Fragmentary Friday: A Poem of (Life’s) Mixed Evils

Archilochus, fr. 13

 “Neither citizen nor city, Perikles, will delight in the feast
And find fault in the pain of our mourning
For the waves of the much-resounding sea consumed
Such great men, and we have lungs swollen
With pain. But the gods, dear friend, have set
Powerful endurance as our medicine for untreatable
Evils. Different people have this at different times.
Now it has fallen to us and we lament a blooded wound,
But it will go to others in turn. Now, bear up quickly
Once you have pushed away womanly grief.”

κήδεα μὲν στονόεντα Περίκλεες οὔτέ τις ἀστῶν
μεμφόμενος θαλίηις τέρψεται οὐδὲ πόλις·
τοίους γὰρ κατὰ κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης
ἔκλυσεν, οἰδαλέους δ’ ἀμφ’ ὀδύνηις ἔχομεν
πνεύμονας. ἀλλὰ θεοὶ γὰρ ἀνηκέστοισι κακοῖσιν
ὦ φίλ’ ἐπὶ κρατερὴν τλημοσύνην ἔθεσαν
φάρμακον. ἄλλοτε ἄλλος ἔχει τόδε· νῦν μὲν ἐς ἡμέας
ἐτράπεθ’, αἱματόεν δ’ ἕλκος ἀναστένομεν,
ἐξαῦτις δ’ ἑτέρους ἐπαμείψεται. ἀλλὰ τάχιστα
τλῆτε, γυναικεῖον πένθος ἀπωσάμενοι.


Image result for greek mourning vase

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