For you I’d do
    the whole thing through,
below, above,
    for now, for love.

Were the Latin an original Catullan couplet, I think this would be a fine translation of it. It captures the meaning and effect far better than the awkwardness of the literal version.

The literal translation of words and phrases rarely captures the meaning of Latin and Greek literature. I've just completed a translation of Plato's Symposium, trying to find ways of expressing the meaning accurately in idiomatic English for a non-specialist (and to some extent also a non-British) reader. This almost always means avoiding a purely literal translation. I decided that I should also have the courage (or audacity) to add or remove what I consider to be non-crucial elements (others might disagree, of course), so as to make the prose clearer and more immediate to the modern reader. 

The opening sentence, for instance, is spoken by the narrator Apollodorus to his  interlocutor Glaucon (as yet unnamed in the Greek text), who has asked him to tell the story of the party in which Love was the topic of discussion:

δοκῶ μοι περὶ ὧν πυνθάνεσθε οὐκ ἀμελέτητος εἶναι. καὶ γὰρ ἐτύγχανον πρῴην εἰς ἄστυ οἴκοθεν ἀνιὼν Φαληρόθεν· τῶν οὖν γνωρίμων τις ὄπισθεν κατιδών με πόρρωθεν ἐκάλεσε, καὶ παίζων ἅμα τῇ κλήσει, ὦ Φαληρεύς, ἔφη, οὗτος Ἀπολλόδωρος, οὐ περιμένεις; κἀγὼ ἐπιστὰς περιέμεινα.

A literal translation runs: 

I think I am not unpractised in what you inquire about. You see, the day before yesterday I happened to be going up to town from my house in Phalerum, when one of my acquaintances caught sight of me far ahead of him from behind and called in a jocular way "You, Phalerian! I say, Apollodorus, won't you wait for me?" So I stopped and waited.

Of Artemis sing, Muse, the sister of the god Far-shooting, 
Virgin of copious arrows, fellow nursling of Apollo; 
who waters first her horses by the reedy river Meles
then swiftly drives her chariot wholly made of gold through Smyrna
to Claros rich in terraced vines, where silver-bowed Apollo 
sits waiting for the Shooting-far Goddess of Copious Arrows.
So I salute you, and with you all goddesses along:   
of you I sing, and from you first of all I raise my song.

Ἄρτεμιν ὕμνει, Μοῦσα, κασιγνήτην Ἑκάτοιο,
παρθένον ἰοχέαιραν, ὁμότροφον Ἀπόλλωνος,
ἥ θ᾿ ἵππους ἄρσασα βαθυσχοίνοιο Μέλητος
ῥίμφα διὰ Σμύρνης παγχρύσεον ἅρμα διώκει
ἐς Κλάρον ἀμπελόεσσαν, ὅθ᾿ ἀργυρότοξος Ἀπόλλων
ἧσται μιμνάζων ἑκατηβόλον Ἰοχέαιραν.
καὶ σὺ μὲν οὕτω χαῖρε θεαί θ᾿ ἅμα πᾶσαι ἀοιδῆι·
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ σέ τε πρῶτα καὶ ἐκ σέθεν ἄρχομ᾿ ἀείδειν.

Maecenas, offspring of an ancient line
of kings, o my protector, pride and friend:
see how men love to watch Olympia’s dust
thrown up by racing chariots, the bend

grazed by their scorching wheels, the winning lap
exalting then to lordship in the skies.
For some, a fine career in public life
with popular approval is the prize,

while others strive to fill their granaries
with heaped-up corn swept up by Libyan trade.
The farmer who drives furrows with a pick
on his ancestral fields, you won’t persuade,

not with a tyrant’s ransom, to endure
the terror of a leaky boat at sea.
The merchant, fearful of the roar of wind
and wave, commends the rural harmony

of his home town, but soon enough, unused
to humble ways of life, fits out his fleet.
Then there’s the man who quaffs his vintage wine,
and for an hour or two puts up his feet,

lolling at ease beneath an arbute shrub,
or by a gentle river’s sacred head.
Some relish war’s alarms, the call of pipes
and bugles mingled, battles that strike dread

into a mother’s heart. Through frozen nights,
the hunter with his faithful hounds forgets
his tender bride, intent on catching deer,
or Sabine boars that tear his fine-meshed nets.

