Wet your lungs with wine: the star is corning round,
the season is harsh, everything is thirsty under the heat,
the cicada sings sweetly from the leaves . . .
the artichoke is in flower;
now are women most pestilential, but men are feeble,
since Sirius parches their heads and knees . . .
Hebrus, you flow, the most beautiful of rivers,
past Aenus into the turbid sea,
surging through the land of Thrace…
and many maidens visit you (to bathe ?)
their (lovely) thighs with tender hands;
they are enchanted (as they handle?)
your marvellous water like unguent . . .
*Scholiast on Theocritus
Alcaeus says that the Hebrus is the most beautiful of rivers and that it flows down through Thrace from Mount Rhodope and disgorges its waters by the city of Aenus.
This was the word of Aristodamos in Sparta,
and not so badly phrased at all.
He said: “Money’s the man.”
There’s no poor man who’s known as good or valued much.