Moschus Fr. 1 [=Stob. 4.17.19]
“Whenever the wind strikes the gray sea
I pluck the cowardice from my heart and the land
Is no longer dear because the great sea fills me with desire.
But when the sea groans in its dusky deep
And it churns growing waves on its back
Then I glance at the land and escape for the trees.
The soil delights me and the forest shade is a pleasure
There where the pine sings loud when the wind breathes.
A fisherman lives a terrible life: his home is a boat;
His work is the sea and the fish his wandering hunt.
I’d have a sweet slumber under a deep-leafed plane tree
And I would love to hear the echo of a spring nearby
The sound of water that soothes but does not trouble your sleep.”
Τὰν ἅλα τὰν γλαυκὰν ὅταν ὥνεμος ἀτρέμα βάλλῃ,
τὰν φρένα τὰν δειλὰν ἐρεθίζομαι, οὐδ’ ἔτι μοι γᾶ
ἐντὶ φίλα, ποθίει δὲ πολὺ πλέον ἁ μεγάλα μ’ ἅλς.
ἀλλ’ ὅταν ἀχήσῃ πολιὸς βυθὸς ἁ δὲ θάλασσα
κυρτὸν ἐπαφρίζῃ τὰ δὲ κύματα μακρὰ μεμήνῃ,
ἐς χθόνα παπταίνω καὶ δένδρεα τὰν δ’ ἅλα φεύγω,
γᾶ δέ μοι ἀσπαστά, χἀ δάσκιος εὔαδεν ὕλα
ἔνθα καὶ ἢν πνεύσῃ πολὺς ὥνεμος ἁ πίτυς ᾄδει.
ἦ κακὸν ὁ γριπεὺς ζώει βίον, ᾧ δόμος ἁ ναῦς,
καὶ πόνος ἐντὶ θάλασσα, καὶ ἰχθύες ἁ πλάνος ἄγρα.
αὐτὰρ ἐμοὶ γλυκὺς ὕπνος ὑπὸ πλατάνῳ βαθυφύλλῳ,
καὶ παγᾶς φιλέοιμι τὸν ἐγγύθεν ἆχον ἀκούειν
ἃ τέρπει ψοφέοισα τὸν ἄγρυπνον, οὐχὶ ταράσσει.
