ἐν δὲ φάει καὶ ὄλεσσον
Sectus flagello vir licet impius
"a! caeca," questu clamet inutili
"Fortuna," nos patres secuti
ingenuos veterumque normam
delicta flentes te petimus; mihi
ne sana desit mens, neque caespitem
vel flore distinguat vel herba
mors viridi mea, te priusquam
qui frater audis, qui pater et Deus,
sit nosse tandem, et quid sit amor tuus:
da molle luctu, da doloris
cor patiens; resonetque cornu
sublime, donec carcer aeneus,
arx visa quondam, dissiliat; brevis
tum vita, si mavis, supersit,
sis modo lux, abigasque noctem.
ID CINEREM AUT MANES CREDIS CURARE SEPULTOS ?
Mortua quum fuero, ne me dignare querellis ; desit in exsequias nenia vana meas!
neu rosa florescat capiti precor adsita nostro
neu signet madidam nigra cupressus humum.
qua mea membra cubant, tantum pia germinet herba, quam largi rores et levis imber alat.
tu, si fert animus, modo me vixisse memento, ni potius mavis immemor esse mei.
non equidem cernam nutantes desuper umbras; securos cineres nulla lacesset hiemps.
non auscultanti mihi nocte videbitur aegro flebilius quiddam Daulias ore queri.
ludar imaginibus sublustri vesperis hora,
quae neque fert noctem nec fugit ante diem; forsan erit meminisse tui per somnia; forsan nulla mihi vitae cura prioris erit.
On the great streams the ships may go
About men's business to and fro.
But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sleep
On crystal waters ankle-deep:
I, whose diminutive design
Of sweeter cedar, pithier pine,
Is fashioned on so frail a mould,
A hand may launch, a hand withhold:
I, rather, with the leaping trout
Wind, among lilies, in and out;
I the unnamed, inviolate,
Green, rustic rivers, navigate;
My dipping paddle scarcely shakes
The berry in the bramble-brakes;
Still forth on my green way I wend
Beside the cottage garden-end;
And by the nested angler fare,
And take the lovers unaware.
By willow wood and water-wheel
Speedily fleets my touching keel;
By all retired and shady spots;
Where prosper dim forget-me-nots.
A crowned Caprice is god of this world
On his stony breast are his white wings furled,
No ear to listen, no eye to see,
No heart to feel for a man hath he.
But his pitiless arm is swift to smite,
And his mute lips utter one word of might,
"Mid the clash of gentler souls and rougher
Wrong must thou do, or wrong must suffer."
Then grant, O dumb blind god, at least that we
Rather the sufferers than the doers be.
EXIGUUS PULSA PER VADA LINTER AQUA
Fluenta magna navis huc et huc petat,
agatque res onusta merce gentium :
cavus nato phaselus otiosior
pedes ubi, ecce, vix tuos supervenit
corusca lympha: suaviore me cedro,
torosiore me creavit abiete
faber tulitque tam levi ex origine
opus tenellulum, ut vel impetu manus
morer retentus excitusve prodeam.
mihi choris inesse piscium lubet
et hinc et inde permeare lilia,
mihi secare ruris integri vada
harundinosa nominumque egentia :
sed ipsa mora, palmulas ubi imbui
in amne, vix moventur: hinc sub hortulos
vagor via virente, retia sciens
trahentis ire prae senis sedilibus,
amantiumve vota deprehendere.
fugax carina radit evolans iter
salicta praeter et molas volubiles
locosque silva quot reconditos habet,
ubi enitescit umbra flore caerulo.
IN ME CONVERTITE FERRUM
Res hominum diadema gerens Fortuna gubernat,
marmorea algentes obtegit ala sinus;
nil audit cernitve, aures et lumina desunt,
pectoraque humanis mollia facta malis.
prompta ferire tamen sunt bracchia, nescia flecti,
voxque potens mutis exsilit una labris.
"hic certamen agunt cum mitibus aspera corda,
damna inferre times? stat tibi damna pati.”
hoc saltem, Dea voce carens et lumine, nobis
annue, malle pati; malle ferire veta.
Sweet mistress of the ivory keys,
That ope the gates where Music dwells,
What sighs, what tears are these,
Wrung from the heart's torn cells
Of those who round thee wait
All desolate ?
How oft thy hands awoke with power
Each master from his mighty rest!
Alas, in this sad hour
The blossom lies unpressed
Which thy pale fingers hold
Senseless and cold.
How oft erewhile, thy spirit meeting,
Beethoven swept in flight of fire
Downwards; or Handel beating
Time for the angels' choir
Grafted his strong and free
Utterance in thee;
Or Schubert breathed on thee his spell,
And taught thee so the luring lay,
It seemed our footsteps fell
On an enchanted way,
And very Paradise
Before our eyes
Trembled, as thou didst softly close;
And heaven and earth together blent
In one divine repose,
Which now is rudely rent,
And our glad vision flown,
Since thou art gone.
MUSAEA MELE, PER CHORDAS ORGANICI QUAE
MOBILIBUS DIGITIS EXPERGEFACTA FIGU-
RANT
Claves eburnos te modo callidam
tractare, Phoebi qui reserant fores,
lugemus orbati peremptam ;
corda pio lacerante questu
desideramus, relliquias tui
maestum intuentes: a! quotiens manu
pollente sublimes magistros
artis Apollineae Sibylla
somno excitabas! hei mihi tristior
successit hora, et nunc gremio iacet
adfixus, algentique inhaerens
flos digito male continetur.
quam saepe consors parsque animae tuae
descendit Orpheus aliger igneo
praeceps volatu: vel sonorum
te docuit melos aemulari
Musaeus, altos caelicolum choro
cantus ministrans, vel Thamyris tibi
mellitus inspiravit artem et
deliciis catus erudivit.
nos fabuloso in tramite ponimus
vestigia, et magnum ante oculos repens,
claudente te blandi tenorem
carminis, Elysium patescit,
caelumque terramque una quies habet
divina: quae nunc vis adamantina
discrevit, et iucunda nobis
somnia te fugiunt adempta.
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