But as for me, I seek the ivy crown
that links me to the heavens: my domain
is the cool shade where nymphs and satyrs dance.
I only ask the Muses: don’t disdain

to grant me inspiration with your pipes
and Lesbian lyre. Then, if only I
might take my place among the lyric bards,
with upraised head I’ll strike the stars on high.

Maecenas atavis edite regibus,
o et praesidium et dulce decus meum:
sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum
collegisse iuvat metaque fervidis

evitata rotis palmaque nobilis	              5
terrarum dominos evehit ad deos.
hunc, si mobilium turba Quiritium
certat tergeminis tollere honoribus,	

illum, si proprio condidit horreo
quidquid de Libycis verritur areis. 	              10
gaudentem patrios findere sarculo
agros Attalicis condicionibus

numquam demoveas, ut trabe Cypria
Myrtoum pavidus nauta secet mare.
luctantem Icariis fluctibus Africum                     15
mercator metuens otium et oppidi

laudat rura sui; mox reficit rates
quassas indocilis pauperiem pati.
est qui nec veteris pocula Massici
nec partem solido demere de die                         20

spernit, nunc viridi membra sub arbuto
stratus, nunc ad aquae lene caput sacrae.
multos castra iuvant et lituo tubae
permixtus sonitus bellaque matribus

detestata. manet sub Iove frigido                         25
venator tenerae coniugis inmemor,
seu visa est catulis cerva fidelibus
seu rupit teretes Marsus aper plagas.

me doctarum hederae praemia frontium
dis miscent superis, me gelidum nemus            30
Nympharumque leves cum Satyris chori
secernunt populo, si neque tibias

Euterpe cohibet nec Polyhymnia
Lesboum refugit tendere barbiton.
quodsi me lyricis vatibus inseres,                    35
sublimi feriam sidera vertice.

If only I didn't have to live among the fifth generation, 
but could have died first or been born afterwards! 
Today's race is truly one of iron. Every day
it toils on grimly, every night it is exhausted, 
since the gods give it pain and trouble.
Still, in this generation good is mixed with bad.
But Zeus will destroy this race of mortals
when babies are born with grey hair on their temples; 
then fathers will fight with sons, sons with fathers,
guests with hosts, friends with friends; 
brothers will not cherish brothers as before; 
children will dishonour their ageing parents,
scolding them with unpleasant words
(fools, they don't think about divine punishment!)
and not repaying their parents for rearing them.
Wantonly destructive, men will destroy others' cities. 
There will be no benefit for those who keep their word 
nor for the just or good men; more honour will accrue 
to evildoers and men of violence, in whose hands justice lies. 
Decency will not exist: bad men will harm good ones, 
with crooked words and false promises.
Envy, raucous and gloating, loathsome to behold, 
will accompany all miserable human beings. 
Reverence and Retribution will cover their faces 
with white veils, and will leave human beings behind, 
as they retreat from the broad earth to the 
race of the immortals on Olympus. Terrible pain will remain
for mortals, and there will be no guard against ills.

