Anthology of Fine Line epub

Butler

Homer

Iliad

Achilles sing, O Goddess! Peleus' son;

His wrath pernicious, who ten thousand woes

Caused to Achaia's host, sent many a soul

Illustrious into Ades premature,

And Heroes gave (so stood the will of Jove)

To dogs and to all ravening fowls a prey,

When fierce dispute had separated once

The noble Chief Achilles from the son

Of Atreus, Agamemnon, King of men.

Who them to strife impell'd? What power divine?

Latona's son and Jove's. For he, incensed

Against the King, a foul contagion raised

(...)

His white bones, mourning, and with tears profuse

Watering their cheeks; then in a golden urn

They placed them, which with mantles soft they veil'd

Maeonian-hued, and, delving, buried it,

And overspread with stones the spot adust.

Lastly, short time allowing to the task,

They heap'd his tomb, while, posted on all sides,

Suspicious of assault, spies watch'd the Greeks.

The tomb once heap'd, assembling all again

Within the palace, they a banquet shared

Magnificent, by godlike Priam given.

Such burial the illustrious Hector found.

Original version

Όμηρος

Ιλιάδα

μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος

οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί᾽ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε᾽ ἔθηκε,

πολλὰς δ᾽ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν

ἡρώων, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν

οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι, Διὸς δ᾽ ἐτελείετο βουλή,

ἐξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε

Ἀτρεΐδης τε ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν καὶ δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς.

τίς τ᾽ ἄρ σφωε θεῶν ἔριδι ξυνέηκε μάχεσθαι;

Λητοῦς καὶ Διὸς υἱός: ὃ γὰρ βασιλῆϊ χολωθεὶς

νοῦσον ἀνὰ στρατὸν ὄρσε κακήν, ὀλέκοντο δὲ λαοί,

οὕνεκα τὸν Χρύσην ἠτίμασεν ἀρητῆρα

Ἀτρεΐδης: ὃ γὰρ ἦλθε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν

(...)

ὀστέα λευκὰ λέγοντο κασίγνητοί θ᾽ ἕταροί τε

μυρόμενοι, θαλερὸν δὲ κατείβετο δάκρυ παρειῶν.

καὶ τά γε χρυσείην ἐς λάρνακα θῆκαν ἑλόντες

πορφυρέοις πέπλοισι καλύψαντες μαλακοῖσιν.

αἶψα δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐς κοίλην κάπετον θέσαν, αὐτὰρ ὕπερθε

πυκνοῖσιν λάεσσι κατεστόρεσαν μεγάλοισι:

ῥίμφα δὲ σῆμ᾽ ἔχεαν, περὶ δὲ σκοποὶ ἥατο πάντῃ,

μὴ πρὶν ἐφορμηθεῖεν ἐϋκνήμιδες Ἀχαιοί.

χεύαντες δὲ τὸ σῆμα πάλιν κίον: αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα

εὖ συναγειρόμενοι δαίνυντ᾽ ἐρικυδέα δαῖτα

δώμασιν ἐν Πριάμοιο διοτρεφέος βασιλῆος.

'ὣς οἵ γ᾽ ἀμφίεπον τάφον Ἕκτορος ἱπποδάμοιο.

Year: 795 BC

Original language: Greek

Translated by Robert Fagles

Homer

Odyssey

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns ...

driven time and again off course, once he had plundered

the hallowed heights of Troy.

Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,

many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,

fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.

But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove-

the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,

the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun

and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return.

Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,

start from where you will-sing for our time too.

(...)

they went limp with fear, weapons slipped from their hands

and strewed the ground at the goddess' ringing voice.

They spun in flight to the city, wild to save their lives,

but loosing a savage cry, the long-enduring great Odysseus,

gathering all his force, swooped like a soaring eagle-

just as the son of Cronus hurled a reeking bolt

that fell at her feet, the mighty Father's daughter,

and blazing-eyed Athena wheeled on Odysseus, crying,

"Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, master of exploits,

hold back now! Call a halt to the great leveler, War-

don't court the rage of Zeus who rules the world!"

So she commanded. He obeyed her, glad at heart.

And Athena handed down her pacts of peace

between both sides for all the years to come-

the daughter of Zeus whose shield is storm and thunder,

yes, but the goddess still kept Mentor's build and voice.

Original version

Όμηρος

Ὀδύσσεια

ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ

πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσεν:

πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω,

πολλὰ δ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν,

5ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.

ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὣς ἑτάρους ἐρρύσατο, ἱέμενός περ:

αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο,

νήπιοι, οἳ κατὰ βοῦς Ὑπερίονος Ἠελίοιο

ἤσθιον: αὐτὰρ ὁ τοῖσιν ἀφείλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ.

10τῶν ἁμόθεν γε, θεά, θύγατερ Διός, εἰπὲ καὶ ἡμῖν.

ἔνθ᾽ ἄλλοι μὲν πάντες, ὅσοι φύγον αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον,

οἴκοι ἔσαν, πόλεμόν τε πεφευγότες ἠδὲ θάλασσαν:

(...)

ὣς φάτ᾽ Ἀθηναίη, τοὺς δὲ χλωρὸν δέος εἷλεν:

τῶν δ᾽ ἄρα δεισάντων ἐκ χειρῶν ἔπτατο τεύχεα,

πάντα δ᾽ ἐπὶ χθονὶ πῖπτε, θεᾶς ὄπα φωνησάσης:

πρὸς δὲ πόλιν τρωπῶντο λιλαιόμενοι βιότοιο.

σμερδαλέον δ᾽ ἐβόησε πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,

οἴμησεν δὲ ἀλεὶς ὥς τ᾽ αἰετὸς ὑψιπετήεις.

καὶ τότε δὴ Κρονίδης ἀφίει ψολόεντα κεραυνόν,

κὰδ δ᾽ ἔπεσε πρόσθε γλαυκώπιδος ὀβριμοπάτρης.

δὴ τότ᾽ Ὀδυσσῆα προσέφη γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη:

διογενὲς Λαερτιάδη, πολυμήχαν᾽ Ὀδυσσεῦ,

ἴσχεο, παῦε δὲ νεῖκος ὁμοιΐου πολέμοιο,

μή πως τοι Κρονίδης κεχολώσεται εὐρύοπα Ζεύς.

ὣς φάτ᾽ Ἀθηναίη, ὁ δ᾽ ἐπείθετο, χαῖρε δὲ θυμῷ.

ὅρκια δ᾽ αὖ κατόπισθε μετ᾽ ἀμφοτέροισιν ἔθηκεν

Παλλὰς Ἀθηναίη, κούρη Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο,

Μέντορι εἰδομένη ἠμὲν δέμας ἠδὲ καὶ αὐδήν.

Year: 58 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by William Ellery Leonard

Lucretius

On The Nature of Things

Mother of Rome, delight of Gods and men,

Dear Venus that beneath the gliding stars

Makest to teem the many-voyaged main

And fruitful lands-for all of living things

Through thee alone are evermore conceived,

Through thee are risen to visit the great sun-

Before thee, Goddess, and thy coming on,

Flee stormy wind and massy cloud away,

For thee the daedal Earth bears scented flowers,

For thee waters of the unvexed deep

Smile, and the hollows of the serene sky

Glow with diffused radiance for thee!

