SPECIMENS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE POETS AND POETRY 
 
 OF 
 
 CtREECE-A.ND ROME. 
 
 BY VARIOUS TRANSLATORS. 
 
 EDITED BY WILLIAM PETER, A.M., 
 
 OF CHRIST-CHURCH, OXFORD. 
 
 "II n'y a pas de plus eminent service a rendre 4 la Litt^rature, que de transporter d'une lansue i I'atitre 
 les chefs d'oeiivre de I'esprit humain. II existe si pen de productions du premier rang ; le genie, dans queUiue 
 genre que ce soit, est un phdnomene tellement rare; que si cliaque Nation moderne en etoit reduite 4 ses 
 prupres tresors, elle seroit toujours pauvre. D'ailleurs, la circulation des id^es est, de toua les genres de 
 commerce, celui dent les avantages sont les plus certains."— Mad. de Stael. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 CAREY AND HART 
 
 1848. 
 
H^on 
 
 EITTEREI), ACCOHDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IS THE TEAR 1846, BX 
 
 CAREY AND HART, 
 
 IN THE clerk's OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE XASTERIT DISTRICT 
 OF PENITSTLVANIA. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY JOS. C. D. CHHISTMAN. 
 
 T. K. AND P. O. COLLINS, PRINTERS. 
 

 TO 
 
 iltn toifc, 
 
 AT WHOSE SUGGESTION THE WORK WAS UNDERTAKEN, 
 
 BY WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT IT HAS BEEN CONTINUED, 
 
 AND WITH WHOSE AID IT IS NOW COMPLETED, 
 
 (Jl)£0e Selections, 
 
 FROM THE POETS OF GREECE AND ROME, 
 
 ARE, WITH SINCEREST AFFECTION, 
 INSCRIBED. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 "Thkhe are,"' says a late accomplished scliolar, in bis introduction to tlie study of thn classic 
 poets, '-certain peculiar properties characterizing the Greeks and Romans, and contradistin^iiishing 
 them from the present natives of Europe, which must be known, felt, and borne in mind, by those 
 who would study the classic literature aright. The most essential of these consist in the facts, that 
 the old (ireek and Roman poets were — I. Pagans; — II. Southerns, or lidiabitants of the South of ' 
 Europe ; — III. Ignorant of Chivalry. 
 
 I. The spirit of the old Paganism is more freely diffused in the poetry than in any other part 
 of the ancient literature. The Fancy and the Imagination, the two chief working faculties of a 
 poet, are the most susceptible of a deep impression from the forms and influences of a national 
 mythology; and therefore it is, that, while in their historians, their orators, and even their jjhiloso- 
 phers we may, for the most part, recognise the Greeks and Romans for our own contemi)oraries 
 of some foreign nation, in their poets we must be conscious of a tone oftentimes completely alien 
 to the moral or popular associations of modern days. Not detailing the chances of actual wars, or 
 (with an exception, sometimes, on the tragic stage,) the intrigues of ambition, which in all ages 
 must be nearly the same ; not aiming to persuade an audience to a given measure, by means 
 identical with those in use in every country; not speculating clandestinely on the probable amount 
 of truth in metaphysical or religious systems ; — the poet, taking his stand, as he did, upon the sure 
 ground of luunan passion, addressed himself, nevertheless, to the common hearts of his own coun- 
 trymen of every rank and every age. His object was to please and to captivate the minds of all, 
 and, when he taught, his lessons were, for the most part, conveyed under the form of familiar and 
 favourite fable. The morality of the nation was his morality, the popular religion in general was 
 his also. With him the eternal dwellers of Olympus spoke, and moved, and had a being; with 
 him the common powers or functions of nature were impersonated ; an old and awful genius lay 
 shrouded in the dark-crested waves of the Scamander, and flowers and sacriliciul wine were 
 thank-oflerings meet for the secret Naiad of Bandusia. 
 
 II. Intimately connected with the character of the Religion of the ancient Classics, is the fact 
 of their being natives and inhabitants of the South of Europe. Whether Montesquieu has not con- 
 tended for an influence on the laws and governments of men, which is disproved by history and 
 experience, may well be doubted; but that the Greeks and Italians, from the earliest times to this 
 hour have been, as nations, distinguished from the Northern tribes by a more sensuous conception 
 of the Divinity, and by a craving after a visible and tangible representation of Him on earth, is 
 indisputable. It is not difficult to account for the fact. The inhabitant* of those sunny lands, 
 where the light of day is so bountifully spread abroad, was naturally a worshipper of the external 
 face of nature ; his studies, his exercises, his amusements, were all in the open air, and he prayed 
 and sacrificed in the face of heaven. By a natural impulse of gratitude and admiration, which 
 acted in the absence of a revealed knowledge of the true God, the early shepherd or herdsman 
 would fain deify the fountains and rivers which purilied him, the winds which refreshed him, 
 the sun and the moon which lighted him ; but these were either invisible influences, or bodies fre- 
 quently or always out of his reach, and oftentimes withdrawn fiom his sight. He therefore 
 wanted a visible and tangible Form, which, with various aspect, might symbolically represent 
 them all — which he could believe miglit sympathize with humanity, and to which he might raise 
 his eyes in adoration without debasement. Where could he find such a Form '? His own was the 
 only one. He labom-ed to shape the log or the stone, but his art failed him. At length, in course 
 of time. Sculpture rose to that consummate power, that marble coidd bo wrought into shapes worthy, 
 as it seemed, of that Iinnuirtal and Beautiful, of which they were either the symbols or the images, 
 accordingly as the Imagination of the spectator was more or less purified by philosophy. After 
 this epoch, the creations of the art were midtiplied, sometimes embodying the alreatly existing 
 notions of a Divinity, at others boldly chiselling a new figure of the Sky, or the Sea, or the W^ood, 
 and setting it up for as much worship as admiration or superstition wouKl render it. The 
 "iSimulacra Deorum "' were sacred essentials in the popular and actual religion of the nation. No 
 doubts of philo>uphy, no ridicule of satire, availed in later ages to weaken that congenial fondness 
 for corporeal exliibiriou of the gods, which their laws sanctioned, anil their taste made delightful. 
 
 ♦ In ilhi<tratinii of tlic argiiinent, see those glorious lines of Wodsworth's Excursion, Uook iv., commencing — 
 "Upon ilKr lireast of nuw-crealed earlli, 
 Man walked," &.C. 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 This incontrollable tendency to what has been called in one word Anthropomorpliism, of a 
 passion for representing tlie Infinite and the Invisible in human shape, is a striking feature in the 
 works of the Greek and Latin Classic Poets and of those of modern Italy; for it is always in the 
 Poetry of a Nation that we are to look for an expression of the genuine feelings and opinions of the 
 People, as they exist in the very constitution of llie national character. In almost all the great 
 poets of wliom we are speaking, the inability to spiritualize, and the power to paint, seem in equal 
 proportions; and though it be true tliat on the given plan of the representations of the regions of 
 the dead in the ^Eneitl and the Divine Comedy — JEneas in the first, and Dante himself in the last, 
 being supposed eye-witnesses therein — a minuteness of detail is dramatically proper, and consti- 
 tutes that verisimilitude, which is so charming; yet that they, and especially the Christian Dante, 
 should adopt such a mode of describing that unknown world of Shades, and having adopted, should 
 execute, it with such a depth of body and intensity of colour throughout, is as clearly deducible 
 from, and as strongly characteristic of, the national propension to materialism of a certain kind, as 
 the very diflerent conception of the same awful subject by Milton is of the predominance of a con- 
 trary tendency in a people of a Northern origin. 
 
 JII. But neither the spirit of old Paganism nor that strong addiction to objects of sense, of which 
 we have just been speaking, so strikingly distinguishes the classic writers from those of modern 
 Europe, as their conception and expression of the passion of Love. The origin and growth of that 
 gentle, yet almost despotic, empire which the weaker and the fairer sex at present exercise over 
 the stronger, in every civilized country of the world, are, for the greater part, the work of Chris- 
 tianity antl Chivalry. The converse of such a state of feeling is a uniform characteristic of the 
 writings of the Greeks and Romans, though in different degrees, and still remains so of the man- 
 ners of all those nations on which the light of the Gospel has not yet shone. By the holy religion 
 of Christ polygamy and concubinage were forbidden, and marriage became indissoluble and more 
 honourable ; by it women were declared equal objects of its precepts and joint-heirs of its promises, 
 and love and care became the acknowledged rights of a Christian wife at the hands of her hus- 
 band. Beyond this, however, it did not immediately operate. Indeed, what with an increasing 
 barbarism of manners and the constant pestilence of a corrupt and corrupting priesthooil, very 
 much of that mysterious dignity, which the history as well as the spirit of the Gospel had conferred 
 on women, was destroyed; when, in consequence of an event among the most singularly wonder- 
 ful in the annals of mankind, it revived in superadded splendour, never thenceforth to be obscured 
 but in an eclipse of Christian civilization itself. That event was the first Crusade. Out of the 
 habits of individual combats and the disorganized state of society consequent upon the breaking 
 up of those vast Oriental armaments, sprung that romantic police, known by the name of Knight- 
 errantry, or, more generally, of Chivalry. To succour the distressed and to defend the weak, in 
 all cases, was the bounden duty of a knight; but more especially was he sworn to relieve, at any 
 hazard, a woman from difficulty, and to protect her from danger or insult, at the expense of his 
 life. Hence, and from the ground of that reverential affection to women, common to all the na- 
 tions of Northern origin, grew up, on the part of the knight and subsequently of the gentleman, 
 who is his successor, that respectful courtesy, that dignified submission to all women in general, 
 as such, which, when kindled into passion for some one in particular, becomes the sacred and 
 enlivening flame, by which, every faculty of the mind is developed, every affection of the heart 
 purified, and which alone can promise happiness on earth, by a satisfaction of an instinctive ap- 
 petite in the light and under the sanction of a spiritual union. So pervading has the combined 
 action of Christianity and Chivalry in this respect been, on all the people of modern Europe, that 
 tliere is scarcely one among the many amatory poets who have lived since the revival of letters, in 
 whose writings a new and exalting influence is not distinctly, though too often unintentionally, 
 perceptible. There are, indeed, various degrees of this refinement and tenderness in the moderns, 
 as there are various degrees of the sensual theory of the ancients; but enough exists of either kind 
 in each respectively, to justify us in distinguishing the love of Christendom as the passion of af- 
 fection, — the love of Paganism as the passion of appetite.* — 
 
 For the numerous Extracts from the Greek and Latin poets, contained in this Volume, they 
 will be found of various orders and degrees of merit — Sunt bona sunt qucedam mediocria, &c., &c. 
 Where indeed the Editor had a choice, as in the cases of Homer, Virgil, and other Poets, whose 
 works, in any considerable proportion, remain to us, he has, for the most part, selected those pas- 
 sages from the perusal of which hp was himself wont to receive the greatest pleasure. But with 
 the larger number of ancient authors the case was altogether difl^erent, and he had either to pass 
 them by unnoticed, or else to take such fragments of their writings, as the mold of time or deeper 
 inroads of monkish prudery and superstition had left to us. — The editor has only to add that, from 
 some of the later Latin poets, the extracts are fewer and shorter than had been intended, in con- 
 sequence of the limited size of the volume and the accidental insertion of more than their just pro- 
 portion from the works of two or three preceding authors. 
 Philadelphia, September, 1846. 
 
 * See H. N. Coleridge's Introduction to the Greek Poets. 
 
TABLE OP CONTENTS. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK POETS. 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 HOMER 1 
 
 Contention of Achilles and Agamemnon • -Pope. 2 
 
 Ulysses and Tliersites Pope and Sotheby. 7 
 
 Helen with Priam and the Elders ibid. 7 
 
 Juno's Coursers Pope. 8 
 
 Minerva arm in? herself for hattle Sotheby. 8 
 
 The Race of Man Pope. 
 
 Glancus ibid. 9 
 
 The parting of Hector and Andromache- •• • ibid. 9 
 
 Embassy to Achilles ibid. 10 
 
 Hospitality of Achilles Sotheby. 10 
 
 Achilles' abhorrence of Falsehood Pope. 10 
 
 Another translation of the same Sotheby. 10 
 
 I'lKcnix's endeavour to appease Achilles Coirper. 10 
 
 Attack on the Greeks — Auguries, &c.- ■ -So^AeAy. 11 
 
 Sarpedon Pope. 11 
 
 Deeds of Hector ibid. 12 
 
 Neptune hastening to the relief of the Greeks 
 
 JV. Peter. 12 
 
 The Girdle of Venus Sotheby. 12 
 
 Th(! same paraphrased Po/ie 12 
 
 Achilles at the head of the entrenchment- • iftirZ. 12 
 
 The Shield of Achilles Sotheby. 13 
 
 Grecian Army join? forth to Battle- • .Chapman. 14 
 
 The Battle of the Gods Pope. 15 
 
 Wre>ilina ibid. 15 
 
 Priam entreating for the dead body of Hector 
 
 Cowper. 15 
 Helen's Lamentation over Hector 
 
 Congreve and Pope. 15 
 
 Similes of Bees swarming Sotheby. 16 
 
 Of rollina: Billows -•-■ ibid. 16 
 
 Of a Forest on tire ibid. IG 
 
 Of Cranes and Swans Hobbes. 16 
 
 Another of the same Pope. Ifi 
 
 Of Flies round a milk-pail Sotheby. 16 
 
 Of a Shepherd galherinsr his flock ibid. 16 
 
 Of the gatherinsj of Clouds Pope. 16 
 
 Of succession of Waves ibid. 16 
 
 Of Torrents rushing down the Vales ibid. 17 
 
 Of the Moon ibid. 17 
 
 Another translation of the same --• • Camper. 17 
 
 Another Sotheby. 17 
 
 Of Corn falling before the Reapers ibid. 17 
 
 Of an Ass in a Cornfield ibid. 17 
 
 Of Mountain -oaks ibid. 17 
 
 Of fulling Snows Cowper. 17 
 
 Of rolling Waves Chapman. 17 
 
 Of a (Courser breaking from his stall- -Sotheby. 18 
 Of an Equestrian leaping from horse to horse 
 
 Pope. 19 
 
 Of an autumnal Storm ibid. 18 
 
 Of an u|)rooted Olive-tree ibid. 18 
 
 Of Hesper amid the host of Night ibid. 18 
 
 Elysium ibid. 18 
 
 Hi-rmes sent to the Isle of Calypso ibid. 18 
 
 rivsses pining for his native lihaca Cowper. 1(1 
 
 riysses" raft ibid. 19 
 
 .'Shipwreck of Ulvsses Pope. 19 
 
 The (irinlen of Alcinoua ilnd. 29 
 
 The Bard ibid. 20 
 
 Ulysses in the cave of Polypheme ibid. 20 
 
 Ulysses' descent into Hell' ibid. 21 
 
 The nog Arcus ibid. 26 
 
 Penelope lamenting the absence of her Husband 
 
 Pope. 26 
 
 The Homeric Hymns 26 
 
 Hymn to Mercury Shelley. 26 
 
 Hymn to Venus Congreve. 28 
 
 Hymn to Ceres '.Hole. 29 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 HESIOD 31 
 
 Creation of Pandora Sir C. A. Elton. 31 
 
 Dispensations of Providence i^id. 32 
 
 Winter ihid. 32 
 
 Summer Enjoyments Qxiarterly Review. 33 
 
 Honest Poverty iV. Peter. 33 
 
 Virtue and Vice, Wisdom and Folly Quur. Rev. 33 
 
 The Battle of the Giants ibid. 33 
 
 Jupiter and Typhous ibid. 34 
 
 From the Shield of Hercules- • --Sir CA. Elton. 34 
 
 Cerberus ibid. 35 
 
 A Battle-piece ibid. 35 
 
 CALUNUS 35 
 
 A Fragment //. JV. Coleridge. 35 
 
 ARCHILOCHUS 36 
 
 Equanimity II. J^. Coleridge. 36 
 
 On an Eclipse of the Sun Sir C. A. Elton. 36 
 
 Patience under Sutt'cring J. II. Merirnle. 36 
 
 On the loss of his Shield 77- JV. Coleridge. 36 
 
 A pair of military Portraits J. H. Merivale. 36 
 
 The Mind of Man ibid. 36 
 
 The Storm ibid. 36 
 
 A Fragment ibid .36 
 
 Life and Heath ibid. 36 
 
 TYRT.(EtJS 37 
 
 Courage and Patriotism Hodgson. 37 
 
 ALCMAN OR ALCMj^EON ••• 38 
 
 Megalostrata •/- 77. Merivale. S8 
 
 A Fragment Thos. Campbell. 38 
 
 .-STFSICHORUS .38 
 
 Voyaae of the Sun J. 77. Mcrirale.f 38 
 
 The Sacritice of Tyndarus H. JV Coleridge. 39 
 
 The Procession ^''- ■ - -J. H. Merivale. 39 
 
 A Fragment ibid. 39 
 
 A:.S0P .39 
 
 Death the Sovereign Remedy • • • -Robert Bland. 39 
 
 SOT.ON 39 
 
 " ! gave the People Freedom" H. JV. Coleridire. 40 
 
 Justice J. 77. Merirale. 40 
 
 The Constitution of Athens ibid. 40 
 
 Remembrance after Death ibid. 40 
 
 A Fragment Langhorne. 40 
 
 ALf.T:US 40 
 
 The Spoils of War /. 77. Merivale. 4 1 
 
 Convivial 'bid. 4 1 
 
 The Poor Fisherman W. Hay. 41 
 
 Convivial •7- 77. Merirale. 41 
 
 Poverty '*''/- 41 
 
 Convivial ibid. 41 
 
 The Conslittition of a State Sir n'm. .Tones. 41 
 
 Convivial /. II. Merirale. 41 
 
 The Storm il>id. 41 
 
 SVPPHO 42 
 
 Hymn to Venus Ambrose Philips. 42 
 
 Atiolhcr translation of the same J. II. Merirale. 42 
 
 To ihe Beloved Ambro.oe Philips. 43 
 
 The Deserted Wife Blackwood. 43 
 
 On a Beloved Companion Charles Merivale. 43 
 
 On an Illiterate \Voman Robert Bland. 43 
 
 b 2 vii 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 SAPPHO. Translators. Pape 
 
 Fragment 1 J. II. Menrale. 43 
 
 II Ch. J^urlh. 43 
 
 111 J. H. Menimle. 43 
 
 IV ibid. 43 
 
 V • • • ibid. 43 
 
 VI Edin. Review. 43 
 
 VII ibid. 43 
 
 VIII Thos. Moore. 43 
 
 IX Edin. Review. 44 
 
 The Stars that round the beauteous Moon 
 
 J. U. Merivale. 44 
 
 ERINNA 44 
 
 On a Virgin of Mitylene Sir C. A. Ellon. 44 
 
 Another on the same ibid. 44 
 
 PITTACUS 44 
 
 Foresight and Courage J. H. Merivale. 44 
 
 MIMNERMUS 45 
 
 Youth and Aee //. JV. Coleridge. 45 
 
 The Evils of Mortality Charles Iloyle. 45 
 
 IBYCUS 45 
 
 To Enryale H. JV. Coleridsre. 46 
 
 The Influence of Spring ibid. 46 
 
 TIIEOGNIS 46 
 
 Voiitli and A?e Robert Bland. 46 
 
 Exhortation to Enjoyment ibid. 46 
 
 Rea-sonable Expectations J. H. Merivale. 47 
 
 The Test of Truth ibid 47 
 
 To Jupiter tV. Peter. 47 
 
 Life's first Blessing ibid. 47 
 
 To Kyrnus H. M". Coleridge. 47 
 
 General Corruption of the People- --y. H. Frere. 47 
 
 Approach of the Enemy ibid. 47 
 
 Poverty ibid. 47 
 
 To the Chief of a factious Rahhle ibid. 47 
 
 Prayer for his Friends and Enemies ibid. 47 
 
 Enjoyment ibid. 4S 
 
 On returning to his native Land ibid. 48 
 
 AXACREON 48 
 
 Love CotcUy. 48 
 
 Beauty Thos. Moore. 48 
 
 To a Painter ibid. 48 
 
 Anacreon's Dove Dr. Johnson. 49 
 
 Cure for Care Thos. Moore. 49 
 
 Drinking ibid. 50 
 
 Gold ibid. 50 
 
 Cupid benighted ihid. 50 
 
 The Epicure Cowley. 50 
 
 The Rose Thos. Moore. 51 
 
 A2e Coicley. 51 
 
 Spring Thos. Moore. 51 
 
 The Grasshopper Cowley. 51 
 
 On the number of his Mistresses Bourne. 51 
 
 Cupid and the Bee Thos. M,)ore. 52 
 
 The foUv of Avarice ihid. 52 
 
 A Vernal Walk ibid. 52 
 
 Il:ippy Life Cowleii. 52 
 
 To his Mistress J. H. Merivale. 52 
 
 On Timocritus Fairkes. 52 
 
 On Eleanor ibid. 52 
 
 Convivial ibid. 52 
 
 Sl''ONIDES 53 
 
 r)n Archedire J. H. Merivale. 53 
 
 On Timocreon of Rhodes W. Peter. 53 
 
 On Megistias J. H. Merivale. 53 
 
 On those who fell at Thermopylis Robert Bland. 53 
 
 On the same ibid. 53 
 
 On the same fV. Peter. 53 
 
 Another translation of the same ibid. 53 
 
 Another W. L. Bmrles. 53 
 
 On Cimnn's Land and Sea Victory J.H. Merivale. 54 
 
 On thoso who fell at Enrvmedon ibid. 54 
 
 The Uncertainty of Life' JV. Peter. 54 
 
 On .\nacreon JV. Hay. 54 
 
 Frasment 1 J. H. Merivale. 54 
 
 n ibid. 54 
 
 111 ibid. 54 
 
 IV ibid. 54 
 
 Danae Lord Devman. 54 
 
 Another translation of the same W. Prter. 54 
 
 The Mi?;eri"s of Life Robert Bland. 55 
 
 On Othryades J. H. Merivale. 55 
 
 On a Statue of Cupid Hodgson. 55 
 
 On the Death of Hipparchus J. H. Merivale. 55 
 
 6IMONIDES. Translators. Page 
 
 Virtue iV. Peter. 55 
 
 On his Preservation from death by an Apparition 
 
 Anon. 55 
 
 Inscribed on a Cenotaph Anon. 55 
 
 TIMOCREON OF RHODES 56 
 
 Riches Hodgson. 56 
 
 iCSCH YLU S 
 
 Epitaph for himself Charles Merivale. 
 
 From the Chained Prometheus Potter. 
 
 The wide Earth echoes- --Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 It was not Pride Potter. 
 
 What time the silence Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 IIow ! fear you not ■) Potter. 
 
 From the Seven against Thebes ibid. 
 
 From the Agamemnon 
 
 The Sacrifice of Iphieeneia Symmons. 
 
 'Twas Vulcan ; peering through the night 
 
 IV. Peter. 
 
 Hereafter to the Gods Symmons. 
 
 Ah : woe the halls Sir E. Bvlwer Lytton. 
 
 But through the bounds of Graecia's land 
 
 Symmons. 
 On those w-ho fell at Thermnpylte- • C. Merivale. 
 
 From the Persians 
 
 Indulge me, Friends Potter. 
 
 White milk and lucid honey Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 V. DAR 
 
 Olympic I 
 
 From Olympic II 
 
 From Olympic IV 
 
 From Olympic VII 
 
 From Olympic XIV 
 
 Pythian \ ibid. 
 
 From Pythian IV A. Moore. 
 
 From the same Cary. 
 
 From Nemean I ibid. 
 
 From Nemean HI ibid. 
 
 From Nemean VIII ihid. 
 
 From Nemean X ibid. 
 
 From Isthmian III ibid. 
 
 From Isthmian IV ibid. 
 
 From Isthmian VIII ibid. 
 
 To tho Sun under an Eclipse Blackwood. 
 
 PRATIN AS 
 
 A Salian Song Cumberland. 
 
 Cary. 
 
 ■ A. Moore. 
 ■■■ ■ Cary. 
 
 ibid. 
 
 ibid. 
 
 56 
 56 
 56 
 58 
 58 
 59 
 59 
 60 
 64 
 64 
 
 64 
 65 
 65 
 
 66 
 
 72 
 72 
 72 
 75 
 
 EPICHARMUS 86 
 
 Marriase IV. Peter. 66 
 
 Genealogies Cumberland. 86 
 
 ON OM ACRITUS 86 
 
 Visit of the Argonauts to Cliiron Sir C A. Elton. 86 
 
 To the Moon ibid. 83 
 
 From the Orphic Remains ibid. 88 
 
 From the Lithics ibid. 89 
 
 SOPHOCLES 89 
 
 From King CEdipus 89 
 
 Tiresias, whose expansive Mind Dale. 90 
 
 For my fate — let it pass Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 98 
 
 From Oedipus at Colonos 98 
 
 Say. Daughter Dale. 98 
 
 Betwixt that place and the Thracian rock 
 
 Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 105 
 
 From the Antigone 105 
 
 Answer then Dale. 106 
 
 From Electra 113 
 
 A Chariot Race Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 113 
 
 From the .\jax 113 
 
 Ajax's Dying Speech — ibid. 113 
 
 CRATES 114 
 
 Old Age Cumberland. 114 
 
 EURIPIDES 114 
 
 From the Alcpstis 115 
 
 Whv this Silence 1 Chapman. 1 15 
 
 From the Medea 120 
 
 O, that the gallant Argo Potter. 120 
 
 From the Hippolytus 122 
 
 Follow, follow me Potter. 122 
 
 From the Iphiieneia in Aulis 158 
 
 Had I. my Father Potter. 123 
 
 From the Hecuba LSI 
 
 Tell me. ye Gales Potter. 132 
 
 Thou then, O natal Troy S. T. Coleridge. 135 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Translators. 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 From the Orestes 
 
 Softly, sotXly Potter. 
 
 Fra!;inenl8 
 
 I There is a Streamlet Roarers. 
 
 II Dear is that Valley iliid. 
 
 III This is true Liberty Milton. 
 
 Pape 
 
 3fi 
 
 EMPRDOCI.ES 
 
 Epitaph on a Physician- 
 
 J. H. Merivale. 
 
 DACCMVLIDES 
 
 Drinking Charles Merivale. 
 
 Peace Robert Blatid. 
 
 Another translation of the same Ch. JVocfA. 
 
 On the Death of a Child J. H. Merivale. 
 
 The Hnsband man's Offering ibid. 
 
 Fragment I ibid. 
 
 11 }V. Peter. 
 
 Ill ibid. 
 
 IV J. H. Merivale. 
 
 V ibid. 
 
 VI ibid. 
 
 EUENTTS 
 
 ■)'he Swallow and the Grasshopper ibid. 
 
 Another tran.slation of the same G. Trevor. 
 
 The Vine and the Goat J. H. Merivale. 
 
 Contradiction ibid. 
 
 ARIPHRON OF SICYON 
 
 To Health W. Peter. 
 
 EUPOLIS 
 
 The Parasite Cumberland. 
 
 Altered condition of Athens fV. Peter. 
 
 SIM MI AS OF THEBES. 
 On Sophocles 
 
 ■Spectator. 
 
 PHERECRATES 
 
 Old Age Cumberland. 
 
 From "the Miners" ibid. 
 
 PIin.ONIDES 
 
 The truly Brave ibid. 
 
 MOSnilON 
 
 Tlie Dead ibid. 
 
 riie Exile J.H. Merivale. 
 
 PI.VTO, THE PHILOSOPHER 
 
 A Lover's Wish Thos. Moore. 
 
 The Kiss J. H. Merivale. 
 
 The Answer of the Muses to Venus ibid. 
 
 The same paraphrased Prior. 
 
 On a Sleepinir Cupid Robert Bland. 
 
 On two neiifhbouring Tomhs- • Hmlirson. 
 
 On the imasps of a Satyr and a Cupid sleeping 
 
 by a fountain side Robert Bland. 
 
 On a rural Image of Pan J. H. Merivale. 
 
 On his lii^loved Tkos. Moore. 
 
 On Dion of Syracuse Charles Merivale. 
 
 On Aristophanes J. H. Merivale. 
 
 Lais' Offi-ring to Venus Prior. 
 
 On the Bronze Image of a Frog IV. JIay. 
 
 PLATO, THE COMIC PORT 
 
 Dialosue between a Faihirand a Sophist, under 
 whose tuition he had placed his Son 
 
 Cumberland. 
 
 On a Statue of Murrury ibid. 
 
 On the Tomb of Themlstocles ibid. 
 
 C VT.LISTR ATirs 
 
 Ilarmodius and Arislnceiton J.ord Denman. 
 
 Another translation of the same <*■'. Peter. 
 
 ARISTOPHANES 
 
 From the Knishts .Mitchell. 
 
 From the Clouds Cun.'irrlnnd. 
 
 From Peace Milrhrll. 
 
 From the Birds J. JJ. Fnre. 
 
 From the Frogs ;;„•,/. 
 
 From the Plutus Sandford. 
 
 ARISTOTLE 
 
 Hymn to Virtue J. If. Merivale. 
 
 On the Tomb of Ajax , ibid. 
 
 B 
 
 Translators. Pape 
 
 HYBRIAS OF CRETE I'.l3 
 
 The Warrior's Riches T. Campbell. 1U3 
 
 PERSES 193 
 
 On the Monument of a Daughter J. II. Merivale. 193 
 
 NIC0STRATU8 194 
 
 Loquacity Thos. Moore. 194 
 
 MNASALCUS 194 
 
 On a Vine J. H. Merivale. 194 
 
 On the Shield of Alexander ibid. 194 
 
 On a Temple of Venus ibid. 194 
 
 On a Pipe in the Temple of Venus Hodgson. 194 
 
 On a I ocust W. Hay. 194 
 
 Parody on an Inscription of Aristotle 
 
 J. H. Merivale. 194 
 
 SPEIISIPPIJS 195 
 
 Epitaph on Plato ibid. 195 
 
 ANTIPHANES 195 
 
 The Parasite Cumberland. 195 
 
 Little Trust to be put in Woman ibid. 195 
 
 Conscience the best Law ibid. 196 
 
 No Life without Love ibid. 196 
 
 Not lost, but gone before ibid. 196 
 
 The same paraphrased J. H. Merivale. 196 
 
 Death ibid. 196 
 
 On a Fountain, near which a murder had been 
 
 conimilted ibid. 196 
 
 Contrivance for cooling the banquet-chamber of 
 
 the King of Cyprus Cumberland. 196 
 
 Old Age compared with old Wine ibid. 196 
 
 Reluctance to Die ibid. 196 
 
 ANAXANDRIDES 197 
 
 Old Age J.H. Merivale. 197 
 
 EUBULUS 197 
 
 Intemperance Cumberland. 197 
 
 On a winged Cupid ibid. 197 
 
 ALEXIS 198 
 
 The Bon Vivant Robert Bland. 198 
 
 Love Cumberland. 198 
 
 Wickedness of Women ibid. 198 
 
 Glutlons and Drunkards ibid. 198 
 
 The Procure^js ibid. 199 
 
 Parents and Children ibid. 199 
 
 ARI STOPHON 199 
 
 Love ibid. 199 
 
 Marriage ibid. 199 
 
 Pythagoras' Visit to Hell ibid. 199 
 
 On the Disciples of Pythagoras ibid. 199 
 
 DIODORIIS OF SINOPE 200 
 
 Choice of a Wife ibid 2(10 
 
 Forgiveness of the Dead ibid. 200 
 
 HERMKSIANAX OF COLOPHON 200 
 
 The Loves of the Greek Poets ibid. 200 
 
 PHILEMON 201 
 
 The Just Man ibid. 201 
 
 The Sovereign Good ibid. 201 
 
 Truth ibid. 201 
 
 On Tears Robert Bland. 201 
 
 Sense and Nonsense Cumberland. 202 
 
 A word to the Idle and Thoughtless ibid. 203 
 
 Ilopcdess Ansuish ibid. 202 
 
 The Test of Wisdom ibid. 202 
 
 H iches ibid. 202 
 
 MEXANDER 202 
 
 Misanthropy and Disiontent ibid. 203 
 
 Every Creature more blest than Man ibid. 20.1 
 
 Lustration • ■ ■ ib-d. 203 
 
 The use of Riches ibid. 203 
 
 Woman and Wedlock ibid. 203 
 
 Life ibid. 203 
 
 Envy ibid. 203 
 
 Advice to the Covetous ibid. 203 
 
 The Rich not happier than their Neighbours tfti(<. 203 
 
 Consolation in Misfortune ibid. 204 
 
 What dust we are made oP' ibid. 204 
 
 Bad Temper ibid. 204 
 
 Know Thysilf ibid. 204 
 
 TTnkind Fortune ibid. 204 
 
 How to please God IV. Peter. 204 
 
Translators. Pace 
 
 TlMOrLES 201 
 
 A Ualm for our Cares- ••••-• Cumberland. 204 
 
 203 
 
 • ibid. 205 
 
 DI1'IIII,U3 
 
 ' aw against Spendthrifts- 
 
 APOI.LODORIIS OF OELA 
 
 ! ragment I 
 
 II 
 
 in 
 
 IV 
 
 V ■ 
 
 205 
 
 ■ibid. 205 
 
 ■ibid. 205 
 
 ■ibid. 206 
 
 ■ibid. 206 
 
 ■ibid. 206 
 
 CLEARCnUS 
 
 On Drunkenness- 
 
 206 
 
 ■J. H. Merivale. 206 
 
 TIIEOPHILUS 
 On Love- ••■ 
 
 206 
 
 • Cumberland. 206 
 
 NOSSIS 206 
 
 In praise of Love J. H. Jilerivale. 206 
 
 On an Image of her Daughter ibid. 207 
 
 On Rliintlion ibid. 207 
 
 On the picture of Thyraarete ibid. 207 
 
 AXVTE 207 
 
 On the Maid Antibia tV Hay. 207 
 
 On the young Phillida J. H. Merivale. 207 
 
 On a Statue of Venus ibid. 207 
 
 On the entrance to a Cavern Anon. 207 
 
 On a Dolphin cast ashore Hodgson. 207 
 
 On three Viruins of Miletus J. H. .Merivale. 207 
 
 On a grove of Laurel Hodgson. 207 
 
 Epitaph J. H. Merivale. 208 
 
 On a Laurel by a Fountain side Hodgson. 208 
 
 DIOTLMUS 208 
 
 On two aged Priestesses Charles Merivale. 208 
 
 On a Duenna J. H. Merivale. 208 
 
 On a Flute player Charles Merivale. 208 
 
 ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS- 
 On the picture of Berenice- 
 The enjoyment of Love - - - 
 
 The Virgin's triumph 
 
 The power of Wine 
 
 On Hesiod 
 
 SIMMIAS OF RHODES- 
 A Fragment 
 
 208 
 
 ■J.H. Merivale. 208 
 
 ibid. 208 
 
 ibid. 209 
 
 ibid. 209 
 
 Hay garth. 209 
 
 209 
 
 - Charles Merivale 209 
 
 SOTADES 209 
 
 Man's Fate on Earth Cumberland. 209 
 
 PH-EDIMUS 210 
 
 Heroic Love Charles Merivale. 210 
 
 THEOCRITUS 210 
 
 Thyrsis and the Goatherd Fawkes. 21 1 
 
 Pharmaceutria ibid. 212 
 
 Amaryllis Dryden. 215 
 
 The Cyclops J. H. Merivale. 216 
 
 Uylas Fairkes. 217 
 
 Character of Ptolemy ibid. 218 
 
 The Syracusan Gossips ibid. 218 
 
 Liberality to Poets Polwhele. 220 
 
 Praises of Ptolemy Fawkes. 221 
 
 Epithalamium of Helen and Menelaus- -Dryden- 222 
 
 The Boxers Chapman. 223 
 
 The Infant Hercules Anon. 224 
 
 Hercules, the Lion-slayer Chapman. 225 
 
 On the Statue of iEsculapius Polwhele. 228 
 
 Another of the same Fawkes 228 
 
 A Vow to Priapus Sir C. A. Elton. 2-28 
 
 Another of the same Leigh Hunt. 228 
 
 On Eusthenes the Physiognomist Fawkes. 228 
 
 On Anacreon Thos. Moore. 228 
 
 On a Friend drowned at sea- -- Charles Merivale. 229 
 
 Another of the same Fawkes. 229 
 
 On Hipponax the Satirist J. H. Merivale. 229 
 
 On Eury medon Blackwood. 2.'!9 
 
 An Offt-rins to Pan Fawkes. 229 
 
 To the Muses and Apollo ibid. 229 
 
 Orthon's Epitaph ibid. 229 
 
 NICI AS 229 
 
 The Bee Anon. 229 
 
 The Grasshopper Anon. 229 
 
 On the Tomb of an Infant Charles Merivale. 229 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 LEONIDAS 230 
 
 Home Robert Bland. 230 
 
 The Dying Shepherd tV. Hay. 230 
 
 Offering to the Rural Deities J. H. Merivale. 230 
 
 To the same ibid. 270 
 
 The return of Spring to Sailors- -- Robert Bland. 230 
 
 A Mother to her Son ^ ibid. 230 
 
 Pan to his Worshippers J. H. Merivale. 231 
 
 Inscription on the banks of a River- -• R. Bland. 231 
 
 Inscription on a Boat Charles Merivale. 231 
 
 On a Grasshopper ^V. Hay. 231 
 
 On Homer Hodgson. 231 
 
 On a Statue of Anacreon Charles Merivale. 231 
 
 On an aged Fisherman /♦'. Hay. 231 
 
 On Himself J. H. Merivale. 231 
 
 POSIDIPPUS 232 
 
 A picture of Human Life IV. Peter. 232 
 
 Metrodorus' Parody on the above ibid. 232 
 
 On the Tomb of a Shipwrecked Mariner-.- Anon- 232 
 On a Child fV. Hay. 232 
 
 ARATIJS 232 
 
 Proem to the Phenomena Sir C. A.Elton. 232 
 
 Prognostics of Weather ibid. 233 
 
 LYCOPHRON 233 
 
 From the Cassandra ibid. 233 
 
 IIEGESIPPUS 2,34 
 
 The Right hand Road to Hades- -J. H. Merivale. 234 
 On a Shipwrecked Person Hodgson. 234 
 
 Ei;PHORION 234 
 
 On Tears J. H. Merivale. 234 
 
 On a Corpse washed ashore ibid 2,34 
 
 An Offering to Apollo ibid. 234 
 
 ANTAGORAS 235 
 
 Cupid's Genealogy Charles Merivale 235 
 
 The two Cynic Philosophers J. H. Merivale. 235 
 
 CALLIMACHIIS 235 
 
 On the Bath of Minerva Sir C A. Elton. 235 
 
 On a Brother and Sister J. H. Merivale. 236 
 
 The Chase ibid. 236 
 
 On a Good Man IV. Peter. 236 
 
 The Death of Cleombrotus J. H. Merivale. 236 
 
 The Virgin's Offering to Venus S. Trevor. 237 
 
 On Heracleitus if . JV. Coleridge. 237 
 
 MC.ENETUS OF SAMOS 237 
 
 Precept of Cratinus Thos. Moore. 237 
 
 The Fete Champetre Charles Merivale. 237 
 
 DIOSCORIDES 237 
 
 The Persian Slave to his Master ibid. 237 
 
 Spartan Virtue J. H. Merivale. 238 
 
 APOLLOMUS OF RHODES 238 
 
 The Song of Orpheus Gilbert West. 238 
 
 Passion of Medea Sir C. A. Elton. 239 
 
 Deliberation of Medea ibid 239 
 
 The Magic Trial ibid. 240 
 
 Combat between Pollux and Amycus- -- Fawkes. 243 
 
 CLE ANTHES 244 
 
 Hymn to Jupiter Sir C. A. Elton. 244 
 
 RHl ANUS 245 
 
 On Human Folly ihid. 245 
 
 A Lover's Wish ibid. 245 
 
 DAM AGETES 245 
 
 On two Theban Brothers slain in Thrace 
 
 J. H. Merivale. 245 
 On a Wife dying in her Husband's absence ibid. 245 
 
 ALC.EUS OF MESSENE 246 
 
 On the Expedition of Flaminius ibid. 246 
 
 On the Macedonians slain at Cynocephala?- ibid. 246 
 
 On Hipponax the Satirist Robert Bland. 246 
 
 On Homer Haygarth. 246 
 
 BiON 246 
 
 Elegy on Adonis Sir C. A. Elton. 246 
 
 The Teacher taught Fawkes. 247 
 
 Cupid and the Fowler ibid. 248 
 
 Shortness of Life J.H. Merivale. 248 
 
 Friendship Fawkes. 248 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 BION. Translators. Page 
 
 Hvmn to the Kvening Star J. H. Mcrivale. 248 
 
 Tt'ie l.aifient of the Cyclops ibid. 24S 
 
 Tlie Seasons Favhcs. 218 
 
 Fragments I and II ibid 248 
 
 THEODORIDKS 249 
 
 On an Ancient Mnnuinent of Hcraclilus 
 
 J. II. Merwale. 249 
 
 Epitaph on an Usurer ibid- 219 
 
 Maxim Anon. 249 
 
 TYMNjEDS 249 
 
 Spartan Virtue J. H. MerivaU. 249 
 
 On one who died in a foreign Country ibid. 249 
 
 MOSCHUS 249 
 
 The Contrast Robcr: Bland. 249 
 
 Aipheus and Arethusa ibid. 250 
 
 F'lropa Fawkes. 250 
 
 Ciiprd proclaimed W. Shepherd, 251 
 
 Cupid tiirnc^l I'lougliman J'rior. 251 
 
 I„uiicnl lor Bion ■ ■ • Chapman. 252 
 
 A Mother lamenting her Children Fatrkts. 253 
 
 Capricious Love Polichcle. 253 
 
 POI.YSTRATUS 
 
 Destruction of Corinth 
 
 253 
 
 .J. II. Merivale. 253 
 
 ANTI PATER OF SIDON 254 
 
 f)n a Poplar J. II. Meripnle. 254 
 
 On Wine Rohtrt Bland. 254 
 
 Under the Rose J. H. MerivaU 2r)4 
 
 On a Mnihor and Daughter Hubert Blnvd. 254 
 
 Conjuiral Alfection ibid. 254 
 
 On Erinna J. II. Mcrirulc. 254 
 
 On the destruction of Corinth Hubert Bland. 251 
 
 On Sappho IlodiTson. 254 
 
 On Homer's Birth-place J. IT. Jileririalt. 254 
 
 On Orphens Rahert Bland, ^ba- 
 
 On I'iiidar J. H MerivaU . 255 
 
 I On Anacreon Robert Bland 255 
 
 The same paraphrased Thos. Moure. 255 
 
 II On Anacreon ibid. 255 
 
 The Cure for Misery Hodsson. 255 
 
 The f lonest Shephe'td Prior. 255 
 
 Asainst Water-drinlcers J. II. MerivaU. 255 
 
 The Widow's Offering ■ ■ ibid. 255 
 
 MEI.E ACER 256 
 
 Cupid wounded B. Keen. 256 
 
 The Tvrant Love ibid. 256 
 
 The Kiss J. H. MerivaU. 256 
 
 The Din of Love TAo.?. Moore. 256 
 
 Beauty compared with Flowers Ch Jforih. 256 
 
 The Gifts of the Graces B. Keen. 256 
 
 The Garland »'. Peter. 256 
 
 The Lisht of Love B. Keen. 257 
 
 Pan's Lament for Daphnis ibid. 257 
 
 On a tame Hare W. Peter. 257 
 
 The Victim J. H. Merivale. 257 
 
 On i^-sigeiies ibid. 257 
 
 The Mornini.' Star ibid. 257 
 
 The Gifts of the Graces ibid. 257 
 
 A Kiss within the Cup ibid. 257 
 
 The Sailor's Return ibid. 257 
 
 Cupid's Pedigree B. Keen. 257 
 
 The Captive ■ J. H. Merivale. 257 
 
 To Bacchus ibid. 25S 
 
 The Lover's Message ibid. 25S 
 
 The Vow Charles Merivale. 25'^ 
 
 Love proclaimed B. Keen 25iS 
 
 The Sale of Cupid Thos. Moure. 25^ 
 
 . To the Bee J. II. Merivale. 258 
 
 To his Mistress steeping ibid. 258 
 
 Love, the Tennis-player Sir C. j3. F.lton. 258 
 
 To ZiMiiiphile playing on the Lyre W. Hay. 25!) 
 
 The Return of Spf ins Robert Bland. 259 
 
 Epila|)h on a Young Bride JV. Hay. 259 
 
 Another translation of the same J. H. Merivale 259 
 
 On Charixenua • ibid. 259 
 
 Son-r Thos. Moore. 250 
 
 Epitiph on Heliodora J. H. Merivale. 259 
 
 Another Translation of the same- •7?oAer/ Bland. ICO 
 
 The Dauehters of Lycamlies J. II. Merivale. 260 
 
 The Lover's Message Robert Bland. 260 
 
 The Comparison /('. Shepherd. 260 
 
 On Mel.-ager of Gadara J. II. Merivale. 260 
 
 On N iohe fV. Hay. 2ti0 
 
 Music and Beauty J. II. Merivale. 260 
 
 To the Cicada Sir C A. Elton. 260 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 ARCni AS '261 
 
 On a Grasshopper tV. Hay. 261 
 
 On an ol<l Race Horse ibid. "261 
 
 On a Shipwrecked Mariner lyroneham. '261 
 
 Life and Death Robert Bland. 201 
 
 PIliLODEMUS 261 
 
 Voutliful Beauty J. II. Merivale. 261 
 
 ("nstancy ibid. '261 
 
 A fri!er paraphrase of the same- - • - Thos. Moure. 262 
 Invitation to the Anniversary of Epicurus 
 
 ./. //. Merivale. 262 
 On a Friend Hodgson. 262 
 
 ZONAS OF SARDIS 262 
 
 On a Shipwrecked Mariner Rohert Bland. '262 
 
 To the Bees W. Ilaij. '262 
 
 ANTIPATER OF TIIESSALONICA 263 
 
 The Separation J. H Merivale. 263 
 
 A Wish ibid. '263 
 
 Greek Poetesses Edinburgh Review. 263 
 
 CKINAGORAS 263 
 
 On an Image of Cupid hound Favkes. 2(i3 
 
 To his .Mistress T/ics. Jl/wore. 263 
 
 The Bridal Olf.ring Rahert Bland. 263 
 
 On the death of a Soldier in the army ofCerma- 
 nicus J. II. Merivale. 263 
 
 ANTTPHILUS 264 
 
 On an ancient Oak 'bid. 261 
 
 On the Picttire of Medea ibid. 264 
 
 On a Bee's Nest Ch. A'orth. 264 
 
 LEONID AS OF ALEXANDRIA 264 
 
 On the picture of an Inlant playing near a pre- 
 cipice S. Rnpers. 
 
 The dyiiiii Soldier to his Friends- J. //. Merivale 
 
 On the Venus Anadyomeiie iliid. 
 
 On the votive Image of a Lion ibid. 
 
 PIIIMP OF THESSALONICA 
 
 On a Vine Hubert Bland. 
 
 On a bronze Statue of the River Eurotas 
 
 ■/ //. Merivale. 
 On a young Maid who died the day of her mar- 
 riage "'. Hay. 
 
 PARMENIO OF MACEDON 
 
 Ou the Defeat of Xerxes at Thermopyla- 
 
 J. H. Merivale. 
 
 XE.NOCRITUS OF RHODES 
 
 On a Daughter drowned at Sea- - Robert Bland. 
 
 MARCUS ARGENTARIUS 
 
 On a Son drowned at Sea IV. Hay. 
 
 The Lean Lovers ,• Anon. 
 
 The Test of Love J. II. Merivale. 
 
 .'J'MILIANTTS NTC^US 
 
 On the picture ofan Infant sucking at the breast 
 of its dying Mother Tytler 
 
 iULLlUS GEMINUS 
 On Theinistocles -• 
 
 • J. II. Merivale 
 
 ONFSTUS 
 
 The DilRculty and Reward of Science -ii- Bland. 
 Helicon W- Hay. 
 
 LUCUN 
 
 To a worn out Belle J. H. Mertvnlt. 
 
 The Physician and his Son tV Hay. 
 
 To a long-bi-arded Coxcomb Anon. 
 
 Pleasure and Pain J H Merivale. 
 
 .\n Enisma "'- Hay. 
 
 Epitaph on a Child H. Peter. 
 
 DIONYSIUS 
 
 To his Mislrnss- -■ 
 Hvmn to /Vpollo- ■ 
 The Kiss 
 
 Thos. Mnore. 
 
 n: Hoy 
 
 . Thos. Muore 
 
 PlIILOSTUATU? 
 To Celia 
 
 STRATO 
 
 Love Dot extinguished by Age- ■ ■ J. H. Merivale. 
 
 264 
 264 
 261 
 265 
 
 265 
 265 
 
 265 
 
 265 
 
 265 
 
 265 
 
 266 
 266 
 
 266 
 266 
 266 
 266 
 
 266 
 
 26b 
 
 •267 
 •267 
 
 267 
 267 
 267 
 
 267 
 2I-.7 
 267 
 2C8 
 268 
 268 
 263 
 
 268 
 268 
 268 
 268 
 
 269 
 269 
 
 269 
 269 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Trniislators. Pagn 
 
 RUFiNUS yi;o 
 
 Miiidi-n Reserve Jiml^wn. 2(i9 
 
 The (iurlaml W P,ter. '^iiV 
 
 Krijoynietit oTI-ove /. H. Mtritnte 20!) 
 
 IvvhorlHtioii to Pleasure Iloil^son. 27(( 
 
 The Wariiiii? liobirt lilnnrl. 2711 
 
 The Denial oVi.ove /. I{ Merivale. 2T(l 
 
 The Cure of Disdain Robert Bland. 27(1 
 
 Knjoy iiig Life Fawkes. 270 
 
 CARPHYLIDKS 270 
 
 On a Happy Old Man Robert Bland. 270 
 
 LUCIM JUS 27(1 
 
 The Good Physician ibid. 270 
 
 Kn vy ITn'lssnn. \>70 
 
 Fortune Robert Bland. 270 
 
 On Lonir Noses ibid. 271 
 
 False Friends hip ibid. 'ilX 
 
 Fear of Death ibid. 271 
 
 GREGORY N AZTANZF.N 271 
 
 A LanicniatioM for the Soul Bniid. 271 
 
 Admonilions to Virgins ibid. 272 
 
 On a Youth of Fair Promise ibid. 272 
 
 Another on the same ibid 272 
 
 PALLADAS 272 
 
 All the World's a Stage J. H Merivale. 272 
 
 Marriage Tiie Tatler. 272 
 
 On the Shortness and Evils of Life • • • -R. Bland. 27:J 
 
 On the same J. H Merivale. 27o 
 
 On the same Rnhert Bland. 27? 
 
 Spartan Virtue /. H Merivale. 273 
 
 Anacreontic Robert Bland. "I'i 
 
 The Spirit of the Age W. Hati. 273 
 
 On a Celebrated Actor J. H. Merivale 273 
 
 JUT.1AN, PRiEFECT OF ^GYPT 273 
 
 t >a Democritus ibid. 273 
 
 Love and AVine W. Peter. 273 
 
 On a \ oung Bride Wranghnyn. 273 
 
 O tfering of Lais to Venus Ogle. 273 
 
 M U P .*; U S 274 
 
 Hero and Leander Fawkes. 274 
 
 AG A THI AS 278 
 
 A nchises to Venus /. H. Merivale. 278 
 
 On Death Robert Bland. 278 
 
 On a Young Bride W. Peter. 278 
 
 Maiden Passion /. H. Merivale. 278 
 
 The Lover's Devise Robert Bland. 278 
 
 The Torments of Love J. H Merivale. 278 
 
 Client and Lawyer ibid. 279 
 
 The Philosopher ibid. 279 
 
 On an Image of Eustathius Wmngham. 279 
 
 liove and Wine J. H. Merivale. 279 
 
 The Revenge of Love Robert Bland. 279 
 
 The Mother's OlTering J. H. Merivale. 279 
 
 MACEDONIUS 280 
 
 The Poet's Offering Robert Bland. 280 
 
 Anacreontic J- H- Merivale. 2~0 
 
 Remembrance and Forgetfulness- -Robert Bland. 280 
 
 PAIIT,, THE SILENTIARY 280 
 
 Why does she so long delay ? Thos. Moore, i^<^ 
 
 To vv-eave a Garland ibid. 2"'0 
 
 The Victory of Venus J. H. Merivak. 281 
 
 Absence insupportable ■ ibid. 2H1 
 
 On a Daughter Robert Bland. 2^1 
 
 Garden Scenery ibid. 2^1 
 
 On the same ibid. 2*1 
 
 Twin'st thou Thos. Moore. 2S1 
 
 When the sad Word ibid. 2>ll 
 
 An Epitaph W. Hay. 282 
 
 Offering of a Deserted I^over /. H. Merivale. 2*2 
 
 lyove not extinguished by Age Robert Bland. 2-2 
 
 The Drenched Lover J. H. Merivale. 282 
 
 The Chain of Love /bid. 2*2 
 
 The Picture ibid. 282 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 MARIANUS SCHOLASTICUS 2^2 
 
 Inscription on a Balh Ogle. 282 
 
 DE'MOCHA RES 283 
 
 On the Picture of Sappho Hodgson. 2S3 
 
 I'.VPERTATN AUTHORS 283 
 
 Hymn of Arion Charles Merivale. 2-ii 
 
 Epitaph J. H. Merivale. 283 
 
 On a Corpse washed ashore ibid. 283 
 
 Ulysses on his Return ibid. 2*3 
 
 On a Slaine of Niobe Robert Bland. 283 
 
 On the same W. Peter. 233 
 
 On a Shipwrecked Person Hodgson. 284 
 
 On Eriuna J. H. Merivale. 2.84 
 
 Bis dat, qui cilo dat Hodgson. 284 
 
 Funeral I lonours J. H. Merivale. 2H4 
 
 On the same Robert Bland. 2>4 
 
 On a Poor Man becoming Rich Anon. 284 
 
 On Death Robert Bland, 284 
 
 On a Murdered Corpse Hodgson. 284 
 
 On I iomer Anon. 284 
 
 On Auacreon Thos. Moore. -2^A 
 
 On One who slew his Mother Hodgson 284 
 
 On a Happy Old Man ibid. 284 
 
 On :i Miserable Old Man Robert Bland. 284 
 
 On Fri'-ndship J. H. Merivale. 2s5 
 
 On an Infant R. Bland, Jr. 285 
 
 Another on the same ibid. 285 
 
 Inscription on a Figured Gem Robert Bland. 2*5 
 
 The Grasshopper's Remonstrance W. Peter. 285 
 
 On a Grasshopper in a Spider's Web- • • W. Hay. 2*5 
 
 To a Locust ibid. 285 
 
 On Menander W. Shepherd. 2*5 
 
 On the same Robert Bland. 2*5 
 
 On the Statue of the same ibid. 2^5 
 
 The Gardener's Offering ibid. 285 
 
 Offering to Venus Wrayigham. 2*0 
 
 Song of the Crow Mitchell. 2*6 
 
 Song of the Swallow Anon. 286 
 
 The Rose Sir C. A. Elton. 286 
 
 I,ais J. H. Merivale. 286 
 
 On Erinna W. Hay. 237 
 
 Inscription on a Bath Robert Bland. 287 
 
 The Olive to the Vine ibid. 287 
 
 Epitaph Thos. Moore. 287 
 
 Conviviality and Refinement ibid. 287 
 
 On a Friend J. H Merivale. 287 
 
 l,oves of Sappho and Anacreon Thos Moore. 2ti7 
 
 Loves of Sappho and Alcajus Edin. Revieiv. 287 
 
 Oi\ Sappho J. H. Merivale. 287 
 
 Diogenes to Crssus Hodgson. 287 
 
 Fragment J. H. Merivale. 287 
 
 To a Friend ibid. 2S3 
 
 Restitution Anon. 283 
 
 Virtuous, though Poor W. Peter. 283 
 
 A Prayer ibid. 288 
 
 Life and Death Charles Merivale. 283 
 
 To Rome J. H. Merivale. 288 
 
 Flowers Ch. North. 283 
 
 Reason Thos. Moore. 283 
 
 Foreknowledge IF. Peter. 283 
 
 The Dead W. Hay. 283 
 
 Death, the Universal Lot Hodgson. 283 
 
 Fragment Ch. North. 283 
 
 The" Lover's Wish J. H. Merivale. 289 
 
 Exclamation of Venus ibid. 289 
 
 On a Statue of Envy W. Hay. 289 
 
 O n an Inl'ant ibid. 289 
 
 The Invitation Thos. Moore. 2S9 
 
 The TrvstingTree W. Hay. 289 
 
 The Mind of Man TV. Peter. 289 
 
 Pan's Retreat Faivkes. 289 
 
 On a Foinuain sacred to Pan W. Hay. 289 
 
 On a Laurel J. H. Merivale. 289 
 
 On Erinna Whnrtoyi. 289 
 
 On Ibycus W. Hay. 289 
 
 I^ialoijue between a Suitor and his Mistress's 
 
 Maid J. H. Merivale. 289 
 
 Epitaj)!] W. Hay. 289 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 FHOM THE ROMAN POETS. 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 ENNIUS '^^-i 
 
 Telainon on the Death of Ajax W. Peter. 2t)3 
 
 Pyrrlius to the Roman AmljussaJors Moir. 29:J 
 
 Fal)ius Bunlop. 293 
 
 A Roman Tribune WiLwn. 293 
 
 Sootlisuyers Dunlop. 293 
 
 Are there Gods? ibid. 294 
 
 The Idle Soldier ibid. 294 
 
 The Calm of Kvening W. Peter. 294 
 
 On the same subject ibid. 294 
 
 On the Revival of Ilium in Rome Ihtnhp. 294 
 
 The Character of a Friend ibid. 294 
 
 PLAUTUS 294 
 
 Amphitryon Bonnet Thornton. '..95 
 
 The Captives Richard Warner. 311 
 
 The Miser B. Thornton. 32() 
 
 Tlie Shipwreck ibid. 34(» 
 
 Tilt' Twin brothers- ■£. Thornton and R. Warner. 35S 
 
 The Treasure B. Thornton. 375 
 
 From the Mercliant ibid. 392 
 
 TERKN C E 392 
 
 The Andrian Caiman. 392 
 
 Glorious Uncertainly of the Law ibid. 4ii9 
 
 How to avoid Disappointment ibid. 4li9 
 
 The Ills of Love ibid. 4(i9 
 
 A Lover taking Leave of his Mistress ibid. 409 
 
 The Parasite ibid. 409 
 
 Kind Feeling for Others ibid. 409 
 
 The -Mind is its Own Place ibid. 409 
 
 Profiting by the Faults of Others ibid. 409 
 
 Wives and Mistresses ibid 409 
 
 Suminum jus summa injuria ibid. 410 
 
 Custom ibid. 410 
 
 Like Parent like Child ibid. 410 
 
 AV'omen ibid. 410 
 
 Ignorance of Approacliing Evil ibid. 410 
 
 Ciuarrels about Trirles ibid. 410 
 
 Character of the Two Brothers in theAdelphi ibid. 410 
 
 Old Men Worldly-minded ibid. 411 
 
 The Unfortunate too apt to think Themselves 
 neglected ibid 411 
 
 LUCRETIUS 411 
 
 Address to Venus Drtjden. 412 
 
 The Evils of Superstition Sir C. A. Klton. 413 
 
 Vernal Showers Mason Good. 413 
 
 In I'raise of Pliilosophy Drydtn. 413 
 
 Animals and their Voung Gilbert Wakrjield. 414 
 
 Against the Fear of Death Dryden. 414 
 
 Kusiic Deities and Superstitions Modern Good. 417 
 
 Fruits of Illicit Love ibid. 417 
 
 The New-born Babe Dryden. 417 
 
 Primeval Life Mason Good. 417 
 
 False and True Piety ibid. 4 1 8 
 
 Origin of Music ibid. 416 
 
 A Guilty Conscience Hodgson. 418 
 
 The Plague at Athens Mason Good. 41S 
 
 CATULLUS 
 
 On the Death of Lesbia's Sparrow 
 
 Hori. G. Lamb. 
 
 Upon Mamurra ibid. 
 
 To Lesbia W. Peter. 
 
 A Message to his Mistress Thos. Moore. 
 
 To the Peninsula of Sirmio ibid. 
 
 Hymeneal Sir C. A. Elton. 
 
 To Cicero Hon. G. Lamb. 
 
 To Lesbia Anon. 
 
 On the Approach of Spring W. Peter. 
 
 The Comparison Sir C. A. Elton. 
 
 On the Death of Quintilia Hon. G. Lamb. 
 
 Another of the same Sir C. A. Elton. 
 
 Rites at his Brother's Grave Hodgson. 
 
 A Picture Sir If. Jones. 
 
 Perfidy of Man Sir C. A. Elton. 
 
 Aty s Hon. G. Lamb. 
 
 Lesbia's Disgrace 'bid. 
 
 To Lesbia Thos. Moore. 
 
 Translators. Page 
 
 LABERIUS 420 
 
 A Prologue Neavts and Ayton. 420 
 
 VIRGIL 427 
 
 Tityrus and MelibcEus Dryden. 427 
 
 Pollio ibid. 429 
 
 Pharmaceutria ibid. 429 
 
 Gallus ibid. 431 
 
 Invocation of the Rural Deities — Advice to Far- 
 mers, etc Sotheby. 432 
 
 A Storm in Autumn ibid 433 
 
 Progiiosycs of Weather — Prodigies tliat followed 
 the Death of CrKsar — Horrors of Civil \Var-i6id. 433 
 
 Praises of Italy ibid. 434 
 
 Spring ibid. 4^5 
 
 On a 'Country Life ibid. 435 
 
 Horses. Chariot Race, etc ibid. 43(5 
 
 On Bees ibid. 440 
 
 Orphfus and Eurydice ibid. 443 
 
 Hector's Ghost Dryden. 444 
 
 The Death ol Priam ibid. 444 
 
 Dido's Passion for .^neas ibid. 445 
 
 Visit of jEiieas to the Shades below ibi/l. 449 
 
 Juno stirring up Stril'e between the Trojans and 
 
 Lalians ibid. 4.56 
 
 Camilla brings Aid to Turnus ibid. 456 
 
 The Shield of .Eneas ibid. 457 
 
 Nisus and Luryalus ibid. 458 
 
 Death of Pallas ibid. 4r>l 
 
 Death of Lausus ibid. 4til 
 
 History and Death of Camilla ibid. 462 
 
 The Deatli of Turnus ibid. 464 
 
 HORACE 406 
 
 Book 1 407 
 
 Ode III. Dri/din. 467 
 
 Ode V Milton. 467 
 
 Ode IX. Dn/den. 467 
 
 OdeXXM. Hon. W. Herbert. 467 
 
 Ode XXIV Francis. 468 
 
 Ode XXXV W. Peter. 468 
 
 Book II 468 
 
 Ode 11! J. H. Merivale. 468 
 
 Ode X CouTer. 469 
 
 Ode XII Sir Jeffrey Gilbert. 469 
 
 Ode XIV Ral-ph Bernal. 469 
 
 Ode XV /. Milford. 470 
 
 Book III 470 
 
 Ode 1 ■• Cowley. 470 
 
 Ode II Dean Swift. 470 
 
 Ode VI Earl of Roscomnwn. 471 
 
 Ode IX Alterhitry. 471 
 
 Ode XIII J. Warton. 471 
 
 Ode XVI J. Milford. 472 
 
 Ode XVllI. J. n'arton. 472 
 
 Ode XXIX. Dryden. 472 
 
 Book IV 473 
 
 Ode IV Lord LytlUlon. 473 
 
 Ode Vll' Dr. Johnson. 474 
 
 Ode IX Francis. 474 
 
 Epode Dryden. 475 
 
 Book 1 476 
 
 From Satire I Cowleif. 476 
 
 From Satire HI Franns. 476 
 
 From Satire IV ibid. 477 
 
 From Satire VI ibid. 477 
 
 From Satire X ibid. 477 
 
 Book II ; ••• 478 
 
 From Satire I ibid. 478 
 
 From Satire III ibid. 47S 
 
 From Satire VI ibid. 478 
 
 From Satire VII. ibid. 479 
 
 Book 1 479 
 
 From Epistle I ibid 479 
 
 From Epistle II Cowley. 450 
 
 From Epistle III Francis. 4-0 
 
 From Epistle V tbid. 4'<) 
 
 From Epistle VI ibid. 4'* 
 
 From Epistle VII- • ibid. 480 
 
 From Epistle Vlll '--ibid. 480 
 
 C 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 HORACE Trnnslalors. Pnpp 
 
 From Kpislle X Cowley. 4>0 
 
 From Kpistle XVI Francis. 481 
 
 li.iok II 4>Sl 
 
 From Kpisiles I ami 11 /6i./. 4-<t 
 
 From the Art of Poeiry ibid. 4?2 
 
 TIBT- LLUS 484 
 
 To Delia • Lord Lyttleton. 4H5 
 
 The (iolilen Ape Grainger. 485 
 
 AVar and I'eace ibid. 4>5 
 
 Neirra Robert Bland. iSii 
 
 Siilpicia Grainger. A-ii 
 
 On Ceriiitlius ihid. 4K) 
 
 To Sulpicia I'/ios. Moore. 4tG 
 
 PROPERTIUS 487 
 
 From Book II 487 
 
 Klei,'y I Gray. 487 
 
 Ek'gv IX Sir C. A. Elton. 4-7 
 
 From i3ook III 4-^ 
 
 Elegy 111 Gray. 4Ss 
 
 4^8 
 4o9 
 4^11 
 490 
 490 
 490 
 49U 
 491 
 492 
 49.i 
 493 
 495 
 49.5 
 496 
 49ij 
 499 
 500 
 
 OVID •. 
 
 From the Metamorphoses 
 
 Creation ot" the \Vorld Dryden. 
 
 The (joUten Age ibid. 
 
 The Silver Age ibirt. 
 
 The Brazen Age ibid. 
 
 The I ron Age ibid. 
 
 The Deluge ibid. 
 
 Translbrmation of Daphne into a l.a.iire\- -ibid. 
 
 lo transformed into a Cow ibid. 
 
 Baucis and Philemon ibid. 
 
 Pygmalion and his Statue ibid. 
 
 The House of Sleep ibid. 
 
 The House of Fame ibid. 
 
 Pythagorean Philosophy ibid. 
 
 Story of Lucretia Smedley. 
 
 Dido to ^neas Dryden. 
 
