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.