Читать книгу Yale Classics (Vol. 1) - Anacreon - Страница 118

POLEMIC SONGS

TO ANTIMENIDAS

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 ARMOURY

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.

THE SHIP OF STATE

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.

THE BULWARK OF THE STATE

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.

ON HIS ESCAPE FROM SIGEUM

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.

AGAINST PITTACUS

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.

AGAINST MYRSILUS

This man, this raving idiot here,

With rank supreme and power great,

Will quickly overthrow the state,

Already is the crisis near.

THE DEATH OF MYRSILUS

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!