[Ode to Man]

SOPHOKLES

[ODE TO MAN]

At many things- wonders,

Terrors-we feel awe,

But at nothing more

Than at man. This

Being sails the gray-

White sea running before

Winter storm-winds, he

Scuds beneath high

Waves surging over him

On each side;

And Gaia, the Earth,

Forever undestroyed and

Untiring, highest of

All the gods, he

Wears away, year

After year as his plows

Cross ceaselessly

Back and forth, turning

Her soil with the

Offspring of horses.

The clans of the birds,

With minds light as air,

And tribes of beasts of

The wilderness, and water-

Dwelling sea creatures-

All these he

Catches, in the close-

Woven nets he

Throws around them,

And he carries them

Off, this man, most

Cunning of all.

With devices he

Masters the beast that

Beds in the wild and

Roams mountains-he harnesses

The horse with shaggy

Mane, he yokes

The never-wearied

Mountain bull.

He has taught himself

Speech and thoughts

Swift as the wind;

And a temperament for

The laws of towns;

And how to escape

Frost-hardened bedding

Under the open

Sky and the arrows

Of harsh rain- inventive

In everything, this

Man. Without invention he

Meets nothing that

. Might come. Only from

Hades will he not

Procure some means of

Escape. Yet he has

Cunningly escaped from

Sicknesses that had

Seemed beyond his devices.

Full of skills and

Devising, even beyond

Hope, is the intelligent

Art that leads him

Both to evil and

To good. Honoring the

Laws of the earth

And the justice of

The gods, to which

Men swear, he stands

High in his city.

But outside any

SOPHOKLES

City is he who dares

To consort with

What is wrong: let

Him who might do

Such things not

Be the companion

At my hearth nor have

The same thoughts as I!

Translated, from the Greek, by

Reginald Gibbons and Charles Segal