ὦ Σκαμάνδριοι γείτονες ῥοαί . . .
οὐκέτ ̓ ἄνδρα μὴ τόνδ ̓ ἴδητε.
VOLVE tuos latices, amnis, cursuque peracto
Vectigal magno da fluviale mari.
Frigentes propera fluctus; mihi flectere nunquam
Huc, dum longa manent saecla, licebit iter.
Lene flues, saltus peragrans vallesque reductas,
Rivule, mox aucto flumine rivus eris;
semper; sed ego per saecula nunquam
Ad vestrum referam flumen, ut ante, pedes.
Attamen ista dabit vento spirante susurros
Alnus, et in ripa populus ista tremet;
Attamen his, credo, murmur non setius edent
Floribus, inque tua margine semper apes.
Inficientque undas radianti lumine soles
Mille, tua toties luna micabit aqua.
At non ulla mei vises vestigia: nunquam
Ad vestrum referam flumen, ut ante, pedes.
J. C. GODLEY.
REFT of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widowed queen! forgotten Sion, mourn!
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne,
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone?
While suns unblessed their angry lustre fling,
And wayworn pilgrims seek the scanty spring?
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy viewed?
Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued?
No martial myriads muster in thy gate;
No suppliant nations in thy temples wait;
No prophet bards, the glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the flood of song;
But lawless Force and meagre Want are there,
And the quick darting eye of restless Fear,
While cold Oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade.
LUGE, prole tua spoliata et nomine, Sion,
Antiquo luge, deserta hostique relicta,
O regina, fero! Sedes, urbs maesta, torusque
Hiccine, qua scopulis horrent deserta ferarum,
Infestosque iacit radios immitior aestus
Solis, et exiguum fessus petit advena fontem ?
Qua nunc ille nitor, movit qui pectora regum
Invidia? Qua nunc ea vis, quae fregit eosdem?
Martia non coeunt ante istas agmina portas,
Supplicibus non nunc votis tua templa frequentant
Captivae gentes, neque amat circum atria vates
Sollicitare lyram, plenumque extollere carmen.
Hic habitat Vis legum expers, hic turpis Egestas,
Hic trepidos volvens oculos Metus anxius errat,
Frigidaque in fractis madidas recubantia tectis
Composuere hedera sub nigra Oblivia pennas.
THE current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet musick with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
NONNE vides, leni labens cum murmure rivus,
Obstiterit si quid cursu, qua saeviat ira?
At, nulla impediente mora, laetatur in alveo
Dulce sonans, variosque interstrepit unda lapillos,
Blandaque, quot cursu praelabitur, oscula laetis
Libat arundinibus; tum multo devius errat
Maeandro, sinuatque orbes, luditque per agros,
Oceanumque petit magnum. Sic mi quoque cursum
Da placidum, sic tolle moras; nam fluminis instar
Lenior incedam; fessis tamen ire iuvabit
Gressibus, extremo gressu dum sistar amoris
Limine; tum requie potiar, tot passa labores,
Quanta est Elysia concessa in sede beatis.
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