Epigram IV

To what a fate did Zeus the Father give me a prey even while he made me to grow, a babe at my mother’s knee! By the will of Zeus who holds the aegis the people of Phricon, riders on wanton horses, more active than raging fire in the test of war, once built the towers of Aeolian Smyrna, wave-shaken neighbour to the sea, through which glides the pleasant stream of sacred Meles; thence arose the daughters of Zeus, glorious children, and would fain have made famous that fair country and the city of its people. But in their folly those men scorned the divine voice and renown of song, and in trouble shall one of them remember this hereafter—he who with scornful words to them contrived my fate. Yet I will endure the lot which heaven gave me even at my birth, bearing my disappointment with a patient heart. My dear limbs yearn not to stay in the sacred streets of Cyme, but rather my great heart urges me to go unto another country, small though I am.