μηκέτ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ὤφελλον ἐγὼ πέμπτοισι μετεῖναι
ἀνδράσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ πρόσθε θανεῖν ἢ ἔπειτα γενέσθαι.
νῦν γὰρ δὴ γένος ἐστὶ σιδήρεον· οὐδέ ποτ᾽ ἦμαρ
παύσονται καμάτου καὶ ὀιζύος οὐδέ τι νύκτωρ
τειρόμενοι· χαλεπὰς δὲ θεοὶ δώσουσι μερίμνας.
ἀλλ᾽ ἔμπης καὶ τοῖσι μεμείξεται ἐσθλὰ κακοῖσιν.
Ζεὺς δ᾽ ὀλέσει καὶ τοῦτο γένος μερόπων ἀνθρώπων,
εὖτ᾽ ἂν γεινόμενοι πολιοκρόταφοι τελέθωσιν.
οὐδὲ πατὴρ παίδεσσιν ὁμοίιος οὐδέ τι παῖδες,
οὐδὲ ξεῖνος ξεινοδόκῳ καὶ ἑταῖρος ἑταίρῳ,
οὐδὲ κασίγνητος φίλος ἔσσεται, ὡς τὸ πάρος περ.
αἶψα δὲ γηράσκοντας ἀτιμήσουσι τοκῆας·
μέμψονται δ᾽ ἄρα τοὺς χαλεποῖς βάζοντες ἔπεσσιν,
σχέτλιοι, οὐδὲ θεῶν ὄπιν εἰδότες· οὐδὲ μὲν οἵ γε
γηράντεσσι τοκεῦσιν ἀπὸ θρεπτήρια δοῖεν.
χειροδίκαι· ἕτερος δ᾽ ἑτέρου πόλιν ἐξαλαπάξει·
οὐδέ τις εὐόρκου χάρις ἔσσεται οὐδὲ δικαίου
οὔτ᾽ ἀγαθοῦ, μᾶλλον δὲ κακῶν ῥεκτῆρα καὶ ὕβριν
ἀνέρα τιμήσουσι· δίκη δ᾽ ἐν χερσί καὶ αἰδὼς
οὐκ ἔσται· βλάψει δ᾽ ὁ κακὸς τὸν ἀρείονα φῶτα
μύθοισι σκολιοῖς ἐνέπων, ἐπὶ δ᾽ ὅρκον ὀμεῖται.
Ζῆλος δ᾽ ἀνθρώποισιν ὀιζυροῖσιν ἅπασιν
δυσκέλαδος κακόχαρτος ὁμαρτήσει, στυγερώπης.
καὶ τότε δὴ πρὸς Ὄλυμπον ἀπὸ χθονὸς εὐρυοδείης
λευκοῖσιν φάρεσσι καλυψαμένω χρόα καλὸν
ἀθανάτων μετὰ φῦλον ἴτον προλιπόντ᾽ ἀνθρώπους
Αἰδὼς καὶ Νέμεσις· τὰ δὲ λείψεται ἄλγεα λυγρὰ
θνητοῖς ἀνθρώποισι, κακοῦ δ᾽ οὐκ ἔσσεται ἀλκή.

The lexical evidence suggests that the Greeks of Hesiod's time thought of the past as in front of our eyes and the future as behind our backs.  This makes sense: we can, after all, survey the past, but we cannot actually see the future. An exception was made for prophecy, which might be thought of as allowing us to glimpse the future by momentarily turning our head.

(Literal translation:

You are old”, said the youth, “and your hair is white
And you still have a mind for ancient Classics.
Can that be right, given your age?” Old John 
Replied, looking down at the youth:
“As a boy Jesus College once nourished me,
Nor was Bradford school less admirable.
I cherish these foundations.” “But then”, said the lad, “you soared
To Great Heights (he named several of these)."
“True, I was very successful,” John replied, “and above all
In those days I enjoyed visiting many places abroad.”
“There’s no stopping you”, said the lad, “since you’re married
To Jane,  you look after her and your lovely home,
And you tour the world, enjoying fun and games:
Aren’t you doing too much and more?”
“Look, I’ve given three answers”, growled John,”
Here I am, at 90 - and in people's minds I’m young!” )

Furius and Aurelius, my friends:
if I’ll strike out to India’s farthest bounds,
where the shore’s pounded by the Eastern sea
     resounding long and far, 

Or to Hyrcania, or lush Arabia,
to Scythia, or to Parthia’s arrowed land,
or Egypt, where the seven-branching Nile
     tinges the desert sands, 

Or if I’ll trek across the Alpine heights, 
tracing the sites of Caesar’s victories,
the Rhine-washed Gaul, the gruesome Britons dyed 
     with woad at the world’s far edge –-

All this, whatever gods above should wish
to send, while you’re prepared to face with me, 
just give this little message to my girl,
     a few unlovely words: 

Good luck! Have fun with your adulterous crew,
three hundred all at once between your legs,
loving not one, but time and time again 
       making their groins explode;
       
And don’t look to the passion I once felt,
which by your treachery has been cut down 
like a wildflower on the meadow's edge
        clipped by a passing plough.

