Ἐκ τῆς ἐλεεινοτάτης κωμῳδίας, ἐν ᾗ Πυραμοῦ καὶ Θίσ βης οικτρότατα παθήματα διηγεῖται ὁ ποιητής.

Παράβασις.

Ὦ θεώμενοι, τάχ ̓ ἴσως θαυμάσεσθε τὴν θέαν. ἀλλ ̓ ἔτ ̓, ἔστ ̓ ἂν πάντα φράσῃ τἀληθές, θαυμάζετε. ἄνδρα τόνδε Πυραμὸν ὄντ ̓ ἴστ ̓, ἢν βούλησθ ̓ εἰδέναι, Θίσβη γὰρ παῖς καλλιπρόσωπος δήλη 'στ' ἐκεινηΐ. ἁνὴρ δ' οὕμπλεως χάλικος καὶ πηλοῦ μιμήσεται τεῖχος τοὐπίτριπτον, ἐραστὰ διεῖργον τὼ δύο. τώδε γὰρ τείχους δι ̓ ὁπῆς ἀσμένως τρισαθλίω νῦν πρὸς ἀλλήλω ψιθυρίζουσ'· ἃ μηδεὶς θαυμάσῃ. ἄνδρα κεῖνον δ ̓, ὃς κύν ̓ ἰπνόν τ' ἔχει κακάνθης βάτον, σελήνης πρόσωπον ὁρᾶθ'· ἦν γὰρ βούλησθ ̓ εἰδέναι, τώδ ̓ οὐκ αἰσχύνεσθον ἐραστὰ Σεληναίας σέλας εἰς Νίνου τύμβον προαπαντῶντε καὶ παίζοντ ̓ ἐκεῖ. θηρίον τόδ ̓ αὖ χαροπόν, λέονθ' ὃν κικλήσκομεν, Θίσβην πιστήν· ἐρχομένη δ ̓ ἡ παῖς νυκτὸς ἔφθασεν ἐξέπληξ ̓ εἴτ ̓ οὖν ἐφόβησ'· ὧδε γὰρ τρανῶς ἐρῶ. φεύγουσαν δὲ θοιμάτιον λανθάνει πίπτον χαμαί, χώ λέων γνάθοις ἀκάθαρτος χραίνει μιαιφόνοις. κἀν τῷδ ̓ ἡδὺς ὑψικόμας μειρακίσκος προσμολὼν κτάμενον εὗρε θοιμάτιον Θίσβης πιστῆς Πυραμός. φασγάνῳ δὲ τῷ φοβερῷ τῷ φονῶντι φασγάνῳ φλῇ φλογωπὸν φοιταλέος φοινίαν φίλην φρένα. εἶτα, Θίσβη γὰρ παρέμεινεν μόρου σκιᾶς ὕπο, ἔγχος εἵλκυσ ̓, εἶτ ̓ ἔθανεν. τἄλλα δ ̓ οὖν πάνθ' ὡς ἔχει, ἡ σελήνη, τὼ δύ ̓ ἐραστά, τὸ τεῖχος, χώ λέων,

οἵδ ̓ ἀφηγείσθων τάδ', ἕως ἐνθαδὶ μένουσ ̓ ἔτι.

Ἐκ τῆς αὐτῆς κωμωδίας λείψανον.

Π. Δια Σελήνη, σὲ δὲ μαρμαρυγῆς ἄγαμαι τῆς ἡλιοειδούς. ἄγαμαι δῆτ ̓, ὦ δια Σελήνη, σελαγεῖς σέλας οἵνεκα λαμπρόν

For by thy gracious golden glittering streams,

I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
But stay-O spite!

But mark-poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here?

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,

What, stained with blood?
Approach, ye furies fell!

O fates, come, come!
Cut thread, and thrum!

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

O breathe not his Name.

O breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head!

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

Moore.

ὑπὸ γὰρ τοῖς σοῖς χρυσορύτοισιν χλιδανοῖς χαρίεσσι ῥεέθροις

ὄψιν Θίσβης τῆς πιστοτάτης πίστις πάρα πάγχυ πάσασθαι.

ἀτὰρ οὐχὶ μενεῖς ; φεῦ τῆς ὕβρεως
ὦ δύσμορ ̓ ἔραστ ̓, οὐχὶ κατόψει;
τί τόδ' αὖ φοβερὸν φρικῶδες ὁρᾶν ;
ἢ τήνδε θέαν λεύσσετον, ὄμματε;
πῶς δέ, νεόττιον,

ὦ νηττάριον, τάδ ̓ ἂν εἴη;
τὸ δ ̓ ἀμώμητον στάζειν αἵματι
σὴν ἀμπεχόνην. ἐπιχαιρέκακοι
δεῦρ ̓ ἴτ' Ερινύες· ἔλθετε Μοῖραι·
τέμνετε λήνεα, τέμνετε πηνία
κείρετε καίνετε

κἀκθλίβετε, κατα πεπαύσθω.

R. S.

Sileatur.

Ah nomen sileatur, in umbra dormiat illa,
Reliqviae gelidae qva sine honore iacent :
Nos lacrumis illum maestis sine voce fleamus,
Ceu bustum tacito nox pia rore lavat.

Sed qvi nocte cadunt etiam sine murmure rores
Induerint laeto funebre vere solum,
Inqve animis nostris nomen servarit amici
Qvae memor e caeco lacruma fonte cadit.

K

Κ.

Know

ye

The Land of the Sun.

the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime; Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; Where the light wings of zephyr, oppressed with per

fume,

Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom;
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?

'Tis the clime of the East-'tis the Land of the Sun; Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

BYRON.

Schicksal.

Ja, Schicksal, ich verstehe dich
Mein Glück ist nicht von dieser Welt,
Es blüht im Traum der Dichtung nur.
Du sendest mir der Schmerzen viel,
Und gibst für jedes Leid ein Lied.

UHLAND.

Solis Regio.

Nostin' qvae regio miscet myrteta cupressis,
Indicio populi qualia facta sui;

Vulture qva sceleris furor est immanior, et qua
Solvitur in gemitus turturis instar amor?
Nostin' laeta cedris late iuga, laeta Lyaco,
Qva cum perpetuo flore perenne iubar;
Qva zephyri errantis suaves rosa verna per hortos
Qvamlubet admissam tardat odore fugam;
Pomiferae decus est ubi citrus olivaqve silvae,
Mutaqve non unqvam vox, Philomela, tua est;
Qva, qvom terrarum color alter et alter Olympi,
Major, in ambiguo est, gloria cedat utri;
Qva rubet oceani clarissuma purpura; qvaqve
Multa rosis virgo textile nectit opus,

Nectit, et ipsa rosis est mollior: omniaqve, unam
Excipias animi vim modo, plena Deo?
Haec regio est Orientis; et haec gratissuma Phoebo:
Despicit ah populi blandus in ausa sui?

O, ut amatorum vox illa novissuma, dirum est
Qvodqve solent animo volvere, qvodqve loqvi.

II. T.

Fortuna.

Iam scio qvid moneas. Perierunt gaudia mundi;
Somnia Pieridum sola fruenda manent.
Milia das, male fausta mihi Fortuna, malorum :
Sed cum qvoqve malo das bene fausta melos.

K.