 MANILI US - ■ 502 
 
 Connexion of the Universe Sir C. A. Elton. 502 
 
 On Fate ibid. 502 
 
 SENECA 503 
 
 From the Thyestes Andrew 31arvel. 503 
 
 PERSIUS 503 
 
 From Satire III Gifford. 503 
 
 From Satire IV ibid. 504 
 
 From Satire V ibid. 505 
 
 LUCAN ••• 506 
 
 Ruin occasioned by the Civil Wars Rotve. 500 
 
 Pompey and Cajsar ibid. 507 
 
 Caesar passing the Rubicon ibid. 508 
 
 The Druids ibid. 508 
 
 Cato and Marcia ibid. 509 
 
 Caesar ibid. 509 
 
 Meeting between the Soldiers of the two Camps 
 
 ibid. 509 
 
 An Army perishing with Thirst ibid. 510 
 
 Caesar in the Tempest ibid. 510 
 
 Parting of Pompey and Cornelia ibiJ. 513 
 
 Lament over Rome ibid. 514 
 
 The General Confiagratiou ibid. 514 
 
 Pothinus instigatnig Ptolemy to destroy Pompey 
 
 ibid 514 
 
 Cato's Praises of Pompey ibid. 514 
 
 Cato in the Deserts of Africa, and his Address to 
 Labienus Rowe and Lord Lyttleton. 515 
 
 LUCAN Translators. Page 
 Alexander the Great Rowe. 5i6 
 
 SILIUS-ITALICUS 516 
 
 huunibal's Passage over the Alps 
 
 Sir C. A. Ellon. 517 
 
 STATIUS 518 
 
 From the Thebaid Gray. 518 
 
 To Sleep . . -Hodgson. 518 
 
 MARTIAL 519 
 
 To Cato Spectator. 519 
 
 To Decianus Hay. 519 
 
 Arria and Ptetus Hoadley. 519 
 
 To Julius Hay. 519 
 
 Rut'us Spectator. 519 
 
 To Catulla Hon. G. Lamb. 520 
 
 On Antonius, a Good Man \V. Peter. 520 
 
 The Parasite Hodgson. 520 
 
 Generosity to Friends Hay. 520 
 
 To Quinctilian CowUy. 520 
 
 To Froiito ibi<i. 520 
 
 To Maximus ibid. 520 
 
 ■ To Julius Martialis Hodgson. 520 
 
 To Postumus CuwUy. 521 
 
 On the Mausoleum of Augustus- • -J. HMerivale. 521 
 
 To Avitus Cowley. 521 
 
 To Julius Martialis Anon. 521 
 
 An Odd Fellow Spectator. 521 
 
 JUVENAL 521 
 
 Domiiian and the Turbot- Gifford and Hodgson. 522 
 
 Mortitications of the Poor ibid. 522 
 
 The Poet ibid. 522 
 
 Ancestry ibid. 523 
 
 The Approach of Age.- Hodgson. 524 
 
 Vanity of Human Wishes Gifford. 524 
 
 Know Thyself ibid. 525 
 
 Poet's own Domestic Economy ibid. 526 
 
 Wisdom and Experience ibid. 526 
 
 Atheists and Sceptics ibid. 527 
 
 Revenge ibid. 527 
 
 Education of Children ibid. 528 
 
 The Origin of Civil Society ibid. 529 
 
 CLAUDIAN 530 
 
 The liia?nix Sir C. A. Elton. 530 
 
 The Old Man of Verona Cowley. 531 
 
 A U SON I U S 532 
 
 Roses Sir C. A. Elton. 532 
 
 On a Shipwrecked Friend J. H. Merivale. 532 
 
 Venus Anadyoraene Robert Bland. 533 
 
 AVIENUS 533 
 
 Th e O ak and the Reed Sir C. A. Elton. 533 
 
 A Quiet Life ibid. 533 
 
 Country Retirement ibid. 533 
 
 APPENDIX 534 
 
 Simile Irom Homer Chapman. 534 
 
 Grecian Fire Signals Symmons. 534 
 
 Another Translation of the same- -Xiterarj^ World. 534 
 
 The Dying Eagle W. Peter. 535 
 
 'I'he same paraphrased ibid. 535 
 
 Opportunity Analectic Magazine. 535 
 
 A Guilty Conscience Hodgson. 535 
 
 From Virgil's II. ^tneid Earl of Surrey. 536 
 
 From the IV. jEneid ibid. 536 
 
 Reflection on Horace's 10th Ode, B. 11- • Cowper. 536 
 Poem of Silius-Ilalicus 536 
 
PART I. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK POETS. 
 
 1$ 
 
HOMER. 
 
 [About 950 B. C] 
 
 Of the lif;'', age, ami country of Homer, though 
 much lias been written, little or nothing is as- 
 certained. The more probable belief seems to 
 have been, that he was an Asiatic Greek, and 
 lived about the middle gf the ninth century be- 
 fore Christ. But, however doubtful his exact 
 time or place of birth, not a question ever arose 
 among the ancients as to the existence of the 
 man, or as to his having been the sole author of 
 the great works which immortalize his name. 
 It was reserved for the vanity and scepticism of 
 the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to affect 
 a contrary opinion, and to contend, that HcDner 
 was not Homer, or that, instead of one, there had 
 been twenty Homers. 
 
 ^^ssitniing that the art of writing was unknown 
 in Greece and her colonies, at the supposed date 
 of the Iliad and Odyssey, and thence arguing 
 that so many tliousand verses, as constitute those 
 volumes, could never have been conceived or 
 carried in the head of one man, these philologers 
 arrived at the startling hypothesis or conclusion, 
 that the Iliad and Odyssey were the works, not 
 of a single mind, but of several distinct authors, 
 collected by Pisistratus, and all pieced and 
 quilted together, so as to form two great patch- 
 work wholes! 
 
 Now, to say nothing of internal evidences to 
 the contrary,— of coherence and symmetry of 
 parts, — of consistency of characters, — of unity of 
 style, plot, interest, imagery, and thought,* — to 
 say nothing of these and numberless other cir- 
 cumstances, (each in itself sufficient to stamp 
 both Iliad and Odyssey as the product of one 
 vast, original, and master mind) — leaving all 
 these topics to others, I woidd only request the 
 judicious and candid reader to inquire %chat 
 evidence the anti-Homcrian critics have adduced 
 in support of their premises; what single, solitary 
 proof, or even presumption, that the art of writ- 
 ing (for on that, and on that alone, rests their 
 
 ♦ Notwithslandinc any occasional interpolations, eilher 
 in the Iliad or the Odyssey, each (as Ileeren justly ob- 
 serves,) has but one primary action, which coiild have 
 proceeded bill I'roni one orii.'inal author, and which does 
 not permit us to consider either of those poems as a 
 mere collection of scattered rhapsodies. 
 
 whole argument.) was unknown at the supposed 
 date of the Iliad and Odyssey? We know that 
 it had long existed among other, and not far dis- 
 tant, nations; we know that it exi.sted among the 
 Egyptians, the Hebrews, and the Phoenicians; 
 with the latter of whom, at least, the Greeks had 
 enjoyed long and intimate communication, and 
 with whose arts and artisans Homer himself 
 seems to have been most familiar.* But then 
 "Writing, (rejoin these objectors,) if it did exist, 
 existed in its rudest state, and was known only 
 to a few." The same, too, might be said of the art 
 (luring the times of Chaucer and Gowcr, yet who 
 would argue from thence that those fathers of 
 English poetry were ignorant of their letters? 
 
 Nothing is easier than to be on the negative 
 side of a question. " If a man (says Dr. Johnson) 
 were to deny that Canada was taken, you could 
 not reduce him to an absurdity. He might sup- 
 port his denial by very plausible arginncnts." 
 And an eminent scholar and logician of the pre- 
 sent day, has carried out the Doctor's idea by an in- 
 genious piece of humour, in which he argues that 
 there never was such a man as Napoleon Bona- 
 parte ! 
 
 * Alphabetic letters, as we learn from profane history, 
 were brought from Phoenicia into (Jreece about 1500 
 years B. C. ; and we have the authority of .Scripture for 
 knowing that they existed among the Hebrews in the 
 earliest time, and long before the age of Homer. See 
 E.\od. xxxii. 15, 16; Dent. xvii. 18; xxxi. 9, 19; 2 Sam. 
 xi. 14; 1 Kings xxi. 9; 2 Kings v. 6. For Homer's ac- 
 quaintance with the Phfcnicians, and with the arts of 
 embroidery and sculpture, as practised by them, see II. 
 vi. 289, and xxiii. 740, &;c. 1 have said nothing of that 
 passage in the VI. Hook, where Homer speaks of the 
 "folded tablet," of which Bellerophon was made bearer 
 from Pra?tus to the king of Lycia, on account of the ilif- 
 fercnce amongst critics as to the precise meaning of the 
 words Xii/u-TTM Kv-if.- I subjoin however, the lines them- 
 selves, leaving it to the common sense of the reader to 
 interpret them as he sees proper : 
 
 rit'iUrtf hi fiiv hvxir^vhf 1 rtopfv 5 oyf nr^ixara Xuypa, 
 rpa^aj iv rCuaxt, rttvxrcft Ovfio^Oo^a noX^jo.. 
 
 L. vi. 0. 158. 
 
 To I.ycia the devoted youth he sent. 
 
 With tablets seal'd, that told his dire intent.— Pupe. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 FROM TIIK ILIAD OF IIOMKR. 
 Book I. 
 
 CONTKNTIOJf OF ACHILLEH AND A0AMKMN01T. 
 
 In the wnr of Troy, ihe CreokB having sacked some of 
 the ni'iclili'iiitini; inwns and tiikrn two buaulifiil cap- 
 liven, Clirysi'is and Hrisc'fs, allutlcd llie Hrsl lo .\^n- 
 iDPiniion nnri the; last lo ArliillRs. Chryses, Ihe father 
 of Chryseis, and a priest of Apollo, seeks to ransom liis 
 daiishter, bnl heiiig insolently refused by Acanieninon, 
 entreats for veiiireance from his Rod, who inflicts a 
 pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council and 
 enrourases Chalcas to declare the cause of it. who 
 attributes it to Agamemnon's treatment of Chryses. 
 The king being obliged to send back his captive, enters 
 into a furious contest with Achilles, and in his abso- 
 lute authority as chief coiiiinander of the Greeks, seizes 
 on Hrise'is. Achilles, in discontent, withdraws himself 
 and his troops from the Grecian army, and complains 
 to his mother Thetis, who supplicates Jupiter to ren- 
 der Againeninoii sensible of the wrong done to her son 
 by giving vic;ory to the Trojans. 
 
 Achilles" wrath, to Greece the direful spring 
 Of woes unntimVjorVl, heavenly goddess sing! 
 That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign 
 The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain; 
 Whose limbs utiburied on the naked shore, 
 Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore; 
 Since great Achilles and Atrides strove. 
 Such was the sov'reign doom, and such the will 
 
 of Jove ! 
 Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour 
 Sprung the fierce strife; from what offended 
 
 power ? 
 Latona's son a dire contagion spread. 
 And heap'd the cainp with mountains of the 
 
 dead ; 
 The king of men his reverend priest defied 
 And for the king's offence the people died. 
 
 For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain 
 His captive daughter from the victor's chain. 
 Suppliant the venerable father stands, 
 Apollo's awful ensigns grace liis hands: 
 By these he begs: and lowly bending down 
 Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown. 
 He sued to all, but chief implored for grace 
 The brother kings of Atrens' royal race. 
 
 Ye kings and warriors ! may your vows be 
 crown'd 
 And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground. 
 May Jove restore you, when your toils are o'er. 
 Safe to the pleasures of your native shore. 
 But oh ! relieve a wretched parent's pain 
 And give Chryseis to these arms again: 
 If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, 
 And dread avenging Phaibus, .son of Jove. 
 
 The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare. 
 The priest to reverence, and relea.se tlie fair. 
 Not so Atrides : he, with kingly pride, 
 Repuls'd the sacrr-.d sire, and thus replied : 
 
 Hence, on thy life, and fly these hostile plains, 
 Nor ask. presumptuou«, what the king detains; 
 Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, 
 Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god. 
 Mine is thy daughter, prie.st, and shall remain; 
 And prayers, and tears, and bribes,shall plead in 
 
 vain, 
 
 Till time sliall rifle every youthful grace, 
 And ago dismiss her from my coKl embrace, 
 In daily labours at the loom einploy'd, 
 Or doom'd to deck the bed she once enjoy 'd. 
 Hence, then, to Argos shall the maid retire. 
 Far from her native soil and weeping sire. 
 
 The trembling priest along the shore return'd. 
 And in tiie anguish of a fatln^r mourn'd. 
 Discon.-^olalt!, not daring to complain. 
 Silent he wander'd by the sounding main, 
 Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays, 
 The god who darts around tlie world his rays — 
 
 O Smiiithcus! sprung from fair Latona's line. 
 Thou guardian power of Cilia the divine. 
 Thou source of light whom Tenedos adores. 
 And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's 
 
 shores — 
 If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane, 
 Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain, 
 God of the silver bow ! thy shafts employ. 
 Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy. 
 
 Thus Chryses pray'd : the favouring power 
 attends. 
 And from Olympus' lofty top descends. 
 Bent ^^'as his bow the Grecian hearts to wound; 
 Fierce, as he inov'd, his silver shafts resound. 
 Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread, 
 And gloomy darkness roU'd around his head. 
 The fleet in view, he tvv^ang'd his deadly bow, 
 And hissing fly the feather'd fates below. 
 On mules and dogs th' infection first began, 
 An<l last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man. 
 For nine long nights, through all the dusky air, 
 The Pyres, thick flaming, shot a dismal glare. 
 But ere the tenth revolving day was run 
 Inspir'd by Juno, Thetis' godlike son 
 Conven'd to council all the Grecian train; 
 For much the goddess mourn'd her heroes slain. 
 
 The assembly seated, rising o'er the rest, 
 Acliilles thus the king of men address'd : 
 
 " Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore 
 And measure back the seas we cross'd before? 
 The plague destroying whom the sword would 
 
 spare, 
 'Tis time to save the few remains of war. 
 But let soine prophet or some sacred sage 
 Explore the cause of great Apollo's rage; 
 Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove 
 By mystic dreams — for dreams descend from 
 
 Jove. 
 If broken vows this heavy curse has laid. 
 Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid : 
 So heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore. 
 And Phffibus dart his burning shafts no more. 
 
 He sail, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied: 
 Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide — 
 That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view 
 , The past, the present, and the future knew : 
 I U|)rising slow, tlie venerable sage 
 Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age : 
 
 Beloved of Jove, Achilles ! wouldst thou know 
 Why angry Phcebus bends his fated bow t 
 First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word 
 Of sure protection by thy power and sword. 
 For I must speak w^hat wisdom would conceal, 
 And truths invidious to the great, reveal. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 Bold is the task when subjects, grown too wise, 
 Instruct a monarch where his error lies ; 
 For thoui^h we deem the sliort-lived fury past, 
 'Tis sure the miglity will revenue at last. 
 
 To whom Pelides: From thy utmost soul 
 Speak what thou know'st, and speak without 
 
 control : 
 E'en by that f;;od I swear, who rules the day. 
 To whniM thy hands the vows ol" Greece convey, 
 And whose blest oracles tliy lips d«!clare ; 
 Long as Achilles breathes the vital air, 
 No tlaring Greek of all the numerous band 
 Against his priest shall lift an impious hand ; 
 Not e'en the chief by whom our hosts are led, 
 The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head. 
 
 Encourag'd thus, the blameless man replies : 
 Nor vows unjiaid, nor slighted sacrifice. 
 But he, our chief, provok'd the raging pest ; 
 Apollo's vengeance for his injur'd priest. 
 Nor will the god's awaken'd fury cease, 
 But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires in- 
 crease. 
 Till the great king, without a ransom paid. 
 To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. 
 Perhaps, with added sacrirK;e and prayer, 
 The priest may pardon, and the goil may spare. 
 
 The prophet spoke, when with a gloomy frown. 
 The monarch started from his shining throne : 
 Black choler fiU'd his breast that burn'd with ire. 
 And from his eye-balls flash'd the living fire. 
 Augur accurst! denouncing mischief still ; 
 Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill! 
 Still must that tongue some wounding message 
 
 bring, 
 And still thy jiriestly pride provoke thy king? 
 For this are Phcebus" oracles explored. 
 To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord ? 
 For this with falsehoods is my honour stain'd, 
 Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned ; 
 Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, 
 And heavenly charms prefer to proffer'd gold ? 
 A maid unmatch'd in manners as in face, 
 Skill'd in each art and crown'd with every grace. 
 Not half so dear were Clytemnestra's charms, 
 When first her blooming beauties blest my arms. 
 Yet if the gods demand her, let her sail ; 
 Our cares are only for the public weal: 
 Let me be deem'd the hateful cause of all, 
 And suffer, rather than my people fall. 
 The prize, the bcauteour> prize, I will resign, 
 So dearly valued, and so justly mine. 
 But since for common good I yield the fair. 
 My private loss let grateful Greece repair ; 
 Nor unrewarded let your prince eomijlain. 
 That he alone has R)ught and bled in vain. 
 
 Insatiate king! (.\cliilles thus replies) 
 Fond of the ])ow'r. but fonder ol'ilie [);-ize! 
 Would'sl thou the Greeks their lawful prey should 
 
 yield, 
 The due reward of many a well-fought field 1 
 The spoils of cities raz'd and warriors slain. 
 We share with justice, as with toil we gain : 
 But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves 
 (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves. 
 Yet if our chief for plunder only fight. 
 The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, 
 
 Whene'er by Jove's decree our conquering powers 
 Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers. 
 
 'J'hen thus tiie king. Shall I my prize re.-«ign 
 With tame consent, and thou possess'd of thine 1 
 Great as thou art^ anil like a god in fight, 
 Think not to rob me of a soldier's right. 
 At thy demand shall I restore the maid? 
 First let the just equivalent be paid — 
 Such as a king M)iglit ask ; and let it be 
 A treasure worthy her, and worthy me. 
 Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim 
 This hand shall seize .''ome other captive dame. 
 The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign, 
 Ulysses' spoils, or e'en thy own be mine. 
 The man who sutlers, loudly may complain; 
 And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain. 
 But this, when lime requires — It now remains 
 We launch a l)ark to plough the watery plains, 
 And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's shores. 
 With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars. 
 Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend, 
 .\nd some deputed prince the charge attend. 
 This Greta's king, or Ajax shall fulfil, 
 Or wise Ulysses see perform'd our will ; 
 Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain, 
 Achilles' selfcondu(tt her o'er the main: 
 Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage, 
 The god projjitiate, and the pest assuage. 
 
 At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied: 
 O tyrant, arm'd with insolence and pride! 
 Inglorious slave to interest, ever joiri'd 
 With I'raud, unworthy of a royal mind! 
 What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, 
 Shall I'orrn an ambush, or shall lift the sword ? 
 What cause have I to war at thy decree? 
 The distant Trojans never injur'd me : 
 To Phthia's realms no hostile troops they led ; 
 Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed : 
 Far hence rcmov'd, tlie hoarse resotmding main, 
 Anil walls of rocks, secure my native reign, 
 Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, 
 Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race. 
 Hither we sail'd a voluntary throng, 
 T' aviMige a private, not a [lublic wrong; 
 What else to Troy th' assembled nations draws, 
 But thine, imgrateful, and thy brother's cause? 
 Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve; 
 Disgra<;'d and injur'd by the man we serve? 
 And darst thou threat to snatch my prize away, 
 Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day? 
 A prize as sniall, O tyrant! match'd with lliine, 
 As thy own actions if compared to mine. 
 Thine in each conquest is the wealtliy prey, 
 Thougli mine the sweat and danger of the day. 
 Some trivial present to my ships I bear, 
 
 j Or barren praises pay the wounds of war. 
 
 I But know, proud monan-h, I'm thy slave no more; 
 My ficet shall waft nu^ to Thessalia's shore. 
 Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain, 
 What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain? 
 
 To this the king. Fly, mighty warrior! My! 
 Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy. 
 There want not chiefs in such a cause to light ; 
 And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right. 
 Of all the kings (the gods' distinguish'd c:ue) 
 To power superior none such hatred bear : 
 
HOMER. 
 
 Strife and debate thy restless soul employ, 
 And M-ars and liorrors are thy savaijc joy. 
 Il' thou hast strenfjth, 'twas heav'n that strength 
 
 bestow 'd ; 
 For know, vain man, tliy valour is from God. 
 Haste, launch thy vessels, lly with speed away. 
 Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway: 
 I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate. 
 Thy short-liv'd friendship, and thy groundless 
 
 hate. 
 Go! threat thy earth-born Myrmidons; but here 
 Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear. 
 Know if the god the beauteous dame demand, 
 My bark shall waft her to her native land; 
 But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare, 
 Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair; 
 E'en in thy tent I'll seize the blooming prize, 
 Thy lov'd Brise'is, with the radiant eyes. 
 Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the 
 
 hour, 
 Thou stood'st a rival of imperial power; 
 And hence to all our host it shall be known, 
 That kings are subject to the gods alone. 
 
 Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress'd 
 His heart swelFd high, and labour'd in his 
 
 breast, 
 Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled. 
 Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cooled: 
 That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword. 
 Force through the Greeks, and pierce their 
 
 haughty lord; 
 This whispers soft, his vengeance to control, 
 And calm the rising tempest of his soul. 
 Just as in anguish of suspense he stay'd. 
 While half unsheathd appear'd the glittering 
 
 blade, 
 Minerva swift descended from above, 
 Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove ; 
 (For both the princes claim'd her equal care,) 
 Behind she stood, and by the golden hair 
 Achilles seized ; to him alone confess'd ; 
 A sable cloud conceal'd her from the rest. 
 He sees, and svtdden to the goddess cries, 
 Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes. 
 
 Descends Minerva in her guardian care, 
 A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear 
 From Atreus' son ! then let those eyes that view 
 The daring crime, behold the vengeance too. 
 
 Forbear! (the progeny of Jove replies,) 
 To calm thy fury I forsake the skies; 
 Let great Achilles, to the gods resign'd. 
 To reason yield the empire o'er his mind. 
 By awful Juno this command is given ; 
 The king and you are both the care of heaven. 
 The force of keen reproaches let him feel. 
 But sheath obedient, thy revenging steel. 
 For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power,) 
 Thy injured honour has its faterl hour, 
 When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore. 
 And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store. 
 Then let revenge no longer bear the sway. 
 Command thy passions, and the gods obey. 
 
 To her Pelides. With regardful ear, 
 "Tis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear: 
 Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress: 
 Those who revere the gods, the gods will bless. 
 
 He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid ; 
 Then in the sheath return'd the shining blade. 
 The goddess swift to high Olympus flies. 
 And joins the sacred senate of the skies. 
 
 Nor yet the rage his boiling heart forsook, 
 Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke: 
 O monster! mix'd of insolence and fear. 
 Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer! 
 When wert thou known in ambush'd fights to 
 
 dare. 
 Or nobly face the horrid front of war? 
 'Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try, 
 Thine to look on and bid the valiant die. 
 So much 'tis safer through the camp to go, 
 And rob a subject, than despoil a foe. 
 Scourge of thy people, violent and base! 
 Sent in Jove's anger on a slavish race. 
 Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past. 
 Arc tamed to wrongs, or this had been thy last. 
 No^v by this sacred sceptre hear me swear, 
 Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear. 
 Which sever'd from the trunk, (as I from thee,) 
 On the bare mountains left its parent tree; 
 This sceptre, formd by temjier'd steel, to prove 
 An ensign of the delegates of Jove, 
 From whom the power of laws and justice 
 
 springs 
 (Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings): 
 By this I swear, when bleeding Greece again 
 Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain. 
 When, flush'd with slaughter. Hector comes to 
 
 spread. 
 The purpled shore with mountains of the dead. 
 Then shalt thou mourn tli' atiiont thy madness 
 
 gave, 
 Forc'd to deplore, when impotent to save : 
 Then rage in bitterness of soul, to know 
 This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe. 
 He spoke, and furious hurl'd against the 
 
 ground 
 His sceptre starr'd with golden studs around. 
 Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain 
 The raging king remrn'd his frowns again. 
 
 To calm their passions with the words of age, 
 Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage, 
 Experienc'd Nestor, in persuasion skilld, 
 Words sweet as honey from his lips distill'd; 
 Two generations now had pass'd away. 
 Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway. 
 Two ages o'er his native realm he reigu'd. 
 And now the example of the third reniain'd. 
 All view'd with awe the venerable man; 
 Who thus with mild benevolence began: 
 
 What shame, what woe is this to Greece! 
 
 \viiat joy 
 To Troy's proud monarch, and the friends of 
 
 Troy ! 
 That adverse gods commit to stern debate, 
 The best, the bravest of the Grecian state. 
 Young as ye are this youthful heat restrain. 
 Nor think your Nestor's years and wisdom 
 
 vain. 
 A godlike race of heroes once I knew. 
 Such as no more these aged eyes shall view! 
 Lives there a chief to match Pirithous' fame, 
 Dryas the bold, or Ceneus' deathless name ; 
 
HOMER. 
 
 Theseus, endued with more tlian mortal might, 
 Or Polyphemus, like the fj;o(ls in fifilif? 
 With tiiese of old to toils of battle bred, 
 III early youth my hardy days I led; 
 Fir'd with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, 
 And sniit with love of honourable deeds. 
 Strongest of men, theypierc'd the mountain boar, 
 Raiig'd the wild deserts red with monster's gore, 
 And from their hills the shaggy centaurs tore. 
 Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway'd: 
 When Nestor spoke, they listened and obey'd. 
 If, in my youth, e'en these esteem'd me wise, 
 Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise. 
 Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave. 
 That pri/.e the Greeks by common suffrage gave : 
 Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride; 
 Let kings be just and sovereign power presiile. 
 Thee the first honours of the war adorn. 
 Like gods in strength, and of a goddess born; 
 Him awful majesty exalts above 
 The pow'rs of earth, and scepter'd sons of Jove. 
 Let both unite, with well-consenting mind, 
 So shall authority with strength be join'd. 
 Leave me, O king! to calm Achilles" rage; 
 Ride thou thyself, as more advanced in age. 
 Fiirbid it gods! Achilles should be lost. 
 The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host. 
 
 This said, he ceas'd. The king of men replies. 
 Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise: 
 But that imperious, that unconquer'd soul, 
 No la\vs can limit, no respect control. 
 Before his pride must his superiors fall, 
 His word the law, and he the lord of all ? 
 Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourselves obey? 
 What king can be;ir a rival in his sway? 
 Grant that the gods his matchless force hath giv'n. 
 Has foul rejjroach a privilege from heav'n? 
 
 Here on the monarch's speech Achilles broke, 
 And furious thus, and interrui)ting, spoke: 
 Tyrant, I well deserv'd thy galling chain. 
 To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain, 
 Sliould I submit to each imjiist decree: 
 Command thy vassals, bitt command not me. 
 Seize on Brisei's, whom the Grecians doom'd 
 My prize of war, yet tamely see resum'd: 
 And seize secure: no more Achilles draws 
 His conquering sword in any woman's cause; 
 The gods command me to Ibrgive tlie past, 
 But let tills first invasion be the last: 
 For know, thy blood, when ne.\t thou dar'st 
 
 invade, 
 Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade. 
 At this they ceas'd: the stern debate expird: 
 The chiefs in sullen majesty retir'd. 
 
 Achilles with Patroclus took his way. 
 Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay. 
 Meantime Atrides launch'd, with numerous oars, 
 A well-rigg'd ship for Chrysa's sacred shores: 
 High on the deck was fair Cliryseis plac'd, 
 Arid sage Ulysses with the conduct grac'd : 
 Safe ill her sides the hecatomb they stow'd, 
 Then swiitly sailing, cut the liquid road. 
 
 The host to expiate, next the king prepares, 
 With pure lustrations and with solemn prayers. 
 Wash'd by the briny wave, the pious train 
 Are cleans'd, and cast tli' ablutions in the main. 
 
 Along the .shore whole hecatombs were laid, 
 And bulls and goats to Pha'bus' altars paid. 
 The sable fumes in curling spires arise. 
 And waft their grateful odours to the skies. 
 
 The army thus, in sacred rites engag'd, 
 Atrides still with deep resentment rag'd. 
 To wait his will the sacred heralds stood, 
 Talthybius and Eurybates tlie good. 
 Haste to the fierce Achilles' tent (he cries) 
 Thence bear Biiseis as our royal prize : 
 Submit he nmst ; or, if they will not part, 
 Oiirseli', in arms, shall tear her froin his heart. 
 The unwilling heralds act their lord's com- 
 mands. 
 Pensive they walk along the barren sands: 
 Arrived, the hero in his tent they find. 
 With gloomy asjjcct, on his arm reclin'd. 
 At awful distance long they silent stand. 
 Loth to advance, or speak their hard command; 
 Decent confusion! this the godlike man 
 Perceiv'd, and thus with accent mild began: 
 
 With leave and honour, enter our abodes 
 Ye sacred ministers of men and gods ! 
 I know your message ; by constraint you came ; 
 Not you, but your imi)erious lord I blame. 
 Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseis bring; 
 Conduct my captive to the haughty king. 
 But witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow; 
 Witness to gods above, and men below ! 
 But first, and loudest, to your prince declare. 
 That lawless tyrant, whose commands you bear, 
 Uninov'd as death Achilles shall remain, 
 Though prostrate Greece should bleed at every 
 
 vein : 
 The raging chief, in frantic passion lost, 
 Blind to himself, and useless to his host, 
 Unskilld to judge the future by the past, 
 In blood and slaughter shall repent at last. 
 
 Patroclus now the unwilling beauty brought; 
 She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought. 
 Past silent, as the heralds held her hand. 
 And oft look'd liack, slow moving o'er the strand. 
 Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore ; 
 But sad retiring to the sounding shore, 
 O'er the wild margin of the deep he hung, 
 That kindred deep from whence his mother 
 
 sprung ; 
 There, bath'd in tears of anger and disdain, 
 Thus loud lamented to the stormy main : 
 
 O parent go<ldess! since in early bloom, 
 Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom ; 
 Sure, to so short a race of glory born, 
 Great Jove, in justice, should tliis span adorn. 
 Honour and fame at least the Thunderer ow'd, 
 And ill he pays the promise of a god, 
 If yon proud monarch thus tliy son defies. 
 Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize. 
 
 Far in the deep recesses of the main, 
 Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign. 
 The goddess mother heard. The waves divide ; 
 And like a mist she rose above the tide ; 
 Beheld him mourning to the naked shores, 
 And thus the sorrows of his .soul explores: 
 Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me 
 
 share, 
 Reveal the cause, and trust a parents care. 
 A -2 
 
6 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 He, deeply si<j;liinfj, snid : To tell my woe, 
 Is but to mention what too well you know. 
 But goddess! tliou tliy suppliant son attend, 
 To high Olympus' shining court ascend, 
 Urge all the ties to former service ow'd. 
 And sue for vengeance to the thimdering god. 
 Conjure liim far to drive the Grecian train, 
 To hurl them lieadlong to their fleet and main — 
 To heap the shores with coj)ious death, antl bring 
 The Greeks to know the curse of such a king: 
 Let Agamemnon lift his liaughty head. 
 O'er all his wide dominion of the dead, 
 And mourn in blood, that e'er he durst disgrace 
 The boldest warrior of the Grecian race. 
 
 Unhai)py son! (fair Thetis thus replies, 
 'While tears celestial trickle from her eyes) 
 Why have I borne thee with a mother's throes, 
 To fates averse, and nurs'd for future woes 1 
 So short a space the light of heaven to view ! 
 So short a space! and fiU'd with sorrow too! 
 might a careful parent's wish prevail, 
 Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail : 
 And thou, from camps remote the danger shun 
 Which now, alas ! too nearly threats my son. 
 Yet (what I can) to move thy suit I'll go 
 To great Olympus, crown'd with fleecy snow. 
 Meantime, secure within thy ships, from far 
 Behold the field, nor mingle in the war. 
 The sire of gods, and all th' ethereal train, 
 On the warm limits of the farthest main. 
 Now mix witli mortals, nor disdain to grace 
 The feasts of Ethiopia's blameless race ; 
 Twelve days the powers indulge the genial rite, 
 Returning with the twelfth revolving light. 
 Then will I mount the brazen dome, and move 
 The high tribunal of immortal Jove. 
 
 The goddess spoke : the rolling waves unclose ; 
 Then down the deep she plunged, from whence 
 
 she rose. 
 And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast, 
 In wild resentment for the fair he lost. 
 
 In Chrysa's port now sage Ulysses rode ; 
 Beneath the deck the destin'd victims stow'd ; 
 The sails they furl'd, they lash'd the masts aside 
 And dropp'd their anchors, and the pinnace 
 
 tied. 
 Next on the shore their hecatomb they land, 
 Chrysei's last descending on the strand. 
 Her, thus returning from the furrow 'd main, 
 Ulysses led to Phcebus' sacred fane ; 
 Where at his solemn altar, as the maid 
 He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said : 
 
 Hail, rev'rend priest ! to Phcebus' awfid dome 
 A suppliant I from great Atrides come ; 
 Unransom'd here receive the spotless fair ; 
 Accept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare ; 
 And may thy god wlio scatters darts around, 
 Aton'd by sacrifice, desist to wound. 
 
 At this the sire embrac'd the maid again, 
 So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain. 
 Then near the altar of the darting king, 
 Dispos'd in rank their hecatomb they bring; 
 With water purify their hands, and take 
 The sacred offering of the salted cake : 
 While thus with arms devoutly rais'd in air. 
 And solemn voice, the priest directs his prayer. 
 
 God of the silver bow ! thy ear incline, 
 Whose pow'r encircles Cilia the divine. 
 Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys. 
 And gilds i'air Chrysa with distinguish'd rays! 
 If, fir'd to vengeance at thy priest's request, 
 Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest. 
 Once more attend ! avert the wasteful woe, 
 And smile propitious, and unbend tliy lx)w. 
 
 So Chryses pray'd ; Apollo heard his prayer. 
 • •••«• 
 
 'Twas night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie 
 Till rosy morn had purpled o'er the sky; 
 Then launch, and hoist the mast; indidgent gales, 
 Supplied by Pha^bus, fill the swelling sails: 
 The milk-white canvass bellying as they blow, 
 The parted ocean foams and roars below: 
 Above the bounding billows swift they flew, 
 Till now the Grecian camp appear'd in view. 
 Far on the beach they haul their bark to land, 
 (The crooked keel divides the yellow sand,) 
 Then jjart, where stretch'd along the winding bay, 
 The ships and tents in mingled prospect lay. 
 
 But raging still, amidst his navy sate 
 The stern Achilles, steadfast in his hate; 
 Nor mix'd in combat, nor in council join'd; 
 But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind: 
 In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll. 
 And scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul. 
 
 Twelve days were past, and now the dawn- 
 ing light 
 The gods had summon'd to th' Olympian height: 
 Jove first ascending from the watery bowers, 
 Leads the long order of ethereal powers. 
 When like the morning mist in early day, 
 Rose from the flood, the daughter of tlie sea; 
 And to the seats divine her flight addrest. 
 There far apart, and high above the rest. 
 The Thunderer sat: where old Olympus shrouds 
 His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds. 
 Suppliant the goddess stood : one hand she plac'd 
 Beneath his beard, and one his knees embrac'd. 
 If e'er, father of the gods! she said. 
 My words coidd please thee, or my actions aid. 
 Some marks of honour on my son bestow, 
 And pay in glory what in life you owe. 
 Fame is at least by heavnly promise due 
 To life so short, and now dishonour'd too. 
 Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise! 
 Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise; 
 Till the proud king, and all th' Achaian race. 
 Shall heap with honoin-s him they now disgrace. 
 
 Thus Thetis spoke : but Jove iu silence held 
 The sacred counsels of his breast conceal'd. 
 Not so repuls'd, the goddess closer prest. 
 Still grasp'd his knees, and urg'd the dear request. 
 O sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear; 
 Refuse, or grant, for what has Jove to fear? 
 Or, oh! declare, of all the powers above. 
 Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove? 
 
 She said: and sighing, thus the god replies. 
 Who rolls the thunder o'er the vaulted skies: 
 
 What hast thou ask'd ? Ah why should Jove 
 engage 
 In foreign contests, and doinestic rage. 
 The gods' complaints, and Juno's fierce alarms. 
 While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms? 
 
HOMER. 
 
 Go, lost the haughty partner of my sway 
 With jealous eyes thy close access survey; 
 IJut part iu peace, secure thy prayer is sped; 
 Witness the sacred honours of our head, 
 The nod that ratifies the will divine, 
 The faithful, fix'd, irrevocable, sign: 
 This seals thy suit, and this fuUils thy vows. — 
 He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows; 
 Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod, 
 Tiie stamp of fate, and sanction of the god: 
 High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, 
 And all Olympus to the centre shook. 
 
 Book II. 
 
 ULYSSES AXn THERSITES. 
 
 Ttie Greeks, in despair of taking Troy, resolve on return- 
 ini; home, but are detained by the management of 
 Ulysses. 
 
 He ran, he flew, through all the Grecian train: — 
 Each prince of name, or chief in arms approv'd, 
 He fired with praise, or with persuasion niov'd. 
 But if a clamorous, vile plebeian rose, 
 Him with reproof he check'd, or tam'd with 
 
 blows. 
 "Silence, base slave! and to thy betters yield. 
 Dolt, as thou art, in coimcil and in field! 
 All cannot rule, and, least of all allow'd. 
 That worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd, 
 To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway; 
 His are the laws, and let us all obey."' 
 
 With words like these, the troops Ulysses 
 ruled. 
 The loudest silenced, and the fiercest cooled, — 
 All but Thersites; he, above the throng, 
 Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue; 
 Awed by no shame, by no respect controlTd, 
 In scandal busy, in reproaches bold; 
 With witty malice studious to defame. 
 Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim ; 
 But chief he gloried, -with licentious style, 
 To lash the great, and monarchs to revile. 
 His figure sntdi as might his soul proclaim; 
 One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame; 
 The gibbous load, that either shoulder prost. 
 To close contraction pinch'd his pointed breast; 
 And on his sharp convexity of head. 
 Stray hairs, like wool, were here and there out- 
 spread ; 
 Spleen to mankind his envious heart posscst, 
 And much he hated all, but most, the best. 
 Ulysses or Achilles still his theine; 
 But royal scandal his delight supreme. 
 Long had he lived, the scorn of every Greek, 
 Vext when he spoke, yet still they heartl him 
 
 speak. 
 Sharp was his voice; which, in the shrillest tone, 
 Thus with injin-jous taunts attacked the throne: 
 
 "Amidst the glories of so bright a reign, 
 Wliat moves the great Atrides to complain? 
 Selected beauties, each a city's pride, 
 We, by our valour, for thy choice provide. 
 Or seek'st thou gold? more gokl, those heaps to 
 
 raise. 
 Which for his ransom'd sons the Trojan pays? 
 
 Some, whom this conquering arm shall captive 
 
 lead, 
 Or other Argive doomed for thee to bleed ? 
 Seek'st thou a fresher fair to yield delight. 
 Hid in thy tent apart from public sight ( 
 For ill beseems the guardian of our host, 
 By vile example, to corrupt us most. 
 Oh, Argive women! Argive men no more: 
 Lfn the fleet speed us to our native shore; 
 Leave him unsated here, though gorg'd with 
 
 spoil. 
 To learn if gained or not by Grecian toil. 
 His was the outrage, he Pelides shamed, 
 A warrior far o'er him in valour famed: 
 Ilis now the vaunt to guard Brise'is' charms, 
 Reft by his rapine from that hero's arms! 
 A hero? — no! fear chains Achilles' force. 
 Or this last deed had closed thy shameful 
 course !" 
 The scoffer ceased — with stern, contemptuous 
 eyes, 
 Ulysses viewed the wretch, and thus replies: 
 
 " Peace, factions monster, born to vex the state, 
 With wrangling talents formed for foul debate; 
 Nor strive with monarchs! Thou of all our host, 
 The man who acts the least, and vaunts the 
 
 most! 
 Think not to shameful flight the Greeks to bring, 
 Nor let those lips profime the name of king. 
 For our return we trust to heavenly powers; 
 Be that their care; to fight like men be ours. 
 But grant the host with wealth their general load, 
 Except detraction, what hast thou bestow'd? 
 But mark my word, nor think the warning vain; 
 If here I find thee, raving thus again. 
 Low lie my brow! — May I at once expire. 
 And loved Telemachus di.sown his sire. 
 If stript and scourged, and writhing in thy pain, 
 I drive thee not back howling to the main." 
 He said; and, writhing as the dastard bends, 
 The weighty sceptre on his back descends; 
 On his round bunch the bloody tumours rise, 
 While tears spring starting from his haggard eyes; 
 Trembling he sat, and, shrunk in abject fears. 
 From his foul visage wiped the scalding tears. 
 The host, though grieved, his moans with laugh- 
 ter heard ; 
 While burst from lip to lip the scornful word: — 
 •'Great deeds and ott Laertes' son has wrought, 
 To war renown, to council wisdom, brought; 
 But this far all tran.sccnds ; the scofl'er's jest, 
 And base garrulity, at once represt. 
 Such just examples, on oflendcrs shown, 
 Sedition silence and assert the throne." 
 
 Book in. 
 
 HELEN, WITH PniAM AXD TICK ELDERS, BEFORE 
 TIIE SC.«A!»-OATK. 
 
 • »•••• 
 
 She spake ; and sweet desire moved Helen's mind, 
 Deep-touched by all her folly had resign'd, 
 The lord, whom once her virgin arms carest. 
 The roof that reard her, and the hearth that 
 blest : — 
 
8 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 She rose, her snowy veil around her spread, 
 And tears of tenderness beneatlx it shed ; 
 Tlieii onward pass'd and soufjht tlie Sca»an-gate, 
 Wliere sate tlie elders of the Trojan state ; 
 Chiefs, who no more in bloody fiiflits en<rage, 
 But wise throupili time, and narrative with age, 
 Like firasshoppers, that in the woods rejoice. 
 Or send from summer bowers their slender voiee. 
 These, when the Spartan queen approach'd the 
 
 tower, 
 In secret own'd resistless beauty's power : 
 They cried, "No wonder such celestial charms 
 For nine long years have set the world in arms; 
 What winning graces ! what majestic mien ! 
 See moves a goddess, and she looks a queen ! 
 Yet hence, oh lieaven ! convey that fatal face. 
 And from destruction save the Trojan race." 
 
 The good old Priam welcomed her and cried, 
 "Approach, my child, and grace thy father's side ; 
 No crime of thine our present suffering draws. 
 Not thou, but heaven's disposing will, the cause. 
 The gods these armies and this force employ. 
 The hostile gods conspire the fate of Troy. 
 Now lift thine eyes, and say what Greek is he 
 (Far as from hence these aged eyes can see) 
 Around whose brow such martial graces shine, 
 So tall, so awful, and almost divine 1 
 Though some of loftier stature tread the green, 
 None match his grandeur and exalted mien ; 
 He seems a monarch, and his country's pride." 
 Thus ceased the king, and thus the fair replied : 
 "Before thy presence, father, I appear 
 With conscious shame, and reverential fear. 
 Ah, had I died, ere to these walls I fled. 
 False to my country and my nuptial bed. 
 My brothers, friends, and daughter, left behind. 
 False to them all, to Paris only kind! 
 All, all alas ! I left — hence ever flow 
 Tears that consume my soul with hopeless woe. 
 Yet hear what tliou requir'st: — that form, that air. 
 Great Agamemnon, Atreus' son declare, 
 A king, a warrior, scarce surpass'd in fame ; 
 Ah, once I knew him by a brother's name !" 
 
 With wonder Priam viewed the godlike man. 
 Extolled the happy prince, and then began 
 "0 blest Atrides ! born to prosperous fate, 
 Successful monarch of a mighty state; 
 How vast thy empire ; of yon matchless train 
 What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain !"' 
 This said ; his eyes next on Ulysses light, 
 "And who is he, inferior far in height. 
 Yet ampler shoulder'd and of broader breast. 
 Yon chief, whose arms on earth now peaceful 
 
 rest !" 
 Then Helen thus: "Whom your discerning eyes 
 Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise; 
 Mid Ithaca's bleak mountains born and bred, 
 Yet keen in counsel and of craftiest head.'" 
 Her wise Antenor answered: "Well my ^vord 
 Bears witness of the truth from Helen heard. 
 When here their steps, for thee by Hellas' sent. 
 Brave Menelaus and Ulysses bent, 
 I knew their persons and admired their parts. 
 Both brave in arms, and both approved in arts. 
 Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view, 
 Ulysses, seated, greater reverence drew; 
 
 When Atrens' son harangued the listening train 
 Just was his sense, and his expression plain; 
 His words succinct, yet full; without a fault; 
 He spoke no more than just the thing he ought. 
 But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound. 
 His modest eyes he fixed upon the ground 
 As one unskilled or dumb, he seemed to stand; 
 Nor raised his head, nor stretched his sceptred 
 
 hand; 
 But when he gave his voice its force and flow, 
 Soft fell his words like flakes of feathery snow. 
 All felt his matchless power, all caught his 
 
 flame, 
 Nor paused to wonder at his outward frame." 
 Again hoar Priam spoke, the while his sight, 
 Rested on Ajax, towering in his height: 
 " Say who yon chief, conspicuous o'er the rest 
 For stateliness of size and breadth of breast?" 
 "Ajax the great," (the beauteous queen replied,) 
 Himself a host, the Grecian strength and pride. 
 And see, Idomeneus, by Crete ador'd, 
 And liow the Cretans gather roinid their lord. 
 Great as a god! I've seen him oft before. 
 With Menelaus on the Spartan shore. 
 The rest I know and could in order name. 
 All valiant chiefs and men of mighty fame; 
 But where — oh, where 's equestrian Castor's 
 
 might, 
 Where Pollux, matchless in the capstus-fight? 
 My brothers they; the same our native shore, 
 One house contained us, as one mother bore. 
 Perhaps the chiefs, from warlike toils at ease, 
 For distant Troy refused to sail the seas; 
 Perhaps their swords some nobler quarrel 
 
 draws. 
 Ashamed to combat in their sister's cause." 
 So spoke the Fair, nor knew her brothers' doom. 
 Wrapped in the cold embraces of the tomb. 
 Adorned with honours on their native shore. 
 Silent they slept, and heard of wars no more. 
 
 Book V. 
 
 JUNGS COTTKSERS. 
 
 Far as a shepherd from some point on high, 
 O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye. 
 Through such a space of air, with thundering 
 
 sound. 
 At every leap the immortal coursers bound. 
 
 MIN'EHVA ARMINO HERSELF FOR BATTLE.* 
 
 But the stern daughter of all-mighty Jove 
 Cast off the veil her hand had finely wove, 
 Whose spreading folds around her girdle flow'd 
 On the starr'd pavement of th' Olympian god. 
 Then, mail'd for ruthless battle, firmly brac'd 
 The corslet that the cloud-compeller grac'd. 
 The snake-fring'd .iEgis round her shoulder drew. 
 Where Terror, wreath'd throughout, came forth 
 to view, 
 
 * According to Euslathius, the ancient critics marked 
 these verses (in the original) with an asterisk, to denote 
 their beauty. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 There Strife, there Fortitude, ne"er known to 
 
 yield, 
 There merciless Pursuit, that wastes tlie field. 
 And Jove's dire omen nameless horrors spread, 
 Th' appalling monster, the Gorji;onian head — 
 Then brac'd her casque, all gold, wliose Ibur- 
 
 coned height 
 Spreads, o'er an hundred hosts, o'ershadowing 
 
 night. 
 Thus, in lier terror mail'd, the goddess leapt 
 In her bright car, whence flame-wing'd light- 
 nings swept, 
 And grasp'd the spear, which, when her fury 
 
 burns. 
 Proud tyrants humbles and whole hosts o'er- 
 turns. 
 
 Book VI. 
 
 THE HACK OF MAN. 
 
 Like leaves on trees the Race of Man is found; 
 Now green in youth, now withering on the 
 
 ground : 
 Another race the following spring supplies; 
 They fall successive, and succes.sive rise: 
 So generations in their course decay. 
 So flourish these, when those have pass'd away. 
 
 From Hippoloohus I came. 
 
 The honour'd author of my birth and name; 
 By his decree I sought the Trojan town. 
 By his instructions iearn to win renown, 
 To stand the first in worth as in command, 
 And add new honours to my native land. 
 Before mine eyes my mighty sires to place, 
 And emulate the glories of our race,* 
 
 THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 
 
 "Too daring prince! ah, whithor dost thou run? 
 
 Ah, too forgetfid of thy wife and son! 
 
 And think'st thou not liow wretched we sliall be, 
 
 A widow I, an helpless orphan he? 
 
 For sure such courage length of life denies, 
 
 And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. 
 
 Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; 
 
 Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain! 
 
 Oil, grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom, 
 
 All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb! 
 
 So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 
 
 And end with sorrows as they first begun. 
 
 No parent now remains my grief to share, 
 
 No father's aid, no mother's tender care. 
 
 The fierce Achilles wrapp'd our walls in fire, 
 
 Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire! 
 
 His fate compassion in the victor bred. 
 
 Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead, 
 
 * l7t7to>.axn^ hi u ittxtt, xai ix ■fov frjui ytviOiW 
 niuTlf 6i n ii T^l6l.ylv, xai ^oi jua>.a rtoTj! fTtitiXKiv, 
 Auv apnrfVfii', xai vrteipoxov t^^trai aTJKicv' 
 Mj/Sf yt I'oj Ylattpuv (uax^'isfitv ot /xiy optjrot 
 Kit' V-^vpT^ iyfvovro xai (v Ai'zi>i fV|)fi>y 
 Taurrj toi. ytvir^i Te xai aifiaroi ciixofj-di tlrai. 
 2 
 
 His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil, 
 
 And laid him decent on the funeral jjiie. 
 
 Then raised a mountain, where his bones were 
 
 burn'd. 
 The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adnrn'd, 
 Jove's sylvan daughters bade the ehns bestow 
 A barren shade, and in his honour grow. 
 By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell; 
 In one sad day beheld the gates of hell : 
 While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed. 
 Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled ! 
 My mother lived to bear the victor's bands, 
 The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands : 
 Redeein'd too late, she scarce beheld again 
 Her pleasing empire, and her native plain. 
 When ah ! opprest by life-consuming woe, 
 She fell a \-ictim to Diana's bow. 
 
 "Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see 
 My father, motiier, brethren, ail in thee: 
 Alas ! my parents, brothers, kin<lred, all 
 Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. 
 Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share : 
 Oh prove a husband's and a father's care ! 
 That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy. 
 Where yon wild fig-trees join tiie walls of Troy: 
 Thou, from this tower, defend th' important post; 
 There Agamemnon points his dreadfid host, 
 That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain. 
 And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 
 Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, 
 Or led by hopes, or dictated from heav'n. 
 Let others in the field their arms employ, 
 But stay my Hector here, and piard his Troy." 
 
 The chief replied : "That post shall be my care, 
 Nor that alone, but all the works of war. 
 How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'il. 
 And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep 
 
 the ground, 
 Attaint the lustre of my former name, 
 SlioiUd Hector basely quit the field of fame? 
 My early youth was bred to martial pains. 
 My soul impels me to th' embattled plains: 
 Let me be foremost to defend the throne. 
 And guard my father's glories, and my own. 
 Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates: 
 (How my heart trembles, while my tongue re- 
 lates:) 
 The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, 
 And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 
 And yet no dire presage so woimds my mind, 
 My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, 
 Not Priam's hoary head delil'd with gore, 
 Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, 
 As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread; 
 I see thee trend>iing, weeping, captive ictl ! 
 In Argivc looms our battles to design, 
 Anil woes, of which so large a part was thine! 
 To bear the victor's hard connnands, or bring 
 The weight of waters from Hyporia's spring. 
 There, while you groan bencallj ilie load of 
 
 life. 
 They cry, Behold the mighty Hector's wife ! 
 Some haughty Greek, wlio lives tiiy tears to see, 
 F.mbitters all thy woes, by naming me. 
 The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 
 A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name ! 
 
10 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 H 
 
 May I lie cold before that dreadlul day, 
 Prest with a heap of mouumeutal clay! 
 Tliy Hector, wrapt in evorlastint; sleep, 
 Sliall neither hear thee sifjh, nor see thee weep.'" 
 
 Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy 
 Stretcli'il his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 
 The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, 
 Soar'd at the daz/ling helm, and nodding crest. 
 Willi secret j)leasure each fond parent sniild, 
 And Hector hasted to relieve his child — 
 The glittering terrors from his brows unbound. 
 And placed the beaming helmet on the ground; 
 Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air, 
 Tluis to the gods preferred a father's prayer : 
 
 '■0 Thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne. 
 And all ye deathless powers', protect my son. 
 Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown. 
 To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown ; 
 Against his country's foes the war to wage, 
 And rise the Hector of a future age. 
 So, when triumphant from successful toils 
 Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils. 
 Whole hosts may hail him witli deserved acclaim. 
 And say, this chief transcends his father's fame : 
 While pleased, amidst the general shouts of Troy, 
 His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy." 
 
 He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, 
 Restored the pleasing burden to her arms : 
 Soft on her fragrant breast the babe he laid, 
 Husli'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd. 
 The troubled pleasure soon chastis'd by fear. 
 She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 
 The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd, 
 And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued : 
 
 '• Andromache ! my soul's far better part ! 
 Why with untimely sorrow heaves thy heart? 
 No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 
 Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb: 
 Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth ; 
 And such the hard condition of our birth, 
 No force can then resist, no flight can save ; 
 All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 
 No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home ; 
 There guide the spindle, and direct the loom. 
 Me glory summons to the martial scene, 
 The field of combat is the sphere for men ; 
 Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim. 
 The first in danger, as the first in fame.'' 
 
 Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes 
 His towery helmet, black with shading plumes. 
 His princess parts with a prophetic sigh. 
 Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye. 
 That stream'd at every look: then, moving slow. 
 Sought her own palace, and indidged her woe. 
 There, while her tears deplored the godlike man, 
 Tlirough all her train the soft infection ran ; 
 The pious maids tlieir mingled sorrows shed, 
 And mouru'd the living Hector, as the dead. 
 
 Bo„k IX. 
 
 EMBASSY OF THfEyiX, AJAX, AND ULTSSES TO THE 
 TKNT OF ACHILLES. 
 
 TmiouRit the still night they march, and hear 
 the roar 
 Of murnuiring billows on the sounding shore. 
 
 To Neptune, ruler of the seas profound. 
 Whose liquid arms the mighty globe surround, 
 They pour forth vows their embassy to bless, 
 And calm the rage of stern .^acides. 
 And now arriv'd, where, on the sandy bay, 
 The Myrmidonian tents and vessels lay; 
 Amus'd, at ease, the godlike man they found, 
 Pleas'd with the solemn harp's harmonious sound. 
 With this lie soothes his angry soul, and sings 
 The immortal deeds of heroes and of kings. 
 Patrocliis only of the royal train, 
 Placed in his tent, attends the lofty strain. 
 Full opposite he sat, and listen'd long. 
 In silence waiting till he ceased the song. 
 Unseen the Grecian embassy proceeds 
 To his high tent ; the great Ulysses leads. 
 Achilles starting, as the chiefs he spied, 
 Leap'd from his seat, and laid his harp aside. 
 With like surprise arose Menoetius' son : 
 Pelides grasp 'd their hands, and thus begun. 
 
 HOSPITALITT OF ACHILLES PATRIARCHAL 
 
 MANNERS. 
 
 He spake : nor him Patroclus disobeyed — 
 Then, nigh the fire, his lord a basket laid ; 
 There cast a goat's and sheep's extended chine, 
 And the huge carcase of a fatted swine. 
 Served by Atitomedon, with dext'rous art : 
 Achilles" self divided part from part. 
 Fixed on the spits the fiesh, where brightly 
 
 blaz'd 
 The fire's pure splendour, by Patroclns rais'd. 
 Patroclus next, when sank the flame, subdued. 
 O'er the raked embers placed the spitted food ; 
 Then rais'd it from the props — then, salted o'er, 
 And duly roasted, to the dresser bore : 
 Next to each guest, along the table spread, 
 In beauteous baskets, the allotted bread : 
 Achilles' self distributed the meat. 
 And placed against his own Ulysses' seat. 
 And no^v Patroclus, at his lord's desire, 
 The hallowed ofl'ering cast amid the fire : 
 The guests then feasted, and, the banquet o'er, 
 W^hen satiate thirst and hunger claim'd no more, 
 Ulysses mindful, crown'd his cup with wine, 
 And to Achilles drank. 
 
 ACHILLES' abhorrence OF FALSEHOOD. 
 
 Who dares think one thing«and another tell, 
 My sold detests him as the gates of hell. 
 
 Another translation of the Sanie. 
 LoATHEB as the gates of Hades, I despise 
 The lip diat utters what the heart denies. 
 
 PHtENIx's ENDEAVOUR TO APPEASE ACHILLES. 
 
 Achilles! bid thy mighty spirit down: 
 Thou shouldst not be thus merciless ; the gods, 
 Although more honourable, and in power 
 And virtue thy superiors, are themselves 
 Yet placable; and, if a mortal man 
 Offend them by transgression of their laws, 
 Libation, incense, sacrifice and prayer, 
 In meekness oS'ered, turn their wrath away. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 11 
 
 Prayers are Jove's daughters, wrinkled, lame, 
 
 slant-eyed, 
 Which, thoiigii far distant, yet with constant pace. 
 Follow oH'ciice. Otlence, robust oflinil). 
 And treadinji tirni the ground, outstrips them all. 
 And over all die eardi belure ihem runs, 
 llurtfid to man. They following, heal the hurt; 
 Received respectfully when they approach, 
 'J'hey yield us aid, and listen when we pray. 
 But if we slight, and with obdm-ate heart 
 Resist them, to Saturnian Jove they cry 
 Against us; supplicating that otlence 
 May cleave to us for vengeance of the wrong. 
 Thou, therefore, O Achilles ! honour yield 
 To Jove's own daughters, vanquish'd as the brave 
 Have often been, by honour done to thee. 
 
 Book XH. 
 
 ATTACK OF THK TROJAJfS OX THE GREEKS— 
 AUGURIES hector's REPLY TO POLTDAMAS. 
 
 War raged at every gate, and deeds were 
 
 wrought. 
 None but a god can sing : deeds passing human 
 
 thought. 
 The battle burn'd: — the stone.«, a missile shower. 
 Rung round the wall, and smote each balter'd 
 
 tower. 
 The Greeks, by harsh necessity constrain'd, 
 Guards of their fleet, though bowed with woe, 
 
 remain'd : 
 When on the Trojans" left, both hosts between, 
 Aloft an eagle soar'd, distinctly seen, 
 Whose talons a voluminous serpent grasp'd 
 That, bathed in gore, yet palpitating, gasp'd. 
 And, fiercely struggling, backward rear'd his 
 
 crest, 
 Coiled round the eagle's neck, and tore his breast. 
 The bird, in anguish of that piercing wound, 
 I\Tid the throng'd army cast him on the ground ; 
 Spread her broad wings, and, floating on the wind, 
 Shriek'd as she flew, and left her prey behind : 
 While, where the serpent lay, with fear amaz'd, 
 On Jove's portentous sign the Trojans gaz'd. 
 
 Then spake Polydamas : "Full oft my word. 
 Though just, brave Hector, has thy blame incurr'tl ; 
 Yet — both in war and council, still the aim. 
 That best becomes each citizen, — thy fame. 
 Hence will I freely speak: here. Hector, stay. 
 Nor lead against the fleet our arm'd array. 
 For sure to warn us is that omen sent. 
 And thus my mind expound? the dread event. 
 When on our battle's left, each host between, 
 The eagle and that snake, distinctly seen. 
 Which, yet alive, on earth she downward flung. 
 Nor to her aerie brought, to feast her young : 
 Thus we — if forc'd each gate, if prone each tow'r, 
 And Greece, dishearten'd, dread to front our 
 
 power — 
 Ne'er from that fleet, in orderly array. 
 Shall back return on our triumphant way ; 
 But, in her fleet's defence, by Grucia slain, 
 There many a Trojan son shall strew the plain. 
 Slight not my word — I speak as speaks the seer, 
 Whom gods have gifted, and mankind revere." 
 
 "Cease," — Hector sternly answer'd — "cease 
 this word. 
 This warning voice, with scorn by Hector heard : 
 S(jme worthier frame — if this advisdly said, 
 Thy reason wanders, by the gods betray 'd. 
 Thou didst me — reckless of the powers above — 
 Forget the counsels ratified by Jove: 
 Thou bidst me birds obey — I scorn their flight, 
 I reck not whence they spring, nor where alight. 
 "If, on the right they seek the dawn of day. 
 Or, on the left, through darkness cleave their way. 
 Jove I obi>y, mIio, on th" Olympian throne 
 O'er mortals and innnortals rules alone. 
 Watch thou the flight of birds — such omens thine : 
 One, far o'er all — to guard my country — mine.''* 
 
 He spake: and onward rushd: Troy's dense 
 
 array 
 Pursued, loud clamouring, where he led the way: 
 From Idas topmost brow the Thunderer, Jove, 
 O'er all the lleet thick dust in whirlwinds drove, 
 Quell'd in the (ireeks the spirit of the brave, 
 And added fame te Tioy and Hector gave. 
 
 SAUPEDOV. 
 
 Thus godlike Hector and his troops contend 
 To force the ramparts, and the gates to rend ; 
 Nor Troy could conquer, nor the Greeks would 
 
 ' yield. 
 Till great Sarijedon tower'd amid the field; 
 For mighty Jove inspired with martial flame 
 His matchless son, and urged him on to fame. 
 In arms he shines, conspicuous from afar. 
 And bears aloft his ample shield in air; 
 Within whose orb, the thick bull-hides were 
 
 roll'd, 
 Ponderous with brass, and bound widi ductile 
 
 gold: 
 And while two pointed javelins arm his hands, 
 JMajestie moves along, and leads his Lycian batuls. 
 So, press'd with hunger, from the mountain's 
 
 brow- 
 Descends a lion on die flocks below ; 
 So stalks the lordly savage o'er the plain, 
 In sullen majesty, and stern disdain : 
 In vain loud mastilfs bay him from afar. 
 And shepherds gall him with an iron war; 
 Regardless, furious, he pursues his way; 
 He foams, he roars, he reiuls die panting prey. 
 
 Resolved alike, divine Sarpedon glows 
 With generous rage that drives him on the foes. 
 He views the towers, and nicditat.'s their fall, 
 To sure destruction dooms th' asi)iring wall: 
 Then, casting on his friend an ardent look. 
 Fired with the diirst of glory, thus he spoke: 
 
 Why boast we, Glancus! our extended reign, 
 Where Xanthus" streams enrich the Lycian plain, 
 Our numerous herds that range the fruitful Held, 
 And hills were vines tlieir purple harvest yield, 
 
 which Mr. Pope thus triuislates : 
 
 " VVilhoiil a sijin hi.-! swiird the brave man draws. 
 And asks no omen but his country's cause." 
 
12 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown'd, 
 Our leasts enhanced with music's sprightly 
 
 soimd ! 
 Why on those shores are we with joy survey d, 
 Admired as heroes, and as gods obcy'd, 
 Unless great acts superior merit prove, 
 And vindicate the bounteous powers above? 
 'Tis ours, the dignity thoy give to grace; 
 The first in valour, as the lirst in place: 
 That when with wondering eyes our martial 
 
 bands 
 Behold our deeds transcending our commands. 
 Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state, 
 Whom those that envy, dare not imitate ! 
 Could all our care elude the gloomy grave. 
 Which claims no less the fearful than the brave, 
 For lust of fame I should not vainly dare 
 In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war: — 
 But since, alas! ignoble age must come. 
 Disease, and death's inexorable doom ; 
 The life which others pay, let us bestow. 
 And give to fame what we to nattire owe; 
 Brave though we fall, and honoured if we live, 
 Or let us glory gain, or glory give ! 
 
 TEEDS OF HECTOR. 
 
 As when two scales are charged with doubt- 
 ful loads, 
 From side to side the trembling balance nods 
 (While some laborious matron, just and poor. 
 With nice exactness weighs her woolly store,) 
 Till, poised aloft, the resting beam suspends 
 Each equal 'weight; nor this, nor that descends: 
 So stood the war, till Hector's matchless might 
 With fates prevailing, turn'd the scale of fight. 
 Fierce as a whirlwind up the wall he flies. 
 And fires his host with loud repeated cries: 
 Advance, ye Trojans! lend your valiant hands. 
 Haste to the fleet, and toss the blazing brands. 
 They hear, they run; and, gathering at his call, 
 Raise scaling engines, and ascend the wall : 
 Around the works a wood of glittering spears 
 Shoots up, and all the rising host appears. 
 A ponderous stone bold Hector heaved to throw, 
 Pointed above, and rough and gross below : 
 Not two strong men the enormous weight could 
 
 raise, 
 Such men as live in these degenerate days. 
 Yet this, as easy as a swain could bear 
 The snowy fleece, he toss'd, and shook in air : 
 For Jove upheld, and lightened of its load 
 The unwieldy rock, the labour of a god. 
 Thus arm'd. before the folded gates he came, 
 Of massy substance, and stupendous frame; 
 With iron bars and brazen hinges strong, 
 On lofty beams of solid timber hung: 
 Then, thundering through the planks v.-itli force- 
 fid sway, 
 Drives the sharp rod:; the solid beams give way. 
 The folds are shattered; from the craclding door 
 Leap the resounding bars, the flying hinges roar. 
 Now rushing in, the furious chief appears. 
 Gloomy as night! and shakes two shining spears: 
 A dreadful gleam from his bright armour came, 
 And from his eve-balls flash'd a living flame. 
 
 He moves a god, resistless in his course, 
 And seems a match for more than mortal force. 
 Then pouring after, through the gaping space, 
 A tide of Trojans flows, and fills the place: 
 The Greeks behold, they tremble, and they fly; 
 The shore is heap'd with dead, and tumult rends 
 the sky. 
 
 Booii xiir. 
 
 NEPTUNE HASTENING TO THE RELIEF OF THE 
 GREEKS. 
 
 Down sweeps the god ; and trembling, where he 
 
 treads. 
 Rocks, mountains, forests, bow their conscious 
 
 heads; 
 O'er isle, o'er sea, at three vast strides he wends, 
 And, with the fourth, on ./Egtp's shore descends, — 
 His goal; — where bright, nor built by mortal 
 
 hands, 
 Deep midst the waves, his ocean-palace stands; — 
 There, brazen-hoof 'd, gold-maned,to their fleet car 
 His steeds he yokes, and arms himself for war. 
 Grasps the bright scourge, and forth, in gold array, 
 Swift, through the onward billows, shoots his 
 
 way; 
 Up from their caves the whales exulting spring. 
 Sport round his track, and hail their ocean-king; 
 Subsiding seas a leveller space supply, 
 And waves, disparting, leave his axle dry.* 
 
 THE GIRDLE OF VENUS. 
 
 The embroidered zone. 
 
 Where each embellishment divinely shone: 
 There dwell the allurements, all that love inspire ; 
 There soft seduction, there intense desire ; 
 There ■witchery of words, whose flatteries \veave 
 Wiles, that the wisdom of the wise deceive. 
 
 The Same paraphrased. 
 
 The zone 
 
 With various skill and high embroidery grac'd, 
 In which was every art, and every charm. 
 To win the wisest, and the coldest warm : 
 Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, 
 The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire ; 
 Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs. 
 Silence that sjioke, and eloquence of eyes. 
 
 BookXVJH. 
 
 ACHILLES SHOWING HIMSELF AT THE HEAD OF 
 THE ENTRENCHMENTS. 
 
 Forth marched the chief, and, distant from tne 
 crowd. 
 High on the rampart rais'd his voice aloud ; 
 
 * This description of the Sea-God has been quoteil by 
 Lon?iniis as a specimen of the sublime ; liul how infiniiely 
 inferior is it (as Ur. Sniilli has truly olncrved) to a tliou- 
 satid passages in (Scripture, descriptive of the divine 
 presence. See the Bool< of Job and Psalms — particularly 
 Psalm xviii. 7 — 10; and Ixxvii. 16 — 19, &c. See also, 
 Milton's description of the Messiah, b. vi. 772 and 
 761, and Satan, b. i. 590, &c. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 U 
 
 With her own shout, Minerva swells the sound ; 
 Troy starts astonislied, and the shores rebound. 
 A-^ the loud trumpet's brazen moutli from far, 
 With shrillinfj; clangour sounds the alarm of war, 
 Struck from the walls, the echoes float on hif^h, 
 And the round bulwarks and tliick towers reply, 
 iSo his;h his brazen voice the hero rear'd : 
 Horits drop{)'d their arms, and trend)led as they 
 
 heard ; 
 And back the chariots roll, and coursers bound, 
 And steeds ami men lie mingled on the <;ronnd. 
 Thrice from the trench his dreadful voice he 
 
 rais'd, 
 And thrice they fled, confounded and anuiz'd. 
 
 SHIELD OF ACIIILLKS. 
 
 He first a vast and massive buckler made ; 
 There ail the wonders of his work display'd : 
 With silver belt adorn'ri, and trijjly wonnd 
 Orb within orb, the border beaming round. 
 Five i)lates composed the shield ; there Vidcan's 
 
 art 
 Charged with his skilful mind each varied part. 
 There earth, there heaven ajjpeared ; there ocean 
 
 flowed ; 
 There the orbed moon, and sun unwearied 
 
 glowed : 
 There, every star that gems the bro\v of night, 
 Pleiads and Hyads, and Orion's might; 
 The Bear, that, watchful in his ceaseless roll 
 Around the star whose light illumes the pole, 
 Still eyes Orion, nor e'er stoops to lave 
 His beams unconscious of the ocean wave. 
 
