Poetry

Translations from the Greek Anthology

Id o-reOcipour

LEONIDAS OF TARENTI131.

THIS gentle ball, this spinning top, this rattle, that would never stop, - the bones of which he loved the noise— his babyhood's beloved toys-7 since he has grown too old-for these to Mercury from Philoeles.

—BOOK VI. 309.

ANON.

SHEPHERDS, why tease the cricket, why assail within the dewy darkness of the wood, or on the hill, the little nightingale,

whose fleeting babble charms the solitude ?

Here are the thrush and blackbird, here the swarm of clamorous starlings. These instead pursue, for they are thieves. But, since I do no harm, spare me my leaves, and this small draught of dew.

—BOOK ix. 373 PHILIPPITS.

THIS pomegranate in his cloth of gold, this wrinkled face of a fig, fold upon fold, these smoky purples of the unripe grape, this fragrant quince wrapped in his fleecy cape, this walnut, peering from his verdant sheath, this green and varnished cucumber, beneath the greener leaves that hides, this sturdy stock

of olives, glowing in their golden smock, - Lamon, the gardener, to Priapus brings, and may his fruit and he share prosperous springs.

—BOOK VI. 102.

MACEDONIUS THE CONSUL.

'l'nis dog, this pouch, this spear I dedicate, Pan and the Dryads ! But I deem it just if I take back the dog to share my fate—

a friend who will not scorn my humble crust.

—BOOK VI. 176.

ANON.

LEARN from my fate how ill the end may be Of Pegasus in his own Thessaly

There was no race at any festival, even the Olympic, but I won them all, and now a horse, forgotten and forlorn, I drag the mill-stone to grind out the corn.

—BOOK ix. 21.

LUCILIUS.

CHAREMON, floating lighter than a feather, would certainly have vanished altogether, unless by luck he'd come upon a spider, and hung face downwards in her web beside her. And he would still be hanging on his head, if he'd not seen, and clambered down, a thread.

—BOOK XI. 100.

LUCILIUS.

MARCUS took up a trumpet, but, when he blew it, he was so thin, he shot himself clean through it.

—BOOK ffi. 94.

LUCILIUS.

APLS ! the men you boxed with, grateful that you never hit one of them, erect this statue.

—BOOK XI. 80.

NICHARCHUS.

" DF.AD ? " cried the surgeon, laying down the knife. " Ah well I I've saved him from a cripple's life."

—BOOK sr. 121.

ANON.

Ass not, sea-farer, whose this tomb may be. But go thy ways, -and find a friendlier sea.

—BOOK VII. 350.

ANON.

THE world, that was his temple, scarce had room to find six feet for fallen Pompey's tornb.

- - - - —BOOK IX. 409. •

-IlluuttnT-NVoisE: