Tuesday, September 22, 2026
A Poem by Dioscorus
P. Cair. Masp. I 67097 v F, tr.
Leslie S. B. MacCoull:
Related post: Let Us Be Merry.
‹Older
I want always to dance, I want always to play the lyre. I strike up my lyre to praise the solemn festival with my words. The Bacchae have cast a spell on me. . . . When I drink wine, my cares go to sleep. What do I care for pains and groans, what do I care for troubles? I love a young soldier, a Herakles with longing eyes, a lion tamer; ever one to save our cities.I owe my knowledge of this poem to James J. O'Donnell, The Ruin of the Roman Empire (London: Profile Books, 2009), p. 23.
ἀεὶ θέλω χορεύειν,
ἀεὶ θέλω λυρίζμιν.
γεραρὴν λόγοις ἑορτήν
ἀνα[βάϊλλομαι λυρίζειν.
θέλγουσίν με αἷ Βά<κ>χαι
α...υ[
[
ὅταν πίννω τὸν οἶνον,
εὕδουσιν αἵ μέριμναι·
τί μοι πόνων, τί μοι γόων,
τί μοι μέλει μεριμνῶν;
στρατηγὸν νέον ἔραμαι,
ποθοβλήτην Ἡρακλέα,
δαμάζοντα τοὺς λέοντας·
ἀεὶ τὰς πόλεις σαῶσαι.
Related post: Let Us Be Merry.