(...)

With many a guest. For now no longer men

Did mightily esteem the old Divine,

The worship of the gods: the woe at hand

Did over-master. Nor in the city then

Remained those rites of sepulture, with which

That pious folk had evermore been wont

To buried be. For it was wildered all

In wild alarms, and each and every one

With sullen sorrow would bury his own dead,

As present shift allowed. And sudden stress

And poverty to many an awful act

Impelled; and with a monstrous screaming they

Would, on the frames of alien funeral pyres,

Place their own kin, and thrust the torch beneath

Oft brawling with much bloodshed round about

Rather than quit dead bodies loved in life.

Original version

Lucretius

De rerum natura

Aeneadum genetrix, hominum divomque voluptas,

alma Venus, caeli subter labentia signa

quae mare navigerum, quae terras frugiferentis

concelebras, per te quoniam genus omne animantum

concipitur visitque exortum lumina solis:

te, dea, te fugiunt venti, te nubila caeli

adventumque tuum, tibi suavis daedala tellus

summittit flores, tibi rident aequora ponti

placatumque nitet diffuso lumine caelum.

nam simul ac species patefactast verna diei

et reserata viget genitabilis aura favoni,

aeriae primum volucris te, diva, tuumque

(...)

nec iam religio divom nec numina magni

pendebantur enim: praesens dolor exsuperabat.

nec mos ille sepulturae remanebat in urbe,

quo prius hic populus semper consuerat humari;

perturbatus enim totus trepidabat et unus

quisque suum pro re [cognatum] maestus humabat.

multaque [res] subita et paupertas horrida suasit;

namque suos consanguineos aliena rogorum

insuper extructa ingenti clamore locabant

subdebantque faces, multo cum sanguine saepe

rixantes, potius quam corpora desererentur,

inque aliis alium populum sepelire suorum

certantes; lacrimis lassi luctuque redibant;

inde bonam partem in lectum maerore dabantur;

nec poterat quisquam reperiri, quem neque morbus

nec mors nec luctus temptaret tempore tali.

Year: 30 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by John Conington

Horace

Your Fathers' Guilt You Still Must Pay

Your fathers' guilt you still must pay,

Till, Roman, you restore each shrine,

Each temple, mouldering in decay,

And smoke-grimed statue, scarce divine.

Revering Heaven, you rule below;

Be that your base, your coping still;

'Tis Heaven neglected bids o'erflow

The measure of Italian ill.

Now Pacorus and Montaeses twice

Have given our unblest arms the foil;

Their necklaces, of mean device,

Smiling they deck with Roman spoil.

Our city, torn by faction's throes,

Dacian and Ethiop well-nigh razed,

These with their dreadful navy, those

For archer-prowess rather praised.

An evil age erewhile debased

The marriage-bed, the race, the home;

Thence rose the flood whose waters waste

The nation and the name of Rome.

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Not such their birth, who stain'd for us

The sea with Punic carnage red,

Smote Pyrrhus, smote Antiochus,

And Hannibal, the Roman's dread.

Theirs was a hardy soldier-brood,

Inured all day the land to till

With Sabine spade, then shoulder wood

Hewn at a stern old mother's will,

When sunset lengthen'd from each height

The shadows, and unyoked the steer,

Restoring in its westward flight

The hour to toilworn travail dear.

What has not cankering Time made worse?

Viler than grandsires, sires beget

Ourselves, yet baser, soon to curse

The world with offspring baser yet.

Original version

Horatius

Delicta maiorum inmeritus lues

Delicta maiorum inmeritus lues,

Romane, donec templa refeceris

aedisque labentis deorum et

foeda nigro simulacra fumo.

dis te minorem quod geris, imperas.

hinc omne principium, huc refer exitum:

di multa neglecti dederunt

Hesperiae mala luctuosae.

iam bis Monaeses et Pacori manus

inauspicatos contudit impetus

nostros et adiecisse praedam

torquibus exiguis renidet;

paene occupatam seditionibus

delevit urbem Dacus et Aethiops,

hic classe formidatus, ille

missilibus melior sagittis.

fecunda culpae saecula nuptias

primum inquinavere et genus et domos:

hoc fonte derivata clades

in patriam populumque fluxit.

motus doceri gaudet Ionicos

matura virgo et fingitur artibus

iam nunc et incestos amores

de tenero meditatur ungui.

mox iuniores quaerit adulteros

inter mariti vina neque eligit

cui donet inpermissa raptim

gaudia luminibus remotis,

sed iussa coram non sine conscio

surgit marito, seu vocat institor

seu navis Hispanae magister,

dedecorum pretiosus emptor.

non his iuventus orta parentibus

infecit aequor sanguine Punico

Pyrrhumque et ingentem cecidit

Antiochum Hannibalemque dirum,

sed rusticorum mascula militum

proles, Sabellis docta ligonibus

versare glaebas et severae

matris ad arbitrium recisos

portare fustis, sol ubi montium

mutaret umbras et iuga demeret

bubus fatigatis, amicum

tempus agens abeunte curru.

damnosa quid non inminuit dies?

aetas parentum peior avis tulit

nos nequiores, mox daturos

progeniem vitiosiorem.

Year: 29 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by Samuel Johnson

Horace

Now With No Weak Unballast Wing

Now with no weak unballast wing

A poet double-form'd I rise,

From th'envious world with scorn I spring,

And cut with joy the wondering skies.

Though from no princes I descend,

Yet shall I see the blest abodes,

Yet, great Maecenas shall your friend

Quaff nectar with th'immortal Gods.

See! how the mighty change is wrought!

See how what're remain'd of man

By plumes is veil'd; see! quick as thought

I pierce the clouds a tuneful swan.

Swifter than Icarus I'll fly

Where Lybia's swarthy offspring burns,

And where beneath th'inclement skis

The hardy Scythian ever mourns.

My works shall propagate my fame,

To distant realms and climes unknown,

Nations shall celebrate my name

That drink the Phasis or the Rhone.

Restrain your tears and cease your cries,

Nor grace with fading flours my hearse.

I without funeral elegies

Shall live forever in my verse.

Original version

Horatius

Non usitata nec tenui ferar

Non usitata nec tenui ferar

penna biformis per liquidum aethera

vates neque in terris morabor

longius invidiaque maior

urbis relinquam. Non ego pauperum

sanguis parentum, non ego quem vocas,

dilecte Maecenas, obibo

nec Stygia cohibebor unda.

Iam iam residunt cruribus asperae

pelles et album mutor in alitem

superne nascunturque leves

per digitos umerosque plumae.

Iam Daedaleo ocior Icaro

uisam gementis litora Bosphori

Syrtisque Gaetulas canorus

ales Hyperboreosque campos.

Me Colchus et qui dissimulat metum

Marsae cohortis Dacus et ultimi

noscent Geloni, me peritus

discet Hiber Rhodanique potor.

Absint inani funere neniae

luctusque turpes et querimoniae;

conpesce clamorem ac sepulcri

mitte supervacuos honores.

