In Sapphic Metre
1
Ποικιλόθρον', ἀθάνατ' Ἀφρόδιτα,
παῖ Δίος, δολόπλοκε, λίσσομαί σε
μή μ' ἄσαισι μήτ' ὀνίαισι δάμνα,
πότνια, θῦμον·
ἀλλὰ τυῖδ' ἔλθ', αἴποτα κἀτέρωτα
τᾶς ἔμας αὔδως ἀΐοισα πήλυι
ἒκλυες, πάτρος δὲ δόμον λίποισα
χρύσιον ἦλθες
ἄρμ' ὐποζεύξαισα· κάλοι δέ σ' ἆγον
ὤκεες στροῦθοι περὶ γᾶς μελαίνας
πύκνα δινεῦντες πτέρ' ἀπ' ὠράνω αἴθε-
ρας διὰ μέσσω.
αἶψα δ' ἐξίκοντο· τὺ δ', ὦ μάκαιρα,
μειδιάσαισ' ἀθανάτῳ προσώπῳ,
ἤρε', ὄττι δηὖτε πέπονθα κὤττι
δηὖτε κάλημι,
κὤττι μοι μάλιστα θέλω γένεσθαι
μαινόλᾳ θύμῳ· τίνα δηὖτε Πείθω
μαῖς ἄγην ἐς σὰν φιλότατα, τίς σ', ὦ
Ψάπφ', ἀδικήει;
καὶ γὰρ αἰ φεύγει, ταχέως διώξει,
αἰ δὲ δῶρα μὴ δέκετ' ἀλλὰ δώσει,
αἰ δὲ μὴ φίλει, ταχέως φιλήσει
κωὐκ ἐθέλοισα.
ἔλθε μοι καὶ νῦν, χαλεπᾶν δὲ λῦσον
ἐκ μεριμνᾶν, ὄσσα δὲ μοι τελέσσαι
θῦμος ἰμέρρει, τέλεσον· σὺ δ' αὔτα
σύμμαχος ἔσσο.
Immortal Aphrodite of the broidered throne, daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I pray thee break not my spirit with anguish and distress, O Queen. But come hither, if ever before thou didst hear my voice afar, and listen, and leaving thy father's golden house camest with chariot yoked, and fair fleet sparrows drew thee, flapping fast their wings around the dark earth, from heaven through mid sky. Quickly arrived they; and thou, blessed one, smiling with immortal countenance, didst ask What now is befallen me, and Why now I call, and What I in my mad heart most desire to see. 'What Beauty now wouldst thou draw to love thee? Who wrongs thee, Sappho? For even if she flies she shall soon follow, and if she rejects gifts shall yet give, and if she loves not shall soon love, however loth.' Come, I pray thee, now too, and release me from cruel cares; and all that my heart desires to accomplish, accomplish thou, and be thyself my ally.
A HYMN TO VENUS.
O Venus, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles;
O goddess, from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.
If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferred,
Propitious to my tuneful vow,
O gentle goddess, hear me now.
Descend, thou bright immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confessed.
Thou once didst leave almighty Jove
And all the golden roofs above;
The car thy wanton sparrows drew,
Hovering in air they lightly flew;
As to my bower they winged their way
I saw their quivering pinions play.
The birds dismissed (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again:
Then you, with looks divinely mild,
In every heavenly feature smiled,
And asked what new complaints I made,
And why I called you to my aid?
What frenzy in my bosom raged,
And by what cure to be assuaged?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who?
Though now he shuns thy longing arms,
He soon shall court thy slighted charms;
Though now thy offerings he despise,
He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
Though now he freeze, he soon shall burn,
And be thy victim in his turn.
Celestial visitant, once more
Thy needful presence I implore.
In pity come, and ease my grief,
Bring my distempered soul relief,
Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires,
And give me all my heart desires.
Ambrose Philips, 1711.
TO THE GODDESS OF LOVE.
O Venus, daughter of the mighty Jove,
Most knowing in the mystery of love,
Help me, oh help me, quickly send relief,
And suffer not my heart to break with grief.
If ever thou didst hear me when I prayed,
Come now, my goddess, to thy Sappho's aid.
Orisons used, such favour hast thou shewn,
From heaven's golden mansions called thee down.
See, see, she comes in her cerulean car,
Passing the middle regions of the air.
Mark how her nimble sparrows stretch the wing,
And with uncommon speed their Mistress bring.
Arrived, and sparrows loosed, hastens to me;
Then smiling asks, What is it troubles thee?
Why am I called? Tell me what Sappho wants.
Oh, know you not the cause of all my plaints?
I love, I burn, and only love require;
And nothing less can quench the raging fire.
What youth, what raving lover shall I gain?
Where is the captive that should wear my chain?
Alas, poor Sappho, who is this ingrate
Provokes thee so, for love returning hate?
Does he now fly thee? He shall soon return;
Pursue thee, and with equal ardour burn.
Would he no presents at thy hands receive?
He will repent it, and more largely give.
The force of love no longer can withstand;
He must be fond, wholly at thy command.
When wilt thou work this change? Now, Venus free,
Now ease my mind of so much misery;
In this amour my powerful aider be;
Make Phaon love, but let him love like me.
Herbert, 1713.
HYMN TO VENUS.
Immortal Venus, throned above
In radiant beauty, child of Jove,
O skilled in every art of love
And artful snare;
Dread power, to whom I bend the knee,
Release my soul and set it free
From bonds of piercing agony
And gloomy care.
Yet come thyself, if e'er, benign,
Thy listening ears thou didst incline
To my rude lay, the starry shine
Of Jove's court leaving,
In chariot yoked with coursers fair,
Thine own immortal birds that bear
Thee swift to earth, the middle air
With bright wings cleaving.
Soon they were sped—and thou, most blest,
In thine own smiles ambrosial dressed,
Didst ask what griefs my mind oppressed—
What meant my song—
What end my frenzied thoughts pursue—
For what loved youth I spread anew
My amorous nets—'Who, Sappho, who
'Hath done thee wrong?
'What though he fly, he'll soon return—
'Still press thy gifts, though now he spurn;
'Heed not his coldness—soon he'll burn,
'E'en though thou chide.'
—And saidst thou thus, dread goddess? Oh,
Come then once more to ease my woe:
Grant all, and thy great self bestow,
My shield and guide!
John Herman Merivale, 1833.
HYMN TO APHRODITE.
Golden-throned beyond the sky,
Jove-born immortality:
Hear and heal a suppliant's pain:
Let not love be love in vain!
Come, as once to Love's imploring
Accents of a maid's adoring,
Wafted 'neath the golden dome
Bore thee from thy father's home;
When far off thy coming glowed,
Whirling down th' aethereal road,
On thy dove-drawn progress glancing,
'Mid the light of wings advancing;
And at once the radiant hue
Of immortal smiles I knew;
Heard the voice of reassurance
Ask the tale of love's endurance:—
'Why such prayer? And who for thee,
Sappho, should be touch'd by me;
Passion-charmed in frenzy strong—
Who hath wrought my Sappho wrong?
'—Soon for flight pursuit wilt find,
Proffer'd gifts for gifts declined;
Soon, thro' long reluctance earn'd,
Love refused be Love return'd.'
—To thy suppliant so returning,
Consummate a maiden's yearning:
Love, from deep despair set free,
Championing to victory!
F. T. Palgrave, 1854.
Splendour-throned Queen, immortal Aphrodite,
Daughter of Jove, Enchantress, I implore thee
Vex not my soul with agonies and anguish;
Slay me not, Goddess!
Come in thy pity—come, if I have prayed thee;
Come at the cry of my sorrow; in the old times
Oft thou hast heard, and left thy father's heaven,
Left the gold houses,
Yoking thy chariot. Swiftly did the doves fly,
Swiftly they brought thee, waving plumes of wonder—
Waving their dark plumes all across the aether,
All down the azure.
Very soon they lighted. Then didst thou, Divine one,
Laugh a bright laugh from lips and eyes immortal,
Ask me, 'What ailed me—wherefore out of heaven
'Thus I had called thee?
'What it was made me madden in my heart so?'
Question me, smiling—say to me, 'My Sappho,
'Who is it wrongs thee? Tell me who refuses
'Thee, vainly sighing.'
