L
Κεῖνον, ὦ χρυσόθρονε Μοῦς’, ἔνισπες
ὕμνον, ἐκ τᾶς καλλιγύναικος ἐσθλᾶς
Τήιος χώρας ὅν ἄειδε τερπνῶς
πρέσβυς ἀγαυός·
MUSE of the golden throne, my griefs assuage -
Not with fresh gift of verse—
A listener at thy knees I would remain,
So thou rehearse
To me that strain
Sung by the poet-sage,
Manful, and crisp, and free,
Of so undaunted style,
It can command
And move to clemency
The tyrant, yet the terse,
Clear song one feels the while,
Ah, once was fashioned in a goodly land
Of women fair,
With voices soft as wood-doves' through the air.
O Muse, 'tis for Anacreon's lyre I sigh :
Thou knowest how
'Neath the twin burthen of desire and song
My heart doth bow ;
But he was strong
Dark Eros to defy,
And my tossed bosom oft
Turns to his sweet refrain
Of sunny truth,
Jocund, melodious, soft—
" Dear life hath bliss enow,
Despite of age and pain,
To give us temper of eternal youth,
Hath it not, friend ? "
Sappho smiles credence till the music end.
The reverend elder ! Ah, how sweetly he
Was wont to sing in those
Plane-shaded noons of lovely, common things,
Idalia's rose,
Or the soft wings
Of that bright bird that she
Bartered for just a hymn
Straight from the poet's lips,
And breathed alone
To her amid her dim,
Dusk myrtles. Oh, she chose
A favour to eclipse
All heavenly honour unto mortals shown
Who gave her dove
To win from Teos' bard one song of love.
Ah me ! how deftly could he handle such
Rare token from the sky ;
Around the tender, glistening iris-neck
He loved to tie
His odes, and check
The pinions with a touch ;
Triumphant as a man
O'er the fond goddess coy,
Nathless her bliss
He prized, and with love's span
Measured time wantonly—
"Wealth will not bring you joy ;
Toil not for that; win the beloved's kiss ! "
Counselled the bold
Guardian of life, and squanderer of his gold.
Love him, ye bards, who would not even resign
In age the poet's thrill,
To whom his lyre through the slow, lingering night
Was never still
From whispering quite.
O feed his tomb with wine,
And let joy penetrate
The darkness, ivy-leaved,
That guards his breast
Whom Eros made so great
A lord o'er human ill
That, his full term achieved
Of years, he kept youth with him for his guest,
As a broad tree
Feels the sap course through its antiquity.