Year: 28 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by Peter Saint-Andre

Horace

What Shall A Singer Ask

What shall a singer ask of Apollo?

What shall He request, pouring wine

From the offering bowl?

Not the fertile cornfields of rich Sardinia;

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Original version

Horatius

Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem

Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem

vates? quid orat de patera novum

fundens liquorem? non opimae

Sardiniae segetes feracis,

non aestuosae Calabriae

armenta, non aurum aut ebur Indicum

non rura, quae Liris quieta

mordet aqua taciturnus amnis.

premant Calenam falce quibus dedit,

fortuna vitem, dives et aureis

mercator exsiccet culillis

vina Syra reparata merce,

dis carus ipsis, quippe ter et quater

anno revisens aequor Atlanticum

inpune. me pascunt olivae,

me cichorea levesque malvae.

frui paratis et valido mihi,

Latoe, dones et precor integra

cum mente nec turpem senectam

degere nec cithara carentem.

Year: 27 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by John Conington

Horace

And Now 'Tis Done: More Durable Than Brass

And now 'tis done: more durable than brass

My monument shall be, and raise its head

O'er royal pyramids: it shall not dread

Corroding rain or angry Boreas,

Nor the long lapse of immemorial time.

I shall not wholly die: large residue

Shall 'scape the queen of funerals. Ever new

My after fame shall grow, while pontiffs climb

With silent maids the Capitolian height.

Born, men will say, "where Aufidus is loud,

Where Daunus, scant of streams, beneath him bow'd

The rustic tribes, from dimness he wax'd bright,

First of his race to wed the Aeolian lay

To notes of Italy." Put glory on,

My own Melpomene, by genius won,

And crown me of thy grace with Delphic bay.

Original version

Horatius

Exegi monumentum aere perennius

Exegi monumentum aere perennius

regalique situ pyramidum altius,

quod non imber edax, non Aquilo inpotens

possit diruere aut innumerabilis

annorum series et fuga temporum.

Non omnis moriar multaque pars mei

vitabit Libitinam; usque ego postera

crescam laude recens, dum Capitolium

scandet cum tacita virgine pontifex.

Dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aufidus

et qua pauper aquae Daunus agrestium

regnavit populorum, ex humili potens

princeps Aeolium carmen ad Italos

deduxisse modos. Sume superbiam

quaesitam meritis et mihi Delphica

lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.

Year: 19 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by John Dryden

Virgil

Aeneid

Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate,

And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate,

Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore.

Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore,

And in the doubtful war, before he won

The Latian realm, and built the destin'd town;

His banish'd gods restor'd to rites divine,

And settled sure succession in his line,

From whence the race of Alban fathers come,

And the long glories of majestic Rome.

O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;

What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;

(...)

The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore

From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.

Then, rous'd anew to wrath, he loudly cries

(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes)

"Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,

Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend?

To his sad soul a grateful off'ring go!

'T is Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow."

He rais'd his arm aloft, and, at the word,

Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword.

The streaming blood distain'd his arms around,

And the disdainful soul came rushing thro' the wound.

Original version

Publius Vergilius Maro

Aeneis

Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris

Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit

litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto

vi superum saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram;

multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem,

inferretque deos Latio, genus unde Latinum,

Albanique patres, atque altae moenia Romae.

Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso,

quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus

insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores

impulerit. Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?

Urbs antiqua fuit, Tyrii tenuere coloni,

(...)

coeperat, infelix umero cum apparuit alto

balteus et notis fulserunt cingula bullis

Pallantis pueri, victum quem vulnere Turnus

straverat atque umeris inimicum insigne gerebat.

ille, oculis postquam saevi monimenta doloris

exuviasque hausit, furiis accensus et ira

terribilis: 'tune hinc spoliis indute meorum

eripiare mihi? Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas

immolat et poenam scelerato ex sanguine sumit.'

hoc dicens ferrum adverso sub pectore condit

fervidus; ast illi solvuntur frigore membra

vitaque cum gemitu fugit indignata sub umbras.

Year: 17 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by William Seaton

Horace

Ode 1.11

Don't ask, Leukonoe, it is taboo to know

what fate I've got and what's awaiting you.

Forget the Tarot reader. It is best to tough

it out. Know Jupiter may give us many years

or this may be the last we see the Tuscan sea

come break against the rocks. Be wise; strain wine;

don't hold great long-term hopes. We talk and jealous time

runs on. Just seize this day, think nothing of the next.

Original version

Quintus Horatius Flaccus

Ode 1.11

Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi

finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios

temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquid erit, pati.

seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,

quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare

Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi

spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida

aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.

Year: 15 BC

Original language: Latin

Translated by C.E. Bennett

Horace

Eheu Fugaces, Postume, Postume

Alas! Postumus, Postumus the swift years

slip away, nor does piety bring delay for

wrinkles and looming old age

and fierce death;

not even if, however many days go by, my friend,

you may appease pitiless Pluto with three hundred

bulls at a time, he who restrains triply large

Geryon and Tityos with the gloomy

water - which surely must be sailed by all,

whoever of us enjoys a gift of earth,

whether we will be kings

or poor farmers.

In vain, we will abstain from bloody Mars

and the broken waves of the raucous Adriatic sea,

in vain through autumn we will fear the

south wind harmful to our bodies.

The dark Cocytos river wandering with a sluggish

stream must be visited and the notorious family

of Danaus and Sisyphus Aeolides

condemned to a long labor.

Your land and your home and your pleasing

wife must be abandoned, and nor will any of

the these trees which you maintain follow you,

a short-lived master, except the hated cypresses.

Your more worthy heir will waste your Caecuban wine

guarded by a hundred keys and he will stain

the pavement with arrogant wine, better

than the dinner of the high priests.

Original version

Quintus Horatius Flaccus

Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume

Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume

labuntur anni, nec pietas moram

rugis et instanti senectae

adferet indomitaeque morti;

non, si trecenis, quotquot eunt dies,

amice, places inlacrimabilem

Plutona tauris, qui ter amplum

Geryonen Tityonque tristi

compescit unda, scilicet omnibus,

quicumque terrae munere vescimur,

enaviganda, sive reges

sive inopes erimus coloni.

frustra cruento Marte carebimus

fractisque rauci fluctibus Hadriae,

frustra per autumnos nocentem

corporibus metuemus Austrum:

visendus ater flumine languido

Cocytos errans et Danai genus

infame damnatusque longi

Sisyphus Aeolides laboris.

linquenda tellus et domus et placens

uxor, neque harum, quas colis, arborum

te praeter invisas cupressos

ulla brevem dominum sequetur.

absumet heres Caecuba dignior

servata centum clavibus et mero

tinguet pavimentum superbo

pontificum potiore cenis.

Year: 8

Original language: Latin

Translated by Samuel Garth

Ovid

Metamorphoses

Of bodies chang'd to various forms, I sing:

Ye Gods, from whom these miracles did spring,

Inspire my numbers with coelestial heat;

'Till I my long laborious work compleat:

Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball,

And Heav'n's high canopy, that covers all,

One was the face of Nature; if a face:

Rather a rude and indigested mass:

A lifeless lump, unfashion'd, and unfram'd,

Of jarring seeds; and justly Chaos nam'd.

