Paul the Silentiary

Paul the Silentiary (died AD 575–580) was a Greek Byzantine poet and courtier to the emperor Justinian I at Constantinople.

Quotes

Anth. Pal. v. 244.

• Μακρὰ φιλεῖ Γαλάτεια καὶ ἔμψοφα, μαλθακὰ Δημώ,
  Δωρὶς ὀδακτάζει. τίς πλέον ἐξερέθει;
  οὔατα μὴ κρίνωσι φιλήματα: γευσάμενοι δὲ
  τριχθαδίων στομάτων, ψῆφον ἐποισόμεθα.
  ἐπλάγχθης, κραδίη: τὰ φιλήματα μαλθακὰ Δημοῦς
  ἔγνως καὶ δροσερῶν ἡδὺ μέλι στομάτων:
  μίμν᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖς: ἀδέκαστον ἔχει στέφος. εἰ δέ τις ἄλλῃ
  τέρπεται, ἐκ Δημοῦς ἡμέας οὐκ ἐρύσει.
  • Galatea’s kisses are long and smack, Demo’s are soft, and Doris bites one. Which excites most? Let not ears be judges of kisses; but I will taste the three and vote. My heart, thou wert wrong; thou knewest already Demo’s soft kiss and the sweet honey of her fresh mouth. Cleave to that; she wins without a bribe; if any take pleasure in another, he will not tear me away from Demo.
    • W. R. Paton, Greek Anthology, i, pp. 252-3.
  • A SOFT kiss Demo gives, but Doris bites,
    Daphne’s is loud and long. Which most excites?
    Ears judge not kisses; but, all three mouths tried
    And tasted round, the pebble shall decide.
    My heart of Demo the soft kisses sips,
    And the sweet honey of her dewy lips.
    Wander no further, Fool! Abide by these,
    She wins the garland fairly, and with ease;
    And if another some one else prefer,
    Let him—my love from Demo shall not stir.
    • R. G. MacGregor, Greek Anthology (1855; 1864)

Anth. Pal. v. 250.

• Ἡδύ, φίλοι, μείδημα τὸ Λαΐδος: ἡδὺ κατ᾽ αὖ τῶν
    ἠπιοδινήτων δάκρυ χέει βλεφάρων.
  χθιζά μοι ἀπροφάσιστον ἐπέστενεν, ἐγκλιδὸν ὤμῳ
    ἡμετέρῳ κεφαλὴν δηρὸν ἐρεισαμένη:
  μυρομένην δ᾽ ἐφίλησα: τὰ δ᾽ ὡς δροσερῆς ἀπὸ πηγῆς
    δάκρυα μιγνυμένων πῖπτε κατὰ στομάτων.
  εἶπε δ᾽ ἀνειρομένῳ, “Τίνος εἵνεκα δάκρυα λείβεις;”
    “Δείδια μή με λίπῃς: ἐστὲ γὰρ ὁρκαπάται.”
  • Sweet, my friends, is Lais’ smile, and sweet again the tears she sheds from her gently waving eyes. Yesterday, after long resting her head on my shoulder, she sighed without a cause. She wept as I kissed her, and the tears flowing as from a cool fountain fell on our united lips. When I questioned her, “Why are you crying?” She said, “I am afraid of your leaving me, for all you men are forsworn.”
    • W. R. Paton, Greek Anthology, i, pp. 256-7.
  • SWEET is my Laïs’ smile, and sweet the tide
      Of tears that floods her eyes alive with meaning:
    Now yesterday without a cause she sighed,
      Her head a long time on my shoulder leaning:
    I kissed her as she wept, but tear on tear
      Fell on our meeting lips like fountain dew:
    I asked her why she cried. She said, ‘For fear
      You will desert me: men are never true.’
    
    • W. S. Marris ("The Tears of Fear")
      The Oxford Book of Greek Verse in Translation (1938)

Anth. Pal. v. 266.

