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Ὁ μὲν καθ ̓ αὑτὸν ἴδιος ἐξάγων βίον
ῥώμῃ τε πάσῃ καὶ κατασκευῇ φρενῶν
νόσον τ ̓ ἀμύνειν καὶ βλάβην ὀφείλεται
πολλῷ δὲ μᾶλλον, ὅστις εὐτυχής περ ὧν
πολλῶν κρεμαστοὺς ἐξ ἑνὸς φέρει βίους.
οὔ τοι τυράννοις ἡ 'ξόδος μονόστολος
ἀλλ ̓ ὥστε δινὴ πάνθ' ὅσ ̓ ἐστὶ πλησία,
ἕλκει σὺν αὑτῷ· χὠσπερεί τρόχος μέγας
ἐν ὑψιπύργῳ πηκτὸς ἐμφανῶς ὄρει,
οὗ καὶ χνόαις ἐλάσσον, ἀνάριθμον βάρος,
γόμφοις ἄραρεν, χοῦτος ἢν πεσὼν τυχῇ,
τὰ φαῦλ ̓ ἅμ ̓ αὐτῷ πάντα συμπίτνει κάτω
δεινῶς διαφθαρέντα· καὶ γὰρ οὐ μόνος
στένει τύραννος, μὴ οὐχὶ παγκοίνῳ γόῳ.



Whom thus the meagre shadow answered soon.
'Go whither fate and inclination strong
Leads thee, I shall not lag behind, nor err
way, thou leading, such a scent I draw
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste

The savour of death from all things there that live :

Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest

Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid.'

So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell

Of mortal change on earth. As when a flock
Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote,
Against the day of battle, to a field,

Where armies lie encamped, come flying, lured
With scent of living carcases designed

For death, the following day, in bloody fight:
So scented the grim feature, and upturned
His nostril wide into the murky air,
Sagacious of his quarry from so far.

MILTON, P. L. x. 264.


Cui contra exilis respondit talibus umbra :
'I, quocunque vocant te fata et dira cupido;
Haud equidem procul errabo, cursumve morabor
Te duce; iam tali nares contingit odore
Halitus infandae caedis; praedaeque sapores,
Vivit ibi si quid mortalis seminis usquam,
Letique accipio dulces; istique labori
Haud ego deficiam, at pariter praesensque iuvabo.'
Dixerat; et gaudens foedum iam captat odorem
Terrigenumque luem: ceu quando ex aethere longe
Harpyiae, volucres avidae caedisque voraces,
Prospiciunt campos, si qua iam tutus in armis
Castra fovet miles; vivique adducta sapore
Sanguinis, et praedae cras haud ignara futurae,
Praescia turba cito stridentibus advolat alis.
Sic fera mors inhians patulis praecepit odorem
Naribus, obscurasque sagax se vertit ad auras,
Praescia iam praedae, quam sit longinqua, remotae.



Sleep, silence' child, sweet father of soft rest,
Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings,
Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings,
Sole comforter of minds with grief opprest;
Lo! by thy charming rod all breathing things
Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possest,
And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wing
Thou spar'st, alas! who cannot be thy guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that face
To inward light, which thou art wont to show,
With fained solace ease a true felt woe;

Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,
Come as thou wilt, and, what thou wilt, bequeath;
I long to kiss the image of my death.



Somne parens oti facilis subolesque silenti,
Rex, aditum cuius comitantur gaudia pacis
Omnibus, hospitium Croeso par, parque Menalcae
Das simul; insanos luctus tu solus amico
Auxilio mulcere potes, tu corda levare.

En magicum torques sceptrum, tum protenus omnes
Sopitos cohibent teneris oblivia vinclis.

A mihi! cur pennis, cur nos umbrare recusas
Somniferis? claudis cur nobis hospita tecta?
Cuncta tibi cedo; tamen huc accedere tardas.
Sume, precor, voltum, quo templa invisere mentis
Lucida saepe soles, falso ut solamine fallam

Haud falsas lacrimas. Munus tantum abnuis? Esto!
Talis non venies? At quavis, surde, figura
Advenias, quaevis tribuens mihi, mortis aventi
Amplecti speciem et vivo praesumere fatum.


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