No sun was lighted up, the world to view;

No moon did yet her blunted horns renew:

(...)

Yet in my better part I shall be borne

immortal, far above the stars on high,

and mine shall be a name indelible.

Wherever Roman power extends her sway

over the conquered lands, I shall be read

by lips of men. If Poets' prophecies

have any truth, through all the coming years

of future ages, I shall live in fame.

Original version

Publius Ovidius Naso

Metamorphoses

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas

corpora; di, coeptis (nam vos mutastis et illas)

adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi

ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen!

Ante mare et terras et quod tegit omnia caelum

unus erat toto naturae vultus in orbe,

quem dixere chaos: rudis indigestaque moles

nec quicquam nisi pondus iners congestaque eodem

non bene iunctarum discordia semina rerum.

nullus adhuc mundo praebebat lumina Titan,

nec nova crescendo reparabat cornua Phoebe,

nec circumfuso pendebat in aere tellus

(...)

nec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere vetustas.

cum volet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huius

ius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aevi:

parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis

astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum,

quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris,

ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama,

siquid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam.

Year: 52

Original language: Greek

Translated by King James I

Paul the Apostle

The Anthem of Love (Bible)

(...)

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels,

but have not love,

I have become sounding brass

or a clanging cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy,

and understand all mysteries and all knowledge,

and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains,

but have not love, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,

and though I give my body to be burned,

but have not love,

it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind;

love does not envy;

love does not parade itself,

is not puffed up;

does not behave rudely,

does not seek its own,

is not provoked,

thinks no evil;

does not rejoice in iniquity,

but rejoices in the truth;

bears all things,

believes all things,

hopes all things,

endures all things.

Love never fails.

But whether there are prophecies, they will fail;

whether there are tongues, they will cease;

whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away.

For we know in part and we prophesy in part.

But when that which is perfect has come,

then that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child,

I spoke as a child,

I understood as a child,

I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.

Now I know in part,

but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;

but the greatest of these is love.

(...)

Original version

Απόστολος Παύλος

Ο ύμνος της αγάπης (Αγία Γραφή)

(...)

Εάν ταις γλώσσαις των ανθρώπων λαλώ και των αγγέλων,

αγάπην δε μη έχω,

γέγονα χαλκός ηχών ή κύμβαλον αλαλάζον.

Και εάν έχω προφητείαν και ειδώ τα μυστήρια πάντα και πάσαν την γνώσιν,

και εάν έχω πάσαν την πίστιν,

ώστε όρη μεθιστάνειν,

αγάπην δε μη έχω,

ουδέν ειμί.

Και εάν ψωμίσω πάντα τα υπάρχοντα μου,

και εάν παραδώ το σώμα μου ίνα καυθήσομαι,

αγάπην δε μη έχω,

ουδέν ωφελούμαι.

Η αγάπη μακροθυμεί,

χρηστεύεται, η αγάπη ου ζηλοί,

η αγάπη ου περπερεύεται,

ου φυσιούται,

ουκ ασχημονεί,

ου ζητεί τα εαυτής,

ου παροξύνεται,

ου λογίζεται το κακόν,

ου χαίρει επί τη αδικία,

συγχαίρει δε τη αληθεία,

πάντα στέγει,

πάντα πιστεύει,

πάντα ελπίζει,

πάντα υπομένει.

Η αγάπη ουδέποτε εκπίπτει.

Είτε δε προφητείαι,

καταργηθήσονται,

είτε γλώσσαι παύσονται,

είτε γνώσις καταργηθήσεται.

Εκ μέρους δε γινώσκομεν και εκ μέρους προφητεύομεν όταν δε έλθη το τέλειον,

τότε το εκ μέρους καταργηθήσεται.

Ότε ήμην νήπιος,

ως νήπιος έλάλουν,

ως νήπιος εφρόνουν,

ως νήπιος ελογιζόμην ότε δε γέγονα ανήρ,

κατήργηκα τα του νηπίου. Βλέπομεν γαρ άρτι δι' εσόπτρου εν αινίγματι,

τότε δε πρόσωπον προς πρόσωπον άρτι γινώσκω εκ μέρους,

τότε δε επιγνώσομαι καθώς και επεγνώσθην.

Νυνί δε μένει πίστις,

έλπίς, αγάπη, τα τρία ταύτα μείζων δε τούτων η αγάπη.

(...)

Year: 78

Original language: Latin

Translated by Henry George Bohn

Martial

Epigrams 6.19

My suit has nothing to do with assault,

or battery, or poisoning, but is about three goats,

which, I complain, have been stolen by my neighbour.

This the judge desires to have proved to him;

but you, with swelling words and extravagant gestures,

dilate on the Battle of Cannae,

the Mithridatic war, and the perjuries of the insensate Carthaginians,

the Sullae, the Marii, and the Mucii.

It is time, Postumus, to say something about my three goats.

Original version

Marcus Valerius Martialis

Epigrammata 6.19

Non de vi neque caede nec veneno,

Sed lis est mihi de tribus capellis:

Vicini queror has abesse furto.

Hoc iudex sibi postulat probari:

Tu Cannas Mithridaticumque bellum

Et periuria Punici furoris

Et Sullas Mariosque Muciosque

Magna voce sonas manuque tota.

Iam dic, Postume, de tribus capellis.

Year: 80

Original language: Latin

Translated by Henry George Bohn

Martial

To Fabullus

You invite some three hundred guests all unknown to me,

and then wonder that I do not accept your invitation,

and complain, and are ready to quarrel with me.

Fabullus, I do not like to dine alone.

Original version

Marcus Valerius Martialis

Ignotos mihi cum voces trecentos

Ignotos mihi cum voces trecentos,

Quare non veniam vocatus ad te,

Miraris quererisque litigasque.

Solus ceno, Fabulle, non libenter.

Year: 1115

Original language: French

Translated by Anonymous

Anonymous

The Song of Roland

Charles the King, our Lord and Sovereign,

Full seven years hath sojourned in Spain,

Conquered the land, and won the western main,

Now no fortress against him doth remain,

No city walls are left for him to gain,

Save Sarraguce, that sits on high mountain.

Marsile its King, who feareth not God's name,

Mahumet's man, he invokes Apollin's aid,

(...)

The Christians there implore thee and beseech."

Right loth to go, that Emperour was he:

God! said the King: My life is hard indeed!

Tears filled his eyes, he tore his snowy beard.

Original version

Inconnu

La Chanson de Roland

Carles li reis, nostre empere magnes

Set anz tuz pleins ad estet en Espaigne:

Tresqu'en la mer cunquist la tere altaigne.

N'i ad castel ki devant lui remaigne;

Mur ne citet n'i est remes a fraindre,

Fors Sarraguce, ki est en une muntaigne.

Li reis Marsilie la tient, ki Deu nen aimet;

Mahumet sert e Apollin recleimet:

(...)

Li emperere n'i volsist aler mie:

Deus, dist li reis, si penuse est ma vie!

Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret.

Ci falt la geste que Turoldus declinet.