Furi et Aureli, comites Catulli,
sive in extremos penetrabit Indos,
litus ut longe resonante Eoa
     tunditur unda,

sive in Hyrcanos Arabasve molles,
seu Sacas sagittiferosve Parthos,
sive quae septemgeminus colorat
     aequora Nilus,

sive trans altas gradietur Alpes
Caesaris visens monimenta magni,
Gallicum Rhenum, horribiles vitro ulti-
     mosque Britannos,

omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntas
caelitum, temptare simul parati,
pauca nuntiate meae puellae
     non bona dicta.

cum suis vivat valeatque moechis,
quos simul complexa tenet trecentos,
nullum amans vere, sed identidem omnium
     ilia rumpens.

nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,
qui illius culpa cecidit velut prati
ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam
     tactus aratro est.

And don’t look to my love, as once you did,
since it lies stricken, thanks to your wrongdoing,
like a wildflower on the meadow's edge
     clipped by a passing plough.

Dear Wife, This letter comes to you from near the Trojan shore,
     where I’m concealed inside a jerry-built machine of war.
Excuse the awful handwriting, it’s all over the place:
     the reason is, my elbow’s jammed in Demophöon’s face.
You’ll notice that the ink I’m writing with is mixed in blood;           5
     don’t worry, it’s his leg, not mine, that gives a steady flood.
The fact is this: I’m stuck inside a giant wooden horse
      constructed by Epeus – “laced with oaken ribs”, of course.
We chose the crew by throwing lots, the hardest lads together;
    I only wish the hardest lads weren’t all as tough as leather.           10
To what should I compare the situation that we’re in?
   It feels as if we’re packed like bloody sardines in a tin.
The tickle up my nose from Thoas’ crest I can’t abide,
    And now Thersander’s quiver’s poking holes in my backside.
The Trojans rolled us into town, they heaved us rough and quick;    15
     I’ve always hated sailing; as you know, it makes me sick.
Right now they’re throwing spears into the horse’s flank to check;
     at any moment soon, I’m sure, I’ll get it in the neck.
Penelope, farewell. If I get out of here alive,
    I’ll only ever go by foot, I swear, and never drive.                              20

Hanc tibi Troiano chartam de litore mitto:
  machina me belli sutilis, uxor, habet.
Quod prave scribo, quod linea saepius errat,
  urgebat cubitus Demophoonta meus:
neve atramentum timeas de sanguine factum,             5
  hunc laticem illius, non mea, crura dabant.
Scilicet in magno (nuper fabricavit Epeus
  intexens costas ilice) condor equo:
corpora lecta virum sortiti immisimus illuc;
  lecta utinam minus his corpora dura forent!            10
Haud secus angustae conferti in finibus ollae
  Sardinii pisces, squamea turba, latent.
Titillat nasum misero mihi crista Thoantis,
  Thersandri pungit tota pharetra latus:
hinc illinc mediam volverunt Troes in urbem;            15
  pessimus, heu, semper (scis bene) nauta fui;
nunc etiam missis tentant hastilibus alvum:
  haesura in bracis iam puto iamque meis!
Penelope, valeas; hinc me si fata benigna
  protulerint, ibo tempus in omne pedes.                     20

We shall not need to quote Homer for our praise, nor any poet whose words give momentary pleasure but fall short of the truth. We have compelled every land and sea to become a highway for our boldness; and everywhere we have left behind, for good or ill, imperishable monuments. 
Such is the city for whose sake these men nobly fought and died, rejecting the thought that she might be taken from them; and everyone they leave behind should be prepared to take up the struggle on her behalf.