'Be it who it may be, he that flies shall follow;
'He that rejects gifts, he shall bring thee many;
'He that hates now shall love thee dearly, madly—
'Aye, though thou wouldst not.'
So once again come, Mistress; and, releasing
Me from my sadness, give me what I sue for,
Grant me my prayer, and be as heretofore now
Friend and protectress.
Edwin Arnold, 1869.
Beautiful-throned, immortal Aphrodite,
Daughter of Zeus, beguiler, I implore thee,
Weigh me not down with weariness and anguish
O thou most holy!
Come to me now, if ever thou in kindness
Hearkenedst my words,—and often hast thou hearkened—
Heeding, and coming from the mansions golden
Of thy great Father,
Yoking thy chariot, borne by the most lovely
Consecrated birds, with dusky-tinted pinions,
Waving swift wings from utmost heights of heaven
Through the mid-ether;
Swiftly they vanished, leaving thee, O goddess,
Smiling, with face immortal in its beauty,
Asking why I grieved, and why in utter longing
I had dared call thee;
Asking what I sought, thus hopeless in desiring,
Wildered in brain, and spreading nets of passion—
Alas, for whom? and saidst thou, 'Who has harmed thee?
'O my poor Sappho!
'Though now he flies, ere long he shall pursue thee;
'Fearing thy gifts, he too in turn shall bring them;
'Loveless to-day, to-morrow he shall woo thee,
'Though thou shouldst spurn him.'
Thus seek me now, O holy Aphrodite!
Save me from anguish; give me all I ask for,
Gifts at thy hand; and thine shall be the glory,
Sacred protector!
T. W. Higginson, 1871.
O fickle-souled, deathless one, Aphrodite,
Daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I pray thee,
Lady august, never with pangs and bitter
Anguish affray me!
But hither come often, as erst with favour
My invocations pitifully heeding,
Leaving thy sire's golden abode, thou camest
Down to me speeding.
Yoked to thy car, delicate sparrows drew thee
Fleetly to earth, fluttering fast their pinions,
From heaven's height through middle ether's liquid
Sunny dominions.
Soon they arrived; thou, O divine one, smiling
Sweetly from that countenance all immortal,
Askedst my grief, wherefore I so had called thee
From the bright portal?
What my wild soul languished for, frenzy-stricken?
'Who thy love now is it that ill requiteth,
Sappho? and who thee and thy tender yearning
Wrongfully slighteth?
Though he now fly, quickly he shall pursue thee—
Scorns he thy gifts? Soon he shall freely offer—
Loves he not? Soon, even wert thou unwilling,
Love shall he proffer.'
Come to me then, loosen me from my torment,
All my heart's wish unto fulfilment guide thou,
Grant and fulfil! And an ally most trusty
Ever abide thou.
Moreton John Walhouse, in The
Gentleman's Magazine, 1877.
Glittering-throned, undying Aphrodite,
Wile-weaving daughter of high Zeus, I pray thee,
Tame not my soul with heavy woe, dread mistress,
Nay, nor with anguish!
But hither come, if ever erst of old time
Thou didst incline, and listenedst to my crying,
And from thy father's palace down descending,
Camest with golden
Chariot yoked: thee fair swift-flying sparrows
Over dark earth with multitudinous fluttering,
Pinion on pinion, thorough middle ether
Down from heaven hurried.
Quickly they came like light, and thou, blest lady,
Smiling with clear undying eyes didst ask me
What was the woe that troubled me, and wherefore
I had cried to thee:
What thing I longed for to appease my frantic
Soul: and Whom now must I persuade, thou askedst,
Whom must entangle to thy love, and who now,
Sappho, hath wronged thee?
Yea, for if now he shun, he soon shall chase thee;
Yea, if he take not gifts, he soon shall give them;
Yea, if he love not, soon shall he begin to
Love thee, unwilling.
Come to me now too, and from tyrannous sorrow
Free me, and all things that my soul desires to
Have done, do for me, queen, and let thyself too
Be my great ally!
J. Addington Symonds, 1893.
Besides these complete versions—many others there are, but these are by far the best—compare the following stanza out of Akenside's Ode on Lyric Poetry (about 1745):—
But lo, to Sappho's melting airs
Descends the radiant queen of Love:
She smiles, and asks what fonder cares
Her suppliant's plaintive measures move:
Why is my faithful maid distressed?
Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast?
Say, flies he?—Soon he shall pursue.
Shuns he thy gifts?—He soon shall give.
Slights he thy sorrows?—He shall grieve,
And soon to all thy wishes bow.
And Swinburne's paraphrase—
For I beheld in sleep the light that is
In her high place in Paphos, heard the kiss
Of body and soul that mix with eager tears
And laughter stinging through the eyes and ears:
Saw Love, as burning flame from crown to feet,
Imperishable, upon her storied seat;
Clear eyelids lifted toward the north and south,
A mind of many colours, and a mouth
Of many tunes and kisses; and she bowed,
With all her subtle face laughing aloud,
Bowed down upon me, saying, 'Who doth thee wrong,
Sappho?' but thou—thy body is the song,
Thy mouth the music; thou art more than I,
Though my voice die not till the whole world die;
Though men that hear it madden; though love weep,
Though nature change, though shame be charmed to sleep.
Ay, wilt thou slay me lest I kiss thee dead?
Yet the queen laughed from her sweet heart and said:
'Even she that flies shall follow for thy sake,
And she shall give thee gifts that would not take,
Shall kiss that would not kiss thee' (yea, kiss me)
'When thou wouldst not'—when I would not kiss thee!
Anactoria, p. 67 f.
And his—
O thou of divers-coloured mind,[7] O thou
Deathless, God's daughter subtle-souled—lo now,
Now to the song above all songs, in flight
Higher than the day-star's height,
And sweet as sound the moving wings of night!
Thou of the divers-coloured seat—behold
Her very song of old!—
O deathless, O Gods daughter subtle-souled!
* * * * *
Child of God, close craftswoman, I beseech thee;
Bid not ache nor agony break nor master,
Lady, my spirit.
Songs of the Spring-tides: On the Cliffs.
As well as Frederick Tennyson's—
Come to me; what I seek in vain
Bring thou; into my spirit send
Peace after care, balm after pain;
And be my friend.
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, writing at Rome about 25 B.C., quotes this, commonly called The Ode to Aphrodite, as a perfect illustration of the elaborately finished style of poetry, showing in detail how its grace and beauty lie in the subtle harmony between the words and the ideas. Certain lines of it, though nowhere else the whole, are preserved by Hephaestion and other authors.
2
Φαίνεταί μοι κήνος ἴσος θέοισιν
ἔμμεν ὤνηρ, ὄστις ἐναντίος τοι
ἰζάνει, καὶ πλασίον ἆδυ φωνεύ-
σας ὑπακούει
καὶ γελαίσας ἰμερόεν, τό μοι μάν
καρδίαν ἐν στήθεσιν ἐπτόασεν·
ὡς γὰρ εὔιδον βροχέως σε, φώνας
οὐδὲν ἔτ' εἴκει·
ἀλλὰ κὰμ μὲν γλῶσσα ἔαγε, λέπτον δ'
αὔτικα χρῷ πῦρ ὐπαδεδρόμακεν,
ὀππάτεσσι δ' οὐδὲν ὄρημ', ἐπιρρόμ-
βεισι δ' ἄκουαι.
ἀ δέ μίδρως κακχέεται, τρόμος δέ
παῖσαν ἄγρει, χλωροτέρα δὲ ποίας
ἔμμι, τεθνάκην δ' ὀλίγω 'πιδεύης
φαίνομαι [ἄλλα].
ἀλλὰ πᾶν τόλματον, [ἐπεὶ καὶ πένητα].
That man seems to me peer of gods, who sits in thy presence, and hears close to him thy sweet speech and lovely laughter; that indeed makes my heart flutter in my bosom. For when I see thee but a little, I have no utterance left, my tongue is broken down, and straightway a subtle fire has run under my skin, with my eyes I have no sight, my ears ring, sweat pours down, and a trembling seizes all my body; I am paler than grass, and seem in my madness little better than one dead. But I must dare all, since one so poor...
