Epigram 9.668

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On a Suburban Park in Amasia called Eros


ἦ καλὸν ἄλσος Ἔρωτος, ὅπου καλὰ δένδρεα ταῦτα
πρηῢς ἐπιπνείων ἀμφιδονεῖ Ζέφυρος:
ᾗχι καὶ ἑρσήεις ἀμαρύσσεται ἄνθεσι λειμὼν,
πουλὺν ἰοστεφάνων κόσμον ἀνεὶς καλύκων

καὶ γλυκερῆς τρίστοιχος ἐπεμβαδὸν ἄλλος ἐπ᾽ ἄλλῳ
μαστὸς ἀναθλίβει χεύματα Ναϊάδος:
ὁππόθι δενδρήεντα γέρων παρανήχεται Ἶρις
χῶρον, Ἁμαδρυάδων ἔνδιον ἁβροκόμων,

καὶ λιπαρῆς εὔβοτρυν ἀν᾽ ὀργάδα καρπὸς ἐλαίης

θάλλει ἐρισταφύλων πάντοσε θειλοπέδων
αἱ δὲ πέριξ λαλαγεῦσιν ἀηδόνες: ὃς δὲ μελίζει
ἀντῳδὸν τέττιξ φθέγματος ἁρμονίαν.
ἀλλὰ τὸν ἀκλήιστον ὅπως, ξένε, μή με παρέλθῃς
τόνδε δόμον, λιτῆς δ᾽ ἀντίασον ξενίης.

— Paton edition

Verily it is lovely, the grove of Eros, where these
beautiful trees are stirred by the gentle breath of
Zephyr, where the dewy meadow is bright with
flowers, sending up a wealthy show of purple-fringed
cups, while the roses of three fountains in a line
one after the other spout forth the streams of the
sweet Naiad. Here Iris, the ancient river, swims
past the woods, resort of the soft-haired Hamadryads
and in the fruitful vineyard the fat berries of the
olive-trees flourish everywhere above the great
clusters of raisins set out to dry. Around sing the
nightingales, and the cicada hymns an answering
harmony. Do not, stranger, pass by my open
gate, but enter the house and partake of my simple

— Paton edition





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