glowing

Pulse of my bosom.

Omnipotent, burning, resistless,

Thou art the passion that shaking

Masters me ever.

Thou art the crisis of rapture

Relaxing my limbs, and the melting

Ebb of emotion;

Bringing the tears to my lashes,

Sighs to my lips, in the swooning

Excess of passion.

O golden-crowned Aphrodite,

Grant I shall ever be grateful,

Sure of thy favor;

Worthy the lot of thy priestess,

Supreme in the song that forever

Rings with thy praises.

THE FIRST KISS

And down I set the cushion

Upon the couch that she,

Relaxed supine upon it,

Might give her lips to me.

As some enamored priestess

At Aphrodite's shrine,

Entranced I bent above her

With sense of the divine.

She had, by nature nubile,

In years a child, no hint

Of any secret knowledge

Of passion's least intent.

Her mouth for immolation

Was ripe, and mine the art;

And one long kiss of passion

Deflowered her virgin heart.

ODE TO ATTHIS

I loved you, Atthis, once, long years ago!

My blood was flame that thrilled to passion's throe;

Now long neglect has quenched the olden fire,

And blight of drifting years effaced desire.

I loved you, Atthis—joy of long ago—

Love shook my soul as winds on forests blow;

This lawless heart that dared exhaust delight,

Unsated strove and maddened through the night.

I loved you, Atthis, once, long years ago!

With pain whose surge I felt to anguish grow;

Suffered the storms that waste the heart and leave

A desert shore where seas but break to grieve.

I loved you, Atthis—spring of long ago—

Watched you depart, to Andromeda go;

Then I, as keen despair its shadow cast,

O'er my deserted threshold, sobbing, passed.

I loved you, Atthis, once, long years ago!

The thought of me is hateful now, I know;

And all the lavish tenderness of old

Has gone from me and left my bosom cold.

I loved you, Atthis—dream of long ago—

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

How the fond words, impassioned music low,

Sustain the sigh of love's divine regret

No length of time may bid the heart forget.

COMPARISON

Less soft a Tyrian robe

Of texture fine,

Less delicate a rose

Than flesh of thine.

Whiter thy breast than snow

That virgin lies,

And deeper than the blue

Of seas thy eyes.

More golden than the fruit

Of orange trees,

Thy locks that floating lure

The satyr breeze.

Less fine of silver string

An Orphic lyre,

Less sweet than thy low laugh

That wakes desire.

THE SACRIFICE

Upon a cushion soft

My limbs I place,

My every garment doffed

For deeper grace;

From burning doves embalmed

In baccharis,

The scented fumes have calmed

Me like a kiss.

Beyond the phallic shrine

That tripods light,

I pledge with holy wine

An image white;

Anadyomene,

Than foam more fair,

When from the ravished sea

She rose to air.

Daughter of God, accept

These gifts of mine!

Last night my body slept

In arms divine.

These sated lips and eyes

That erstwhile sued,

Accord this sacrifice

In gratitude.

LEDA

Once on a time

They say that Leda found

Beneath the thyme

An egg upon the ground;

And yet the swan

She fondled long ago

Was whiter than

Its shell of peeping snow.

AMŒBEUM: ALCÆUS AND SAPPHO

ALCUSÆUS

Violet-weaving Sappho, pure and lovely,

Softly-smiling Sappho, I would utter

Something that my secret hope has cherished,

Did no painful sense of shame deter me.

SAPPHO

Had the impulse of thy heart been honest,

It had urged no evil supplication;

Shame had not abashed thy eyes before me,

And thy words had done thee no dishonor.

ALCÆUS

Softly-smiling Sappho, longing bids me

Tell thee all that in my heart lies hidden.

SAPPHO

Have no fear, Alcæus, to offend me!

Thy emotion stirs my heart to pity.

ALCÆUS

I desire thee, violet-weaving Sappho!

Love thee madly, softly-smiling Sappho!

SAPPHO

Hush, Alcæus! thou must choose a younger

Comrade for thy couch, for I would never

Join thy years to mine—the Gods forbid it—

Youth and ardent fire to age and ashes.