The famous imitation of this ode by Catullus, li., Ad Lesbiam—
Ille mi par esse deo videtur,
Ille, si fas est, superare divos,
Qui sedens adversus identidem te
Spectat et audit
Dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis
Eripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,
Lesbia, aspexi, nihil est super mi
* * * * *
Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus
Flamma demanat, sonitu suopte
Tintinant aures, gemina teguntur
Lumina nocte—
is thus translated by Mr. W. E. Gladstone:—
Him rival to the gods I place,
Him loftier yet, if loftier be,
Who, Lesbia, sits before thy face,
Who listens and who looks on thee;
Thee smiling soft. Yet this delight
Doth all my sense consign to death;
For when thou dawnest on my sight,
Ah, wretched! flits my labouring breath.
My tongue is palsied. Subtly hid
Fire creeps me through from limb to limb:
My loud ears tingle all unbid:
Twin clouds of night mine eyes bedim.
and recently by the late Sir R. F. Burton:—
Peer of a god meseemeth he,
Nay, passing gods (an that can be!),
Who all the while sits facing thee,
Sees thee and hears
Thy low sweet laughs which (ah me!) daze
Mine every sense, and as I gaze
Upon thee, Lesbia, o'er me strays
......
My tongue is dulled, my limbs adown
Flows subtle flame; with sound its own
Rings either ear, and o'er are strown
Mine eyes with night.
Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.
'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast;
For while I gazed, in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost:
My bosom glowed; the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chilled;
My blood with gentle horror thrilled;
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sank, and died away.
Ambrose Philips, 1711.
Thy fatal shafts unerring move,
I bow before thine altar, Love
I feel thy soft resistless flame
Glide swift through all my vital frame.
For while I gaze my bosom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll,
And floods of transports whelm my soul.
My faltering tongue attempts in vain
In soothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue some secret magic ties,
My murmurs sink in broken sighs.
Condemned to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the silent tear,
Unheard I mourn, unknown I sigh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die.
Smollett, in Roderick Random, 1748.
Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The youth whose eyes may look on thee,
Whose ears thy tongue's sweet melody
May still devour.
Thou smilest too?—sweet smile, whose charm
Has struck my soul with wild alarm,
And, when I see thee, bids disarm
Each vital power.
Speechless I gaze: the flame within
Runs swift o'er all my quivering skin;
My eyeballs swim; with dizzy din
My brain reels round;
And cold drops fall; and tremblings frail
Seize every limb; and grassy pale
I grow; and then—together fail
Both sight and sound.
John Herman Merivale, 1833.
Peer of gods he seemeth to me, the blissful
Man who sits and gazes at thee before him,
Close beside thee sits, and in silence hears thee
Silverly speaking,
Laughing love's low laughter. Oh this, this only
Stirs the troubled heart in my breast to tremble!
For should I but see thee a little moment,
Straight is my voice hushed;
Yea, my tongue is broken, and through and through me
'Neath the flesh impalpable fire runs tingling;
Nothing see mine eyes, and a noise of roaring
Waves in my ear sounds;
Sweat runs down in rivers, a tremor seizes
All my limbs, and paler than grass in autumn,
Caught by pains of menacing death, I falter,
Lost in the love-trance.
J. Addington Symonds, 1883.
Compare Lord Tennyson:—
I watch thy grace; and in its place
My heart a charmed slumber keeps,
While I muse upon thy face;
And a languid fire creeps
Through my veins to all my frame,
Dissolvingly and slowly: soon
From thy rose-red lips my name
Floweth; and then, as in a swoon,
With dinning sound my ears are rife,
My tremulous tongue faltereth,
I lose my colour, I lose my breath,
I drink the cup of a costly death
Brimmed with delicious draughts of warmest life.
I die with my delight, before
I hear what I would hear from thee.
Eleänore, 1832.
And—
Last night, when some one spoke his name,
From my swift blood that went and came
A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shiver'd in my narrow frame.—Fatima.[8]
And with line 14, Swinburne's—
Paler than grass in summer.—Sapphics.
and—
Made like white summer-coloured grass.
Aholibah.
Longinus, about 250 A.D., uses this, The Ode to Anactoria, or To a beloved Woman, or To a Maiden, as tradition variously names it, to illustrate the perfection of the Sublime in poetry, calling it 'not one passion, but a congress of passions,' and showing how Sappho had here seized upon the signs of love-frenzy and harmonised them into faultless phrase. Plutarch had, about 60 A.D., spoken of this ode as 'mixed with fire,' and quoted Philoxenus as referring to Sappho's 'sweet-voiced songs healing love.'
