[Greek: Thelo eirenen Psuches galenen Chorous eroton Trelais kai kroton.]

[Greek: Thelo tragoudia, Kepous, louloudia Kai choratadais 'Stais prasinadais.]

[Greek: Touta latreuo Touta xeleuo K' heis tout' apano Thel 'na 'pothano.]

TRANSLATION.

To me be given The sweet peace of heaven, A heart quiet resting, Frolic and jesting!

Dramas sweet ringing, Ball play and singing, Music entrancing, Wild whirling dancing!

Such I require, Such I desire, Rose-crowned, so To the bier I would go!

PUMPUS OF PERUSIA.

Feucht hing die Sonne. Des Novembers Schauer ging Mit leisem Frosteln durch das Land Hetruria.

_Anpumpen, to pump, is a German slang term for borrowing. Pumpus was the name of an Etruscan prince_.

Dim was the sunlight, and November shivering Ran with a light frost o'er the land Etruria, A gentle head-ache of the last night's origin, Went threading through the air with weary pinion-beat; A weak and bankrupt feeling lay on hill and dale, The sacred olive tree, whose last thin yellow leaf Thrilled in the wind, stretched mournfully its branches forth Barren and bare, as wanting what was needfullest; E'en the street pavement was suspicious. To the eye The old primaeval basalt's firm material Seemed changed that day to very porous carbonate, And all things--all things--all things had a seedy look.

Such was the day when, in the early morning hour, A weary wight from Populonia's portal went; In vain the guard on the Cyclopean city wall Cast on the lord a hopeful glance for drink-money,-- He drew him back--and glared at him--and gave nothing.

There where the road goes winding towards Suessulae, And some old priest's strange ten-pin-towered monument Mournfully casts a shadow o'er the bleaching field, He paused awhile--in the reed gra.s.s stuck his javelin, And in his chlamys foldings sadly sought awhile, Then sought again--then made one more experiment-- Yet found not what he sought for.

Oh, who knows the pain Which rears up horse-like in a brave Etruscan heart When all things--all things--all things tend to poverty, And the horror of the Empty in the pocket dwells Where once the sesterce gaily by the denar rang!

The helm removing from his heavy-laden head, He raised his right hand to his forehead thoughtfully, His tearful glance went back to Populonia, And lurid lightning flickered from his hero-eye.

'Oh thou Chimaera Tavern!' said he mournfully, 'Was that the end of 't? Meant that the flock of birds Which three days past went croaking to the left hand side?

Said that the oxen's, entrails enigmatical?

Oh thou Chimaera Tavern, what is pleasanter Than entering as a guest into thy guest-chamber?

There neatly waits the experienced tavern-keeper; And heroes round the cool wine are convivial; Around the n.o.ble hill-descended Dimeros.

From drinking mouths comes wisdom flowing thoughtfully, While at the upper linen-covered long table, Where Tegulinum's augur to the latest hour, Sternly defying, stands it like a bronze column, And sings in glees; that wonderful astrologer;-- Oh thou Chimaera Tavern, tell--if possible-- Whither goes hurrying?--ha! what was't I nearly spoke?-- What word--thrice G.o.d-curst word--on which--oh horrible!

Hangs the Etruscan fate--ay, that's it--Ready Money!

Oh Fufluns! Fufluns! Bacchus--dark and terrible!

Now all is gone--away and gone away--ha--hummm!

And yet a deed, I swear 't shall now by me be done, Such as the stupid world in dream has never dreamed, Shuddering and cold--my name shall to posterity By this one deed be carried, awful, horrible, As true as I by this priest's grave am standing now, I--Pumpus of Perusia, the Etruscan prince.'

He said--and went. A sunbeam fell uncannily On spear and helm. Cold light was o'er the cypresses, Deep the gale sighed--grave-deep--like moaning far-away.

The world was innocent then. As yet no one had known The law of contracts with its windings intricate, And e'en the sage in silver beard was ignorant Of loans or such a deed as money borrowing; Yet on that day i' the forest by Suessulae One hero by another bold was borrowed from!

This is the song of Pumpus of Perusia.

THE TEUTOBURGER BATTLE.

Als die Romer frech geworden, Zogen sie nach Deutschlands Norden, Vorne beim Trompetenschall Ritt der Generalfeldmarschall Herr Quinctilius Varus.

When the Romans, rashly roving, Into Germany were moving, First of all--to flourish, partial-- Rode 'mid trumps the great field-martial, Sir Quinctilius Varus.

But in the Teutoburgian forest How the north wind blew and chor-rused; Ravens flying through the air, And there was a perfume there As of blood and corpses.

All at once, in sock and buskins Out came rushing the Cheruskins Howling, 'Gott und Vaterland!'

They went in with sword in hand, Against the Roman legions.

Ah, it was an awful slaughter, And the cohorts ran like water; But of all the foe that day, The hors.e.m.e.n only got away, Because they were on horseback.

O Quinctilius! wretched general, Knowest thou not that such our men are all?

In a swamp he fell--how shocking!

Lost two boots, a left-hand stocking.

And, besides, was smothered.

Then, with his temper growing wusser.

Said to Centurion t.i.tiusser, 'Pull your sword out--never mind, And bore me through with it behind, Since the game is busted.'

Scaevola, of law a student, Fine young fellow--but imprudent As a youth of tender years, Served among the volunteers,-- He was also captured.

E'en his hoped-for death was baffled, For ere they got him to the scaffold He was stabbed quite unaware, And nailed fast en derriere To his Corpus Juris.

When this forest fight was over Hermann rubbed his hands in clover; And to do the thing up right, The Cheruscans did invite To a first-rate breakfast.

But in Rome the wretched varmints Went to purchase morning garments; Just as they had tapped a puncheon, And Augustus sat at luncheon, Came the mournful story.

And the tidings so provoked him, That a peac.o.c.k leg half choked him, And he cried--beyond control-- 'Varus--Varus--d--n your soul!

Redde legiones!'

His German slave, Hans Schmidt be-christened, Who in the corner stood and listened, Remarked, 'Der teufel take me wenn He efer kits dose droops acain, For tead men ish not lifin.'

Now, in honour of the story, A monument they'll raise for glory.

As for pedestal--they've done it; But who'll pay for a statue on it Heaven alone can tell us.

OLD a.s.sYRIAN--JONAH.

Im schwarzen Wallfisch zu Ascalon Da trank ein Mann drei Tag', Bis da.s.s er steif wie ein Besenstiel Am Marmortische lag.