Sappho of Lesbos

On love (trans. D. Rayor)

On the throne of many hues, Immortal Aphrodite,
child of Zeus, weaving wiles -- I beg you
not to subdue my spirit, Queen,
with pain or sorrow

but come -- if ever before
having heard my voice from far away
you listened, and leaving your father's
golden home you came

in your chariot yoked with swift, lovely
sparrows bringing you over the dark earth
thick-feathered wings swirling down
from the sky through mid-air

arriving quickly -- you, Blessed One,
with a smile on your unaging face
asking again what have I suffered
and why am I calling again

and in my wild heart what did I most wish
to happen to me: "Again whom must I persuade
back into the harness of your love?
Sappho, who wrongs you?

For if she flees, soon she'll pursue,
she doesn't accept gifts, but she'll give,
if not now loving, soon she'll love
even against her will."

Come to me now again, release me from
this pain, everything my spirit longs
to have fulfilled, fulfill, and you
be my ally. (1)

To me it seems
that man has the fortune of gods,
whoever sits beside you, and close,
who listens to you sweetly speaking
and laughing temptingly;
my heart flutters in my breast,
whenever I look quickly, for a moment --
I say nothing, my tongue broken,
a delicate fire runs under my skin,
my eyes see nothing, my ears roar,
cold sweat rushes down me,
trembling seizes me,
I am greener than grass,
to myself I seem
needing but little to die.

But all must be endured, since . . . (31)

On war (trans. D. Rayor)

Some say an army of horsemen, others
say foot-soldiers, still others, a fleet,
is the fairest thing on the dark earth:
I say it is whatever one loves.

Everyone can understand this --
consider that Helen, far surpassing
the beauty of mortals, leaving behind
the best man of all,

sailed away to Troy. She had no
memory of her child or dear parents,
since she was led astray
[by Kypris] . . .

*
. . . lightly
. . . reminding me now of Anaktoria
being gone,

I would rather see her lovely step
and the radiant sparkle of her face
than all the war-chariots in Lydia
and soldiers battling in shining bronze. (16)

The marriage of Hector and Andromache (West pp. 39-40)

"Hector comes with his company, bringing from holy Thebes

and from Plakos' perennial fountain a lovely bride,

rich Andromache, voyaging over the briny sea.

Countless bangles of gold they are bringing, and crimson-dyed

robes that float with the breezes, and ornaments finely made,

drinking-vessels of silver, past number, and ivory."

Hector's father sprang up eagerly when he heard the news,

word soon came to the friends of the family through the town:

Ilus' noble descendants got busy and harnessed mules

to their finely built carriages; all of the wives got in,

all the girls with their delicate ankles, and on their own

Priam's daughters...

Lyres, melodious shawms, and the clatter of castanets

blended there, and the voices of girls in the holy song;

up to heaven the glorious clamour arose...

Everywhere in the streets there were bowls full of wine, and cups,

myrrh and cassia, frankincense, fragrances all pell-mell.

All the women of matronly age shouted Eleleu!

while the men singing out in the beautiful Steepscale Hymn

called on Paeon, the god of the excellent bow and lyre,

praising Hector the prince and Andromache his princess.

Updated 2-10-08, bolmarcich[at]mail.utexas.edu