3
Ἄστερες μὲν ἀμφὶ κάλαν σελάνναν
αἶψ ἀπυκρύπτοισι φάεννον εἶδος,
ὄπποτα πλήθοισα μάλιστα λάμπῃ
γᾶν [ἐπὶ πᾶσαν]
macronmacronmacronmacron ἀργυρία macronmacronmacronmacron·
The stars about the fair moon in their turn hide their bright face when she at about her full lights up all earth with silver.
Planets, that around the beauteous moon
Attendant wait, cast into shade
Their ineffectual lustre, soon
As she, in full-orbed majesty arrayed,
Her silver radiance pours
Upon this world of ours.
J. H. Merivale.
The stars around the lovely moon
Their radiant visage hide as soon
As she, full-orbed, appears to sight,
Flooding the earth with her silvery light.
? Felton.
The stars about the lovely moon
Fade back and vanish very soon,
When, round and full, her silver face
Swims into sight, and lights all space.
Edwin Arnold, 1869.
Stars that shine around the refulgent full moon
Pale, and hide their glory of lesser lustre
When she pours her silvery plenilunar
Light on the orbed earth.
J. A. Symonds, 1883.
'As the stars draw back their shining faces when they surround the fair moon in her silver fulness.' F. T. Palgrave.
Quoted by Eustathius of Thessalonica, late in the twelfth century, to illustrate the simile in the Iliad, viii. 551:—
As when in heaven the stars about the moon
Look beautiful.
Tennyson.
Julian, about 350 A.D., says Sappho applied the epithet silver to the moon; wherefore Blomfield suggested its position here.
4
Ἀμφὶ δὲ ψῦχρον κελάδει δι' ὔσδων
μαλίνων, αἰθυσσομένων δὲ φύλλων
κῶμα καταρρεῖ
And round about the [breeze] murmurs cool through apple-boughs, and slumber streams from quivering leaves.
Through orchard-plots with fragrance crowned
The clear cold fountain murmuring flows;
And forest leaves with rustling sound
Invite to soft repose.
J. H. Merivale.
All around through branches of apple-orchards
Cool streams call, while down from the leaves a-tremble
Slumber distilleth.
J. A. Symonds, 1883.
Professor F. T. Palgrave says:—
'We have three lines on a garden scene full of the heat and sleep of the fortunate South:—
'"Round about the cool water thrills through the apple-branches, and sleep flows down upon us in the rustling leaves."
'If there were any authority,' he adds in a note, 'I should like to translate "through the troughs of apple-wood." That Eastern mode of garden irrigation gives a much more defined, and hence a more Sappho-like, image than "through the boughs."'
From the sound of cool waters heard through the green boughs
Of the fruit-bearing trees,
And the rustling breeze,
Deep sleep, as a trance, down over me flows.
Frederick Tennyson, 1890.
Cited by Hermogenes, about 170 A.D., as an example of simple style, and to show the pleasure given by description. The fragment describes the gardens of the nymphs, which Demetrius, about 150 A.D., says were sung by Sappho. Cf. Theocritus, Idyl vii. 135: 'High above our heads waved many a poplar, many an elm-tree, while close at hand the sacred water from the Nymph's own cave welled forth with murmurs musical' (A. Lang). And Ovid, Heroïd., xv. 157—
A spring there is whose silver waters show, etc.—
(cf. Pope's translation, infra, p. 194) probably refers to it.
5
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron Ἔλθε Κύπρι
χρυσίαισιν ἐν κυλίκεσσιν ἄβρως
συμμεμιγμένον θαλίαισι νέκταρ
οἰνοχοεῦσα.
Come, goddess of Cyprus, and in golden cups serve nectar delicately mixed with delights.
Come, Venus, come
Hither with thy golden cup,
Where nectar-floated flowerets swim.
Fill, fill the goblet up;
These laughing lips shall kiss the brim,—
Come, Venus, come!
Anon. (Edin. Rev., 1832).
Kupris, hither
Come, and pour from goblets of gold the nectar
Mixed for love's and pleasure's delight with dainty
Joys of the banquet.
