Poems of Sappho: An Interpretative Rendition into English — Partheneia - Didaktika

Do I long for maidenhood?

Do I long for days When upon the mountain slope I would stand and gaze Over the Ægean's blue Melting into mist, Ere with love my virgin lips Cercolas had kissed?

Maidenhood, O maidenhood, Whither hast thou flown?

_To a land beyond the sea_ _Thou hast never known.

_ Maidenhood, O maidenhood, Wilt return to me?

_Never will my bloom again_ _Give its grace to thee.

_ Now the autumn skies are low, Youth and summer sped;

Shepherd hills are far away, Cercolas is dead.

Mitylene's marble courts Echo with my name;-- Maidenhood, we never dreamed, Long ago of fame.

EVER MAIDEN

I shall be ever maiden, Ever the little child, In my passionate quest for the lovely, By earth's glad wonder beguiled.

I shall be ever maiden, Standing in soul apart, For the Gods give the secret of beauty Alone to the virgin heart.

CLËIS

Daughter of mine, so fair, With a form like a golden flower, Wherefore thy pensive air And the dreams in the myrtle bower?

Clëis, beloved, thy eyes That are turned from my gaze, thy hand That trembles so, I prize More than all the Lydian land;

More than the lovely hills With the Lesbian olive crowned;-- Tell me, darling, what ills In the gloom of thy thought are found?

Daughter of mine, come near And thy head on my knees recline;

Whisper and never fear, For the beat of thy heart is mine.

Sweet mother, I can turn With content to my loom no more;

My bosom throbs, I yearn For a youth that my eyes adore;

Lykas of Eresus, Whom I knew when a little child;

My heart by Love is thus With the sweetest of pain beguiled.

ASPIRATION

I do not think with my two arms to touch the sky, I do not dream to do almighty things;

So small a singing bird may never soar so high, To beat the sapphire fire with baffled wings.

I do not think with my two arms to touch the sky, I do not dream by any chance to share With deathless Gods the bliss of Paphos they deny To men behind the azure veil of air.

HERO, OF GYARA

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner;

Swifter far was she than Atalanta, When through clinging fleece of her wind-rippled Garments blushed the glimmer of her limbs.

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner;

Lovelier was she than Atalanta, When the straining vision of the suitor Saw her beauty mock impending death.

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner, All the singing numbers of Terpander, Metres of Archilochus and Alcman, And my melic verse that glows supreme.

I taught Hero, of Gyara, the swift runner, Sapphics with their triple surge of music Melting in the final verse Adonic, Like the foam fall of a spended wave.

COURAGE

Faint not in thy strong heart!

Nor downcast stand apart;

Beyond the reach of daring will there lies No beauty's prize.

Faint not in thy strong heart!

Through temple, field and mart, Courage alone the guerdon from the fray May bear away.

THE BOAST OF ARES

Ares said he would drag Hephestus by force From Poseidon's palace Deep down in the sea;

Where he had fashioned The cunning throne With the secret chains.

He presented the throne, Forsooth, as a gift To the queen of heaven;

But Hera soon found For revenge on her Who had him cast From the home of Gods.

For secure in its clasp Of adamant gold She was held imprisoned, The prey of his guile;

And Hephestus knew By him alone Could the queen be freed.

But the great God of war Made boast of his strength;

He would bring the forger Of metals and tricks On high to release Hera, and end Her enraged despair.

Ares said he would drag Hephestus by force, But was made to waver And flee when assailed With a blazing brand By the dark God Of the underworld.

GOLD

Gold is the son of Zeus, Immortal, bright;

Nor moth nor worm may eat it, Nor rust tarnish.

So are the Muse's gifts The offspring fair, That merit from high heaven Youth eternal.

GNOMICS

I

My ways are quiet, none may find My temper of malignant kind;

For one should check the words that start When anger spreads within the heart.

II

Who from my hands what I can spare Of gifts accept the largest share, Those are the very ones who boast No gratitude and wrong me most.

III

He who in face and form is fair Must needs be good, the Gods declare;

But he whose thought and act are right Will soon be equal fair to sight.

IV

Beauty of youth is but the flower Of spring, whose pleasure lasts an hour;

While worth that knows no mortal doom Is like the amaranthine bloom.

PRIDE

Pride not thyself upon a ring, Or any trinket thing Of fleeting value, dross or gold.

Wealth, lacking worth, is no safe friend, Though both to life may lend, In just proportion, joy untold.

LETO AND NIOBE

Leto and Niobe were friends full dear, The Goddess' heart and woman's heart were one In that maternal love that men revere, Love that endures when other loves are done.

But Niobe with all a mother's pride, Artless and foolish, would not be denied;

And boasted that her children were more fair Than Leto's lovely children of the air.

The proud Olympians vowed revenge for this, Irate Apollo, angered Artemis;

They slew her children, heedless of her moan, And with the last her heart was turned to stone.

THE DYE

From Scythian wood they brew The dye whose yellow hue Turns gold the lovely hair Of Lesbians fair.

So, Zanthis, slave of mine, Shall dip the fleeces fine, And dye the robes I made A saffron shade.

EROTIKA

DITHYRAMBS