 There, by the god's creative power reveal'd. 
 Two stately cities fill'd with life the shield. 
 Here nuptials, solemn feasts, and pomps that led, 
 Brides from their chambers to the nuptial betl. 
 Bright blaz'd the torches as they swept along 
 Through streets that rung with hymeneal song : 
 And while gay youths, swift circling ronnd and 
 
 round, 
 Daiiced to the pipe and harp's harmonious sound, 
 The women throng'd, and, wondering as they 
 
 viewed. 
 Stood in each portal, and the poiup piu-sued. 
 
 Next, on the shield, a forum met the view ; 
 Two men, contending, there a concourse drew : 
 A citizen was slain: keen rose the strife: 
 'Twas compensation claim'd for loss of life. 
 This swore the mulct for blood v%-as strictly paid ; 
 Thi:J, that the fine long due was yet dclay'il. 
 Both claim'd th' award, and bade the laws decide, 
 And partial numbers, rang'd on either side. 
 With eager clamours for decision call, 
 Till the fear'd lu-ralds seat and silence all. 
 There the hoar elders, in their sacred place, 
 On seats of polish'd stone the circle grace ; 
 Rise with a herald's sceptre, weigh the cause. 
 And speak in turn the sentence of the laws: 
 While, in the midst, for him to bear away, 
 Who rightliest spoke, two golden talents lay. 
 
 The other city on the shield displayed. 
 Two hosts that girt it, in bright mail array "d: 
 
 Diverse their counsel : these, to burn, decide, 
 And those to seize, and all its wealth divide. 
 The town tlieir summons scorn'd, resistance 
 
 dar'd. 
 And secretly for aiidiush arms prepar'd. 
 Wifi', gran<lsiro, child, one soul alike in all, 
 Staiul on the battlements, and guard the wall. 
 Mars, Pallas, led their host: gold either god, 
 A golden radiance from their armour flow'd. 
 Onward they jjass'd, till, where a river wound, 
 A station fit for ambush mark'd the groimd ; 
 A watering place for beasts of every kind. 
 And there they couch (1 beneath their arms re- 
 clined. 
 Two spies, at distance from their comrades, lay. 
 And watch'd the cattle on their wonted way. 
 They come ; — uncon.scious of the ambuscade, 
 Two shepherds, following, on their reed-pipes 
 
 play'd. 
 Warn'd by their spies, the warriors seize the 
 
 prey, 
 Drive the horn'd beasts and snowy flocks away. 
 And slay the swains. As loud the tumult rose, 
 Of bellowing oxen, and conflicting blows. 
 The chiefs from council dart: with fiery speed. 
 Mount, lash their coursers, pour upon the mead. 
 And, warring on the margin of the flood. 
 The spear-armed foemen shed each other's blood. 
 Mid these Contention rush'd, wild Tumult rag'd, 
 .\nd ruthless Fate unsparing battle wag'd ; 
 Grasp'd one new-woundetl, one without a wound, 
 And drew another slain along the ground : 
 While the dark garments that die warriors wore, 
 Climg to their shoulders, thick with human gore. 
 Like life the conflict clash'd, the battle bled. 
 And host immixt with host, draggd forth by turn 
 the dead. 
 
 The god then wrought on that Celestial shield, 
 A broad, a triple-plough'd, and fertile field; 
 There many ploughmen, bending o'er their toil, 
 Tiu-n'd to and fro their yokes, and clave the soil; 
 And, as they reacli'd die confine of the plain. 
 And paus'd to breathe ere turning back again. 
 The master met them, and to every hind 
 A goblet, fill'd with luscious wine, assign'd ; 
 Then, each his furrow labouring, clave the 
 
 ground, 
 An:l strove to re;ich the glebe's extremest bound; 
 And the tilth darken'd like a new-turn'd clod. 
 Though golden all: all wonder of the god. 
 
 Now, laden dc^p with corn, a heavy fieM 
 Rose on the view, and bristled o'er the shield. 
 The reapers toil'd, the sickles in tlieir hand, 
 And heap on heap fell thick along the land ; 
 Three labourers grasp them, aiul in sheaves up- 
 
 bind ; 
 Boys, gathering up tlieir hantlfuls, went behind, 
 Prolfering their load; mid these, in gladsome 
 
 mood. 
 Mute, leaning on hi* st.ifT, die master stood. 
 Apart, the heralds, in an oaken glade. 
 Slew a huge bullock, and the banquet made; 
 While women, busy with the wheaten grain. 
 Kneaded the meal to feast at eve the swain. 
 B 
 
14 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 Now, l>ow'(l witli grapes, in golil a vineyard 
 jllow'il, 
 A purple liglit along its clusters flowM: 
 On poles oC silver truin'il, the vines repos'tl. 
 Dark the deep trench, and pales of tin enclos'd. 
 One path alone there led, along whose way 
 Ceas'd not the g;itlierers thro' the live-long day; 
 Youths and (air girls, who. gladdening in the toil. 
 In woven pannii-rs bore the nectar sijoil: — 
 Sweet struck the lyre a hoy amid the throng. 
 And chanted with shrill voice the Linus-st)ng; 
 While the gay chorus, as they danc'd around, 
 Together sang, together heat the ground. 
 
 Now a large lierd, high-horn'd, part tin, part 
 gold. 
 Rose from fhe buckler of celestial mould: 
 These from their stalls rush'd bellowing to the 
 
 meads, 
 Where flovv"d a river midst o'ershadowing reeds: 
 Four herdsmen fcjllow'd, all in gold designed, 
 And nine Hi'ct-footed dogs came on behmd. 
 Two famish'd lions, prowling for tlieir prey, 
 Sprung on the bull that ll)remost led the way. 
 And wild with f)ain their bellowing victim drew. 
 While on their track the ilogs and herdsmen liew: 
 Thro" the rent hide their ibod the lions tore. 
 The fuming entrails gorg'd, and drain'd his gore. 
 In vain the herdsmen speed, and nrge in vain 
 The dogs the lions" conilict to .sustain; 
 Too weak to wound, they linger'd, half-dismay "d, 
 Yet stood, too bold to lly. and fiercely bay"d. 
 
 Now the god"s changeful artifice displayed 
 Fair flocks at pasture in a lovely glade: 
 And Iblds, and sheltering stalls peeped up be- 
 tween. 
 And shepherd-huts diversified the scene. 
 
 Now on the shield a choir appear"d to move, 
 Wliose flying feet the tuneful labyriutli wove; 
 Such as fam"d Dadahis, on Gnossns" sliore, 
 For bright-hair"d Ariadne form'd of yore ; 
 Youths and fair girls, there, hand in hand, ad- 
 vanced, 
 Tim'd to the song their step, and gaily danced. 
 Round every inaid light robes of linen flowd, 
 Round every youth a glossy tunic glowd; 
 Those wreath'd with flowers, while from tlieir 
 
 partners hung, 
 Swords that, all gold, from belts of silver 
 
 swung. 
 Train"d b)' nice art each flexile limb to wind. 
 Their tvxinkling feet the mcasur'd maze en- 
 
 twin'd. 
 Fleet as the wheel, whose use the potter tries 
 When twirl'd beneath his hand its axle flies. 
 Now all at once their graceful ranks combine. 
 Each rang'd against the other, line with line. 
 The crowd flock"d round, and, wondering as 
 
 they viewed. 
 Thro' every change the varying dance pursued; 
 The while two tumblers, as they led the song, 
 Turnd in the midst, and roUd themselves 
 
 along. 
 There, last, the god the force of Ocean bound. 
 And pour'd its waves the buckler's orb around. 
 
 Book XIX. 
 
 OnKClAX AUMT OOINO FOHTH TO BATTLE^ 
 APPKAHANCK OP ACHILI.KS. 
 
 Thk liost set forth and its Steele waves 
 
 I)our"d far out of the fleete; 
 And as from aire the north-winde blows 
 
 a frostie-colde thicke sleete. 
 That dazzles ej^es, fiakes after flakes 
 
 incessantly descending; 
 So thicke helrnes, ciirets, ashen darts, 
 
 and roinid shields never-ending. 
 Flowed f"rom the navie's hollow wonibe; 
 
 tlieir splendors gave lieaven"s eye 
 His b(>ames againe; earth laugh'd to see 
 
 h<!r face so like the skie ; 
 Arnies shin"d so bote, and she sucli clouds 
 
 made with the dust she cast; 
 She tlnmder'd — feet of men and horse 
 
 importuned her so fast. 
 In midst of all divine Achil- 
 les his faire person arm"il; 
 His teeth gnasht as he stood — his eyes 
 
 so f"ull of fire, they warm"d ; 
 Unsufl"er"d griefe and anger at 
 
 the Troians so combind ; 
 His greaves first usde, his goodly cu- 
 
 rets on liis bosome shin'd; 
 His sworde, his shielde that caste from it 
 
 a brightnesse like the moone. 
 And as from sea sailers discerue 
 
 a harmfull fire, let riinne 
 By herdsmen"s faults, till all their stall 
 
 flies up in wrestling flame. 
 Which, being on hils, is seene farre oft"; 
 
 but being alone, none came 
 To give it quench, at shore no neigh- 
 bors, and at sea their friends 
 Driven ofl" with tempests; such a fire 
 
 from his bright shield extends 
 His ominous ratliance and in heaven 
 
 imi>rest his fervent blaze. 
 His crested helmet, grave and high, 
 
 had next triumphant place 
 On his curfd head ; and, like a starre, 
 
 it cast a spurrie ray 
 About which a bright thicken'd bush 
 
 of golden haire did play. 
 Which Vulcan forg'd him for liis plume. 
 
 Thus compleate arni'd, he tride 
 How fit they were, and if with ease 
 
 his motion could abi<le 
 Their brave instruction; and so farre 
 
 they were from hindering it, 
 Tliat to it they were nimble wings, 
 
 and made so liglit his spirit. 
 That from the earthe the jirincely cap- 
 
 taine they took up to aire. 
 Then from his armoury he drew 
 
 his lance, his fathers speare, 
 H\ige, weightie, firme, that not a Greeke 
 
 but he himselfe alone 
 Knew how to shake. It grew upon 
 
 the mountaine Pelion, 
 From whose height Chiron hew"d it for 
 
 his sire, and fatall 'twas 
 To great-soul'd men. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 15 
 
 Book XX. 
 
 THK BATTLE OF THK OOD9. 
 
 Now tliroiiiih tlio trcrnbliiif; slioros Minerva calls, 
 And now she tliuiidcrs IVoni the Grecian walls. 
 Mars, hovering over Troy, his terror shrouds 
 In gloomy tenijiests and a night of clouds. — 
 Ahovo, tlie bire of gods his tlnnider rolls, 
 And peals on pi^als, redoubletl, shake the poles. 
 Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground ; 
 The forests wave, the mountains nod around; 
 Through all their summits tremble Ida's woods. 
 And, from their sources, boil her hundred floods: 
 Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain. 
 And the Greek navies beat the heaving main. — 
 Deep in the dismal regions of the dead. 
 The infernal monarch rear'il his horrid head, 
 Leajj'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm 
 
 should lay 
 His dark dominions open to the day. 
 And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, 
 Abhurr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods. 
 
 Book XXIII. 
 
 WIlESTLIXe. 
 
 Thk third bold game Achilles next demands, 
 And calls the wrestlers to the level sands : 
 A iriassy tripod for the victor lies, 
 Of twice six oxen its reputed prize ; 
 And next, the loser's spirits to restore, 
 A female i;aptive, valued but at four. 
 Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife propose. 
 When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose. 
 Amid the ring each nervous rival stands, 
 Embracing rigid with implicit hands; 
 Close-lock'd above their heads and arms are mixt. 
 Below, their planted feet, at distance fixt : 
 Like two strong rafters, which tlu; builder forms. 
 Proof to the wintry winds and howling storms. 
 Their tops connected, but at wider space, 
 Fixt on the centre stands their solid base. 
 Now to the grasp each manly body bends. 
 The humid sweat from every pore descends; 
 Nor coidd Ulysses, for his art renown'd, 
 Oerturn the strength of Ajax on the ground ; 
 Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow 
 The watchful caution of his artful foe. 
 While the long strife e'en tire<l the lookers on, 
 Thus to Ulysses spake great Telamon : 
 Or let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me : 
 Prove we our force, and Jove the rest decree. 
 He sairl ; and, straining, heaved him oil' the ground 
 With matrdiless strength ; that time Ulysses found 
 To foil his foe, and where the nerves co:nbine 
 His ancle struck; the giant fell supine: 
 Ulysses, following, on his bosom lies ; 
 Shouts cif applause run rattling through the skies. 
 Ajax to lift Ulysses next essays; 
 He barely stirred him, but he could not raise : 
 His knee iock'd fast, the foe's attempt denied. 
 Arid grap]jling close, they tumble side by side. 
 Delild with honourable dust they roll, 
 Still breaihirig strife, and unsubdued of soul : 
 Again tln^y rage, again to combat rise; 
 When great Achilles thus divides the prize: 
 
 " Your noble vigour, my friends, restrain ; 
 Nor weary out your generous strength in vain. 
 Ye both have won : let others, who excel. 
 Now prove the prowess you have proved so 
 well.'' 
 
 Book XXIV. 
 
 PntAM's SPKF.CII TO ACHILLF.S. KXTnF.ATINO FBOM 
 HIM THE l)F,AI) BODT OF HECTOR. 
 
 "Think, O Achilles, semblance of the gods, 
 On thine own father, full of days like me. 
 And trembling on the gloomy verge of life. 
 Some neighbour chief, it may be, even now 
 Oppresses him, and there is none at hand, 
 No friend to succour him in his distress. 
 Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives, 
 He still rejoices, hoping day by day. 
 That one day he shall see the face again 
 Of his own son, from distant Troy returned. 
 But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, 
 So late the flowers of Ilium, all are slain. 
 When Greece came hither, I had fifty sons; 
 But fiery Mars hath tliinn'd them. — One I had, 
 One, tnore than all my sons, the strength of Troy, 
 Whom standing for his country, thou hast slain — 
 Hector. His body to redeem I come 
 Into Achaia's fleet, bringing myself, 
 Ransom inestimable to thy tent. 
 Revrence the gods, Achilles! recollect 
 Thy father; for his sake compassion show 
 To me more pitiable still, who draw 
 Home to my lips (humiliation yet 
 Unseen on earth,) his hand who slew my son !" 
 So saying, he waken'd in his soul regret 
 Of his own sire ; softly he placed his hand 
 On Priam's hand, and push'd him gently away. 
 Remembrance melted both. Rolling before 
 Achilles' feet, Priam his son deplored 
 Wide-slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept 
 By turns his father, and by turns his friend, 
 Patroclus: sounds of sorrow lill'd the tent. 
 
 Helen's lamentation over hector. 
 
 Oh, Hector ! thou wert rooted in my heart ; 
 No brother there had half so large a part. 
 Not less than twenty years are now passed o'er, 
 Since first I landed on the Trojan shore. 
 Since Paris hn-ed tne from my home away, 
 (Would I had died before that fatal day!) 
 Yet was it ne'er my fate I'rom thee to lind 
 A deed ungentle, or a word unkind. 
 When others cursed the authoress of their woe, 
 Thy pity checked my sorrows in their (low : 
 If by my sisters or the queen revir<l, 
 (For the good king, like thee, was ever mild,) 
 Thy kindness still has all my grief beguii'd. 
 For thee I mourn, and mourn myself in thee. 
 Nor hope, nor solace now remains to me ; 
 Sad Helen has no friend, now thou art gone.* 
 
 ♦ "FcMV tliiii(»«,"("<.'iys Mr r<ilrridgi>.) "are more inlc- 
 restins (h;in to kImitvi- how tlin fSunv liuiid that has ^iven 
 UH the fury ami inronsisli-nry of Achillf^, civos uh also 
 the coiiKuniiiiale elegance and tenderness of Helen. She 
 
16 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 SIMILES. 
 
 [In every language, the earliest writers, particu- 
 larly poets, lifive been adilictod to the use of 
 coini)arisoiis ami metaphors of a highly figura- 
 tive and bold character. This is more especially 
 observable with respect to the sacred poets and 
 Homer, from whom, it is no exaggeration to say, 
 that three out of four of the similes of all sub- 
 sequent writers have been, more or less di- 
 rectly, copied or paraj^hrased.] 
 
 Book If. 
 
 OF BEKS SWAHMIITO, TO AX ARMY ISSUING FROM 
 THF.IIl TENTS AXD SHIPS. 
 
 As when the bees' dense nation rise, and rise 
 From the cleft rock, and cloud with life the skies. 
 In clusters hang o'er sjiring's unfolded flower, 
 Sweep to and fro, and wind from bower to 
 
 bower : 
 Thus, from their ships and tents, host urging host 
 To council swarmed. 
 
 OF ROLLING BILLOWS, TO AN ARMY IN MOTION. 
 
 The hosts rush rolling on, as wave on wave. 
 When o'er th' Icarian sea swoln billows rave. 
 When east and south in adverse fury sweep, 
 Burst the dark clouds at once and lash the deep. 
 
 OF A FOREST IN FLAMES, TO THE trSTRE OF 
 ARMS. 
 
 As flames on flames spread far and wide their 
 
 light, 
 From forests blazing on the mountain height, 
 Thus flashed the lightning of their arms afar, 
 And heaven's bright cope beamed back the glare 
 
 of war. 
 
 OF A FLIGHT OF CRANES OR SWANS, TO A NU- 
 MEROUS ARMY. 
 
 As when of many sorts the long-neck'd fowl. 
 
 Unto the large and flowing plain repair, 
 (Through which Ciiyster's waters gently roll,) 
 
 In multitudes — high flying in the air. 
 Now here, now there fly, priding on their wing. 
 
 And by and by at once light on the ground, 
 And with their clamour make the air to ring, 
 
 And th' earth, whereon they settle, to resound. 
 So when the Achaians went up from the fleet. 
 
 And on their march were to the towers, of Troy, 
 The earth resounded loud with hoofs and feet. 
 
 But on Scamander's flowery bank they stay, 
 In number like the flowers of the field. 
 
 Or leaves in spring, or multitude of flies 
 In some great dairy, round the vessels filled. 
 
 Delighted with the milk, dance, fall, and rise.* 
 
 is, throughout the Tliail, a frenuine lady, graceful in mo- 
 tion and speed), noble in tier associations, full of remorse 
 for a fault for which hij'her powers seem responsible, 
 yet grateful towards those with whom that fault had 
 connected her. I have always thought the speech, in 
 which Helen laments Hector, and hints at her own in- 
 vidious and unprotected situation in Troy, as almost the 
 sweetest passage in the poem." 
 
 * Hobbes, in his quaint manner, gives us his reasons 
 for translating Homer. " Why then did I write it 1— Be- 
 
 jS not her of t}ie Sa?nc. 
 
 Not less their number than the embodied cranes, 
 Or milk-white swans, in Asius' watery plains, 
 'J'hat o'er the winding of Clyster's springs. 
 Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling 
 
 wings. 
 Now tow er aloft, and course in airy rounds: 
 Now light with noise: with noise the field re- 
 sounds. 
 Thus clamorous and confused, extending wide, 
 The legions crowd Scamander's flowery side, 
 In numbers numberless as leaves and flowers, 
 That fill the lap of spring, and robe her bowers. 
 
 OF SWARMS OF FLIES, TO A NUMEROUS ARMT. 
 
 As in the spring-time, when the swain recalls 
 His lowing cattle to their wonted stalls, 
 Eve's milking hour from ether downwards draws 
 The flies' winged nations, swarming o'er the vase. 
 Thus Greece poured forth her multitudinous 
 throng. 
 
 OF A SHEPHERD GATHERING HIS FLOCKS, TO A 
 
 GENERAL HANGING HTS ARMY AND OF THE 
 
 STATELINESS OF A BULL, TO THE PORT OF 
 AGAMEMNON. 
 
 As goat-herds, watchful of their charge at feed, 
 Part flock from flock, commingling on the mead, 
 Not skilful less, the chiefs beneath their sway. 
 Ranged rank by rank and formed the war-array. 
 Mid these Atrides towered, his eye like fire, 
 His brow, like Jove exultant in his ire. 
 As mid the herds, a bull of stateliest size 
 Rears his horned forehead, and the field defies. 
 Thus, on that day, all, all their chiefs above. 
 Towered Agamemnon, glorified by Jove. 
 
 Book I V. 
 
 OF THE DARKNESS OF TROOPS, TO THE GATHER- 
 ING OF CLOUDS. 
 
 As from some promontory's lofty brow, 
 A swain surveys the gathering storm below ; 
 Slow from the main the heavy vapours rise. 
 Spread in dim streams and sail along the skies. 
 Till, black as night, the swelling tempest shows. 
 The cloud condensing as the west wind blows; 
 He dreads the impending storm, and drives his 
 
 flock 
 To the close covert of some arching rock : 
 Such and so thick the embattled squadrons stood. 
 
 OF SUCCESSION OF WAVES, TO THE MOVING OF 
 TROOPS. 
 
 As when the winds, ascending by degrees 
 First move the whitening surface of the seas, 
 The billows float in order to the shore ; 
 The wave behind rolls on the wave before. 
 
 cause I had nothing else to do. Why publish it ?— Because 
 I thought it might take off my adversaries from showing 
 their folly upon my more serious writings, and set them 
 upon my verses to show their wisdom." 
 
HOMER. 
 
 17 
 
 Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise, 
 Foam o'er the rocks, and thunder to the skies: 
 So to the light the thick battalions throng. 
 
 OF TOUUEXTS RUSUIXe THIlorGH THE VALLEYS, 
 TO AKMIKS IN BATTLE. 
 
 As torrents roll, increased by numerous rills. 
 With rage impetuous down their echoing hills. 
 Rush to the vales, and, pour'd along the plain. 
 Roar through a thousand channels to the main. 
 The distant shepherd, trembling, hoars the sound : 
 So mix bodi hosts, and so their cries rebound. 
 
 Book Vlll. 
 
 OFTItE MOOU AND STAR.S I Jf OLOnT,T0THE BRIGHT- 
 NESS AND NUMBER OF THE TROJAN FIKKS. 
 
 As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night. 
 O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light. 
 When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, 
 And not a cloud o'ercasts the solenm scene ; 
 Around her throne the vivid planets roll. 
 And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole. 
 O'er the dark trees a yellow verdure shed. 
 And tip with silver every mountain head ; 
 Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 
 A flood of glory bursts from all the skies ; 
 The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, 
 Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light, 
 So many fires before proud Ilion blaze. 
 And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays. 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 
 As w^hen, around the clear, bright moon, the stars 
 Shine in full splendour, and the winds are hushed ; 
 The groves, the mountains-tops, the headland- 
 heights, 
 Stand all apparent ; not a vapour streaks 
 The boundless blue; but ether, opened wide. 
 All glitters, and the shepherd's heart is cheered. 
 
 jlrwther. 
 
 As when the stars, at night's illumined noon. 
 Beam in their brightness round the full-orbed 
 
 moon — 
 When sleeps the wind, and every mountain 
 
 height. 
 Rock, and hoar cliff, shine towering up in light. 
 Then gleam the vales, and ether, widely riven, 
 Expands to other stars, another heaven : 
 While the lone shepherd, watchful of his fold. 
 Looks wondering up, and gladdens to behold — 
 Not less the fires, that through the nightly hours 
 Spread war's whole scene before Troy's guarded 
 
 towers, 
 Flimg o'er the distant fleet a shadowy gleam, 
 And quivering played on Xanthus' silver stream, 
 
 Book XI. 
 
 OF CORN FALLING IN ROWS, TO MEN SLAIN O' 
 BATTLE. 
 
 But as keen reapers, band opposed to band, 
 Toil in the harvest of a grateful land, 
 3 
 
 And, where the barley bristles into grain, 
 Row after row, with sheaves o'erstrew the plain; 
 The Greeks and Trojans thus, in clash'd career. 
 Slay and are slain ;* — none i>ausc, none fly, none 
 
 fear, 
 But lift alike their crests, and, wild with rage, 
 Like wolves, th' exterminating battle wage. 
 
 OF AJAX, TO AN ASS SCHROV \ II F.I) II T HOYS. 
 
 As when an ass, slow-paced, despite a throng 
 Of urchins, bursts ripe fields of corn among. 
 And bruised by many a broken stafl" in vain, 
 At pleasure crops the ears of golden grain. 
 While nought such efforts and weak blows avail, 
 Till the gorged beast's keen sense of hunger fail, 
 Thus the brave Trojans and their leagued bands 
 Struck on the shield of Ajax. 
 
 Book XII. 
 
 OF TWO MOUNTAIN OAKS, TO TWO HEROES. 
 
 . . .At the gates two mightiest warriors stood, 
 Resistless race of Lapithean blood — 
 Tliey stood like oaks, that on the mountain soar, 
 Where, day by day, perpetual temiiests roar; 
 Rear amid whirlwinds their unswerving form, 
 And spread their gnarled roots beneath the storm. 
 
 OF ARROWS, TO FLAKES OF SNOW. 
 
 As the f.'nfhery snows 
 Fall frequent on some wintry day, when Jove 
 Hath risen to shed them on the race of man. 
 And show his arrowy stores; he lulls the wind, 
 Then shakes them down continual, covering 
 
 thick 
 Mountain tops, promontories, flowery meads. 
 And cultured valleys rich, and ports and shores 
 Along the margined deep; but there the wave 
 Their further progress stays; while all besides 
 Lies whelm'd beneath Jove's fast descending 
 
 shower; 
 So thick, from side to side, by Trojans hurled 
 Against the Greeks, and by the Greeks returned, 
 The stony voUies flew. 
 
 Book XIV. 
 
 OF THE WAVES ROLLING TO AND FRO, TO THE 
 DOUBTS OF NESTOR. 
 
 As when with its unwieldy waves 
 
 the sea forefeels the winds 
 That both ways murmur, and no way 
 
 a certain current finds. 
 But pants and swells confusedly; 
 
 here goes anil there will stay, 
 Till on it air casts one firm wind, 
 
 and then it rolls away. 
 So stood old NesU)r in ilebate, 
 
 two thoughts at once on wing. . . . 
 
 • They are true to the last of their blood and their breath. 
 And lilce reapers descend to the harvest of deatli. 
 
 Campbell. 
 B 2 
 
18 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 Book X V. 
 
 OF HtCTOK, TO A FIKIir COUnSEU BREAKiyC FROM 
 HIS STALL. 
 
 As when, hi;;h-fe(l with <;iain,a stall-bound steed 
 Snaps his stroMf^conl, and flii-s, from bondaiio freed, 
 Strikes with resounding hoof the earth, iuu\ flies 
 Where the wide champaign spread before him 
 
 lies. 
 Seeks the remembered haunts, on fire to lave 
 His glowing limbs, and dash amid the wave. 
 High rears his crest, and tossing with disdain 
 Wide oer his shoulders spreads his stream of 
 
 mane, 
 And fierce in beauty, graceful in his speed, 
 Snufls his known fellows in the distant mead. 
 Thus Hector. — 
 
 OF AN i:q.Ur,STRIAIT LEAPIJfO FHOM HOllSE TO 
 HORSE, TO AJAX STRiniNR FROM SHIP TO SHIP. 
 
 As one well-skilled, from many a gallant steed 
 
 Has four selected of excelling breed. 
 
 And towards the city, mid" th' admiring throng. 
 
 Lashing their speed the public way along, 
 
 Firm without fall, alternating at will, 
 
 Swift vaults from horse to horse with easy skill, 
 
 Thus on from deck to deck fierce Ajax sprung. 
 
 Book XVI. 
 
 OF AN AUTUMNAL STORM AND DELUGE, TO THE 
 HUIN OF A ROUTED ARMY. 
 
 As when, o'er canopied with night of clouds. 
 The autLunnal storm the face of nature shrouds, 
 When vengeful Jove, in fury unconfin'd, 
 Pours do\vn the \veight of waters on mankind. 
 Who right and wrong confound, "gainst heaven 
 
 rebel, 
 And injured Justice from tlieir courts expel: — 
 Then swoln with floods, their rivers allo"erflow. 
 Then cataracts shatter many a mountain brow. 
 Roar as they rush, hurled headlong from the steep. 
 And, 'neath tli' empurpled main, man's wasted 
 
 labours sweep. 
 
 Book X FIT. 
 
 OF TOUNO EUPHORBUS, TO AN UPROOTED OLIVE 
 TREE. 
 
 As a yoimg olive, in some sylvan scene, 
 Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green, 
 Lifts its gay head, in snowy flowrets fair, 
 And plays and dances to the gentle air; 
 When lo! by blasts uprooted! whirleil around, 
 Low lies the plant, extended on the ground: 
 Thus in his beauty yoiuig Euphorbus lay. 
 
 Book XXII. 
 
 OF THE RADIANCE OF HESPER, TO THE POINT 
 OF ACHILLES" SPEAR. 
 
 As radiant Hesper shines with keener light, 
 Far-beaming o"er the silver host of night. 
 When all the starry train emblaze the sphere: 
 So shone the point of great Achilles' spear. 
 
 FROM THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. 
 Book IV. 
 
 ELTSIUH. 
 
 But oh, beloved of heaven! reserved for thee 
 A happier lot the smiling fates decree: 
 Free l"rom that law, beneath whose mortal sway 
 Matter is changed, and varying forms decay; 
 Elysium shall be thine; the blissful plains 
 Of utmost earth, where Rliadamanthus reigns. 
 Joys ever voung, immixed with pain or fear, 
 Fill the wide circle of the eternal year; 
 Stern winter smiles on that auspicious clime. 
 The fields are florid with unfading prime ; 
 From the bleak pole no winds inclement blow. 
 Mould the round hail, or flake the fleecy snow ; 
 But from the breezy deep the blest inhale 
 The frsigrant murmurs of the western gale. 
 
 Book V. 
 
 HERMES SENT TO THE ISLAND OF CALYPSO. 
 
 He spoke. The god who mounts the winged 
 
 winds 
 Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds, 
 That high through fields of air his flight sustain 
 0"er the wide earth, and o"er the boundless main. 
 He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly. 
 Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye : 
 Then shoots from heaven to high Pieria"s steep, 
 And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep. 
 So wat'ry fowl, that seek their fishy food. 
 With wings expanded o"er the foaming flood. 
 Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep, 
 Now dip their pinions in the briny deep. 
 Thus o'er the world of waters Hermes flew, 
 Till now the distant island rose in view: 
 Then swift ascending from the azure wave, 
 He took the path that winded to the cave. 
 Large was the grot, in which the nymph he 
 
 found. 
 The fair-hair'd nymph with every beauty 
 
 crown'd. 
 Slie sat and sung ; the rocks resound her lays : 
 The cave was brighten'd with a rising blaze : 
 Cedar and frankincense, an od"rous pile, 
 Flam'd on the hearth, and wide perfum'd the isle ; 
 While she with work and song the time divides. 
 And through the loom the golden shuttle guides. 
 Without the grot, a various sylvan scene 
 Appear'd around, and groves of living green; 
 Poplars and alders ever quiv'ring play'd 
 And noddirjg cypress form'd a fragrant shade; 
 On whose high branches, waving with the storm. 
 The birds of broadest wing their mansion form. 
 The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow. 
 And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. 
 Depending vines the shelving cavern screen. 
 With purple clusters blushing through the green. 
 Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil, 
 An<l every fountain pours a sev'ral rill. 
 In mazy windings wand'ring down the hill : 
 Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were 
 
 crown"d, 
 And glowing violets threw odours round. 
 A scene, where if a god should cast his sight, 
 A god might gaze, and wander with delight ! 
 
HOMER. 
 
 19 
 
 ULTSSKS, IN THE ISLAND OF CALYPSO, PININO FOR 
 HIS NATIVE ITUICA. 
 
 On the shore 
 
 She liuiiul liim scaled ; tears succeeding tears 
 Deluged his eyes, while, lioi)eless oC return, 
 Liie's precious hours to gnawing cares he gave, 
 Contiruial; for tlie nymph now charmed no more. 
 Yet, cold as she was amorous, still he pass'd 
 His nights beside her in tlie hollow grot 
 Constrained, and tlay by da}'' the roclcs among, 
 Which lined the shore, heart-ljroken sat, and oft, 
 While wistfully he eyed the barren deep, 
 Wept, groan'd desponding, sigh'd and wept again. 
 Then drawing near, thus si)ak.e the nymph divine: 
 " Unhappy ! weep not here, nor life consume 
 In anguish ; go ! thou hast my glad consent. 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 Farewell ! I par<lon thee. But couldst thou guess 
 The woes which fate ordains thee to endure 
 Ere yet thou reach thy country, well content 
 Here to inhabit, thou wouldst keep my grot 
 And be inmiortal, howsoeer thy wife 
 Engage thy every wish, day after day. 
 Yet can I not in stature or in grace 
 Myself susjiect inferior aught to her. 
 Since coinjietition cannot be between 
 Mere mortal beauties and a form divine." 
 
 To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied : 
 " Awful divinity, be not incensed ! 
 I know that my Penelope in face 
 And stature altogether yields to thee. 
 For she is mortal, and immortal thou. 
 From age exempt; yet not the less I wish 
 My home, and languish daily to return. 
 But should some god, amid the sable deep, 
 Dash me again into a wreck, my soul 
 Shall yet endure it." 
 
 rLTSSEs' RAFT. 
 
 She gave him, fitted to the grasp, an axe 
 Of iron, ponderous, double-edged, with haft 
 Of olive-wood, inserted firm, and wrought 
 With curious art. Then placing in his hand 
 A polish'd adze, she led herself the way 
 To her isle's utmost verge, where loftiest stood 
 The alder, poplar, and cloud-piercing fir. 
 Though sapless, sound, and fittest for his use 
 As buoyant most. To that once verdant grove 
 His steps the beauteous nymph Calypso led, 
 And sougtit her home again. Then slept not he, 
 But, swinging with both hands the axe, his task 
 Soon finish'd ; trees fidl twenty to the ground 
 He cast, which, dext'rous, with his adze he 
 
 smooth'd, 
 The knotted surface chipping by a line. 
 Meantime the lovely goddess to his ai I 
 Sharp augers brought, with which he bored the 
 
 beams, 
 Then placed them side by side, adapting fach 
 To other, and the seams with wadding closed 
 Broad as an artist, skill'd in naval worlcs. 
 The bottom of a ship of burthen sprea Is, 
 Such breadth Ulysses to his raft assign'd. 
 He deck'd her over with long planks, upborne 
 On massy beams ; he made the mast, to which 
 
 He added suitable the yard ; he framed 
 Rudder and helm to regulate her course; 
 With wicker-work he border'd all her length 
 For safety, and much ballast stowed within. 
 Meantime Calyjjso brought him for a sail 
 Fittest materials, which he also shaiied, 
 And to it all due furniture anncx'il 
 Of cordage strong, i'oot-ropes, and ropes aloft, 
 Then heaved her down with levers to the deep.* 
 
 SHIPWRECK OF ULTSSES. 
 
 He spoke, and high the forky trident hurl'd, 
 Rolls clouds on clouds, aiul stirs the wat'ry world. 
 At once the face of earth and sea deforms, 
 Swells all the winds, and rouses all the storms. 
 Down rush'd the night. East, west, together roar, 
 And south and north, roll mountains to the shore; 
 Then shook the hero, to despair resign'd, 
 And questiotfd thus his yet unconquer'd mind. 
 
 Wretch that I am! what farther fates attend 
 This life of toils, aiul what my destined end? 
 Too well alas! the island goddess knew, 
 On the black sea what perils should ensue. 
 New horrors now this destin"d head enclose; 
 UnliU'd is yet the measure of my woes. 
 With what a cloud the brows of heaven are 
 
 crown'd I 
 What raging winds! what roaring waters round! 
 'Tis Jove himself the swelling tempest rears; 
 Death, present death on every side appears. 
 Happy! thrice happy! who in battle slain 
 Press (I in Atrides' cause the Trojan plain: 
 Oh! had 1 died before that well-fought wall; 
 Had some distinguished day renown'd my fall ; 
 (Such as was that, when showers of jav'lins fled 
 Trom conqu'ring Troy around Achilles dead) 
 All Greece had paid my solemn fun'rals then, 
 And spread my glory with the sons of men. 
 A shameful fate now hides my hapless liead, 
 Unwept, unnoted, and for ever dead If 
 
 A mighty wave rush'd o'er him as he spoke, 
 The raft it cover'd, and the mast it broke ; 
 Swept from the deck, and from the rudder torn, 
 Far on the swelling surge the chief was borne: 
 While by the howling tempest rent in twain 
 Flew sail and sail-yards rattling o'er the main. 
 Long prest, he heaved beneath the mighty wave, 
 Clogg'd by the cumbrous vest Calypso gave. 
 At length emerging, from his nostrils wide 
 And gushing mouth, etfused the briny tide. 
 
 * What is chiefly valualile in the above passage, ia the 
 insight whirh it gives us as to the degree at which the 
 an of shi|)-l)uil(ling had then arrived. 
 
 t Plutarch in his Syinposiacs relates a memorable story 
 relating to this passage. VV'hi'U Mernniius, the Iloinan 
 general, had sacked the city ol" Coriiith, and made slaveii 
 ortho.se wlio survived the ruin ot" il, he coinniandeJ one 
 of the youths of a liberal education to write down some 
 sentence in his presence, according to his own inclina- 
 tions. The youlh immediately wrote this passage from 
 Homer. Menunius burst inlo tears, and gave the youth 
 and all his relations their lib.'riy. Virsil has translated 
 this passage in the firsl book of his /Eneis. Both heroes 
 lament not that they are to die, but only the inglorious 
 manner of it. Drowning was esteemed by the qncicnts 
 an accursed death, as it deprived their bodies of the tites 
 of sepulture. 
 
20 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 E"cn then, not niindloss of his last retreat, 
 He seized tlie rati, ami lea])'d into his seat; 
 Stroni? with the fear of death. The rolling; Hood, 
 Now here, now there, iinpelTd tlie floating; wood. 
 As whejj a heap of jiatherinfj thorns is cast. 
 Now to, now fro, hefore the autumnal blast; 
 Tofrether chins;, it rolls around the field ; 
 So rolled the float, and so its t('Xture held. 
 And now the south, and now the north, bears 
 
 sway, 
 And now the east tlie foamy floods obey, 
 And now tlie west-wind whirls it oer the sea. 
 
 • •«••• 
 
 While now his thoughts distracted counsels hold, 
 The railing; god a watery mountain roll'd; 
 Lilce a black sheet, the whelming billows spread, 
 Burst o'er the float, and thundered on his head. 
 Planks, beams, disparted fly ; the scatter'd 
 
 wood 
 Rolls diverse, and, in fragments, strews the 
 
 flood. 
 So the rude Boreas, over fields new shorn. 
 Tosses and drives the scattered heaps of corn — 
 And now a single beam the chief bestrides. 
 
 Bool( VIII. 
 
 THE BARD. 
 
 Book VII. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF ALCIXOUS. 
 
 Close to the gates a spacious garden lies, 
 From storms defended and inclement skies: 
 Four acres was th' allotted space of ground, 
 Fenc'd with a green enclosure all around, 
 Tall thriving trees confessed the fruitful mould ; 
 The re(ld"ning apple ripens here to gold. 
 Here the blue fig with luscious juice o'erflows. 
 With deeper red the full pomegranate glows. 
 The branch here bends beneath the weighty 
 
 pear. 
 And verdant olives flourish round the year. 
 The balmy spirit of the western gale 
 Eternal breathes on fruits untaught to fail: 
 Each dropping pear a following pear supplies. 
 On apples apples, figs on figs arise : 
 The same mild season gives the blooms to blow, 
 The buds to harden, and the fruits to grow. 
 
 Here order'd vines in equal ranks appear, 
 With all th' united labours of the year; 
 Some to unload the f;n-tile branches run. 
 Some dry the black'ning clusters in the sun, 
 Others to tread the liquid harvest join. 
 The groaning presses foam with floods of wine. 
 Here are the vines in early flower descried, 
 Here grapes discolour'd on the sunny side. 
 And there in autumn's richest purple dyed. 
 
 Beds of all various herbs, for ever green, 
 In beauteous order terminate the scene. 
 Two plenteous fmiitains the whole prospect 
 
 crown'd-^- 
 This through the gardens leads its streams 
 
 around, 
 Visits each jjlant, and waters all the ground: 
 While that, in pipes, beneath the palace flows. 
 And thence its current on the town bestows; 
 To various tise their various streams they bring. 
 The people one, and one supplies the king. 
 
 Demodocns 
 
 The sacred master of celestial song: 
 
 Dear to the muse! who gave his days to flo'W 
 
 With miirhty blessings, mix'd with mighty woe: 
 
 With clouds of darkness quench 'd his visual ray, 
 
 Rut gave him skill to raise the loAy lay.* 
 
 High on a radiant throne sublime in state, 
 
 Encircled by huge multitudes, he sate: 
 
 With silver shone the throne; his lyre well 
 
 strung 
 To rapturous sounds, at hand Pontonous hung. 
 
 • »•••»»• 
 
 Then fir'd by all the muse, aloud he sings 
 The mighty deeds of ;leiriigods and kings: 
 From that fierce wrath the noble song arose, 
 That made Ulysses and Achilles foes: 
 How o'er the feast they doom the fall of Troy; 
 The stern debate Atrides hears with joy: 
 For heaven foretold the contest, when he trod 
 The marble threshold of the Delphic god, 
 Curious to learn the counsels of the sky, 
 Ere yet he loos'd the rage of war on Troy. 
 
 Touch'd at the song, Ulysses straight resign'd 
 To soft aflliction all his manly mind: 
 Before his eyes the purple vest he drew, 
 Industrious to conceal the falling dew: 
 But when the music paus'd, he ceas'd to shed 
 The flowing tear, and rais'd his drooping head: 
 And lifting to the gods a goblet crown'd. 
 He pour'd a pure libation to the ground. 
 
 Transported with the song, the listning train 
 Again with loud applause demand the strain: 
 Again Ulysses veil'd his pensive head. 
 Again unmann'd a shower of sofrow shed: 
 Conceald he wept. 
 
 Book IX. 
 
 XJLTSSES' ADVENTUHES in the cave of POLY- 
 PHEMUS. 
 
 When to the nearest verge of land ^ve drew, 
 Fast by the sea, a lonely cave we view, 
 Hish, and with dark'ning latirels cover'd o'er; 
 Where sheep and goats lay slumb'ring round the 
 
 shore. 
 Near this, a fence of marble from the rock, 
 Brown with o'er-arching pine, and spreading oak. 
 A giant shepherd here his flock maintains 
 Far from the rest, and solitary reigns, 
 In shelter thick of horrid shade reclin'd; 
 And gloomy mischiefs labour in his mind. 
 A form enormous! far unlike the race 
 Of human birth, in stature, or in face; 
 As some lone mountain's monstrous growth he 
 
 stood, 
 Crown'd with rough thickets, and a nodding 
 
 wood. 
 I left my vessel at the point of land, 
 And close to guard it gave our crew command: 
 
 *lt has been ffenerally thought that Homer represents 
 himself in the person of Demodocus. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 21 
 
 With only twelve, the boldest and tlie best, 
 
 I seek ih" adventure, and forsake the rest. 
 
 Then took a jroatskin fill'd with precious wine, 
 
 The gift of Maroii, of Kvaiithcus' line, 
 
 (The priest of Ptia-bus at th' Ismarian shrine) 
 
 In sacred shade his liotioiir'd mansion stood 
 
 Amidst A})ollo"s consecrated U'liod ; 
 
 Him, and his house, heaven mov"d my mind to 
 
 save, 
 And costly presents in return he gave; 
 Seven golden talents to perfectioti wrought, 
 A silver bowl that held a copious drauj^ht, 
 And twelve large vessels of uniningled wine. 
 Mellifluous, undecaying, and divine! 
 Which now, some ages from his race conceard, 
 The hoary sire in gratitude rcveafd ; 
 Such was the wine : to quench whose fervent 
 
 steam. 
 Scarce twenty rn'easures from the living stream 
 To cool one cup sufiiced: the goblet crowri'd 
 Breath'd aromatic fragrancies around. 
 Of this an ample vase we heav'd aboard, 
 And brought another with provisions stor'd. 
 My soul foreboded I should find the bower 
 Of some fell monster, fierce with barb'rous 
 
 power. 
 Some -rustic wretch, who liv'd in heaven's de- 
 spite. 
 Contemning laws, and trampling on the right. 
 The cave we found, but vacant all within, 
 (His Hock the giant tended on the green) 
 But round the grot v/e gaze, and all we view 
 In order rangd, our admiration drew: 
 The bending shelves with loads of cheeses 
 
 press'd. 
 The folded flocks, each sep'rate from the rest, 
 (The larger here, and there the lesser lambs. 
 The new falTn young here bleating for their 
 
 dams; 
 The kid distinguish'd from the lambkin lies:) 
 Tlie cavern echoes with responsive cries. 
 Capacious chargers all aronnd wore laid. 
 Full pails, and vessels of the milking trade. 
 With fresh provision hence our fleet to store 
 My friends advise me, and to quit the shore; 
 Or drive a flock of sheep and goats away. 
 Consult our safety, and put ofl" to sea. 
 Their wholesome counsel rashly I declin'd, 
 Curious to view the man of monstrous kind, 
 And try what social rites a savage lends : 
 Dire rites alas! and fatal to my friends! 
 
 Then first a fire we kindle, and prepare 
 For his return ^vith sacrifice and prayer. 
 The loaden shelves aflbrd us full repast; 
 We sit expecting. Lo! he comes at last. 
 Near half a forest on his back he bore. 
 And cast the pondrous burden at the door. 
 It thundered as it fell. Wo trembled then, 
 And sought the deep recesses of the den. 
 Now driven before him, through the arching 
 
 rock. 
 Came tumbling, heaps on heaps, th' unnumber'd 
 
 liock: 
 Big-udder'd ewes, and goats of female kind, 
 (The males were penn'd in outward courts 
 
 behind) 
 
 Then, heav'd on high, a rock's enormous weight 
 To the cave's mouth he roll'd, and clos'd the gate. 
 (Scarce twenty four-wheuld cars, compact and 
 
 strong, 
 The massy load could bear, or roll along.) 
 He next beiakes liim to his evening cares. 
 And sitting down, to milk his flocks [)ropares: 
 Of half their udders cases first the dams, 
 Then to the mother's teat sub;nits the lambs. 
 Half the white stream to hard"ning cheese he 
 
 press'd. 
 And higli in wicker baskets hoap'd : the rest 
 Roscrv'd in bowls, supplied his nightly feast. 
 His labour done, he fir'd the pile Uiat gave 
 A sudden bla/c, and lighted all the cave. 
 We stand discovcr'd by the rising fires; 
 Askance the giant glares, and thus inquires. 
 
 What are ye, guests; on what adventure, say, 
 Thus far ye wander through the wat'ry way? 
 Pirates perhaps, who seek through seas unknown 
 The lives of others, and expose your own? 
 
 His voice like thunder through the cavern 
 sounds: 
 My bold companions thrilling fear confoimds, 
 Appaird at sight of more than mortal man! 
 At length, with heart rccovcr'd, I b^^gan. 
 
 From Troy's fam'd fields, sad wand'rers o'er 
 the main. 
 Behold the relics of the Grecian train ! 
 Through various seas by various perils toss'd, 
 And forc'd by storms, unwilling, on your coast; 
 Far from our destin'd course, and native land, 
 buch was our fate, and such high Jove's com- 
 mand ! 
 Nor what we are befits us to disclaim, 
 Atrides' friends, (in arms a mighty name) 
 Who taught proud Troy, and all her sons to bow; 
 Victors of late, but humble suppliants now! 
 Low at thy knee thy succour we implore; 
 Respect us, human, and relieve us, poor. 
 At least some hospitable gift bestow ; 
 "Tis what the happy to th' unhap])y owe ; 
 'Tis w^hat the gods require: those gods revere, 
 The poor and stranger are their constant care : 
 To Jove their cause, and their revenge belongs. 
 He wanders with them, and he feels their 
 wrongs. 
 
 Fools that ye are! (the savage thus replies, 
 His inward fury bla/ing at his eyes) 
 Or strangers, distant far from our abodes, 
 To bid me rev'rence or regard the gods. 
 Know then we Cyclops are a race above 
 Those air-bred people, and their goat-nurs'd Jove : 
 And learn, our power proceeds with thee and 
 
 thine, 
 Not as he wills, but as ourselves incline. 
 But answer, the goo<l ship that brought ye o'er. 
 Where lies she anchor'<l ? near or olf the shore? 
 
 Thus he. His meditated fraud I find, 
 (Vers'd in the turns of various iiumankind) 
 And, cautious, thus — Against a dreadful rock, 
 Fast by your shore the gallant vessel broke : 
 Scarce with theso few I 'soap'd; of all my train, 
 Whom angry Neptune whelm'd beneath tlio 
 
 main; 
 The scatter'd wreck the winds blew back again. 
 
22 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 He answor'd with his deed. His bloody hand 
 Snatoh'd two, unhappy! of my martial band; 
 And dash'd like do^js against the stony lloor: 
 The pavement swims with brains and mingled 
 
 gore. 
 Torn limb from limb, he spreads his horrid feast, 
 And liorco devours it like a mountain beast: 
 He sucks the marrow, and the blood he drains, 
 Nor entrails, flesh, nor solid bone remains. 
 We see the death from which we cannot move. 
 And, humbled, groan beneath the hand of Jove. 
 His amj)le maw with liuman carnage fiUd, 
 A milky deluge next the giant swilld; 
 Tlien stretch'd in length o'er half the cavern'd 
 
 rock, 
 Lay senseless, and supine, amidst the flock. 
 To seize the time, and with a sudden wound 
 To fix the slumbering monster to the ground. 
 My soul impels me; and in act I stand 
 To draw the sword; but wisdom held my hand. 
 A deed so rash had finish'd all our fate, 
 No mortal forces from the lofty gate 
 Could roll the rock. In hopeless grief we lay. 
 And sigh, expecting the return of day. 
 Now did the rosy-hnger"d morn arise. 
 And shed her sacred light along the skies. 
 He wakes, he lights the lire, he milks the dams. 
 And to the mother's teat submits the lambs. 
 The task thus finish 'd of his morning hours. 
 Two more he snatches, murders, and devours. 
 Then pleasd and whistling, drives his flock 
 
 before ; 
 Removes the rocky mountain from the door, 
 And shuts again ; with equal ease dispos'd, 
 As a light quiver's lid is op'd and clos'd. 
 His giant voice the echoing region fills: 
 His fiocks, obedient, spread o'er all the hills. 
 
 Thus left behind, e'en in the last despair 
 I thought, devis'd, and Pallas heard my prayer. 
 Revenge, and doubt, and caution worked my 
 
 breast; 
 But this of many counsels seem'd the best: 
 The monster's club within the cave 1 spied, 
 A tree of stateliest growth, and yet undried. 
 Green from the wood ; of height and bulk so 
 
 vast. 
 The largest ship might claim it for a mast. 
 This shortened of its top, I gave my train 
 A fathom's length, to shape it jvnd to plane 
 The narrower end I sharpened to a spire; 
 Whose point we harden'd with the force of fire, 
 And hid it in the dust that strew'd the cave. 
 Then to my few companions, bold and brave, 
 Propos'd, who first the vent'rous deed should try 
 In the broad orbit of his monstrous eye 
 To plunge the brand, and twirl the pointed wood, 
 When slumber next should tame the man of 
 
 blood. 
 Just as I wish'd, the lots were cast on four : 
 Myself the fifth. We stand and wait the hour. 
 He comes with evening: all his fleecy flock 
 Before him march, and pour into the rock: 
 Not one, or male or female, stay'd behind ; 
 (So fortune chanc'd, or so some god design'd) 
 Then heaving high the stone's unwieldy weight. 
 He roU'd it on the cave, and clos'd the gate. 
 
 First down he sits, to milk the woolly dams, 
 And then permits their udder to the lambs. 
 Next seiz'd two wretches more, and headlong 
 
 cast, 
 Brain'd on the rock; his second day's repast. 
 I then apjJToach'd him reeking witli their gore, 
 And held the briimning goblet Ibaming o'er: 
 Cyclop! since human flesh has been thy feast, 
 Now drain this goblet, potent to digest: 
 Know hence what treasures in our ship we lost, 
 And what rich liquors other climates boast. 
 We to tliy shore the precious freight shall bear, 
 If home thou send us, and vouchsafe to spare. 
 But oh! thus furious, thirsting thus for gore, 
 The sons of men shall ne'er approach thy shore, 
 And never shall thou taste this nectar more. 
 
 He heard, he took, and pouring down his 
 throat 
 Delighted swilTd the large luxurious draught. 
 More! give me more, he cried: the boon be thine. 
 Whoe'er thou art that bear'st celestial wine! 
 Declare thy name; not mortal is this juice, 
 Such as the unbless'd Cyclopean dimes produce, 
 (Though sure our vine the largest cluster yields. 
 And Jove's scorn'd thunder serves to drench our 
 
 fields) 
 But this descended from the bless'd a1x)des, 
 A rill of nectar, streaming from the gods. 
 
 He said, and greedy grasp'd the heady bowl, 
 Thrice drain'd, and pour'd the deluge on his soul : 
 His sense lay coverd with the dozy fume; 
 While thus my fraudful speech I reasstime. 
 Thy promisd boon, Cyclop ! now I claim. 
 And plead my title : Noman is ni}' name. 
 By that distingviish'd from my tender years, 
 'Tis what my parents call me, and my peers. 
 
 The giant then. Our promis'd grace receive. 
 The hospitable boon we mean to give : 
 When all thy wretched crew have felt my 
 
 power, 
 Noman shall be the last I will devour. 
 
 He said, then nodding with tlie fumes of wine 
 Dropp'd his huge head, and snoring lay supine. 
 His neck obliquely o'er his shoulder hung. 
 Pressed with the weight of sleep that tames the 
 
 strong! 
 There belch'd the mingled steams of wine and 
 
 blood. 
 And human fiesh, his indigested food. 
 Sudden I stir the embers, and inspire 
 With animating breath the seeds of fire; 
 Each drooping spirit with bold words repair. 
 And urge niy train the dreadful deed to dare. 
 The stake now glow'd beneath the burning bed 
 (Green as it was) and sparkled fiery red. 
 Then forth the vengeful instrument I bring; 
 With beating hearts my fellows form a ring. 
 Urg'd by some present god, they swift let fall 
 The pointed torment on his visual ball. 
 Myself above them from a rising ground 
 Guide the sharp stake, and twirl it round and 
 
 round. 
 As when a shipwright stands his workmen o'er, 
 Who ply the wimble, some huge beam to bore; 
 Urg'd on all hands it nimbly spins about, 
 The grain deep piercing till it scoops it out: 
 
HOMER. 
 
 23 
 
 In his broad eye so whirls the fiery wood ; 
 From the pierc'd pupil spouts the boiling blood; 
 Sipy'd are his brows; the scorching lids grow 
 
 black; 
 The jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack. 
 And as when arni'rers temper in the lord 
 The keeii-cdg'd jxile-axe, or the shining sword, 
 The red-hot metal hisses in the lake; 
 Thus in his eyeball hiss"d the plunging stake. 
 He sends a dreadful groan: the rocks around 
 Through all their inmost-winding caves resound. 
 Scar'd we receded. Forth, with frantic hand 
 He tore, and ilash'd on earth the gory brand: 
 Then calls the Cyclops, all that round him dwell, 
 With voice like thunder, and a direful yell. 
 From all their dens the one-eyed race rcjjair. 
 From rifted rocks, and mountains bleak in air. 
 All haste assembled, at his well-known roar, 
 Inquire the cause, and crowd the cavern door. 
 
 What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange 
 alfright 
 Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night? 
 Does any mortal, in th" unguarded hour 
 Of sleep, opi)ress thee, or by frauil or power? 
 Or thieves insidious the fair flock surprise? 
 Thus they : the Cyclop from his den replies : 
 
 Friends, Noman kills me; Noman in the hour 
 Of sleep, opi)resses me with fraudful power. 
 "If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine 
 Inflicts disease, it fits thee to resign : 
 To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray,'' 
 The brethren crieil, and instant strode away. 
 
 Joy touch'd my secret soul and conscious heart, 
 Pleas'd with th" etlect of conduct and of art. 
 Meantime the Cyclop, raging with his wound. 
 Spreads his wide arms, and searches round and 
 
 round : 
 At last, the stone removing from the gate, 
 With hands extended in the midst he sate ; 
 And search'd each passing sheep, and felt it o"er, 
 Secure to seize us ere w^e reach'd the door. 
 (Such as his shallow wit, he deem'd was mine) 
 But secret I revolv'd the deep design; 
 "Twas for our lives my lab'ring bosom wrought; 
 Each scheme I turn'd, and sharpen'd every 
 
 thought ; 
 This way and that, I cast to save my friends. 
 Till one resolve my varying counsel ends. 
 
 Strong were the rams, with native purple fair. 
 Well fed, and largest of the fleecy care. 
 These three and three, with osier bands we tied, 
 {The twining bands the Cyclop's bed supplied) 
 The midmost bore a man ; the outward two 
 Secur'd each side: so bound we all the crew. 
 One ram remain'd the leader of the flock ; 
 In his deep fleece my grasj)ing hands I lock, 
 And fast beneath, in woolly curls inwove, 
 There cling implicit, and confide in Jove. 
 Wlien rosy morning glimmeril o'er the dales, 
 He drove to pasture all the lusty males: 
 The ewes still folded, with distended thighs 
 Unmilk'd, lay bleating in distressfid cries. 
 But heedless of those cares, with anguish stmig, 
 He felt their fleeces as they pass'd along. 
 (Fool that he was) and let them safely go, 
 All unsuspecting of their freight below. 
 
 The master ram at last approach'd tlie gate, 
 Charg'd witl\ his wool, and with Ulysses' fate. 
 Him while he [)ast the monster blind bespoke: 
 What makes my ram the lag of all the Ihjck? 
 First thou wert wont to crop the flowery mead, 
 First to the field and river's bank to leail, 
 And first with stately stej) at evening hour 
 Thy fleecy fellows usher to their bower. 
 Now far the last, with jjcnsive pace and slow 
 Thou mov'st as conscious of thy master's wo! 
 Seest thou these lids that now unfold in vain? 
 (The deed of Noman and his wicked train.) 
 Oh! didst thou feel for thy afflicted lord. 
 And would but fate the power of speech afford; 
 Soon might'st thou tell me, where in secret here 
 The dastard lurks, all trembling with his fear: 
 Swung round and round, and dash'd from rock 
 
 to rock. 
 His batter'd brains should on the pavement 
 
 smoke. 
 No ease, no pleasure my sad heart receives, 
 While such a monster as vile Noman lives. 
 
 The giant spoke, and through die hollow rock 
 Dismiss'd the ram, the fatlier of the flock. 
 No sooner freed, and through th' enclosure pass'd, 
 First I release myself, my fellows last: 
 Fat sheep and goats in throngs we drive before, 
 And reach our vessel on the winding shore. 
 With joy the sailors view their friends return'd, 
 And hail us living whom as dead they moura'd. 
 Big tears of transport stand in every eye : 
 I cht^ck tlieir fondness, and command to fly. 
 Aboard in haste they heave the wealthy sheep, 
 And snatch their oars, and rush into the deep. 
 
 Now ofl" at sea, and from the shallows clear, 
 As far as human voice could reach the ear ; 
 With taunts the distant giant I accost, 
 Hear me, oh Cyclop ! hear ungracious host ! 
 'Twas on no coward, no ignoble slave. 
 Thou meditat'st thy meal in yonder cave; 
 But one, the vengeance fated from above 
 Doom'd to inflict; the instrument of Jove. 
 Tliy barb'rous breach of hospitable bands. 
 The god, the god revenges by my hanils. 
 
 Tliese words the Cyclops burning rage pro- 
 voke : 
 From the tall hill he rends a pointed rock; 
 High o'er the billows flew the massy load. 
 And near the ship came thund'ring on the flood. 
 It almost brush'd the helm, and fell before: 
 The whole sea shook, and refluent beat the shore. 
 The strong concussion on the heaving tide, 
 RoH'd back the vessel to die island's side: 
 Again I shoved her ofl'; our fate to fly, 
 Each nerve we stretch, and every oar we ply. 
 Just 'scaped impending death, wheii^now again 
 We twice as far had furrow'd back the main, 
 Once more I raise my voice : my friends afraid 
 With mild entreaties my design dissuade. 
 What boots the godless giant to provoke? 
 Whose arm may sink us at a single stroke. 
 Already, wlien the dreadful rock he threw. 
 Old ocean shook, and back his surges flew. 
 The sounding voice directs his aim again; 
 The rock o'erwhelms lis, and we 'scaped in 
 vain. 
 
24 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 But I, of mind elate, and scorning fear, 
 Thus Willi new tnunt:< insult the monster's car: 
 Cycloi)! if any, pitying thy disgrace. 
 Ask, who disligur"d thus that eyeless face? 
 Say 'twas Ulysses ; 'twas his deed, declare, 
 Laertes" son, of Ithaca the fair ; 
 Ulysses, far in lij,'hting lields renown'd. 
 Before whose arm Troy tumbled to the ground. 
 
 Th' asioiiish'd savage with a roar replies: 
 Oh heavens! oli faith of ancient prophecies! 
 This, Telemus Eurymides foretold,* 
 (The mighty seer who on these hills grew old; 
 i^kill'd the dark fates of mortals to declare, 
 And learn'd in all wing'd omens of the air) 
 Long since he menac'd,such was fate's command ; 
 And nam'd Ulysses as the destin'd hand. 
 I deem'd some godlike giant to behold. 
 Or lofty hero, haughty, brave, and bold ; 
 Not this weak pigmy-wretch, of mean design. 
 Who not by strength subdued me, but by wine. 
 But come, accept our gifts, and join to pray 
 Great Neptune' blessing on the wat'ry way: 
 For his I am, and I the lineage own ; 
 Th' immortal father no less boasts the son. 
 His power can heal me, and religlit my eye ; 
 And only his, of all the gods on high. 
 
 Oh! could this arm (I thus aloud rejoiii'd) 
 From that vast bulk dislodge thy bloody mind. 
 And send thee howling to the realms of night! 
 As sure, as Neptune cannot give thee sight. 
 
 Thus I : while raging he repeats his cries, 
 With hands uplifted to the starry slyies. 
 Hear me, oh Neptune ! thou whose arms are 
 
 hurl'd 
 From shore to shore, and gird the solid world. 
 If tiiine I am, nor thou my birth disown, 
 And if th" unhappy Cyclop be thy son ; 
 Let not Ulysses breathe his native air, 
 Laertes' son, of Ithaca the fair. 
 If to review his country be his fate. 
 Be it through toils and sutl" rings, long and late. 
 His lost companions let him first deplore; 
 Some vessel, not his own, transport him o'er ; 
 And when at home from foreign su!f rings freed. 
 More near and deep, domestic woes succeed ! 
 
 With imprecations thus he fill'd the air, 
 And angry Neptune heard tlr unrighteous prayer. 
 A larger rock then heaving from the plain, 
 He whirled it round: it sung across the main: 
 It fell, and brush'd the stern: the billows roar. 
 Shake at the weight, and refluent beat the shore. 
 With all our force we kept aloof to sea, 
 And gain'd the island where our vessels lay. 
 Our sight the whole collected navy cheer'd. 
 Who waiting long, by turns had hop'd and fear'd, 
 There disembarking on the green seaside, 
 We land Buy cattle, and the spoil divide : 
 Of these due shares to every sailor fall; 
 The master ram was voted mine by all: 
 And him (the guardian of Ulysses' fate,) 
 With pious mind to heaven I consecrate. 
 
 + This incident sufficiently shows the use of that (iis- 
 siinuliUinn which enters into the character of Ulysses : 
 if he had discovered his name, the Cyclops had destroyed 
 him as his most dangerous enemy. 
 
 But the great god, whose thunder rends the skies. 
 Averse, beholils the smoking sacrifice ; 
 And sees me wand'ring still from coast to coast; 
 And all my vessels, all my people, lost! 
 
 While thoughtless we indulge the genial rite, 
 As plenteous cates aiul flowing bowls invite; 
 Till evening Phffibus roU'd away the light: 
 Stretch'd on the shore in careless ease we rest. 
 Till ruddy morning purpled o'er the east. 
 Then froin their anchors all our ships unbind. 
 And mount the decks, and call die willing wind. 
 Now rang'd in order on our banks, we sweep 
 With hasty strokes the hoarse-resounding deep ; 
 Blind to the future, pensive widi our fears, 
 Glad for the living, for the dead in tears. 
 
 Book XI. 
 
 KIIOM ULVSSES' NAURATION OF HIS DESCENT INTO 
 UKLL. 
 
 Thus in a tide of tears our sorrows flow, 
 And add new horror to the realms of woe ; 
 Till, side by side, along the weary coast, 
 Advanc'd Achilles' and Patroclus' ghost, 
 A friendly pair ! near these the Pylian* stray'd, 
 And tov\'ering Ajax, an illustrious shade ! 
 War was his joy, and pleas'd with loud alarms. 
 None but Pelides brighter shone in arms. 
 
 Through the thick gloom his friend Achilles 
 knew. 
 And, as he speaks, the tears descend in dew. 
 '•Com'st thou alive to view the Stygian boutKls, 
 Where the wan spectres walk eternal rounds ; 
 Nor fear'st the dark and dismal waste to tread, 
 Throng'd with pale ghosts, familiar with the 
 dead T' 
 
 To whom with sighs: "I pass these dreadful 
 gates 
 To seek the Theban,f and consult the fates: 
 For still distress'd I rove from coast to coast, 
 Lost to my friends, and to my country lost. 
 But sure the eye of time beholds no name 
 So blest as thine in all the rolls of fame : 
 Alive we hail'd thee with our guardian gods. 
 And dead, thou rul'st a king in these abodes." 
 
 "Talk not of ruling in this dolorous gloom. 
 Nor think vain words'' (he cried) "can ease my 
 
 doom. 
 Rather I choose laboriously to boar 
 A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air, 
 A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread. 
 Than reign the scepter'd monarch of the dead.'t 
 
 ******* 
 
 Now, without number, ghost by ghost arose, 
 All wading with uimtterable woes. 
 Alone, apart, i.i discontented mood, 
 A gloomy shade, the sullen Ajax stood ; 
 
 * Antilochus. t Tiresias. 
 
 t Contrast this l'Ioomiv picture with that of tlie Elysian 
 plain in the fourth book : — 
 Thee to the Elysian plain, earth's farthest end, 
 Where Khadainanthus dwells, the gods shall send; 
 Where mortals easiest pass the careless hour; 
 No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower; 
 But ocean ever, to refresh mankind. 
 Breathes the slirill spirit of the western wind. 
 
 ^. Moore. 
 
HOMER. 
 
 25 
 
 For ever sad, with proud disdain he pin'd, 
 And the lost arms for ever stung his mind ; 
 T1k)U!.'1i to the contest Thetis tinve the laws, 
 And Pallas, by the Trojans, jiidg'd the cause. 
 () wliy was I victorious in the stril'e ? 
 dear-bought honour with so brave a life ! 
 With him the strength of war, the soldier's pride. 
 Our second hope the great Achilles died. 
 Touch'd at the sight, I scarce my tears repress'd, 
 And thus, with soothing words, the ghost ad- 
 
 dress'd : 
 '• Still burns thy rage t And can brave souls 
 
 resent 
 E"en after tloath? Relent, great shade, relent! 
 Perish those arms, which, by the gods' decree, 
 Accurs'd our army with the loss of thee ! 
 With thee we fell ; Greece wept thy hapless 
 
 fates. 
 And shook, astonish'd, through her hundred states. 
 O deem thy fall not owed to man's decree ; 
 Jove hated Greece, and punish'd Greece in thee! 
 Turn then, oh peaceful turn, thy wrath control. 
 And calm the raging tempest of thy soul." 
 