J. A. Symonds, 1883.
Athenaeus, a native of Naucratis, who flourished about 230 A.D., quotes these verses as an example of the poets' custom of invoking Aphrodite in their pledges. Applying them to himself and his fellow-guests, he adds the words τούτοισι τοῖς ἑταίροις ἐμοῖς γε καὶ σοῖς. Some scholars believe that Sappho actually wrote—
ταῖσδε ταῖς ἔμαις ἐτάραισι καὶ σαῖς,
For these my companions and thine.
Aphrodite was called Cypris, 'the Cyprian,' because it was mythologically believed that when she rose from the sea she was first received as a goddess on the shore of Cyprus (Homeric Hymns, vi.). Sappho seems to be here figuratively referring to the nectar of love.
6
Ἤ σε Κύπρος καὶ Πάφος ἤ Πάνορμος.
Or Cyprus and Paphos, or Panormus [holds] thee.
If thee Cyprus, or Paphos, or Panormos.
J. A. Symonds, 1883.
From Strabo, about 19 A.D. Panormus (Palermo) in Sicily was not founded till after Sappho's time, but it was a common name, and all seaports were under the special protection of Aphrodite.
7, 8
Σοὶ δ' ἔγω λεύκας ἐπὶ βῶμον αἶγος
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron
κἀπιλείψω τοι macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron·
But for thee will I [lead] to the altar [the offspring] of a white goat... and add a libation for thee.
Adduced by Apollonius of Alexandria, about 140 A.D., to illustrate similarities in dialects. The fragment is probably part of an ode describing a sacrifice offered to Aphrodite.
9
Αἴθ' ἔγω, χρυσοστέφαν' Ἀφρόδιτα,
τόνδε τὸν πάλον λαχόην.
This lot may I win, golden-crowned Aphrodite.
From Apollonius, to show how adverbs give an idea of prayer.
10
Αἴ με τιμίαν ἐπόησαν ἔργα
τὰ σφὰ δοῖσαι.
Who gave me their gifts and made me honoured.
From Apollonius, to illustrate the Aeolic dialect. Bergk thinks this fragment had some connection with fr. 68, and perhaps with fr. 32. It seems to refer to the Muses.
11
macronmacronmacronmacronmacron Τάδε νῦν ἐταίραις
ταῖς ἔμαισι τέρπνα κάλως ἀείσω.
This will I now sing deftly to please my girl-friends.
Quoted by Athenaeus to prove that freeborn women and maidens often called their girl associates and friends ἐταῖραι (Hetaerae), without any idea of reproach.
12
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron Ὄττινας γὰρ
εὖ θέω, κῆνοί με μάλιστα σίννον-
ται. macronmacronmacronmacron·
For they whom I benefit injure me most.
From the Etymologicum Magnum, a dictionary which was compiled about the tenth century A.D.
13
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron Ἔγω δὲ κήν' ὄτ-
τω τις ἔραται.
But that which one desires I...
From Apollonius, to illustrate the use of the verb ἐράω. Bergk now reads ἔραται instead of ἐρᾶται as formerly, on the analogy of διάκηται and δύνᾶμαι in the Fayum fragments.
14
Ταῖς κάλαις υμμιν [τὸ] νόημα τῶμον
οἰ διάμειπτον.
To you, fair maids, my mind changes not.
From Apollonius, to show the Aeolic use of ὔμμιν for ὑμῖν, 'to you.'
15
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron Ἔγων δ' ἰμαύτᾳ
τοῦτο σύνοιδα.
And this I feel in myself.
From Apollonius, to show Aeolic accentuation.
16
Ταῖσι [δὲ] ψῦχρος μὲν ἔγεντο θῦμος,
παρ δ' ἴεισι τὰ πτέρα. macronmacronmacronmacron
But their heart turned cold and they dropt their wings.
In Pindar, Pyth. i. 10, the eagle of Zeus, delighted by music, drops his wings, and the Scholiast quotes this fragment to show that Sappho says the same of doves.
17
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron κατ' ἔμον στάλαγμον·
Τον δ' ἐπιπλάζοντες ἄμοι φέροιεν
καὶ μελεδώναις.
According to my weeping: it and all care let buffeting winds bear away.
