Ancient Greek Epigrams by Fain Gordon L

Author:Fain, Gordon L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of California Press
Published: 2010-04-14T04:00:00+00:00

I

The Samian daughters seek anew

Their girlfriend best at play,

Krethís, of many stories, who

Could chatter all the day;

But she, their sweetest helpmate, now

Has gone to sleep below,

A slumber none can disavow,

A debt that all girls owe.

II

Here Sáon son of Díkon’s gone to lie

In sacred sleep. Don’t say that good men die!

III

With all good things, when she was living still,

Míkkos took care of Aíschrë, “Good-Milk,” till

She drew her last breath; then, to his nurse, he

Made this memorial for all to see

Who will come after, so he could attest

How much thanks that old girl got from her breast.

IV

Oh passerby, know this my grave

Is sepulcher of one,

Who of Callimachus was both

The father and the son;

And you must know them: one was once

In battle our commander,

The other poetry composed

Beyond the reach of slander.

V

You pass the tomb of Battiádes, who

Splendidly knew

To sing, and in due measure could combine

Laughter with wine.

VI

Is that Charídas under you? “Is he

Arímmas’s son? If so, yes, under me.”

Charídas, what’s it like down there? “So black!”

And Pluto? “Myth!” Some way of coming back?

“A lie!” We’re lost, there’s nothing we can do!

“Well, all of this I’ve told you’s really true,

But if it’s something nice you want, they sell

A big ox for a penny here in Hell.”

VII

Oh Timon, since you are no longer,

Surely you can tell,

Is light or darkness worse? “The dark!

There’s more of you in Hell!”

VIII

Don’t bless my grave, find something else to do.

I’m blessed enough, you shit. I’m rid of you!

IX

At dawn, we put Melánippos in his grave,

At sunset Basiló, his sister, gave

Her life away, because she could not bear

To live without her brother. Twofold care

Had their father Arístippos; Cyrénë grieved

To see him, blessed with children, now bereaved.

X

Who knows wherein the future, Charmis, lies,

Since you, but yesterday before our eyes,

Today we, weeping, to the graveyard bring?

Your father never saw a sadder thing.

XI

Who are you? Timonóë? Without name

Of father and the city whence you came

Here on the tombstone, I would not have known.

So sad must be your husband, all alone.

XII

Someone spoke, Heraclitus, of your fate,

And that brought tears to me,

When I recalled how we two stayed up late

So many times, how we

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