 While yet I speak, the shade disdains to stay, 
 In silence turns, and sullen stalks away. 
 
 Touch'd at his sour retreat, through deepest 
 
 night, 
 Through hell's black bounds, I had pursued his 
 
 flight. 
 And forc'd the stubborn spectre to reply; 
 But other visions drew my curious eye. 
 High on a throne, tremeridous to behold. 
 Stern Minos waves a mace of burnish'd gold ; 
 Around ten thousand thousand spectres stand. 
 Through the wide dome of Dis, a trendjling 
 
 band; 
 Whilst, as they plead, the fatal lots he rolls, 
 Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls. 
 
 There huge Orion, of portentous size. 
 Swift through the gloom, a giant-hunter, flies. 
 A ponderous mace of brass, with direful sway, 
 Aloft he whirls, to crush his savage prey; 
 Stern beasts, in trains, that by his truncheon fell. 
 Now grisly forms, shoot o'er the lawns of hell. 
 There Tityus large and long, in fetters bound, 
 O'erspreads nine acres of infernal ground ; 
 Two ravenous vidtures, furious for their food, 
 Scream o'er the fiend, and riot in his blood. 
 Incessant gore the liver in his breast, 
 Th" immortal liver grows, and gives th' immortal 
 
 feast. 
 For as o'er Panope's enamell'd plains 
 Latona journey'd to the Pythian fanes. 
 With haughty love th' audacious monster strove 
 To force the goddess, and to rival Jove. 
 
 There Tantalus along the Stygian bounds 
 Pours out deep groans; (with groans all hell re- 
 sounds) 
 Even in the circling flood refreshment craves, 
 And pines with thirst amidst a sea of waves: 
 When to the water he his Mf> applies, 
 Back from his lip the treach'rous water flies. 
 Above, beneath, around his hapless head. 
 Trees of all kinds delicious fruitage sprea<l ; 
 There figs sky-dyed, a purple hue disclose, 
 Green looks the olive, the pomegranate glows, 
 4 
 
 There dangling pears exalted scents unfold, 
 And yellow apples ripen into gold; 
 The i'luit he strives to seize : but blasts arise, 
 Toss it on higii, and wiiirl it to the skies. 
 
 I turn'd my eye, and as I turn'd survcy'd 
 A mournlid vision I the .'^isypl.ian shade; 
 With niaii}^ a weary step, and many a groan, 
 Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; 
 The huge roimd stone, resulting with a bound, 
 Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along 
 
 till! ground. 
 Again tlie restless orb his toil renews. 
 Dust mounts in clouds, and sweat descends in 
 dews. 
 Now I the strengdi of Hercules behold, 
 A towering spectre of gigantic mould, 
 A shadowy form ! for high in heaven's abodes 
 Himself resides, a god among the gods; 
 There in the bright assemblies of the skies, 
 The nectar quail's, and Hebe crowns his joys. 
 Here hovering ghosts, like fowl, his shade sur- 
 round. 
 And clang their pinions with terrific sound; 
 (Jioomy as night he stands, in act to throw 
 Th' aerial arrow from the twanging bow. 
 Around his breast a wondrous zone is roll'd. 
 Where woodland monsters grin in fretted gold; 
 There sullen lions sternly seem to roar. 
 The bear to growl, to foam the tusky boar, 
 Tliere war and havoc and destruction stood, 
 And vengeful murder red with human blood. 
 Thus terribly adorn'd the figures shine, 
 Inimitably wrought with skill divine. 
 The mighty ghost advanc'd with awful look, 
 And turning his grim visage, sternly spoke. 
 
 "0 exerci.>'d in grief! by arts relin'd! 
 taught to boar the wrongs of base mankind ; 
 Such, such was I ! still toss d from care to care, 
 While in your world I drew the vital air ; 
 Even I who from the lord of thunders rose. 
 Bore toils and dangers, and a weight of woes ; 
 To a base monarch still a slave confin'd, 
 (The hardest bondage to a gen'rous mind !\ 
 i)own to these worlds I trod the dismal way, 
 And dragg'd the three-inouth'd dog to upper 
 
 day; 
 Even hell I conquerd, through the friendly aid 
 Ol' Maia's otfspring and the martial maid.'' 
 
 Thus he, nor deign'd for our rei)ly to stay. 
 But turning stalk'd with giant strides away. 
 Curious to view the kings of ancient days, 
 The mighty dead that live in endless praise, 
 Resolvd I stand; and haply had survey d 
 The godlike Tlieseus, and I'erithous' shade; 
 But swarms of spectres rose from deepest liell, 
 With bloodless visage, and with hideous yell, 
 They scream, they shriek ; sad groans and dismal 
 
 sounds 
 Stun my scar'd ears, and pierce hell's utmost 
 
 bounds. 
 No more my heart the dismal din sustains. 
 And my cold blood hangs shivering in my veins ; 
 Lest Gorgon ri.-ing from ill' infernal lakes, 
 With horrors arm'il, and curls of hissing snakes, 
 Should fix me, stitfen'd at the monstrous sight, 
 A stony image, in eternal night! 
 C 
 
26 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 Book XVII. 
 
 THE DOS ARGUS. 
 
 Thus, near the Rates, conferring as they drew, 
 Argiis, the (]o\i. his ancient master knew; 
 He, not unconscious of the voice, and tread, 
 Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head; 
 Bred by Ulysses, nourish'd at his board. 
 But all! not fated long to please his lord! 
 To him his swiftness and his strength were 
 
 vain; 
 The voice of glory call'd him o'er the main. 
 Till then, in every sylvan chase renown'd, 
 With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around ; 
 With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn, 
 Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn. 
 Now left to man's ingratitude, he lay 
 Unhoused, neglected, in the public way; 
 And where on heaps the rich manure was 
 
 spread. 
 Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed. 
 
 He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to 
 
 meet; 
 In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet; 
 Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul; 
 Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole, 
 Stole unperceiv'd; he turn'd his head, and 
 
 dried 
 The drop humane, and thus impassion'd cried ; 
 " What noble beast, in tliis al>andon'd state, 
 Lies here all-helpless at Ulysses' gate? 
 His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise ; 
 If, as he seems, he was in better days. 
 Some care his age deserves: or was he priz'd 
 For worthless beauty? therefore now despis'd! 
 Such dogs, and men, there are, mere things of 
 
 state, 
 And always cherish'd by their friends, the great." 
 
 " Not Argus so," (Eumjens thus rejoin'd) 
 " But serv'd a master of a nobler kind. 
 Who never, never shall behold him more! 
 Long, long since perish'd on a distant shore ! 
 Oh, had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and 
 
 young. 
 Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong; 
 Him no fell savage on the plain withstood. 
 None 'scap'd him, bosom'd in the gloomy wood ; 
 His eye how piercing, and his scent how true. 
 To winde the vapour in the tainted dew ! 
 Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast. 
 Now years unnerve him and his lord is lost! 
 The women keep the generous creature bare, 
 A sleek and idle race is all their care: 
 The master gone, the servants what restrains? 
 Or dwells Humanity where Riot reigns? 
 Jove fix'd it certain that whatever day 
 JMakes man a slave, takes half his worth away." 
 
 This said, the honest herdsman strode before: 
 The musing monarch pauses at the door : 
 The Dog, whom Fate had granted to behold 
 His Lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd. 
 Takes a last look, and, — having seen him, — dies: 
 — So closed for ever faidiful Argus' eyes! 
 
 Book XIX. 
 
 PENELOPE LAMENTING THE ABSENCE OF HER 
 HUSBAND. 
 
 As wlien the months are clad in flowery green, 
 Sad Philoniol, in bowery shades, unseen. 
 To vernal airs attunes her varied strains; 
 And Itylus sounds warbling o'er the plains: 
 Young Itylus, his parents' darling joy! 
 Whom chance misled the mother to destroy: 
 Now doom'd a wakeful bird to wail the beaute- 
 ous boy — 
 So, in nocturnal solitude forlorn, 
 A sad variety of woes I mourn. 
 
 THE HOMERIC HYMNS. 
 
 The Homeric Hymns have been considered 
 by almost all modern critics — with the eminent 
 exception of Hermann — as the productions of an 
 age subsequent to that of Homer. Nevertheless 
 it is certain that they are of very high antiquity, 
 and were attributed to Homer by the ancients 
 with almost as much confidence as the Iliad and 
 Odyssey themselves. Thucydides, Diodorus Sicu- 
 lus, Pausanias, and many other old authors cite 
 different verses from these Hymns, and treat 
 them in every respect as genuine Homeric re- 
 mains. Nor is it improbable that some of them, 
 if not actually the works of Homer or of his age, 
 yield only to them in remoteness of date. — See 
 H. N. Coleridge's Introduction to Homer. 
 
 HYMN TO MERCUHT. 
 
 "The Hymn to Mercury," (says Mr. Coleridge,) 
 "is one of the most diverting poems in the Greek 
 literature. It is pre-eminently humorous in the 
 best sense of the word, and therefore essentially 
 different from the wit and comic license of Aris- 
 tophanes. This hymn is perfectly regular and 
 CO inected throughout, and tells the whole story 
 of Mercury's famous felony on the oxen of Apollo, 
 the altercation of the two gods, their reference to 
 Jupiter, and final compromise. That it should 
 be honourable to a deity to be celebrated for such 
 thieving and such ineffable lying as Mercury 
 here plays off against the sagacious and truth- 
 loving Apollo, is a very curious characteristic of 
 the popular religion of the Greeks; and, inoleed, 
 the matter is so managed by the poet, that 
 most readers get fonder of this little born-rogue 
 t'lan of any other of the ancient dwellers on 
 Olympus. 
 
 In this hymn Hermes is gifted with the cliar- 
 acter of a perfect Spanish Picaro, a sort of Laza- 
 rillo de Tormes amongst the gods, stealing their 
 goods, playing them tricks, and telling such enor- 
 mous, such immortal, lies to screen himself from 
 detection, that certainly no human thief could 
 ever have the vanity to think of rivalling them 
 on earth. 
 
 Mercury was the son of Jupiter and Maia, and 
 was born in a cave about day-bieak; by noon he 
 
HOMER. 
 
 27 
 
 had made a lyre out of the sliell of a tortoise 
 wliich he cauj;ht crawling at the entrance of tlie 
 cavern, and had learnt to i)lay npon it; and that 
 same evening he stole and drove away a matter 
 cjflifty cows belonging to A])ollo and giazii'g on 
 the Pierian hills. The description of the ancient 
 lyre in this hymn, has l)ecn followed by almost 
 all writers in mentioning the subject: — 
 
 And through tlie stone-sheird tortoise's strong 
 
 skin, 
 At proper distances small holes lie made. 
 And fasten'd the cut stems of reeds within, 
 And with a piece of leather overlaid 
 The open space, and fixed the cubits in. 
 Fitting the bridge to both, and stretched o'er all 
 Syinphonious chords of sheep-gut rythmical. 
 
 When he had wrought the lovely instrument, 
 He tried the chords, and made division meet. 
 Preluding with the plectrum, and there went 
 Up from beneath his hand a tunmit sweet 
 Of mighty sounds, and from his lips he sent 
 A strain of luiprcmeditated wit 
 Joyous, and wild, and wanton — such yon may 
 Hear among revellers on a holiday, &c. &c. 
 
 As to the cows, he makes them walk back- 
 ward and docs so himself, taking the additional 
 {irecaution of throwing away his sandals and 
 wrapping up his feet in the leafy twigs of shrubs. 
 He nu'ets one old labouring man, and recommends 
 him to be blind and deaf to present oljjects, or he 
 may sufier for it. When he comes to the Al- 
 plu'us, he turns the cows into a meadow to feed, 
 and kills and dresses two of them ; and after ex- 
 tinguishing the fire, he creeps about the dawn 
 into his cradle again. The whole description is 
 very graphic and spirited. 
 
 He drove them wandering o'er the sandy 
 
 way. 
 But, being ever mindful of his craft. 
 Backward and forward drove he them astray, 
 So that the tracks, which seemed before, went 
 
 aft: 
 His sandals then he threw to the ocean spray, 
 And for each foot he wrought a kind of raft 
 Of tamarisk, and tamarisk-like sprigs. 
 And bound them in a lump with withy twigs, 
 And on his feet he tied these sandals light, 
 The trail of whose wide leaves might not 
 
 betray 
 His track; and then, a self-sufficing wight. 
 Like a man hastening on some distant way. 
 He from Pieria's momitain bent liis flight; 
 But an old man perceived the infant pass 
 Down green Orchestus, heaped like beds with 
 
 grass. 
 The old man stood dressing his sunny vine: 
 "Halloo! old fellow with the crooked shoulder! 
 You grub those stumps ! Before they will bear 
 
 wine 
 3Ietliinks even you must grow a little older: 
 Attend, I pray, to this atlvice of mine. 
 As you would 'scape what miglit appal a 
 
 bolder — 
 
 Seeing, see not — and hearing, hear not — and — 
 If you have understanding — understand." 
 • ••••••• 
 
 All night he worked in the serene moonshine; 
 But when the light of day was spread abroad, 
 He sought his natal mountain peaks divine. 
 On his long wandering, neitlier man nor grnl 
 Had met him, since he killed AjjoIIo's kine, 
 Nor had a house-dog barked upon his road, 
 Now he obliquely through the key-hole pass'd 
 Like a thin mist, or an autumnal blast. 
 Right through the temple of the spacious cave 
 He went with soft light feet — as if his tread 
 Fell not on earth — no .sound their falling gave; 
 Then to his cradle he crept quick, and spread 
 The swaddling clothes al)Out him and the knave 
 Lay playing with the covering of his bed 
 With his right hand about his knees — the left 
 Held his beloved lyre. 
 
 His mother stispocts him of some roguish ad- 
 venture, and jjredicts that Apollo will discover 
 and punish him severely; to all which expostu- 
 lation he answers that he is determined to pro- 
 vide, by a due exercise of his taliMits, for tlie 
 comfortable maintenance of his mother and him- 
 self; and as for Ai>ollo, if lie should make any 
 disturbance about the cows, Mercury declares he 
 will immediately go and commit a burglary on 
 the Pythian temple, and steal twice the value in 
 tripods, and robes, and gold ; and adds, that his 
 mother iriight come and see him do it if she liked. 
 
 Meantime Apollo goes about in search of his 
 cattle, and meeting with the old labouring man, 
 says, 
 
 " The author of this theft 
 
 Has stolen the fatted heifers every one ; 
 
 But the four dogs and the black bull are left: — 
 
 Stolen last night they were at set of sun." 
 
 He then, by inquiries and helj) of auguries, 
 discovers that his brother of the half blood is the 
 thief. He flies to Cyllene, though he is some- 
 thing puzzled by the extraordinary foot-marks in 
 the sand at Pylos, and enters the cave. ^Mercury 
 rolls himself up into a little ball, puts his head 
 under the clothes, and pretends to be asleep. 
 However, Apollo, after searching every hole and 
 corner in the cave, and looking into Maia's ward- 
 robe and store-room, lights upon our little friend. 
 
 Where like an infant who had su<-ked his fill, 
 And now was newly washeil, and put to bed, 
 Awake, but courting slee|) with weary will, 
 And gathered in a lump, hands, feet, and head, 
 He lay. 
 
 Apollo taxes him with the theft, saying, 
 
 "Little cradled rogue declare 
 
 Of my illustrious heifers — where they are! 
 
 Speaic quickly! or » quarrel straight twixt us 
 
 Must rise; and the event will be that I 
 
 Shall hurl you into <lismal Tartarus, 
 
 In fiery gloom to dwell eternally: 
 
 Nor shall your father, nor your mother loose 
 
28 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 The bars of that black dungeon — utterly 
 You shall be cast out from the lij^ht of day 
 To rule the ghosts of men — unblest as tliey !" 
 
 To whom thus Hermes slily answered: — "Son 
 Of great Latona, what a speech is this! 
 Why come you here to ask me what is done 
 Witli the wild oxen which it seems you miss? 
 I have not seen them, nor from any one 
 Have heard a word of the whole business; 
 If you should promise an immense reward, 
 I could not tell more than you now have heard. 
 An ox-stealer should be both tall and strong, 
 And I am but a little new-born thing, 
 Who, yet at least, can think of nothing wrong: 
 IMy bn.-iness is to suck, and sleep, and fling 
 Tlie cradle clothes about me all day long, 
 Or, half asleep, hear my sweet mother sing, 
 And to be washed in water clear and warm, 
 And hushed, and kissed, and kept secure from 
 harm. 
 
 ! let not e'er this quarrel be averred ! 
 
 Th' astounded gods would laugh at you if e'er 
 You should allege a story so absurd. 
 As that a new-born infant forth could fare 
 Out of his house after a savage herd ! 
 
 1 was born yesterday ; my small feet are 
 Too tender for the roads so hard and rough ; 
 And if you think that this is not enough, 
 
 I swear a great oath, by my father's head. 
 That I stole not your cows, and that I know 
 Of no one else who might, or could, or ditl ; 
 Whatever things cows are, I do not know, 
 For I have oniy heard the name."' This said. 
 He winked as fast as could be, and his brow 
 Was wrinkled, and a whistle loud gave he, 
 Like one who hears some strange absurdity. 
 AjjoUo gently smiled and said: — "Aye, aye, — 
 You cunning little rascal, you will bore 
 Many a rich man's house, and your array 
 Of thieves will lay their siege before his door 
 Silent as night, in night; and many a day 
 In the wild glens rough shepherds will deplore 
 That you or yours, having an appetite. 
 Met with their cattle, comrade of the night! 
 And this among the gods shall be your gift, 
 To be considered as the lord of those 
 Who swindle, house-break, sheep-steal, and shop- 
 lift. 
 But now if you would not your last sleep doze. 
 Crawl oat !" — Thus saying, Phcebus did uplift 
 The subtle infant in his swaddling clothes, 
 And in his arms, according to his wont, 
 A scheme devised the illustrious Argiphont, 
 And sneezed and shuddered — Pha;bus on the 
 
 grass 
 Him threw, and whilst all that he ha I designed 
 He did perform — eager although to pass, 
 Apollo darted from his mighty mind 
 Towards the subtle babe the following scoff: 
 "Do not imagine this wid get you off. 
 You little swaddled child of Jove and May!" 
 And seized him : — ''By this omen I shall trace 
 My noble herds, and you shall lead the way." 
 Cyllenian Hermes from the grassy place, 
 Like one in earnest haste to get away, 
 Rose, and with hands lifted towards his face. 
 
 Round both his ears, up from his shoulders drew 
 His swadilling clothes, and — "What mean you 
 
 to do 
 With me, you unkind god?" said Mercury: 
 "Is it about these cows you tease me so? 
 I wish the race of cows were perished. — I 
 Stole not your cows — I do not even know 
 What things cows are." 
 
 They both go to Olympus, where Apollo lays 
 his complaint before Jupiter, and where Mercury 
 makes the following defence: — 
 
 "Great Father! you know clearly beforehand, 
 That all which I shall say to you is soothe; 
 I am a most veracious [lerson, and 
 Totally unacquainted with untruth. 
 At sun-rise Phcebus came, but with no band 
 Of gods to bear him witness, in great ruth. 
 To my abode, seeking liis heifers there. 
 And saying I must show him where they are, — 
 Or he would hurl me down the dark abyss ! 
 I know that every Apollonian limb 
 Is clothed with speed, and might, and manliness. 
 As a green bank with flowers : but unlike him, 
 I was born yesterday, and you may guess 
 He well knew this, when he indulged the whim 
 Of bullying a poor little new-born thing 
 That slept, and never thought of cow-driving. 
 Am I like a strong fellow that steals kine ? 
 Believe me, dearest father! (such you are) 
 This driving of the herds is none of mine; 
 Across my threshold did I wander ne'er, 
 So may I thrive! I reverence the divine 
 Sun arul the gods, and I love you, and care 
 Even for this hard accuser, who must know 
 I am as innocent as they or you ! 
 I swear by these most gloriously-wrought portals, 
 (It is, you will allow, an oath of might !] 
 Through which the multitude of the immortals 
 Pass and repass for ever, day and night. 
 Devising schemes for the aflairs of worlds — 
 That I am guiltless; and I will requite, 
 Although my enemy be great and strong, 
 tlis cruel threat! Do thou defend the young!" 
 
 Mercury accompanies this speech with divers 
 Vk^nkings of the eye, and nods of the head to 
 Jupiter, to let him know the exact state of the 
 case. The end is, that Jove bursts into a violent 
 lit of laughter, at hearing the roguish child "give 
 such a plausible account, arul every word a lie ;" 
 but intimates by a sign to Hermes, that he has 
 done enough to establish his reputation, and that 
 it is time he should now really discover the 
 truth. Mercury obeys, leads Apollo to the place 
 where the cows were concealed, and gratiiies 
 him with the gift of the lyre. Apollo is trans- 
 ported wnth delight at the possession of this in- 
 strument, and thereupon they swear eternal 
 friendship. 
 
 HYMN TO TENUS. 
 
 "Br far the most beautiful of the Homeric 
 Hymns, (says Mr. Coleridge) — indeed for its 
 length equal in beauty to any part of the Homeric 
 poems — is the Hymn to Venus. No poet ever 
 
HOMER. 
 
 29 
 
 surpassed the richness and elegance, the warmth 
 and delicacy, the dignity and tenderness of this 
 exquisite composition. It has always seemed to 
 me to be conctnved in an older and more Homeric 
 .•-pirit than any of the other Hymns; and it is re- 
 inarUaljle for being founded entirely on the lo\-es 
 oC Wmuis and Anchises, and for containing a 
 r('[U'tition of the proi)hec'y of the Iliad, that ^rieas 
 and his jiostiMity should rci'^n over Troy. It is, 
 indeed, quite Trojan ill its subject and sentiments, 
 and there is one passage in it, by which we 
 learn that the Phrygians spoke a language en- 
 tirely ditlcrent from the Trojans, and by which 
 may infer that the Trojans, as has often been 
 conjectured, were Greeks in speech and blood, 
 as they certainly were in religion. Lucrtnius 
 seems to have borrowed the thought of his fa- 
 mous invocation of Venus from the opening lines 
 of the Hymn. The following passage is by no 
 means the most poetical in the poem ; and yet I 
 think few persons can read it, without feeling its 
 genuine beauty. It is where Venus, having won 
 the heart of Anchises in the form of a Sylvan 
 maid, now appears to him in her own proper 
 character. 
 
 'Anchises, wake; 
 
 Thy fond repose and lethargy forsake ! 
 Look on the nymph who late from Phrygia came. 
 Behold me well — say if I seem the same!' 
 At her first call the chains of sleep were broke, 
 And, starting from his bed, Anchises woke: 
 But when he Venus view'd withor.t disguise, 
 Her shining neck beheld, and radiant eyes, — 
 Awed and abash'd, he turn'd his head aside, 
 Attempting with his robe his face to hide. 
 Confus'd with wonder, and v/ith fear oppress'd. 
 In winged words he thus the queen address'd: 
 
 "When first, goddess! I thy form beheld, 
 Whose charms so far hnmanity excell'd. 
 To thy celestial power my vows I paid, 
 And with humility implor'd thy aid. • 
 
 But thou, for secret cause to me unknown, 
 Didst thy divine immortal state disown. 
 But now, I beg thee, by the filial love 
 Due to thy lather, ;rgis-bearing Jove, 
 Compassion on my human state to show, 
 Nor let me lead a life infirm beiow ! 
 Defend me from the woes that moi'tals wait. 
 Nor let me share of men the common fate ! 
 Since never man with length of days was bless'd, 
 Who in delights of love a deity possess'd.'' 
 
 To him Jove's beauteous daughter thus replied : 
 "Be bold, Anchises! in my love confide; 
 Nor me, nor other god, thou need'st to fear, 
 For thou to all the heavenly host are dear. 
 Know, from our love, thou shalt a son obtain, 
 Who over the proud realm of Troy shall reign; 
 From whom a race of monarchs shall descend, 
 And whose posterity shall know no end : 
 To him thou shalt the name ilMieas give. 
 As one, for whose conception I must grieve !" 
 
 " After telling the story of Tithonus, Venus goes 
 on in a strain of real human alfection for An- 
 chises : — 
 
 "On terms like these, I never can tlesire 
 Thou should'st to immortality aspire. 
 Could'st thou, indeed, as now thou art, remain — 
 Thy strength, thy beauty, and thy youth retain; 
 Could'st thou for ever thus my husband prove, 
 I might live happy in thy endless love ; 
 Nor should I e'er have cause to dreail the day, 
 Wheir I must mourn thy loss and life's decay: 
 But thou, alas! too soon and sure nnist bend. 
 Beneath the woes which painful age attend ; 
 Inexorable age ! whose wretched state 
 All mortals dread, and all immortals hate!" 
 
 "In no Greek or Latin classical poem, that I 
 remember, is Venus represented with such con- 
 summate dignity, tenderness and passion, as in 
 this Hymn; and in this particular it certainly 
 dilfers a great deal from the more popular ci>n- 
 ception of the goddess of love in the Iliad. l)if- 
 ficult as the story was to tell, it is told with un- 
 broken decorum, and constitutes a striking ex- 
 ample of that intuitive pro])riety of manner and 
 words, in the display of which the Greek i)Outs 
 set all others at defiance." 
 
 IIVMX TO CEIIKS. 
 
 "The manuscript of the Hymn to Ceres, which, 
 in some parts, is in a very fragmentary state, \\ as 
 discovered in the last century by C. F. Matha i. 
 in the library of the Holy i^'ynod at Mo.scow, and 
 communicated by him, together with a few lines 
 in a lost Hymn to Bacchus, to Davi<l Ruhnken, a 
 professor at the University of Leydeii, by whom 
 it was published. There has been much di versity 
 of opinion concerning the genuineness of this 
 poem, or I should rather say, its identity with 
 the Homeric Hymn to Ceres, which is so often 
 quoted by Pausanias. Now, without absolutely 
 allowing this, we may consiler the poem in t!ie 
 same point of view, as we do tlie other hymns 
 commonly attriinited to Homer; and though it is 
 not .equal in vigour and beauty to the hynms be- 
 fore mentioned, it is still a very lively and pictur- 
 esque poem, smooth and fiowing in its language, 
 and curious and peculiar in some of its incidents. 
 
 " The story is, that Pluto being enamoured of 
 Proserpine, the daughter of Ceres, carries her oA' 
 secretly, with the connivance and the aid of Ju- 
 piter. Ceres wanders over the earth with blaz- 
 ing torches, in search of Proserpine. Having 
 learneil from Hecate of the sun, that the maiden 
 had been carried away by Pluto, she assumes 
 the shape of a woman, goes to Eleusis, and is in- 
 troduced into he house of Celeus, the king, by 
 his daughters, whom she had met at a fountain, 
 whc:ro they had g(jne with their [)iti-liers to fetcli 
 water. — Meantime, she has blasted tlie earth 
 with sterility, and Jupiter semis rei)cate I mes- 
 sages to induce her to remit her anger and return 
 to Olympus; she, however, refuses all reconcilia- 
 tion, till Jupiter despatches Mercury to Iliides to 
 order Pluto to give up Proseri)ine. Pluto obeys, 
 but gives her a pomegranate seed to eat, and the 
 conclusion is, that Ceres is pacified upon an un- 
 derstanding that Proserjiine is to pass two-ihirds 
 c2 
 
30 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 of the year with her, and the remaining third 
 only \y'n\\ hor husliand.* 
 
 The poet says that Pluto seized her, whilst — 
 
 In Nysia's vale, with nymphs a lovely train 
 Spnirp from the lionry father of the main, 
 Fair Proserjjine consum'd the fleeting hours, 
 In pleajiing sports and plucking gaudy flowers.f 
 Aroinid them wide the flaming crocus glows. 
 Through leaves of verdure blooms the opening 
 
 rose ; 
 The hyacinth declines his fragrant head, 
 And purple violets deck the enamelTd mead; 
 The fair Narcissus, far above the rest, 
 By magic form'd, in beauty rose confest. 
 So Jove to insure the virgin's thoughtless mind, 
 And please the Ruler of the Shades designd, 
 He causVl it from the opening earth to rise, 
 Sweet to the scent, alluring to the eyes. 
 Never did mortal or celestial power 
 Behold such vivid tints adorn a flower; 
 From the deep root a hundred branches sprung, 
 And to the winds ambrosial odours flung. 
 Which, lightly wafted on the wings of air. 
 The gladden'd earth and heaven's wide circuit 
 
 share ; 
 The joj'-dispensing fragrance spreads around, 
 And Ocean's briny swell with smiles is crown'd. 
 
 Pleased with the sight, nor deeming danger 
 nigh, 
 The fair beheld it with desiring eye ; 
 Her eager hand she stretch "d to seize the flower, 
 (Beauteous illusion of the ethereal power!) 
 When, dreadful to behold! the rocking ground 
 Disparted — wiilely yawn'd a gvdf profound! 
 Forth rushing from the Ij'ack abyss arose 
 The gloomy monarcli of the reahn of woes, 
 Pluto, from Saturn sprung; — the trembling maid 
 He seized, and to his golden car convey'd ; 
 Borne by immortal steeds the chariot flies, &c. 
 
 In the fictitious account which Ceres gave of 
 herself to the daughters of Celeus, she said that 
 she had come over the sea from Crete : ard it is 
 worth remarking, (continues Mr. Coleridge,) that 
 thrice, in the Odyssey, Ulysses, when fabricating 
 a history of his birth and parentage, declares he 
 
 ♦ Preface to Hole's translation of the Hymn to Ceres. 
 
 t gathering flowers. 
 
 Herself, a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis 
 Was gathered. — jMilton. 
 
 was born in Crete. This brings the Kp^rrj dti 
 ^fviTfot — "the Cretans are always liars, " of Epi- 
 meiiides, quoted by St. Paul, (Titus i. 12,) to our 
 recoUectio!!, and may induce us to believe that 
 Cretan mendacity was of so ancient a date as to 
 have become a subject of satirical allusion even 
 in the time of Homer. 
 
 The change in the person of Ceres, when over- 
 looked by Metanira, the wife of Celeus, (whose 
 child she had nursed in her disguise,) and the 
 eflects of the manifestation of her divinity, are 
 told in the following fine lines: — 
 
 This said ; the front of age, so late assum'd, 
 Dissolv'd; — her face with charms celestial 
 
 bloom'd; 
 The sacred vesture, that around her flew. 
 Through the wide air ambrosial odour threw; 
 Her lovely form with sudden radiance glow'd ; 
 Her golden locks in wreaths of splendour flow'd; 
 Through the dark palace stream'd a flood of light. 
 As cloud-engender'd fires illume the night 
 With sudden blaze ; — then, swiftly from their 
 
 view, 
 Urg'd by indignant rage the goddess flew. 
 
 In Metaiiira's breast amazement reign'd; 
 Silent she stood, nor long her knees sustain'd 
 Their totteringweight; she sunk in grief profound; 
 Her child neglected, slurieking on the ground, 
 Beside her lay 
 
 When Proserpine is about to leave Pluto for 
 the upper world, he gives her, as before men- 
 tioned, or rather forces her, to eat a poniegranate 
 seed, thereby, as Ovid says, to preclude her from 
 availing herself of his promise that he would re- 
 store her to her mother, provided she (Proser- 
 pine) had eaten nothing in Ids domain. 
 
 In this Hymn we have probably the earliest 
 mention of the Eleusinian mysteries now extant: 
 
 Those sacred mysteries, for the ■STilgar ear 
 Unmeet, and known, most impious to declare! 
 Oh! let due reverence for the gods restrain 
 Discourses rash, and check inquiries vain! 
 
 Thrice happy he, among the favour'd few. 
 To whom 'tis given those glorious rites to view! 
 A fate far difl'erent the rejected share; 
 Unblest, unworthy her protecting care. 
 They perish, and, with chains of darkness 
 
 bound, 
 Are plung'd for ever in the dark profound. 
 
HESIOD. 
 
 [Placed by Newton at 870, and by the Arundelian Marble, at 91 1 B. C] 
 
 FnoM various passages in his "Works and 
 Days," we learn that Hesiod was born at Asora, 
 a village at the foot of Mount Helicon, in Btrotia; 
 that he was left by his father joint heir to an un- 
 divided estate, his share of v\hich he lost through 
 the frauds of his brother Perses, and the bribed 
 decision of unjust judges; that he rose to opu- 
 lence, notwithstanding, by his own active in- 
 dustry and talent, living to see his brother reduced 
 to poverty, and a dependant for bread on the 
 
 botnity of him he had injured; — further, that on 
 one occasion ho crossed the strait of Euripus for 
 the purpose of attending a poetical contest at tlie 
 funeral solemnity of Amphidamas, and that he 
 won a tripod as the prize, which he dedicated 
 to the muses of Helicon. — This is all that we 
 authentically know of Hesiod. The works at- 
 tributed to him and descending to posterity, are — 
 The WoiiKS axd Days — The THEoooxr — and 
 The Shield of Heucules. 
 
 FROM THE WORKS AND DAYS. 
 
 CHEATIOff OF PANDORA. 
 
 The food of man in deep concealment lies, 
 The angry Gods have veil'd it from our eyes. 
 Else had one day bestow'd sufficient cheer. 
 And, though inactive, fed thee through the year. 
 Then might thy hand have laid the rudder by, 
 In blackening smoke for ever hung on high ; 
 Then had the labouring ox foregone the soil, 
 And patient mules had found relief from toil. 
 But Jove conceal'd our food, incens'd at heart 
 Since mock'd by wise Prometheus' wily art. 
 Sore ills to man devised the Heavenly Sire, 
 And hid the shining element of fire. 
 Prometheus then, benevolent of soid, 
 In hollow reed the spark recovering stole. 
 Cheering to man, and mock'd the God, whose 
 
 gaze 
 Serene rejoices in the lightning's rays. 
 "Oh son of Japhet!" with indignant heart 
 Spake the Cloud-gatherer, "Oh, unmatch'd in 
 
 art! 
 Exultest thou in this the flame retriev'd, 
 And dost thou triumph in the God dcceiv'd? 
 But thou, with the posterity of man, 
 Shalt rue the fraud whence mightier ills began : 
 I will send evil for thy stealthy fire. 
 Evil, which all shall love, and all admire." 
 Thus spoke the Sire, whom Heaven and Earth 
 obey, 
 And bade the Fire-God mould his plastic clay ; 
 Inbreathe the human voice within her breast. 
 With firm-strung nerves th' elastic limbs invest. 
 Her aspect fair as Goddesses above, 
 A virgin's likeness %\ith the brows of love. 
 He bade Minerva teach the skill that dyes 
 The web with colours as the shuttle ilies: 
 He caird the magic of love's charming queen 
 To breathe around a witchery of mien : 
 
 Then plant the rankling stings of keen desire, 
 And cares that trick the limbs with prank'd 
 
 attire: 
 Bade Hermes last impart the craft refin'd 
 Of thievish manners and a shameless mind. 
 
 He gives command, the inferior powers obey. 
 The crippled artist moulds the temper'd clay: 
 A maid's coy image rose at Jove's behest; 
 Minerva clasp'd the zone, diffus'd the vest, 
 Adored Persuasion, and the Graces young, 
 Her taper'd limbs with golden jewels hang; 
 Round her smooth brow the beauteous-tressed 
 
 Hours 
 A garland tuin'd of Spring's purpureal flowers; 
 The whole attire Minerva's graceful art 
 Dispos'd, adjusted, form'd to every part; 
 And last the winged herald of the skies. 
 Slayer of Argus, gave the gift of lies; 
 Gave trickish manners, honeyed words instill'd, 
 As he, that rolls the deepning thunder, will'd: 
 Then, by the feather'd messenger of Heaven, 
 The name Pandora to the maid was given: 
 For all the Gods conferred a gifted grace 
 To crown this mischief of the mortal race. 
 The Sire coininands the winged herald bear 
 The finish'd nymph, th' inextricable snare : 
 To Epimethcus was the present brought; 
 Prometheus' warning vanish'd from his thought, 
 That he disdain each otforing from the skies, 
 And straight restore, lest ill to man arise. 
 But he received, and conscious knew too late 
 Th' insidious gift, and felt the curse of fate. 
 On earth, of yore, the sons of men abode 
 From evil free and labour's galling load; 
 Free from diseases, that, with racking rage. 
 Precipitate the pale decline of age. 
 Now swift the days of manhood haste away. 
 Anil ntisery's pressure turns the temples gray. 
 The Woman's hantls an ample casket bear; 
 She lifts the lid — she scatters ills in air. 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 HESIOD. 
 
 Hope sole remain'd within, nor took her flisilit, — 
 BoiKviih the vossol's verfro concpal'd from light. 
 I#suoil the rest, in quick dispersion hurPd, 
 And woes iiiiiutnerous roainM the breathing 
 
 w orld : 
 With ills the land is full, vith ills the sea, 
 Diseases haunt our frail humanity; 
 Self-u andering through the noon, the night they 
 
 glide, 
 Voieeless — a voire the power all-\vise denied: 
 Know then this awful truth — it is liOt given 
 T' elude the wisdom of omniscient Heaven. 
 
 DISPENSATION'S OF PHOVinENTT: TO TUE JUST 
 AXn THE UNJUST. 
 
 "With crooked judges, lo! the oath's dread God 
 Avenging runs and tracks them where they trod, 
 Rough are the waj's of Justice as the sea, 
 Dragg"d to and fro by men's corrupt decree; 
 Bribe-pamper"d men! whose hands perverting 
 
 draw 
 The right aside, and warp the wrested law. 
 Though, wliile corruption on their sentence waits, 
 They thrust pale Justice from their haughty 
 
 gates ; 
 Invisible their steps the Virgin treads, 
 And musters evils o'er their sinful heads. 
 She with the dark of air her form arrays, 
 And walks in awful grief the city ways; 
 Her wail is heard, her tear upbraiding falls 
 O'er their stain'd manners, their devoted walls. 
 But they, who never from the right have stray'd, 
 Who, as the citir^en, the stranger aid; 
 They and their cities flourish ; genial peace 
 Dwells in their borders, and tlieir youth increase ; 
 Nor Jove, whose radiant eyes behold afar, 
 Hangs forth in Heaven the signs of grievous war. 
 Nor scath, nor famine on the righteous prey. 
 Peace crowns the night, and plenty cheers the 
 
 day. 
 Rich are their mountain-oaks : the topmost tree 
 The acorns fill: its trunk, the hiving bee : 
 Their sheep with fleeces pant; their women's 
 
 race 
 Reflect both parents in the infant face; 
 Still flourish they, nor tempt with ships the main ; 
 The fruits of earth are pour'd from every plain. 
 
 But o'er the wicked race, to whom belong 
 The thought of evil and the deed of wrong, 
 Saturnian Jove, of wide-beholding eyes, 
 Bids the dark signs of retribution rise : 
 And oft the crimes of one destructive fall, 
 The crimes of one, are visited on all. 
 The God sends down his angry plagues from high, 
 Famine and pestilence; in heaps they die: 
 He smites with barrenness the marriage bed, 
 And generations movdder with the dead : 
 Again in vengeance of his wrath he falls 
 On their great hosts, and breaks their tottering 
 
 walls ; 
 Scatters their ships of war; and where the sea 
 Heaves high its mountain-billows, there is he ! 
 
 Ponder, O judges! in your inmost thought 
 The retribution by his vengeance wrought. 
 
 Invisible, the Gods are ever nigh. 
 Pass through the midst aiul bend th' all-seeing 
 eye : 
 
 The man who grinds the poor, who wrests the 
 
 right, 
 Aweless of Heaven's revenge, stands naked to 
 
 their sight. 
 For thrice ten thousand holy Demons rove 
 This breathing world, the delegates of Jove, 
 Guardians of man, their glance alike surveys 
 The upright judgments and the unrighteous ways. 
 A virgin pure is Justice, and lier birth 
 August from him, who rules the Heavens and 
 
 earth ; 
 A creature glorious to the Gods on high, 
 Whose mansion is yon everlasting sky. 
 Driven by despiteful wrong, she takes her seat, 
 In lowly grief, at Jove's eternal feet. 
 There of the soul unjust her plaints ascend; 
 So rue the nations when their kings offend: 
 When, uttering wiles and brooding thoughts of ill, 
 They bend the laws and wrest them to their 
 
 will. 
 Oh! gorg'd with gold, ye kingly judges, hear! 
 Make straight your paths; your crooked judg- 
 ments fear; 
 That the foul record may no more be seen, 
 Eras'd, forgot, as though it ne'er had been. 
 ****** 
 Let no fair woman, robed in loose array, 
 That speaks the wanton, tempt thy feet to stray: 
 Who soft demands if thy abode be near. 
 And blandly lisps and murmurs in thine ear. 
 The slippery trust the charmer shall beguile, 
 For lo! the thief is ambush'd in her smile. 
 * * * * « * » 
 
 When full matureness crowns thy manhood's 
 
 pride. 
 Lead to thy mansion the consenting bride; 
 Thrice ten thy sum of years, the nuptial prime ; 
 Nor fall far short, nor far exceed the time, 
 Four years the ripening virgin should consume. 
 And wed the fifth of her expanded bloom. 
 Some known and neighbouring damsel be thy 
 
 prize. 
 And wary bend around thy cautious eyes; 
 Lest by a choice imprudent thou be found 
 The merry mock of all the dwellers round. 
 No better lot has Providence assign'd 
 Than a fair woman with a virtuous mind ; 
 Nor can a worse befall, than when thy fate 
 Allots a worthless, feast-contriving mate. 
 
 •WINTER. 
 
 Beware the January month, beware 
 Tliose hurtful days, that keenly-piercing air, 
 Which flays the herds; when icicles are cast 
 O'er frozen earth, and sheathe the nipping blast. 
 From courser-breeding Thrace comes rushing 
 
 forth 
 O'er the broad sea the whirlwind of the North, 
 And moves it with his breath : the ocean floods 
 Heave, and earth bellows through her wild of 
 
 woods. 
 
HESIOD. 
 
 33 
 
 Full many an oak of lofty leaf he fells 
 
 And strews with thick-biaiich"cl pines the moun- 
 
 Uiin ilells: 
 He stoops to earth; the crash is heard around; 
 The de|)th of forests rolls the roar of sound. 
 The beasts their cowering tails with trembling 
 
 fold. 
 And shrink and shudder at the gusty cold ; 
 Thick is the hairy coat, the shaggy skin, 
 But that all-chilling breath shall pierce within. 
 Not his rough hide can then the ox avail; 
 The long-hair'd goat, defenceless, feels the gale: 
 Yet vain the north-wind's rushing strength to 
 
 wound 
 The flock with sheltering fleeces fenced around. 
 He bows the old man crook'd beneath the storm; 
 But spares the soft-skinn'd virgin's tender form. 
 Screened by her mother's roof on wintry nights, 
 And strange to golden Venus" mystic rites, 
 The siqipling waters of the bath she swims, 
 With shiny ointment sleeks her dainty limbs: 
 Within her chamber laid on downy bed, 
 While winter howls in tempest o'er her head. 
 
 Now gnaws the boneless polypus his feet, 
 Starved midst bleak rocks, his desolate retreat; 
 For now no more the sun with gleaming ray 
 Through seas transparent lights him to his 
 
 prey. 
 And now the horned and unhorned kind, 
 Whose lair is in the wood, sore-famished, grind 
 Their sounding jaws, and, chilled and quaking, 
 
 fly 
 Where oaks the mountain dells imbranch on 
 
 high : 
 They seek to couch in thickets of the glen, 
 Or lurk, deep sheltered, in some rocky den. 
 Like aged men, who, propp'd on crutches, tread 
 Tottering with broken strength and stooping head ; 
 So move the beasts of earth, and, creeping low, 
 Shun the white flakes and dread the drifting 
 
 snow. 
 
 SUMMER EXJOTMENTS. 
 
 Whew blooms the thistle, and from leafy spray 
 The shrill cicada pours her sounding lay, 
 Her wings all quivering in the summer bright; — 
 When goats are fat, when wine yields most de- 
 light, 
 And heat hath parch'd the skin; — 0! then be 
 
 mine 
 The rock's deep shadow, and the Byblian wine — 
 With milky cakes, and milk itself most sweet 
 Of goats not giving suck, and dainty meat 
 Of kids and heifers upon green leaves fed. 
 The while we drink the wine so darkly red! 
 Then, sitting in the shade, I'll eat my fill, 
 Breathed on by zephyr, freshened by some rill. 
 Whose ever-flowing waves shall brightly shine, 
 While in three parts of water glows my wine! 
 
 HONEST POTEHTT. 
 
 Fools ! not to know how better, for the soul, 
 An honest half than an ill-gotten whole ; 
 5 
 
 How richer he^ who dines on herbs, with 
 
 liealth 
 Of mind, — than knaves with all their wines and 
 
 wealth. 
 
 vice and virtue; wisdom and follt. 
 
 To Vice with ease may all mankind resort. 
 Hard by her dwelling, and the way is short: 
 But Virtue have the Gods immortal fenced 
 With labour, and a long, steep road dispensed, 
 Whereby to seek her; but. the summit won. 
 Right easy seems what wearily begun. 
 He all surpasses, who doth all things see 
 Himself, and what in after time shall be 
 Foreseeing, can provide for; not unblest 
 Who wisely can observe a wise behest; 
 But who, nor knows himself, nor will take rule 
 From those who do, is either knave or fool.* 
 
 FROM THE THEOGONY. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE OIAXTS. 
 
 And now — the Titans in close ranks arrayed — 
 What hands and force could do, each host dis- 
 played. 
 The illimitable ocean roared around; 
 Earth wailed; the shaken Heaven sent forth a 
 
 sound 
 Of groans ; while huge Olympus, from his base, 
 Rocked with the onset of the immortal race ; 
 E'en shadowy hell perceived the horrid blows. 
 And trembled 'neath the tumult as it rose ; — 
 Such rushing of quick feet, such clanging jar 
 Of javelins hurl'd impetuous from afar. 
 As soar'd the din of conflict to the skies, 
 And hosts join'd battle with astounding cries. 
 Now Jove, inccns'd, no longer brook'd control; 
 He put forth all his might, — full filled his soul 
 With valiance, and, at once, from Heaven's bright 
 
 road 
 And dark Olympus' top he thundering strode: 
 Lightnings and bolts terrific from his hand 
 Flew swift and frequent, wrapping sea and land 
 In sacred flames; — all-bounteous earth amazed, 
 Howled burning, while her mighty forests blazed. 
 Forthwitli began the land and sea to steam ; 
 The fiery breath of ocean's boiling stream 
 Involved the Titans; flames rose through the 
 
 skies 
 To blast with splendour dire the Titans' eyes: 
 And when at last the light through chaos gleam'd, 
 Such the concussion, such the uproar seem'd, 
 As if the earth and Heavens together blending — 
 The one torn up, the other down descending — 
 Had met; whereat upsprang the winds of air, 
 And whirl'd the dust-clouds mid Uie lightning's 
 glare : 
 
 ♦ A similar sentiment may be found amonsst the 
 maxims of the Chinese. "The highest order of men (say 
 they) are virtuous and wise, independently of inslnic- 
 tion ; the middle class are so after inslriiction; the lowest 
 order are vicious in spite of instruction."— Quarftr/y 
 Reviete, Vol. XLl p. 90. 
 
34 
 
 HESIOD. 
 
 Winds, thumlpr, liRlitninpa, frorrwtlie hand of Jove 
 Their track of ruin ihroiijjh mid l)attle drove. 
 Loud and stupendous thus the raging fight, 
 Whilst warr"d the Titans with an equal might: 
 At length the battle turns; — Cottus the fierce, 
 Gyges, and Briareus, tlirough mid ranks pierce ; 
 From their strong arms three hundred rocks they 
 
 throw, 
 And with these monstrous darts o'ereloud the foe ; 
 Then forc'd the Titans deep beneath the ground, 
 And with atilictive chains the rebels bound ; 
 Despite their pride, beneath the earth tliey lie. 
 Far as tliat earth is distant from the sky. 
 
 THE CONFLICT OF JCPITER WITH TTPHOJCS. 
 
 But when from Heaven Jove had his foes exil'd, 
 
 Great Earth TyphcEus bore, her latest child, 
 
 In Heirs embrace; strong were the hands for 
 
 fight. 
 And feet unwearied, of this fiend of night. 
 An hundred serpent heads his shoulders crown'd, 
 A hundred swarthy tongues lickd all around; 
 Fire from his eyes a light terrific shed, 
 And sounds unnumbered issued from each head; 
 Sometimes of Gods the articulate language full, 
 Sometimes the bellowing of an untamed bull, 
 Sometimes a ruthless lion's roar it seem'd, 
 Sometimes as though a lion's whelps had 
 
 scream 'd ; 
 Sometimes a dragon's hissing rose around. 
 Till the high hills re-echoed to the sound. — 
 And now an awful deed had marked that day, 
 Whilst he o'er men and Gods had won the 
 
 sway. 
 Had not the Almighty Father seen the birth. 
 And forthwith thimdered terribly ; the Earth 
 Roared with the shock — the wide Heaven roared 
 
 as well — 
 Roared Sea and Ocean, and the abysmal Hell. 
 Olympus shook around the rising God, 
 And the Earth groan'd beneath him, as he trod. 
 Blazed Earth, and Heaven, and Sea with dread- 
 ful roar. 
 And burning billows raged along the shore. 
 Such conflagration, such dire tumult, rose 
 Around the struggle of the immortal foes — 
 Grim Pluto trembled,* monarch of the dead, 
 The Titans, chained around their vanquish'd 
 
 head, 
 In nether Hades trembled with aflriglit, 
 Under the din of their tremendous fight. — 
 Then Jove, at length, up-towering in his ire, 
 Grasped all his thunder-bolts and lightning- 
 fire — 
 And, from Olympus plunging on his foe, 
 Blasted the monster's heads with one consuming 
 blow. 
 
 * Deep in the dismal regions of the dead, 
 The infernal monarch rear'd hia horrid head, 
 Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay 
 His dark dominions open to the day. 
 And pour in light upon his drear abodes, 
 Abborr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods. 
 
 Homtr't BatUt of tkt Oods, II. zz. 
 
 FROM THE SHIELD OF HERCULES. 
 
 But next arose 
 A well-fower'd city, by seven golden gates 
 Enclos'd, that fitted to their lintels hung. 
 There, men in dances and in festive joys 
 Held revelry. Some on the smooth-wheel'd car 
 A virgin bride conducted : then burst forth 
 Aloud the marriage-song; and far and ^w' le 
 Long splendours flash'd from many a quivering 
 
 torch 
 Borne in the hands of slaves. Gay-blooming 
 
 girls 
 Preceded, and the dancers followed blithe: 
 These, with shrill pipe indenting the soft lip, 
 Breath'd melody, while broken echoes thrill'd 
 Around them ; to the lyre with flying touch 
 Those led the love-enkindling dance. 
 
 A group 
 Of youths was elsewhere imag'd, to the flute 
 Disporting; some in dances and in song. 
 In laughter others. To the minstrel's flute 
 So pass'd they on : and the whole city seem'd 
 As fiird with pomps, with dances, and with 
 
 feasts. 
 Others again, without the city walls, 
 Vaulted on steeds, and madden'd for the goal. 
 Others as husbandmen appear'd, and broke 
 With coulter the rich glebe, and gathered up 
 Their tunics neatly girded. 
 
 Next arose 
 A field thick set with depth of corn ; where some 
 With sickle reap'd the stalks, their spiry heads 
 Bent, as with pods weigh'd down of swelling 
 
 grain, 
 The fruits of Ceres. 
 
 Others into bands 
 Gather'd, and threw upon the thrashing floor 
 The sheaves. 
 
 And some again hard-by were seen 
 Holding the vine-sickle, who clusters cut 
 From the ripe vines, which from the vintagers 
 Others in pails receiv'd, or bore away 
 In baskets thus up-piled the cluster'd grapes, 
 Or black, or pearly white, cut from deep ranks 
 Of spreading vines, whose tendrils curling twin'd 
 In silver, heavy-foliag'd : near them rose 
 The ranks of vines, by Vulcan's curious craft 
 Figur'd in gold. The vines leaf-shaking curl'd 
 Round silver props. They therefore on their way 
 Pass'd jocund, to one minstrel's flageolet, 
 Burthen'd with grapes that blacken'd in the sun. 
 Some also trod the wine-press, and some quafi"'d 
 The foaming must. 
 
 But in another part 
 Were men who wrestled, or in gymnic fight 
 Wielded the ca^stus. 
 
 Elsewhere men of chase 
 Were taking the fleet hares ; two keen-tooth'd 
 
 dogs 
 Bounded beside : these ardent in pursuit. 
 Those with like ardour doubling on their flight. 
 Next them were knights, who painful effort 
 
 made 
 To win the prize of contest and hard toil. 
 High o'er the well-compacted chariots hung 
 
CALLINUS. 
 
 35 
 
 The charioteers ; the rapid liorses loos'd 
 At their full stretch, and shook the floating reins. 
 Rebounding from the ground, with many a shock. 
 Flew clattering the Arm cars, and creak'd aloud 
 The naves of the round wheels. They, there- 
 fore, toiled 
 Endless ; nor conijuest yet at any time 
 Achieved they ; but a doubtful strife maintain'd. 
 In the mid course the prize, a tripod huge. 
 Was placM in open sight, insculpt with gold : — 
 These glorious works had Vulcan artful wrought. 
 
 CERBERUS. 
 
 A grisly dog 
 Implacable, holds watch before the gates; 
 Of guile malicious. Them who enter there, 
 With tail and bended ears he fawning soothes: 
 But sutlers not that they with backward step 
 Ilei)ass : whoe'er would issue from the gates 
 Of Pluto strong, and stern Persiphone, 
 For them, with marking eye, he lurks ; on them 
 Springs from his couch, and pitiless devours. 
 
 A. BATTLE-PIECE. 
 
 Warrior men 
 Waged battle, grasping weapons in their hands. 
 Some from their city and their sires repelled 
 Destruction — others hastened to destroy ; 
 And many press'd the plain ; but more still held 
 The combat. On the strong-constructed towers 
 Stood women shrieking shrill, and tore their 
 cheeks 
 
 In very life, by Vulcan's glorious craft. 
 
 The old men, hoar with age, assembled stood 
 
 Without the gates, and to the blessed gods 
 
 Their hands uplifted, for their fighting sons 
 
 Fear-stricken. 
 
 Behind them stood the Fates, of aspect black, 
 
 Grim, slaughter-breathing, stern, insatiable. 
 
 Their white fangs gnashing, and strange conflict 
 
 held 
 For those who fell ; — each fiercely thirsting sought 
 To drink the sable blood. Whom first they 
 
 snatched. 
 Prostrate, or staggering with the fresh-made 
 
 wound. 
 On him their talons huge they stuck — the soul 
 Went down the cold abyss. — To th' heart they 
 
 glutted 
 With dead men's gore; behind them cast the corse, 
 And back, with hurrying rage, they turned to seek 
 The throng of battle. And hard by there stood 
 Clotho, and Lachesis, and Atropos. — 
 They all around one man in savage fight 
 Were mixed, and on each other turned in wrath 
 Their glaring eyes and homicidal hands. 
 Unspeakable that strife ! And close beside 
 Stood the War-Misery, wan and worn with 
 
 woe, 
 Ghastly and withered, and with hunger-pains 
 Convulsed ; — her cheeks dropped blood to earth ; 
 
 — with teeth 
 All wide disclosed, in grinning agony 
 She stood ; — a cloud of dust her shoulders spread, 
 And her eyes ran with tears ! 
 
 CALLINUS. 
 
 [About 782 B. C] 
 Of this poet we know nothing more than that he was the supposed inventor of the Elegiac Couplet. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 How long will ye slumber? when will ye take 
 heart. 
 And fear the reproach of your neighbours at 
 hand? 
 Fy! comrades, to think ye have peace foryourpart, 
 Whilst the sword and the arrow are wasting 
 our land ! 
 Shame! grasp the shield close! cover well the 
 bold breast ! 
 Aloft raise the spear as ye march on the foe ! 
 With no thought of retreat — witli no terror con- 
 fess'd, 
 Hurl your last dart in dying, or strike your last 
 blow ! 
 Oh ! 'tis noble and glorious to fight for our all — 
 For our country — our children — the wife of 
 our love ! 
 
 Death comes not the sooner! — no soldier shall fall 
 Ere his thread is spun out by the sisters 
 above ! 
 
 Once to die is man's doom ! rush, rush to the 
 fight !— 
 He cannot escape though his blood were Jove's 
 own ; — 
 For awhile let him cheat the shrill arrow by 
 flight : 
 Fate will catch him at last iit his chamber 
 alone ! 
 
 Unlamented he dies — unregretted ? — not so. 
 When, the tower of his country, in death falls 
 the brave ; 
 Thrice hallowed his name amongst all, liigh or 
 low, 
 As with blessings alive, so with tears in the 
 grave. 
 
ARCHILOCHUS. 
 
 [About 688 B. C] 
 
 Of a noble family in the isle of Paros, and 
 equally famed for his genius and his malignity. 
 Touch me who dare — Apx^^X'>^ rtafiii — was his 
 motto, and various stories are told concerning 
 his obscenities and defamations, by the infliction 
 of which, on one occasion, he is said to have 
 driven Lycambes and his daughter to self-de- 
 
 struction. His lampoons are lost, and nothing 
 remains of him but some few fragments of a 
 grave and philoso])hic cast. He is celebrated 
 by Horace, as the inventor of the Iambic foot, 
 and by Cicero, as being one of the greatest poets 
 that ever lived, and only equalled by Homer, 
 Pindar, and Sophocles. 
 
 EQUANIMITY. 
 
 Mt soul, my soul, though cureless seem 
 
 the ills that vex thy rest; 
 Bear up ; subdue the hostile crew, 
 
 with right opposing breast. 
 Take thou thy stand within spear-reach, 
 
 and if thou win the day. 
 Boast not; nor, beaten once, at home 
 
 with vain repining, stay ; 
 But, in misfortune wisely mourn; 
 
 in joy rejoice with heed, 
 And bear in mind, to all mankind, 
 
 the measure that's decreed. 
 
 ON AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN. 
 Nought now can pass belief; in nature's ways 
 No strange anomaly our wonder raise. 
 The Olympic father hangs a noon-day night 
 O'er the sun's disk, and veils its glittering light. 
 Fear falls on man. Hence miracles, before 
 Incredible, are counted strange no more. 
 Stand not amazed, if beasts exchange the wood 
 With dolphins, and exist amidst the flood ; 
 These the firm land forsake for sounding waves. 
 And those find pleasure in the mountain caves. 
 
 PATIENCE UNDER SUFFERING. 
 Oh, Pericles ! in vain the feast is spread : 
 To mirth and joy the afflicted soul is dead. 
 The billows of the deep-resounding sea 
 Burst o'er our heads, and drown our revelry; 
 Grief swells our veins with pangs unfelt before ; 
 But Jove's high clemency reserves in store 
 AU-suflering patience for his people's cure : 
 The best of healing balms is — to endure. 
 
 ON THE LOSS OF HIS SHIELD IN A 
 BATTLE WITH THE SAIANS. 
 RelictA lion bene parmul^. 
 That shield some Saian decks, which 'gainst 
 my grain 
 I left — fair, flawless shield ! — beside the wood. 
 Well, let it go! I and my purse remain : 
 To-morrow's bull-skin may be just as good. 
 36 
 
 A PAIR OF MILITARY PORTRAITS. 
 Boast me not your valiant captain, 
 
 strutting fierce with measurd stride. 
 Glorying in his well-trimm'd beard, and 
 
 wavy ringlets' clustered pride. 
 Mine be he that's short of stature, 
 
 firm of foot, with curved knee ; 
 Heart of oak in limb and feature, 
 
 and of courage bold and free. 
 
 THE MIND OF MAN. 
 The mind of man is such as Jove 
 
 Ordains by his immortal will ; 
 Who moulds it, in the courts above, 
 
 His heavenly purpose to fulfil. 
 
 THE STORM. 
 Beholti, my Glaucus, how the deep 
 
 Heaves, while the sweeping billows howl, 
 And round the proinontory-steep 
 
 The big black clouds portentous scowl. 
 With thunder fraught, and lightning's glare, 
 While Terror rules, and wild Despair. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 Leave the gods to order all things : 
 
 Often from the gulf of woe 
 They exalt the poor man grov'Iing 
 
 In the gloomy shades below. 
 Often turn again, and prostrate 
 
 Lay in dust the loftiest head. 
 Dooming him through life to wander, 
 
 Reft of sense, and wanting bread. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Jove sits in highest heaven, and opes the springs, 
 To man, of monstrous and forbidden things. 
 Death seals the fountains of reward and fame: 
 Man dies, and leaves no guardian of his name. 
 Ajiplause awaits us only while we live. 
 While we can honour take, and honour give : 
 Yet, were it base lor man of woman born. 
 To mock the naked ghost with jests or scorn. 
 
TYRT.EUS, 
 
 [About 68t B. C] 
 
 Ttrt;f.u9 was the son of Archimhrotus, and 
 presided over a school of some kind — probably of 
 music and poetry — at Athens. The further tra- 
 dition concerning him is (as all know,) that the 
 Spartans, being worsted in their war with the 
 Messenians, were directed by the oracle to apply 
 to the Athenians for a general, who, in ridicule, 
 presented them with their lame poet, Tyrtieus. 
 
 Pausanias, liowever, does not call him General, 
 but C'oi<)(si//or, (2v/U(3ovXo5.) adding, that his exer- 
 tions were coiitined to composing the dissensions 
 and rousing the fallen spirits of his new allies. 
 He left three kinds of poems ;-^— first, liis Military 
 Elegies; — second, his Eunomia, or political ones; 
 and third, his Embateria or marching songs. Only 
 a few of the first have descended to our times. 
 
 COURAGE AND PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Ne'er would I praise that man, nor deign to sing, 
 First in the race, or strongest at the ring. 
 Not though he boast a ponderous Cyclop's force, 
 Or rival Boreas in his rapid course; 
 Not tho' Aurora might his name adore. 
 The' eastern riches swell his countless store, 
 Tho' power and splendour to his name belong, 
 And soft persuasion dwell upon his tongue, 
 Tho' all but god-like valour, were his own: 
 
 My muse is sacred to the brave alone; 
 Who can look carnage in the face, and go 
 Against the foremost warriors of the foe. 
 
 By heaven high courage to mankind was lent, 
 Best attribute of youth, best ornament. 
 The man whom blood and danger fail to daunt, 
 Fearless who fights, and ever in the front. 
 Who bids his comrades barter useless breath 
 For a proud triumph, or a prouder death. 
 He is my theme — He only, who can brave 
 With single force the battle's rolling wave, 
 Can turn his enemies to Might, and fall 
 Beloved, lamented, deified by all. 
 His household gods, his own parental land 
 High in renown, by him exalted sUind; 
 Alike the heirs and founders of his name 
 Share his deserts and borrow fl-om his fame 
 He, pierced in front with many a gaping wound, 
 Lies, great and glorious, on the bloody ground, 
 From every eye he draws one general tear, 
 And a whole nation follows- to his bier ; 
 Illustrious youths sigh o'er his early doom, 
 And late posterity reveres his tomb. 
 Ne'er shall liis memorable virtue die, 
 Tho' cold in earth, immortal as the sky; 
 He for his country fought, for her expired: 
 Oh would all imitate whom all admired! 
 But if he sleep notwith the mighty dead, 
 And living laurels wreathe his honour'd head, 
 By old, by young, adored, he gently goes 
 Down a smooth pal;hway to his long repose, 
 
 Unaltering friends still love his hairs of snow, 
 And rising elders in his presence bow. 
 Would ye, like him, the wond'ring world engage, 
 Draw the keen blade, and let the battle rage! 
 • •••••• 
 
 Yes, it is sweet in death's first ranks to fall 
 Where our loved country's threatening dangers 
 
 call! 
 But he who flies dishonour'd from his home. 
 And foully driven in beggary to roam. 
 His wife and children shrieking in his ears. 
 His sire with shame abash'd, his mother drown'd 
 
 in tears, 
 — What indignation at his cowardice 
 Shall flash upon him from all honest eyes! 
 How shall he stain, for ever stain his blood, 
 Rich tho" it flow, descended from the good ! 
 How shall he brand with infamy his brow! 
 (Fair tho' it was, 'ts fair no longer now :) 
 — -An outcast wanderer through a scoffing world 
 Till to an ignominous grave he's hurld; 
 Known to all future ages by his shame, 
 A blot eternal on i1r> rolls of fame ! 
 
 But let us firmly stand, and scorn to fly, 
 Save all we love, or with our coimtry die, 
 Knit in indissoluble files, a band 
 Of brothers fighting for our native land; 
 Ne'er let us see the veteran soldier's arm 
 Than ours more forward, or his heart more 
 
 warm ; 
 Let us not leave him in the midst of foes, 
 Feeble with age, to deal imequal blows; 
 Or in the van lie slain, with blood besmear'd 
 His wrinkled foreheiid anil his snowy beard, 
 Stript of his spoils through many a battle worn. 
 And gay assumed, that inauspicii.us morn. 
 Breathing his soul out bravely at our feet — 
 Ne'er may our eyes a sight so shameful meet! 
 But, oh, be ours, while yet our pulse beats high 
 For gory death, or glorious victory. 
 Be ours, if not an honourable grave. 
 Smiles of tlie fair, and friendships of the brave. 
 D 37 
 
LCMAN OR ALCM^ON. 
 
 [About 680 B. C.) 
 
 Alcmaw is'said to have been born at Sardis, ' him the title of rxuxvj — the sweet. Nothing 
 and numbered amongst the fathers of lyric poetry, but a few scattered sentences, and disjointed 
 His Parthenia, composed in praise of women, j lines — affording the most inadequate materials 
 and sung by chorusses of virgins, were very for any judgment of his merits — have come 
 popular amongst the Spartans, and procured for | down to us. 
 
 MEGALOSTRATA. 
 
 AoAiw sweet Love, by Venus led, 
 
 Hath all my soul possess"d; 
 Again delicious rapture shed 
 
 In torrents o'er my breast. 
 Now Megalostrata, the fair, — 
 
 Of all the virgin train 
 Most blessed — with her yellow hair — 
 
 Hath brought me to the Muse's fane. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 The mountain summits sleep, glens, cliffs, and 
 
 caves. 
 
 Are silent; — all the black earth's reptile brood, 
 
 The bees, the wild beasts of the mountain wood ; 
 
 In depths beneath the dark red ocean's waves 
 
 Its monsters rest; whilst, wrapt in bower and 
 
 spray, 
 Each bird is hush'd, that stretch'd its pinions 
 to the day. 
 
 STESICHORUS. 
 
 [Bom 632— Died 556, B. C] 
 
 A TTATivE of Himera in Sicily, and contem- 
 porary with Sappho and AIceeus. It is said that 
 his original name was Tisias. and that he ac- 
 quired the more expressive one by which he is 
 known, from having first established, and gene- 
 rally arranged the movements of the Chorus, or 
 from having first introduced the episode or sta- 
 tionary union of the two parts or divisions. 
 Whatever may be thought of this (says Mr. 
 Coleridge,) certain it is, that the Strophe, Anti- 
 strophe, and Epode of the Chorus, became 
 associated throughout Greece, with the name of 
 Stesichorus. His principal poems were the " De- 
 struction of Troy," — the "Orestea,'" — the "Rha- 
 dine,'' — the "Scylla," — and the "Geryoneis,'"* — 
 of which the titles, with a few scattered frEig- 
 
 ments, are all that have descended to us. He 
 was the inventor of the fable of " the Horse and 
 the Stag," which has been imitated by Horace 
 and other poets, and which he wrote in order to 
 prevent his countrymen from making an alliance 
 with the tyrant, Phalaris. His poems have been 
 highly extolled by ancient writers, and there are 
 few vv^ho will not join in the regret expressed by 
 a modern one for the loss of them. " Utinam 
 profecto (says Lowth,) Stesichorum non invidis- 
 set nobis vetustas, cujus gravitatem et magnifi- 
 oentiam omnes praedicant; quern prae caeteris 
 laudat Dionysius quod et arginnenta sumeret 
 grandia imprimis et splendide, et in iis tractan- 
 dis mores et persenarum dignitatem egregie 
 servaret." 
 
