GREECE.

Greece, the source of light,
The world's pride,

Splendor, glory and honor,
And the crown of bravery,

Torch of Art and of the Beautiful,
Once fallen

You arose again and became great,
And you cast a glance of glory

As you used to do with such grandeur,
You the world's torch

And the great teacher.

C. Calodikes.

THE BEARDLESS AMBASSADOR

In 1586 (fifteen hundred and eighty-six), Philip II (the Second) has sent the young constable of Castile to Rome, in order to congratuiate Sixtus V (the Fifth) on his exaltation. This pope, displeased that so young an ambassador had been sent to him, said: "What! does your master want men, that he sends me a beardless ambassador?"-"If my sovereign had thought, answered the proud Spaniard, that merit consisted in the beard, he would have sent you a goat and not a gentleman."

Desire not to live long,

but to live well

How long we live,

not years but actions tell.

ΕΛΛΑΣ

Ελλάς μου φωτοδότρια τοῦ κόσμου περηφάνεια

Λαμπρότης δόξα καὶ τιμὴ καὶ τῆς ἀνδρείας στέμμα

Λαμπὰς τῆς τέχνης τοῦ καλοῦ ποῦ ἦσο στὴν ἀφάνεια

Ανάνηψες, μεγάλωσες καὶ δόξης ρίπτεις βλέμμα

Σὰν πρῶτα ποῦ ἐκύτταζες

μὲ τόσο μεγαλεῖο

Ἐσὺ τοῦ κόσμου ἡ λαμπὰς

καὶ τὸ διδασκαλεῖο.

Κ. Σ. ΚΑΛΟΔΙΚΗΣ

Ο ΑΓΕΝΕΙΟΣ ΠΡΕΣΒΥΣ

Κατὰ τὸ 1586 Φίλιππος ὁ Β ́., εἶχε στείλη τὸν νέον κοντόσταυλον τῆς Καστίλης εἰς Ρώμην ἵνα συγχαρῇ Σίξτιν τὸν Ε. ́ ἐπὶ τῇ ἀναρρήσει του εἰς τὸν θρόνον.

Ο Πάπας οὗτος δυσαρεστηθεὶς ὅτι τόσον νέος πρέ σβυς ἐστάλη πρὸ αὐτὸν εἶπε. Τί, μήπως ὁ κύριός σου στε ρῆται ἀνθρώπων, ὥστε μοῦ στέλλει ἕνα ἀγένειον πρέσβυν; Ἐὰν ὁ κύριός μου, ἐνόμιζε, ἀπήντησεν ὁ ὑπερήφα νος Ισπανός, ὅτι ἡ ἀξία ἔγκειται εἰς τά γένεια, θὰ σᾶς ἔστελλεν ἕνα τράγον καὶ ὄχι ἕνα ευπατρίδην.

Μὴ ἐπιθυμῇς νὰ ζῇς πολύν καιρόν,

ἀλλὰ νὰ ζῆς καλά.

Πόσον καιρὸν ζῶμεν,

Ὄχι τὰ ἔτη ἀλλ' αἱ πράξεις λέγουν.

THE CYCLOPS

A SATYRIC DRAMA TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES

O Bacchus, what a world of toil, both now And ere these limbs were overworn with age, Have I endured for thee! First, when thou fled'st The mountain-nymphs who nursed thee, driven (afar By the strange madness Juno sent upon thee; Then in the battle of the sons of Earth, When I stood foot by foot close to thy side, No unpropitious fellow-combatant,

And, driving through his shield my winged spear,
Slew vast Enceladus. Consider now,

Is it a dream of which I speak to thee?
By Jove, it is not, for you have the trophies!
And now I suffer more than all before.
For when I heard that Juno had devised
A tedious voyage for you, I put to sea
With all my children quaint in searth of you,
And I myself stood on the beaked prow
And fixed the naked mast; and all my boys
Leaning upon their oars, with splash and strain
made white with foam the green and purple sea-
And so we sought you, king. We were sailing
Near Malea, when an eastern wind arose,

