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Εἰς ἑαυτόν (Ode n. 9)

Anacreonte‎ / Ἀνακρέων
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Traduzione francese di Ernest Falconnet da The Lied, Art Song...

ODE IX

I pray thee, by the gods above,‎
Give me the mighty bowl I love,‎
And let me sing, in wild delight,‎
‎"I will -- I will be mad to-night!"‎

Alcmæon once, as legends tell,‎
Was frenzied by the fiends of hell;‎
Orestes too, with naked tread,‎
Frantic paced the mountain-head;‎
And why? a murder'd mother's shade
Haunted them still where'er they stray'd.‎
But ne'er could I a murderer be,‎
The grape alone shall bleed by me;‎
Yet can I shout, with wild delight,‎
‎"I will -- I will be made to-night!"‎

Alcides' self, in days of yore, ‎
Imbrued his hands in youthful gore,‎
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy,‎
The quiver of the expiring boy:‎
And Ajax, with tremendous shield,‎
Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field.‎
But I, whose hands no weapon ask,‎
No armour but this joyous flask;‎
The trophy of whose frantic hours
Is but a scatter's wreath of flowers,‎
Even I can sing with wild delight,‎
‎"I will -- I will be mad to-night."‎
SUR SON DÉLIRE

Au nom des dieux, permets-moi de boire, ‎
de boire à pleins bords: ‎
je veux, je veux un doux délire. ‎
Ils furent en délire après le meurtre ‎

de leur mère, Alcméon et Oreste ‎
aux pieds d'albâtre. ‎
Moi qui n'ai tué personne, ‎
m'enivrant d'un vin généreux, ‎
je veux, je veux un doux délire. ‎

Il était en délire, Hercule, ‎
quand il eut enlevé le terrible carquois ‎
et l'arc d'Iphytus; ‎
il était en délire Ajax, ‎
qui heurtait l'épée ‎

d'Hector sur son bouclier. ‎
Moi, ma coupe en main, ‎
la tête couronnée de fleurs, ‎
sans arc et sans épée, ‎
je veux, je veux un doux délire.‎


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