79†

Leave Crete and come to me now, to that holy temple,

where the loveliness of your apple grove

waits for you and your altars smoulder

with burning frankincense;

there, far away beyond the apple branches, cold streams

murmur, roses shade every corner

and, when the leaves rustle, you are seized

by a strange drowsiness;

there, a meadow, a pasture for horses, blooms with all

the flowers of Spring, while the breezes blow

so gently …

there … Cyprian goddess, take and pour

gracefully like wine into golden cups,

a nectar mingled with all the joy

of our festivities

*****

† 79: The text of this fragment comes from a potsherd of the third century B.C. Campbell (1982, p.57) points out that the poem does not necessarily begin here as the participle ‘coming down from’ and part of a noun (heaven? mountain?) precede it.