 FROM "THE GERYONEIS." 
 
 VOYAGE OF THE SUN. 
 
 But now the sun, great Hyperion's child, 
 Embarked again upon his golden chalice. 
 
 ♦ The Geryoneis was a poem on the story of the expe- 
 dition of Hercules against the Spanish monster Geryon, 
 who lived in Cadiz ; in the fragment which remains of it, 
 is the earlist mention of that ancient mystic legend of the 
 
 38 
 
 And westward steered where, far o'er ocean wild, 
 Sleeps the dim Night in solitary valleys. 
 
 Where dwell his mother and his consort mild, 
 And infant sons, in his sequestered palace ; 
 
 sun's passing over the sea in a golden cup, which was 
 lent to Hercules for his voyage through the Mediterra- 
 nean, and which has given occasion to more learned 
 criticism, than any other cup, heathen or Christian, glass, 
 metal, or wood, ever fabricated or dreamed of. 
 
^SOP.— SOLON. 
 
 39 
 
 Whilst onward through the laurel-shaded grove, 
 Moved, with lirm step, the hero son of Jove. 
 
 FROM "THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY." 
 
 THE SACKIFleE OF TYJfDARUS. 
 
 .... For whereas Tyndarus, 
 Midst all his rites to all the gods above, 
 
 Alone forgot 
 That giver of sweet gifts, the Queen of Love, — 
 Wroth with the daughters for the father's sake, 
 
 The goddess caused them straight. 
 Thrice, thrice, their nuptial bonds to break, 
 And each desert her mate. 
 
 THE PROCESSION. 
 
 Befoiie the regal chariot, as it past, 
 
 Wore bright Cydonian apples scattered round. 
 And myrtle leaves, in showers of fragrance cast. 
 
 And many a wreath was there, with roses 
 bound. 
 And many a coronal, wherein were set, 
 Like gems, rich rows of purple violet. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 Vain it is for those to weep 
 Who repose in death's last sleep. 
 With Man's life ends all the story 
 Of his wisdom, wit, and glory. 
 
 iESOP. 
 
 [About 020 B. C] 
 
 A Phrygian and of servile origin. — After 
 having passed by sale from master to master he 
 at length fell into the hands of ladmon of Samos, 
 who, in admiration of his genius and acquire- 
 ments, gave him his freedom. .(Esop now turneti 
 his attention to foreign travel, partly to extenil 
 tlie sphere of his own knowletlge, and partly to 
 
 communicate that knowledge to others. The 
 latter he did by means of those Fables for which 
 he is so celebrated, and which have associated his 
 name with that pleasing branch of composition 
 through all succeeding ages. The following is 
 the only elegiac strain of his that has come 
 down to us. 
 
 DEATH THE SOVEREIGN REMEDY. 
 
 Who, but for death, could find repose 
 From life, and life's unnumbered woes? 
 From ills that mock our art to cure, 
 As hard to Jly as to endure ? 
 Whate'er is sweet without alloy. 
 And sheds a more exalted joy, 
 
 Y^on glorious orb that gilds the day. 
 
 Or, placid moon, thy silver ray. 
 
 Earth, sea, whate'er we gaze upon, 
 
 Is thine, Nature, thine alone ; 
 
 But gifts, whi(;h to ourselves we owe. 
 
 What are they all, but fear and woe? 
 
 Chance-pleasure, hardly worth jiossessing. 
 
 Ten curses for a single blessing ! 
 
 SOLON. 
 
 [Durn 638, Dutl ."iSg, B. C.) 
 
 It was the opinion of Plato, that if So1bn had 
 seriously applied himself to poetry, neither He- 
 siod, nor Homer, nor any other, would have been 
 more celebrated. His verses, for the most part, 
 seem to have been of the gnomic or sententious 
 kind, and illustrative of the constitution and laws 
 framed by himself for the Athenians. They are 
 
 distinguished (says an eminent scholar.) by a 
 l)redominant pi>lilical direction, and by a regard- 
 ing of men rather as citizens and members of a 
 municipality, than as individual agents in simply 
 social life. There is, accordingly, a ilignity of 
 manner — a plain grandeur in his sentiment — that 
 seems to flow from a mind reposing in conscious 
 
40 
 
 ALCiEUS. 
 
 satisfaction after an honest iierfonnance of tlie 
 most ilitlicitlt and solemn clnty, wliicli can fall to 
 the lot of man — the iiew-motlellint; of a political 
 constitution for liis country; in doing which lie 
 had not been unmindful of the genius and utility 
 of the ancient institutions of the sttite, nor playeil 
 any base game lor personal power; but, alike 
 iinseduced by aristocratic influence or mob atlu- 
 lation, had imi)artially assigned to all orders such 
 measures of power as reason and experience 
 
 JUSTICE. 
 Short are the triumphs to injustice given, — 
 Jove sees the end of all; like vapours driven 
 By early Spring's impetuous blast, that sweeps 
 Along the billowy surface of the deeps. 
 Or passing o'er the fields of tender green, 
 Lays in sail ruin all the lovely scene, 
 Till it reveals the clear celestial blue 
 
 I And gives the palace of the gods to view; 
 
 I Then bursts the sun's full radiance from the skies. 
 Where not a cloud can form or vapour rise.* 
 — Such is Jove's vengeance : not like human ire, 
 Blown in an instant to a scorching fire. 
 But slow and certain; tliough it long may lie, 
 Wrapt in the vast concealment of the sky; 
 Yet never does tlie dread Avenger sleep. 
 And though the sire escape, the son shall weep. 
 
 THE CONSTITUTION OF ATHENS. 
 The force of snow and furious hail is sent 
 From swelling clouds that load the firmament. 
 
 * Sudden, as when the win?s of Spring 
 Rush forth at once with hurrying wing; 
 Scatter the stagnant fogs, and urge 
 To foam and storm the ocean surge ; 
 Lay waste the farmer's toil and rise 
 Through the dense cloudage to the skies; 
 Lit by the s\in outshine again 
 The sinking billows of the main, 
 And the blue ether fair to see, 
 Sleepeth in deep tranquillity. 
 
 H. JV". Coleridge. 
 
 taught him to believe most conducive to a total 
 result of good : — " I gave," (says he,) 
 
 " I pave the people freedom clear 
 But ni'ilher llattery nor fear; 
 I told the rich and noble race 
 To crown their state with modest grace. 
 And placed a shield in eilher's hand, 
 Wherewith in safety both might stand." — 
 ******** 
 
 "The people love their rulers best. 
 When neither cringed to nor oppresl." 
 
 Thence the loud thunders roar, and lightnings glare 
 Along the darkness of the troubled air. 
 Unmoved by storms, old ocean peaceful sleeps 
 Till the loud tempest swells the angry deeps; 
 And thus the state, in fell distraction tost, 
 Ol't by its noblest citizens is lost; 
 And oft a people, once secure and free, 
 Their own imprudence dooms to tyranny. 
 My laws have arm'd the crowd with useful might, 
 Have banish'd honours and unequal right. 
 Have taught the proud in wealth, and high in 
 
 place. 
 To reverence justice, and abhor disgrace ; 
 And given to both a shield, their guardian tower, 
 Against ambitious aims and lawless power. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE AFTER DEATH. 
 Let not a death, unwept, unhonour'd, be 
 The melancholy fate allotted me! 
 But those who loved me living, when I die, 
 Still fondly keep some cherish'd memory. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The man that boasts of golden stores. 
 Of grain, that loads his groaning fioors. 
 Of fields ■with freshening herbage green. 
 Where bounding steeds and herds are seen, 
 I call not happier than the swain. 
 Whose limbs are sound, whose food is plain, 
 Whose joys a blooming wii'e endears. 
 Whose hours a smiling oli'spring cheers. 
 
 ALCiEUS. 
 
 [About 620 B. C] 
 
 Alc;et7s was a native of Mitylene, and a con- 
 temporary and lover of Sappho. Having bitterly 
 satirized Pittacus for his apostasy in usurping 
 the very powers, froin which, in conjunction with 
 himself, he had deposed a former tyrant. Alcreus 
 was driven into exile. He endeavoured to return 
 by force of arms, but was unsuccessful, and fell 
 into the hands of his former friend, but now ex- 
 asperated conqueror, who, however, granted him 
 his liberty, observing that forgiveness was better 
 than revenge. Alcteus was the inventor of the 
 
 metre which bears his name, and sung of various 
 subjects, — now celebrating the praises of Bacchus 
 and Venus; now inveighing against tyrants; now 
 deploring the evils of exile and war, 
 
 " Dura navis. 
 Dura fugse mala, dura belli." 
 
 Antiquity is full of his praises; but a few frag- 
 tnents only of his poetry remain, though its echo 
 may be sometimes heard in the strains of his 
 successful imitator and admirer, Horace. 
 
ALCiEUS. 
 
 41 
 
 THE SPOILS OF WAR. 
 GuTTEHS with brass my mansion wide ; 
 The roof is deck'd, on every side, 
 
 In martial pride, 
 With hehnets raiif^'d in ortlor liriglit. 
 And plumes of liorso-hair nodding white, 
 
 A gallant sight — 
 Fit ornament for warrior's brow — 
 And round the walls, in gootUy row, 
 
 Refulgent glow 
 Stout greaves of brass, like burnish'd gold, 
 And corselets there in many a fold 
 
 Of linen roll'd ; 
 And shields that in the battle fray. 
 The routed losers of the day 
 
 Have east away. 
 Eubcean falehions too are seen. 
 With rich-embroidered belts between 
 
 Of dazzling sheen: 
 And gaudy surcoats piled around, 
 The spoils of chiefs in war renown'd, 
 
 May there be found — 
 These, and all else that here you see, 
 Are fruits of glorious victory, 
 
 Achieved by me. 
 
 CONVIVIAL. 
 GtAD your hearts with rosy wine. 
 
 Now the dog-star takes his round ; 
 Sultry hours to sleep incline ; 
 
 Gapes with heat the sultry ground. 
 Crickets sing on leafy boughs, 
 
 And the thistle is in flower ; 
 Melting minds forget their vows 
 
 To the moon in colder hour. 
 
 THE POOR FISHERMAN. 
 The fisher Dioiimus had, at sea 
 And shore, the same abode of poverty — 
 His trusty boat; — and when his days^vere spent, 
 Therein self-rowed, to ruthless Dis he went; 
 For that, which did through life his woes beguile, 
 Supplied the old man with a funeral pile. 
 
 CONVIVIAL. 
 To be bowed by grief is folly; 
 Nought is gained by melancholy; 
 Better than the pain of thinking, 
 Is to steep the sense in drinking. 
 
 POVERTY. 
 The worst of ills, and hardest to endure. 
 
 Past hope, past cure. 
 Is Penury, who, with her sister mate 
 Disorder, soon brings down the loftiest state. 
 
 And makes it desolate. 
 This truth the sage of Sjjarta told, 
 
 Aristodemus old, — 
 "Wealth makes the man." — On him that's poor, 
 Proud worth looks down, and honour shuts the 
 
 door. 
 
 6 <.\^ y 
 
 CONVIVIAL. 
 
 WiiT wait we for the torclies' lights ? 
 Now let us drink, while day invites. 
 In mighty flagons hither bring 
 
 The deep-re<l blood of many a vine. 
 That we may largely r|uatl' and sing 
 
 The praises of the God of wine— 
 
 The son of Jove, and Semele, 
 Who gave the jocund grape to be 
 A sweet oljlivion to our woes. 
 
 Fill, fill the goblet — r»ne and two: 
 Let every brimmer, as it flows, 
 
 In sportive chase, the last pursue. 
 
 THE CONSTITUTION OF A STATE. 
 
 What constitutes a state ? 
 Not high-raised battlement or laboured mound, 
 
 Thick wall or moatetl gate: 
 Not cities fair, with spires and turrets crown'd : 
 
 No: — Men, high-minded men — 
 With powers as far above dull brutes endued 
 
 In forest, brake, or den, 
 As beasts e.\cel cold rocks and brambles rude — 
 
 Men, who their duties know, 
 But know their rights, and, knowing, dare main- 
 tain ; 
 
 Prevent the long-aimed blow. 
 And crush llie tyrant, while they rend the chain. 
 
 CONVIVIAL. 
 
 Jove descends in sleet and snow. 
 Howls the vexed and angry deep; 
 
 Every stream forgets to flow. 
 Bound in winter's icy sleep. 
 
 Ocean wave and forest hoar. 
 
 To the blast responsive roar. 
 
 Drive the tempest from your door. 
 
 Blaze on blaze your hearthstone piling, 
 
 And unmeasured goblets pour, 
 Brimful high with nectar smiling. 
 
 Then beneath your poet's head 
 
 Be a ilowny pillow spread. 
 
 < THE STORM. 
 
 Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep, 
 
 Whilst we, betwixt them, o'er the deeji, 
 
 III sliattor'd tempest-beaten bark. 
 
 With laljouriiig ropes are onward driven. 
 
 The billows dashing o'er our dark 
 
 Upheaved deck — in tatters riven 
 
 Our sails — whose yawning rents between 
 
 The raging sea and sky are seen. 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 Loose from their hold our anchors burst, 
 
 And then the third, the fatal wave 
 Comes rolling onward like the lirsl, 
 And doubles all our toil to save. 
 d3 
 
SAPPHO. 
 
 [About C20 B. C] 
 
 This "tenth Muse" was a native of Mitylene 
 in the island of Lesbos. The name of her father 
 is said to have been Scamandronomus, and that 
 of her mother, Cleis. She was married to Cer- 
 colas, a wealthy inhabitant of the isle of Andros, 
 by wliom she was left early a widow, with an 
 only child called Cleis. Out of nine books of 
 lyric verse, besides numerous epigrams, epitha- 
 lamia, and other kinds of poetry, very little re- 
 mains to us except the Hymn to Venus, and her 
 Ode to the Beloved ; but these alone suflice to 
 justify the high praises so universally awarded 
 to her by all Greece, and to place her in the very 
 first rank of lyric poets. Her unatFected grace 
 
 and sweetness, her concentrated force, passion, 
 and beauty of expres>'ion, are unsurpassed in the 
 Greek tongue, ami can be transfused into no other. 
 There seems to be but little doubt of the tender 
 reverence and admiration wherein she was held 
 by the poet Alcnus, who, in a sweet, though un- 
 connected line, (found in one of his few remain- 
 ing fragments,) aiUlrcsses her as his ^Iort7dOx',aryvai, 
 y.iOjoxofiLii^O' Sortijioi — his violet-wreathed, pure, 
 sweetly-smiling Sappho. — As to the tales about 
 her loves and death, — about Phaon and the Leu- 
 cadian rock, — they seem to have been utterly des- 
 titute of all foundation. — See Welcker's "■Sappho 
 , von einem herrschenden Vorurtheil bcfreyt." 
 
 HYMN TO VENUS. 
 Vexus, beauty of the skies! 
 To whom a thousand altars rise, 
 Gaily false in gentle smiles. 
 Full of love-perplexing wiles, 
 O goddess, from my heart remove 
 The wasting cares and pains of love. 
 
 If ever thou hast kindly heard 
 A song in soft distress preferr'd, 
 Propitious to my tuneful vow, 
 
 gentle goddess, hear me now. 
 Descend, thou bright immortal guest, 
 In all thy radiant charms confest. 
 Thou once did leave almighty Jove, 
 And all the golden roofs above : 
 The car thy wanton sparrows drew ; 
 Hovering in air they lightly flew ; 
 
 As to my bower they winged their way, 
 
 1 saw their quivering pinions play. 
 The birds dismiss'd (while you remain,) 
 Bore back the empty car again : 
 
 Then you, with looks divinely mild, 
 In every heavenly feature smiFd, 
 And ask'd what new complaints I made, 
 And why I call'd you to my aid? 
 
 What frenzy in my bosom raged, 
 And by what care to be assuaged? 
 What gentle youth I would allure, 
 Whom in my artful toils secure? 
 Who does thy tender heart subdue? 
 Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who? 
 Though now he shuns thy longing arms. 
 He soon shall court thy slighted charms ; 
 Though now thy offerings he despise. 
 He soon to thee shall sacrifice ; 
 Though now he freeze, lie soon shall burn. 
 And be thy victim in his turn. 
 42 
 
 Celestial visitant, once more 
 Thy needful presence I implore! 
 In pity come and ease my grief. 
 Bring my distempered soul relief: 
 Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires, 
 And give me all my heart desires. 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 Imstgiital Venus, throned above. 
 In radiant beauty! Child of Jove! 
 skilled in every art of love 
 
 And playful snare ; 
 Dread power, to whom I bend the knee, 
 Release my soul, and set it free 
 From bonds of piercing agony. 
 
 And gloomy care. 
 
 Yea, come thyself! — If e'er, benign, 
 Tliy listening ear thou didst incline, 
 To my rude lay, the starry shine 
 
 Of Joves court leaving, 
 In chariot yoked with coursers fair. 
 Thine own immortal birds, that bear 
 Tliee swift to earth, the middle air 
 
 With bright wings cleaving. 
 
 Soon were they sped — and thou, most blest. 
 In thine own smiles ambrosial drest. 
 Didst ask what griefs my mind opprest — 
 
 What meant my song — 
 What end my frenzied thoughts pursue — 
 For what loved youth I spread anew 
 My amorous nets — " Who, Sappho, who 
 
 Hath done thee wrong? 
 
 What though he fl}'', he'll soon return — 
 Himself shall give, though now he spurn; 
 Heed not his coldness — soon he'll burn, 
 Een though thou cliide." 
 
SAPPHO. 
 
 43 
 
 And said'st thou this, dread goddea? ? — 0, 
 Coine thou once more to ease iny woe ! 
 Grant all ! — and thy <;ieat self bestow, 
 My shield and j;ui(le ! 
 
 TO THE BELOVED. 
 
 Blkst as the immortal gods is he, 
 Tlie youth, who fondly sits by thee. 
 And hears and sees thee all the while 
 Softly speak and sweetly smile. 
 
 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 
 And raised such tumults in my breast; 
 For, while I gazed in transport tost. 
 My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 
 
 My bosom glowed ; a sidjtle flame 
 Ran quick through all my vital frame; 
 O'er my dim eyes a ihirkncss hung; 
 My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 
 
 In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd, 
 My blood with gentle horrors thriil'd; 
 My feeble pulse forgot to play, 
 I fainted, sunk, and died away.* 
 
 THE DESERTED WIFE. 
 
 The moon lias set, and o'er the seas 
 Throw their last glanee the Pleiades ; 
 The weary night is waning fast. 
 The protni.sed hour is come and pasl;- 
 Yet sleepless and alone I lie. 
 Alone — ah, false one, tell me why. 
 
 ON A BELOVED COMPANION. 
 
 Deep in the dreary chambers of the dead, 
 Asteria's ghost hath made her bridal bed. 
 Still to this stone her fond compeers may turn. 
 And shed their cherish'd tresses on her urn. 
 
 ON AN ILLITERATE WOMAN. 
 
 Unrxoww, unheeded, shall thou die. 
 And no memorial shall proclaim, 
 
 That onoe, beneath the upper sky. 
 Thou hadst a being and a name. 
 
 For never to the Muses' bowers 
 
 Didst thou, with glowing heart repair. 
 
 Nor ever intertwine the flowers. 
 
 That Fancy strews unnumbered there. 
 
 Doomed o'er that dreary realm, alone 
 And shunned by gentler shades, to go, 
 
 Nor friend shall soothe nor parent own 
 The child of sloth, the Muses" foe.f 
 
 * Loniiinus, to whom posterity is indebted for the pre- 
 servation of this odo, iittrihiiteg much of its beauty to llie 
 judicious clioice winch she has made of the various feel- 
 ing's attetidaiit on jealous love, and the skilful manner in 
 which she has brought and connected them together. 
 
 /."»/r. s. X. 
 
 tTlie fire and enthusiasm of Sappho's character (says 
 Mr. Bland) appear in none of her works more unequivo- 
 cally than in this little fracment. It is the burst of in- 
 dignation at some home-spun, mighty-good sort of woman, 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 I. 
 I HAVE a child — a lovely one — 
 In beauty like the golden sim. 
 Or like sweet flowers, of earliest bloom, 
 And Cleis is her name: — for whom 
 I Lydia's treasures, were they mine, 
 Woidd glad resign. 
 
 Come, gentle Youth, and in thy flowing locks 
 With delii'ate fingers weave a fragrant crown 
 Of aromatic anise; for the gods 
 Delight in flowery wreaths, nor lend an ear 
 Propitious to their suit, who supplicate 
 With brows unbound with sweetly smelling 
 flowers. 
 
 Ci.TNo to the brave and good — the base disown- 
 Whose best of fortunes is to live unknown. 
 
 Thiiouoh orchard plots, with fragrance crown'd. 
 The clear, cold fountain murmuring flows: 
 
 And forest leaves, with rustling sound, 
 Invite to soft repose. 
 
 Wealth, without Virtue, is a (hingerons guest; 
 Who holds them mingled, is supremely blest. 
 
 Hesper! every gift is thine — 
 Thou bring'st the kidling from the rock; 
 Thoit bring'st the damsel with the flock; 
 
 Thou bring'st us rosy wine. 
 
 Beaittt, fair flower, \ipon the surface lies; 
 But Worth with Beauty soon in aspect vies. 
 
 VIII. 
 MAIIIEV LOVE. 
 
 [The following fragment, as Warton remark.s, 
 well represents "the languor and listlessness 
 of one deeply in love!"] 
 Oh, my sweet mother, — 'tis in vain— 
 
 I cannot weave as once I wove; 
 So M-ildered are my heart and brain 
 
 With diinking of that youth I love. 
 
 who had neither a soul susceptible of poetry herself, nor 
 the sense to admire, nor the candour to allow of it in 
 others. This is a description of persons, which has been 
 always severely handled by the poets, and the sli(.'nia of 
 contempt with wliiih lliey are branded by Sappho, is 
 mercy to what they are sentenced to inider;.'oby Uanle— 
 "Uuesti sciaurati, che mai noii fur vivi," tec. 
 "Those miserables, who never truly lived. 
 
 No record of their names is left on hish ; 
 
 Mercy and Justice spurn them and refuse. 
 Take we no note of them — look, and pass by !" 
 
44 
 
 ERINNA.— PITTACUS. 
 
 T' 
 
 Yes, yes, I own it true — 
 Plfasure"s the yooil tliat I pursue. 
 
 How blest is then my destiny, 
 Tliat I may love and honour too — 
 
 So bright, so brave, a love is that allotted me ! 
 
 •,* Mr. H. N. Coleridge, in speaking of the 
 genius of Sappho, observes, that " the very shreds 
 remaining of her works, seem enough to prove 
 her the greatest of lyric poets after Pindar. As 
 compared with Alca-us, Stesichorus, &c., her pre- 
 eminence in every lyric quality, is incontestable; 
 her music, her passion, her imagery, her truth, 
 
 are all transcendant; and, aAer reading what ex- 
 ists of her, we can never think of the other poets 
 who preceded, or were coeval with her, without 
 applying to them her own beautiful stanza: — 
 
 Antspfi fiiv a/ifti xa'Ka.v Xe^xivav 
 Artj aftox^ivnrovTi ^fnw fl^oj, 
 Oftnorav n^rfioiaa fiuXiora \ufi7ttj 
 Vav 
 
 The stars, that round the beauteous moon 
 
 Attendant wait, cast into shade 
 Tlieir ineffettiial lustres, soon 
 
 As she, in full-orbed majesty array'd, 
 Her silver radiance showers 
 Upon this world of ours. 
 
 ERINNA. 
 
 [About 610 B. C] 
 
 Erin^ta, a native of Lesbos, and friend of 
 Sapj)ho, died at the early age of nineteen. She 
 is described as a girl of extraordinary beauty 
 
 three epigrams, have unfortunately perished. 
 The ode to Rome, or to Fortitude, as some will 
 translate it, which has been attributed to her. is 
 
 and genius, but her works, all except two or I evidently tlie production of a much later age. 
 
 ON A VIRGIN OF MITYLENE, WHO DIED 
 ON HER WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 The virgin Myrtis' sepulchre am I ; 
 
 Creep softly to the pillared mount of woe, 
 
 And whisper to the grave, in earth below, 
 " Grave ! thou art envious in thy cruelty !'' — 
 To thee now gazing here, her barbarous fate 
 
 These brides adornments tell; that, with the 
 fire 
 Of Hymen's torch, which led her to the gate, 
 
 Her husband burned the maid upon her 
 pyre: 
 
 Yes, Hymen! thou didst change the marriage-song 
 To the shrill wailing of the mourners" throng. 
 
 On the Same. 
 
 PiUARS of death! carv'd syrens! tearful urns! 
 
 In whose sad keeping my poor dust is laid; 
 To him, that near my tomb his footstep turns, 
 
 Stranger or Greek, say to him that a maid 
 Rests, in lier bloom, below : her sire the name 
 
 Of Myrtis gave: her birth and lineage high: 
 Say, too, her bosom friend Erinna came 
 
 And on this marble graved her elegy. 
 
 PITTACUS. 
 
 [About 610 B. C] 
 
 OxE of the Seven Sages of Greece, and Tyrant of Mitylene. 
 
 FORESIGHT AND COURAGE. 
 The Wise with prudent thought provide | The Valiant, when the surge beats high. 
 
 Against misfortune's coming tide; 
 
 Undaunted brave its tyranny. 
 
MIMNERMUS. 
 
 [About 590 B. C] 
 
 MiMTfETiMrs was a native of Colophon, in 
 Ionia, and eminent both as a musician and a 
 poft. Judging of him from the few fragments 
 of his writings which have descended to us, lie 
 was anything l)ut the joyous spirit described by 
 Horace, Propcrtius, and others. He complains 
 of the transiency of human enjoyment, of the 
 briefness of youth, and the vanity and wretcheci- 
 ness of life. But such was the prevailing creed 
 of Greece, — of her gayest poets, no less than of 
 her gravest jjhilosopliers. — 
 
 "Who, thfirefore, seeks in theee 
 True wisdom, finds her not ; or, liy (ieliision, 
 Far worse, lier false reseiiibluiice only meets, 
 An empty cloud." 
 
 In the Love Elegy, Mimnermus is said to have 
 reigned supreme, throughout all antiquity; (i)lus 
 in amore valet Mimnermi versus Homero.) But 
 his great work on the subject, (inscribed to his 
 beloved Nanno,) or all but a shred of it, is lost — 
 destroyed by the Byzantine Inquisitors. 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 What were life, and where its treasure, 
 Golden Venus, wert thou llown? 
 
 Ne'er may I outlive the pleasure 
 Given to man by thee alone, — 
 Honied gifts and secret love, 
 Joys all other joys above. 
 
 Quickly, stripling! quickly, maiden! 
 Snatch life's blossoms ere they fall ; 
 
 Age with hate and sorrow laden. 
 Soon draws nigh to level all, — 
 Makes the man of comeliest mien, 
 Like the most ill-favoured seen. 
 
 Youth and grace his path declining. 
 Gloomy thoughts his bosom tear; 
 
 Seems the sun, in glory shining. 
 Now to him no longer fair, — 
 
 Joys no more his soul engage, 
 Such the power of dreary age. 
 
 THE EVILS OF MORTALITY. 
 Like blossoms, which the sun's creative ray 
 And florid spring have fostered into day, 
 Our May of youth, a stranger yet to pain 
 And new to pleasure, wantons o'er the plain. 
 While the dark Parcce watch our every breath, 
 And weave the fatal web of age and death. 
 A gay but transitory course we run 
 Of youth, departing with the summer sun: 
 This past, the season comes of care and strife, 
 When death is better than the dregs of life. 
 Sorrow, in various forms, on all descends, 
 Disaster, poverty, or loss of friends: 
 One with j)rotracted hope antl vain desires 
 For children longs and, as he longs, expires; 
 Another groans in sickness; sufferers all, 
 Condenin'd alike to drink the cup of gall. 
 
 IBYCUS. 
 
 [About 561 B, C] 
 
 Ibtcus was a native of Rhegium in Italy, but 
 chiefly resided at the court of Polycrates in Sa- 
 mos. He is styled by Suidas the most love-mad 
 (fpcorojuai/furaro^) of poets, ami the short fiag- 
 ments of his writings, that remain to us, seem 
 fidly to bear out the character thus given him. 
 It is not so much, however, on account of his life 
 or writings, as of the circumstances related of his 
 death, and of the deathless interest which has 
 
 been attached to them by a later and far greater 
 bard, that he is here introduced.* The story 
 (a(!Cording to .(Elian) is, that, being attacked and 
 wounded to death by robbers, and seeing, in his 
 dying moments a flight of cranes, lie cried out: — 
 "Those birds will be my avengers!" And so 
 they were ; for one of the murderers happening 
 
 • See Schiller's "Kraniche dea Ibykus." 
 
 •J5 
 
46 
 
 THEOGNIS. 
 
 soon afterwards to see a flock of the same birds 
 flyiiig over the market place of Corinth, inad- 
 vertently exclaimed to his comrades: "Behold 
 the avengers of Ibyciis!"' His wonls were over- 
 heard, suspicions arose, inquiry followed, trutii 
 
 came to light, and Ibycns' dying propliecy was 
 accomplished in the execution of his mnrderers. 
 Hence the proverb of 'li3ixovixbi.xoi, in cases of 
 criminals unexpectedly found out and brought to 
 justice. 
 
 TO EURYALE. 
 
 O THOU, the bright-haired Graces' bud and care, 
 Einyale! Sure Venus fair 
 And sweet Persuasion, with her eyelids mild, 
 In rose-llower cradle nourished thee a child. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF SPRING. 
 
 Ix Spring, bedewed with river-streams, 
 From where, for everlasting, gleams 
 
 The garden of th' Hesperides, 
 Blossom Cydonian apple-trees; — 
 In Spring the saplings freshly shine, 
 
 Beneath the parent-vine 
 
 In shadow and in breeze ; 
 But me Love's mighty power. 
 That sleepeth never an hour. 
 From Venus rushing, burnetii with desire, 
 
 As with the lightning fire; 
 Black, as the Thracian wind, 
 He seizes on my mind, 
 With ilry delirious lieat 
 Inflames my reason's seat. 
 And, in the centre of my soul. 
 Keeps empire for a child, and holds 
 uncheck'd control. 
 
 THEOGNIS. 
 
 [About 511 B. C] 
 
 Thtcognis was born in tlie city of Megara or 
 Alcathoe in Achaia, and was a traveller, a poli- 
 tician, and a man of pleasure, and of the world. 
 He has been accused by ancient writers, of dis- 
 seminating voluptuousness, under the guise of 
 morality, but nothing of the kind is perceptible 
 
 in those relics of his poetry which have descended 
 to us. He lived to be eighty-eight years of age, 
 the greater portion of which period was passed 
 by him and his brother-nobles in one perpetual 
 struggle with the democracy. AH his composi- 
 tions are in the elegiac metre. 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 Ah me ! alike o'er youth and age I sigh. 
 Impending age, and youth that hastens by; 
 Swift as a thought the (lowing moments roll, 
 Swift as a racer speeds to reach the goal. 
 How rich, how happy the contented guest. 
 Who leaves the banquet soon, and sinks to rest. 
 Damps chill my brow, my pulses fiutt'iing beat. 
 Whene'er the vigorous pride of youth I meet 
 Pleasant, and lovely; hopeful to the view 
 As golden visions, and as transient too : 
 But ah! no tenors stop, nor vows, nor tears 
 Life's mournful evening, and the gloom of years. 
 
 EXHORTATION TO ENJOYMENT. 
 
 Mat peace and riclies crown my native towers. 
 Nor war nor tumults break our festive hours; 
 May g'orious Jove, embracing earth and sky. 
 Exulting view our mortal harmony; 
 
 Thon, sweet Apollo, touch the happy crew. 
 And warm our hearts to raptures strange and 
 
 new ; 
 With shell and lute high raise the strain divine. 
 And rich libations pour on every shrine! 
 While to the powers above our praises flow, 
 Inspiring wine shall make us goils below : 
 In pleasant converse wrapt, the social soid 
 Heeds not the wai s that shake the northern pole. 
 Thus to be ever charm'd were sure the best, 
 With every fretful feverish pulse at rest, 
 In joy and mirth to drown the din of arms, 
 The frost of years to come, and death's alarms. 
 Sweet youth is mine — I revel in her bloom ; 
 (How soon condemned to wither in the tomb !) 
 Tho' fair in fame, for noble lineage known. 
 Mute, cold, and dull, as yon neglected stone. 
 Soon shall I leave the whisp'ring air and sky. 
 And darkly slumber through futurity. 
 Be soothed, my soul — how soon another race. 
 Shall claim whatever is mine of power or place ; 
 
THEOGNIS. 
 
 47 
 
 And o'er the mournrul spot regardless go, 
 Wliere my bones mingle with the earth below ! 
 But ever ir]\;M my conscions heart rejoice 
 At Pleasure's breatli, and Mn:>ic's heavenly voice ; 
 Pleased will I sport, while flagrant draughts in- 
 spire. 
 Or sing symphonions to the minstrel's lyre : 
 Death's horrid realm no sense of bliss pervades, 
 Nor wine, nor lyre, nor beauty please the shades. 
 Then, while on earth my winged pidses beat, 
 While throbs my heart with youth's delicious 
 
 heat, 
 ChariTi'd will I yield to every new delight, 
 Ere mournful age shall tear it from my sight. 
 
 REASONABLE EXPECTATIONS. 
 CouLi) wealth \\-ith sorrow unalloy'd be mine, 
 Oh might my board with varied plenty shine! 
 But since just Fortune doles to each his share, 
 Be mine a poorer lot, but free from care. 
 
 TEST OF TRUTH. 
 In vino Veritas. 
 Frnr, proves the treasures of the mine. 
 The soul of 'man is proved by wine. 
 
 TO JUPITER. 
 Jove, much I marvel at the way 
 In which t'lis world thou'rt pleased to sway; 
 No diti'erence — none, for aught I see — 
 'Twixt knave and honest man with thee. 
 Nay, if the truth must be confess'd. 
 Full oft, I fear. Vice fares the best. 
 Of gold, and laid, and title biags. 
 And quads liis wine, and drives his nags, 
 "Whilst toil-worn Virtue dies in rags. 
 
 LIFE'S FIRST BLESSING. 
 
 Kthn us ! of all good things in life, 
 There's nought can equal a good wife ; 
 And we, I am sure, may prove it true — 
 You'll vouch for me, anil I for you. 
 
 TO KYRNUS. 
 I've given thee wings o'er boundless earth and sea 
 
 To speed thy easy flight; 
 And thou, for ever dear, slialt voiced be 
 
 Mid Ijanquets of de'ight. 
 The mellow flute, by fairest youths inspired, 
 
 Shall sweetly breathe thy name; 
 And when within eartli's covert dim retired, 
 Thou'rt lost to lieaven's pure flame, 
 Glory shall wait thee in t!iy native home — 
 
 Alive though in the grave! 
 Through Greece and all her islands thou shalt 
 roam. 
 
 Above tho ocean wave — 
 Nor borne on steeds, but by the Muses led, 
 
 Whose temples violets wreathe; 
 For M-)iilst ea' th lasts, and day's glad light is shed. 
 
 This song of thee shall breathe. — 
 Yet — yt by thee I'm treated like a child, 
 With fond, vain words, for ever thus beguiled. 
 
 GENERAL CORRUPTION OF THE PEOPLE. 
 Stir not a step! Risk nothing; but believe 
 I'liat vows and oaths are snares meant to deceive ! 
 Jove is no warrant for a promise given — 
 Not Jove himself, nor all the gods in heaven. 
 Nothing is safe; no character secure, 
 No conduct, the most innocent and pure; 
 All are corrupt, the commons and the great, 
 Alike incapable to serve the state. 
 The ruin of the noblest and the best 
 Serves for an idle ballad or a jest: 
 Shame is abolished ; and in high command. 
 Rage, Impudence, and Rapine rule the land. 
 
 APPROACH OF THE ENEMY. 
 
 A SPEECHLESS messenger! the beacon's light 
 Announces danger from the mountain's lieight! 
 Bridle your horses, and prepare to fly! 
 The final crisis of our fate is nigh. 
 A momentary pause, a narrow space 
 Detains them, — but the foes approach apace. — 
 We must abide what fortune has decreed. 
 And hope that heaven will help us at our need. 
 Make your resolve! at home your means are 
 
 great ; 
 Abroad you will retain a poor estate. 
 Unostentatious, indigent, and scant, 
 You live secure, at least, from utter want. 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 For noble minds, the worst of miseries. 
 Worse than ohl age, or wearisome disease, 
 Is Poverty. From Poverty to flee, 
 Fronr some tall precipice into the sea. 
 It M-ere a fair escape to leap below ! 
 In Poverty, dear Kyrnus, we forego 
 Freedom in word and deed, body and mind ; 
 Action and thought are fetter'd and confin'd. 
 Let me then fly, dear Kyrnus, once again ! 
 Wide as the limits of tho land and main. 
 From these entanglements; with these in view, 
 Death is the lighter evil of the two. 
 
 TO THE CHIEF OF A FACTIOUS RABBLE. 
 
 Lash your obedient rabble! Cast and load 
 The burden on their backs! Spur them and 
 
 goad ! 
 They'll bear it all ! — by patience and by birth 
 The most submissive, humble slaves on earth. 
 
 PRAYER FOR GOOD TO HIS FRIF.NDS, 
 AND REVENGE ON HIS FOES. 
 Mat Jove assist me to discharge a debt 
 Of kindness to my friends — and grant me yet 
 A further boon — revenge upon my foes ! 
 With these accomplished, I could gladly close 
 My tertn of life — a fair requital made — 
 My friends rewarded, and my wrongs repaid! 
 Gratitude and revenge, before I die. 
 Might make ine deemed almost a deity. 
 Yet hear, O mighty Jove! and grant my prayer, 
 Relieve me from aiHiction and despair ! 
 
48 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 take my life— or grant me some redress, 
 Some foretaste of returning happiness. 
 Such is my state — I cannot yet descry 
 A chance of vengeance on mine enemy, 
 The rude despoiler of my property. 
 Yet my full wish, to drink their very blood, 
 Some power divine, that watches for my good, 
 May yet accomplish. Soon may he fulfil 
 My righteous hope, my just and hearty will. 
 
 ENJOYMENT. 
 
 Enjoy your time, my soul ! another race 
 Shall shortly fill the world, and take your place 
 With their own hopes and fears, sorrow and 
 
 mirth; 
 I shall be dust the while, and crumbled earth. 
 But think not of it. Drink the racy wine 
 Of rich Taygetus, pressed from the vine 
 Which Theotimus in the sunny glen 
 (Old Theotimus, loved of gods and men,) 
 Planted and watered from a plenteous source, 
 Teaching the wayward stream a better course : 
 Drink it, and cheer your heart, and banish care, 
 A load of wine will lighten your despair. 
 
 ON RETURNING TO HIS NATIVE LAND. 
 Wide have I wandered, far beyond the sea, 
 Even to the distant shores of Sicily; 
 To broad Euboeas plentiful domain. 
 With the rich vineyards in its planted plain; 
 And to the sunny wave and winding edge 
 Of fair Eurotas with its reedy sedge — 
 Where Sparta stands in simple majesty : 
 Among her manly rulers there was I, — 
 Greeted and welcomed there and everywhere, 
 With courteous entertainment, kind and fair ; 
 Yet still my weary spirit would repine. 
 Longing again to view this land of mine. 
 Henceforward, no design nor interest 
 Shall ever move me, but the first and best, 
 With learning's happy gift to celebrate, 
 Adorn, and dignify my native state. 
 The song, the dance, music and verse agreeing, 
 Will occupy my life and fill my being ; 
 Pursuits of elegance and learned skill 
 (With good repute, and kindness, and good-will 
 Among the wiser sort,) will pass my time 
 Without an enemy, without a crime ; 
 Harmless and just with every rank of men, 
 Both the free native and the denizen. 
 
 ANACREON, 
 
 [Bom, 554— Died, 469 B. C] 
 
 1 see Anacreon smile and sing; 
 
 His silver tresses breathe perfume, 
 His cheek displays a second spring 
 
 Of roses, taught by wine to bloom. 
 Away, deceitful cares, away! 
 And let me listen to his \ay.—Jlienside. 
 
 Anacreox was born at Teos in Ionia; but on 
 the invasion of that country by Harpag^'s, the 
 general of the elder Cyrus, he migrated to Ab- 
 dera in Thrace. He afterwards resided at the 
 court of Polycrates in Samos, whence he was in- 
 vited to Athens by Hipparchus, who sent a fifty 
 oared galley to convey him over the JEgean. On 
 the death of the usurper he returned to Teos, but 
 was again driven thence by the revolt of His- 
 
 tsBus. He finally settled in Abdera, and died in 
 the eighty-fifth year of his age, choked (it is 
 said) by a grape-stone which he swallowed in a 
 draught of new wine. 
 
 A small portion, only, of his works has de- 
 scended to us, the remainder, like those of 
 AlcEBus, Sappho, Mimnermus, and others, having 
 fallen a sacrifice to the bigotted zeal or hypocrisy 
 of the Byzantine Inquisitors. 
 
 LOVE. 
 I'll sing of heroes and of kings, 
 In mighty numbers, mighty things. 
 Begin, my Muse ! — but lo ! the strings 
 To my great song rebellious prove ; 
 The strings will sound of nought but love. 
 — I broke them all, and put on new; 
 — 'Tis this, or nothing, now will do. 
 " These, sure," said I, " will me obey ; 
 
 These, sure, heroic notes will play." 
 Straight I began with thundering Jove 
 And all th' immortal powers; but Love, 
 Love smil'd ; and from my enfeebled lyre 
 Came gentle airs, such as inspire 
 Melting love and soft desire. — 
 Farewell then, heroes ! farewell, kings ! 
 And mighty numbers, mighty things! 
 Love tunes my heart just to my strings. 
 
ANACREON. 
 
 49 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 To all that breatlie tlie air of heaven 
 Some boon of strength has Nature given. 
 In forming the majestic bull, 
 She fenced with wreathed horns his skull ; 
 A hoof of strength she lent the steed, 
 And winged the timorous hare with speed j 
 She gave the lion fangs of terror. 
 And o'er the ocean's crystal mirror. 
 Taught the unnumbered scaly thron; 
 To trace the liquid path along; 
 While for the umbrage of the grove 
 She plumed the warbling world of love. 
 To Man she gave, in that proud hour. 
 The boon of intellectual power; 
 Then what, O Woman, what for thee 
 Was left in Nature's treasury? 
 She gave thee beauty — mightier far 
 Than all the pomp and power of war. 
 Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power 
 Like Woman in her conquering hour. 
 Be thou but fair, — mankind adore thee ! 
 Smile, — and a world is weak before thee ! 
 
 TO A PAINTER. 
 Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
 Mimic form and soul infuse, 
 Best of painters ! come, portray 
 The lovely Maid, that's far away. 
 Paint her jetty ringlets playing, 
 Silky locks, like tendrils straying; 
 And, if painting hath the skill 
 To make the spicy balm distil, 
 Let every little lock exhale 
 A sigh of perfume on the gale. 
 Where her tresses' curly flow 
 Darkles o'er the brow of snow, 
 Let her forehead beam to light 
 Burnished as the ivory bright. 
 Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
 In jetty arches o'er her eyes, 
 Each a crescent gently gliding. 
 Just commingling, just dividing. 
 
 But hast thou any sparkles warm 
 The lightning of her eyes to form 1 
 Let them effuse the azure rays 
 That in Minerva's glances blaze. 
 Mixed with the liquid light, that lies 
 In Cytherea's languid eyes. 
 O'er her nose and cheek be shed 
 Flushing white and softened red ; 
 Mingling tints, as when there glows 
 In snowy milk the bashful rose. 
 Then her lip, so rich in blisses, 
 Sweet petitioner for kisses, 
 Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
 Mutely courting Love's invasion. 
 Next, beneath the velvet chin. 
 Whose dimple hides a Love within, 
 Mould her neck with grace descending. 
 And in a heaven of beauty ending ; 
 While countless charms, above, below 
 Sport and flutter round its snow. 
 Now let a floating, lucid veil 
 Shadow her form, but not conceal ; 
 7 
 
 A charm may peep, a hue may beam, 
 And leave the rest to Fancy's dream. 
 — Enough — 'tis she! 'tis all I seek; 
 It glows, it lives, it soon will speak I 
 
 ANACREON'S DOVE. 
 
 "LovELT courier of the sky. 
 Whence and whither dost thou fly? 
 Scattering, as thy pinions play. 
 Liquid fragrance all the way. 
 Is it business? Is it love? 
 Tell me, tell me, gentle Dove." — 
 
 " Soft Anacreon's vows I bear. 
 Vows to Myrtale the fair ; 
 Graced with all that charms the heart, 
 Blushing nature, smiling art, 
 Venus, courted by an ode. 
 On the Bard her Dove bestow'd. 
 Vested with a master's right. 
 Now Anacreon rules my flight: 
 As the letters that you see. 
 Weighty charge consign'd to me : 
 Think not yet my service hard. 
 Joyless task without reward : 
 Smiling at my master's gates. 
 Freedom my return awaits: 
 But the liberal grant in vain 
 Tempts me to be wild again. 
 Can a prudent Dove decline 
 Blissful bondage such as mine? 
 Over hills and fields to roam. 
 Fortune's guest without a home; 
 Under leaves to hide one's head. 
 Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed ; 
 Now my better lot bestows 
 Sweet repast, and soft repose ; 
 Now the generous bowl I sip 
 As it leaves Anacreon's lip; 
 Void of care, and free from dread 
 From his fingers snatch his bread, 
 Then with luscious plenty gay 
 Round his chambers dance and play; 
 Or, from wine as courage springs, 
 O'er his face expand my wings ; 
 And, when feast and frolic tire, 
 Drop asleep upon his lyre. 
 This is all ; be quick and go. 
 More than all thou can'st not know; 
 Let me now my pinions ply, — 
 I have chatter'd like a pye."* 
 
 CURE FOR CARE. 
 
 Whex my thirsty soul I steep. 
 Every sorrow's lulled to sleep. 
 Talk of monarchs! I <im then 
 Richest, happiest, first of men ; 
 
 ♦ " As I was never struck with any thing in the Greek 
 language, (says Dr. Johnson,) till I read Anacreon's 
 Dove, so have I nover reail any thing in the same lan- 
 guage since, that pleased uvi inorp." Up then aiMi'd 
 that the ahove verses "were planned and even besun," 
 when he was sixteen years old, yet had he never found 
 "time to make an end of them before he was siily- 
 eight." 
 
50 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 Careless o'er my cup I sing, 
 Fancy makes me more than king ; 
 Gives me wealthy Croesus' store, — 
 Ought I, can I, wish for more ? 
 On my velvet couch reclining, 
 Ivy-leaves my brow entwining, 
 All my soul elate with glee, — 
 What are kings and crowns to me 
 Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
 Hasten to the sanguine fight ; 
 But let me, my budding Vine ! 
 Spill no other blood but thine. 
 Yonder brimming goblet see, 
 That alone shall vanquish me, — 
 Who think it better, wiser far, 
 To fall in banquet than in war. 
 
 DRINKING. 
 Observe, when mother Earth is dry, 
 She drinks the droppings of the sky; 
 And then the dewy cordial gives 
 To every thirsty plant that lives. 
 The vapours, which at evening sweep, 
 Are beverage to the swelling Deep ; 
 And when the rosy sun appears, 
 He drinks the Ocean's misty tears. 
 The Moon, too, quaffs her paly stream 
 Of lustre from the solar beam. 
 Then hence with all your sober thinking, 
 Since Nature's holiest law is drinking; 
 I'll make the laws of Nature mine, 
 And pledge the universe in wine.* 
 
 GOLD. 
 
 Yes, — loving is a painful thrill 
 
 And not to love more painful still ; 
 
 But oh, it is the worst of pain 
 
 To love, and not be loved again! 
 
 Affection now has fled from earth, 
 
 Nor fire of genius, noble birth. 
 
 Nor heaveidy virtue, can beguile 
 
 From beauty's cheek one favouring smile. 
 
 Gold is the woman's only theme, 
 
 Gold is the woman's only dream. 
 
 Oh! never be that wretch forgiven — 
 
 Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! 
 
 Whose grovelling eyes could first adore, 
 
 Whose heart could pant lor sordid ore. 
 
 Since that devoted thirst began, 
 
 Man has forgot to feel for man ; 
 
 The pulse of social life is dead. 
 
 And all its fontler feelings fled! 
 
 War too has sullied Nature's charms, 
 
 For gold provokes the world to arms: 
 
 And oh ! the worst of all its arts. 
 
 It rends asunder loving hearts. 
 
 * Cowley, who has translated, or rather paraphrased, 
 this ode, ends with ihe following lines : — 
 
 Nolhini; in Nature 's sober found. 
 But an eternal health goes round. 
 Fill up the bowl, then, fill it hif;h, 
 Fill all the glasses there ; for why 
 Should every creature drink but II 
 Why, man of morals, tell me why? 
 
 CUPID BENIGHTED. 
 'TwAS noon of night, and round the pole, 
 The sullen Bear was seen to roll ; 
 And mortals, wearied with the day, 
 Were slumbering all their cares away ; 
 An infant, at that dreary hour. 
 Came weeping to my silent bower, 
 d waked me with a piteous prayer, 
 shield him from the midnight air. 
 ^iid who art thou," I waking cry, 
 "That bid'st my blissful visions fly?" 
 "Ah, gentle sire,'" — the infant said, — 
 "In pity take me to thy shed ; 
 Nor fear deceit; a lonely child, 
 I wander o'er the gloomy wild. 
 Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 
 Illumes my drear and misty way." 
 
 I heard the baby's tale of woe ; 
 I heard the bitter night-winds blow ; 
 And, sighing for his piteous fate, 
 I trimm'd my lamp, and op'd the gate. 
 'Twas Love! the little wandering sprite, 
 His pinion sparkled through the night. 
 I knew him by his bow and dart ; 
 I knew him by my fluttering heart. 
 Fondly I take him in, and raise 
 The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 
 Press from his dark and clinging hair 
 The crystals of the freezing air, 
 And in my hand and bosom hold 
 His little fingers, thrilling cold. 
 
 And now the ember's genial ray 
 Had warm'd his anxious fears away : 
 " I pray thee," said the wanton child, 
 (My bosom trembled as he smil'd) 
 " I pray thee, let me try my bow, 
 For through the rain I've wandered so, 
 That much I fear, the midnight shower 
 Has injur'd its elastic power.'' — 
 His fatal bow the urchin drew ; 
 Swift from the string the arrow flew ; 
 As swiftly flew as glancing flame. 
 And to mine inmost spirit came ! 
 And " fare thee well," — I heard him say, 
 As, laughing wild, he wing'd his way ; 
 "Fare thee well, for now, I know. 
 The rain has not relaxed my bow ; 
 It still can send a thrilling dart. 
 As thou shalt own with all thy heart !" 
 
 THE EPICURE. 
 
 UsnEHNEATH this myrtle shade, 
 On flowery beds supinely laid. 
 With odorous oils my head o'erflowinj 
 And around it roses growing. 
 What should I do but drink away 
 The heat and troubles of the day ? 
 In this more than kingly state. 
 Love himself shall on me wait. 
 Fill to me. Love ; nay, fill it up ; 
 And mingled cast into the cup 
 Wit, and mirth, and noble fires, 
 Vigorous health, and gay desires. 
 The wheel of life no less will stay 
 In a smooth than rugged way : 
 
ANACREON. 
 
 51 
 
 Since it equally doth flee, 
 Let the motion pleasant be. 
 Why do we precious ointments shower? 
 Nobler wines why do we pour? 
 Beauteous flowers why do we spread 
 Upon the monuments of the dead? 
 Nothing they but dust can show, 
 Or bones that hasten to be so. 
 Cro\Cn me with roses whilst I live, — 
 Now your wines and ointments give ; 
 After death I nothing crave, 
 Let me alive my pleasures have ! 
 All are Stoics in the grave. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 Buds of roses, virgin flowers, 
 Culled from Cupid's balmy bowers, 
 In the bowl of Bacchus steep, 
 Till with crimson drops tliey weep. 
 Twine the rose, the garland twine, 
 Every leaf distilling wine ; 
 Drink and smile, and learn to think, 
 That we were born to smile and drink. 
 Rose ! thou art the sweetest flower. 
 That ever drank the amber shower ; 
 Rose ! thou art the fondest child 
 Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild! 
 Even the Gods, who walk the sky, 
 Are amorous of thy scented sigh. 
 Cupid, too, in Paphian shades. 
 His hair with rosy fillets braids. 
 When with the blushing sister Graces, 
 The wanton, winding dance he traces. — 
 Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 
 And shed them o'er me while I sing ; 
 Or, while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine. 
 Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 
 I lead some bright nymph through the dance. 
 Commingling soul with every glance. 
 
 AGE. 
 
 Oft am I by the women told, 
 
 "Poor Anacreon! thou grow'st old; 
 
 Look ! how thy hairs are falling all ; 
 
 Poor Anacreon, how they fall !'' — 
 
 Whether I grow old or no, 
 
 By the efiects 1 do not know ; 
 
 But this I know, m ithout being told, 
 
 'Tis time to live, if 1 grow old ; 
 
 'Tis time short i)leasures now to take, 
 
 Of little life the best to make, 
 
 And manage wisely the last stake. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Behold the young, the rosy Spring, 
 Gives to the breeze her scented wingj 
 While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
 Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
 The murmuring billows oi' the deep 
 Have languished into silent sleep. 
 And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave 
 Their plumes in tlie reflecting wave ; 
 
 While cranes from hoary winter fly, 
 To flutter in a kinder sky. 
 Now the genial star of day 
 Dissolves the nmrky clouils away; 
 And cultured lieltl and winding stream 
 Are freshly glittering in his beam. 
 
 Now the earth prolific swells 
 With leafy buds and flowery bells; 
 Gemming shoots the olive twine, 
 Clusters bright festoon the vine; 
 All along the branches creejjing. 
 Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
 Little infant fruits we see 
 Nursing into luxury. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 Happt insect! what can be 
 In happiness compar'd to thee ? 
 Fed with nourishment divine. 
 The dewy morning's gentle wine! 
 Nature waits upon thee still. 
 And thy verdant cup does fill ; 
 'Tis filled wherever thou dost tread, 
 Nature's self's thy Ganymede. 
 Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing; 
 Happier than the hapjjiest king! 
 All the fields which thou dost see. 
 All the plants belong to thee; 
 All that summer hours produce; 
 Fertile made with early juice. 
 Man for thee does sow and plough; 
 Farmer he, and landlord thou ! 
 Thou dost innocently joy ; 
 Nor does thy luxury destroy; 
 The shepherd gladly heareth thee. 
 More harmonious than he. 
 Thee country-hinds with gladness hear. 
 Prophet of the ripen'd year! 
 Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire ; 
 Phcebus is himself thy sire. 
 To thee, of all things upon earth. 
 Life's no longer than thy mirth. 
 Happy insect, happy, thou 
 Dost neither age nor winter know ; 
 But, when thou'st drunk, and dane'd and sung 
 Tliy fill, the flowery leaves among, 
 (Voluptuous and wise withal. 
 Epicurean animal !) — 
 Sated with thy summer feast, 
 Thou retir'st to endless rest. 
 
 ON THE NUMBER OF HIS MISTRESSES. 
 If thou canst number o'er to me 
 Every leaf on every tree, 
 Or count the ceaseless waves that roar 
 Against the billow-beaten shore, 
 Thou sufficient skill hast j)roved. 
 Thou shall count the names I've loved. 
 At Athens first, Minerva's town, 
 Full five-and-thirty write me down; 
 But oh ! at Corinth, rich and fair, 
 What hosts of loved ones I had there! 
 For beauteous nymphs it bears the sway, 
 None so beauteous sure as they ! 
 
52 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 Next, my lovely Lesbians tell, 
 
 lonians, Carians, those that dwell 
 
 In far-famed Rhodes — you may, in all, 
 
 The trifling sum two thousand call. 
 
 What! think'st thou that I yet have done? 
 
 Resume tliy tablets : — One by one, 
 
 I'll coimt thee o'er my Syrian fair ; 
 
 And Egypt too must claim a share ; 
 
 And fertile Creta yet remains, 
 
 Where Love his empire still maintains 
 
 The dark-eyed nymphs, that shared my flame. 
 
 In Spain, in Afric, shall I name ? 
 
 To sultry India's farthest pole. 
 
 Whose dusky charms have fired my soul ? 
 
 CUPID AND THE BEE. 
 
 Cupid once upon a bed 
 
 Of roses laid his weary head; 
 
 Luckless urchin, not to see 
 
 Within the leaves a slumbering bee! 
 
 The bee awaked — with anger wild 
 
 The bee awaked, and stung the child. 
 
 Loud and piteous are his cries ; 
 
 To Venus quick he runs, he flies; 
 
 " Oh mother ! — I am wounded through — 
 
 I die with pain — what shall I do ? 
 
 Stung by some little angry thing, 
 
 Some serpent on a tiny wing — 
 
 A bee it was — for once, I know, 
 
 I heard a peasant call it so." 
 
 Thus he spoke, and she the while 
 
 Heard him vi'ith a soothing smile; 
 
 Then said : "My infant, if so much 
 
 Thou feel the little wild-bee's touch. 
 
 How must the heart, ah, Cupid, be. 
 
 The hapless heart, that's stung by thee?" 
 
 FOLLY OF AVARICE. 
 
 If hoarded gold possessed the power 
 
 To lengthen life's too fleeting hour. 
 
 And purchase from the hand of death 
 
 A little space, a moment's breath, 
 
 How I would love the precious ore. 
 
 And every hour should swell my store ; 
 
 That when Death came, with shadowy pinion. 
 
 To waft me to his black dominion, 
 
 I might, by bribes, my doom delay, 
 
 And bid him call another day. — 
 
 But since not all earth's golden store 
 
 Can buy for us one bright hour more. 
 
 Why should we vainly mourn our fate. 
 
 Or sigh at life's uncertain date ? 
 
 Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume 
 
 The silent midnight of the tomb. 
 
 No — give to others hoarded treasures, — 
 
 Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures; 
 
 The goblet rich, the board of friends. 
 
 Whose social souls the goblet blends; 
 
 And mine, while yet I've life to live. 
 
 Those joys which love alone can give. 
 
 A VERNAL WALK. 
 When Spring adorns the dewy scene, 
 How sweet to walk the velvet green, 
 
 And hear the west-wind's gentle sighs, 
 As o'er the gentle mead it flies ! 
 How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 
 Ready to burst in tears of wine ; 
 And with some maid, who breathes but love, 
 To walk, at noontide, through the grove, 
 Or sit in some cool, green recess, — 
 Oh, is not this true happiness ? 
 
 HAPPY LIFE. 
 Fill the bowl with rosy wine! 
 Around our temples roses twine ! 
 And let us cheerfully awhile 
 Like the Wine and Roses, smile. 
 Crown'd with roses, we contemn 
 Gyges' golden diadem. 
 To-day is ours; what do we fear? 
 To-day is ours ; we have it here : 
 Let's treat it kindly, that it may 
 Wish, at least, with us to stay. 
 Let's banish business, banish sorrow; 
 To the gods belongs to-morrow. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 Sad Niobe on Phrygian shore, 
 
 Was turned to marble by despair; 
 And hapless Progne learned to soar 
 
 On swallow's wings, through liquid air. 
 But I would be a mirror. 
 
 So thou may'st pleased behold me ; 
 Or robe, with close embraces 
 
 About thy limbs to fold me. 
 A crystal fount to lave thee ; 
 
 Sweet oils thy hair to deck, 
 A zone to press thy bosom. 
 
 Or pearl to gem thy neck. 
 Or might I worship at thy feet, 
 
 A sandal for thy feet I'd be, 
 Ev'n to be trodden on were sweet, 
 
 If trodden on by thee. 
 
 ON TIMOCRITUS. 
 TiMOCRiTCS adorns this humble grave — 
 Mars spares the coward, but destroys the brave. 
 
 ON CLEANOR. 
 Thee too, Cleanor, strong desire laid low- 
 Desire, that wretched exiles only kno^v, 
 Of thy loved native land. The tyrant sway 
 Of Winter had no force to make thee stay: 
 Thy fatal hour was come ; and, tempest-sped. 
 The wild waves closed around thy cherish'd head. 
 
 CONVIVIAL. 
 
 Ne'er shall that man my comrade be. 
 
 Or drink a generous glass with me, 
 
 Who, o'er his bumpers, brags of scars, 
 
 Of noisy broils and mournful wars. 
 
 But welcome thou, congenial soul. 
 
 And share my purse and drain my bowl, 
 
 Who canst, in social knot, combine 
 
 The Muse, Good-humour, Love, and Wine. 
 
SIMONIDES. 
 
 [Bom 558-Died 467, B. C] 
 
 SiMONiDES, "the wise and divine," (as he is 
 called by Plato,) was the son of Leopres, and a 
 native of Ceos. where he presided over a school 
 for the instruction of the Tragic Chorus. He 
 afterwanls removed to Syracuse, where he was 
 high in favour with King Hiero, and is said to 
 have died in the ninety-lirst year of his age. To 
 him is attributed the invention, or, at least, the 
 establishment of the Funeral Elegy. But it was 
 for his Eiiigrams, written chiefly on those who 
 fell in battle against the Persians, that he was 
 most renowned. These are all characterized, 
 (as Mr. Coleridge truly says,) "by force, down- 
 rightness, and terse simplicity — dufjjtjio — in the 
 highest degree of any to be found in the Antho- 
 
 logy." In one of them, (that of "the three hundred 
 who died at Thermopylie") — he bore away the 
 prize from .^sehylus. 
 
 An anecdote has been related of him by Cicero, 
 that, having found and buried the corpse of some 
 unknown person washed up by the sea, and being 
 afterwards about to embark on a voyage, he was 
 warned by a vision of the dead man to postpone 
 it, lest he should suffer shipwreck. He obeyed 
 the warning and stayed at home, while those, 
 who sailed without him, were shipwrecked and 
 lost. 
 
 Our poet is not to be confounded with his re- 
 lative and namesake, the author of a satiric poem 
 on Woman.* 
 
 ON ARCHEDICE, THE DAUGHTER OF 
 HIPPIAS. 
 Daugbteh of him, who ruled the Athenian plains, 
 This honoured urn Archedice contains ; 
 Of tyrants mother, daughter, sister, wife, 
 Her soul was humble, and unstained her life. 
 
 ON TIMOCREON OF RHODES. 
 
 After cramming, and swilling, and damning 
 
 my neighbours, 
 I, Timocreon of Rhodes, here repose from my 
 
 labours. 
 
 ON MEGISTIAS THE SOOTHSAYER, 
 
 WHO PERISHED WITH I.EONIDAS AT THE PASS 
 OF THERMOPYL^. 
 
 This tomb records Megistias' honoured name. 
 Who bravely fighting in the ranks of fame. 
 
 Fell by the Persians, near Sperchius' tide. 
 Both past and future well the prophet knew ; 
 And yet, though death was open to his view, 
 
 He chose to perish at his general's side. 
 
 ON THOSE WHO FELL AT THERMOPYL^. 
 
 In dark Thermopylne they lie ; 
 
 Oh death of glory thus to die ! 
 
 Their tomb an altar is, their name 
 
 A mighty heritage of fame : 
 
 Their dirge is trimnph; cankering rust, 
 
 And time, that turneth all to dust, 
 
 * He wrote an apologue on women, in which he repre- 
 sents them as having been formed from elements and 
 animals of supposed correspondent natures. 
 
 That tomb shall never waste nor hide, — 
 The tomb of warriors true and tried. 
 The full-voiced praise of Greece around 
 Lies buried in that sacred mound ; 
 Where Sparta's king, Leonidas, 
 In death eternal glory has. 
 
 On the Same. 
 Greatit to die, if this be glory's height. 
 
 For tlie fair meed we own our fortune kind : 
 For Greece and Liberty we plunged to night. 
 
 And left a never-dying name behind. 
 
 On the Same* 
 Go, stranger, and to Lacednpmon tell, 
 That here, obedient to her laws, we fell. 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 Stranger, should Sparta ask our fate, reply 
 That here, obedient to her laws, we lie. 
 
 Another. 
 Go, tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, 
 That here, obedient to their laws we lie. 
 
 * Q |ftv', oyyf'^Xfti' AaxfSou^ixotS, ot't f^Sl 
 
 Christopher North, in one of his delightful articles on 
 the Greek Anthology, has given us no lens than twenty- 
 three translations of this celebrated epitaph, which he 
 thus prefaces: "The oldest and best inscription is that 
 on the altar-tomb of the Three Hundred. Do you re- 
 member it 1 Here it is — the Greek — with three Latin 
 and eighteen Eni;lish versions. Start not: it is but two 
 lines—and all Greece, for centuries, had them by heart. 
 She forgot them, and 'Greece was living Greece no 
 more.' " — Blacktcood, Vol. xxxiv, p. 970. 
 
 e2 53 
 
54 
 
 SIMONIDES. 
 
 ON CIMONS LAND AND SEA VICTORY. 
 
 Ne'eu since the olden time, when Asia stood 
 First torn from Europe by the ocean-fiood, 
 Since horrid Mars thus poured on either shore 
 The storm of battle and the wild uproar, 
 Hath Man by land and sea such glory won. 
 Ne'er seen such deeds, as thou, this day, hast 
 
 done. 
 By land, the Medes in thousands press the 
 
 ground ; 
 By sea, an hundred Tyrian ships are drown'd 
 With all their martial host; while Asia stands 
 Deep groaning by, and wrings her helpless hands. 
 
 ON THOSE WHO FELL AT EURYMEDON. 
 
 These by the streams of famed Eurymedon 
 Their short, but brilliant, race of life have run ; 
 In winged ships and on the embattled field 
 Alike, they forced the Median bows to yield, 
 Breaking their foremost ranks. Now here they 
 
 lie, 
 Their names inscribed on rolls of victory. 
 
 THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. 
 
 There's naught on earth but flits or fades away. 
 And ■well indeed the Chian bard might say: — 
 " The race of Men is as the race of leaves !" 
 Yet who — though many an ear this truth re- 
 ceives, — 
 Imprints it on his heart? For Hope's fond tongue 
 Can dupe the old, as it has dup'd the young. 
 Oh, as we tread on Youth's unfolding flo^vers, 
 What wild, impracticable schemes are ours! 
 Oh, how we chase the shadows, as they fly; 
 No dread, midst health, of pain or troubles nigh, 
 No thought, that Man is born to suffer and to die. 
 Fools ! dreamers ! not to know how small the 
 
 span 
 Of youth and life allowed to mortal man! 
 But thou, — let wiser thoughts thy soul employ. 
 Nor fear, while life endures, life's pleasures to 
 enjoy.* 
 
 ON ANACREON. 
 The deathless Bard, to every Muse so dear, 
 Lies buried, in his native Teos, here — 
 Anacreon — whose lays, all lays above. 
 Breathed of the Graces, breathed of every Love. 
 And now by Lethe's streams, in realms of night. 
 He sighs ; but "tis not for the sun's sweet light, — 
 'Tis for the graceful loves he left behind, — 
 Megistia fair, and Smerdia ever kind. 
 And siill his strains in honied accents flow, 
 Nor sleeps his lyre amongst the shades below. 
 
 * Contrast with the above Elegy Dr. Doddridge's para- 
 phrase of "Dum vivimus vivamus." 
 
 "Live while you live" — the Epicure will say — 
 "And give to plea.sure every passing day :" 
 "Live while you live" — the sacred Preacher cries — 
 "And give to God each moment as it flies:" 
 Lord, in iny views, let both united be — 
 I live to pleasure, while 1 live to Thee ! 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Mortal, dost thou dare to say, 
 What may chance another day? 
 Or thy fellow mortal seeing. 
 Circumscribe his term of being? 
 Swifter than the insect's wings 
 Is the change of mortal things. 
 