Year: 1160

Original language: Latin

Translated by A.S. Kline

Archpoet

Confession

(...)

Burning, here inside, with a violent anger,

from a deep bitterness in my mind, I utter:

from elemental ashes formed, mere matter,

as the wind lashes, like a leaf I flutter.

If it's the proper mark of the man of wisdom

on the rock to create a secure foundation,

I am the fool, compared to the stream's motion,

never a single course nor a settled notion.

I am always borne along helpless through the sea,

cutting the paths of air a wild bird flying free,

no chains here to bind, no locks confine me,

I seek those similar, and keep them beside me.

An over-heavy heart seems to me hard labour:

having fun is pleasanter, than the honey sweeter,

Venus, what she decrees, such tasks joys are ever,

that to the duller heart stay unknown forever.

I go the broad path young in my fashion,

vices entangle me, virtues are forgotten,

greedy for all delights, more than my salvation,

moribund in the soul, flesh instead my passion.

(...)

Original version

Archipoeta

Confessio Goliae

(...)

Aestuans intrinsecus ira vehementi

in amaritudine loquor meae menti.

factus de materia levis elementi

folio sum similis, de quo ludunt venti.

Cum sit enim proprium viro sapienti,

supra petram ponere sedem fundamenti,

stultus ego comparor fluvio labenti,

sub eodem aere numquam permanenti.

Feror ego veluti sine nauta navis,

ut per vias aeris vaga fertur avis;

non me tenent vincula, non me tenet clavis,

quaero mei similes et adiungor pravis.

Mihi cordis gravitas res videtur gravis,

iocus est amabilis dulciorque favis.

quicquid Venus imperat, labor est suavis,

que numquam in cordibus habitat ignavis.

Via lata gradior more iuventutis,

implico me vitiis immemor virtutis,

voluptatis avidus magis quam salutis,

mortuus in anima curam gero cutis.

(...)

Year: 1250

Original language: Latin

Translated by Edward Caswall

Thomas Aquinas

Pange Lingua Gloriosi Corporis Mysterium

Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory,

of His Flesh, the mystery sing;

of the Blood, all price exceeding,

shed by our Immortal King,

destined, for the world's redemption,

from a noble Womb to spring.

Of a pure and spotless Virgin

born for us on earth below,

He, as Man, with man conversing,

stayed, the seeds of truth to sow;

then He closed in solemn order

wond'rously His Life of woe.

On the night of that Last Supper,

seated with His chosen band,

He, the Paschal Victim eating,

first fulfils the Law's command;

then as Food to His Apostles

gives Himself with His own Hand.

Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature

by His Word to Flesh He turns;

wine into His Blood He changes;

what though sense no change discerns?

Only be the heart in earnest,

faith her lesson quickly learns.

Down in adoration falling,

This great Sacrament we hail,

O'er ancient forms of worship

Newer rites of grace prevail;

Faith will tell us Christ is present,

When our human senses fail.

To the Everlasting Father,

And the Son who made us free

And the Spirit, God proceeding

From them Each eternally,

Be salvation, honour, blessing,

Might and endless majesty.

Original version

Thomas Aquinas

Pange Lingua Gloriosi Corporis Mysterium

Pange, lingua, gloriosi

corporis mysterium,

sanguinisque pretiosi,

quem in mundi pretium

fructus ventris generosi

rex effudit gentium.

Nobis datus, nobis natus

ex intacta Virgine,

et in mundo conversatus,

sparso verbi semine,

sui moras incolatus

miro clausit ordine.

In supremae nocte coenae

recumbens cum fratribus,

observata lege plene

cibis in legalibus,

cibum turbae duodenae

se dat suis manibus.

Verbum caro panem verum

verbo carnem efficit,

fitque sanguis Christi merum;

et si sensus deficit,

ad firmandum cor sincerum

sola fides sufficit.

Tantum ergo sacramentum

veneremur cernui,

et antiquum documentum

novo cedat ritui,

praestet fides supplementum

sensuum defectui.

Genitori Genitoque,

laus et iubilatio,

salus, honor, virtus quoque

sit et benedictio.

Procedenti ab utroque

compar sit laudatio.

Year: 1290

Original language: Gaelic

Translated by Anonymous (wayward.com)

Anonymous

Sir Patrick Spens

The king sits in Dunferling town,

Drinking the blood-red wine:

"Oh where will I get good sailor,

To sail this ship of mine?"

Up and spoke an elderly knight,

Sat at the kings right knee:

"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor

That sails upon the sea."

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Original version

Anonymous

Sir Patrick Spens

The king sits in Dunfermline toune

Contented thair to dine:

"O whar will I get guid sailor,

To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,

Sat at the kings richt kne:

"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor

That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,

And signed it wi his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,

Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch lauched he;

The next line that Sir Patrick red,

The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has don this deid,

This ill deid don to me,

To send me out this time o' the yeir,

To sail upon the se!

"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,

Our guid schip sails the morne":

"O say na sae, my master deir,

For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Laie late yestreen I saw the new moone,

Wi the auld moone in her arme,

And I feir, I feir, my deir master,

That we will cum to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith

To weet their cork-heild schoone;

Bot land owre a' the play wer playd,

Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, may their ladies sit

Wi' thair fans into their hand,

Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spens

Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,

Wi thair gold kems in their hair,

Waiting for thair ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair.

Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,

It's fiftie fadom deip,

And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spens,

Wi the Scots lords at his feit.

Year: 1321

Original language: Italian

Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Dante Alighieri

Divine Comedy

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straight-forward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,

Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;

But of the good to treat, which there I found,

Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,

So full was I of slumber at the moment

In which I had abandoned the true way.

(...)

"Through me the way is to the city dolent;

Through me the way is to eternal dole;

Through me the way among the people lost.

Justice incited my sublime Creator;

Created me divine Omnipotence,

The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.

Before me there were no created things,

Only eterne, and I eternal last.

All hope abandon, ye who enter in!"

These words in sombre colour I beheld

Written upon the summit of a gate;

Whence I: Their sense is, Master, hard to me!

(...)

Conformed itself, and how it there finds place;

But my own wings were not enough for this,

Had it not been that then my mind there smote

A flash of lightning, wherein came its wish.

Here vigour failed the lofty fantasy:

But now was turning my desire and will,

Even as a wheel that equally is moved,

The Love which moves the sun and the other stars.

Original version

Dante Alighieri

Divina Commedia

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita

mi ritrovai per una selva oscura

ché la diritta via era smarrita.

Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura

esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte

che nel pensier rinova la paura!

Tant'è amara che poco è più morte;

ma per trattar del ben ch'i' vi trovai,

dirò de l'altre cose ch'i' v'ho scorte.

Io non so ben ridir com'i' v'intrai,

tant'era pien di sonno a quel punto

che la verace via abbandonai.

(...)

"Per me si va ne la città dolente,

per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,

per me si va tra la perduta gente.

Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:

fecemi la divina podestate,

la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.

Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create

se non etterne, e io etterno duro.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate".

Queste parole di colore oscuro

vid'io scritte al sommo d'una porta;

per ch'io: Maestro, il senso lor m'è duro

(...)

l'imago al cerchio e come vi s'indova;

ma non eran da ciò le proprie penne:

se non che la mia mente fu percossa

da un fulgore in che sua voglia venne.

