Friday, August 24, 2012
Come Ye to the Waters
Greek Anthology 16.291 (by Anyte, tr. J.W. Mackail):
Letters to Sanchia upon Things as They Are. Extracted from the Correspondence of Mr. John Maxwell Senhouse by Maurice Hewlett (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1910), p. 37:
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To Pan the bristly-haired, and the Nymphs of the farm-yard, Theodotus the shepherd laid this gift under the crag, because they stayed him when very weary under the parching summer, stretching out to him honey-sweet water in their hands.The same, tr. John William Burgon:
To shaggy Pan and all the Wood-Nymphs fair,The same, translated into Latin by Hugo Grotius:
Fast by the rock this grateful offering stands,
A shepherd's gift—to those who gave him there
Rest, when he fainted in the sultry air,
And reached him sweetest water with their hands.
Ruricolis donum Nymphis, Fanoque piloso,The Greek:
Theudotus upilio rupe sub hac posuit,
Propterea quod cum torrente fatisceret aestu
Praebuerint manibus pocula dulcis aquae.
Φριξοκόμᾳ τόδε Πανὶ καὶ αὐλιάσιν θέτο ΝύμφαιςAll of these translations assume that Pan's hair is shaggy, but could the epithet φριξοκόμης (apparently a hapax legomenon) mean "making the hair stand on end"? Cf. φριξόθριξ, which can have this meaning, and recall that Pan causes panic.
δῶρον ὑπὸ σκοπιᾶς Θεύδοτος οἰονόμος·
οὕνεχ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἀζαλέου θέρεος μέγα κεκμηῶτα
παῦσαν, ὀρέξασαι χερσὶ μελιχρὸν ὕδωρ.
Letters to Sanchia upon Things as They Are. Extracted from the Correspondence of Mr. John Maxwell Senhouse by Maurice Hewlett (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1910), p. 37:
Who said, Pan is dead? Some fawning rogue who wanted to pay a compliment. Pan dead! He is not dead, and will never die. Wherever there's a noonday hush over the Weald, wherever there's mystery in the forest, there is Pan. Every far-sighted, unblinking old shepherd up here afield with his dog knows all about him, though he'll never tell you anything of what he knows. He hasn't got his name right, very likely; but he has got him. Every oak tree hides a Dryad; the Oreads foot it on the heath, and the Nereids cling to the wet rocks where the green water lips their backs and surges up over their slippery shoulders.