 Whate'eh of virtue or of power. 
 Or good, or great, we vainly call, 
 
 Each moment eager to devour. 
 One vast Charybdis swallows all. 
 
 The first of human joys is Health ; 
 Next, Beauty ; and then, honest Wealth ; 
 The fourth, youth's fond delights to prove 
 With those — [but most with Her] — we love. 
 
 Human strength is unavailing; 
 Boastful tyranny unfailing; 
 All in life is care and labour ; 
 And our unrelenting neighbour, 
 Death, for ever hovering round; 
 Whose inevitable wound. 
 When he comes prepare! to strike, 
 Good and bad will feel alike. 
 
 DANAE. 
 When the wind, resounding high, 
 Blustered from the northern sky, 
 Wheri the waves, in stronger tide, 
 Dashed against the vessel's side, 
 Her care-worn cheek with tears bedewed, 
 Her sleeping infant Danae viewed ; 
 And, trembling still with new alarms, 
 Around him cast a mother's arms. 
 "My child, what wrongs, what woes, are 
 
 mine ! 
 But thy young limbs in sleep recline. 
 In this poor nook all sad and dark, 
 While lightnings play around our bark, 
 Thy quiet bosom only knows 
 The hea%^ sigh of deep repose. — 
 The howling wind, the raging sea. 
 No terror can excite in thee ; 
 The angry surges wake no care. 
 That burst above thy long deep hair: 
 But could'st thou feel what I deplore. 
 Then would I bid thee sleep the more ! 
 Sleep on, sweet boy; still be the deep; — 
 Oh, could I lull my woe to sleep ! 
 Jove, let thy mighty hand o'erthrow 
 The baffled malice of my foe ; 
 And may this child, in future years. 
 Avenge his mother's wrongs and tears !" 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 Whilst, around her lone ark sweeping, 
 Wailed the winds and waters wild. 
 
SIMONIDES. 
 
 55 
 
 Her young cheeks all wan with weeping, 
 
 Danile clasped her sleeping child; 
 And "alas" (cried she) "my dearest, 
 
 What deep wrongs, what woes, are mine ; 
 But nor wrongs nor woes thou learest, 
 
 In that sinless rest of thine. 
 Faint the moonbeams break above thee. 
 
 And, within here, all is gloom ; 
 But last wrapt in arms that love thee, 
 
 Little reck'st thou of our doom. 
 Not the rude spray, round thee flying, 
 
 Has e'en damped thy clustering hair, — 
 On thy purple mantlet lying, 
 
 mine Innocent, my Fair. 
 Yet, to thee were sorrow sorrow, 
 
 Thou would'st lend thy little ear, 
 And this heart of thine might borrow, 
 
 Haply yet a moment's cheer. 
 But, no; slumber on, BaVje, slumber; 
 
 Slumber, Ocean-waves ; and you, 
 My dark troubles, without number, — 
 
 O, that ye would slumber too ! 
 Though with wrongs they've brimmed my 
 chalice. 
 
 Grant, Jove, that, in future years, 
 This Boy may defeat their malice. 
 
 And avenge his Mother's tears." 
 
 THE MISERIES OF LIFE. 
 
 JoTE rules the world, and, with resistless sway. 
 
 Demands to-morrow what he gave to-day ; 
 
 In vain our thoughts to future scenes we cast, 
 
 Or only read them darkly in the past; 
 
 For Hope enchanting points to new delights. 
 
 And charms with dulcet sounds and heavenly 
 
 sights ; 
 Expecting yet some fancied bliss to share. 
 We grasp at bubbles, that dissolve in air. 
 And some a day, and some whole years, await 
 The whims and chances of capricious fate ; 
 Nor yet the lovely visions are possest — 
 Another year remains to make them blest. 
 While age steals on to sweep their dreams away, 
 And grim diseases hover round their prey; 
 Or war, with iron hold, unlocks the grave. 
 Devouring myriads of the young and brave. 
 Some on the billows rocked, that roll on high, 
 Cling to the plank in vain, and wasted die; 
 Some by the halter lay their miseries down 
 And rush, unsummoned, to the world unknown. 
 Our very sweets possess a secret harm. 
 Teem with distress, and poison while they charm. 
 The fatal Sisters hover round our birth. 
 And dash with bitter dregs our cup on earth: 
 Yet cease to murmur at thy fate in vain. 
 And in oblivion steep the shaft of pain. 
 
 ON ORTHRYADES. 
 
 NATIVE Sparta! when we met the host, 
 In equal combat, from the Inachian coast, 
 Thy brave three hundred never turu'd aside. 
 But where our feet first rested, there we died. 
 The words, in blood, which brave Ortliryades 
 Wrought on his herald shield, were only these- 
 
 "Thyrea is Lacedtemon's!'' — If there fled 
 One Argive from the slaughter, be it said. 
 Of old Adrastus he hath learn'd to ily; — 
 We count it death to I'alter, — not to die. 
 
 ON A STATUE OF CUPID BY PRAXITELES. 
 
 Well has the sculptor felt what he exprest; 
 He drew the living model from his breast. 
 Will not his Phryne the rare gifl approve, 
 Me for myself exchanging, love for love 1 ■ 
 Lost are my fabled bow and magic dart; 
 But, oidy gazed upon, I win the heart. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HIPPARCHUS. 
 
 Fair was the light, that brighten'd as it grew, 
 Of Freedom, on Athena's favour'd land. 
 
 When him, the Tyrant, bold Harmodius slew, 
 Link'd with Aristogeiton, hand in hand. 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 ExciRCLED by her heaven-bright band, 
 On a rough steep doth Virtue stand. 
 
 And he, who hopes to win the goal. 
 To Manhood's height who would aspire, — 
 Must spitrn each sensual, low desire. 
 Must never falter, never tire. 
 
 But OS, with sweat-drops of the soid.* 
 
 ON HIS PRESERVATION FROM DEATH 
 BY AN APPARITION. 
 
 Behold the Bard's preserver! from the grave 
 The Spectre came, the living man to save. 
 
 INSCRIBED ON A CENOTAPH. 
 
 O CLOUD-CAPT Geraneia, rock unblest! 
 
 Would thou haJ'st rear'd far hence thy haughty 
 
 crest. 
 By Tanais wild, or wastes where Ister flows; 
 Nor look'd on Sciron from thy silent snows! 
 A cold, cold corpse he lies beneath the wave. 
 This tomb speaks, tenantless, his ocean-grave. 
 
 * llesiod has a similar sentiment in his "Works and 
 Days." 
 Where Virtue dwells, the sorts have placed before 
 The droppin;; sweat that spriii:,'s from every pore; 
 And ere the feet can reach her bright al)odc, 
 Long, ru^'ged, dark th' ascent, and roiish I he road : 
 Ttie ridge once gain'd, the path, so hard of late, 
 Runs easy on, and level to the gate.— £/ton. 
 So also Spenser — 
 
 In woods, in waves, in wars. She wont to dwell 
 And will be found with peril and with pain, 
 Ne can the man, who niotilds in idle cell, 
 Unto her happy mansion e'er attain ; 
 Before her eat(i Ui:;h God did sicent ordain 
 And waktifnl watches ever to abide ; 
 But easy is the way and passage plain 
 To Pleasure's palace ; — it may soon he spied, 
 And, day and night, her doors to nil stand open wide. 
 Faerie Queen, B. ii. c. 3. 
 
TIMOCREON OF RHODES, 
 
 [About 471 B. C.) 
 
 TiMOCBEOw, the Lyric Poet and Satirist, is | Poets, of his age. For his satires on The- 
 classed by Suidas (but, as Mr. Clinton thinks, j mistocles and Simonides he drew down upon 
 without sufficient reason,) among the writers himself the vengeance of the latter in an 
 of the old Comedy, and by Plutarch and i epitaph, which the leader will find in page 53 
 Athenaeus, among the Pentathletes, as well as | of this volume. 
 
 RICHES. 
 BLiTiTBET) Phitus! didst thou dwell 
 Hot in land nor fathom'd sea, 
 
 But only in the depths of hell, — 
 God of riches ! Safe from thee, 
 Man himself might happy be. 
 
 yESCHYLUS. 
 
 [Born 521, Died 456, B. C] 
 
 .iEscHTLUS, the son of a noble and distin- 
 guished family, was born at Eleusis, in Attica. 
 At the age of twenty-five he made his first ap- 
 pearance as a Tragedian, and, a few years after, 
 became yet more distinguished by the part, which, 
 with his brothers. Cynegeirus and Ameinias, he 
 bore in the victories of Marathon, Salamis, and 
 Platjea. 
 
 For not alone he nnrsed the poet's flame, 
 
 But reached from Virtue's hand the patriot steel. 
 
 It was at this time he rose to tlie height of his 
 poetic fame, and, besides bearing off the first 
 prize in Tragedy, introduced improvements into 
 the Greek Drama, which earned for him in after 
 days, the merited appellation of " Father of Tra- 
 gedy.'' He was the first to bring two or more 
 persons on the stage with distinct parts — to add 
 appropriate, though not movable, scenery — and 
 to arrange the drapery of the performers with 
 such taste, elegance, and propriety, as to have 
 furnished models, for habits, even to the ministers 
 of religion. 
 
 The latter days of .^schylus did not pass 
 without their sorrows. He was accused of hav- 
 ing violated the sanctity of the Eleusinian mys- 
 teries in his tragedy of the Furies, and, though 
 absolved from the charge through the intercession 
 of his brother Cynegeirus, (who displayed to tlie 
 enraged multitude the stump of the arm he had lost 
 at Marathon,) he retired from Athens, bequeath- 
 ing his tragedies and his fame to posterity. His 
 remaining years were spent at the court of King 
 Hiero, in Sicily, where he died in the 81st Olym- 
 piad, (456 B. C.) and in the sixty-ninth year of 
 his age. Out of more than seventy tragedies 
 which he composed, seven only have coine down 
 to us. 
 
 EPITAPH FOR HIMSELF. 
 
 Athenian ^schylus, Euphorion's son, 
 Buried in Geta's fields these lines declare; 
 
 His deeds are registered at Marathon, 
 Known to the deep-haired Mede, who met him there. 
 
 FROM THE CHAINED PROMETHEUS. 
 
 "The Chained Prometheus"' is a representation 
 of constancy under sufferi:ig; of a god exiled 
 from his fellow-gods, and doomed to all the pen- 
 alties of mortality, as a reward " for his disposi- 
 tion to be tender to mankind." The scene lies 
 on a desolate and savage rock of the ocean ; and 
 56 
 
 the drama opens with Vulcan, tmder the direc- 
 tion of Strength and Force, chaining their captive 
 to it. 
 
 Strength. At length then to the wide Earth's 
 extreme bounds. 
 To Scythia are we come, those pathless wilds 
 "Where human footstep never marked the ground. 
 
^SCHYLUS. 
 
 57 
 
 Now, Vulcan, to thy task; at Jove's command 
 Fix to these high-projecting rocks this vain 
 Artificer of man; each massy link 
 Draw close, and bind his adamantine chains. 
 Thy radiant pride, the fiery flame, that lends 
 Its aid to every art, he stole, and bore 
 The gift to mortals; for which bold offence 
 The gods assign him this just punishment, 
 That he may learn to reverence the power 
 Of Jove, and moderate his love to man. 
 
 Vulc. Stern Powers, ye have executed your 
 high mission, 
 Nor found resistance. My less hardy mind, 
 Averse from violence, shrinks back and dreads 
 To bind a kindred god to this wild cliff. 
 Exposed to every storm : but strong constraint 
 O'errules me: Jove's commands must be obeyed. 
 High-thoughted son of truth-directing Themis, 
 Thee with indissoluble chains must I, 
 Perforce, now rivet to this savage rock, 
 Where neither human voice nor human form 
 Shall meet thine eye ; but where, parched in the 
 
 sun. 
 Thy bloom shall wither; where tlioult wish for 
 
 night 
 To pale day's piercing heats ; and then again 
 For day, to chase the hoar-frosts of the night, 
 Deeming each present evil still the greatest. 
 Nor lives there yet, on earth, the power that can 
 Relieve thee; such alas! the fruits of thy 
 Philanthropy, who, a god thyself, hast braved 
 Thy fellow-gods, and, counter to their laws. 
 Made man a partner in the wealth of heaven. 
 Therefore the joyless station of this rock, 
 Unsleeping, unreelining, shall thou keep. 
 And many a groan, and many a loud lament. 
 Throw out in vain, nor move the rigorous breast 
 Of Jove; for upstart power is always harsh. 
 Strength. No more : why these delays, this fool- 
 ish pity? 
 Dost thou not hate a god by gods abhorred. 
 Who prostitutes thy richest gift on man? 
 
 Vulc. Strong are the ties of kin and old ac- 
 quaintance. 
 Strength. Well; but to disobey thy Sire's com- 
 mands, 
 Darest thou do that? Is not that fear more 
 strong? 
 Vulc. Soft pity never touched thy ruthless mind. 
 Strength. Will thy vain pity bring relief? For- 
 bear, 
 Nor waste thy breath on what avails him nought. 
 Vulc. O, that my hand, lor once, had lost its 
 
 cunning! 
 Strength. Why so? Or how's thy art to blame 
 
 in this? 
 Vulc. Yet would I, it had fall'n on some one 
 
 else. 
 Strength. All have their lots appointed, save to 
 reign 
 In heaven ; for that is Jove's prerogative. 
 
 Vulc. I know it, nor have wherewith to gain- 
 say you. 
 Strength. Then quick, on with his fetters, that 
 the Father 
 May find no cause to tax you with delay. 
 
 Vulc. The manacles are ready; thou maystsee 
 
 them. 
 Strength. Bind them around his hands; use all 
 your might. 
 Strike, nail them fast, drive them into the rock. 
 Vulc. One arm is now inextricably fixed. 
 Strength. Clench then the other as fast, that he 
 may learn 
 How impotent his craft opposed to Jove's. 
 Vulc. Thy miseries, Prometheus, I deplore. 
 Strength. What! dallying yet? Bewailing still 
 the foes 
 Of Jove ? Take heed lest thou bewail thyself. 
 Vulc. It is a sight too horrible to look on. 
 Strength. I only see a traitor, punish'd as 
 His deeds deserve. But come, on with the gyves. 
 Downwards — with all thy force curing his legs. 
 Vulc. This too is done. 
 
 Strength. Rivet it tighter, closer. 
 
 Vulc. Thy voice is harsh and rugged as thy 
 
 form. 
 Strength. Now fair befall thy softness ! Yet up- 
 braid not 
 My ruggeder and less malleable nature. 
 
 Vulc. Let us depart ; he is chained, past all 
 
 escape. 
 Strength. Now triumph in thy insolence; now 
 steal 
 The glory of the gods and bear the gifl 
 To mortal man ! Can man relieve thee now ? 
 Falsely the gods have called thee provident; 
 'Twill need far greater providence than thine 
 To escape the destiny which now surrounds thee. 
 
 Prometheus alone. 
 
 Air divine! And ye, swift-winged Winds! 
 Ye River-fountains! and ye countless smiles 
 Of dimpling Ocean! Mother Earth ! And thou, 
 Far-piercing Eye of day! On you I call. 
 Witness what I, a god, from gods endure. 
 Behold, with what fierce pangs, years without end, 
 Amerced, have I to struggle here ; such chains 
 Hath this new king of gods devised for me. 
 Present and future, both, alas! I wail ; 
 
 When shall these woes have end? But why 
 
 inquire ? 
 Since clear before me lies the Future, nor 
 Can aught of evil, unforeseen, betide. 
 Then bear what must be, nor wage war with 
 
 stern 
 Necessity's unconquerable power. 
 But to complain, or not comj)laiii, alike 
 Is unavailable. For favours shown 
 To mortal man I bear this weight of woe. 
 Hitl in a hollow cane the Jount of fire 
 
 1 privately conveyed, of every art 
 
 The instructress, and best, noblest gift to man. 
 For this, this one offence, I wear these chains. 
 Woe! woe! — But whence that sound? Whence 
 
 yon sweet odor 
 Soft-stealing o'er the sense? — And who comes 
 
 there. 
 Divine, or mortal, or of hero-race? 
 Comes he to this far rock, spectator of 
 My wretchedness, or for what other purpose? 
 Behold me then in chains, a wretched god. 
 
58 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 Abhorred by Jove, and all who tread his courts, 
 For my fond love of man. Ah me ! again 
 I hear a sound, as if of birds. The air 
 Rustles with fluttering pinions : every object 
 Approaching me strikes terror on my soul. 
 
 Here the Daughters of the Ocean, roused from 
 their grots below, come to console the Titan, who, 
 induced by their kind sympathy, gives vent to 
 his feelings, relates the causes of his fall, and 
 endeavours to cheer himself with dreams and 
 prophecies of the future. Then comes their 
 father, the ancient Oceanus, who, advising sub- 
 mission to Jupiter, is dismissed with disdain. — 
 Left alone with Prometheus, the Oceanides burst 
 forth into fresh strains of pity. 
 
 "The wide earth echoes wailingly; 
 
 Stately and antique were thy fallen race, 
 The wide earth waileth thee ! 
 
 Lo! from the holy Asian dwelling-place, 
 Fall for a godhead's wrongs, the mortals' mur- 
 muring tears. 
 They mourn within the Colchian land, 
 
 The virgin and the warrior daughters, 
 And far remote, the Scythian band. 
 
 Around the broad Mieotian waters. 
 And they who hold in Caucasus their tower, 
 Arabia's martial flower 
 Hoarse-clamouring midst sharp rows of barbed 
 spears. 
 
 One have I seen with equal tortures riven — 
 An equal god, — in adamantine chains 
 
 Ever and evermore. 
 The Titan Atlas, crush'd, sustains 
 
 The mighty mass of mighty Heaven, 
 And the whirling cataracts roar, 
 With a chime to the Titan's groans, 
 And the depth that receives them moans; 
 And from vaults that the earth are under, 
 Black Hades is heard in thunder ; 
 While from the founts of white-waved rivers 
 
 flow 
 Melodious sorrows, wailing with his woe." 
 
 Prmn. It was not pride that checked my 
 
 tongue, but thoughts 
 Of my fallen state and bitter degradation; 
 This cut me to the heart. For who, like me, 
 Advaticed these new-fledged gods. But ye 
 Know well the tale, and so I'll not repeat it : — 
 The ills of man you've heard : I formed his mind. 
 And through the cloud of barbarous ignorance 
 Ditfused the beams of knowledge. I will speak, 
 Not taxing them with blame, but my own gifts 
 Displaying, and benevolence to them. 
 They saw indeed, they heard, but what availed 
 Or sight or hearing, all things round them rolling, 
 Like the unreal imagery of dreams. 
 In wild confusion mixed ! The lightsome wall 
 Of finer masonry, the raftered roof. 
 They knew not; but, like ants still buried, delved 
 Deep in the earth and scooped their sunless 
 
 caves. 
 Unmarked the seasons ranged, the biting winter. 
 
 The flower-perfumed spring, the ripening sum- 
 mer 
 Fertile of fruits. At random all their works 
 Tdl I instructed them to mark the stars. 
 Their rising, and, a harder science yet. 
 Their setting. The rich train of marshall'd 
 
 numbers 
 I taught them, and the meet array of letters. 
 To impress these precepts on their hearts I sent 
 Memory, the active mother of all reason. 
 I taught the patient steer to bear the yoke, 
 In all his toils joint-labourer with man. 
 By me the harnessed steed was trained to whirl 
 The rapid car, and grace the pride of wealth. 
 The tall bark, lightly bounding o'er the waves, 
 I taught its course, and winged its flying sail. 
 To man I gave these arts ; yet, wretch as I am, 
 So provident for others, I want skill 
 To extricate myself. 
 
 Chor. Unseemly are 
 
 Thy suff"erings, sprung from impotence of mind. 
 And fall'n on ills, as some unskilful leach, 
 That sinks beneath his malady, thy soul 
 Desponds, nor seeks medicinal relief. 
 
 Prom. Hear my whole story, and you'll wonder 
 more 
 What useful arts, what sciences I invented. 
 This first and greatest: when the fell disease 
 Preyed on the human frame, relief was none, 
 Nor healing drug, nor cool-refreshing draught. 
 Nor pain assuaging unguent ; but they pined 
 Without redress, and wasted, till I taught them 
 To mix the balmy medicine, of power 
 To chase each pale disease, and soften pain. 
 I taught the various modes of prophecy ; 
 What truth to dreams attaches, what to omens, 
 Or casual sights that meet us on the way ; 
 What birds portend, when to the right, when to 
 The left, they take their airy course. 
 
 • •*•*•• 
 
 These arts I taught. And all the secret treasures 
 Deep buried in the bowels of the earth, 
 Brass, iron, silver, gold, their use to man. 
 Let the vain tongue make what high boasts it 
 
 may, 
 Are my inventions all; and, in a word, 
 Prometheus taught each useful art to man. 
 
 Chor. Let not thy love to man o'erleap the 
 bounds 
 Of reason ; nor neglect thy own sad state : 
 So my fond hope suggests thou shalt be freed 
 From these base chains, nor less in power than 
 Jove. 
 
 Prom. Not thus, it is not in the fates, that thus 
 These things should end ; crushed hy a thousand 
 
 wrongs, 
 A thousand woes, I shall escape these chains. 
 Necessity is stronger far than art. 
 
 Chor. Who then is ruler of Necessity? 
 
 Prom. The triple Fates and unforgetting Furies. 
 
 Chor. Must Jove, too, yield to their superior 
 power ? 
 
 Prom. Even Jove cannot escape from destiny. 
 
 Clwr. What but eternal empire, is his fate? 
 
 Prom. Ye may not know it now ; inquire no 
 further. 
 
iESCHYLUS. 
 
 59 
 
 Chor. Is it of motnent, tliiit yoii tlms conceal it? 
 
 Prom. Think of some otlier subject ; U^ ho time 
 For this, requiring, as it docs, the se;il 
 Of strictest secrecy. By guarding it, 
 I may, one day, escape this sliaineful bondage. 
 
 The rejoinder of the Chorus is singnhirly beau- 
 tiful ; but I know of no translation that has done 
 justice to, or given us any idea of, its charms. 
 Mr. Bulwer has only given us six lines of it, in 
 wliich is contrasted the present mournful strain 
 of the Chorus with that wliich they had poured 
 "What time the silence erst was broken, 
 
 Around the baths, and o'er the bed 
 To which, won well by many a soft love-token, 
 
 And hymned by all the music of delight, 
 Our ocean-sister, bright 
 Hesione was led." 
 
 At the end of this choral song appears To, 
 driven about from place to place, a victim of the 
 same tyranny from which Prometheus was suf- 
 fering. Her bitter woe and despair are finely 
 contrasted with the stern spirit of Prometheus. 
 Her introduction gives rise to those ancestral and 
 traditional allusions to which the Greeks were so 
 attached. He prophesies of the wanderings to 
 which she is stiU doomed, and the fate which, at 
 last, awaits her, connected, in some degree, with 
 his own, as from her blood he is, after the lapse 
 of many ages, to receive a deliverer. — After the 
 departure of lo, Prometheus renews his denunci- 
 ations of Jupiter, in the midst of whifh Mercury 
 arrives, conunands him to disclose the nature of 
 the danger threatened to Jove, and how he is to 
 prevent or avoid it. The Titan refuses to dis- 
 close his secret, hurls defiance at his oppressors, 
 and, amidst storm, lightning, and earthquake, is 
 swallowed up in the abyss. 
 
 PROMETHEUS CHOIIUS. 
 
 Chor. How ! fear you not to utter words like 
 
 . these ? 
 Prom. What should I fear, by fate exempt from 
 
 death ? 
 Chor. But he may add fresh tortures to thy pain. 
 Prom. Let him ; I am prepared to brave them 
 
 all. 
 Chor. Wise they, who reverence the stern 
 
 powers of vengeance ! 
 Prom. Go then, fawn, cringe, fall down before 
 your master. 
 For me, I value Jove at less than nothing. 
 Let him exert his brief authority, 
 And lord it whilst he may; 'twill not be long. 
 But see the runner-slave of this new king 
 Approaches; what fresh tidings will he bring us ? 
 
 Enter Meiicury. 
 Merc. To thee, old Sophist, quintessence of gall's 
 Black bitterness,* offeutler of the gods, 
 Fire-stealer, boastful lavisher of gifts 
 On men, to thee would I address myself. 
 The Father bids thee say what nuptials these 
 
 TOV rU^U)! yTTipTIKfiV. 
 
 Thy tongue thus vaunts, as threatening his high 
 
 power ; 
 And clearly say, couched in no riddling phrases. 
 Each several circumstance. Now, no duplicity, 
 No terms ambiguous ; such, you know full well, 
 Is not the w ay to jjacify Jove's anger. 
 
 Prom. Thou dost thy message bravely, and in 
 terms 
 Becoming well the sender and the sent. — 
 Your empire it is new ; and you may deem 
 Its towers impregnable ; but have I not 
 Already seen two monarchs hurled from them?* 
 And I shall see a third, this present lord, 
 Fall with like suddenness and like disgrace. 
 Think ye I tremble at these new-made gods? 
 No; fear is yet a stranger to my soiU. 
 Then hence! — the way thou cam'st! — To thine 
 
 inquiries 
 From me thou wilt oljtain no other answer. 
 
 Merc. 'Twas insolence like this, which on tliy 
 head 
 Drew down this punishment. 
 
 Prom. ]\Iy miseries 
 
 I would not change for your gay servitude. 
 Better to serve here on this earth, than be 
 Jove's lacquey. You may call this insolence ; 
 I call it, — paying you in your own coin. 
 
 Merc. Y'ou seem to nie delighted with your 
 woes. 
 
 Prom. Delighted ! Might I see mine enemies 
 Delighted thus, and thee amongst the rest. 
 
 Merc. And why blame me for thy calamities? 
 
 Prom. In a word, I hate tlieni all, these gods, 
 of whom 
 I have deserved so well, and fared so badly. 
 
 Merc. Thou art mad. 
 
 Prom. If to detest my foes be madness. 
 
 It is a malady that I am proud of. 
 
 Merc. Were't well with thee, thou wouldat 
 not be endured. 
 Thou'st given me yet no answer for the Father. 
 
 Prom. Did he deserve the courtesy, I'd pay it. 
 
 Merc. Why am I checked, why rated as a boy? 
 
 Prom. A boy thou art, yea. simpler than a boy. 
 If thou hast hopes to be itifonneil by me. 
 Not all his tortures, all his arts, shall move nie 
 To unlock my lips, till this cursed chain be loosed. 
 No ; let him hurl his lightnings, wing his snows, 
 Crush earth and skies, he moves not me to tell 
 
 him 
 What force shall wrest the sceptre from his hand.f 
 
 Merc. Weigh well these things ; will they un- 
 loose thy chains ? 
 
 Prom. Well have they all been wciglied, all 
 long considered. 
 
 ♦ Uranus dethroned by his son Saturn ; and Saturn 
 by his son Jiipitcr. 
 
 t Jupiter was about to marry Thetis, the daughter of 
 Oceanus; but it was in the Kales that she sliould have a 
 son who was to be greater than his fallier. Prometheus 
 alone, by his divine foresiglil, couhl open the danger to 
 Jupiter; but tliis he ret'used to do, (ill he should be re- 
 leased from the rock. After that Hercules, by permission 
 of Jupiter, had slain the toruientiii:; eagle, and unbound 
 his chains, he disclosed the decree of the Fates. Thetis 
 was then given in marriage to Peleus, and the prophecy 
 was accomplished in the birth of Achilles. 
 
60 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 Merc. Subdue, vain fool, subdue thine insolence. 
 And let thy miseries teach thee juster thoughts. 
 Prom. Thy counsels, like the waves, that dash 
 
 against 
 The rock's firm base, disquiet, but not move, me. 
 Conceive not of me, that, through fear what Jove 
 May, in his rage, inflict, my fixed dir-dain 
 Shall e'er relent, e'er sutler my strong mind 
 To sink in womanish softness, to fall prostrate, 
 Beseeching him to free me from these chains. 
 Merc. I see thou art implacable, unsoftened 
 By all the mild entreaties I can urge. 
 But, like a young steed reined, that proudly 
 
 struggles 
 And champs his iron curb, thy haughty soul 
 Abates not of its unavailing fierceness. 
 But pride, disdaining to be ruled by reason, 
 Sinks weak and valueless. — Now mark me 
 
 well : — 
 If not obedient to my words, a storm, 
 A fiery and inevitable deluge. 
 Shall burst in three-fold vengeance on thy head. 
 First his fierce thunder, winged with lightning 
 
 flames, 
 Shall rend this rugged rock, and cover thee 
 With hideous ruin : long time shalt thou lie 
 Astonied in its rifted sides, till dragged 
 Again to light; then shall the Bird of Jove, 
 Tlie ravening eagle, lured by scent of blood, 
 Mangle thy body, and each day returning. 
 An uninvited guest, plunge his fell beak 
 And feast and riot on thy blackening liver. 
 Expect no pause, no respite, till some god 
 Comes to relieve thy pains, willing to pass 
 The dreary realms of ever-during night, 
 The dark descent of Tartarus profound. 
 Weigh these things well ; this is no fiction drest 
 In vaunting terms, but words of serious truth. 
 The mouth of Jove knows not to utter falsehood. 
 But what he speaks is fate. Be cautious then ; 
 Regard thyself; nor let o'erweening pride 
 Disdain the prudent counsels that I give thee. 
 Chor. Nothing amiss we deem his words, but 
 
 fraught 
 With reason, who but wills thee to relax 
 Thy haughty spirit, and by prudent counsels 
 Pursue thy peace. Be then advised ; what shame 
 For one so wise to persevere in error ! 
 
 Prom. All this I knew, ere he declared his 
 
 message : 
 That enemy from enemy should suffer 
 Extreme indignity, is nothing strange. 
 Let him then work his horrible pleasure on me; 
 Wreathe his black curling flames, tempest the air 
 With voUied thunders and wild-warring winds. 
 Rend from its roots the firm earth's solid base. 
 Heave from the roaring main its boisterous waves. 
 And dash them to the stars ; me let him hurl. 
 Caught in the fiery tempest, to the gloom 
 Of deepest Tartarus; not all his power 
 Can quench the tetherial breath of life within me. 
 Merc. Such ravings, such wild boasts, one might 
 
 expect 
 From moon-struck madmen. — What is this but 
 
 madness ■? 
 But you, whose gentle hearts with social sorrow 
 
 Melt at his sufi'erings, from this place remove, 
 Lest the tempestuous roar of Jove'sfierce thunder 
 O'ertake you, and confound your prison'd senses. 
 
 Chor. To other themes, to other counsels, turn 
 Thy voice, where pleaded reason may prevail: 
 This is ill-urged, and may not be admitted. 
 Wouldst thou solicit us to deeds of baseness ? 
 Whate'er betides, with him will we endure it. 
 The vile betrayer I have learned to hate; 
 There is no fouler stain ; my soul abhors it. 
 
 Merc. Remember, you are warned ; if ill o'er- 
 take you, 
 Accuse not Fortune, lay not blame on Jove, 
 As by his hand sunk in calamities 
 LTnthought of, unforeseen : no, let the blame 
 Light on yourselves; your folly not unwarned. 
 Not unawares, but 'gainst your better knowledge, 
 Involved you in th' inextricable toil. 
 
 Prom. He fables not ; firm earth — (I feel it) — 
 rocks; 
 Loiul thunders roar, thick-flashing lightnings blaze, 
 The etldying sands are whirled aloft, and forth 
 From every quarter, breathing mutual strife. 
 Leap the wild spirits of the winds, while sky 
 Is sunk in ocean. Upon me it bursts. 
 The terror-working storm, sent down from heaven. 
 venerated Mother, O wide jEther, 
 Wafting round all man's common blessing, light — 
 You see what wrongs I suffer. 
 
 FROM "THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES." 
 
 The subject of this tragedy is the war between 
 Eteocles and Polynices for the throne of Thebes ; 
 the catastrophe is the death of the two brothers, 
 slain by each other's hands. 
 
 Scene — In Thebes, before the principal Temple of 
 the City. 
 
 Eteocles, Soldier, Chorus. 
 
 Sold. Illustrious King of Thebes, I bring thee 
 tidings \ 
 
 Of firm assurance from the foe ; these eyes 
 Beheld each circumstance. Seven valiant chiefs 
 Slew on a black-orbed shield the victim bull. 
 And, dipping in the gore their furious hands, 
 By Mars, Bellona, and blood-thirsting Terror, 
 Swore sacredly — or from their base to rend 
 These walls and lay our ramparts in the dust, 
 Or, dying, with their blood to steep this earth. — 
 Each, in Adrastus' car, some dear remembrance* 
 Piled for his distant parents; in every eye 
 Stood tears, bVit no compassion, no remorse. 
 Each soul of iron glowing with the rage 
 Of valour, as the lion, when he glares 
 Determined battle. — Round the urn I left them 
 By lot deciding to what gate each chief 
 
 *It was a custom of the ancients before a battle in 
 which they apprehended danger, to send home to their 
 friends, some trifling token, or remembrance, things of 
 little value in themselves, but rendered dear by the cir- 
 cumstances under which tliey w-re given. On this oc- 
 casion they were placed in the car of Adrastus, because 
 it had been foretold by the Augur Amphiaraus, that he 
 alone of the confederate chiefs would return to Argos. 
 
iESCHYLUS. 
 
 Gl 
 
 Shall lead his foroes. Against these select 
 The best, the bravest, of the sons of Thebos, 
 And instant, at the gates, assign their stations. 
 For all in arms the Argive host comes on. 
 Be thine the pilot's part, and, ere the storm 
 O'ertake us, (even now its waves are roaring) 
 Prepare thee for the danger. — Mine meanwhile 
 The watch, and, trust this long-experienced eye. 
 No peril, without notice, sliall approach thee. 
 
 Here the Chorus, consisting of Theban virgins, 
 burst out into loud strains of woe, painting in 
 glowing colours the rush of the adverse hosts, 
 the battering of the gates, the yells of the victors, 
 the shrieks of anguished women and infants, and 
 all those scenes of distress and horror, which the 
 insolence of conquest spreads through a van- 
 quished and plundered city. OtTended at their 
 intimidating cries, Eteocles reprimands them 
 with liarshness, and in no very courtly terms. 
 
 " Is this, ye wayward race, the aid you lend 
 The State, the fortitude wherewith you steel 
 The souls of the besieged, thus falling down 
 Before these images to wail and shriek 
 With lamentations loud ? Wisdom abhors you. — 
 You magnify the foe, and turn our men 
 To flight: thus are we ruined by ourselves. 
 This ever will arise from suffering women 
 To intermix with men. But mark me well ; 
 Whoe'er henceforth dare disobey my orders. 
 Be they or men or women, old or young. 
 Vengeance shall burst upon them, the decree 
 Stands irreversible, and they shall die. 
 War is no female province, but the scene 
 For men : hence home I nor spread your mischiefs 
 here. 
 • ***•* 
 
 But see, the veteran from his watch returns. 
 Bearing, I ween, fresh tidings from yon host, 
 Of highest import : quick his foot and hasty. 
 
 Re-enter Soldieh. 
 
 Sold. Now can I tell thee, for I know it 
 
 well, 
 The disposition of the foe, and how 
 Each at our gates takes his allotted post. 
 Already near the PrfPtian gate in arms 
 Stands Tydeus raging; for the Prophet's voice 
 Forbids his foot to pass Ismenus' stream. 
 The victims not propitious : at the pass 
 Furious, and eager for the fight, the chief 
 (Fierce as a dragon in the mid-day sun) 
 Reviles the sage, as forming timorous league 
 With war and fate. Frowning he speaks and 
 
 shakes 
 Three shadowy crests, the honours of his helm. 
 While shrilly from his shield the brazen bells 
 Ring terror. On the shield this proud device: 
 ^n azure sky with spangliiif; stars, and in 
 The midst, bright eye of night, the full-orb' d moon. 
 Fierce in the glory of his arms, and mad 
 For war, he shouts along the river's banks, 
 Fierce, as some steed which, panting on the 
 
 curb. 
 Waits but the trumpet's sound to burst away. 
 
 Before the Praetian gate, its bars removed. 
 What equal chief wilt thou appoint against him? 
 
 Eteoc. This military pride, it moves me not: 
 The gorgeous blazony of arms, the crest 
 High waving o'er the helm, the clashing bells, 
 Harmless without the spear, inflict no wound. 
 The sable Night, spangled with stars of heaven, 
 Predicts perhaps his doom ; and, should dark 
 
 night 
 Fall on his eyes, might be deemed ominous, 
 And he, the prophet of his own destruction. 
 — Against his rage the son of Astacus 
 Will I appoint commander; bent on deeds 
 Of glory, but a votary at the shrine 
 Of modesty, he scorns the arrogant vaunt 
 As base, and bids brave actions speak his worth. 
 Sold. May the gods crown his valiant toil with 
 
 conquest. 
 But Capaneus against the Electran gates 
 Takes his allotted post, and, towering, stands 
 Vast as some earth-born giant, and inflamed 
 To more than mortal daring: horribly 
 He menaces the walls: (may Heaven avert 
 His impious rage !) vaunts that, the gods assenting 
 Or not assenting, his strong hand shall rend 
 Their rainpires down ; that e'en the rage of Jove 
 Descending on the field should not restrain him. 
 His lightnings and his thunders winged with 
 
 fire, 
 He likens to the sun's meridian heat. 
 On liis proud shield portrayed, A naked Man 
 Waves in his hand a blazing torch; beneath 
 In golden letters, I will f re the city. 
 Against this man — But who shall dare to engage 
 His might, and dauntless his proud might 
 
 sustain "? 
 Eteoc. Advantage from advantage here arises. 
 The arrogant vaunts, which man's vain tongue 
 
 throws out 
 Shall on himself recoil. This haughty cliief 
 Threats high, and, prompt to execute his threats, 
 Spurns at the gods, opes his unhallowed lips 
 In shallow exultations, hurls on high, 
 Weak mortal as he is, 'gainst Jove himself 
 Hurls his extravagant and wild defiance. 
 On him, I trust, the thunder winged with fire, 
 Far other than the sun's ineridian heat. 
 Shall roll its vengeance. But against his pride, 
 Insolent vaunter, shall the glowing spirit 
 Tlieit burns for glory in the daring breast 
 Of Polyphontes, be opposed ; his arm, 
 Strong in Diana's tutelary aid, 
 Shall be a sure defence. But to thy tale ; 
 Who next before our gates assumes his station? 
 Sold. Third from the brazen helm Icap'd forth 
 
 the lot 
 Of fierce Eteoclus, who takes his post 
 Against the gates of Neis: there he wliirls 
 His iiery-neighing steeds, that toss their heads, 
 Proud of their nodding plumes. No mean device 
 Is sculptured on his shieM, — ^ Man in arms 
 His ladder fixed against the enemies^ walls, — 
 Crying aloud, the letters plainly marked, 
 Not Mars hi7nself shall beat me from these towers. 
 Appoint some chief of equal hardihood 
 To guard the city from a servile yoke. 
 
62 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 Ettoc. Suc-li shall I sond, to conquest send 
 
 him ; one 
 Tliat boars not in his hand this pageantry 
 Of" nmriial j)ride. The hardy Megareus, 
 From Creon sprung, and that bold race, which 
 
 rose 
 Embattled from the earth: him from the gates 
 The furious neighings of the fiery steeds 
 Affright not: but his blood spilt on the earth 
 Amply requites the nouriture she gave him; 
 Or captive both, the man in anus, the town 
 Stormed on the sculptured shield, and the proud 
 
 bearer, 
 Shall with their spoils adorn his father's house. 
 Sold. At the next gate, named from the martial 
 
 goddess 
 Onca* Minerva, stands Hipporaedon. 
 I heard his thundering voice, I saw his form 
 In bulk and stature proudly eininent; 
 I saw him roll his shield, large, massy, round, 
 Of broad circumference : it struck my soul 
 With terror. On its orb no vulgar artist 
 Expressed this image, A Typhaus huge 
 Disgorging from his jaws foul smoke and fire — 
 With shouts the giant chief provokes the war 
 And, in the ravings of oittrageous valour. 
 Glares terror from his eyes. Behoves thee then 
 Strong opposition to his fiery rage, 
 Which at the gates e'en now spreads wild 
 
 dismay. 
 Eieoc. First Onca Pallas, holding near the 
 
 gates f- 
 Her hallowed state, abhors his furious rage ; 
 And in her guardian care shall crush the pride 
 Of this fell dragon. Then the son of ^nops, 
 Hyperbius, of approved and steady valour, 
 Shall, man to man, oppose him; one that dares 
 Assay his fate in the rough shock of battle ; 
 In form, in spirit, and in martial arms 
 Consummate — such the graces Hermes gave 
 
 him. 
 In hostile arms thus man shall combat man. 
 And to the battle on their sculptured shields 
 Bring adverse gods; the fierce Typhjeus he, 
 Breathing forth flakes of fire ; Hyperbius, 
 The majesty of Jove securely throned, 
 Grasping his flaming bolt: and who e'er saw 
 The Thunderer vanquished? In the fellowship 
 Of friendly gods, the conquerors are with us — 
 With us the conquerors, with them the conquered, 
 And as Jove slew Typhrrus, so Jove's form 
 Emblazoned on his shield shall guard Hyper- 
 bius. 
 Sold. Prophetic be thy hopes. At the north 
 
 gate. 
 Hard by Jove-born Amphion's tomb, the fifth 
 Takes his bold station, — swearing by his spear 
 (Which, more than (Jod, and dearer to his eyes 
 Than light of heaven, he venerates) to lay 
 Our city low, though Jove himself oppose him. 
 
 * One of the titles of Minerva introduced by Cadmus 
 from Phojnicia, where she was worshipped under that 
 name. 
 
 tProbahly a picture or statue of the goddess placed at 
 tliG entrance of tlie city, and implying that wisdom stood 
 guard there. 
 
 Tlyis swears this offspring of the Mountain 
 
 Nymph,* 
 Blooming in manly youth. But though so young. 
 Though scarce the down has sprouted on his 
 
 cheek ; 
 Still ruthless are his thoughts, cruel his eye, 
 And proudly vaunting at the gate he takes 
 His terrible stand. Upon his clashing shield 
 Thebes" foul disgrace, a ravenous Sphinx, he bears, 
 Holding a Thebun in her cruel fangs. 
 "Gainst this let each brave man direct his spear. 
 No hireling he, to prostitute for gold 
 The war, or shame the length of way he trod, 
 E'en from Arcadia : such this stranger comes, 
 Parthenopceus and, in gratitude 
 For hospitable boons received from Argos, 
 Assists her here, — breathing against these towers 
 Proiul menaces, which may the gods avert! 
 Eteoc. That ruin, which with impious vaunts 
 
 they intend 
 For us, may the just gods turn on themselves. 
 So let them perish ! To this proud Arcadian 
 No boaster we oppose ; but one whose hand 
 Knows its rough work — Actor, — the valiant 
 
 brother 
 Of him last-named. Never will he permit 
 The man, whose shield bears that abhorred beast 
 To rush within the gates and execute 
 His threats of evil on us. 
 
 Sold. The sixth chief, 
 
 Prudent as brave, the seer Amphiaraus, 
 At th' Omoltean gate his destined post 
 In arms assumes, and on the fiery Tydeus 
 Throws many a keen reproach, reviling him 
 As homicide, and troubler of the state, 
 And author, above all, of ills to Argos : 
 With Murder and the Furies at his heels 
 Urging Adrastus to these hateful deeds. 
 Thy brother Polynices, too, he blames. 
 Descanting on his name and thus rebuking him : 
 "How grateful to the gods must be this deed, 
 Glorious to hear, and in the roll of fame 
 Shining to distant ages, thus to lead 
 These foreign arms to waste thy country and 
 Destroy thy country's gods! E'en though thy 
 
 cause 
 Be just, alas ! will justice dry 
 A mother's tears ? And when the furious spear, 
 Hurled by thy hand, shall pierce thy country's 
 
 bosom, 
 Say, can that land with friendly arms receive 
 
 thee ? 
 Prescient of fate, I sha'l enrich this soil, 
 Siuik in the hostile plain. But let us fight. 
 One hope is mine, — a not inglorious death." 
 So spoke the Prophet ; and with awful port 
 Advanced his massy shield, the shining orb 
 Bearing no impress: for his generous soul 
 JVvikes to he, not to appear, the Best; 
 And from the culture of his modest worth 
 Bears the rich fruit of great and glorious deeds. 
 Him let the virtuous and the wise oppose ; 
 For dreadful is the foe, that fears the gods. 
 Eteoc. Alas the destiny ! that leagues the just 
 
 *Th8 Arcadian Atalanta. 
 
yESCHYLUS. 
 
 63 
 
 With the unjust. In whatsoever cause, 
 There is nothing worse than evil fellowship. 
 Nothing of good is reaped ; for when the field 
 Is sown with wrong, the ripened fruit is death. 
 If with a desperate band, whose hearts are hot 
 With villany, the pious hoists his sails. 
 The vengeance of the gods bursts on his bark, 
 And sinks him with the heaven-detested crew. 
 If with a race inhospitably bent 
 On savage deeds, regardless of the gods, 
 The just man fix his seat, impending ^^'rath 
 Spares not, but strikes him with vindictive fury, 
 Crushed in the general ruin. So this Seer 
 Of tempered wisdom, of tmsuUied honour. 
 Just, good, and pious, and a mighty prophet, 
 In despite of his better judgment, joined 
 With men of impious daring, bent to tread 
 The long, irremeable way, he with them 
 Shall, if high Jove assist us, be dragged down 
 To joint perdition. — Him against the strength 
 Of Lasthenes shall I oppose. In manhood's prime 
 He bears the providence of age ; his eye 
 Quick as the lightning's glance ; before his shield 
 Flames his protended spear, and longs to obey 
 His hand. But victory is the gift of heaven. 
 Sold. The seventh bold chief — forgive me that 
 
 I name 
 Thy brother, and relate the horrible vows. 
 The imprecations, which his rage pours forth 
 Against the city; — on fire to mount the walls. 
 And from their tiuTets to this land proclaim 
 Captivity ; to meet thee, sword to sword. 
 Kill thee, then die upon thee: if thou livest, 
 To avenge on thee his exile and disgrace 
 With the like treatment. Thundering vengeance 
 
 thus 
 The rage of Polynices calls the gods. 
 Presiding oer his country, to look down 
 And aid his vows. His \vell-orbed shield he 
 
 holds 
 New-wrought, and with a double impress charged: 
 j1 Warrior blazing all in golden arms, 
 Led by a female form of modest mien, — 
 Justice her name — as the inscription speaks, 
 " Yet onre more to his country, and once more 
 To his paternal throne u-ill 1 restore him." — 
 Such their devices. But the important task. 
 Whom to oppose again.st his force, is thine. 
 Let not my words offend : I but relate. 
 Do thou command ; for thou art sovereign here. 
 
 Eteoc. How dreadful is the hatred of the gods ! 
 Unhappy sons of (Edipus, your fate 
 Claims many a tear. Ah me ! my father's curse 
 Now stamps its vengeance deep. But to lament, 
 Or sigh, or shed a tear, becomes me not, 
 Lest more intolerable grief arise. 
 Be Polynices told, illomeiied name. 
 That ue'U soon sec how far his blazoned sliield 
 Avails; how far inscriptions wrought in gold. 
 With all their fertile vauntings, will restore him. 
 If Justice, virgin daughter of high Jove, 
 Had ever formed his mind, or ruled his actions. 
 This might have been : but neither when his eyes 
 First saw the light of life ; nor in the growth 
 Of infancy; nor in the advancing years 
 Of youth; nor in the riper age, that clothes 
 
 With gradual down the manly cheek, did Justice 
 
 E'er condescend to look on, or address him. 
 
 Nor now, I ween, in this his fell intent 
 
 To crush his country, will her presence aid him : 
 
 For Justice were not Justice, if she did so, — 
 
 If she took part with his audacious spirit. 
 
 In this confiding, will I meet, will I 
 
 Engage him: who more lit"? chief against chief — 
 
 Foe against foe — and brother against brother. 
 
 What, ho! my greaves, my spear, my armour 
 
 proof 
 Against their storm of stones. My stand is chosen. 
 
 In the above scene, (says a modern author 
 of distinguished genius,) " the description of each 
 warrior stationed at each gate, is all in the genius 
 of Homer, closing, as it does, with that of Poly- 
 nices, whom, at the very mention of his name,* 
 Eteocles himself resolves to confront. At first, 
 indeed, he breaks out into exclamations which 
 denote the awe and struggle of the abhorrent 
 nature ; forebodings of his own doom flit before 
 him; he feels that the curses of his sire arc ripen- 
 ing to their fruit, and that the last storm is yet to 
 break upon the house of Qildipus. Suddenly he 
 checks the impulse, sensible of the presence of 
 the Chorus. He passes on to reason with him- 
 self, through a process of thought, which Shake- 
 speare could not have surpassed. He conjures 
 up the image of his brother, hateful and unjust 
 from infancy to boyhood, from boyhood up to 
 youth, — assuring himself that Justice would be 
 foresworn, if this foe should triumph — and rushes 
 on to his dread resolve. 
 
 Eteocles and his brother both perish in the 
 unnatural strife, and the tragedy concludes with 
 the decree of the senate to bury Eteocles, but to 
 withhold the sacred rite from Polynices. G3 
 
 Herald. My office leads me to proclaim 
 
 mandate 
 Of the great rulers of the Tlieban state. 
 Eteocles, for that he loved his country. 
 They have decreed with honour to inter. 
 To shield Thebes from her foes he fought and 
 
 fell. 
 Where glory called the valiant youth to bleed, — 
 He bled. — Thus far of him ; but of his brother, 
 Of Polynices I am bid to say. 
 For that he fought against his country, and. 
 But for opposing gods, had worked her ruin, 
 It is decreed his corpse shall lie anburied. 
 Cast out to ravening birds and dogs a prey. 
 These are the mandates of our Thcban rulers. 
 
 ♦ "At the mention of each of the other chiefs," says 
 Potter, "Eteocles liad shown himself unmoved, and 
 given his orders with calmness and |irndence ; nay, his 
 reflections on Aniphiaraus have a soh-nin air of religion; 
 but no sooner is his brother named, than lie loses all 
 temper. He begins in.ieeil as if he v.'ould lament the 
 unhappy fate of his family, but soon starts off from that, 
 and, tli<)U!,'h himself the aggressor, reviles his brother, 
 as insolent, outrageous, and unjust from his infancy : 
 then, in the spirit of a man thai has done an injury, who 
 never forjiives, works himself up to tliat uneoverned 
 rage, wliich destroyed liia brother, himself, and all the 
 unhappy family of tEdipus. 
 
64 
 
 vESCHYLUS. 
 
 Antigone. And to these Theban rulers I declare, 
 If none besides dare bury him, myself 
 Will do that office, heedless of the danger, 
 And think no shame to disobey the State, 
 Paying the last sad duties to a brother. 
 Nature has tender ties, and strongly joins 
 The offspring of the same unhappy mother. 
 And the same wretched father. 
 
 FROM THE AGAMEMNON. 
 
 "In Agamemnon," says Schlegel in his elo- 
 quent lectures on Dramatic Literature, "it was 
 the intention of iEschylus to exhibit to us a sudden 
 fall from the highest pinnacle of prosperity and 
 fame into the abyss of ruin. The prince, the 
 hero, the general of the whole of the Greeks, in 
 the very moment when he has succeeded in con- 
 cluding the most glorious action, the destruction 
 of Troy, the fame of which is to be re-echoed 
 from the mouths of the greatest poets of all ages, 
 on entering the threshold of his house, after which 
 he has long sighed, is strangled amidst the un- 
 suspected preparations for a festival, according 
 to the expression of Homer, 'like an ox in the 
 stall,' strangled by his faithless wife ; her un- 
 worthy seducer takes possession of his throne, 
 and the children are consigned to banishment, 
 or to hopeless servitude." 
 
 With the view of giving greater effect to this 
 dreadful alteration of fortune, the poet has pre- 
 viously thrown a splendour over the destruction 
 of Troy. This he has done in the first half of 
 the play, in a manner peculiar to himself, and, 
 however singular, well calculated to arrest the 
 imagination. It is of importance to Clytemnestra 
 not to be surprised by the arrival of her husband, 
 and she has therefore arranged an uninterrupted 
 series of signal-fires from Troy to Mycenae, to 
 announce to her the capture of the former, when- 
 ever it should take place. 
 
 The Drama opens with the soliloquy of a 
 watchman who supplicates the gods for a release 
 from his toils, as for ten long years he has been 
 exposed to the cold dews of night, has witnessed 
 the various changes of the stars, and looked in 
 vain for the promised signal. He laments the 
 internal ruin of the royal house. At this moment 
 he sees the blaze of the long-wished for fires, 
 and hastens to announce it to his mistress. — Im- 
 mediately after this appears the Chorus, com- 
 posed of old men of Argos, who are not yet made 
 acquainted with the great event, and who, after 
 indulging in desultory, often obscure, allusions to 
 the origin and events of the war, conclude with 
 the following description of 
 
 THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Maileb chiefs, whose bosoms burn 
 For battle, heard in silence stern 
 Cries that call'd a father's name. 
 And set at naught pray'rs, cries, and tears, 
 And her sweet virgin life and blooming years. 
 Now when the solemn prayer was said, 
 The father gave the dire command 
 To the priestly band, 
 
 Men with strong hands and ruthless force. 
 
 To lift from earth that maiden fair. 
 
 Where she had sunk in dumb despair. 
 
 And lay with robes all cover'd round, 
 
 Hushd in a swoon upon the ground. 
 
 And bear her to the altar dread. 
 
 Like a young fawn or mountain kid : 
 
 Then round her beauteous mouth to tie 
 
 Dumb sullen bands to stop her cry. 
 
 Lest aught of an unholy sound 
 
 Be heard to breathe those altars round, 
 
 Which on the monarch's house might hang a 
 
 deadly spell. 
 Now as she stood, and her descending veil. 
 Let down in clouds of saffron, touch'd the ground, 
 The priests, and all the sacrificers round, 
 All felt the melting beams that came. 
 With softest pity wing'd, shot from her lovely 
 
 eyes. 
 Lilce some imagined, pictured maid she stood, 
 So beauteous look'd she, seeming as she would 
 Speak, yet still mute : though oft her father's halls 
 
 Magnificent among, 
 
 She, now so mute, had sung 
 
 Full many a lovely air. 
 
 In maiden beauty, fresh and fair; 
 And with the warbled music of her voice 
 Made all his joyous bowers still more rejoice ; 
 When feast, and sacrifice, and song, 
 Led the glad hours of lengthend day along. 
 
 Clytemnestra now announces to the Chorus the 
 capture of Troy. They, half-incredulous, demand 
 of her ichat messenger had so quickly conveyed 
 the intelligence, to which Clytemnestra replies 
 that it was Vulcan, it was the Fire-god : — 
 
 'Twas Vulcan ; peering through the night. 
 
 O'er Ida's groves he shone ; 
 And watch to watch, and height to height. 
 
 The herald flame sent on; 
 From Ida to the Lemnian steep, 
 From Lemnos up to Jove"s proud keep, 
 
 To Athos, swept the fiery shower. 
 Thence, chequering ocean with its rays, 
 AU-sunbright burst the golden blaze 
 
 On far Macistus' tower; 
 Nor slept ; but, gathering swift relay, 
 Shot, crackling, on its airy way — 
 O'er wild Euripus' stream it flew ; 
 Messapion's guards the signal knew. 
 Kindled their heathery piles on high. 
 And sped the glad news through the sky. 
 
 And on, still on, still undecay'd, 
 It bounded o'er Asopus' glade. 
 Shone, moonlike,' on Cithaeron's height. 
 And rous'd up fresh relays of light. 
 And on again ; — unspent, unsleeping, 
 
 On the herald meteor came ; 
 Now o'er lake Gorgopis sweeping. 
 Now up .(Egiplancton leaping. 
 
 High it soar'd, a beard of flame. 
 High — in renew'd strength elate — 
 O'er the far Saronic strait 
 
tESCHYLUS. 
 
 65 
 
 To Arachne's answering pyre ; 
 Thence towards Argos — nigher — niglier — 
 O'er Agamemnon's roof down swoojis the Ida^an 
 
 Fire.* 
 Ckor. Hereafter to the gods, O queen! I'll pray. 
 But now, in wondering pleasure at tliy words, 
 I fain woiUd stand, and hear thein o'er again. 
 Clyt. This very day the Greelvs are lords of 
 
 Troy. 
 Now in the streets methinks I hear a peal 
 Of dreadful discord. Oil and vinegar 
 Into one vessel pour'd will ne"er unite. 
 But, like two foes at variance keep apart: 
 So they the conquer'd of the taken city. 
 And they the victors: you may hear apart 
 Two several voices, like their several f;\tes. 
 These prostrate, rolling on the slaughter'd bodies 
 Of husbands, brothers; children by the sires 
 Who gave them being, their fond parents dead. 
 Wail with sad outcries, with enthralled necks; 
 But they the victors, wearied, famished, 
 With toils of battle, running up and down 
 Through the dun shades of night, at length like 
 
 ■wolves 
 Round the full boards and city feasts are set, 
 Carousing in confusion; all pell-mell 
 Throng in the costly Trojan palaces 
 W^on by their swords ; now rid of open camps 
 And dewy cover of night-freezing skies, 
 And stretch'd at ease, like careless poor men tired. 
 Sleep through the watches of th' unguarded night. 
 'Tis well — and so it will be — if they keep 
 Due reverence and homage to the gods 
 Of that forsaken city and their fanes, 
 They may chance scape such sad vicissitude. 
 Nor feel themselves what they inflict on others — 
 But let no impious lust, no thirst of gold, • 
 Light on them longing for disastrous spoils, 
 Mad passion for those things 'tis sin to love ! 
 Let them beware ; they still want Heav'n's high 
 
 favour 
 To bring them back unhurt ; they still have left 
 One whole side of the Stadium's length to run. 
 But should they come, their forfeits on their heads, 
 With Heav'n's high wrath benighted, then indeed 
 The curse of blood might follow at their heels, 
 And Troy's ensanguined sepulchres yield up 
 Their charnel'd dead to cry aloud for vengeance — 
 E'en should not fortime blow them other ills. 
 These are but woman's words; but O prevail 
 Our better destinies, nor let the balance 
 Hang in suspense; of many a proffer 'd blessing, 
 I would have fix'd my heart, and chosen this. 
 
 ♦ The practice of conveying intelligence by fire-signals 
 is frequently mentioned by aniieiu writers. See Homer, 
 II. xviii ; Herodotus, Call. 3; 'Ihurydides, ii. (14; Virg. 
 jEneid, ii. 256; Polyb. x. 4."?, &c. Tliere is a preUy story 
 in Pausan. Corinth, of Lynceus, after the dreadful niar- 
 riase nijlit, which he alone of the fifty broiliers survivc<l, 
 making fire-signals to Hypermnestra of his safe arrival 
 at Lurceia, and of her answerinj; him by like signals from 
 Larissa. As to the pussihility of transiuilling a sijrnal by 
 fire from Mount Ida to Argos by means of the successive 
 stations above enumerated, that part of the question 
 seems to have been most satisfactorily computed and 
 shown both by Vossius and Casaubon. 
 9 
 
 Char. queen ! no man more sagely could 
 have spoken. 
 Or utter'd graver sentiments; but I 
 Now being possess'd of thy conlirmed tidings, 
 Prepare me rightly to address the gods ; 
 For by our toils a glorious crown is won. 
 
 [Exit Clttemnestra. 
 Chorus. 
 O monarch Jove ! gracious Night ! 
 Mother of these glories bright; 
 Who liung'st th' impassive net o'er Troy's high 
 tower, 
 Slumb'ring deep in silent hour : 
 Surrounding all 
 With thickest pall 
 Cast upon her babes at night, 
 Aiul her warlike men of might; 
 That none could 'scape the mighty throw 
 Of Ate's hideous net, which coni])ass'd all with 
 woe. 
 It has been said, that gods above 
 Stoop not their eyes on men below. 
 When with black insolence they durst invade 
 The inmost sancttiary of grace, 
 And judging Gods defied. 
 So said the impious; but tlie Gods 
 Have shown themselves in dreadful view 
 E'en to the children of aspiring kings, 
 And to these hosts of war in artnour bright, 
 Steel'd and caparison'd for lawless fight. 
 Whilst j)jumed Mars breathed horror on their 
 h.elms: 
 And to the plenteous palaces of pride, 
 The towers of grandeur, and the thrones of 
 state, 
 Too glorious to be good. 
 Be sober-minded wisdom mine. 
 The chasten'd soul, and lowly lot, 
 Free from the sins arul woes that guard the 
 regal gate. 
 
 The Chorus then revert to the elopeiuent of 
 Helen, to the agony and despair of Menelaus on 
 discovering her flight, and to the calamities en- 
 dured by the Greeks in their clforts to recover 
 her : — 
 
 Ah ! woe the halls, and woe the chiefs, 
 
 And woe the bridal beil! 
 And woe her steps, — for once she lov'd, 
 
 The lord, whose love she fled ! 
 Lo! where, dishonour yet unknown, 
 He sits, nor deems his Helen flown, 
 Tearless and voiceless, on the spot, 
 All desert, but he feels it not! 
 But, soon alive to miss and mourn, 
 Tlie form beyond the ocean borne, 
 
 Shall start the lonely king! 
 And thought shall All the lost-one's room. 
 And darkly through the palace gloom 
 
 Shall stalk a ghostly thing. 
 Her statues meet, as round they rise, 
 The leaden stare of lifeless eyes; 
 Where is their ancient beaiUy gone? — 
 Why loathe his looks the breathing stone ? 
 f2 
 
66 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 Alas ! the foulness of disgrace 
 Hatli swept the Venus from her face ! 
 And visions in the mournful night 
 Shall dupe the heart to false delight, 
 
 A false and melancholy; 
 For what with sadder joy is fraught 
 Than things at night by dreaming brought, 
 
 The Wish'd-for and the Holy. 
 Swift from the solitary side, 
 The Vision and the Blessing glide, 
 
 Scarce welcomed ere they sleep. 
 Pale, bloodless dreams aloft, 
 On wings unseen and soft, 
 
 Lost wanderers, gliding through the paths 
 of sleep. 
 
 But through the bounds of GrEecia"s land 
 
 See Mourning on each threskold stand, 
 
 And well may Greece with grief be rent ; 
 
 She well remembers whom she sent. 
 
 She sees them not return : 
 
 Instead of men to each man's home, 
 
 Urns and ashes only come, 
 
 And the armour which they wore; 
 
 Sad relics to their native shore. 
 
 For Mars, the barterer of the lifeless clay, 
 Who sells for gold the slain, 
 
 And holds the scale, in battle's doubtful day, 
 High balanced o'er the plain; 
 
 From Ilium's walls for men returns 
 
 Ashes and sepulchral urns ; 
 
 Ashes wet w ith many a tear, 
 
 Sad relics of the fiery bier. 
 
 Round the full urns the general groan 
 
 Goes, as each their kindred O'wn. 
 
 One they mourn in battle strong, 
 
 And one that 'mid the armed throng 
 
 Sunk in glory's slaughtering tide, 
 
 And for another's consort died. 
 
 Such the sounds that, mix'd with wail. 
 
 In secret whispers roimd prevail ; 
 
 And envy, join'd with silent griefs, 
 
 Spreads 'gainst the two Atridae chiefs. 
 
 Who began the public fray, 
 
 And to vengeance led the way. 
 
 Others they mourn whose monuments stand 
 
 By Ilium's walls on foreign strand ; 
 
 Where they fell in beauty's bloom, 
 
 There they lie in hated tomb ; 
 
 Sunk beneath the massy mound, 
 
 In eternal chambers bound. 
 
 Whene'er a city moves its men to wrath, 
 
 Heavy their rumour ; and a people's curse 
 
 Works out its ruler's woe. 
 
 My soul stands tiptoe with affright; 
 
 I stand like one with listening ear. 
 
 Ready to catch the sound of fear ; 
 
 And lift my eyes to see some sight 
 
 Coming from the pall of night. 
 For Gods behold not nnconcern'd from liigh, 
 When smoking slaughter mounts the sky, 
 The mighty murd'rers of the direful plain. 
 For then tlie black Erinnysses arise 
 With Time their helper, and with fate reversed; 
 And make the mighty justice-slighting man 
 Pale in the midst of Glory's proud career ; 
 
 And hurl him 'mid the hapless crew who groan. 
 Helpless, unpitied, and unknown. 
 
 To be far-famed, and touch the skies, 
 Is on a giddy height to move ; 
 
 The fire of Jove bursts in his eyes, 
 And the thunder rolls above. 
 
 Grant me wealth, but not that state 
 
 Where Envy waits upon the great; 
 
 Let me not be in high renown, 
 
 The sacker of another's town ; 
 
 Nor let me see my country fall 
 
 By others' hands to slavery's thrall. 
 
 Now, from the beacon-light which fires the skies, 
 Quick through the town the winged rumour flies : 
 
 If true, who knows ? 
 
 It may be false, I fear! 
 For who so childish, and of senses shorn, 
 To let his soul be kindled all at once 
 With the first tidings of a moment's glare, 
 And then, when changeful tidings come, 
 
 To sink into despair ? 
 It well beseems a female throne, 
 Betbre the event is clearly known, 
 
 To solemnize the joy: 
 The female miiad too quickly moves, 
 Too apt to credit what it loves ; 
 But short-lived is the fame 
 Which female heraldries proclaim. 
 
 Chorus and Clttemnestra. 
 
 Clyt. Soon shall we know if these light-bearing 
 lamps, 
 These watches kept, these interchanging fires, 
 Are true ; or if, like some delicious dream. 
 This light has cozen'd us : my eyes descry 
 A herald from the beach approaching fast. 
 And mark his olive boughs — all looks well now : 
 God grant it may so end ! 
 
 Enter Herald.* 
 Her. Hail to! my native and paternal soil! 
 Hail to! my country, and the sweet approach 
 Of Argive land ! in ten long years return'd, 
 I stand upon thee gladly, my country! 
 And save this one of many a shipwreck'd hope. 
 O much I feard I ne'er shovUd see thy shores, 
 Nor when I died, be gather'd to thy lap. 
 
 * The unity of action is preserved in this play, but the 
 unity of time would appear to be disregarded, for nothing 
 but a miracle could have brouf;ht the herald home so 
 soon, supposing the exhibition of the beacons to have 
 taken place immediately on the taking of Troy. The fact • 
 is, the Greek poets did not observe the minor unities of 
 time and place so scrupulously as the French. Sophocles 
 presents in the Tracliiiiia" a more glaring example, in the 
 mission of Ilyllus and his return, (a distance of 120 Italian 
 miles,) which takes place during the acting of a hundred 
 lines. In the Eunienides jEschylus opens the play at 
 Del|ihi, and ends it at Athens. Aristotle, as Twining 
 properly remarks, does not lay down the unity of time aa 
 I a rule, but says that tragedy endeavours to circumscribe 
 the period of its action to one revolution of the sun. 
 
 The joy of the herald, and his salutation of his coun- 
 try's Gods, before he noticed his countrymen, was in the 
 spirit of those days, and differing from ours. Cato, in a 
 didactic work, recommends the farmer on his return, 
 ' Priraum larein salutato.' 
 
^SCHYLUS. 
 