A l'alta fantasia qui mancò possa;

ma già volgeva il mio disio e 'l velle,

sì come rota ch'igualmente è mossa,

l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.

Year: 1336

Original language: Latin

Translated by A.S. Kline

Petrarch

You Who Hear The Sound, in Scattered Rhymes...

You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes,

of those sighs on which I fed my heart,

in my first vagrant youthfulness,

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Original version

Franciscus Petrarca

Voi ch'ascoltate in rime sparse il suono...

Voi ch'ascoltate in rime sparse il suono

di quei sospiri ond'io nudriva 'l core

in sul mio primo giovenile errore

quand'era in parte altr'uom da quel ch'i' sono,

del vario stile in ch'io piango et ragiono

fra le vane speranze e'l van dolore,

ove sia chi per prova intenda amore,

spero trovar pietà, nonché perdono.

Ma ben veggio or sí come al popol tutto

favola fui gran tempo, onde sovente

di me medesmo meco mi vergogno;

et del mio vaneggiar vergogna è 'l frutto,

e 'l pentersi, e 'l conoscer chiaramente

che quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno.

Year: 1337

Original language: Latin

Translated by Anonymous

Petrarch

Upon The Breeze She Spread Her Golden Hair

Upon the breeze she spread her golden hair

that in a thousand gentle knots was turned

and the sweet light beyond all radiance burned

in eyes where now that radiance is rare;

and in her face there seemed to come an air

of pity, true or false, that I discerned:

I had love's tinder in my breast unburned,

was it a wonder if it kindled there?

She moved not like a mortal, but as though

she bore an angel's form, her words had then

a sound that simple human voices lack;

a heavenly spirit, a living sun

was what I saw; now, if it is not so,

the wound's not healed because the bow goes

Original version

Franciscus Petrarca

Erano i capei d'oro a l'aura sparsi

Erano i capei d'oro a l'aura sparsi

che 'n mille dolci nodi gli avolgea,

e 'l vago lume oltra misura ardea

di quei begli occhi ch'or ne son sě scarsi;

e 'l viso di pietosi color farsi,

non so se vero o falso, mi parea:

i' che l'esca amorosa al petto avea,

qual meraviglia se di subito arsi?

Non era l'andar suo cosa mortale

ma d'angelica forma, e le parole

sonavan altro che pur voce umana;

uno spirto celeste, un vivo sole

fu quel ch'i' vidi, e se non fosse or tale,

piaga per allentar d'arco non sana.

Year: 1338

Original language: Latin

Translated by William Dudley Foulke

Petrarch

My Bark The Raging Surges Overwhelm

My bark the raging surges overwhelm,

Tossing at midnight on the winter sea

'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis. At the helm

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Original version

Franciscus Petrarca

Passa la nave mia colma d'oblio

Passa la nave mia colma d'oblio

per aspro mare, a mezza notte, il verno,

enfra Scilla e Cariddi; ed al governo

siede'l signore, anzi'l nimico mio;

a ciascun remo un penser pronto e rio

che la tempesta e'l fin par ch'abbi a scherno;

la vela rompe un vento umido, eterno

di sospir', di speranze e di desio;

pioggia di lagrimar, nebbia di sdegni

bagna e rallenta le giŕ stanche sarte,

che son d'error con ignoranza attorto.

Celansi i duo mei dolci usati segni;

morta fra l'onde e la ragion e l'arte:

tal ch'incomincio a desperar del porto.

Year: 1339

Original language: Latin

Translated by A.S. Kline

Petrarch

Sonnet CXXXIII

Love placed me as a target for his arrow,

like snow in sunlight, or wax in the fire,

like a cloud in the wind: and I am hoarse already,

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Original version

Franciscus Petrarca

Canzoniere CXXXIII

Amor m'ha posto come segno a strale,

come al sol neve, come cera al foco,

e come nebbia al vento e son già roco

donna, mercè chiamando, e voi non cale.

Dagli occhi vostri uscìo 'l colpo mortale

contra cui non mi val tempo nè loco;

da voi sola procede, e parvi un gioco,

il sole e 'l foco e 'l vento ond'io son tale.

I pensier son saette, e 'l viso un sole,

e 'l desir foco; e 'nseme con quest'arme

mi punge Amor, m'abbaglia e mi distrugge;

e l'angelico canto e le parole

col dolce viso ond'io non posso aitarme,

son l'aura innanzi a cui mia vita fugge.

Year: 1339

Original language: Latin

Translated by A.S. Kline

Petrarch

What Do I Feel If This Is Not Love?

What do I feel if this is not love?

But if it is love, God, what thing is this?

If good, why this effect: bitter, mortal?

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Original version

Franciscus Petrarca

S'amor non è, che dunque è quel ch'io sento?

S'amor non è, che dunque è quel ch'io sento?

Ma s'egli è amor, perdio, che cosa et quale?

Se bona, onde l'effecto aspro mortale?

Se ria, onde sí dolce ogni tormento?

S'a mia voglia ardo, onde 'l pianto e lamento?

S'a mal mio grado, il lamentar che vale?

O viva morte, o dilectoso male,

come puoi tanto in me, s'io no 'l consento?

Et s'io 'l consento, a gran torto mi doglio.

Fra sí contrari vènti in frale barca

mi trovo in alto mar senza governo,

sí lieve di saver, d'error sí carca

ch'i' medesmo non so quel ch'io mi voglio,

et tremo a mezza state, ardendo il verno.

Year: 1372

Original language: English

Geoffrey Chaucer

The Canterbury Tales

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licour

Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth

Inspired hath in every holt and heeth

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,

And smale foweles maken melodye,

That slepen al the nyght with open ye

(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages),

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,

To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;

And specially from every shires ende

Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,

(...)

And shortly for to tellen as it was,

Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas,

The sothe is this: the cut fil to the Knyght,

Of which ful blithe and glad was every wyght,

And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,

By foreward and by composicioun,

As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo?

And whan this goode man saugh that it was so,

As he that wys was and obedient

To kepe his foreward by his free assent,

He seyde, "Syn I shal bigynne the game,

What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name!

Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye."

And with that word we ryden forth oure weye,

And he bigan with right a myrie cheere

His tale anon, and seyde as ye may heere.

Year: 1385

Original language: English

Geoffrey Chaucer

Parlement of Foules

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,

Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering,

The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne,

Al this mene I by love, that my feling

Astonyeth with his wonderful worching

So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke,

Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.

For al be that I knowe not love in dede,

Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre,

Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede

Of his miracles, and his cruel yre;

Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre,

I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore,

But God save swich a lord! I can no more.

(...)

That hast this wintres weders over-shake.

Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,

Sith ech of hem recovered hath his make;

Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake;

Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,

That hast this wintres weders over-shake,

And driven awey the longe nightes blake.'

And with the showting, whan hir song was do,

That foules maden at hir flight a-way,

I wook, and other bokes took me to

To rede upon, and yet I rede alway;

I hope, y-wis, to rede so som day

That I shal mete som thing for to fare

The bet; and thus to rede I nil not spare.

