On Beauty Lost

Anthologia Palatina 6.19 = Julianus, Prefect of Egypt (6th cent. CE) Note: Cythereia = Aphrodite.

You bestow beauty, Cythereia, But Time as it creeps causes, my queen, Your favor to shrivel. Now that your gift Has flown from me, o child of Cythera, Receive too, my lady, this proof that you gave it. κάλλος μέν, Κυθέρεια, χαρίζεαι: ἀλλὰ μαραίνει ὁ χρόνος ἑρπύζων σήν, βασίλεια, χάριν. δώρου δ᾽ ὑμετέροιο παραπταμένου με, Κυθήρη, δέχνυσο καὶ δώρου, πότνια, μαρτυρίην.

Ancient Greek bronze mirror with a caryatid handle, winged Eros-figures, and a Siren. Artist unknown; ca. 460 BCE. Now in the Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.

An Epitaph for Democritus

Anthologia Palatina 7.59 = Julianus Aegyptius (6th cent. CE) Receive, o blessed Pluto, Democritus, So that, though lord of those who never smile, You may claim as your lot a man who laughs. Πλούτων, δέξο, μάκαρ, Δημόκριτον, ὥς κεν ἀνάσσων     αἰὲν ἀμειδήτων καὶ γελόωντα λάχοις.

Democritus with a Skull, circle of Jan Cossiers (1600-1671)

A Fisherman Hangs Up His Net

Anthologia Palatina 6.26 = Julianus, Prefect of Egypt (prob. 6th cent. CE) Cinyras dedicates this net to the Nymphs;     For his old age cannot lift it up     And fling it far, the dart-thrower’s toil. But, o you fish, rejoice as you feed,     Because the old age of Cinyras     Has given the sea the chance to have freedom.  Ταῖς Νύμφαις Κινύρης τόδε δίκτυον· οὐ γὰρ ἀείρει     γῆρας ἀκοντιστὴν μόχθον ἑκηβολίης. ἰχθύες, ἀλλὰ νέμοισθε γεγηθότες, ὅττι θαλάσσῃ     δῶκεν ἔχειν Κινύρου γῆρας ἐλευθερίην.

Fishermen Drawing a Net, David Cox, ca. 1820

A Fisherman’s Farewell to His Trade

Anthologia Palatina 6.29 = Julianus, Prefect of Egypt (6th cent. CE) Baeto, dreading the weakness that comes With old age, dedicated to Hermes the tools Of his sea-going craft: his anchor and round stone, His great baskets along with his cork float, His fish-hook, his oar, his fishing-lines too, And his fishing poles made of reed.  Ἑρμείῃ Βαίτων ἁλινηχέος ὄργανα τέχνης   ἄνθετο δειμαίνων γήραος ἀδρανίην· ἄγκυραν γυρόν τε λίθον σπυρίδας θ’ ἅμα φελλῷ,   ἄγκιστρον, κώπην καὶ λίνα καὶ δόνακας.

Fisherman on a Poldercanal, Cornelis Vreedenburgh (1880-1946)

A Dedication from a Retired Scribe

Anthologia Palatina 6.67 = Julian, Prefect of Egypt (prob. 6th cent. CE) This lead, that kept styluses straight On their unswerving paths; this ruler, The lead’s companion and guide; This stone, taken from a much-pierced rock, That sharpened the reed-pen’s dull lip; This black ink, with the reed-pens themselves – Mystic implements to capture the human voice; And this pen-knife that cuts sharp as any cleaver:    These does Philodemus bring and dedicate to Hermes, Since the passage of time has dulled The light of his eyes, and given freedom to his hands.

Ἀκλινέας γραφίδεσσιν ἀπιθύνοντα πορείας   τόνδε μόλυβδον ἄγων καὶ μολίβου κανόνα σύνδρομον ἡνιοχῆα πολυτρήτου τ’ ἀπὸ πέτρης   λᾶαν, ὃς ἀμβλεῖαν θῆγε γένυν καλάμου, σὺν δ’ αὐτοῖς καλάμοισι μέλαν, μυστήρια φωνῆς   ἀνδρομέης, σμίλης τ’ ὀξυτόμον κοπίδα Ἑρμείῃ Φιλόδημος, ἐπεὶ χρόνος ὄμματος αὐγὴν   ἀμβλύνας παλάμῃ δῶκεν ἐλευθερίην.

The Record-Keeper, unknown German artist, 19th century

On Finding Happiness In Every Manner of Life

Anthologia Palatina 9.446 = Julianus of Egypt (6th cent. CE) All of life’s paths are sweet: In the middle of the city Are manly boasts and friendships, While at home you can hide your grief.    The countryside brings delight, Sailing the sea brings profit; Travelling to other lands Means discoveries and new friends.    Marriage makes a household Full of concord, while for those Who remain unmarried, life Is forever free from care.    Every son that’s born Is a bulwark protecting his father; A man who has no children Need never fear for his offspring.    The gift of youth is courage, While old age grants us wisdom. So then, my friend, take heart, And live, and sire children.   Ἡδέα πάντα κέλευθα λάχεν βίος· ἄστεϊ μέσσῳ    εὖχος, ἑταιρεῖαι· κρυπτὰ δόμοισιν ἄχη· ἀγρὸς τέρψιν ἄγει, κέρδος πλόος, ἀλλοδαπὴ χθὼν    γνώσιας· ἐκ δὲ γάμων οἶκος ὁμοφρονέει, τοῖς δ’ ἀγάμοις ἄφροντις ἀεὶ βίος· ἕρκος ἐτύχθη    πατρὶ τέκος, φροῦδος τοῖς ἀγόνοισι φόβος· ἠνορέην νεότης, πολιὴ φρένας οἶδεν ὀπάσσαι.    ἔνθεν θάρσος ἔχων ζῶε, φύτευε γένος.

The Festival of Love, Antoine Watteau, ca. 1717

On a Painting of the Abandoned Philoctetes

Anthologia Planudea 113 = Julianus the Egyptian (6th cent. CE) I know Philoctetes when I see him-    For he makes manifest his pain to everyone, Even those who look from afar. His hair has grown long, like a wild man.    And see- on his temples, his long locks Have been baked dry, the color of rough rock. And his skin!  As hard as leather    And shriveled to look upon; I’d wager it would feel parched to the touch. Meanwhile, his tears stand still,    Frozen beneath his dry eyelids- A sign of his sleepless misery. Οἶδα Φιλοκτήτην ὁρόων, ὅτι πᾶσι φαείνει    ἄλγος ἑὸν καὶ τοῖς τηλόθι δερκομένοις. ἄγρια μὲν κομόωσαν ἔχει τρίχα· δεῦρ’ ἴδε κόρσης    χαίτην τρηχαλέοις χρώμασιν αὐαλέην· δέρμα κατεσκληκὸς δὲ φέρει καὶ ῥικνὸν ἰδέσθαι    καὶ τάχα καρφαλέον χερσὶν ἐφαπτομέναις· δάκρυα δὲ ξηροῖσιν ὑπὸ βλεφάροισι παγέντα    ἵσταται, ἀγρύπνου σῆμα δυηπαθίης.

The Wounded Philoctetes, Nicolai Abraham Abildgaard, 1775