ΟΙ ΚΥΚΛΩΠΕΣ

ΣΑΤΥΡΙΚΟΝ ΔΡΑΜΑ ΤΟΥ ΕΥΡΙΠΙΔΟΥ
ΜΕΤΑΦΡΑΣΘΕΝ ΕΚ ΤΗΣ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΗΣ

Ω Βάκχε, τί κόσμον βασάνων, καὶ τώρα,

καὶ πρὶν τὰ μέλη αὐτὰ καταβάλη ἡ ἡλικία

ἔχω ὑποφέρει διὰ σέ! Πρῶτον, ὅταν ἔφυγες

ἀπὸ τὸ ὄρος τῶν νυμφῶν ποῦ σ' ἀνέθρεψαν, φυγών

ἕνεκα τῆς παραδοξου μανίας τὴν ὁποίαν ἡ Ἥρα σοῦ ἔ

Ἔπειτα εἰς τὴν μάχην τῶν υἱῶν τῆς Γῆς ὅτε ἐστάθην πόδι με πόδι στην πλευράν σου ἐξαίσιε πολεμιστά,

στειλεν.

καὶ διευθύνας διά μέσου τῆς ἀσπίδος του τὸ πτερωτόν ἐφόνευσα τον Εγκέλαδον. Σκέψου τώρα.

Μήπως εἶναι ὄνειρον ἀπὸ ὅ,τι σοῦ λέγω;

(μου δόρυ,

Μὰ τὸν Δία, δὲν εἶναι ὄνειρον, διότι ἔχεις σὺ τὰ λάφυρα.
Και τώρα υποφέρω πολύ περισσότερον ἢ ἄλλοτε.
Διότι ὅταν ἤκουσα ὅτι ἡ Ἥρα ἐσχεδίασε

ἕνα λυπηρόν διὰ σὲ ταξείδι εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν

ἀμέσως ἔτρεξα μὲ ὅλα τὰ παιδιά μου διὰ νὰ σὲ ζητήσω, κι' ὁ ἴδιος ἐστάθην εἰς τὴν ἐμβολοειδῆ πρῷραν καὶ τὸ γυμνὸ στερέωσα κατάρτι, κι' ὅλα μου τὰ παιδιὰ μὲ τὰ χέρια στὰ κουπιά των μὲ κόπον ἐπλατάγιζον καὶ ἔκαμναν λευκὴν ἀπὸ ἀφρὸν τὴν πρασινοπόρφυρη θάΚ' ἔτσι σ' ἐζητούσαμεν, βασιλεῦ. Ἐπλέομεν (λασσα. πλησίον τοῦ Μαλέα, ὅτε ἄνεμος ηγέρθη ἀπηλιώτης

And drove us to this waste Aetnean rock;
The one-eyed children of the Ocean God,
The man-destroying Cyclopses, inhabit,
On this wild shore, their solitary caves,
And one of those, named Polypheme, has caught
To be his slaves; and so, for all delight
Of Bacchic sports, sweet dance and melody,
We keep this lawless giant's wandering flocks.
My sons, indeed, on far declivities,

(us

Young things themselves, tend on the youngling
But I remain to fill the water casks,

Or sweeping the hard floor or ministering
Some impious and abominable meal

(sheep,

To the fell Cyclops. I am wearied of it!
And now I must scrape up the littered floor,
With this great iron rake, so to receive
My absent master and his evening sheep
In a cave neat and clean. Even now I see
My children tending the flocks hitherward.
Ha! what is this? are your Sicinnian measures
Even now the same, as when with dance and song
You brought young Bacchus to Althaea's hails?

CHORUS OF SATYRS

Strophe

Where has he of race divine

Wandered in the winding rocks?

Here the air is calm and fine

For the father of the flocks;-
Here the grass is soft and sweet,
And the river-eddies meet
In the trough beside the cave,
Bright as in their fountain wave.-