Year: 1461

Original language: French

Translated by Galway Kinnell

Francois Villon

Testament

In my thirtieth year of life

When I had drunk down all my disgrace

Neither altogether a fool nor altogether wise

Despite the many blows I had

Every one of which I took

At Thibault d'Aussigny's hand

Bishop he may be as he signs the cross

Through the streets, but I deny he is mine.

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Original version

François Villon

Le Testament

En l'an de mon trentiesme aage,

Que toutes mes hontes j'euz beues,

Ne du tout fol, ne du tout saige

Non obstant maintes peines eues,

Lesquelles j'ay toutes receues

Soubz la main Thibault d'Aucigny...

S'esvesque il est, signant les rues,

Qu'il soit le mien je le regny.

(...)

Pour ce que foible je me sens

Trop plus de biens que de sancté,

Tant que je suis en mon plain sens,

Sy peu que Dieu m'en a presté,

Car d'autre ne l'ay emprunté,

J'ay ce testament tres estable

Fait, de derreniere voulenté,

Seul pour tout et inrevocable,

(...)

Je plains le temps de ma jeunesse,

Ouquel j'ay plus qu'autre gallé

Jusqu'a l'entrée de vieillesse,

Qui son partement m'a cellé:

Il ne s'en est a pié alé

N'a cheval: helas! comment don?

Soudainement s'en est vollé

Et ne m'a laissié quelque don.

(...)

Item, vueil qu'autour de ma fosse

Ce qui s'enssuit, sans autre histoire,

Soit escript en lectre assez grosse

- Qui n'auroit point d'escriptouoire,

De charbon ou de pierre noire

Sans en riens entamer le plastre;

Au moins sera de moi memoire,

Telle qu'elle est d'un bon follastre

(...)

Year: 1463

Original language: French

Translated by Anonymous

Francois Villon

Ballad of Meddlesome Tongues

In arsenic of reddish hue (the yellow

and the white kinds too), in quicklime and salt

peter; in boiling lead (which breaks them up),

in soot and pitch, with the lye you'll brew

from the stool and piss ofa female Jew;

in water rinsed from a leper's legs,

in scrapings cullcd from callused feet and ancient boots,

in the blood of asps and toxic drugs,

in bile from foxes, wolves, and badgers,

oh, let those meddlesome tongues be cooked!

In the brains of a cat that hated to fish

(a black one, old, with no teeth in its gums);

in the spit and froth of a mastiff dog

gone mad with rage, old and not worth keeping;

with strings of foam from a winded mule

snipped into segments with good, sharp shears;

in water where rats swim snout to snout

with frogs and toads and dangerous beasts,

serpents, lizards, and birds of that ilk,

oh, let those meddlesome tongues be cooked!

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Original version

François Villon

Ballade

En riagal, en arsenic rocher,

En orpiment, en salpêtre et chaux vive,

En plomb bouillant pour mieux les émorcher,

En suif et poix détrempée de lessive

Faite d'étrons et de pissat de juive,

En lavailles de jambes à meseaux,

En raclure de pieds et vieux houseaux,

En sang d'aspic et drogues venimeuses,

En fiel de loups, de renards et blaireaux,

Soient frites ces langues ennuyeuses!

En cervelle de chat qui hait pêcher,

Noir et si vieil qu'il n'ait dent en gencive,

D'un vieil mâtin qui vaut bien aussi cher,

Tout enragé, en sa bave et salive,

En l'écume d'une mule poussive

Détranchée menue à bons ciseaux,

En eau où rats plongent groins et museaux,

Raines, crapauds et bêtes dangereuses,

Serpents, lézards et tels nobles oiseaux,

Soient frites ces langues ennuyeuses!

En sublimé dangereux à toucher,

Et ou nombril d'une couleuvre vive,

En sang qu'on voit ès palettes sécher

Sur les barbiers quand pleine lune arrive,

Dont l'un est noir, l'autre plus vert que cive,

En chancre et fic, et en ces claires eaues

Où nourrices essangent leurs drapeaux,

En petits bains de filles amoureuses

(Qui ne m'entend n'a suivi les bordeaux)

Soient frites ces langues ennuyeuses!

Prince, passez tous ces friands morceaux,

S'étamine, sac n'avez ou bluteaux,

Parmi le fond d'unes braies breneuses;

Mais, par avant, en étrons de pourceaux

Soient frites ces langues ennuyeuses!

Year: 1530

Original language: English

Thomas Wyatt

They Flee From Me

They flee from me that sometime did me seek

With naked foot stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle tame and meek

That now are wild and do not remember

That sometime they put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range

Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise

Twenty times better; but once in special,

In thin array after a pleasant guise,

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,

And she me caught in her arms long and small;

And therewithal sweetly did me kiss,

And softly said, Dear heart, how like you this?

It was no dream, I lay broad waking.

But all is turned thorough my gentleness

Into a strange fashion of forsaking;

And I have leave to go of her goodness

And she also to use newfangleness.

But since that I so kindly am served,

I would fain know what she hath deserved.

Year: 1532

Original language: English

Thomas Wyatt

Whoso List to Hunt

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,

But as for me, helas, I may no more.

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,

I am of them that farthest cometh behind.

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore

Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,

Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

As well as I may spend his time in vain.

And graven with diamonds in letters plain

There is written, her fair neck round about:

Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,

And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Year: 1534

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

I Live For Sin, Experiencing Their Deaths...

I live to sin, to me dying live;

life already not my son, but of sin:

My well from heaven, my pain from me is given me,

loose from my wish, of that I am free.

Serve my freedom, my mortal divo

to me it has been done. O wretched state!

in that misery, I was born to live!

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

Vivo al peccato, a me morendo vivo...

Vivo al peccato, a me morendo vivo;

vita già mia non son, ma del peccato:

mie ben dal ciel, mie mal da me m'è dato,

dal mie sciolto voler, di ch'io son privo.

Serva mie libertà, mortal mie divo

a me s'è fatto. O infelice stato!

a che miseria, a che viver son nato!

Year: 1534

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

The Love of My Life - Not My Heart,

The love of my life - not my heart,

Longing for my not cordial

There pursued, where it is madness safe,

Where, for fear of closed doors.

Love - the spirit of God in its primordiality,

You glow, and gave me strength clever;

What you still bears the imprint of the earth,

This communion of my heavenly longing.

As heat and light show up together,

Similarly eternal beauty and love;

Why, I, when the earth shaking of thought with myself,

To enjoy the image of the sky -

Where was our souls the first to know

- Through the eyes of mymi hurry under your eyelash.

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

La vita del mie amor non è 'l cor mio

La vita del mie amor non è 'l cor mio,

c'amor di quel ch'i' t'amo è senza core;

dov'è cosa mortal, piena d'errore,

esser non può già ma', nè pensier rio.

Amor nel dipartir l'alma da Dio

me fe' san occhio e te luc' e splendore;

nè può non rivederlo in quel che more

di te, per nostro mal, mie gran desio.

Come dal foco el caldo, esser diviso

non può dal bell'etterno ogni mie stima,

ch'exalta, ond'ella vien, chi più 'l somiglia.

