Chorus
Dear to me is youth always, but old age is hanging over my head, a burden heavier than Aetna’s crags, casting its pall of gloom upon my eyes. Oh! never may the wealth of Asia’s kings tempt me to barter for houses stored with gold my happy youth, which is in wealth and poverty alike most fair! But old age is gloomy and deadly; I hate it; let it sink beneath the waves! Would it had never found its way to the homes and towns of mortal men, but were still drifting on for ever down the wind.
Chorus
Had the gods shown discernment and wisdom, as mortals count these things, men would have won youth twice over, a visible mark of worth among whomever found, and after death these would have run a double course once more to the sun-light, while the low born would have had a single portion of life; and thus would it have been possible to distinguish the good and the bad, just as sailors know the number of the stars amid the clouds. But, as it is, the gods have set no certain boundary between good and bad, but time’s onward roll brings increase only to man’s wealth.
Chorus
Never will I cease to link in one the Graces and the Muses, sweetest union. Never may I live among uneducated boors, but ever may I find a place among the crowned! Yes, still the aged singer lifts up his voice of bygone memories: still is my song of the triumphs of Heracles, whether Bromius the giver of wine is near, or the strains of the seven-stringed lyre and the Libyan pipe are rising; not yet will I cease to sing the Muses’ praise, my patrons in the dance.
Chorus
The maids of Delos raise their song of joy, circling round the temple gates in honor of Leto’s fair son, the graceful dancer; so I with my old lips will cry aloud songs of joy at your palace-doors, like the swan, aged singer; for there is a good theme for minstrelsy; he is the son of Zeus; yet high above his noble birth tower his deeds of prowess, for his toil secured this life of calm for man, having destroyed all fearsome beasts.
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