καὶ οὐδὲν προσδεόμενοι οὔτε Ὁμήρου ἐπαινέτου οὔτε ὅστις ἔπεσι μὲν τὸ αὐτίκα τέρψει, τῶν δ᾽ ἔργων τὴν ὑπόνοιαν ἡ ἀλήθεια βλάψει, ἀλλὰ πᾶσαν μὲν θάλασσαν καὶ γῆν ἐσβατὸν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ τόλμῃ καταναγκάσαντες γενέσθαι, πανταχοῦ δὲ μνημεῖα κακῶν τε κἀγαθῶν ἀίδια ξυγκατοικίσαντες. 
περὶ τοιαύτης οὖν πόλεως οἵδε τε γενναίως δικαιοῦντες μὴ ἀφαιρεθῆναι αὐτὴν μαχόμενοι ἐτελεύτησαν, καὶ τῶν λειπομένων πάντα τινὰ εἰκὸς ἐθέλειν ὑπὲρ αὐτῆς κάμνειν.

Charon, encased in gloom and darkness dim,
Now setting out your shaky boat to row
Through reed-filled swamps to Hades’ palace grim:
Steady the ladder firm before you go.

Escort the son of Cinyras on deck,
Hold out a hand and help him come aboard;
The child is slipping in his sandals yet,
And scared to touch the sandy verge unshod.

Ἀίδῃ ὃς ταύτης καλαμώδεος ὕδατι λίμνης
  κωπεύεις νεκύων βᾶριν ἐλῶν ῤὀδάνην,
τῷ Κινύρου τὴν χεῖρα βατηρίδος ἐμβαίνοντι
  κλίμακος ἐκτείνας, δέξο, κελαινὲ Χάρον.
πλάζει γὰρ τὸν παῖδα τὰ σάνδαλα, γυμνὰ δὲ θεῖναι
  ἴχνια δειμαίνει ψάμμον ἔπ᾽ ᾐονίην.

I lay in bed, my friend, and you rushed round,
   A hundred trainee doctors in your wake.
A hundred freezing hands on me I found;
   Before I had no fever, now I ache. 

Languebam, sed tu comitatus protinus ad me
  venisti centum, Symmache, discipulis.
centum me tetigere manus Aquilone gelatae;
  non habui febrem, Symmache, nunc habeo.

“Sappho, must I then really part from you?
Oh honestly, I wish that I were dead!”
Thus she, bedewed with tears, took leave of me, 

And time and time again she sighed and said:
“How awful, oh, how terrible I feel.                       5
Sappho, it’s truly hard to part from you!”

To her I gave my answer with these words:
“Go now, be happy, and remember me;
You know how much I always cared for you;

And if you have forgotten, then I want               10
To bring it to your mind and tell you true:
Together we shared fine and lovely times.

For many were the crowns of violets,
Of crocuses and roses that, along 
With me, you laid so often on your head;           15

And many were the plaited garlands that 
We placed around your neck so delicate,
Woven together from the summer’s blooms;

And many were the outpourings of myrrh,
And costly iris-perfumes, royal scent,               20
With which you amply would yourself anoint;

And on a couch adorned with bedding soft, 
Close by the tender chamber of your youth,
You’d swift release your feminine desire.

Nor any ritual chorus was there, nor                25
A sacrifice or wedding-dance performed,
At which we did not make our presence felt.

‘Ψάπφ’, ἦ μάν σ’ ἀπυλιμπάνω;
τεθνάκην δ’ ἀδόλως θέλω·’
ἄ με ψισδομένα κατελίμπανεν,

πόλλα καὶ τόδ’ ἔειπέ̣ [μοι·
̔ ὤιμ’ ὠς δεῖνα πεπ[όνθ]αμεν,                  5
Ψάπφ’, ἦ μάν σ’ ἀέκοισ᾽ ἀπυλιμπάνω.’

τὰν δ’ ἔγω τάδ’ ἀμειβόμαν·
̔χαίροισ’ ἔρχεο κἄμεθεν
μέμναισ’, οἶσθα γὰρ ὤς σε πεδήπομεν·

αἰ δὲ μή, ἀλλά σ’ ἔγω θέλω                   10
ὄμναισαι [τάδε καὶ [φράσ]αι,
[ὄππως᾽ ἄγλαα] καὶ κάλ’ ἐπάσχομεν.
 
