κοῦφον ἐπὶ βλεφάρων βάρος έμπεσόν
ἀκηδέων ἀφ' ἑδρῶν

ἐπωδαῖς μετεπέμψαθ ̓ ὕπνον.
πάντη δ ̓ ἐνὶ τάκεται ρεέθροις
ναρὸν τανύφυλλον ἔρνος
βαθύστρωτον ἄδην διέρπει

ψυχρὰν στιβάδ ̓ ἀμφὶ κισσός· εὕδει

προβλήτων σπιλάδων ἄπο

μάκων σιγα καθημμένος.

7 Soph. Ed. Col. 668-719 (Dindorf. Poetae Scenici Græci.)

8 Od. VIII. 522.

9 Soph. Antig. 1222.

στρ.

ἀντιστρ.

And make perpetual moan,

Still from one sorrow to another thrown:

Nor ever fold our wings,

And cease from wanderings:

Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm;

Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings,

"There is no joy but calm!"

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

Lo! in the middle of the wood

The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed: and turning yellow
Falls, and floats adown the air.

Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,

The full-juic'd apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.

All its allotted length of days,

The flower ripens in its place,

Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,

Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

στένειν ἀλίαστα, θεῶν μετ ̓ ἔργοις

πρωτεία μάταν λαχοῦσιν;

ἡμῖν τοῖς ὑπεράλλοις, χθονίων τοῖς μέγ' ἀρίστοις, στρ. ὄρνις ὡς πτερύγων ἀκάματός τις πολυπλάγκτοισιν έρετμοῖς 10,

ὕπνοιο κηληθμὸς ἀμβρότοιο

μὴ πώποτ' ἐμβάψει κάρα;

πόνων ἄγευστος λέλογχεν ὄλβον, ἔναυλον τόδ' ἐφυμνεῖ ἐν φρεσὶ δαίμων.

φεν· ὅλας ἐν ὀμφαλοῖσιν ἀβρότοισι,

βλάσταν φύλλον ὑπεκδὺν, ἀνέμου σαινόμενον κιναθί

σμασι,

χλωρὸν εὐρυφυές βρύει,

ἀκτῖνες δ ̓ ἀμέριμνον

ἔνδιον, νυχίᾳ δ ̓ αὖτε σελάνα τρέφεν ἔρσα

αντιστρ.

τέλος δ' ἀλλόχροον ῥεῖ, κατὰ δ ̓ οὗρον μετέωρον δια

φεύγει.

θέρους ἐν αὐγαῖς πέπον τεθηλὸς,

ὡραῖον ἔπεσεν ἔννυχον

ἄκρας οπώρας ἄφωνα μᾶλον.

ζωᾶς μοιρίδιον τέρμα τελείας

ἀνθέων γένη κατάνυσ ̓ ἁδυόσμων,

ἀκμάζοντ ̓ ἀπόνως, φροῦδα δ' ἔπειτ' ᾤχετ ̓ ἐπασσυτέρᾳ

ροπᾷ,

εὐκάρποισι δυσεκλύτως

ἐῤῥιζωμέν ̓ ἀρούραις.

10 Asch. Agam. 52.

Hateful is the dark-blue sky
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.

Death is the end of life: ah, why
Should life all labour be?

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?

All things have rest, and ripen tow'rd the grave

In silence; ripen, fall and cease.

Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease!

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,

With half-shut eyes ever to seem

Falling asleep in a half-dream!

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whisper'd speech;

Eating the Lotos, day by day,

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,

And tender curving lines of creamy spray:

Η στυγνὸν πόλου κυάνεον βάθος πάλαι πορφυροειδοῦς

ὑπερτέταται θαλάττας

ζῶσιν θάνατος πέπρωται

ζῶντες δ' ἀπαύστῳ πόνῳ ἄλλως βίον ἀντλοῦμεν·

ἐατ ̓ ἐσσυμένων ῥίμφ ̓ ἐνιαυτῶν
σιγὰ τάχ ̓ ἔπεισιν· οὐδὲν

σταθμὸν ἔχει βέβαιον.
πάντ ̓ ἐκλέλοιπεν, φοβερῷ
δὲ τῶν πάλαι σύζυγ ̓ ὁμίλῳ

φεύγει· τί δ' ἀτερπὲς αἰὲν

ἀδμῆτ', ἀμάχου κατ ̓ ἄτας,

κλύδων ̓ ἔπ ̓ ἀμβαίνομεν; ἔσθ ̓ ἀσυχίας πᾶσιν σιγ ̓ εἰσερχομένας μοῖρα καθ ̓ ὥραν

τᾶς πουλυπλάνων ὀνείρων,

ἢ θανάτου τύχοιμεν.

κυρτωθένθ ̓ ἁπαλὰ σκοπεῖν, γαλακτώ

δη τ ̓ ἀφρὸν πολύκυκλον

11 Soph. Antig. 781-800.

στρ.

αντιστρ.

στρο

ἀντιστρ.

12 Eur. Hecub. 444-465.