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74
SIMONIDES.
When on the motley-painted chest the wind
Blew boistrous, and by dire commotions stirr'd,
The rising surges roar'd,
Fair Danae, while trickled down her cheek
The frequent tear, felt all a mother's pangs;
Round her young Perseus, round her dearest babe,
She threw, resign'd to fate, her lovely arm,
And breath'd, thus softly breath'd, the sorrows of her soul.
Blew boistrous, and by dire commotions stirr'd,
The rising surges roar'd,
Fair Danae, while trickled down her cheek
The frequent tear, felt all a mother's pangs;
Round her young Perseus, round her dearest babe,
She threw, resign'd to fate, her lovely arm,
And breath'd, thus softly breath'd, the sorrows of her soul.
Ah! me, my child, what griefs do I endure!
Whilst thou, dear suckling babe, ill-omen'd child,
Sleepest, with heart at rest;
Sleepest in joyless, brass-encircled house;
And dark the night, tho' gleams the moon serene.
The wave, that passes thy unmoisten'd locks,
Thou heedest not; thou hearest not the winds;
For calm is thy lov'd face, in purple vestment veil'd.
Whilst thou, dear suckling babe, ill-omen'd child,
Sleepest, with heart at rest;
Sleepest in joyless, brass-encircled house;
75
The wave, that passes thy unmoisten'd locks,
Thou heedest not; thou hearest not the winds;
For calm is thy lov'd face, in purple vestment veil'd.
Ills now press on; and, didst thou know those ills,
How wouldst thou to my words, my words of woe,
Lend me thy little ear!
Sleep, then, my babe, thy mother bids thee sleep;
And sleep the waves, and sleep my sea of cares.
Yet, oh! my father Jove, confound their schemes!
Bold now the prayer—oh! may my Perseus live!
Still may he live, and still revenge his mother's wrongs.
How wouldst thou to my words, my words of woe,
Lend me thy little ear!
Sleep, then, my babe, thy mother bids thee sleep;
And sleep the waves, and sleep my sea of cares.
Yet, oh! my father Jove, confound their schemes!
Bold now the prayer—oh! may my Perseus live!
Still may he live, and still revenge his mother's wrongs.
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