πο̣[λλοις γὰρ στεφάν]οις ἴων
καὶ βρ[όδων κρο]κ̣ίων τ’ ὔμοι
[πολλάκις] πὰρ ἔμοι περεθήκαο·          15
 
καὶ πό̣[λλαις ὐπα]θύμιδαις
πλέκ[ταις ἀμφ’ ἀ]πάλᾳ δέρᾳ
ἀνθέων ἐ[ιαρίνων] πεποημμέναις·
 
καὶ πόλ̣λ̣ω [ῥάνισιν] μύρω
βρενθείω [τ᾽ἰρίνω] ρ̣ύ[δη]ν                    20
ἐξαλείψαο κα̣[ὶ βασ]ι̣ληίῳ·
 
καὶ στρώμν[αν ἐ]πὶ μολθάκαν
ἀπάλαν πά[ρα παρθέν]ων᾽
ἐξίης πόθο̣[ν αἶψα νεα]νίδων.
 
κωὔτε τις [χόρος οὔ]τ̣ε̣ τι                      25
ἶρον οὐδ’ ὐ[μέναια δηῦτ’ ]
ἔπλετ’ ὄππ̣[οθεν ἄμ]μες ἀπέσκομεν.

What makes a happy life, you say,
My dearest Martial? Here's the way.
Have wealth that’s given, not hard-earned,
A fruitful field, a home well-turned.
No fights, light work, and mental calm,
Good health, a body free from harm.
Plain wisdom, friends of equal worth,
Unfussy fare and easy mirth;
Not tight at night, but free from care;
A virtuous bed that’s warm to share;
Deep sleep that makes the dark night fly.
To be yourself nor elsewise try;
To fear not death nor wish to die.

Vitam quae faciant beatiorem,
Iucundissime Martialis, haec sunt:
Res non parta labore, sed relicta;
Non ingratus ager, focus perennis;
Lis numquam, toga rara, mens quieta;                            5
Vires ingenuae, salubre corpus;
Prudens simplicitas, pares amici;
Convictus facilis, sine arte mensa;
Nox non ebria, sed soluta curis;
Non tristis torus, et tamen pudicus;                            10
Somnus, qui faciat breves tenebras.
Quod sis, esse velis nihilque malis;
Summum nec metuas diem nec optes.

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 -- 
𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅.
𝑺𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕, 𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑺𝒐 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 --
𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅.

ἀσπίδι μὲν Σαΐων τις ἀγάλλεται, ἣν παρὰ θάμνῳ
ἔντος ἀμώμητον κάλλιπον οὐκ ἐθέλων.
αὐτὸν δ᾽ ἐξεσάωσα. τί μοι μέλει ἀσπὶς ἐκείνη;
ἐρρέτω. ἐξαῦτις κτήσομαι οὐ κακίω.


Notes:
1 - “going whoopee with” gets the barbarian exuberance of ἀγάλλεται better than the standard translation “delights in”.
2 - ‘poor thing’ translates ἀμώμητον, literally “blameless” or “innocent’.
3 - ‘I had to…’ - the Greek says ‘I did it unwilling’
4 - ‘I’ll buy’ for κτήσομαι (I’ll acquire) reinforces the mock-derision: the shield is simply a replaceable object.

“They shall not know old age, as we who are left in the light will:
they will not be worn down, always young, by the years.
Both at the dawn of day and when the setting sun withdraws
its daylight, all will rightly remember them for ever."

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.

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.

- Dionysus in disguise:  In Frogs, Dionysus disguises himself as Heracles; in Bacchae, Dionysus appears disguised as a young stranger.
- Dionysus on a journey: In Frogs, he travels to the underworld to retrieve Euripides; in Bacchae, he travels to Thebes to establish his cult.
- Dionysus is disrespected: In Frogs, he's ridiculed by various characters; in Bacchae, he's insulted by Pentheus, king of Thebes.
-  Dionysus's identity is obscure: In Frogs he's not recognized as a god by Aeacus; in Bacchae, by Pentheus.
- Dionysus asserts his power: In Frogs, he decides the outcome of the poetry contest; in Bacchae, he destroys his detractors in the end.

