ANACREON
Horses she with hoofs defends; Hares with nimble feet relieves;
Dreadful teeth to lions gives;
Birds through yielding air to glide; Men with courage she supplies;
But to women these denies.
Both their arms and armor is: She, that can this weapon use,
Fire and sword with ease subdues.
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en aan de haas zijn snelle schuil. Het paard kreeg harde hoeven
en de leeuw een wrede muil.
en snelle vleugels aan het vogelheer; de man ontving een scherpe geest
en de vrouw …? Er was niets meer!
wat elke dreiging wegveegt, wat mens en dier verslaat:
één enkel schoon gelaat.
verweer: zijn hoorn de stier, zijn hoef het paard; en baas in ’t lopen werd de haas. De leeuw gaf zij een tand
die mens en dier vermant.
de vogels kregen zwingen.
Zij gaf de man verstand.
Haar bood zij schoonheid aan in plaats van schild of degen van piek of pertizaan; want vuur of staal zijn tegen de schoonheid niet bestaan
van een charmante vrouw.
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Of Persia's king, the rich, the great! I envy not the monarch's throne,
Nor wish the treasured gold my own.
The fervor of my brows to shade; Be mine the odors, richly sighing, Amid my hoary tresses flying.
To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine,
But if to-morrow comes, why then-- I'll haste to quaff my wine again. And thus while all our days are bright, Nor time has dimmed their bloomy light, Let us the festal hours beguile With mantling cup and cordial smile; And shed from every bowl of wine The richest drop on Bacchus's shrine! For Death may come, with brow unpleasant, May come when least we wish him present, And beckon to the sable shore,
And grimly bid us--drink no more!
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wat geef ik om ’t Aziatische goud? Afgunst kwelt mij nimmer
en koningsmacht laat mij koud.
en rozen die mijn hoofd omkransen:
Wat morgen is … Wie zegt het mij?
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And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. The busy Sun (and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and when he's done, The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun: They drink and dance by their own light, They drink and revel all the night: Nothing in Nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goes round. Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high, Fill all the glasses there—for why Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why
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en de boom zuigt zich zat aan dit vocht. Zo drinkt dan weer de zee gezwollen stromen, de zonnegloed de dampen van de zee, en de maan slurpt van het zonnelicht. En wie, mijn vrienden, wie durft mij dan
mijn drinken te verwijten!
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Aan mijn lier
Men vraagt mij kloeke gebaren,
men vraagt mij schetterend geluid,
dat ik tot stichting der scharen
u tokkelen zou, o luit.
Wel gaarne zou ik bezingen
de nood en de droom van de tijd,
maar ‘k voel reeds de dagen dringen
naar een zinneloze eeuwigheid.
Misschien komt in latere jaren
een mens die op ’t leven jaagt,
zijn droom aan mijn dromen paren
waar niemand mij nu om vraagt.
O Lier, die mij lief te bespelen
’t verlangen mij hebt gestild
en die, nu de bladeren gelen,
van vergane vreugden trilt.
Aan de vrouwen
Roem ik mijn vriend om talenten,
ik was ze gaarne rijk;
en zing ik weer iedere lente
ik was haar gaarne gelijk.
Maar roem ik u gans, o vrouwen,
toch blijf ik dankbaar een man,
omdat ik zo beter aanschouwen
en gans u bezitten kan.
Vertaling Raymond HERREMAN
Poor Anacreon, thou grow'st old! Look how thy hairs are falling all; Poor Anacreon, how they fall! Whether I grow old or no, By th' effects I do not know; This I know, without being told, 'Tis time to live, if I grow old; 'Tis time short pleasures now to take, Of little life the best to make,
And manage wisely the last stake.
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They tell how Atys
They tell how Atys, wild with love,
Roams the mount and haunted grove;
Cybele's name he howls around,
The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too by Claros' hallow'd spring,
The votaries of the laurell'd king
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream,
And rave in wild, prophetic dream.
But frenzied dreams are not for me,
Great Bacchus is my deity!
Full of mirth, and full of him,
While floating odors round me swim;
While mantling bowls are full supplied,
And you sit blushing by my side,
I will be mad and raving too--
Mad, my girl! with love for you!
The Thracian Filly
Ah tell me why you turn and fly,
My little Thracian filly shy?
Why turn askance
That cruel glance,
And think that such a dunce am I?
O I am blest with ample wit
To fix the bridle and the bit,
And make thee bend
Each turning-end
In harness all the course of it.
But now 'tis yet the meadow free
And frisking it with merry glee;
The master yet
Has not been met
To mount the car and manage thee.
Translation: Walter HEADLAM
In a Dream
Anacreon, the singer of Teos,
Looked at me and laughingly addressed me.
And I ran up to him
And embraced him and kissed him.
He was an old man, but beautiful,
Beautiful and fond of wine.
His lips smelled of grapes.
Though he was already old and quaking
Eros led him by the hand.
As he passed by he took the wreath from his head
And gave it to me.
And I stupidly took it
And bound it around my forehead
And ever since
I have been mad with the sting of love.
Translation: Thomas McEvilley