• Ἀνέρα λυσσητῆρι κυνὸς βεβολημένον ἰῷ
    ὕδασι θηρείην εἰκόνα φασὶ βλέπειν.
  λυσσώων τάχα πικρὸν Ἔρως ἐνέπηξεν ὀδόντα
    εἰς ἐμέ, καὶ μανίαις θυμὸν ἐληίσατο:
  σὴν γὰρ ἐμοὶ καὶ πόντος ἐπήρατον εἰκόνα φαίνει,
    καὶ ποταμῶν δῖναι, καὶ δέπας οἰνοχόον.
  • They say a man bitten by a mad dog sees the brute’s image in the water. I ask myself, “Did Love go rabid, and fix his bitter fangs in me, and lay my heart waste with madness?” For thy beloved image meets my eyes in the sea and in the eddying stream and in the wine-cup.
  • W. R. Paton, Greek Anthology, i, pp. 266-7.
  • BY A DOG’S rabid fury when poisoned, they tell us,
      Dog’s form in all waters the victim will see:
    At the moment when Love set his tooth in my bosom,
      Love surely was mad, working madness in me,—
    For the ocean, the river, the wine in the goblet,
      Show only one sweet darling image of thee!
    • W. G. Headlam ("The Mad Lover")
      A Book of Greek Verse (1907), pp. 254-5.

Anth. Pal. vi. 64, 65.

• ?
• ?
  • Philodemus, now that his wrinkled brows owing to old age come to hang over his eyes, dedicates to Hermes the round lead that draws dark lines, the pumice, rough whet-stone of hard pens, the knife, flat sharpener of the split reed-pens, the ruler that takes charge of the straightness of lines, the ink long kept in hollowed caverns and the notched pens blackened at the point.
  • Callimenes, resting from its long labour his sluggish hand that trembles with age, dedicates to Hermes his disc of lead that running correctly close to the straight ruler can deftly mark its track, the hard steel that eats the pens, the ruler itself, too, guide of the undeviating line, the rough stone on which the double-tooth of the pen is sharpened when blunted by long use, the sponge, wandering Triton’s couch in the deep, healer of the pen’s errors, and the ink-box with many cavities that holds in one all the implements of calligraphy.
    • W. R. Paton, Greek Anthology, i, pp. 332-3.
  • THE pencil that once freely traced the line
    Along the ruler’s straight and even side—
    The blade that shaped the reed-pen’s edges fine—
    The ruler too, the hand’s unswerving guide—
    The rugged pumice-stone, whose rasping kiss
    Sharpened the blunted reed-pen’s double lip—
    The sponge, uptorn from Neptune’s deep abyss,
    To cleanse the text from accidental slip—
    The desk of many cells, that did contain
    His ink, and all materials of his trade—
    The scribe to Hermes gives. After long strain,
    Palsied by age, his hand to rest is laid.
    • E. D. Stone, A Short Memoir of Herbert Kynaston (1912), p. 22.

Anth. Pal. vii. 307.

• ?
  • A. “My name is ————” B. “What does it matter?”
    A. “My country is ————” B. “And what does that matter?”
    A. “I am of noble race.” B. “And if you were of the very dregs?”
    A. “I quitted life with a good reputation.” B. “And had it been a bad one?”
    A. “And I now lie here.” B. “Who are you and to whom are you telling this?”
    • W. R. Paton, Greek Anthology, ii, pp. 166-7.
  • MY NAME—my country—what are they to thee?
    What—whether base or proud, my pedigree?
    Perhaps I far surpass’d all other men—
    Perhaps I fell below them all—what then?
    Suffice it, stranger! that thou see’st a tomb—
    Thou know’st its use—it hides—no matter whom.
    • W. Cowper ("An Epitaph"; "Vanities"; "A Nameless Grave")
      W. Hayley, ed., Life, and Posthumous Writings of W. Cowper, ii (1803), p. 305.
  • MY NAME and country were—no matter what!
    Noble my race—who cares though it were not?
    The fame I won in life—is all forgot!
    Now here I lie—and no one cares a jot!
    • J. A. Pott ("The Epitaph—and the Reader")
      G. B. Grundy, Ancient Gems in Modern Settings (1913), p. 284.

Anth. Pal. ix. 770.

• Χεῖλος Ἀνικήτεια τὸ χρύσεον εἰς ἐμὲ τέγγει·
    ἀλλὰ παρασχοίμην καὶ πόμα νυμφίδιον.
  • Anicetia moistens her golden lips in me, and may I give her the bridal draught too.
    • "On a Cup belonging to his own Unmarried Daughter"
      W. R. Paton, Greek Anthology, iii, pp. 416-7.
  • ARISTE wets her golden lip in me.
    If Hymen please, her bridal cup I’ll be.
    • Lord Cromer ("The Girl’s Cup")
      Paraphrases and Translations (1902), p. 93.