Boreas, leave thy Thracian cave


    Τὸν δ’ ἐπιπλάζοντες ἄμοι φέροιeν
    καὶ μελεδώναις·

    BOREAS, leave thy Thracian cave, 
    Cross the grey, up-tossing wave ; 
    With thy lips, rough-bearded, swell 
    All the voices of thy shell. 
    Chase the wheat-producing mist, 
    That the teeming furrows kissed ; 
    With thy morning breath drive forth 
    Every dense cloud of the north ; 
    Let thy chilly blasts prevail, 
    Make the shivering olive pale, 
    Hold the sailor in the bay, 
    Sweep distress and care away ! 
    Let thy winds, wide-wandering, bleak, 
    Dry the tears on Sappho's cheek ! 
    Buffeting with gusts, constrain 
    Woes of love to quit my brain : 
    Bind them on thy pinions strong, 
    Bear them on thy course along.
    Come, stern god, and set me free ; 
    Rival Eros' tyranny! 
    Then, exultant, I will praise, 
    Now at banquets, now in lays, 
    Thee, fierce Thracian, gentle grown, 
    And thy mighty godhead own.