Aeschylus (quoting): “Become my saviour and my ally, I pray. 
                                       For I've come to this land and I return...”
Euripides:                    Clever (sophos) old Aeschylus, saying the same thing twice!
Dionysus:                     How twice?
Euripides:                                                  Look at the line, and I'll explain.  
                                      “I've come to this land,” he says, “and I return.”  
                                      Well, “I've come” is the same as “I return”!

Αἰσχύλος:                    “σωτὴρ γενοῦ μοι σύμμαχός τ’ αἰτουμένῳ. 
                                        ἥκω γὰρ ἐις γῆν τήνδε καὶ κατέρχομαι — ”
Εὐριπίδης:                     δὶς ταὐτὸν ἡμῖν εἶπεν ὁ σοφὸς Αἰσχύλος.
Διόνυσος:                      πῶς δίς;
Εὐριπίδης:                                    σκόπει τὸ ῥῆμ’, ἐγὼ δέ σοι φράσω. 
                                       “ἥκω γὰρ ἐς γῆν,” φησί, “καὶ κατέρχομαι”. 
                                       “ἥκω” δὲ ταὐτόν ἐστι τῷ “κατέρχομαι”.      
                                                                                                                              [Frogs 1152–7]

[Aeschylus: ]                  You’re oh-so clever - except where you should be clever.
[Αἰσχύλος:]                    σοφὸς σοφὸς σύ, πλὴν ἃ δεῖ σ’ εἶναι σοφόν. 
                                                                                                                          [Bacchae 655]

The pine trees bred on Pelion’s mountain top
once swam aloft, they say, through flowing seas
as far as River Phasis and the realm
of King Aeetes. Young men, Argos’ pride,
aiming to take the Golden Fleece, sailed forth
to Colchis, braved salt waves in their swift ship,
and cut white streaks in blue with pinewood oars.

The goddess, who guards city heights, herself
fashioned the ship to scud before the wind,
fitting the pine planks to the smooth-curved keel.
It was the first to probe the untried deep,
and when it cut the sea-surge with its prow
the waves grew white with foam whipped by its oars,
and sea-nymphs rose up from frothing brine
to wonder at the awe-inspiring sight.

That was the day – none such before nor since –
that mortal eyes saw sea-nymphs, nipples bared,
as they rose up from waves of ocean grey.
That was the moment Peleus fell in love
with Thetis, and she fell in love with him,
a mortal: Father Jove their union blessed.
You heroes of that wondrous Golden Age,
I greet you, race divine, illustrious sons
Of noble mothers, hail, and hail again!


Peliaco quondam prognatae vertice pinus
dicuntur liquidas Neptuni nasse per undas
Phasidos ad fluctus et fines Aeeteos,
cum lecti iuvenes, Argivae robora pubis,
auratam optantes Colchis avertere pellem
ausi sunt vada salsa cita decurrere puppi,
caerula verrentes abiegnis aequora palmis.

diva quibus retinens in summis urbibus arces
ipsa levi fecit volitantem flamine currum,
pinea coniungens inflexae texta carinae.
illa rudem cursu prima imbuit Amphitriten.
quae simul ac rostro ventosum proscidit aequor
tortaque remigio spumis incanduit unda,
emersere freti candenti e gurgite vultus
aequoreae monstrum Nereides admirantes.

illa, siqua alia, viderunt luce marinas
mortales oculis nudato corpore nymphas
nutricum tenus exstantes e gurgite cano.
tum Thetidis Peleus incensus fertur amore,
tum Thetis humanos non despexit hymenaeos,
tum Thetidi pater ipse iugandum Pelea sensit.
o nimis optato saeclorum tempore nati
heroes, salvete, deum genus, o bona matrum
progenies, salvete iterum <.   >

When you set out to go to Ithaka,
pray that your voyaging will be prolonged,
filled with adventure and discovery.
The Laestrygonians, the Cyclopēs,
angry Poseidon, have no fear of them,
you’ll never come across them on the road
if you think lofty thoughts, and rarefied
emotions move your spirit and your flesh.
The Laestrygonians, the Cyclopēs,
Poseidon’s rage - you won’t encounter them
unless your soul brings them along with you
and places them in front of you itself.

