The rape of Lucrece [1751-1771] [Greek translation]

Daughter, dear daughter,” old Lucretius cries,

“That life was mine which thou hast here deprived.

If in the child the father’s image lies,

Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived?

Thou wast not to this end from me derived.

If children predecease progenitors,

We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

“Poor broken glass, I often did behold

In thy sweet semblance my old age new born,

But now that fair fresh mirror dim and old

Shows me a bare-boned death by time outworn.

O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,

And shivered all the beauty of my glass,

That I no more can see what once I was!

“O Time, cease thou thy course and last no longer

If they surcease to be that should survive!

Shall rotten Death make conquest of the stronger

And leave the falt’ring feeble souls alive?

The old bees die, the young possess their hive.

Then, live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see

Thy father die, and not thy father thee.”