Poi che negli occhi ha' tutto 'l paradiso,

per ritornar là dov'i' t'ama' prima,

ricorro ardendo sott'alle tuo ciglia.

Year: 1534

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

What Is Born, Dies in The End...

What is born, dies in the end

At the time of that first given.

Nothing lives permanently in the sun,

Passes sweetness and suffering,

Disappear words and thinking,

How and ancestors generation,

In the sun shadows, smoke in the wind.

We were also human beings and we,

Advises, gloomy face as yourselves;

Today, we are ashes;

Void of life, dead in the sun,

What is born, dies in the end.

Cheerful glow of light eyes

We cleared the former night;

Today, these terrible eye sockets.

Here's what time brings.

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

Chiunche nasce a morte arriva...

Chiunche nasce a morte arriva

nel fuggir del tempo; e 'l sole

niuna cosa lascia viva.

Manca il dolce e quel che dole

e gl'ingegni e le parole;

e le nostre antiche prole

al sole ombre, al vento un fummo.

Come voi uomini fummo,

lieti e tristi, come siete;

e or siàn, come vedete,

terra al sol, di vita priva.

Ogni cosa a morte arriva.

Già fur gli occhi nostri interi

con la luce in ogni speco;

or son voti, orrendi e neri,

e ciò porta il tempo seco.

Year: 1535

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

He, Who Once Created Out of Nothingness

He, who once created out of nothingness

Time, which did not exist when nothing existed,

Halve it, the day the sun glory

He dressed, moon night, in greater proximity.

So, what is the gift of luck, necessity,

On the day of birth to anyone got.

Me that the essence of the entire cognate

Fate in the cradle of the time darkness fell.

As it confirms all its own strength,

As the deep darkness of the night deepens,

So my evil deeds are imbedded me in mourning.

But my consolation, that was given to me

Brighten up a dark night, what depresses me,

Sun given since birth to you.

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

Colui che fece, e non di cosa alcuna

Colui che fece, e non di cosa alcuna,

il tempo, che non era anzi a nessuno,

ne fe' d'un due e diè 'l sol alto all'uno,

all'altro assai più presso diè la luna.

Onde 'l caso, la sorte e la fortuna

in un momento nacquer di ciascuno;

e a me consegnaro il tempo bruno,

come a simil nel parto e nella cuna.

E come quel che contrafà se stesso,

quando è ben notte, più buio esser suole,

ond'io di far ben mal m'affliggo e lagno.

Pur mi consola assai l'esser concesso

far giorno chiar mia oscura notte al sole

che a voi fu dato al nascer per compagno.

Year: 1535

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

I Bought You, Although Very Expensive...

I bought you, although very expensive,

Something that is good, but what it is, I do not give heed.

I met with the the smell that you go through.

Where are you with me or was, no despair,

No doubt fall on me they can not.

If you hide from me, I forgive.

When you have it, where would you walked,

I will find you, even if he was born blind.

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

I' t'ho comprato, ancor che molto caro...

I' t'ho comprato, ancor che molto caro,

un po' di non so che, che sa di buono,

perc'a l'odor la strada spesso imparo.

Ovunche tu ti sia, dovunch'i' sono,

senz'alcun dubbio ne son certo e chiaro.

Se da me ti nascondi, i' tel perdono:

portandol dove vai sempre con teco,

ti troverei, quand'io fussi ben cieco.

Year: 1536

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

Face Snow Heat Beating On Me

Face snow heat beating on me;

It burns me - alone in the ice is changing;

I feel the two slender arms hug,

Able to lift weights without traffic.

I know the human senses matchless soul:

Another death carries, death, not included.

The very casual and takes me in shackles,

Although in itself good, it makes me anguish.

- Sir, what unshakable power

She makes a face beautiful enemy of my face

I know the effects of the cause of incompatible?

To my joy, it is what I'm taken,

It is like the sun, which has for

Earth rays, the same eternally cool.

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

Sento d'un foco un freddo aspetto acceso

Sento d'un foco un freddo aspetto acceso

che lontan m'arde e sé con seco agghiaccia;

pruovo una forza in due leggiadre braccia

che muove senza moto ogni altro peso.

Unico spirto e da me solo inteso,

che non ha morte e morte altrui procaccia,

veggio e truovo chi, sciolto, 'l cor m'allaccia,

e da chi giova sol mi sento offeso.

Com'esser può, signor, che d'un bel volto

ne porti 'l mio così contrari effetti,

se mal può chi non gli ha donar altrui?

Onde al mio viver lieto, che m'ha tolto,

fa forse come 'l sol, se nol permetti,

che scalda 'l mondo e non è caldo lui.

Year: 1537

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

After Many Years of Searching, Difficulty

After many years of searching, difficulty

The artist goes in hard rock

Embody his thought in the image

When it is at the end of the earth already shipping;

For high because news

Late occur in short time.

From one well to another

Face nature a long time to wander,

Until she came to the divine in you beauty

And, aged, they bow in destruction.

So I fear that beautiful glory

Subject to insignificance,

Strange food nourishes me desire;

I do not know if the look

Will rest on you, what benefit, what a waste.

The pleasure of seeing the end of the universe?

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

Negli anni molti e nelle molte pruove

Negli anni molti e nelle molte pruove,

cercando, il saggio al buon concetto arriva

d'un'immagine viva,

vicino a morte, in pietra alpestra e dura;

c'all'alte cose nuove

tardi si viene, e poco poi si dura.

Similmente natura,

di tempo in tempo, d'uno in altro volto,

s'al sommo, errando, di bellezza è giunta

nel tuo divino, è vecchia, e de' perire:

onde la tema, molto

con la beltà congiunta,

di stranio cibo pasce il gran desire;

né so pensar né dire

qual nuoca o giovi più, visto 'l tuo 'spetto,

o 'l fin dell'universo o 'l gran diletto.

Year: 1537

Original language: Italian

Translated by Radoslaw Kostecki

Michelangelo

Is It Surprising That, Close to The Fire, I Burned Across

Is it surprising that, close to the fire, I burned across,

If today, when we went out in the outer death,

The interior of my burns me, digests and absorbs

I slowly make my ashes?

I saw a burning glow over his forehead,

What was plunged me in suffering tone,

That at the mere sight of happiness felt in the womb.

And the pain, death - they were together, a celebration and a game.

Today, when I firelight kidnaps sky,

What burning fed me, I'm like

To coals, which buried smoldering.

When the other love will not add fuel,

What will kindle the flame, sparks even small

Not by giving of themselves, become ashes.

Original version

Michelangelo Buonarroti

Qual meraviglia è, se prossim'al foco

Qual meraviglia è, se prossim'al foco

mi strussi e arsi, se or ch'egli è spento

di fuor, m'affligge e mi consuma drento,

e 'n cener mi riduce a poco a poco?

Vedea ardendo sì lucente il loco

onde pendea il mio greve tormento,

che sol la vista mi facea contento,

e morte e strazi m'eran festa e gioco.

Ma po' che del gran foco lo splendore

che m'ardeva e nutriva, il ciel m'invola,

un carbon resto acceso e ricoperto.