Epigram 9.363

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χείματος ἠνεμόεντος ἀπ᾽ αἰθέρος οἰχομένοιο,
πορφυρέη μείδησε φερανθέος εἴαρος ὥρη.
γαῖα δὲ κυανέη χλοερὴν ἐστέψατο ποίην,
καὶ φυτὰ θηλήσαντα νέοις ἐκόμησε πετήλοις.

οἱ δ᾽ ἁπαλὴν πίνοντες ἀεξιφύτου δρόσον Ἠοῦς
λειμῶνες γελόωσιν, ἀνοιγομένοιο ῥόδοιο.
χαίρει καὶ σύριγγι νομεὺς ἐν ὄρεσσι λιγαίνων,
καὶ πολιοῖς ἐρίφοις ἐπιτέρπεται αἰπόλος αἰγῶν.
ἤδη δὲ πλώουσιν ἐπ᾽ εὐρέα κύματα ναῦται

πνοιῇ ἀπημάντῳ Ζεφύρου λίνα κολπώσαντος.
ἤδη δ᾽ εὐάζουσι φερεσταφύλῳ Διονύσῳ,
ἄνθεϊ βοτρυόεντος ἐρεψάμενοι τρίχα κισσοῦ,
ἔργα δὲ τεχνήεντα βοηγενέεσσι μελίσσαις
καλὰ μέλει, καὶ σίμβλῳ ἐφήμεναι ἐργάζονται

λευκὰ πολυτρήτοιο νεόρρυτα κάλλεα κηροῦ

πάντῃ δ᾽ ὀρνίθων γενεὴ λιγύφωνον ἀείδει,
ἀλκυόνες περὶ κῦμα, χελιδόνες ἀμφὶ μέλαθρα,
κύκνος ἐπ᾽ ὄχθαισιν ποταμοῦ, καὶ ὑπ᾽ ἄλσος ἀηδών.
εἰ δὲ φυτῶν χαίρουσι κόμαι, καὶ γαῖα τέθηλεν,

συρίζει δὲ νομεὺς, καὶ τέρπεται εὔκομα μῆλα,
καὶ ναῦται πλώουσι, Διώνυσος δὲ χορεύει,
καὶ μέλπει πετεεινά, καὶ ὠδίνουσι μέλισσαι,
πῶς οὐ χ;χρὴ καὶ ἀοιδὸν ἐν εἴαρι καλὸν ἀεῖσαι;

— Paton edition

Windy winter has left the skies, and the purple sea-
son of flowery spring smiles. The dark earth garlands
herself in green herbage, and the plants bursting
into leaf wave their new-born tresses. The meadows,
drinking the nourishing dew of dawn, laugh as the
roses open. The shepherd on the hills delights to
play shrilly on the pipes, and the goatherd joys in his
white kids. Already the mariners sail over the broad
billows, their sails bellied by the kindly Zephyr.
Already, crowning their heads with the bloom of
berried ivy, men cry evoe ! to Dionysus the giver of
the grape. The bees that the bull's carcase gene-
rates¹ bethink them of their artful labours, and seated
on the hive they build the fresh white loveliness of
their many-celled comb. The races of birds sing
loud everywhere : the kingfishers by the waves, the
swallows round the house, the swan by the river's
brink, the nightingale in the grove. If the foliage
of plants rejoices, and the earth flourishes, and the
shepherd pipes, and the fleecy flocks disport them-
selves, and sailors sail, and Dionysus dances, and the
birds sing, and the bees bring forth, how should a
singer too not sing beautifully in the spring?

— Paton edition

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Comment

#1

Paton Edition: 1 cp. Vergil, Georg. iv. 555.

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