For a Statue of Anacreon

This statue, stranger, scan with earnest gaze;
And, home returning, say 'I have beheld
Anacreon, in Teos; him whose lays
Were all unmatched among our sires of eld.'
Say further: 'Youth and beauty pleased him best;'
And all the man will fairly stand expressed.

poem by Theocritus
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For a Statue of Æscalupius

Far as Miletus travelled Paean's son;
There to be guest of Nicias, guest of one
Who heals all sickness; and who still reveres
Him, for his sake this cedarn image rears.
The sculptor's hand right well did Nicias fill;
And here the sculptor lavished all his skill.

poem by Theocritus
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Poor Thyrsus!

Poor Thyrsis! What boots it to weep out thine eyes?
Thy kid was a fair one, I own:
But the wolf with his cruel claw made her his prize,
And to darkness her spirit hath flown.
Do the dogs cry? What boots it? In spite of their cries
There is left of her never a bone.

poem by Theocritus
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Epitaph of Cleonicus

Man, husband existence: ne'er launch on the sea
Out of season: our tenure of life is but frai.
Think of poor Cleonicus: for Phasos sailed he
From the valleys of Syria, with many a bale:
With many a bale, ocean's tides he would stem
When the Pleiads were sinking; and he sank with them.

poem by Theocritus
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Sing Something Sweet

Prythee, sing something sweet to me-you that can play
First and second at once. Then I too will essay
To croak on the pipes: and yon lad shall salute
Our ears with a melody breathed through his flute.
In the cave by the green oak our watch we will keep,
And goatish old Pan we'll defraud of his sleep.

poem by Theocritus
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Epitaph of Eusthenes

Here the shrewd physiognomist Eusthenes lies,
Who could tell all your thoughts by a glance at your eyes.
A stranger, with strangers his honoured bones rest;
They valued sweet song, and he gave them his best.
All the honours of death doth the poet possess:
If a small one, they mourned for him nevertheless.

poem by Theocritus
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Under a Statue of Peisander

He whom ye gaze on was the first
That in quaint song the deeds rehearsed
Of him whose arm was swift to smite,
Who dared the lion to the fight:
That tale, so strange, so manifold,
Peisander of Cameirus told.
For this good work, thou may'st be sure,
His country placed him here,
In solid brass that shall endure
Through many a month and year.

poem by Theocritus
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Epitaph of Hipponax

Behold Hipponax' burialplace,
A true bard's grave.
Approach it not, if you're a base
And base-born knave.
But if your sires were honest men
And unblamed you,
Sit down thereon serenely then,
And eke sleep too.

Tuneful Hipponax rests him here.
Let no base rascal venture near.
Ye who rank high in birth and mind
Sit down-and sleep, if so inclined.

poem by Theocritus
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Love Stealing Honey

Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,
When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb
Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,
Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.
To Aphrodite then he told his woe:
'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'
She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,
As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting.'

poem by Theocritus
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For a Statue of the Heavenly Aphrodite

Aphrodite stands here; she of heavenly birth;
Not that base one who's wooed by the children of earth.
'Tis a goddess; bow down. And one blemishless all,
Chrysogone, placed her in Amphicles' hall:
Chrysogone's heart, as her children, was his,
And each year they knew better what happiness is.
For, Queen, at life's outset they made thee their friend;
Religion is policy too in the end.

poem by Theocritus
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