The Harp Song of Nature

Anacreon's Cicada

A lovely little poem attributed to Anacreon of Teso (late 6th cent BC) — but probably composed many hundreds of years later in his style (the metre is Anacreontics) — praises the cicada, tettix in Greek.

I thought of giving it a new translation when my friend David Lewis emailed asking about a former Principal (1845-52) of Jesus College (Oxford University) Dr Daniel Harper, “whose portrait reveals in the foreground a cicada, believed to be a pun on his name, as in Greek the words used to describe the noise made by a cicada and by a harp are the same.” Indeed they might be: to chatter like a cicada would be to ‘harp on’ like a tettix.

We give praise to you, cicada,
singing sweetly from the treetops,
having drunk the morning dewdrops.
Like a king you sing your heart out:
your domain is all around you,
all you look at in the pastures,
all the gifts of turning seasons.
Friend to farmers in their labours,
harming nothing, hurting no one,
honoured by the race of mortals.
Sweet-voiced herald of the summer,
Muses hold you in affection;
Lord Apollo loves you dearly,
he gave you your silver music.
Age will never dim your power,
clever child of earth, musician,
free from pain and free from bloodshed,
nearly equal to immortals.

Εἰς τέττιγα

Μακαρίζομέν σε, τέττιξ,
ὅτι δενδρέων ἐπ ΄ ἄκρων
ὀλίγην δρόσον πεπωκώς,
βασιλεὺς ὅπως, ἀείδεις.
Σὰ γάρ ἐστι κεῖνα πάντα,
ὁπόσα βλέπεις ἐν ἀγροῖς,
κὀπόσα φέρουσιν ὧραι.
Σὺ δὲ φίλτατος γεωργοῖς,
σὺ δὲ τίμιος βροτοῖσι,
θέρεος γλυκὺς προφήτης.
Φιλέουσι μέν σε Μοῦσαι,
φιλέει δὲ Φοῖβος αὐτός,
λιγυρὴν δ ΄ ἔδωκεν οἴμην.
Τὸ δὲ γῆρας οὔ σε τείρει,
σοφέ, γηγενές, φίλυμνε,
ἀπαθές, ἀναιμόσαρκε·
σχεδὸν εἶ θεοῖς ὅμοιος.