To the Nightingale.

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love; oh, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh; As thou, from year to year, hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

MILTON.

Am Flusse.

Verfliesset, vielgelicbte Lieder,
Zum Meere der Vergessenheit!
Kein Knabe singt entzückt euch wieder,
Kein Mädchen in der Blüthenzeit.

Ihr sanget nur von meiner Lieben;
Nun spricht sie meiner Treue Hohn.
Ihr wart in's Wasser eingeschrieben;
So fließt denn auch mit ihm davon.

GOETHE.

Ad Philomelam.

Αηδὸν ἐν θαλλοῖσιν εὐφύλλοις λιγὺ
μέλπουσα, πᾶν ὅθ ̓ ἕσπερος κοιμᾷ νάπος,
ἢ τοῖς ἐρῶσιν ἐλπίδ ̓ ἐμβάλλεις νέαν,
ὡς προσπολουσῶν εὐφιλῆ θέρους πόδα
Ὡρῶν φαεινῶν· σὸν γὰρ εὔμουσον μέλος,
ὑφ' οὗ ξυνάπτει βλέφαρον ἡμέρας ὕπνος,
κόκκυγος ἄφρον ἢν πάρος φθάσῃ φανὲν
στόμ', αἰσίους ἔρωτος ἐξαυδᾷ τύχας
πρός σ', εἰ χάριν τήνδ' ἐκ Διὸς θελκτηρίαν
ἡδεῖ ̓ ἔχει σου γῆρυς, ἀλλὰ νῦν καλῶ
εἰς καιρὸν ᾆσαι, πρίν με τὴν ἀναρσίαν
ὄρνιν δύσορνιν, θάμνον ἵζουσαν πέλας,
ἀνέλπιδι ζυγέντα σημῆναι μόρῳ.

πάλαι γὰρ ᾄδουσ ̓ ἀλλ ̓ ἀεί ποθ ̓ ὑστέρα
πολλαῖς διαδοχαῖς οὐδὲν ὠφελεῖς ἐτῶν.
καίτοι δίκην τίν' εἶχες; εἴτε γάρ σ' Ἔρως
εἴτ ̓ οὖν ἑταίραν Μοῦσα κικλήσκειν φιλεῖ,
κείνοιν ὁμιλῶ δοῦλος ὢν ἀμφοῖν ἐγώ.

J. R.

Versus relegati.

Vos, mihi tam cari qvondam, nunc qvaerite, versus,
Obliviosa marmora:

Non iterum pueri laeto vos pectore cantent,
Nec vere virgines novo.

Nil aliud praeter nostrum celebrastis amorem ;
Nunc risui iste vertitur;

Sic, ut aqva scripti paucas durastis in horas,
Abite nunc, qvo fert aqva.

Κ.

Done into English by Will Shakspeare.

Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on, till truth makes all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;

This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain.

This man, with lime and roughcast, doth present
Wall,-that vile wall that did these lovers sunder.
And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content
To whisper; at the which let no man wonder.
This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth moonshine; for, if you will know,
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn

To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast, which by name lion hight,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright.
And as she fled, her mantle she did fall;
Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain:
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,

And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain.
Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast;
And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,

His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain,
At large discourse, while here they do remain.

Pyramus.

Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright:

Ἐκ τῆς ἐλεεινοτάτης κωμῳδίας, ἐν ᾗ Πυραμοῦ καὶ Θίσ βης οικτρότατα παθήματα διηγεῖται ὁ ποιητής.

Παράβασις.

Ὦ θεώμενοι, τάχ ̓ ἴσως θαυμάσεσθε τὴν θέαν. ἀλλ ̓ ἔτ ̓, ἔστ ̓ ἂν πάντα φράσῃ τἀληθές, θαυμάζετε. ἄνδρα τόνδε Πυραμὸν ὄντ ̓ ἴστ ̓, ἢν βούλησθ ̓ εἰδέναι, Θίσβη γὰρ παῖς καλλιπρόσωπος δήλη 'στ' ἐκεινηΐ. ἁνὴρ δ ̓ οὔμπλεως χάλικος καὶ πηλοῦ μιμήσεται τεῖχος τοὐπίτριπτον, ἐραστὰ διεῖργον τὼ δύο. τώδε γὰρ τείχους δι ̓ ὁπῆς ἀσμένως τρισαθλίω νῦν πρὸς ἀλλήλω ψιθυρίζουσ'· ἃ μηδεὶς θαυμάσῃ. ἄνδρα κεῖνον δ ̓, ὃς κύν ̓ ἰπνόν τ' ἔχει κακάνθης βάτον, σελήνης πρόσωπον ὁρᾶθ'· ἦν γὰρ βούλησθ ̓ εἰδέναι, τώδ ̓ οὐκ αἰσχύνεσθον ἐραστὰ Σεληναίας σέλας εἰς Νίνου τύμβον προαπαντῶντε καὶ παίζοντ ̓ ἐκεῖ. θηρίον τόδ' αὖ χαροπόν, λέονθ' ὃν κικλήσκομεν, Θίσβην πιστήν· ἐρχομένη δ ̓ ἡ παῖς νυκτὸς ἔφθασεν ἐξέπληξ ̓ εἴτ ̓ οὖν ἐφόβησ'· ὧδε γὰρ τρανῶς ἐρῶ. φεύγουσαν δὲ θοιμάτιον λανθάνει πίπτον χαμαί, χώ λέων γνάθοις ἀκάθαρτος χραίνει μιαιφόνοις. κὰν τῷδ ̓ ἡδὺς ὑψικόμας μειρακίσκος προσμολὼν κτάμενον εὗρε θοιμάτιον Θίσβης πιστῆς Πυραμός. φασγάνῳ δὲ τῷ φοβερῷ τῷ φονῶντι φασγάνῳ φλᾷ φλογωπὸν φοιταλέος φοινίαν φίλην φρένα. εἶτα, Θίσβη γὰρ παρέμεινεν μόρου σκιᾶς ὕπο, ἔγχος εἵλκυσ ̓, εἶτ ̓ ἔθανεν. τἄλλα δ ̓ οὖν πάνθ' ὡς ἔχει,

ἡ σελήνη, τὼ δύ ̓ ἐραστά, τὸ τεῖχος, χὡ λέων,

οἵδ ̓ ἀφηγείσθων τάδ', ἕως ἐνθαδὶ μένουσ ̓ ἔτι.

Ἐκ τῆς αὐτῆς κωμῳδίας λείψανον.

Π. Δια Σελήνη, σὲ δὲ μαρμαρυγῆς ἄγαμαι τῆς ἡλιοειδοῦς. ἄγαμαι δῆτ ̓, ὦ δια Σελήνη, σελαγεῖς σέλας οἵνεκα λαμπρόν

For by thy gracious golden glittering streams,

I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
But stay-O spite!

But mark-poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here?

Eyes, do you see?

How can it be?

O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,

What, stained with blood?

Approach, ye furies fell!
O fates, come, come !

Cut thread, and thrum!

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

O breathe not his Name.

O breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head!

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

Moore.