LXIV
Τῷ γριπεῖ Πελάγωνι πατὴρ ἐπέθηκε Μενίσκος
κύρτον καὶ κώπαν, μνᾶμα κακοζοΐας·
ABOVE a fisher's tomb
Were set his withy basket and his oar,
The tokens of his doom,
Of how in life his labour had been sore :
A father put them up above his son,
Meniscus over luckless Pelagon.
Phaon, thou dost consort
With the same breezes, and thy sails uncoil
At evening in the port
For midnight vigil and for perilous toil,
And, having set thy willow-plaited snare,
Forth on the open waters thou dost fare.
For wretched is thy lot,
And yet thou dost refuse my love, my fame,
Disdainful, heeding not
That thou could'st be immortal as my name ;
My praises thy memorial would become,
When in the songless country I am dumb.
Instead, before thy grave
Unknown, a stranger may some pity feel,
Finding how near the wave
Thou sleepest underneath thine oar and weel,
Poor trophies of hard life : his steps gone by,
Beside the sea thou wilt forgotten lie.