THE LOVE OF SELENE

Across the still sea's moonlit wave

Selene came

Softly to seek the Latmian cave,

Her breast aflame

With secret passion's ruthless throe,

Her scruples done,

And burning with desire to know

Endymion.

THE CRETAN DANCE

As the moon in all her splendor

Slowly rose above the forest,

Silent stood the Cretan women

Round the altar.

Girdled close their clinging tunics,

Made of some transparent fabric,

Traced the every curve and lissome

Of their bodies.

With revering eyes uplifted

To the round and rising planet,

Soon its drifting beams of silver

Lit their faces.

Soft and clear its sphere effulgent,

Full defined above the treetops,

Steeped in pale unearthly glamor

All the landscape.

When the argent glimmer rested

On the altar piled with garlands,

And its glow unveiled the marble

Aphrodite;

Linking hands, the Cretan women

Moving gracefully with metric

Steps began to dance a measure

To the Goddess.

All so light their feet unsandalled

Pressed the velvet grass in treading,

That they scarcely bruised its tender

Blooming verdure.

Slowly turning in a circle

To the east, their voices chanted

In a plaintive note the sacred

Ithyphallics;

Then they paused, their steps retracing

Toward the west, and answered strophe

By antistrophe with choric

Tones accordant;

With the aftersong epodic,

Standing all before the altar,

Lo! the hymn in praise of Paphos

Was completed.

TO ALCÆUS

Countless are the cups thou drainest

In thy hymns to Dionysos,

O Alcæus!

War and wine alone thou singest;—

Whereforenot of Aphrodite,

O Alcæus!

Spacious halls are thine where many

Trophies hang in Ares' honor,

O Alcæus!

Brazen shields and shining helmets,

Plates of brass, Chalcidian broad-swords,

O Alcæus!

When with winter roars the Thracian

North wind through the leafless forest,

O Alcæus!

Thou dost heap the fire and banish

Care with many a tawny goblet,

O Alcæus!

HYPORCHEME

Thus contend the maidens

In the cretic dance,

Rosy arms that glisten,

Eyes that glance;

Cheeks as fair as blossoms,

Parted lips that glow,

With their honeyed voices

Chanting low;

With their plastic bodies

Swaying to the flute,

Moving with the music

Never mute;

Graceful the orchestric

Figures they unfold,

While the vesper heaven

Turns to gold.

Turns to gold.

LARICHUS

While charming maids plait garlands for thy brows,

Larichus, bring the pledge for this carouse

Like lovely Ganymede, brother mine,

And cool from thy patera pour the wine.

Thy slender limbs have all a Satyr's grace,

Hylas, the Wood-God, dimples in thy face;

These maids of mine, beloved and loving me,

My dreams have made thy Nymphs to sport with thee.

I heard fair Mitylene's plaudits cease

O'er Lykas, Menon and Dinnomenes;

And hail thy beauty worthy of the prize,

Cupbearer to the council of the wise.

No noble youth the prytaneum holds,

Whose graceful form the purple tunic folds

Can match with thee, when on affairs of state

All Lesbos gathers with the wise and great.

SPRING

Come, shell divine, be vocal now for me,

As when the Hebrus river and the sea

To Lesbos bore, on waves harmonious,

The head and golden lyre of Orpheus.

Calliope, queen of the tuneful throng,

Descend and be the Muse of melic song;

For through my frame life's tides renewing bring

The glad vein-warming vigor of the spring.

The skies that dome the earth with far blue fire

Make the wide land one temple of desire;—

Just now across my cheek I felt a God,

In the enraptured breeze, pass zephyr-shod.

Was that Pan's flute, O Atthis, that we heard,

Or the soft love-note of a woodland bird?

That flame a scarlet wing that skimmed the stream,

Or the red flash of our impassioned dream?

Ah, soon again we two shall gather fair

Garlands of dill and rose to deck our bare

White arms that cling, white breast that burns to breast,

When the long night of love shall banish rest.