 67 
 
 Now Earth, all hail ! all hail, thou Sun of light ! 
 And Jovp, this reahii's great paramount! and thou, 
 O King of Pyiho, hurling from thy bow 
 Thy shafts no more against us ; fidl enough 
 Wo felt thy ire by sad Scamander"s batdcs : 
 Now be our saviour, and our lord of games, 
 O King Apollo ! and I call ye all. 
 Ye Gods of festivals, and thee, my patron. 
 Sweet Herald God ! whom heralds most adore ; 
 And ye, the worshipp'd Heroes of old times. 
 Who sent your armed sons to battle forth ; 
 Receive what now remains of us, the gleanings 
 Of hostile spears. O palace of our kings! 
 Dear roofs, and venerated judgment seats ! 
 And ye, sun-facing images of Gods ! 
 Now, now, if ever, beam with joyful eyes 
 Upon your king returning; — lo ! he comes, 
 King Agamemnon, bringing now at last 
 A light in darkness, and a general shine 
 On you, on all the people, on all those 
 Who throng around. But greet him, greet him 
 
 well, 
 (Such honour is the mighty conqueror's meed) 
 Who, arm"d with vengeance and the mace of 
 
 Jove. 
 Unloosed the stony, massy girths of Troy. 
 Ay, now Jove's spade has finish'd its dread work. 
 And made a mound of all that mighty field ; 
 Altars and fanes in unknown ruins lie, 
 And without seed lies all the blasted land. 
 Thus comes Atrides from the siege of Troy, 
 Which 'neath his yoke has bent her turrets high. 
 
 happy, glorious, honourable man, 
 Deserving praise of men far, far beyond 
 What any worthy of this age can claim. 
 The vaunts of Troy and Paris are no more. 
 Boasting the arm of Justice could not reach them ; 
 But it has spann'd them with a hand as large 
 As their olfendings : the convicted thief* 
 
 Has lost his mainprize, and the ravisher 
 Has with his beauteous fair one lost himself, 
 And bared his father's house to the dire edge 
 Of naked ruin ; and old Priam's sons 
 Have with their blood his double forfeits paid. 
 
 Chor. Herald of the Argives from the host, all 
 health 
 And joy be with thee. 
 
 Her. Take me to ye, Gods ! 
 
 1 ne'er can live to greater joy than this ! 
 
 Chor. Felt'st thou in absence all a lover's pangs 
 For this thy native land? 
 
 Her. Behold my eyes 
 
 Weep with delight, and answer thee in tears. 
 
 Chor. Others shared with you in that sweet 
 disease. 
 
 Her. How, pr'ythee ? let me understand thee ! 
 speak. 
 
 Chor. Some long'd for you, much as ye long'd 
 for them. 
 
 Her. We were then both regretting and re- 
 gretted ? 
 
 Choi: Ay, we regretted, but with sniother'd 
 groans, 
 Stifled in secret. 
 
 Her. Whence this secret sorrow ? 
 
 Ckor. Hush I silence is a balm that cures mis- 
 hap. 
 Her. Ha! were there any then tliat caused such 
 fear 
 To make thee tremble when your king was 
 absent ? 
 Chor. You spoke our feelings when you wel- 
 comed death. 
 Her. From joy I spoke it; but thus length of 
 time 
 Brings with it much that falls out to our liking, 
 And much to cavil at. For who but God 
 Lives through all age without the stain of woe? 
 I could tell hardshijjs and inclement watches; 
 Cribs and close-pent up hatches; beds on plank; 
 Our labours, rather call them sutf 'rings, were 
 Set by the hours of each revolving day. 
 But this was light to what we bore on land : 
 Tents by the hostile walls, and drizzling skies. 
 And marshy fens, and jerkins mildewed o'er. 
 And, matty-hair'd, our soldiers look'd like beasts. 
 Or shall I tell our wint'rings, and the cold 
 We scarce could bear, engender'd by the snows 
 That hid mount Ida, when the rage of winter 
 Swept from the landskip e'en the birds of air? 
 Or how we broil'd in summer's sultry calms, 
 When, on his mid-day couch, the tmruffled sea 
 Slept in the stillness of the noontide air. 
 Without a breeze or sigh of zephyr heard. 
 'Tis o'er; 'tis ended — why lament it now? 
 Now all the labours of the war are past, 
 Are past to us ; ay, and past too to them, 
 Our comrades dead ; to them all feeling's past, 
 Or thoughts of rising from their lowly beds. 
 Why talk of them, poor souls? why tell how many 
 Perish'd, alas! and overcloud the joy 
 Of those whose life is left? Down, down, sad 
 
 thoughts ! 
 'Tis time to part from grief, and welcome joy. 
 We that are left of that great Argive host 
 Can say our losses in the scale are light 
 Weigh'd 'gainst our gains: why we may take our 
 
 station. 
 Borne on the wings of Fame o'er sea and land, 
 And show our glories in the dazzling sun, 
 Proclaiming as we go — 'These are the spoils 
 The Greeks have taken from the towers of Troy, 
 And hung them in the temples of their Gods, 
 A blazonry for ages yet to come.' 
 As such sounds spread abroad, the listening world 
 Must needs our chiefs admire, our city laud, 
 And honour will be paid to Jove, whose grace 
 These deeds accomplish'd. 
 
 CtTTF.MXESTnA {irho had been apart during the 
 
 previous conversation, now approaching,) 
 
 I have rejoiced already, in that hour 
 When the first midnight messenger of fire 
 Rode through the dark, proclaiming Troy was 
 
 taken. 
 Some argued me of lightness of belief: 
 '..^ure dost thou think Troy sack'd, by midnight 
 
 fires 
 Too easily persuaded ? Ah ! fond woman. 
 Thou hear'st a buoyant and believing heart.' 
 
68 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 I, thus perplex'd, yet, woman as I was, 
 Commantled sacrifice, and through the city 
 The solemn choirs of uhilation rang. 
 But now^ enough ! I'll hear no more from thee ; 
 The king comes shortly; from liis mouth alone 
 I'll hear the rest. Ay, now my noble lord 
 Arrives ! my eager thoughts fly forward to him, 
 My soul's in preparation to receive him. 
 And how to do it fltly? O blest day! 
 Fairest of earthly days to her \\'hose eyes 
 Behold her lord returning, by kind gods, 
 Safe from the edge of battle — go, speed his steps ; 
 Bid him come quickly to his city, bid him 
 Back to his wife, whom he M^ill find such as 
 He left her, the true watch-dog of his hearth, 
 Gentle and kind to him, and only hostile 
 To those who wish him ill ; one who has ne'er 
 Known pleasure in the converse of another; 
 But still, like metal from the dyer's hand. 
 Stands pure, by breath of evil fame unsullied. 
 
 [Exit Clttemnestra. 
 
 Her. 'Tis bravely spoken, like a noble woman. 
 How fair her lips spoke vaunts of conscious truth! 
 
 Chor. Indeed, and with becoming grace she 
 spoke 
 Those fair, clear, pearly words thy ears have 
 
 heard. 
 But let me question thee ; and. Herald, say, 
 Is Menelaiis safe? comes he with you? 
 Dear sovereign, ever honoured in this land. 
 
 Her. His fate we know not ; from the Achaian 
 host 
 He and his vessel both have disappeared. 
 
 Chor. How spoke the current rumour of the 
 fleet? 
 Think they he lives, or perish'd in the storm ? 
 
 Her. AH is in doubt : none knows to speak for 
 certain. 
 Except indeed the orb of day would tell. 
 The common eye of nature and the world. 
 
 Chor. But tell us of the tempest. 
 
 Her. Elements* 
 
 Before most hostile, join'd in league together 
 To wreck us, fire and water ; the wing'd light- 
 ning 
 And sea did both their utmost. In the night 
 The horrid clamour of the Thracian winds 
 Gave note of woe, curling the monstrous deep 
 With rising billows, and uprear'd the ships. 
 Ship against ship, with crashing mainyards roH'd. 
 But when the bright liglit of the sun arose. 
 We saw the wide ^gean effloresce f 
 With wrecks of ships, and weltering carcasses 
 Of Argive men, that the thick foam inlaid. 
 We and our ship (whose hull still bore it bravely) 
 Escaped their doom, stol'n or begg'd off from fate 
 By some superior being: 'twas not man 
 Who help'd us then and grasp'd our giddy 
 helm ; 
 
 * So Milton in his Paradise Regained, b. iv. 
 " Fire with water 
 In ruin reconciled." 
 tThe word in the original conveys the idea of the sea 
 flowering with bodies and wrecks, rising from it as 
 flowers and plants from a field. The metaphor is very 
 common in Greek authors. 
 
 And saving Fortune sat upon our-ship 
 Doing a seaman's duty, till we came 
 Safe into harbour from the seething sea. 
 Nor stranded on the rough stone-ribbed coast. 
 O how the day look'd lovely, when ashore 
 We crawl'd, escaped from the wat'ry jaws 
 Of a sea-death ! but yet our sense so stunn'd. 
 We scarce could credit it : then our fresh loss 
 Smote heavy on us, and thick-coming fancies 
 We fed upon in musing, as we thought 
 Of our lost comrades, and our sliipwreck'd host. 
 And now of them, if some have life and being, 
 Their converse is of us as ours of them ; 
 And now they sit around with woful face, 
 And as of men departed now they speak. 
 And we the deadmen, they the mourners are; 
 But be't the best it may. For Menelaus, 
 Look for his coining first, our chiefest care, 
 If still some peering sunbeam can espy 
 The chief among the living crowd of men, 
 And looking at the gladness of life's day. 
 By Jove's contrivances, not minded yet 
 The noble race of Atreus to destroy; 
 We still may nourish hopes he yet will come 
 Safe to his native home. And now, my i'riend. 
 Thou hast heard all, and all thou hast heard is 
 true. 
 
 [Exit Hehald. 
 
 Chohus. 
 
 When Helen came to Ilion's towers, 
 what a glorious sight, I ween, was there ! 
 The tranquil beauty of the gorgeous queen 
 Hung soft as breathless summer on her cheeks. 
 Where on the damask sweet the glow ing Zephyr 
 
 slept; 
 And like an idol beaming from its shrine. 
 So o'er the floating gold around her thrown 
 Her peerless face did shine ; 
 And though sweet softness hung upon their 
 
 lids. 
 Yet her young eyes still wounded where they 
 
 look'd. 
 She breathed an incense like Love's perfumed 
 
 flower. 
 Blushing in sweetness; so she seem'd in hue. 
 And pained mortal eyes with her transcendent 
 
 view : 
 E'en so to Paris' bed the lovely Helen came. 
 But dark Erinnys, in the nuptial hour. 
 Rose in the midst of all that bridal pomp, 
 
 Seated midst tl:e feasting throng. 
 
 Amidst the revelry aud song; 
 
 Erinnys, led by Xenian Jove, 
 
 Into the halls of Priam's sons, 
 
 Erinnys of the mournful bower. 
 Where youthful brides weep sad in midnight 
 
 hour. 
 'Twas said of old, and men maintain it still. 
 Fortune, how great soe'er, is never orown'd, 
 But when the great possessor, at the close 
 Of earthly grandeur, leaves an heir behind, 
 And sinks not childless to his grave. 
 But then they say it often haps 
 Fortune will wither on the father's grave, 
 
^SCHYLUS. 
 
 69 
 
 And though his race was blest before, 
 
 'Twill bud with sorrows weeping sore, 
 
 And never ending once begun. 
 
 But I think not, as think the crowd : 
 
 The imi)ious doer still begets 
 
 A brook of impious doers more, 
 
 Children and heirs of all his wicked deeds: 
 
 Whilst from the house of rigliteous men. 
 
 Who even-liaiided justice love, 
 
 Comes a long line of children good and fair. 
 
 Foul Villany, that wanton'd in its day, 
 
 Now its old crimes by time are half effaced, 
 
 Still reproduces others fresh and young, 
 
 In generations new of wicked men; 
 
 And brings its horrid progeny to light. 
 
 Agamemnon now^ returns, borne in a sort of 
 triumphal procession ; and seated in another car, 
 laden with booty, follows Cassandra, his prisoner 
 of war, and mistress, according to the privilege 
 of the heroes of those days. Clytemnestra greets 
 him with hypocritical joy and veneration ; she 
 orders her slaves to cover the ground with the 
 most costly embroideries of purple, that it might 
 not be touched by the foot of the conqueror. 
 Agamemnon, with wise moderation, at first re- 
 fuses to receive an honour due only to the Gods; 
 at last he yields to her invitations, and enters the 
 house. The Chorus then begin to utter dark 
 forebodings. Clytemnestra returns to allure Cas- 
 sandra to her destruction by the art of soft per- 
 suasion. The latter remains dumb and motion- 
 less ; but the queen is hardly gone, when, seized 
 with a projihectic rage, she breaks out into the 
 most perplexing lamentations, and afterwards 
 unveils her prophecies more distinctly to the 
 Chorus: — she sees in her mind all the enormities 
 which have been perpetrated in that house : the 
 repast of Thyestes, which the sun refused to look 
 on; the shadows of the dilacerated children 
 gazing down on her from the battlements of the 
 palace. She sees also, the death prepared both 
 for Agamemnon and herself — and then, as if 
 seized with overpowering fury, rushes maniac- 
 like, into the house to meet her doom. 
 
 Clttemnestha, CAssAsnuA, Chorus. 
 
 Clyt. Go in — go in! Cassandra! thee I mean, 
 Enter thou too ! since in this mansion Jove 
 Has placed tliee, nothing wrathfully, to share 
 With many a slave the lavers, as thou stand'st 
 By th' altar of our fortune-giving God.* 
 Come forth from out that wain : neither be thou 
 O'erweening, too high-stomach'd for thy lot; — 
 Such once was that of great Alcmena's son. 
 
 Chor. O be persuaded ; come down from thy 
 ear. 
 
 Clyt. I have no time for dallying here ; already 
 The victims, rang'd for sacrifice, demand 
 Our presence. — Wouldst thou do our bidding, 
 Take no long time in doing it. If thy tongue 
 
 * Kt«7«!U BmuiZ. The altar placed in the buttery, or 
 place where provisions were kept, w.is con-^ecraled to 
 Clesian Jove, or Jove the Guardian of Property. 
 
 Knows not to speak our language, let some sign 
 Supply, the place of words — speak with thy 
 hands. 
 Chor. Wild as some new-caught animal, she 
 needs 
 The aid of an interpreter. 
 
 Clyt. She is mad ; 
 
 And 1 shall waste no further words upon her. 
 
 [Exit CLrTF.MNESTIlA. 
 
 Chor. Sad one, "tis ours to pity, not upbraid, 
 thee. — 
 Then come down from thy car; submit to fate 
 And ]nit on thy new yoke. 
 
 Cass. woe, woe, woe ! 
 
 Oh Earth! oh Gods! Apollo! oh Apollo! 
 
 Chor. Why with that voice of woe invoke 
 Apollo? 
 Ill do these notes of grief accord with him. 
 Cass. Oh Earth ! oh Gods ! Apollo ! oh Apollo ! 
 Chor. Again she calls upon the Gods, blas- 
 
 pheining ! 
 Cass. Apollo! O Apollo! my Apollo! 
 Now for the second time thou hast undone me. 
 
 Chor. She seems to prophesy of her own woes. 
 God dwells within her, though she be a slave ! 
 
 Cass. Apollo! Apollo! my Apollo! 
 Ah! whither hast thou brought me 1 To what 
 house ? 
 Chor. Ask'st thou what house? It is the royal 
 house 
 Of the Atrida' — what I speak is truth. 
 
 Cass. Ha! ha! that dismal and abhorred house! 
 The good Gods hate its dark and conscious 
 
 walls! 
 It knows of kinsmen by their kinsmen slain, 
 And many a horrid death-rope swung! 
 A house, where men like beasts are slain ! 
 The floor is all in blood ! 
 Chor. The stranger's like a quick-nosed hound, 
 and seems 
 As though she scented murder in this house. 
 
 Cass. These are my witnesses ! I follow them I 
 Phantoms of children ! terribly they weep! 
 Their throats are cut! and now behold the supper 
 Of roast flesh smoking, which their father eats! 
 Chor. We have heard, O prophetess, of thy 
 great name ; 
 Ay — but we want no prophets in tliis house. 
 
 Cass. Alas! ye Gods, what is she thinking on? 
 And what is this that looks so yoimg and fresh ? 
 Mighty, mighty is the load 
 She is unravelling in these dark halls! 
 A foul deed for her dear friends plotteth she, 
 Too sore to bear, and wa.\ing past all cure ! 
 Where's Pity ? dead ! Wliere's Succour ? far 
 away. 
 Clwr. What means she? 
 
 Cuss. Wretch! ah, what art thou about? 
 
 A man's in the bath — beside him there stands 
 One wrajjping him rountl — the bathing clothes 
 
 drop, 
 Like shrouds they appear to me, dabbled in 
 
 blood ! 
 Yet 'twill be quick — 'tis now upoti the stroke! 
 A hand is siretch'd out — and another too! 
 As though it were a grasping — look, look, look ! 
 
70 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 Choi: 'Tis yet all dark to me : by riddles posed 
 I find no way in these blind oracles. 
 
 Cass. Ha! ha! Alas! alas! what's that? 
 Is that Hell's dragnet that I see 1 
 Dragnet ! or ^\'Olnan ? she, the very she 
 Who slej)t beside thee in the midnight bower, 
 Wife and murd'ress ! Howl, dark choirs ! 
 Howl in timbrel'd anthems dark 
 For Atreus' deadly line. 
 And the stony shower of blood. 
 Chor. Ye Gods ! what vengeance of a Fury's 
 
 this ! 
 Cass. Ha! ha! see there! see there! 
 Keep the bull from the heifer, drive, drive her 
 
 away! 
 The bull is encbafed and hoodwink'd, and roars ; 
 His black branching horns have received the 
 
 death-stab. 
 He sprawls and falls headlong ! he lies in the 
 
 bath. 
 Beside the great smouldering caldron that burns ! 
 The caldron burns, — it has a deadly blue ! 
 
 Chor. No deep skill boast I in the spell of Gods ; 
 And yet methinks all that she says bears in't 
 The stamp of ill ; but when has aught of good 
 From the divining power to man accrued? 
 Its deep ambiguous terms the truth invest 
 With mysteries that awe the inmost soul. 
 
 Cass. Alas! alas! ah, wretch! ah, luckless fate ! 
 Myself, myself I moan ! 
 Wretch that I am ! why hast thou brought me 
 
 here. 
 Unless to lie beside him in his death ? 
 Is't not? what else? what other can it be? 
 
 Chor. sure thou art one of a deei^-raging soul, 
 Driven mad by some god, and, (like her, the 
 
 sweet bird. 
 Who wails Ityn, her Ityn,) with unwearied voice. 
 But vex'd heart, pouring forth thy sad lay. 
 
 Cass. Ah, ah! the shrill Nightingale! how I 
 moan 
 As I think of her fate, so unlike to my own ; 
 She has wings, and she lives without sorrow or 
 
 fear. 
 But my doom is the axe or the sharp-edg'd spear ! 
 Chor. Ah ! whence are these sorrows, that gush 
 from thine eyes. 
 As if thou wert dreaming of woe ? 
 And that ominous cry, that wild scream of 
 
 affright ? 
 Whence, whence that dark spell of more than 
 
 man's lore. 
 That ill-boding, horrible spell ? 
 
 Cass. O nuptials of Paris! nuptials of death 
 To his friends ! O Scamauder, my sweet native 
 
 stream ! 
 Ah, wretch that I am! then I roved by thy 
 
 stream. 
 Young, careless, and happy! but now I must go 
 To Cocytus' banks, — there to sing my dark woe ! 
 Chor. What's this thou hast oracled ? — horrid, 
 yet clear — 
 A babe might e'en know it. — Mine engored heart 
 Is with terror struck down, as thou wail'st thy 
 
 dark fate. 
 Making moan, that astounds me to hear. 
 
 Cass. OTroy! Woes of Troy! now all-prostrate 
 and lone ! 
 ye altars, that blaz'd before Priam's high throne ! 
 Vain, vain your blood-offerings, your victims, to 
 
 save 
 Troy's towers from destruction, Troy's sons from 
 
 the grave. 
 Even I soon on earth must my warm blood out- 
 pour. 
 
 Chor. That strain's a sequel to the strain before. 
 
 Cass. Pale phantoms brood within these 
 guarded towers ; 
 Screams are heard nightly, and a dismal din 
 Of strange, terrific, and unearthly choirs. 
 Singing in horrid, full, harmonious chord. 
 What do they sing of? Nothing good I ween. 
 For, blood of mortal man since they have drank, 
 Still more unquenchable their riot grows. 
 The Masque of Sisters ! the Erinnyes drear ! 
 They are all seated in the rooms above. 
 Chanting how Ate came into the house* 
 In the beginning : gloomily they look ! 
 Each sings the lay in catches round, each has 
 Foam on her lips, and gnashes grim her teeth, 
 Where heavily the incestuous brother sleeps, 
 Stretch'd in pale slumber on the haunted bed. 
 Ha ! do the shafts fly upright at the mark ? 
 Fly the shafts right, or has the yew-bow miss'd? 
 Methinks the wild beast in the covert's hit; 
 Or rave I, dreaming of prophetic lies? 
 Come, bear thou witness, out with it on oath, 
 That I know well the old sins of this house. 
 
 Chor. How can an oath, the evil fix'd so fast. 
 Help it or cure it ? But thou raovest our wonder, 
 Bred in strange land, in city stranger-tongued. 
 Far beyond seas, that thou shouldst speak as if 
 Thou hadst been present at the scenes thou 
 speak'st of. 
 
 Cass. Prophet Apollo gave me this high boon. 
 
 Chor. From love of thee ? the God, felt he de- 
 sire? 
 
 Cass. Before this hour I fear'd for shame to 
 tell it. 
 
 Chor. Ay, for great folks are delicate and nice. 
 
 Cass. He was a champion, vehemently breath- 
 ing 
 The breath of love and pleasing fire upon me. 
 
 Chor. Came there a marriage then 'twixt him 
 and thee ? 
 
 Cass. I said it should be, but I spoke him false. "f 
 
 Chor. At that time was thou of his arts possest ? 
 
 Cass. E'en so, that I was then a prophetess 
 Foretelling to my country all its woss ! 
 
 ♦ The crime in tlie family of Atreus, here alhided to, 
 was the adultery of Thyestes with Aernpe, his lirother'a 
 wife, which formed the subject of Euripides' CressiE. 
 Otherwise the first crime upon record of this unfortunate 
 family was the treacherous murder nf Mynilus by Pelops, 
 on the false accusation of his wife Hippodamia. See the 
 story told at full length, and not much to the credit of this 
 young Grecian princess, in Eustathius, 185, edit. Rom. 
 The intriiue of Thyestes and A6rope is alluded to also 
 in Eurip. Elec. 720. 
 
 t All this story of Apollo's love for Cassandra, his gift 
 to her of inspiration, and her chaste deception of him, 
 are commonly known. Lycopluon, in his Alexandra, 
 makes her give the same history of it. 
 
^SCHYLUS. 
 
 71 
 
 Clwr. How then 1 And didst thou 'scape 
 Apollo's wrath f 
 
 Cass. For iiiy transgression, none believed my 
 words ! 
 
 Chor. To us thy words seem worthy of belief. 
 
 Cass. 0! 0! hu! hu! alas! 
 
 The i)ains again have seized me! my brain turns! 
 Hark to the alarum and prophetic cries ! 
 The dizziness of horror swims my head ! 
 D'ye see those yonder, sitting on the towers? 
 Like dreams their figures! Blood-red is their hair ! 
 Like young ones murder'd by some kinsman 
 
 false! 
 Horrible shadows! with hands full of flesh ! 
 Their bowels and their entrails they hold up. 
 Their own flesh, O most execrable dish ! 
 They hold it ! out of it their father ate ! 
 But in revenge of them there's one who plots, 
 A certain homebred, crouching, coward lion ; 
 Upon his lair the rolling lion turns. 
 And keejjs house close, until the coming of 
 My master! said I master"? Out! alas! 
 I am a slave, and I must bear the yoke. 
 King of the ships, and sacker of great Troy, 
 Thou know'st not what a hateful bitch's tongue 
 Glozing and fawning, sleekfaced all the while. 
 Will do ! like Ate stealing in the dark ! 
 Out on such daring! female will turn slayer 
 And kill the male ! What name to call her? Snake, 
 Horrible monster, crested amphisbLtna, 
 Or some dire Scylla dwelling amid rocks! 
 LigiUphing seamen in her howling caves! 
 The raving of Hell's mother fires her cheeks. 
 And, like a pitiless Mars, her nostrils breathe 
 To all around her war and trumpets rage. 
 what a shout was there ! it tore the skies 
 As in the battle when the tide rolls back ! 
 'Twas the great championess — how fierce, how 
 
 fell! 
 No, 'tis all joy, and welcome home, sweet lord. 
 The war is o'er, the merry feast's begun. 
 Well, well, ye don't believe me — 'tis all one. 
 For why? what will be, will be ; time will come ; 
 Ye will be there, and pity me, and say, 
 'She was indeed too true a prophetess.' 
 
 Chor. Thyestes' bloody feast I oft have heard 
 of— 
 Her drift beyond that point I cannot see. 
 
 Cass. I say, thou shalt see Agamemnon's death ! 
 
 Chor. What man such execrable deed designs? 
 
 Cass. What man ? I pity thee ; thou art won- 
 drous dim. 
 And hast o'erlooked my oracles indeed. 
 
 Chor. But they are dark, and hard for us to find. 
 
 Cass. O what a mighty fire comes rolling on 
 me! 
 Help! help! Lycean Apollo! Ah me! ah me! 
 She there, that two-legg'd lioness! lying with 
 A wolf, the highbred lion being away. 
 Will kill me! woeful creature that I am! 
 And like one busy mixing poison up. 
 She'll fill me such a cup too in her ire! 
 She cries out, whetting all the while a sword 
 'Gainst him, 'tis me, and for my bringing here 
 That sucVi a forfeit must be paid with death ! 
 why then keep this mockery on my head ? 
 
 Off" with ye, laurels, necklaces, and wands! 
 The crown of the prophetic maiden's gone! 
 
 [Tearing her robes. 
 Away, away! die ye ere yet I die! 
 I will requite your blessings, thus, thus, thus! 
 Find out some other maiden, dight her rich, 
 Ay, dight her rich in miseries like me! 
 And lo ! Apollo! hitnself! tearing off 
 My vest oracular! Oh! cruel God ! 
 Thou hast beheld me, e'en in these thy robes, 
 Scoff"'d at when I was with my kinsmen dear, 
 And made my enemies' most piteous desjiite, 
 And marry a bad name had I i'or thy sake j 
 A Cybele's mad-woman, beggar priestess. 
 Despised, unheeded, beggar'd, and in hunger ; 
 And yet I bore it all for thy sweet sake. 
 And now to fill thy cup of vengeance up. 
 Prophet, thou hast undone thy prophetess ! 
 And led me to these passages of death ! 
 A block stands for the altar of my sire ; 
 It waits for me, upon its edge to die, 
 Stagger'd with blows — in hot red spouting blood! 
 Oh! oh! but the great gods will hear my cries 
 Shrilling for vengeance through the vaulted roofs ! 
 The gods will venge us when we're dead and 
 
 cold. 
 Another gallant at death-deeds will come ! 
 Who's at the gates ? a young man fair and tall, 
 A stranger, by his garb, from foreign parts; 
 Or one who long since has been exiled here: 
 A stripling, murderer of his mother's breast! 
 Brave youth, avenger of his father's death! 
 He'll come to build the high-wrought architrave. 
 Surmounting all the horrors of the dome. 
 I say, tlie gods have sworn that he shall come. 
 His father's corse (his crest lies on tlie ground) 
 Rises, and towers before him on the road ! 
 What mourning still? what still my eyes in tears? 
 And here, too, weeping on a foreign land ? 
 I, who have seen Ingh-tower'd Ilion's town 
 Fall, as it fell ; whilst they who dwelt therein 
 Are, as they are! before high-judging Heaven! 
 I'll go and do it! I'll be bold to die! 
 I have a word with ye, ye gates of hell! 
 
 [To the gates of the palace us she is about to enter. 
 I pray ye, let me have a mortal stroke, 
 'I'hat without struggling, all this body's blood 
 Pouring out plenteously, in gentle stream 
 Of easy dying, I may close my eyes ! 
 
 Chor. O woeful creature, woeful, too, and wise ! 
 O maid, thou hast been wandring far and wide! 
 But if in earnest thou dost know thy fate, 
 Why like a heifer, goaded by a god, 
 Dost thou thus fearless to the altar walk? 
 
 Cass. Hide where I will ; there's no escape 
 from fate. 
 
 Chor. Yet is diere some advantage in delay. 
 
 Cass. My day is come, by flight I should gain 
 little. 
 
 Chor. Know then, thou'lt sufler from being 
 over bold. 
 
 Cass. But to die gloriously is honour's crown. 
 
 Chor. None ever hears the happy speak such 
 words. 
 
 Cass. Oh Father! oh! — Thou an<l thy noble 
 sons ! [Starting back. 
 
72 
 
 AESCHYLUS. 
 
 Chor. What ails thee now ? What caus"d that 
 start 1 
 
 Cass. Foh ! Foh ! 
 
 Chor. What means foh, foh ? Some loathing 
 at thy heart? 
 
 Cass. The house breathes scents of murder. 
 
 Chor. 'Tis the scent 
 
 Of burning sacrifice upon our ahars. 
 
 Cass. No ; rather like a vapour from the tomb ! 
 
 Chor. There breathes no Syrian odour in thy 
 \vor(ls. 
 
 Cass. Wailing my own and Agamemnon's fate, 
 These domes I enter ! Life, enough of thee ! 
 And, strangers see! Not like a timorous bird, 
 Do I draw back to shun the fowler's snare. 
 
 bear this witness to a dying \yoman. 
 
 When the day comes that blood shall flow for 
 
 blood, 
 Woman's for woman's ; Man's for man's, for this 
 Ill-mated man's — O then remember me. 
 
 Chor. Oh! I do pity thee, unhappy maid! 
 For thy sad tragic and predestined fate. 
 
 Cass. Once more ! once more ! oh let my voice 
 be heard ! 
 
 1 love to sing the dirges of the dead, 
 
 I\Iy own death knell, myself my death knell 
 
 ring! 
 The sun rides high, but soon will set for me ; 
 sun ! I pray to thee by thy last light. 
 And unto those who will me honour do, 
 Upon my hateful murderers wreak the blood 
 Of the poor slave they murder in her chains, 
 A helpless, easy, unresisting victim ! 
 Alas for mortals! — what their power and pride? 
 A little shadow svreeps it from the earth! 
 And if they suffer — why the fatal hour 
 Comes o'er the record like a moisten'd spunge 
 And blots it out. 
 
 \_Exit Cassaxdha. 
 
 Scarcely has the prophetess withdrawn, than 
 we hear behind the scenes the groans of the 
 murdered king. The palace opens and Clytem- 
 nestra is seen standing beside the dead body of 
 her lord — an undaunted criminal, who not only 
 confesses the deed, but boasts of it as a just re- 
 quital for Agamemnon's sacrifice of Iphigeneia 
 to his own ambition. 
 
 ON THOSE WHO FELL AT THER- 
 MOPYLAE;. 
 
 These, too, defenders of their comitry fell ; 
 
 Their mighty souls to gloomy death betray'd : 
 Immortal is their fame who, suffering well, 
 
 Of Ossa's dust a glorious garment made. 
 
 FROM THE PERSIANS. 
 
 "The Persians'' maybe considered rather in 
 the light of a proud triumphal song in honour of 
 Liberty, than of a regidar tragedy. It was ex- 
 hibited eight years after the defeat of Xerxes at 
 Salarais, whilst the memory of each circumstance 
 was yet recent, so that the narration may be con- 
 
 sidered, in some degree, as a history of that great 
 event. — The scene is at Susa, and near the tomb 
 of Darius. 
 
 Atossa, Chorus. 
 
 Atoss. Indulge me, friends, who wish to be in- 
 formed 
 Where, in what clime, the towers of Athens 
 rise? 
 
 Chor. Far in the west, where sets the imperial 
 sun. 
 
 Atoss. Yet my son v illed the conquest of this 
 town. 
 
 Chor. May Greece, through all her states, bend 
 to his power. 
 
 Atoss. Do they send numerous armies to the 
 field? 
 
 Chor. Armies, that to the Medes have wrought 
 much woe. 
 
 Atoss. Have they sufficient treasures in their 
 houses ? 
 
 Chor. Their rich earth is a copious fount of 
 silver. 
 
 Atoss. From the strong bow wing they the 
 barbed shaft ? 
 
 Chor. No ; but they have stout spears and 
 massy bucklers. 
 
 Atoss. What monarch reigns, and who com- 
 mands their army? 
 
 Chor. Slaves to no lord, they own not kingly 
 power. 
 
 Atoss. How can they then resist the invading 
 foes? 
 
 Chor. So as to destroy the armies of Darius. 
 
 Atoss. Serious your words to parents, who have 
 sons there. 
 
 Chor. But if I judge aright, thou soon shalt hear 
 Each circumstance ; for here's a Persian mes- 
 senger. 
 Tidings, no doubt, he brings of good or ill. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 Mess. Woe to the towns of Asia's peopled 
 realms ! 
 Woe to the land of Persia, once the port 
 Of boundless wealth! All, at a blow, has 
 
 perished ! 
 Ah me ! How sad his task, who brings ill tidings. 
 But to my tale of woe — I needs must tell it. 
 Persians, the whole barbaric host has fallen. 
 Chor. O horror, horror, what a train of ills. 
 3Iess. I speak not from report ; but these mine 
 eyes 
 Beheld the ruin which my tongue would utter. 
 
 Chor. Alas ! Is Ellas then unscathed ? And has 
 Our airowy tempest spent its force in vain? 
 Jlifss. In heaps the unhappy dead lie on the 
 strand 
 Of Salamis and all the neighbouring shores. 
 Chor. Raise the funereal cry, with dismal 
 notes 
 Wqiling the wretched Persians. Oh, how ill 
 They planned their measures! All their army 
 perished ! 
 Mess. Salamis, how hateful is thy name! 
 Oh, how my heart groans but to think of Athens! 
 
^SCHYLUS. 
 
 73 
 
 Chor. How dreadful to her foes ! Call to re- 
 membrance 
 How many Persian dames, wedded in vain, 
 Hath Athens of their noble husbands widow'd'? 
 Jltoss. Astonied with these ills, my voice thus 
 
 long 
 Hath wanted utterance: griefs liUe these exceed 
 The power of specfh or question : yet ev"n such, 
 Inflicted by the gods, must mortal man 
 Constrain'd by hard necessity endure. 
 But tell me all, without distraction tell me, 
 All this calamity, though many a groan 
 Burst from thy labouring heart. Who is not fallen ? 
 What leader must we wail ? What sceptred 
 
 chief 
 Dying hath left his troops without a lord ? 
 
 Mess. Xerxes himself lives, and beholds the 
 
 light. 
 Atoss. That word beams comfort on my house, 
 
 a ray 
 That brightens throngh the melancholy gloom. 
 Mess. Artembares, the potent chief that led 
 Ten thousand horse, lies slaughtered on the rocks 
 Of rough Silenise. The great Dadaces, 
 Beneath whose standard rnarch'd a thousand 
 
 horse, 
 Pierced by a spear, fell headlong from the ship. 
 Tenagon, bravest of the Bactrians, lies 
 Roll'd on the wave-worn beach of Ajax' isle. 
 Likens, Arsames, Argestes, dash 
 With violence in death against the rocks 
 Where nest the silver doves.* Arctens, that 
 
 dwelt 
 Near to the fountains of the Egyptian Nile, 
 Adeues, and Pheresba, and Pharmichus 
 Fell from one ship. Matallus, Clirysa's chief. 
 That led his dark'ning squadrons, thrice ten 
 
 thousand. 
 On jet-black steeds, with purple gore distain'd 
 The yellow of his thick and shaggy beard. 
 The Magian Arabus, and Artames 
 From Bactra, monUrring on the dreary shore 
 Lie low. Amistris, and Amphistreus there 
 Grasps his war-wearied spear; there prostrate 
 
 lies 
 The illustrious Arioinardus ; long his loss 
 Shall Sardis ^veep : thy Mysian Sisames, 
 And Tharybis, that o'er the burden'd deep 
 Led five times fifty vessels ; Lerna gave 
 The hero birth, and manly grace adorn"d 
 His pleasing form, but low in death he lies 
 Unhappy in his fate. Syennesis, 
 Cilicia's warlike chief, who dared to front 
 The foremost dangers, singly to the foes 
 A terror, there too found a glorious death. 
 These chieftains to my sad remembrance rise. 
 Relating but a few of many ills. 
 
 Aloss. This is the height of ill, ah me ! and 
 
 shame 
 To Persia, grief, and lamentation loud. 
 But tell me this, afresh renew thy tale : 
 What was the number of the Grecian fleet. 
 That in fierce conflict their bold barks should dare 
 
 * Salamis was the birth-place of Ajax, and sacred to 
 Venus ; hence it was said to abound with doves. 
 10 
 
 Rush to encoimter with the Persian hosts. 
 
 Mess. Know then, in numbc;rs the barbaric 
 lleet 
 Was far sui)erior: in ten squadrons, each 
 Of thirty ships, Greece plough"d the deep; of 
 
 these 
 One held a di.'-tant station. Xerxes led 
 A thousand sliijjs; their nninbcr well I know; 
 Two hundred more, and seven, that swept the 
 
 seas 
 With speediest sail : this was their full amount. 
 And in the engagement seeni'd we not secure 
 Of victory ■? But unequal fortune sunk 
 Our scale in fight, discomfitting our host. 
 
 Atoss. The gotls preserve the city of Minerva. 
 
 3Icss. The walls of Athens are impregnable, 
 Their firmest bulwarks her heroic sons. 
 
 Atoss. Which navy first advanced to the attack? 
 Who led to the onset, tell me ; the bold Greeks, 
 Or, glorying in his numerous fleet, my son? 
 
 ilcss. Our evil genius, lady, or some god 
 Hostile to Persia, led to evry ill. 
 Forth from the troops of Athens came a Greek, 
 And thus address'd thy son, the imperial Xerxes: 
 " Soon as the shades of night descend, the Gre- 
 cians 
 Shall quit their station; rushing to their oars 
 They mean to separate, and in secret fiiglit 
 Seek safety." At these words, the royal chief, 
 Little conceiving of the wiles of Greece 
 And gods averse, to all the naval leaders 
 Gave his high charge : — " Soon as yon sun shall 
 
 cease 
 To dart his radiant beams, and dark'ning night 
 Ascends the temple of the sUy, arrange 
 Li three divisions your well-ordered ships. 
 And guard each pass, each outlet of the seas: 
 Others enring around this rocky isle 
 Of Salamis. Should Greece escape her fate. 
 And work her way by secret flight, your heads 
 Shall answer the neglect." This harsh command 
 He gave, exulting in his mind, nor knew 
 What Fate design'd. With martial discipline 
 And prompt obedience, snatching a repast. 
 Each mariner fix"d well his ready oar. 
 Soon as the golden sun was set, and night 
 Advanced, each traiu'd to ply the dashing oar. 
 Assumed his seat; in arms each warrior stood, 
 Troop cheering troop through all the ships of war. 
 Each to the appointed station steers his course ; 
 And through the night his naval force each chief 
 Fix'd to secure the passes. Night advanced, 
 But not by secret flight did Greece attempt 
 To escape. The morn, all beauteous to behohl, 
 Drawn by white steeds bounils o'er the enlight- 
 
 en'd earth ; 
 At once from ev'ry Greek with gla<l acclaim 
 Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes 
 I'he echo of the island rocks reiurn'd, 
 Spreading dismay throngh Persia's hosts, thus 
 
 "fallen 
 From their high hopes; no flight this solemn strain 
 Portended, but deliberate va'our bent 
 On daring battle; while the trumpet's sound 
 Kindled the flames of war. But when their oars 
 The piean ended, with impetuous force 
 G 
 
74 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 
 Dasird the resounding surges, instant all 
 RushVl on in view : in orderly array 
 The squadron on the right first led, behind 
 Rode their whole fleet; and now distinct we 
 
 lieard 
 From ev'ry part this voice of exhortation : — 
 " Advance, ye sons of Greece, from thraldom save 
 Your country, — save your wives, your children 
 
 save. 
 The temples of your gods, the sacred tomb 
 Where rest your honour'd ancestors ; this day 
 The common cause of all demands your valour." 
 Meantime from Persia's hosts the deep'ning shout 
 Answer'd their shout; no time for cold delay; 
 But ship 'gainst ship its brazen beak impell'd. 
 First to the charge a Grecian galley rushd ; 
 111 the Phoenician bore the rough attack. 
 Its sculptured prow all shatter'd. Each advanced 
 Daring an opposite. The deep array 
 Of Persia at the first sustain'd the encounter; 
 But their throng'd numbers, in the narrow seas 
 Confined, want room for action ; and, dejirived 
 Of mutual aid, beaks clash with beaks, and each 
 Breaks all the other's oars: with skill disposed 
 The Grecian navy circled them around 
 In fierce assault ; and rushing from its height 
 The inverted vessel sinks: the sea no more 
 Wears its accustomed aspect, with foul wrecks 
 And blood disfigured ; floating carcasses 
 Roll on the rocky shores : the poor remains 
 Of the barbaric armament to flight 
 Ply every oar inglorious : onward rush 
 The Greeks amidst tlie ruins of the fleet. 
 As through a shoal of fish caught in the net, 
 Spreading destruction: the wide ocean o'er 
 Wailings are heard, and loud laments, till night 
 With darkness on her brow brought grateful 
 
 truce. 
 Should I recount each circumstance of woe, 
 Ten times on my unfinished tale the sun 
 Would set ; for be assured Uiat not one day 
 Could close the ruin of so vast a host. 
 
 Atoss. Ah, what a boundless sea of woe hath 
 burst 
 On Persia, and the whole barbaric race ! 
 
 Mess. These are not half, not half our ills ; on 
 these 
 Came an assemblage of calamities. 
 That sunk us with a double weight of woe. 
 
 Atoss. What fortune can be more unfriendly 
 to us 
 Than this ? Say on, what dread calamity 
 Sunk Persia's host with greater weight of w^oe. 
 
 Mess. Whoe'er of Persia's warriors glow'd in 
 prime 
 Of vig'rous youth, or felt their generous souls 
 Expand with courage, or for noble birth 
 Shone with distinguish'd lustre, or excel I'd 
 In firm and duteous loyalty, all these 
 Are fall'n, ignobly, miserably fall'u. 
 
 Aloss. Alas, their ruthless fate, unhappy friends! 
 But in what manner, tell me, did they perish? 
 
 Mess. Full against Salamis an isle arises, 
 Of small circumference, to the anchor'd bark 
 Unfaithful; on the promontory's brow. 
 That overlooks the sea. Pan loves to lead 
 
 The dance : to this the monarch sends these 
 
 chiefs, 
 That when the Grecians from their shatter'd 
 
 ships 
 Should here seek shelter, these might hew them 
 
 down 
 An easy conquest, and secure the strand 
 To their sea-wearied friends; ill-judging what 
 The event: but when the fav'ring god to Greece 
 Gave the proud glory of this naval fight, 
 Instant in all their glitt'ring arms they leap'd 
 From their light ships, and all the island round 
 Encompass'd, that our bravest stood dismay'd ; 
 While broken rocks, whirl'd with tempestuous 
 
 I force. 
 
 And storms of arrows crush'd them ; then the 
 
 Greeks 
 Rush to the attack at once, and furious spread 
 The carnage, till each mangled Persian fell. 
 Deep were the groans of Xerxes when he saw 
 This havoc ; for his seat, a lofty mound 
 Commanding the wide sea, o'erlooked his hosts.* 
 With rueful cries he rent his royal robes. 
 And through his troops embattled on the shore 
 Gave signal of retreat ; then started wild, 
 And fled disorder'd. To the former ills 
 These are fresh miseries to awake thy sighs. 
 
 Atoss. Invidious Fortune, how thy baleful power 
 Hath sunk the hopes of Persia! Bitter fruit 
 My son hath tasted from his purposed vengeance 
 On Athens, famed for arms; the fatal field 
 Of Marathon, red with barbaric blood. 
 Sufficed not; that defeat he thought to avenge, 
 And pull'd this hideous ruin on his head. 
 But tell me, if thou canst, where didst thou leave 
 The ships that happily escaped tlie wreck? 
 Mess. The poor remains of Persia's scatter'd 
 
 fleet 
 Spread ev'ry sail for flight, as the wind drives, 
 In wild disorder ; and on land no less 
 The ruin'd army; in BcEotia some, 
 With thirst oppress'd, at Crene's cheerful rills 
 Were lost; forespent with breathless sjieed some 
 
 pass 
 The fields of Phocis, some the Doric plain. 
 And near the gulf of Melia, the rich vale 
 Through which Sperchius rolls his friendly stream. 
 Achaia thence and the Thessalian state 
 Received our famish'd train ; the greater part 
 Through thirst and hungerperish'd there, oppress'd 
 At once by both : but we our painful steps 
 Held onwards to Magnesia, and the land 
 Of Macedonia, o'er the ford of Axius, 
 And Bolbe's sedgy marches, and the heights 
 Of steep PangEeos, to the realms of Thrace. 
 That night, e'er yet the season, breathing frore, 
 Rush'd winter, and with ice encrusted o'er 
 The flood of sacred Strymon : Such as own'd 
 No god till now, awe-struck, with many a prayer 
 
 A kins sate on the rocky brow 
 Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; 
 
 And ships, liy thousands, lay below, 
 And men ni nations ; — all were his! 
 
 He counted them at break of day — 
 
 And when the sun set, where were theyl 
 
 Byron. 
 
^SCHYLUS. 
 
 75 
 
 Adored the eartli and sky. When now the troops 
 Had ceased their invocations to the gods, 
 O'er tlie stream's solid crystal they began 
 Their inarch; and we, who took our early way, 
 Ere tlie sun darted his warm beams, pass'd sale: 
 But when his burning orb with fiery rays 
 Unbound the middle current, down they sunk 
 Each over other; happiest he who found 
 The speediest death : the jjoor remains, that 
 
 'scaped, 
 With pain through Thrace dragg'd on their toil- 
 some march, 
 A feeble few, and reach'd their native soil ; 
 So Persia sighs through all her states, and mourns 
 Her dearest youth. This is no feigned tale : 
 But many of the ills, that burst upon us 
 In dreadful vengeance, I refrain to utter. 
 
 Chor. O Fortune, heavy with aflliction's load. 
 How hath thy loot crush"d all the Persian race ! 
 Atoss. Ah me, what sorrows for our ruin'd host 
 Oppress my soul ! Ye visions of the night, 
 Haunting my dreams, how plainly did yon show 
 These ills! — You set them in too fair a light. 
 Y^et, since your bidding hath in this prevail'd. 
 First to the gods wish I to pour my prayers. 
 Then to the mighty dead present my otf rings, 
 Bringing libations from my house : too late, 
 I know, to change the past; yet for the future. 
 If haply better fortune may await it, 
 Behooves you, on this sad event, to guide 
 Your friends with faithful counsels. Should my 
 
 son 
 Return ere I have finishVl, let your voice 
 Speak comfort to liim ; friendly to his house 
 Attend him, nor let sorrow rise on sorrows. 
 
 Chohus. 
 
 Stroplie. 
 Awful sovereign of the skies, 
 
 When now o'er Persia's numerous host 
 Thou badest the storm with ruin rise, 
 
 All her proud vaunts of glory lost, 
 Ecbatana's imperial head 
 By thee was wrapt in sorrow's dark'ning shade; 
 Through Susa's palaces with loud lament, 
 By their soft hands their veils all rent, 
 The copious tear the virgins pour, 
 That trickles their bare bosoms o'er. 
 From her sweet couch up starts the widow'd 
 bride, 
 Her lord's loved image rushing on her soul. 
 Throws the rich ornaments of youth aside. 
 
 And gives her griefs to flow without control : 
 Her griefs not causeless ; for the mighty slain 
 Our melting tears demand, and sorrow-soften'd 
 strain. 
 
 Antistrophc. 
 
 Now her wailing's wide despair 
 
 Pours these exhausted regions o'er : 
 Xerxes, ill-fated, led the war ; 
 Xerxes, ill-fated, leads no more ; 
 Xerxes sent forth the unwise command. 
 The crowded ships unpeopled all the land; 
 
 That land, o'er which Darius held his reign, 
 Courting the arts of peace, in vain, 
 
 O'er all his grateful realms adored, 
 The stately Susa's gentle lord. 
 Black o'er the waves his burden'd vessels sweep. 
 
 For Greece elate the warlike squadrons lly; 
 
 Now crush'd, and whelm'd beneath the indignant 
 
 deep 
 
 The shatter'd wrecks and lifeless heroes lie: 
 
 While, from the arms of Greece escaped, with 
 
 toil 
 The unsheltor'd monarch roams o'er Thracia's 
 dreary soil. 
 
 Epode. 
 
 The first in battle slain 
 By Cychrea's craggy shore 
 Through sad constraint, ah me ! forsaken lie. 
 All pale and smear'd with gore: — 
 Raise high the mournful strain. 
 And let the voice of anguish pierce the sky: — 
 Or roll beneath the roaring tide. 
 
 By monsters rent of touch abhorr'd ; 
 While through the widow'd mansion echoi'ng wide 
 Sounds the deep groan, and wails its slaughter'd 
 lord : 
 Pale with his fears the helpless orphan there 
 
 Gives the full stream of plaintive grief to flow ; 
 While age its hoary head in deep despair 
 Bends, list'ning to the shrieks of woe. 
 With sacred awe 
 The Persian law 
 No more shall Asia's realms revere j 
 To their lord's hand 
 At his command. 
 No more the exacted tribute bear. 
 Who now falls prostrate at the monarch's throne? 
 
 His regal greatness is no more. 
 Now no restraint the wanton tongue shall own, 
 
 Free from the golden curb of pow'r ; 
 For on the rocks, wash'd by the beating flood, 
 His awe-commanding nobles lie in blood. 
 
 Atossa, Chorus. 
 
 Atoss. Whoe'er, my friends, in the rough stream 
 of life 
 Hath struggled with affliction, thence is taught 
 That, when the flood begins to swell, the heart 
 Fondly fears all things; when the fav'riiig gale 
 Of Fortune smooths the current, it expands 
 With unsuspecting confidence, an<l deems 
 That gale shall always breadie. So to my eyes 
 All things noM' wear a formidable shape. 
 And threaten from the gods : my ears are i)ierc'd 
 With sounds far other than of song. Such ills 
 Dismay my sick'ning soul: hence from my house 
 Nor glitt'ring car attends me, nor the train 
 Of wonted state, while I return, and boar 
 Libations soothing,— <;harms that soothe the dead : 
 White milk, and lucid honey, pure-distill'd 
 By the wild bee — that craftsman of tlie flowers: 
 The limpid droppings of the viigin fount. 
 And this bright liquid from its moiuitain-mother 
 Borne fresh — the joy of the time-hallowed vine; — 
 The pale-green olive's odorous fruit, whose leaves 
 Live everlastingly — and those wreathed flowers, 
 The smiling infants of the prodigal earth. 
 
PINDAR. 
 
 [Born, 518— Died, 439 B. C] 
 
 ieeiuvrx a-vvirota-l Olymp. II. 
 
 'Beneath mine elhow a full quiver lies 
 Of fleetest arrows, soundina; to the wise ; 
 
 But for the crowd they need interpreters. 
 His skill is most who learns in Nature's school; 
 All else, expert hy rule, 
 
 Are none of hers ; 
 Mere tongues in vehement gabble idly heard, 
 Clamoring, like daws, at Jove's celestial bird.' — Cary. 
 
 This renowned bard was a native either of 
 the Theban city, or of CyuocephalEe, a village in 
 its immediate territory and neighbourhood. He 
 was by profession a musician and poet, and for 
 his early skill as such, is said to have been, in 
 some degree, indebted to the beautiful Corinna, 
 a distinguished poetess of the same age and 
 country, but of whose compositions we know 
 little or nothing. It is related of her, however, 
 that she defeated her pupii in no less than five 
 contests., and that, on one occasion, having recom- 
 mended him to ornament his productions with 
 mythical narrative, and receiving, in return, some 
 lines cram-full of Thebau mythology, she bade 
 him "sow by hand, and not by sackfulls." — Of 
 Pindar's numerous compositions, consisting of 
 Hymns to the Gods, Funeral songs, and Odes in 
 honour of the conquerors at the four great festi- 
 vals of Greece, little besides the latter, have come 
 down to us ; but of the veneration in which he and 
 his writings were held by all Greece, the most 
 
 unequivocal proofs remain. A portion of the peo- 
 ple's first fruits was appropriated to his use; an 
 iron chair was erected for him in the very temple 
 of Apollo; his statue stood in the circle of games 
 at Thebes ; he was courted and enriched, alike 
 by rulers and people, not only of his own, but of 
 every land in which the Greek tongue was known , 
 and in later times, when Thebes was captured, 
 first by the Spartans, and subsequently by Alex- 
 ander, the very house which he had inhabited, 
 had the honour of being spared by the victors.* 
 Pindar, though precluded by the unhappy cir- 
 cumstance of his country's league with Persia, 
 from joining the ranks of Athens and Sparta, in 
 the great war of Grecian independence, has not 
 concealed his admiration of the heroes who did 
 so. But Pindar's greatest praise is the generally 
 moral and religious tone which pervades his 
 writings. He maintains the immortality of the 
 soul, and distinctly lays down the doctrine of 
 future punishments and rewards. 
 
 OLYMPIC I. 
 
 TO HIERO, KINO OF STRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE 
 SINGLE HORSE RACE. 
 
 With water nought may vie ; 
 
 And gold, like fire at midnight blazing, 
 
 Glittering heaps outshineth far: 
 
 But, if thou tell'st of victor}^. 
 
 Soul, through wastes of ether gazing, 
 
 Than the sun no brighter star 
 
 Seek ; nor deem this earth supplies 
 
 A noliler than th' Olympic prize. 
 
 Thence doth the many-voiced hymn arise, 
 
 Which in their thought M'ise minstrels frame, 
 
 To warble forth the great Saturnian's name 
 
 Round Hiero's blest hearth with plenty stor'd : 
 
 Rightful sceptre who retains 
 
 O'er Sicilia's pastoral plains; 
 Culling the top of every flower 
 That blossometli in Virtue's bower: 
 Nor less he knows tlie charms that lie 
 In the sweet soul of Poesy, 
 Such Music as around his board 
 By us, who love him, oft is pour'd. 
 
 Reach then the Dorian shell, 
 On yonder nail, suspended ; 
 If in thee, sweet remembrance grateful dwell 
 
 * It is to the latler of these captures that IMillon h:is 
 alluded, in a noble sonnet, written whi-n the city of Lon- 
 don was threatened with a like cahunity. 
 
 "Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower; 
 
 The great Einathiaii conqueror bade spare 
 
 The house of I'indarns, when temple and tower 
 
 Went to the ground;" 
 
PINDAR. 
 
 77 
 
 Of Pisa, and the steed 
 
 Plierenicus, he whose speed, 
 
 As with unftoaded side 
 
 He rush'd by Alphciis' tide. 
 
 With mighty tiinmph, blended 
 
 His Syracusaii lord, tlie courser-loving l<ing. 
 
 For him a light of glory doth upspring 
 Amid the land with heroes teeming, 
 Lydian Pelops' colony, 
 Whom Neptune chose to be liis joy; 
 When from that cauldron pure, 
 Clotho did liim secure, 
 Deck'd with an ivory slioulderwhitelybeatning, 
 
 Many a wonder is, in sooth. 
 But sometimes more than truth 
 On man's beguiled thought 
 Invention will prevail 
 With a well-woven tale. 
 In varied colours, quaintly wrought: 
 And grace, that can a magic thvow^ 
 On all that charms the sense below, 
 By lustre not his own reliev'd, 
 Hath made th" incredible believed. 
 But after-days the best convincers are : 
 And man, should only fair 
 Speak of the gods, and good : 
 For so is blame eschew'd. 
 
 O son of Tantalus, not as of yore, 
 Will I record thy story : 
 That when to gods, invited guests, 
 At ^^i])y'us, thy sire 
 Spread in return his ample feasts, 
 Then, smitten with desire. 
 Thee the trident-ruler Ijore 
 Snatch'd up on golden steeds to Jove"s high 
 
 consistory ; 
 Where Ganymede came after thee 
 To Jove for equal ministry. 
 But when thou vanish'd wert ; nor sought 
 Long time, was to thy mother brought. 
 Some envious neighbour Miiispering said 
 That they thy limbs had with a blade, 
 In seething water, hewn ; and set 
 Upon the board thy sodden flesh, and eat. 
 That iin{)ious thought 1)C far from me 
 To tax a god with gluttony. 
 Small gain awaits the slanderer's tongue 
 If any, mortal tribes among, 
 In honour high advanced to live, 
 Th' Olympian watchers e'er did give. 
 That Tantalus was he. 
 But the great bliss unable to digest, 
 And with satiety opprest, 
 A direful harm he rued, the stone 
 Enormous o'er him hung by Jove, 
 Which alway from his head 
 Endeavouring to remove, 
 He is to joy a stranger. 
 Sttch life he hath ; widi entllcss danger. 
 And toil insuti'erable, led : 
 (With other three, not he alone,) 
 For that from heaven he stole away 
 The nectar and ambrosia, 
 Which him incorruptible made ; 
 And to his earthly peers convey'd. 
 
 Who hopes that aught he doth may lie 
 
 A secret from immortal eye. 
 
 Sins 'gf^inst the power of heaven. 
 
 Therefore his son, the gods again 
 
 Sent to the sliort-lived race of men, 
 
 From their own mansions driven. 
 
 He, soon as duskier down did shade 
 
 The bloom upon his cheek display'd, 
 
 Of ready nuptials thought; 
 
 And from her I'isan sire, the glorious maid 
 
 To win, Hippodamcia, sought. 
 
 He came; and by hoar ocean's flood 
 
 Alone in darkness stood. 
 
 Then call'd amid the sidlen roar 
 
 On him whose trident shook the shore. 
 
 Straight at his feet the god appear'd. 
 
 And thus his suppliant voice was heard. 
 
 " Neptune, if tliou at all hast held 
 The gifts of Venus dear. 
 Of brave CEnomaus be quelTd 
 By thee the brazen spear. 
 In swiftest chariots speed me on 
 To Elis, and with triumph crown. 
 Thirteen hero-suitors slain. 
 His daughter's M'edding he delays. 
 The mighty conquest, ne'er will gain 
 A man whom fear of peril frays. 
 And why, of tliosc with death their doom, 
 Slinuld any, sitting down in gloom. 
 Without a name his age consume. 
 Vainly ; nor a portion share 
 In aught that noble is and fair ? 
 Mine is the trial ; and thine be 
 To grant success and victory." 
 He spoke ; nor fail'd of his desire. 
 And, honouring liim, the god 
 A golden car bestow'd, 
 And winged steeds that never tire. 
 Ginomaus fell his might before. 
 And the virgin bride he led. 
 Six lordly sons to him she bore. 
 Each in school of virtues bred. 
 And now Ijy Alpheus' wave he lies. 
 Mingled with famous obsequies. 
 That round his tomb they celebrate, 
 Near the great altar's thronged state. 
 And far abroad the glory hath look'd out 
 Of Pelops, in th' Olympic courses, 
 Where swift feet do try their fori-es, 
 And the toils of chami>ions stout. 
 O'er the victor's life, the balm 
 Of tiiumi)h sheds a holy calm. 
 The good supreme, that mortal knows. 
 Still from to-day's contentment flows. 
 
 For such behoves me now to breathe 
 ir.dlian measures; a fit wreath. 
 That to the courser's speed belongs. 
 No other host, expert in lovely lore, 
 Or in might excelling more, 
 At least of mortals now, 
 I e'er shall clothe in folds of daedal songs. 
 God is thy guardian, Hicro; and shares 
 In these thy princely cares. 
 And, if lie fail not soon, 
 I trust with yet a sweeter tune, 
 o2 
 
78 
 
 PINDAR. 
 
 To pound in chariot swift thy praise: 
 Finding a prosperous journey for my lays ; 
 And stand beside the Cronian heiglit, 
 That shines in evening's ample light. 
 
 Therefore for me the Muse 
 Doth in her strength a mightier weapon feed. 
 
 INIanifold are the ways 
 That men to greatness lead : 
 In kings the summit ends. 
 No further stretch thy views. 
 Thine be the lot, this time 
 To tread the path sublime ; 
 For me, meanwhile, with conquerors my friends 
 To live, conspicuous still 
 For the wise poet"s skill, 
 Wherever Greece extends. 
 
 FROM OLYMPIC II. 
 
 FUTURE PUNISHMENT AND REWARD. 
 
 The deeds that stubborn mortals do 
 In this disordered nook of Jove's domain. 
 
 All find their meed ; and there's a Judge below. 
 Whose hateful doom inflicts th' inevitable pain. 
 
 O'er the Good, soft suns awhile, 
 
 Through the mild day, the night serene. 
 
 Alike with cloudless lustre smile, 
 Tempering all the tranquil scene. 
 
 Their's is leisure ; vex not they 
 
 Stubborn soil, or watery way, 
 
 To wring from toil want's worthless bread : 
 
 No ills they know, no tears they shed, 
 
 But with the glorious gods below 
 
 Ages of peace contented share : 
 
 Meanwhile the Bad, in bitterest woe, 
 Eye-startling tasks, and endless tortures bear. 
 
 All, whose stedfast virtue thrice 
 
 Each side the grave unchanged hath stood, 
 Still unseduced, unstained with vice, — 
 
 They, by Jove's mysterious road, 
 Pass to Saturn's realm of rest, 
 Happy isle, that holds the Blest; 
 Where sea-born breezes gently blow 
 O'er blooms of gold that round them glow, 
 Which Nature boon from stream or strand 
 Or goodly tree profusely showers; 
 Whence pluck they many a fragrant band, 
 And braid tlicir locks with never-fading flowers. 
 
 FROM OLYMPIC IV. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF lAMUS. 
 
 Her crimson'd girdle down was flung, 
 
 The silver ewer beside her laid, 
 
 Amid a tangled thicket hung 
 
 With canopy of brownest shade; 
 
 When forth the glorious babe she brouglit. 
 
 His soul instinct with heavenly thought. 
 
 Sent by the golden-tressed god, 
 
 Near her the Fates indulgent stood 
 
 With Ilithyia mild. 
 
 One short sweet pang rcleas'd the child ; 
 
 And lamus sprang forth to light. 
 
 A wail she utter'd ; left him then 
 
 Where on the ground he lay; 
 
 When straight two dragons came 
 
 With eyes of azure flame. 
 
 By will divine awaked out of their den; 
 
 And with the bees' unharmful venom, they 
 
 Fed him, and nursled through the day and night. 
 
 The king meanwhile had come, 
 
 From stony Pytho driving ; and at home 
 
 Did of them all, after the boy, inquire. 
 
 Born of Evadne ; — "for," he said, "the sire 
 
 Was Phoebus, and that he 
 
 Should of earth's prophets wisest be. 
 
 And that his generation should not fail." 
 
 Not to have seen or heard him they avouch'd. 
 
 Now five days born. But he, on rushes couch'd. 
 
 Was cover'd up in that wide brambly maze : — 
 
 His delicate body wet 
 
 With yellow and empurpled rays 
 
 From many a violet. 
 
 And hence his mother bade him claim 
 
 For ever this undying name. 
 
 FROM OLYMPIC VII. 
 
 ORIGIN OF RHODES. 
 
 Stih, as ancient legends say, 
 
 Amid the depths of ocean lay 
 
 The wondrous island unreveal'd ; 
 
 What time the sovran Father held 
 
 Council with the gods to share 
 
 Earth and all her regions fair. 
 
 Each had his portion. But not one 
 
 Bethought him of the absent Sun, 
 
 For whose chaste power, in sooth forgot, 
 
 No land remain'd to own his lot. 
 
 Recall'd to mind, high Jove would fain 
 
 Have cast the chances o'er again. 
 
 But he allow'd not. For his ken, 
 
 He said, amid the silvery surge. 
 
 Had mark'd an islet land emerge. 
 
 Kindly for flocks and foodful grain. 
 
 And straight to seal the portion his, 
 
 Golden-tired Lachesis 
 
 He bade her hands to heaven uprear, 
 
 And a faithful vow to swear, 
 
 The mighty oath of every god, 
 
 Confirm'd by Jove's imperial nod ; 
 
 That soon as full disclos'd to air. 
 
 Henceforth he should that region share : 
 
 Truth crown'd the w^ords; the island bloom'd 
 
 From the moist sea, by him assum'd, 
 
 Of heaven's sharp rays authentic sire, 
 
 Lord of the coursers breathing fire. 
 
 FROM OLYMPIC XIV. 
 
 TO THE ORCHOMENIAN GRACES, IN BEHALF OF THE 
 BOX ASOPICHU9. 
 
 O TE, ordain'd by lot to dwell 
 
 Where Cephisian waters well ; 
 
 And hold your fair retreat 
 
 Mid herds of coursers beautiful and fleet; 
 
 Renowned queens, that take your rest 
 
 In Orchomenus the blest, 
 
PINDAR. 
 
 79 
 
 Guarding with ever-wakeful eye 
 The Minyans' high-born progeny ; 
 To you my votive strains belong: 
 List, Graces, to your supi)liant"s song. 
 For all delightful things below, 
 All sweet, to you their beitig OM'e ; 
 And at your hand their blessings share 
 The wise, the splendid, and the fair. 
 
 Nor without the holy Graces, 
 The gods, in those supernal places. 
 Their dances or their banquets rule ; 
 Dispensers they of all above 
 Throughout the glorious court of Jove ; 
 Where each lias plac'd her sacred stool 
 By the golden-bow'd Apollo, 
 Whom in his harpings clear they follow; 
 And the high majestic state 
 Of their Eternal Father venerate. 
 
 Daughters of heav'n ; — Aglaia, thou 
 Darting splendours from thy brow ; 
 With musical Euphrosyne,^ 
 Be present. Nor less call I thee, 
 Tunefid Thalia, to look down 
 On this joyous rout, and own 
 Me their bard, wlio lead along, 
 For Asophichus, the throng 
 Tripping light to Lydian song; 
 And Minya for tliy sake proclaim 
 Conqueress in the Olympic game. 
 
 Waft, Echo, now, thy wing divine 
 To the black dome of Proserpine ; 
 And marking Cleodamus there. 
 Tell the glad tidings ; — how his son. 
 For him, hath crown'd his youthful hair 
 With plumes in Pisa"s valley won. 
 
 PYTHIAN I. 
 
 TO HIERO OF STllACUSE, VICTOR IN THE 
 CHARIOT RACE. 
 
 O THOU, whom Phogbus and the choir 
 Of violet-tressed Muses own, 
 Their joint treasure, golden lyre. 
 Ruling step with warbled tone. 
 Prelude sweet to festive pleasures ; 
 Minstrels hail thy sprightly measures ; 
 Soon as shook from quivering strings. 
 Leading the choral bands, thy loud preamble 
 
 rings. 
 In thy mazes, steep'd, expire 
 Bolts of ever-flowing fire. 
 Jove's eagle on the sceptre slumbers, 
 Possessed by thy enchanting numbers; 
 On either side, his rai)id wing. 
 Drops, entranc'd, the feather'd king; 
 Black vapour o'er his curved head, 
 Scaiiiig his eyelids, sweetly shed ; 
 Ui)heaving his moist back he lies, 
 Held down with thrilling harmonies. 
 Mars the rough lance has laid apart. 
 And yields to song his stormy heart. 
 No god but of his mood disarm'd. 
 Is with thy tuneful weapons charin'd ; 
 Soon as Latona's sapient son 
 And deep-zon'd Muses have their lays begun. 
 
 But whomsoever Jove 
 
 Hath looked on without love. 
 
