Two Poems translated  from the Greek Orthodox Masters

AT THE COLOSSEUM
             by Amphilochius of Iconium

 They sit unknowing of these agonies,
 Spectators at a show.  When a man flies
 From a beast's jaw, they groan, as if at least
 They missed the ravenous pleasure, like the beast,
 And sat there vainly.  When, in the next spring,
 The victim is attained, and, uttering
 The deep roar or quick shriek between the fangs,
 Beats on the dust the passion of his pangs,
 All pity dieth in that glaring look;
 They clap to see the blood run like a brook;
 They stare with hungry eyes, which tears should fill,
 And cheer the beasts on with their soul's good will;
 And wish more victims to their maw, and urge
 And lash their fury, as they shared the surge,
 Gnashing their teeth, like beasts, on the flesh of men.
 

 THE GRECOPHILE HERONS
    by Manuel Phile (fourteenth century).

    A Grecian island nourisheth to bless
    A race of herons in all nobleness.
    If some barbarian bark approach the shore,
    They hate, they flee, -- no eagle can outsoar!
    But if by chance an Attic voice be wist,
    They grow softhearted straight, philhellenist;
    Press on in earnest flocks along the strand,
    And stretch their wings out to the comer's hand.
    Perhaps he nears them with a gentle mind, --
    They love his love, though foreign to their kind!
    For so the island giveth winged teachers,
    In true love lessons, to all wingless creatures.

---

 

XXVIII  Sonnet

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend:  this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!--this . . . the paper's light . . .
Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
 

---