Him the wanderer o'er the world
Far away the winds will bear,
And restless care.
Frederick Tennyson.
From the Etymologicum Magnum, to show that the Aeolians used ζ in the place of σσ. Ἄμοι is a guess of Bergk's for ἄνεμοι, 'winds.'
18
Ἀρτίως μ' ἀ χρυσοπέδιλλος Αὔως.
Me just now the golden-sandalled Dawn...
Me but now Aurora the golden-sandalled.
J. A. Symonds, 1883.
Quoted by Ammonius of Alexandria, at the close of the fourth century A.D., to show Sappho's use of ἀρτίως.
19
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron Πόδας δέ
ποίκιλος μάσλης ἐκάλυπτε, Λύδι-
ον κάλον ἔργον.
A broidered strap of fair Lydian work covered her feet.
Quoted by the Scholiast on Aristophanes' Peace, 1174; and also by Pollux, about 180 A.D. Blass thinks the lines may have referred to an apparition of Aphrodite.
20
macronmacronmacronmacron Παντοδάπαις μεμιγμέ-
να χροΐαισιν.
Shot with a thousand hues.
Quoted by the Scholiast on Apollonius of Rhodes, i. 727, in speaking of Jason's double-folded mantle having been reddish instead of flame-coloured. Some think, however, that Sappho here refers to Iris, i.e. the rainbow.
21
... Ἔμεθεν δ' ἔχεισθα λάθαν
Me thou forgettest.
From Apollonius, as is also the following, to show the Aeolic use of ἔμεθεν for ἐμοῦ, 'of me.'
22
macronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacronmacron Ἤ τιν' ἄλλον
[μᾶλλον] ἀνθρώπων ἔμεθεν φίλησθα.
Or lovest another more than me.
23
Ου τι μοι υμμες.
Ye are nought to me.
Quoted by Apollonius, as is also the following fragment, to show that ὑμεῖς was in Aeolic ὔμμες 'you.'
24
Ας θέλετ' ὔμμες.
While ye will.
25
Καὶ ποθήω καὶ μαόμαι macronmacronmacron
I yearn and seek...
From the Etymologicum Magnum, to show that the Aeolians used ποθήω for ποθέω, 'I yearn.'
26
Κεῖνον, ὦ χρυσόθρονε Μοῦσ', ἔνισπες
ὕμνον, ἐκ τᾶς καλλιγύναικος ἐσθλᾶς
Τήιος χώρας ὃν ἄειδε τερπνῶς
πρέσβυς ἀγαυός.
O Muse of the golden throne, raise that strain which the reverend elder of Teos, from the goodly land of fair women, used to sing so sweetly.
O Muse, who sitt'st on golden throne,
Full many a hymn of dulcet tone
The Teian sage is taught by thee;
But, goddess, from thy throne of gold,
The sweetest hymn thou'st ever told
He lately learned and sang for me.
T. Moore.
Athenaeus says 'Hermesianax was mistaken when he represented Sappho and Anacreon as contemporaries, for Anacreon lived in the time of Cyrus and Polycrates [probably 563-478 B.C.], but Sappho lived in the reign of Alyattes the father of Croesus. But Chamaeleon, in his treatise on Sappho, asserts that according to some these verses were made upon her by Anacreon:—
"Spirit of Love, whose tresses shine
Along the breeze in golden twine,
Come, within a fragrant cloud
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud,
And on those wings that sparkling play
Waft, oh waft me hence away!
Love, my soul is full of thee,
Alive to all thy luxury.
But she, the nymph for whom I glow,
The pretty Lesbian, mocks my woe,
Smiles at the hoar and silvery hues
Which Time upon my forehead strews.
Alas, I fear she keeps her charms
In store for younger, happier arms."'
T. Moore.
Then follows Sappho's reply, the present fragment. 'I myself think,' Athenaeus goes on to say, 'that Hermesianax is joking concerning the love of Anacreon and Sappho, for Diphilus the comic poet, in his play called Sappho, has represented Archilochus and Hipponax as the lovers of Sappho.'
Probably the whole is spurious, for certainly Sappho never saw Anacreon: she must have died before he was born. Even Athenaeus says that it is clear to every one that the verses are not Sappho's.
II