Pray that your voyaging will be prolonged,
that there’ll be many summer mornings when -
with such excitement, with such raw delight -
you'll enter ports you’ve never seen before;
you’ll stop by at Phoenician trading-posts
to buy the finest samples of their wares,
mother-of-pearl, coral, amber, ebony,
luxurious perfumes, scents of every kind,
as much luxurious perfume as you can;
and many Egyptian cities you’ll explore
to learn and to be taught by their wise men.

Let Ithaka be always in your thoughts.
To get there is your goal and destiny.
But do not hasten to your journey’s end:
it’s better if it lasts for many years
so that you'll reach the island when you’re old,
wealthy with all you’ve gained along the way,
not hoping Ithaka will make you rich.

Your marvellous journey is Ithaka’s gift.
Without her you would not have started out.
But she has nothing more to give you now.

And if you find she's poor, you’ve not been fooled.
So wise have you become, so much you’ve learned,
that then you’ll know what Ithakas truly are .

[*since publishing I have, inevitably, revised the translation. I now want it to end 
"that you will know what Ithakas must be"].

Ιθάκη

Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη,
να εύχεσαι νά'ναι μακρύς ο δρόμος,
γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον θυμωμένο Ποσειδώνα μη φοβάσαι,
τέτοια στον δρόμο σου ποτέ σου δεν θα βρεις,
αν μεν’ η σκέψις σου υψηλή, αν εκλεκτή
συγκίνησις το πνεύμα και το σώμα σου αγγίζει.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον άγριο Ποσειδώνα δεν θα συναντήσεις,
αν δεν τους κουβανείς μες στην ψυχή σου,
αν η ψυχή σου δεν τους στήνει εμπρός σου.

Να εύχεσαι νά'ναι μακρύς ο δρόμος.
Πολλά τα καλοκαιρινά πρωϊά να είναι
που με τι ευχαρίστησι, με τι χαρά
θα μπαίνεις σε λιμένας πρωτοειδωμένους,
να σταματήσεις σ’ εμπορεία Φοινικικά,
και τες καλές πραγμάτειες ν’ αποκτήσεις,
σεντέφια και κοράλλια, κεχριμπάρια κ’ έβενους,
και ηδονικά μυρωδικά κάθε λογής,
όσο μπορείς πιο άφθονα ηδονικά μυρωδικά,
σε πόλεις Αιγυπτιακές πολλές να πας,
να μάθεις και να μάθεις απ’ τους σπουδασμένους.

Πάντα στον νου σου νάχεις την Ιθάκη.
Το φθάσιμον εκεί ειν’ ο προορισμός σου.
Αλλά μη βιάζεις το ταξείδι διόλου.
Καλλίτερα χρόνια πολλά να διαρκέσει
και γέρος πια ν’ αράξεις στο νησί,
πλούσιος με όσα κέρδισες στο δρόμο,
μη προσδοκώντας πλούτη να σε δώσει η Ιθάκη.

Η Ιθάκη σ’έδωσε τ’ ωραίο ταξείδι.
Χωρίς αυτήν δεν θάβγαινες στον δρόμο.
Άλλα δεν έχει να σε δώσει πια.

Κι αν πτωχική την βρεις, η Ιθάκη δε σε γέλασε.
Έτσι σοφός που έγινες, με τόση πείρα,
ήδη θα το κατάλαβες οι Ιθάκες τι σημαίνουν.

Read here by Argyris Xafis.

The moon has left the sky,
the Pleiades are gone.
Deep night: the hours go by,
and I - I sleep, alone.

Δέδυκε μὲν ἀ σελάννα
καὶ Πληΐαδες, μέσαι δέ
νύκτες, πάρα δ' ἔρχετ' ὤρα,
ἔγω δὲ μόνα κατεύδω.

You're gazing at the stars, my star. If only I could be
the sky to gaze upon you - with so many eyes to see.

ἀστέρας εἰσαθρεῖς ἀστήρ ἐμός. εἴθε γενοίμην
   οὐρανός, ὡς πολλοῖς ὄμμασιν εἰς σὲ βλέπω.