Paul the Silentiary

Paul the Silentiary (Greek: Παῦλος ὁ Σιλεντιάριος; Latin: Paulus Silentiarius; died AD 575–580) was a Greek Byzantine poet and courtier to the emperor Justinian at Constantinople.

Quotes

• 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 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.’
    
  • Anthologia Palatina, v, 250, as translated by W. S. Marris, in The Oxford Book of Greek Verse in Translation (1938), "The Tears of Fear"

• 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.
  • 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!
  • Anthologia Palatina, v, 266, as translated by W. G. Headlam, A Book of Greek Verse (1907), "The Mad Lover"

• Γυρὸν κυανέης μόλιβον σημάντορα γραμμῆς,
    καὶ σκληρῶν ἀκόνην τρηχαλέην καλάμων,
  καὶ πλατὺν ὀξυντῆρα μεσοσχιδέων δονακήων,
    καὶ κανόνα γραμμῆς ἰθυπόρου ταμίην,
  καὶ χρόνιον γλυπτοῖσι μέλαν πεφυλαγμένον ἄντροις,
    καὶ γλυφίδας καλάμων ἄκρα μελαινομένων
  Ἑρμείῃ Φιλόδημος, ἐπεὶ χρόνῳ ἐκκρεμὲς ἤδη
    ἦλθε κατ᾽ ὀφθαλμῶν ῥυσὸν ἐπισκύνιον.
  * * *
  Τὸν τροχόεντα μόλιβδον, ὃς ἀτραπὸν οἶδε χαράσσειν
    ὀρθὰ παραξύων ἰθυτενῆ κανόνα,
  καὶ χάλυβα σκληρὸν καλαμηφάγον, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὸν
    ἡγεμόνα γραμμῆς ἀπλανέος κανόνα,
  καὶ λίθον ὀκριόεντα, δόναξ ὅθι δισσὸν ὀδόντα
    θήγεται ἀμβλυνθεὶς ἐκ δολιχογραφίης,
  καὶ βυθίην Τρίτωνος ἁλιπλάγκτοιο χαμεύνην,
    σπόγγον, ἀκεστορίην πλαζομένης γραφίδος,
  καὶ κίστην πολύωπα μελανδόκον, εἰν ἑνὶ πάντα
    εὐγραφέος τέχνης ὄργανα ῥυομένην,
  Ἑρμῇ Καλλιμένης, τρομερὴν ὑπὸ γήραος ὄκνῳ
    χεῖρα καθαρμόζων ἐκ δολιχῶν καμάτων.
  • 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.
  • Anthologia Palatina, vi, 64, 65, as adapted by Herbert Kynaston, in E. D. Stone, A Short Memoir, &c. (1912), p. 22.

• α. Οὔνομά μοι. β. Τί δὲ τοῦτο; α. Πατρὶς δέ μοι. β. Ἐς τί δὲ τοῦτο;
  α. Κλεινοῦ δ᾽ εἰμὶ γένους. β. Εἰ γὰρ ἀφαυροτάτου;
  α. Ζήσας δ᾽ ἐνδόξως ἔλιπον βίον. β. Εἰ γὰρ ἀδόξως;
  α. Κεῖμαι δ᾽ ἐνθάδε νῦν. β. Τίς τίνι ταῦτα λέγεις;
  • 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.
    • Anthologia Palatina, vii, 307, as translated by William Cowper, in W. Hayley, ed. Life, and Posthumous Writings of W. Cowper, Vol. 2 (1803), "An Epitaph"; "Vanities"; "A Nameless Grave"
  • Other translations:
    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, Greek Love Songs and Epigrams, Vol. 1 (1911), p. 119

• Χεῖλος Ἀνικήτεια τὸ χρύσεον εἰς ἐμὲ τέγγει·
    ἀλλὰ παρασχοίμην καὶ πόμα νυμφίδιον.
  • Ariste wets her golden lip in me.
    If Hymen please, her bridal cup I’ll be.
  • Anthologia Palatina, ix, 770, as translated by Lord Cromer, Paraphrases and Translations (1902), "The Girl’s Cup"