Fill high the bowl with Samian wine, Our virgins dance beneath the shadeI see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marble steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! & μάται ̓ ὀνείρατα· τίς γὰρ ἀνὴρ φαίνεται Πάτμου κατ ̓ ἔρημον ἄλσος; ὄλβιος δή τις περὶ δ ̓ οἱ πρόσωπον ἵσταται ἀστήρ προπρὸ δ ̓ ὀφθαλμῶν μέγα φάσμ ̓ ὄρωρεν ἠνὶ, χρυσαῖς λαμπάσιν ἐμπρέπει Τις χαλκόπους, πυρωπός, ἔχει δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ὠρανοῖο καὶ ᾅδου ἐν χεροῖν κλαΐδας· ὅρημ', ὅρημι παμφαὲς Πατρὸς σέβας, ἴρισίν τε τὸν θρόνον στίλβοντα· κλύω, κλύω σάλπιγγος αϋτὰν ἄσχετον τρέμ ̓ ὠρανὸς, ἔτρεμ ̓ αἰθὴρ, καὶ θάλασσα συντεταραγμένα, γἃ δ ̓ ἐῤῥάγη βροντῇσι διαμπερές. θαυμάστ ̓ ἀνέφηνε καρδίαις πιστῶν Θεός· ἀλλὰ νῦν μοι χαιρέτω πάντ ̓ ἔσσεται, εὖτε θνατοῖς λάμψεται τὸ κύριον ὑψόθεν τε λεσφόρον άμαρ. FROM MILTON'S PARADISE LOST. Book V. Hear, all ye angels, progeny of light, Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers, Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand. This day I have begot, whom I declare My only Son, and on this holy hill Him have anointed, whom ye now behold At my right hand; your head I him appoint; And by myself have sworn; to him shall bow All knees in heaven, and shall confess him Lord : Under his great vicegerent reign abide United, as one individual soul, For ever happy: him who disobeys, Me disobeys, breaks union, and that day, THE SAME TRANSLATED. Κλυτέ μευ, οὐράνιοι, φωτὸς γένος αἰθερίοιο, Μοῦνον Παῖδ ̓ ἀγαπητόν· ἔχρισα δέ μιν κατὰ κλιτὺν Τήνδ' ἱερήν· ὃν ἐμοίγε παρήμενον εἰσοράασθε Καὶ κεφαλῇ κατένευσ ̓ ἐπὶ δὲ μέγαν ὅρκον ὄμοσσα. Ὡς μία τις ψυχή δυσδαίμων δ ̓ ὅς κ' ἀπίθηται Κεῖνος ἐμοὶ μάχεται, θείην θ ̓ ὁμόνοιαν ἀτίζει Καὶ μάλα τοῦτο κατ ̓ ἦμαρ ἐμοῦ τ ̓ ἄπο καὶ μακαριτών Νόσφιν ἀποῤῥιφθεὶς, ὑπὸ τάρταρον εἶσιν ἄπειρον Εἰς βάθεα σκοτόεντα, καὶ αὐτόθι δῶμα κιχήσει Μόρσιμον· οὐδ ̓ ἐκ τῶνδε λύσις πέλετ ̓ οὐδὲ τελευτή. THE ROSE. Here is verdure and bloom on the bush and the tree, And many a flower sweetly blows: But one is the dearest of all to me; "Tis the joy of my heart, 'tis the Rose. The snowdrop is fair, and the pansies are gay, And sweet in the bush is the white-thorn of May, But the flower of my soul hath a lustre more bright, The pride of the garden, the summer's delight, The lily with grace doth her petals unfold, The daffodil wears a mantle of gold, But all these must yield to the Rose. |