 Are anguish'd when they hear the voiceful 
 
 sound. 
 Whether on land they be, 
 Or in the raging sea ; 
 With him, outstretched on dread Tartarian 
 
 botmd, 
 Hundred-hcatled Typhon ; erst 
 In fam'd Cilicia's cavern nurst; 
 Foe of the gods ; whose shaggy breast, 
 By Cuma's sea-beat mound, is prest;^ 
 Pent by plains of Sicily, 
 And that snow'd pillar heavenly high, 
 .^tna, nurse of ceaseless frost; 
 From whose cavern'd depths aspire 
 In purest folds upwreathing, tost, 
 Fountains of approachless fire. 
 By day, a flood of smouldering smoke. 
 With sullen gleam, the torrents pour; 
 But in darkness, many a rock. 
 And crimson flame, along the shore. 
 Hurls to the deep with deaf'ning roar. 
 From that worm, aloft are thrown, 
 The wells of Vulcan, full of fear; 
 A marvel strange to look upon; 
 And, for the passing mariner. 
 As marvellous to hear; 
 How .(Etna's tops witli umbrage black. 
 And soil, do hold him boinid ; 
 And by that pallet, all his back 
 Is scored with many a wound. 
 
 Thy pleasure, Jove, oh be thy pleasure done : 
 Who dost this mount command, 
 Forehead of fruitful land. 
 
 Whence her illustrious founder hath surnam'd 
 The neighbour city, whom in Pytho's ring 
 The herald, late, proclaim'd 
 For Hiero, in his chariots triumphing. 
 
 By sailors, when they quit the coast, 
 At loosing, it is prized the most, 
 If speeding gale should come ; 
 For so, with fortune to their friend, 
 Alike they augur, in the end, 
 A better voyage home : 
 And on such auspices we found 
 Opinion, that no less renown'd 
 She still shall be, as time succeeds; 
 Her garlanils bright, her conquering steeds, 
 Ordain'd, in frequent song, the prize, 
 Mid feasts and high solemnities. 
 
 O Lycian ! thou who art in Delos king ; 
 Apollo; and dost love the spring 
 Of Castaly, outrilling 
 From the Parnassian steep ; 
 May'st thou be ever willing, 
 This, in thy thought to keep, 
 And the fair region, in her people, blest. 
 For of the gods, vvhateer is best 
 In mortal virtues; all the wise are sprung. 
 And all the stout in hand, and eloquent in tongue. 
 
 Intent this man to prai.se, 
 I trust to whirl iny javelin, brazen tipt, 
 Not out of limit, yet that all who raise 
 A rival arm, shall be by far outstript. 
 
80 
 
 PINDAR. 
 
 So may time, still heaping more, 
 His blissful ineasure fill ; 
 Direc-tiiig, witli increase of store, 
 Forget fulness of ill. 
 He surely may recall to thought 
 In what wars he hath defied, 
 (His soul with patient courage fraught) 
 The fierce encounter, when they glory found, 
 Such as in Helleniau ground. 
 By help divine, none culls beside: 
 Riches, with proud honour, crown'd. 
 
 Now, Philoctetes' guise pursuing. 
 He hath the soldier play'd. 
 A mighty one in need came wooing. 
 And lured him to his aid ; 
 And from the Lemnian isle, they say, 
 Where long with ulcer vex'd he lay. 
 Godlike heroes bore away 
 The bowyer son of Piean, who destroy'd 
 The town of Priam, and for Grecia's host 
 Their labour ended : weak in frame he went, 
 But fate had will'd th' event. 
 E'en so may God for Hiero decree. 
 That what in after time he covets most, 
 Shall be by apt occasion still enjoy'd. 
 
 Muse, I would next a strain from thee, 
 Warbled to Dinomenes ; 
 Reward for chariots won. 
 Not alien to a son. 
 His father's victories. 
 
 Come, for the king of ^tna let us find 
 A song to take his charmed mind. 
 For him arose, at Hiero's command. 
 Those stately walls in freedom plann'd ; 
 The model built by hands divine, 
 The rule outstretch'd by Hyllus' line. 
 
 And aye ^gimius' Dorian laws 
 Are duly kept by each, who draws 
 His lineage, or from Pamphilus, 
 Or th' HeraclidiE ; they who bide 
 Near banks of steep Taygetus, 
 And to Amyche, from the side 
 Of Piadus issuing, came; and neighbours were 
 Right glorious to those twins of Tyndarus, 
 Whose fame did flourish for their warlike spear. 
 Grant, Jove, a lot like their.s, 
 To dwellers by the wave of Amena, 
 Both citizens and kings ; 
 Certain as true report from mortals brings. 
 With thee to guide his wakeful cares. 
 His realm in quiet may the ruler sway; 
 And turning them to love. 
 Honour the people; bid his son obey. 
 Hear, Saturnian ; thou my prayer approve. 
 Undisturb'd at home let dwell 
 Phcenicia's band ; nor more rebel 
 The tumult of Tyrrhenian crew, 
 Marking what shameful rout o'erthrew 
 Their groaning ships on Cuma's shore, 
 And all in that defeat they bore, 
 (As swift his victor navy flew) 
 From Syracusa's lord ; 
 Who dash'd their youth into the sea, 
 Setting the land of Grecia free 
 From servitude abhorr'd. 
 
 At Salamis I claim of right 
 A grace for Athens ; and will tell. 
 In Sj)arta, of Cithferon's fight, 
 Where with bent bows the Medians fell. 
 On Himera's well-water'd coast. 
 For sons of brave Dinomenes, 
 The hymn, by valour earnd, shall boast 
 What fears their fallen foemen seize. 
 
 If any speak in season due, 
 And ravel up into a few 
 His many ends combin'd ; 
 Censorious blame attends him less. 
 Prolix and wearisome excess 
 Will dull a nimble mind; 
 And neighbours' ears in secret pine 
 At blessings that in others shine. 
 But thou no less (for better far 
 Envy than pity be our share) 
 Each noble aim pursue. 
 With rudder just thy people gtiide ; 
 And steel thy tongue, however tried, 
 On anvil firm and true. 
 Aught but from thee at random thrown, 
 As somewhat great, abroad is blown. 
 To many thou dividest sway; 
 And many mark thee, either w^ay, 
 Thy faithful witnesses. 
 
 Still hold thy bloom of bravery on ; 
 No cost, no labour be foregone 
 To feed this proud excess. 
 If aught, O friend, to thee be dear 
 The pleasant sound, that greets thine ear; 
 Like some bold helmsman, spreading strain 
 Thy wind-swept canvas ; and disdain 
 The flatt'ring wiles of meaner gain. 
 
 At close of glory's boastful day. 
 Sure as the mighty pass away. 
 To point their lives, alone reniain 
 Recording tale and poet's strain. 
 Fades not the worth of Croesus mild : 
 But Phalaris, with blood defil'd. 
 His brazen bull, his torturing flame, 
 Hand o'er alike to evil fame 
 In every clime. No tuneful string. 
 No voice, that makes the rafters ring. 
 Receive his name, in hall or bower. 
 When youth and joyance win the hour. 
 
 First prize to mortals, good success; 
 Next portion, good renown : 
 Whomever both conspire to bless, 
 He wins the highest crown. 
 
 FROM PYTHIAN IV. 
 jason's appeahasce amongst the citizens of 
 
 lOLCOS. 
 
 But whence that voyage ? what necessity 
 
 Bound on their hearts its adamantine chain ? 
 
 'Twas Pelias' doom, through fraud or force to die, 
 By Coins' renowned descendants slain. 
 For e'en his soul with wisdom filled 
 The threatening oracle had chilled; 
 That, breathed from earth's mysterious cave. 
 The wood-crowned earth's mysterious nave, 
 
PINDAR. 
 
 81 
 
 Bade him ^vith all his kingly care 
 The sinf^le-sandalled wight beware, 
 Come when he should, stranger or citizen, 
 Down from his mountain-hold to famed lolciis' 
 glen. 
 
 All at the appointed time, with ported spears, 
 In either hand, ;ip[)eared tlie dreaiUul man; 
 
 Shaped in Magnesian gniise a garb he wears. 
 That round his noble limbs compacted ran. 
 O'er which a pard-skin from the storm 
 Sheltered his stout, unshuddering form. 
 His mantling locks, imshorn, vmbound, 
 In nature's wildness, waving round, 
 Down his broad back illustrious shook; 
 Forward, all bent on speed, he broke, 
 Till, in the forum halting, calm, unmoved. 
 
 Amidst the inquiring crowd, his dauntless heart 
 he proved. 
 
 Unknown he stood — " Apollo"s mien 
 
 Is this?" Some gazing wonderer cried — 
 " Or his, that wooed the Cyprian queen. 
 Whose reins the brazen chariot guide 
 In flowery Naxos, ages since 
 Otus, and Ephialtes, daring prince, 
 
 Ipliiniedeia's otl'spring, died; 
 Tityus, gigantic form, Diana slew 
 
 When, from her chaste and quivered side. 
 Her huntress-bolt th" unconquered virgin drew ; 
 That, warned from joys forbidden, men might 
 
 haste 
 The practicable bliss to taste." 
 
 Thus they, with vague surmise, in crowds, 
 discoursed. 
 Listening and whispering; when in bur- 
 nished car 
 Pelias, with mules all-panting, thither forced 
 His urgent speed. Astoimded, from afar 
 ' The stripling's dexter ancle round 
 He spied a single sandal bound ; 
 Yet with disguised alarm, "Proclaim, 
 Stranger,"' said he, " thy country's name ; 
 Tell me what matron, born of earth. 
 From her fair bosom gave thee birth? 
 Let not the loathed lie thy lips disgrace. 
 But meet my just demand, and frankly tell thy 
 race." 
 
 Him, with undaunted virtue's accents mild. 
 Answered the youth : " From Chiron's school 
 I I come; 
 
 The Centaur's daughter nursed me from a child. 
 And good Chariclo made her cave my home. 
 Now, when, by their kind care sustained. 
 My strength its twentieth year had gained, 
 For no foul deed, no phrase unchaste, 
 From that sage intercourse displaced, 
 ]\Iy home I visit, to require 
 The ancient honours ol' my sire ; 
 Which erst to ruling ^olus and his heirs 
 Jove in his bounty gave, and now the usurper 
 wears. 
 
 "He, by perverse ambition stung, 
 
 The traitor Pelias, as 'tis said, 
 Their sce{)tre from my parents wrung, 
 
 Which they by right, with justice, swayed. 
 11 
 
 They on niy birth's eventful day, 
 Dreading that lawless ruler, in dismay. 
 
 My death pretended, and prcpar'd 
 Domestic semlilance of sepulchral rite. 
 
 And female moans and sighs were heard : 
 Me swathed in purple, to the secret night 
 Trusting their silent path, in Chiron's care 
 They placed, the nurturer of their heir. 
 
 " Such is my tale — good jicojilc, tell me trtte — 
 My fathers rode the milk-white steed — 
 where stand 
 Their stately towers? — 'Tis ^son's son ye 
 view ; 
 I come no alien to a stranger's land ; 
 My godlike host, the Ceutaur-sccr, 
 The name of Jason bade me bear." — 
 Thus spake the youth ; his father's glance 
 Discerned far off the son's advance, 
 And the big tears of extasy 
 Came bubbling from his aged eye. 
 So swelled his bursting heart with joy to find 
 His lost illustrious boy the comeliest of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Thither, in haste, allured by Jason's fame. 
 His reverend uncles ; from their neighbour- 
 ing towers 
 By H^qiereia's fountain, Pheres came. 
 
 Came Amythaon from Messene's towers; 
 Admetus and Melampus too. 
 To greet their glorious kinsmen flew. 
 With welcome warm and sumptuous feasts 
 Jason regaled his honoured guests, 
 And freely, without change or check. 
 Threw loose the reins on pleasure's neck : 
 Five days and nights in sympathy of soul 
 Plucked they the laughing flowers that crown the 
 social bowl. 
 
 On the sixth morn his plan proposed. 
 
 Its cause, importance, means, and bent, 
 To all his kin the youth disclosed. 
 
 Forthwith they sallied from their tent; 
 In haste for Pelias' mansion bore. 
 And now already stood within the door. 
 
 The soft-hair'd Tyro's artfid son, 
 Spontaneous rose to meet the martial throng; 
 
 VVhen, with mild air and soothing tone. 
 Dropping sweet words that melted from his 
 tongtie, 
 Jason the conference raised on wisdom's base : 
 "Hear thou, Petrcean Neptune's race! 
 
 "Prone is man's mind from honour's arduous 
 way 
 To verge into the tempting paths of gain, 
 Rough in the advance and leading far astray; 
 
 But thine and mine it must be to restrain 
 Our wrath, and weave our future weal : 
 I speak to ears that heed and feel. 
 One parent's womb, thou know'st, of yore 
 Cretheus and bold Salmoneus bore; 
 And we, their grandsons, thus look on 
 The glory of the golden sim. 
 But, when afl'ection cools and hateful ire 
 Rankles in kinsmen's hearts, the decent Fates 
 retire. 
 
82 
 
 PINDAR. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis not seemly thus with lance and shield, 
 
 That thou and I, for honours ancestral, 
 Base war should wage. Take all my spacious 
 field ; 
 My flocks and brindled herds, I cede them 
 all. 
 Which from my sire thy daring stealth 
 Forced, and yet feeds ; — thy pampered wealth 
 I grudge thee not, and view with ease 
 Thy house enhanced with spoils like these. 
 But what I challenge for mine own, 
 My sovereign sceptre, and the throne 
 Whereon sate iEson, when the law divine 
 His horsemen hosts received — these, Peiias, must 
 be mine : 
 
 " These, without conflict from thy hand, 
 
 Lest ill betide thee, yield us back." — 
 Thus urged the prince his just demand : 
 
 And thus een Peiias kindly spake : 
 " Thy will be mine ; but me the late 
 Remains of life's declining hour await ; 
 
 Thy youth now wantons in its bloom ; 
 Thou canst appease the subterranean powers; 
 
 The soul of Phryxus from the tomb 
 Calls me to bear him from Aietes' towers, 
 And seize the ponderous ram's refulgent hide, 
 That saved him from the raging tide ; 
 
 " Saved from the incestuous step-dame's angrier 
 dart. 
 This to mine ear a dream miraculous 
 Hath told : for this have I with anxious heart 
 Castalia's counsels asked, that urged me thus 
 Thither with bark and band to speed — 
 Dare thou for me the adventurous deed, 
 And I will leave thee lord and king: 
 Jove, from whom all our races spring, 
 Be Jove himself our binding oath. 
 Witness and warrant of our troth." 
 This compact to the chiefs propounded, they 
 With full consent approved, and, parting, went 
 their way.* 
 
 From the Same. 
 
 THE SAILING OF THE ARGO. 
 
 Akd soon as by the vessel's bow, 
 The anchor was hung up ; 
 Then took the leader on the prow. 
 In hands, a golden cup ; 
 And on great father Jove did call ; 
 And on the winds, and waters all 
 Swept by the hurrying blast ; 
 And on the nights, and ocean ways ; 
 And on the fair auspicious days, 
 
 * " We know nothing that gives us a more lively idea 
 of the heroic age of Greece, than the original lines ; the 
 splendid appearance of Jason in the forum so strikincly 
 painted — his frank answer to the crafty Peiias — the ten- 
 der joy of the aged vEson at meeting his son — the five 
 days feasting in preparation for the attack, and Jason's 
 noble address — even the thoughtless easiness with which 
 he is diverted from his purpose by the lure of a perilous 
 aud lionourable adventure — all these savour of that time, 
 at once patriarchal and heroic, to which our fancies recur 
 with ever new delight."— Quarterly Review. 
 
 And sweet return at last. 
 
 From out the clouds, in answer kind, 
 
 A voice of thunder came; 
 
 And, shook in glistering beams around, 
 
 Burst out the lightning flame. 
 
 The chiefs breath'd free; and at the sign. 
 
 Trusted in the power divine. 
 
 Hinting sweet hopes, the seer cried. 
 
 Forthwith their oars to ply ; 
 
 And swift went backward from rough hands. 
 
 The rowing ceaselessly. 
 
 Conducted by the breezy south. 
 They reached the stormy Axine's mouth ; 
 There a shrine for Neptune rear'd ; 
 Of Thracian bulls, a crimson herd 
 Was ready ; and heav'n founded-stone, 
 Wide-spread, to lay the altar on. 
 Peril deep before them lay ; 
 And to the Lord of ships they pray, 
 Amidst their ever-raging shocks, 
 To 'scape the justle of fierce rocks. 
 For twain there were, alive, that whirl'd 
 Swifter than bellowing winds are hurl'd. 
 But now to them, that voyage blest 
 Brought their final day of rest. 
 
 FROM NEMEAN I. 
 
 THE INFANT HERCULES. 
 
 I PRAISE not him, whose palace stored 
 Reserves unsunn'd the secret hoard, 
 For private aims design'd. 
 
 Riches, for happiness employ'd, 
 Are with applause of all enjoy'd ; 
 By friends, that share them, blest. 
 For common hopes to man are given ; 
 Labour his lot, by will of heaven ; 
 And naught, for self, possest. 
 
 Worth the theme, on Hercules 
 Gladly doth my spirit seize ; 
 From the records of old story. 
 Waking up a tale of glory : 
 How, escaped the mother's pang, 
 Into wondrous-gleaming light. 
 With his twin-born brother sprang 
 The son of Jove; and from the height. 
 Seated on her throne of gold. 
 How Juno did the babe behold, 
 Where wrapt from jealous eye of day, 
 •Inyellow swaddling-bands, he lay. 
 
 Forthwith the queen, whom heav'n adores. 
 In angry mood, her dragons sent. 
 And rushing through the open doors. 
 To the wide chambers in they went; 
 Eager the children to enfold 
 With keen jaws in ravine roU'd. 
 But he against them, raised upright 
 His head, and first essay 'd the fight ; 
 Grasping by their necks the twain 
 With hands they struggled from in vain. 
 Tliey hung and gasp'd, till life was tir'd ; 
 Then from enormous folds expired. 
 Opprest the women sunk with dread, 
 That watched about Alcmena's bed ; 
 
PINDAR. 
 
 83 
 
 For she unclad had leapt to scare 
 The serpents from her infant lair. 
 Swift the Cadtnean princes, arm'd 
 In glittering steel, throng'd in, alarm'd ; 
 Amphitryon foremost of the ring, 
 His naked falchion brandishing, 
 Smitten with a pang severe. 
 Others pain we lightly hear; 
 But the woes, that homo befal, 
 Press alike the hearts of all. 
 
 He stood. Delight and wonder mix'd 
 His step suspense, in silence, fix'd ; 
 Surveying with a rapture wild. 
 The might and courage of his child : 
 And heav'n beyond his utmost thought, 
 Had tuvn'd the fearful news to nought. 
 A neighbouring seer he summoned straight, 
 Tiresias, who best knew 
 To read the dark decrees of fate ; 
 Of Jove, a prophet true : 
 Who, to him and all the host, 
 His fortunes did explain: 
 What monsters he shall slay by landj 
 And what amidst the main: 
 And who, with fell ambition flown, 
 Shall from a high estate be thrown. 
 To meet, beneath his righteous doom, 
 A bitter lot, a timeless tomb. 
 And last of all, on Phlegra's coast. 
 When gods against the giant host 
 Should stand in dread array ; 
 That underneath his weapons, must 
 Their radiant locks be smear'd in dust, 
 Did that diviner say. 
 And he with peace, his lot to close, 
 Shall dwell for aye in sweet repose ; 
 Amid those mansions wondrous fair, 
 A portion with the gods to share ; 
 And of his mighty toils the meed, 
 Hebe, the destined bride, shall lead, 
 In youthful beauty's bloom ; 
 And the blessed spousals ending, 
 Near Saturnian Jove ascending. 
 Gaze round upon the awful dome : 
 
 FROM NEMEAN III. 
 
 INNATE WORTH. 
 
 Great is the power of inbred nobleness: 
 But he, that all he hath to schooling owes, 
 A shallow wight obscure. 
 Plants not his step secure ; 
 Feeding vain thoughts on phantoms number- 
 less. 
 Of genuine excellence mere outward shows. 
 
 In Phillyra's house, a flaxen boy, 
 Achilles oft in rapturous joy 
 His feats of strength essay'd. 
 Aloof, like wind, his little javelin flew: 
 The lion and the brindled boar he slew 
 Then homeward to old Chiron drew 
 Their panting carcasses. 
 This, when six years had fled. 
 And all the after time 
 Of his rejoicing prime, 
 
 It was to Dian and the blue-eyed Maid, 
 A wonder how he brought to ground 
 The stag without or toils or hound: 
 So fleet of foot was he. 
 
 FROM NEMEAN VIII. 
 
 THE POETS PRATER FOR A GUII.EI.E3S AND 
 BENEVOLENT DISPOSITION. 
 
 Hateful of old the glozing plea, 
 With bland imposture at his side. 
 Still meditating guile; 
 Fill'd with reproaches vile; 
 Who pulls the splendid down, 
 And bids th' obscure in fest'ring glory shine. 
 
 Such temper far remove, O Father Jove, from 
 me. 
 The simple paths of life be mine ; 
 That when this being I resign, 
 I to my children may bequeath 
 A name they shall not blush to hear. 
 Others for gold the vow may breathe, 
 Or lands that see no limit near: 
 But fain would I live out my days, 
 Beloved by those with whom they're past, 
 In mine own city, till at last 
 In earth my limbs are clad ; 
 Still praising what is worthy praise, 
 But scatt'ring censure on the bad. 
 For virtue by the wise and just 
 Exalted, grows up as a tree, 
 That springeth from the dust. 
 And by the green dews fed. 
 Doth raise aloft her head. 
 And in the blithe air waves her branches free. 
 
 FROM NEMEAN X. 
 
 CASTOR AND POLLUX. 
 
 Their days with mutual interchange are 
 spent, 
 One with Father Jove on high. 
 And one within earth's caverns pent, 
 In the glens of Therapn:e. 
 Such their equal doom dispensed; 
 And this the life that Pollux chose 
 Rather than a god to be 
 And dwell in heav'n perpetually, 
 When Castor fell by blows 
 Of Idas' javelin, for his herd incensed. 
 As from Taygetus around he spied, 
 Lynceus, of mortals, keenest-eyed. 
 Had seen them ambush'd in a hollow oak. 
 On speedy foot forthwith they ran, 
 And swift their deed of blood began. 
 Those sons of Aphareus ; on whom 
 Jove signal vengeance took. 
 For, after them, flew Leda's son ; 
 And they, beside their father's turabt 
 Stood to bide his coming on. 
 
 Snatching thence a carved stone. 
 The scutcheon of the dead, 
 Thoy, at the breast of Pollux levell'd it: 
 But him they did not bruise, 
 
84 
 
 PINDAR. 
 
 Nor forced a step retreat. 
 
 Then rushing on with violent spear, 
 
 In Lynceiis' sides he drove 
 
 The steely point : while Jove, 
 
 On Idas, thunder dire 
 
 Flash'd, in whose smould'ring fire, 
 
 Deserted and alone, both perish'd there. 
 
 So ill are like to tare 
 
 Who levy war against their better's head. 
 
 Back to his brother, Pollux strode in haste. 
 Whom not yet dead he found. 
 But stretch'd upon the ground. 
 With short breath, shudd'ring, all aghast; 
 And dewing his warm tears with many a 
 
 groan, 
 Aloud he made his moan. 
 "Oh, Father Jove ! what end 
 Shall to this anguish be? 
 Command death too for me 
 With him, O king ! Honour no more is left 
 To one of friends bereft ; 
 And few of mortals faithful are to lend 
 Their succour in calamity." 
 He ended ; and before him stood 
 The Almighty Sire, and thus 
 Was heard in answering voice : 
 " Thou art my son : but him of mortal brood, 
 Engender'd after thee, 
 Thy mother to her husband bare. 
 But come : of these things yet I give thee choice. 
 If thou the doom of death 
 And hated age would st flee, 
 And in Olympus still aljide ■with us 
 And Pallas and stern Mars of ebon spear ; 
 This henceforth is thy lot. 
 But for thy brother if thou yet dost fight. 
 And art resolved of all 
 T' allow him equal share. 
 Then under earth, o'erwhelm'd. 
 Thou half thy days must breathe, 
 And half in heav'n amidst our golden hall." 
 Such were the words : and he 
 In counsel waver'd not, 
 But straight unclosed the sight 
 And then the voice of Castor brazen-helm'd. 
 
 FROM ISTHMIAN III. 
 
 Jove ! our greatest virtues we. 
 Mortal beings owe to thee. 
 Bliss thrives with such as fear thy sway. 
 But from the froward falls away. 
 The brave and good, in warbled strains, 
 Should win requital of their pains. 
 And, wafted by the choral throng, 
 Be borne in graceful pomp along. 
 
 FROM ISTHMIAN IV. 
 
 Thet, who their puissance never try. 
 Are lost in dumb obscurity ; 
 And such, as strive, may haply meet, 
 Before the end, some strange defeat. 
 For Fortune, at her will, bestows 
 On mortal works the appointed close. 
 
 And sometimes have the better men. 
 Through guile of worse, supplanted been ' 
 
 FROM ISTHMIAN VIII. 
 
 MAHnlAGF. OF PELEUS AND THETI.S. 
 
 Ant Jove for Thetis with bright Neptune vied, 
 Each wishing her his bride, 
 By spell of love possest. 
 
 But they, the pow'rs divine averr'd, 
 Must from that nuptial bed refrain, 
 Soon as presageful lips they heard 
 Utter the sure prophetic strain. 
 For Themis, in the midst who sat, 
 Reveal'd the stern decree of fate ; 
 That from the sea-nymph born, an heir, 
 Stronger than his sire, shall bear 
 Another weapon grasp'd in hand, 
 Mightier than the levin-brand, 
 Or than that three-forked mace ; • 
 If she meet in strict embrace 
 With the Sovran of the Sky, 
 Or his brother-deity. 
 
 "Cease then your suit. And let her brook 
 A mortal bed, and look 
 U])on a son in fight laid low ; 
 With hands like Mars' to chase the foe. 
 And speed of foot, as lightning-shine. 
 To bid the spousal rites, be mine : 
 So her to Peleus I assign. 
 Son of ^acus, renovvn'd 
 O'er lolcos' amjile bound 
 For the man that honours most 
 With pious pray"r our saintly host. 
 To Chiron's everlasting den 
 Be the tidings swiftly sped: 
 Nor Nereus' child for us again 
 The petals of contention spread. 
 But when next that solemn eve 
 Duly doth the moon divide, 
 For the chieftain let her leave 
 Her lovely virgin zone aside." 
 
 The Goddess ended. And her speech 
 When the pow'rs Saturnian heard, 
 Their deathless brows they nodded each. 
 Nor without fruit her heav'nly word 
 Fell to the ground. For, as they say, 
 Jove himself did keep the day 
 Of Thetis" nuptials ; and the rhymes 
 Of poets sage to stranger climes 
 Achilles early prowess show'd, 
 He, who the viny Mysian shore, 
 Sprinkling with empurjjled gore 
 Of Telephus, bedew'd ; 
 And for th' Atridop bri;lged their homeward way; 
 
 * Compute the chances, 
 
 And deem there's ne'er a one, in dangerous times, 
 
 Who wins the race of glory, hut than him 
 
 A thousand men more gloriously endowed 
 
 Ilive fallen upon the course; a thousand others 
 
 Have had their fortunes foundered by a chance, 
 
 Whilst lighter barks pushed past them ; to whom add 
 
 A smaller tally of the sin5:ular few 
 
 Who, gifted with predominatini powers. 
 
 Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace. — 
 
 The world knows nothing of its greatest men. 
 
 Taylor's Philip fan Artevelde. 
 
PRATINAS. 
 
 85 
 
 And ransom'd beauteous Helena ; 
 
 And cut the nerves of Troy in twain, 
 
 That erst aniid the battle fray 
 
 Had stopt his lance's furious way; 
 
 Memnon's might and Hector's pride ; 
 
 And many a glorious prince beside ; 
 
 Whom he pointing down their road 
 
 To Proserpines darlc abode, 
 
 In lustre gave alike to sliine 
 
 ^gina and his noble line. 
 
 Nor when in death himself he lay, 
 
 Lack'd he a sweet recording lay. 
 
 But at his funeral pyre and sacred tomb, 
 
 The Heliconian maidens, standing round, 
 
 Pour'd forth in many a lamentable sound 
 
 The dirgeful strain that told his timeless doom. 
 
 For fav'ring Gods the brave consign 
 
 E'en, in their death to song divine. 
 
 A FRAGxMENT. 
 
 TO THE SUN UNDER AN ECLIPSE. 
 
 Beam of the Sun, Heaven-watcher, Thou, whose 
 glance 
 Lights far and wide, unveil to me, unveil 
 Thy brow, that once again mine eye may hail 
 
 The lustre of thy cloudless countenance. 
 
 Surpassing star! Why thus at noon of day 
 Withdrawing, would'st thou mar 
 
 Man's stalwart strength and bar 
 With dark obstruction Wisdom's winding way 7 
 
 Lo ! on thy chariot-track 
 
 Hangs midnight pitchy-black ; 
 
 While thou, from out thine ancient path afar, 
 
 Huniest thy belated car. 
 
 But thee, by mightiest Jove, do I implore — 
 
 O'er Thebes thy lleet steeds' flight 
 
 To rein, with presage bright 
 Of plenteousness and jjeaee for evermore. 
 
 Fountain of Light!— ^0 venerated Power! — 
 
 To all of earthly line 
 
 A wonder and a sign. 
 What terror threatenest thou at this dread hour? 
 
 Doom of battle dost thou bring ; 
 
 Or cankerous blight, fruit-withering; 
 
 Or crushing snow-shOwers' giant weight; 
 
 Oir faction, shatterer of the state ; 
 
 Or breaching seas poured o'er the plain ; 
 Or frost that fettereth land and spring ; 
 Or sununer dank whose drenching wing 
 
 Droops heavily with rain ? 
 
 Such fate, portendeth such, thy gloomy brow? 
 
 Or, deluging beneath the imprison'd deep. 
 This earth once more, man's infant race wilt 
 thou 
 
 Afresh from off the face of nature sweep ? 
 
 PRATINAS. 
 
 [About 525 B. C] 
 
 A Peloponesiant of the city of Phlius, and au- 
 thor of several tragic and satiric dramas, now 
 lost. On one occasion, during his acting at 
 Athens, the wooden stage broke down under the 
 
 weight of the crowd, and much mischief having 
 ensued, the Athenians set about building a theatre 
 of iTiore solid materials, and better adapted to 
 the improving character of the Greek drama. 
 
 "Pratinas" (says Mr. Cumberland,) "struck 
 out a considerable improvement in the orchestral 
 part of his drama, byi revoking the custom of al- 
 lowing the minstrels to join the chaunt or strain 
 with the chorus, and suffering them only to ac- 
 company with their pipes. The people, how- 
 ever, not yet weaned from their old prejudice for 
 the noisy Bacchanalian songs of their village 
 masques, oppose;l themselves violently against 
 the innovation, w^hen, in the midst of the tumult, 
 Pratinas appeared on the stage in person, and, 
 iu a kind of Salian song, accompanied with 
 dancing, addressed his audience to tlie following 
 effect : 
 
 What means diis tumult? Why this rage ? 
 What thunder shakes the Athenian stage? 
 'Tis frantic Bromius bids me sing; 
 He tunes the pipe, he smites the string; 
 
 The Dryads with their chief accord. 
 Submit and hail the Drama's Lord.* 
 Be still! and let distraction cease, 
 Nor thus profane the Muse's peace. 
 By sacred fiat I preside 
 The Minstrel's master and his guide: 
 He, while the choral strains proceed, 
 Shall follow, with responsive reed; 
 To measur'd notes, whilst they advance, 
 He, in wild maze, shall lead the dance. 
 So generals in the front appear. 
 Whilst Music echoes from the rear. — 
 Now silence each discordant sound ! 
 For, see, with ivy-chaplet crownd, 
 Bacchus appears ! he speaks in njc — 
 Hear, and obey the Gods decree. 
 
 * Pr.-iliiias had [wen (he first to inirudiice saiyrs and 
 dryads with these livply songs and movements, and was, 
 therefore, regarded as the inventor of the satiric drama. 
 II 
 
EPICHARMUS. 
 
 [About 500 B. C] 
 
 A TfATiTE of Cos, and an inhabitant of Sicily ; 
 called by Theocritus the Inventor, and by Plato 
 tlie "Homer," of Comedy. His dramas were 
 partly mythological, and partly political; and the 
 style and language as varied as the subjects of 
 them : sometimes full of moral and gnomic sen- 
 
 timent, and, at others, degenerating into wildest 
 buflbonery. The " Mencechmi'' of Plautus is said 
 to have been founded on one of his plays. Though 
 he composed at least thirty-five, only an occa- 
 sional fragment or sentence of any of them has 
 descended to us. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 -Marriage is like 
 
 A cast of dice ! — Happy indeed his lot 
 Who gets a good wife, one of morals pure 
 And withal easy temper; — but alight on 
 A gaddnig, gossiping, expensive jade. 
 And heaven deliver thee ! "Tis not a wife 
 Thou weddest, but an everlasting plague, 
 A devil in she's clothing. There is not 
 In the habitable globe so dire a torment; 
 I know it to my cost : — the better luck 
 Is liis who never tried it. 
 
 GENEALOGIES. 
 Good gossip, if you love me, prate no more : 
 What are your genealogies to me ? 
 
 Away to those who have more need of them! 
 Let the degenerate wretches, if they can. 
 Dig up dead honour from their fadiers" tombs 
 And boast it for their own, — vain, empty 
 
 boast ! 
 When every common fellow, that they meet, 
 If accident hath not cut off the scroll. 
 Can show a list of ancestry as long. — 
 You call the Scythians barbarous, and despise 
 
 them ; 
 Yet Anacharsis was a Scythian born ; 
 And every man of a like noble nature, 
 Though he were moulded from an ^^thiop's 
 
 loins. 
 Is nobler than your pedigrees can make him. 
 
 ONOMACRITUS. 
 
 [About 500 B. C] 
 
 Onomacritus was a priest and soothsayer of 
 Athens, who professed to be in possession of cer- 
 tain oracular verses of the poet Musreus. He 
 stood high in favour with Hipparchus; but being 
 at length convicted of interpolating his own verses 
 amongst those of Musoeus, was banished by him 
 as an impostor. He was afterwards one of the 
 deputies from the princes of Thessaly to the 
 Persian king, inviting him to invade Greece, and 
 
 is said to have predicted to Xerxes that he should 
 throw a bridge over the Hellespont; a prophecy 
 which naturally enough tended to its own fulfil- 
 ment. He was thought to be the real author of 
 the poems ascribed to Orpheus. The probability, 
 however, is that, being in possession of certain 
 genuine Orphic fragments, he used them, (like 
 another Macpherson,) as the groundwork of his 
 own fabrications. 
 
 FROM THE ARGONAUTICS. 
 
 TISIT OF THE AHGOTfAUTS TO THE GATE OF 
 CHIRON. 
 
 Then with a wliistling breeze 
 
 did Juno fill the sail, 
 And Argo, self-impell'd, 
 
 shot swift before the gale. 
 86 
 
 The kings with nerve and heart 
 
 the oar unwearied plied; 
 Plough"d by the keel, foam'd white 
 
 th' immeasurable tide. 
 But when from Ocean's streams 
 
 the sacred dawn appear'd. 
 And morning's pleasant light 
 
 both gods and mortals cheer'd ; 
 
ONOMACRITUS. 
 
 87 
 
 Then, from the shore, the rocks 
 
 and windy summits high 
 Of wood-topt Pelion rearVl 
 
 their beacon midst the sky. 
 The hehn, with both his hands, 
 
 the pilot Tiphys liold ; 
 The vessel cut the wave, 
 
 with quiet course impell'd ; 
 Then swift they nearVl the shore ; 
 
 the wooden ladder cast, 
 And forth the heroes leap'd, 
 
 relieved from labours past. 
 Then to the circling throng 
 
 the horseman Peleus cried ; 
 "Mark, friends! yon shadowing crag, 
 
 midway the mountain side: 
 There Chiron dwells, most just 
 
 of all the Centaur race. 
 That haunt high Pelion's top ; 
 
 a cave his dwelling place. 
 He there awards the right, 
 
 or heals the body's pains ; 
 And chaunts to neighbouring tribes, 
 
 oracular, his strains. 
 To Phcebus' chorded harp, 
 
 the laws, in wisdom, sings ; 
 Or Hermes' hollow lute, 
 
 of shell sonorous, strings ; 
 And therefore Thetis came, 
 
 with silver feet, to trace 
 High Pelion's waving woods, 
 
 my babe in her embrace ; 
 And here to Chiron's hands, 
 
 the new-born infant brought. 
 To cherish with a father's eye, 
 
 and rear with prudent thought. 
 Indulge my longing, friends ! 
 
 with me the cavern tread. 
 To mark how fares my boy ; 
 
 how gifted, and how bred." 
 He trod the beaten path ; 
 
 we foUow'd where he led; 
 We enter'd straight a grot, 
 
 of gloomy twilight shade: 
 There on a lowly couch, 
 
 the Centaur huge was laid. 
 At length unmeasured stretch'd, 
 
 his rapid legs were thrown; 
 And, shod with horny hoofs, 
 
 reclin'd upon the stone. 
 The boy Achilles stood, 
 
 erect, beside the sire ; 
 And smote with pliant hand 
 
 the spirit-soothing lyre. 
 But, when the Centaur saw 
 
 the noble kings appear, 
 He rose with courteous act, and kiss'd, 
 
 and brought them dainty cheer. 
 The wine in beakers servetl, 
 
 the branchy couches spread 
 With scatter'd leaves, and placed 
 
 each guest upon his bed. 
 In dishes rude the flesh 
 
 of boars and stags bestowed ; 
 While draughts of luscious wine 
 
 in equal measure flow'd. 
 
 But now, when food and drink 
 
 had satisfied the heart, 
 With loud, ajjplaudiug hands, 
 
 they urged my miMstrel's art: 
 That I, in contest matcli'd 
 
 against the Centaur sire. 
 Should, to some wide-famed strain, 
 
 attune the ringing lyre. 
 But I, averse, forbore 
 
 in contest to engage. 
 And blush'd, that youth should vie 
 
 with more experienced age, 
 Till Chiron joiu'd the wish, 
 
 himself prepared to sing; 
 And forced me to contend, 
 
 reluctant, on the string. 
 Achilles stretch'd his hand, 
 
 and gave the beauteous shell. 
 Which Chiron took, and sang 
 
 the Centaur combat fell : 
 How them the Lapithte 
 
 for daring outrage slew ; 
 How, mad with strength of wine, 
 
 'gainst Hercules they flew ; 
 And him, on Pholoe's mount, 
 
 to stubborn conflict drew, 
 I next the lute received, 
 
 of echo sweet and shrill, 
 And bade my breathing lips 
 
 their honour'd song distil: 
 In dark and mystic hymn, 
 
 I sang of Chaos old. 
 How the disparted elements 
 
 in round alternate roU'd; 
 Heaven flow'd through boundless space, 
 
 and earth her teeming train 
 Fed from her ample breast, and deep 
 
 in whirlpools heaved the main. 
 I sang of elder Love, 
 
 who, self-sufiicing, wrought 
 Creation's ditfering forms, 
 
 with many-counsell'd thought. 
 Of baneful Saturn next, 
 
 and how the heaven above 
 Fell with its regal sway 
 
 to thunder-launching Jove. 
 I sang the younger gods, 
 
 whence rose their various birth. 
 How spread their separate powers 
 
 through sea, and air, and earth. 
 Of Brimus, and of Bacchus last, 
 
 and giants' mystic fame, 
 And whence man's weaker race arose, 
 
 of many-nation'd name. 
 Through winding cavities, 
 
 that scoop'd the rocky cell, 
 With tone sonorous thrill'd 
 
 my sweetly vocal shell. 
 High Pelion's mountain-heads, 
 
 and woody valleys round, 
 And all his loAy oaks 
 
 remurmur'd to the sound. 
 His oaks uprooted rush, 
 
 and all tumultuous wave, 
 Around the darkcn'd mouth 
 
 of Chiron's hollow cave. 
 
ONOMACRITUS. 
 
 1 
 
 The rocks re-echo shrill; 
 
 the beasts of forest wild 
 Stand at the cavern's mouth, 
 
 in listening trance beguild : 
 The birds surround the den ; 
 
 and, as in weary rest, 
 They drop their fluttering wings, 
 
 forgetful of the nest. 
 Amazed the Centaur saw : 
 
 his clapping hands he beat, 
 And stamp'd in exlasy the rook 
 
 with hoof 'd and horny feet. 
 When Tiphys threads the cave, 
 
 and bids the Minyan train 
 To hurry swift on board; 
 
 and thus I ceased my strain. 
 The Argonauts leap"d up in haste, 
 
 and snatch'd their arms again. 
 Then Peleus to his breast 
 
 his boy, embracing, rears ; 
 Kissing his head and beauteous eyes, 
 
 and smiling through his tears. 
 Achilles so was soothed ; 
 
 and, as I left the cave, 
 A leopard's spotted skin, 
 
 in pledge, the Centaur gave. 
 Forth from the den we sprang, 
 
 down froin the mountain high ; 
 The aged Centaur spread 
 
 his raised hands tow'rds the sky: 
 And call'd on all the gods 
 
 a safe return to give, 
 That, fam'd in ages yet unborn, 
 
 the j^outhful kings might live. 
 Descending to the shore, 
 
 we climb'd the bark again ; 
 Each press'd his former bench 
 
 and lash'd with oar the main ; 
 Huge Pelion's mountain swift 
 
 receded from our view, 
 And o'er vast Ocean's green expanse 
 
 the foam white-chafing flew. 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 Heatexlt Selene! goddess queen! 
 
 that shedd'st abroad the light! 
 Bull-horned moon! air-habiting! 
 
 thou wanderer through the night! 
 Moon, bearer of the nightly torch ! 
 
 tlioii star-encircled maid ! 
 Female at once, and male the same ; 
 
 still fresh, and still decay'd ! 
 Thou ! that in thy steeds delight'st, 
 
 as they whirl thee throvigh the sky: 
 Clothed in brightness ! mighty mother 
 
 of the rapid years that fly ! 
 Fruit-dispenser ! araber-visaged ! 
 
 melancholy, yet serene ! 
 All-beholding! sleep-enamour'd ! 
 
 still with trooping planets seen! 
 Quiet-loving! who in pleasaunce, 
 
 and in plenty takest delight ! 
 Joy-difTusing ! fruit-maturing ! 
 
 sparkling ornament of night! 
 
 Swiftly-pacing ! ample-vested ! 
 
 star-bright! all-divining maid ! 
 Come benignant ! come spontaneous ! 
 
 with thy starry sheen array'd ! 
 Sweetly-shining! save us, virgin! 
 
 give thy holy suppliants aid ! 
 
 FROM THE ORPHIC REMAINS. 
 
 One self-existent lives : created things 
 Arise from him ; and he is all in all. 
 No mortal sight may see him ; yet himself 
 Sees all that live. He out of good can bring 
 Evil to men: dread battle; tearful woes; 
 He, and no other. Open to thy sight 
 Were all the chain of things, conld'st thou behold 
 The Godhead, ere as yet he stepp'd on earth. 
 My son ! I will display before thine eyes 
 His footsteps, and his mighty hand of power. 
 Himself I cannot see. The rest is veil'd 
 In clouds ; and ten-fold darkness intercepts 
 His presence. None discerns the Lord of men. 
 But he, the sole begotten, of the tribe 
 Of old Chaldeans : he, to whom was known 
 The path of stars, and how the moving sphere 
 Rolls round this earth, in equal circle framed, 
 Self-balanced on her centre. 'Tis the God, 
 Who rules the breathing winds, that sweep around 
 The vault of air, and round the flowing swell 
 Of the deep, watery element ; and shows 
 Forth, from on high, the glittering strength of 
 
 flame. 
 Himself, above the firmament's broad arch, 
 Sits, on a throne of gold : the round earth lies 
 Under his feet. He stretches his right hand 
 To th' uttermost bounds of ocean, and the root 
 Of mountains trembles at his touch ; nor stands 
 Before his mighty power. For he, alone, 
 AU-hcavenly is, and all terrestrial things 
 Are wrought by him. First, midst, and last, he 
 
 holds 
 With his omniscient grasp. So speaks the lore 
 Of ancient wisdom: so the man, who sprang 
 Forth from the cradling waters, speaks: who took 
 The double tables of the law from God ; 
 Other to speak, were impious. Every limb 
 I tremble, and my spirit quakes within. 
 
 ir. 
 JoTE is the first and last ; 
 
 who th' infant thunder hurl'd ; 
 Jove is the head and midst ; 
 
 the framer of the world ; 
 Jove is a male ; a nymph 
 
 of bloom immortal, Jove ; 
 Jove is the base of earth, 
 
 and starry Heaven above. 
 Jove is the breath of all ; 
 
 tlie force of quenchless flame ; 
 The root of ocean, Jove ; 
 
 the sun and moon, the same. 
 Jove is the King, the Sire, 
 
 whence generation sprang; 
 One strength, one Demon, great, 
 
 on whom all beings hang ; 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 89 
 
 His regal body grasps 
 
 the vast material round ; 
 There fire, earth, air, and wave, 
 
 and day, and night are round ; 
 Wisdom, first maker, there, 
 
 and joy-prolific Love ; 
 All these concentering fill 
 
 the mighty frame of Jove. 
 
 FROM THE LITHICS. 
 
 Th' immortal gods will view thee with delight. 
 If thou should'st hold the agate, branching bright 
 
 With veins, like many a tree, that rears its head 
 In some fair garden, with thick bnnglis bespread: 
 As the tree agate, tlius, to mortals known, 
 In part a branchy wood ; in part a stone. 
 If on thy oxen's horns this gem be bound, 
 When w itli the cleaving share they turn the 
 
 gvoiiiul^ 
 Or on th' unwearied ploughman's shoulth^r borne. 
 Then shall thy furrows spring with thickening 
 
 corn : 
 Full-l)Osoni'd Ceres, with the wheaten crown, 
 Shall lean froni Heaven and scatter harvests 
 
 down. 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 [Born 495, Died 405, B. C] 
 
 SoPHocT.ES was born, at Colonos near Athens, 
 of respectable and opulent parents, who had him 
 educated in all the learning and accomplish- 
 ments of the times. His first exhibition was at 
 the early age of sixteen, when he appeared in 
 the character of exarch, or leader of the Athe- 
 nian youths, who had been selected to perform 
 the triumphant Paan around the trophy of Sa- 
 lamis. In 4G8, being then twenty-seven, as well 
 as in many subsequent years, he bore ofi" the first 
 prizes in Tragedy, — on one occasion, from ^s- 
 cliylus himself, whose vast but rugged grandeur 
 was less in harmony with the reigning taste than 
 the artfiil and polished genius of his younger 
 rival. In 440, Sophocles was amongst the col- 
 leagues of Pericles and Thueydides in the Sa- 
 mian war, — an appointment said to have been 
 the reward of his political wisdom, as displayed 
 in his Trage<ly of Antigone, but which he more 
 probably owed to his popular manners, serenity 
 of temper, and even laxity, or rather want of 
 public principle.* He held other high offices of 
 
 * " His serenity, like tlial of Grellie, has in it sonietliing 
 of enviable, ratlier than honoiirahle, indlll'i.Tence. He 
 owed his first distinction to Ciiiioii, and lie served after- 
 wards under Pericles;— on bis entrance into life, he led 
 
 State, but it was by his Tragedies, and not by 
 his military or political services, that he earned 
 for hiiTiself the immortality which is so justly his 
 due, and which can only cease with the divine 
 language in which he wrote. Tlie story of his son 
 lophun having attempted to remove him from 
 the managcmetit of his property on the ground 
 of dotage or lunacy, and of his Viaving repelled 
 the charge by reading to the Judges his beautifitl 
 Ode in praise of his native Colonos, though re- 
 ceived by Cicero, is now supposed, on further 
 examination and comparison of dates, circum- 
 stances, and historical allusions, to be very apo- 
 cryphal, if not altogether void of Ibundation. 
 
 Sophocles died at the age of 90, leaving behind 
 hiiti upwards of one hundred Tragedies, of 
 which only seven have come down to our times. 
 
 the yniifhs that circlejl the trophy of Grecian froedom, 
 and, on the verge of death, he calmly assented to the sur- 
 render of Athenian liberties. In short, Aristophanes 
 perhaps minsiled more truth than usual with his wit, 
 when, even in the shades below, he says of Sophocles, 
 'Me was contented here — ho is contented there.' A 
 disposition thus facile, united with an aileiirable L'eniiis, 
 will not nnfieqiienlly etTi-ct a miracle and reconcile pros- 
 perity with fame " —Bulwer Lijltun's jSlhens. 
 
 FROM KING (EDIPUS. 
 
 Latus, king of Thebes, having learned from 
 the Oracle, that he was d(^stined to perish by the 
 hand of his own son, commands his wife, Jocas- 
 ta, to destroy the infant as soon as born. The 
 mother accordingly gave the child to a domestic, 
 with orders to expose him on Mount Citheron. 
 There he is found by one of the shepherds of 
 Polybus, king of Corinth, who, having no chil- 
 dren, adopts him as his own. On arriving at 
 years of maturity, ffidipus goes to consult tlie 
 12 
 
 Oracle concerning his parents and history; and 
 being told that he would commit both parri- 
 cide and incest, resolves on returning to Co- 
 rinth no more. Travelling, however, towards 
 Phocis he meets Laitis, and in a dispute which 
 ensues, — ignorant of the name and quality of his 
 ojiponent, — slays him. He then proceeds to 
 Thebes, destroys the Spliynx, a monster wliich 
 was infesting the land, and, in reward, is raised 
 to the throne and honoured with the hand of the 
 widowed queen. CEdipus reigns, for a while, 
 powerful and beloved ; but a pestilence at length 
 h2 
 
90 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 ensues, and Creon, the brother of Jocasta, having 
 been despatched to Delphi to learn the cause, 
 brings back word that the plague will never 
 cease initil the blood of Laius is avenged. An 
 investigation follows, and the horrid secret is 
 brought to light ; whereupon Jocasta destroys 
 herself, and CEdipus, having torn out his own 
 eyes, relinquishes the throne, and departs an 
 exile from Thebes. 
 
 CEdipus, Tiresias, Chohtjs. 
 
 fl?(f. Tiresias, whose expansive mind surveys 
 All man can learn, or solemn silence seal, 
 The signs of heaven, and secrets of the earth ; 
 Though sight is quenched in darkness, well thou 
 
 know'st 
 The fatal plague that desolates our Thebes ; 
 From which, prince, we hope to find in thee 
 Our help, and sole preserver. List, if yet 
 Thou hast not heard his mandate, — the response 
 Return'd by PhtEbus. Never shall this pest 
 Cease its wide desolation, till we seize, 
 And on the assassins of the murdered king 
 Avenge his fall by exile or by death. 
 
 then refuse not thou, if thou hast aught 
 Of augury or divination sure, 
 
 To save thyself, thy country, and thy king, 
 And ward this foul pollution of the dead. 
 We trust in thee. Of all our earthly toils 
 The best and noblest is to aid mankind. 
 
 Ti. Ah ! woe is me! for wisdom is but woe, 
 When to be wise avails not. This I knew, 
 But ill remembered, or I ne'er had come. 
 
 (Ed. What may this mean ! and whence this 
 strange dismay? 
 
 Ti. Dismiss me to my home : this grace con- 
 ferred. 
 Thou wilt endure thy griefs, I mine, more lightly. 
 
 CEd. It were unjust, ungrateful to the state. 
 Which hath sustained thee, to withhold thy 
 counsel. 
 
 Ti. Thy words are most untimely to thyself. 
 Let me beware, lest I too swerve from caution. 
 
 Ch. Oh, by the gods, refuse not what thou 
 canst. 
 In one assenting prayer we all implore thee. 
 
 Ti. For ye are all unwise. Be well assured, 
 
 1 will not speak and publish thy despair. 
 
 (Ed. Dost thou then know and wilt not speak 
 the truth 1 
 Wilt thou betray us, and subvert thy country? 
 Ti. I would not injure thee, nor wound my- 
 self. 
 Why urge me thus ? nought shalt thou hear from 
 me. 
 (Ed. Basest of villains ! for thou wouldst excite 
 The insensate rock to wrath, wilt thou not speak? 
 Still dost thou stand unpitying and unmoved ? 
 Ti. Thou hast reproved my warmth, yet little 
 know'st 
 What dwells in thine own bosom, though on me 
 Thou heap'st reproach. 
 
 (Ed. And who could calmly hear 
 
 Such words, so shameful to thine injured country? 
 Ti. Soon will these things appear, though I be 
 silent. 
 
 (Ed. Doth it not then behove thee to declare 
 What soon shall come to light? 
 
 Ti. I'll speak no more. 
 
 Indulge this lawless passion at thy will. 
 
 (Ed. Naught will I now suppress, since anger 
 prompts 
 My unreserved speech. I do suspect thee 
 Accomplice of the deed, save that thy hand 
 Struck not the mortal blow ; had sight been thine, 
 I then had charged thee as the only villain! 
 Ti. Ha! is it thus? Nay, then, I tell thee, 
 king ! 
 Adhere to thine own edict ; from this hour 
 No more hold converse or with these or me. 
 Thou art the sole polluter of our land. 
 
 (Ed. Art thou so lost to shame, as to indulge 
 A taunt like this. Think'st thou to 'scape un- 
 scathed ! 
 Ti. I have escaped : the might of truth is mine. 
 (Ed. By whom informed? — not through thy 
 
 prescient art. 
 Ti. By thee ; thy will constrained me thus to 
 speak. 
 Though most reluctant. 
 
 (Ed. What ! Repeat thy words 
 
 That I may learn iTiore clearly. 
 
 Ti. Know'st thou not 
 
 Before, or wouldst thou tempt me to speak on? 
 (Ed. I have not caught thy purport. Speak 
 
 again. 
 Ti. I say thou art the murderer whom thou 
 
 seekest. 
 (Ed. Thou shalt not vent that slander twice 
 
 unpunished. 
 Ti. Shall I proceed and fire thy rage to frenzy ? 
 (Ed. Speak -what thou wilt, it will be said in 
 
 vain. 
 Ti. Thou dost not know what guilty ties unite 
 thee 
 To those thou deem'st most dear; thou dost not 
 
 see 
 The ills that close thee round. 
 
 (Ed. And dost thou hope 
 
 Again to triumph in thy vaunt unharmed? 
 Ti. If there be aught of potency in truth. 
 (Ed. There is, but not for thee. Thou hast it 
 not. 
 Dark in thine eye, in heart and ear yet darker. 
 
 Ti. Wretched art thou in thus upbraiding me. 
 Whom all, ere long, shall urge with like reproach. 
 (Ed. Nurtured in night alone, thou canst not 
 harm 
 The man who views the living light of heaven. 
 
 Ti. 'Tis not thy doom to fall by me : for this 
 Phcebus is mighty, who will work the Avhole. 
 (Ed. Didst thou, or Creon, frame these sage 
 
 inventions ? 
 Ti. Not Creon wrongs thee, thou dost wrong 
 
 thyself 
 (Ed. O wealth, empire, and thou nobler art, 
 Potent o'er all to brighten life with joy, 
 What baleful envy on your splendour waits! 
 Since for these regal honours, which the state 
 Confided to my hand, a boon unsought, 
 Creon, my first and once most faithful friend, 
 By traitorous cunning saps my rightful sway, 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 91 
 
 And hath suborned this dark desiijniiig wizard, 
 This scheming specious sorcerer, skilled alone 
 To seek his profit, sightless in his art. 
 When didst thou ever prove a faithful prophet? 
 Why, vi'hen the monster screamed her mystic 
 
 charm 
 Didst thou not break it to redeem thy country? 
 To solve th' enigma was no chance emprize; 
 Well might such task demand the prophet's aid! 
 Yet nought from divination couldst thou learn ; 
 Nought did the gods inform thee: then I came, 
 This unexpeiicncfd CEdipus, and, led 
 By reason, not by auguries, quelled the foe ; — 
 Whom now thou seek'st to banish, deeming thus 
 To stand in state usurped near Creon's throne ; 
 But thou, with him who shared thy base designs. 
 Shall feel our righteous vengeance. Save that 
 
 age 
 Some reverence claims, now would I teach thee 
 
 wisdom. 
 Ch. If we conjecture right, the prophet spake 
 In vehement wrath ; thus too, king, thou 
 
 speakest. 
 Such ill beseems our state : 'twere best to seek 
 How we may trace the pleasure of the god. 
 Ti. Though thou art monarch, yet with like 
 
 reproach 
 Thy slanders will I quiet, for this I can ; 
 To thee I am no vassal, but to Phoebus ; 
 Nor will I look to Creon as my patron. 
 Know, since my blindness wakes thy keen 
 
 reproach. 
 Clear-sighted as thou art, thou dost not see 
 What ills enclose thee — where thou hast thy 
 
 home — 
 With whom that home is shared. Art thou ap- 
 prized 
 Who gave thee birth ? Thou art th' unconscious foe 
 Of thine own race on earth, and in the tomb: 
 Soon shall thy father's, soon thy mother's, curse 
 With fearful stride expel thee from the land ; 
 Now blest with sight, — then, plunged in endless 
 
 gloom. 
 Ere long what shore shall not attest thy cries? 
 How will they echo from Cithaeron's brow, 
 W^lien thou shalt learn that marriage, where 
 
 impelled. 
 As, with propitious gales, in evil port 
 Thy heedless bark had anchored. Seest thou not 
 A gathering storm of miseries, doomed ere long 
 To burst alike on thee and on thy children? 
 Vent now on Creon and my prescient word 
 Thy keen upbraidings. None of mortal race 
 Hath ever fallen so low as thou shalt fall. 
 
 (Ed. Must I then brook such shameless taunts 
 
 from thee ? 
 A curse light on thee, babbler! to thy home 
 Away, and rid us of thy hateful presence. 
 Ti. But for thy summons, I had never come. 
 (Ed. 1 little dreamed that thou wouldst prate 
 
 so weakly, 
 Or never had I sought thy presence here. 
 
 Ti. Though to thy better wisdom void of sense 
 We seem, thy parents once esteemed us wise. 
 (Ed. Who are they? Stop and tell who gave 
 
 me birth. 
 
 Ti. This day will show thy birth, and seal thy 
 
 ruin. 
 (Ed. How wild, and how mysterious are thy 
 
 words! 
 Ti. Art thou not skilled t' unriddle this enigma? 
 (Ed. Reproach the path that led me up to 
 
 greatness. 
 Ti. That very path hath led thee to perdition. 
 (Ed. I reck not that, so I preserve the state. 
 Ti. Then I depart. Thou, boy, conduct me 
 
 hence. 
 (Ed. Aye, let him lead thee hence. Here thou 
 dost nought 
 But plague us; rid of thee we may have .peace. 
 Ti. I go ; but first will do mine errand here. 
 By thy stern looks unawed. Thou canst not 
 
 harm me. 
 I tell thee, king, the man wliom thou hast sought 
 With fearful menaces, denouncing death 
 On Laius' murderer, that man is here. 
 In words he seems an alien, yet shall prove 
 By birth a Theban, nor in this disclosure 
 Shall long exult. From sight reduced to blindness, 
 To penury from ■wealth, he shall go forth 
 To foreign climes by a frail staff directed. 
 Then to his children shall be proved at once 
 A brother and a father; and to her 
 Who gave him birth a husband and a son, 
 Co-rival of the father whom he slew. 
 Seek now thy palace, and reflect on this ; 
 And, if thou find my bodings unfulfilled. 
 Deem me untutored in proi)hetic lore. 
 
 [Exeunt Tibesias and (Edipus. 
 
 Credit, Chorus. 
 
 Cr. citizens, of that atrocious crime 
 With which the king doth charge me, late apprized, 
 Such charge I cannot brook. If, in the hour 
 Of general suffering, he suspect that I 
 Have sought to wrong him, or in word or act, 
 E'en life itself were valueless to me, 
 Thus coupled with dishonour. 
 
 Ch. He but spoke 
 
 From passion, not from cool deliberate judgment. 
 
 Cr. Whence could it seem, that, by our wiles 
 suborned. 
 The prophet framed these falsehoods? 
 
 Ch. So indeed 
 
 The king affirmed ; but on what grounds, I know 
 not. 
 
 Cr. With mind unwarped,and unperverted eye 
 Did he thus charge me ? 
 
 Ch. Sooth I cannot tell ; 
 
 I do not scrutinize the acts of princes. 
 But lo! himself approaches from the palace. 
 
 Enter (Edipcs. 
 (Ed. Ha, wherefore cam'st thou hither ? Is tliy 
 
 brow 
 So armed with bold presumption, that thou dar'st 
 Still tread our courts, a false convicted traitor, 
 Convicted in thy scheme to shed our blood, 
 And steal into a throne? Say, by the go<ls 
 What folly, what supineness, hast thou marked 
 In me, to form an enterprise like this? 
 Or didst thou think I had no eye to trace 
 
92 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Thy wiles — when traced, no firmness to revenge 
 til em ? 
 Cr. Know'st thou what thou wouldst do"? To 
 our rojily 
 Grant first impartial audience ; learn, then judge. 
 (Ed. Aye, thou art mighty in the strife of 
 words ; 
 But I am slow to learn of one like thee. 
 Whom I have proved rebellious and perverse. 
 Cr. First do thou hear what I would fain 
 
 reply. 
 CE(L So thou reply not thus, "I am no villain." 
 Cr. If thou dost deem this self-willed seiiseless 
 pride 
 Will aught avail thee, thou art most imwise. 
 (Ed. And if thou deem'st to mock thy kins- 
 man's wrongs 
 And 'scape unpunished, thou art most unwise. 
 Cr. Thy words have show of justice, but 
 explain 
 Wherein I thus have wronged thee. 
 
 (Ed. Didst thou then, 
 
 Or didst thou not, persuade me here to summon 
 This holy and most venerable prophet? 
 
 Cr. I did, and still my counsel is the same. 
 (Ed. How long a space hath now elapsed since 
 
 Laius — 
 Cr. What act performed ? I cannot see thy 
 
 drift. 
 (Ed. Fell thus obscm-ely by a ruffian hand? 
 Cr. We must retrace a length of years obscure. 
 (Ed. Did this sage prophet then profess his art? 
 Cr. Unmatched, as now, in wisdom, and es- 
 teemed 
 Wiih equal reverence. 
 
 (Ed. Did he at the time 
 
 Make mention of my name ? 
 
 Cr. Never ; at least 
 
 Not in my presence. 
 
 (Ed. Did ye not enforce 
 
 Strict inquisition for your murdered lord? 
 
 Cr. How could Ave pass it by? Our search 
 
 was vain. 
 (Ed. Why spake not then this sage diviner 
 
 thus? 
 Cr. I know not, and strict silence would 
 preserve 
 On points unknown. 
 
 (Ed. One point at least thoTt know"st, 
 
 And, if true wisdom guide thee, will disclose it. 
 Cr. Name it ! I will not aught I kr ow deny. 
 (Ed. Were not the prophet basely leagued 
 with thee. 
 He had not charged me with the death of Laius. 
 Cr. If thus he speaks, thou know'st. I claim 
 in turn 
 To aslc of thee as thou hast ask'd of me. 
 
 (Ed. Ask what thou wilt, I never shall be 
 proved 
 A base assassin. 
 
 Cr. Is my sister thine, 
 
 Thine by the nuptial tie? 
 
 (Ed. To such a question 
 
 I cannot give denial. 
 
 Cr. Dost thou not 
 
 Divide with her the empire of the land ? 
 
 (Ed. 'Tis my chief pride to grant her every 
 wish. 
 
 Cr. Do not I hold an equal rank with both? 
 
 (Ed. Thence dost thou seem indeed a faithless 
 friend. 
 
 Cr. Not if thou weigh my words, as I weighed 
 thine. 
 With cool and temperate judgment. First reflect. 
 Who woidd prefer the terrors of a throne 
 To fearless sleep, with equal power combined? 
 Nor I, nor any whom true wisdoin guides, 
 Would seek the empty pageant of a crown, 
 Before the real pote cy of kings. 
 Now% void of fears, I gain my wish with thee ; 
 Were I a king, full oft must I renounce it. 
 How, then, could empire be to me more dear 
 Than this serene, yet not less potent, sway ? 
 I am lot thus by flattering hope beguiled, 
 To quit substantial good for empty honour. 
 All now is pleasure ; all men court me now ; 
 They who desire thy favour seek my aid 
 To advocate their cause ; through me they gain 
 The boon so'icited, and should I then 
 Renounce such pleasures for the pomp of em- 
 pire ? 
 So wild a scheme the prudent soul discards. 
 Such plots I never loved, and would disdain 
 To mingle with the guilty band who frame them. 
 If thou dost seek a proof, to Delphi send ; 
 Ask if aright the oracle I brought thee. 
 Shouldst thou detect me leaguing with the seer 
 To u ork thee \vrong, be instant death my meed, 
 Twice doomed, — by thy decree, and by mine 
 
 own ; 
 But tax me not with guilt on vague suspicion. 
 To deem the good unworthy, or account 
 Alike the base and noble, is unjust. 
 The man who drives an upright friend to exile, 
 Doth wound himself no less, than if he struck 
 At his own valued life. Of this, in time, 
 Shalt thou be well convinced ; long space it asks 
 To prove the stainless honour of the just, 
 One dny suflices to detect a traitor. 
 
 Ch. Well hath he said, O king, to one fore- 
 warned 
 Of falling; quick resolves are rarely safe. 
 
 (Ed. When one is quick to frame insidious 
 plots, 
 I too have need of quickness to repel him. 
 If I remain inactive, he will gain 
 His traitorous end, while my slow cares avail not. 
 
 Cr. What is thy will? — To force me into 
 exile? 
 
 (Ed. Nay, exile shall not be thy doom, but 
 death. 
 
 Cr. When thou hast proved what merits such 
 a sentence. 
 
 (Ed. Yet will I rule. 
 
 Cr. Thou slialt not tyrannise. 
 
 (Ed. Thebes! Thebes! 
 
 Cr. And I too have a part in Thebes ; 
 
 It is not thine alone. 
 
 Ch. Princes, forbear ! 
 
 In happy moment, lo ! IVom out the palace 
 Jocasta comes ; her presence may appease 
 The growing rancour of this desperate strife.** 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 93 
 
 Enter Jocasta. 
 
 Joe. Wliy, O iinlmppy princes! liavo ye raised 
 This unadvised strife, nor blush to wake 
 Your private feuds when public woes distract us? 
 Wilt thou not home, my lord, and thou too, Creon, 
 Nor from sliuht cause excite si'verer ills? 
 
 Cr. My bister, (Edipus, thy husband, wills me 
 Foul wronsf. One of two ills awaits iriy choice ; 
 Or death, or exile from my native land. 
 
 (Ed. I own it ; for I have detected him 
 In basest practices against my life. 
 
 (V. If I have done it, if the charge be true, 
 ]May heaven's dread curse descend at once to 
 blast me. 
 
 Joe. Oh, by the gods, my ffid ipus, believe him ; 
 Revere the solemn test that seals his truth; 
 Regard me, too, and these thy faithful friends. 
 
 Si raphe I. 
 
 Ch. By prompt reflection swayed, 
 king! I pray thee, yield. 
 
 (Ed. Wherein shall I accord thy prayer? 
 
 Ch. Revere the prince, before 
 Not senseless proved, now bound by solemn oath. 
 
 (Ed. Know'st thou what thou would'st ask? 
 
 Ch. I know. 
 
 (Ed. Then speak. 
 
 Ch. Forbear to charge a friend with crimes 
 unproved, 
 Who calls the gods to witness for his truth. 
 
 (Ed. In such reqiest, know well, thou dost but 
 seek 
 Thy monarch's death, or exile from the land. 
 
 Strophe II. 
 
 Ch. No! by. yon radiant sun, 
 Prince of the poN\ers above, 
 Low may I fall, a godless, friendless wretch, 
 If e'er my bosom harboured thought like this. 
 'J is my poor country's woe 
 That rankles in my breast, 
 And now must strike a deeper blow, 
 If to our common ills be added yours. 
 
 (Ed. Then let him lience,'tliough certain death 
 ensue. 
 Or I be thrust with infamy to exile. 
 Thy plea awakes my sympathy, not his; 
 Go where he will, my quenchless hate attend him. 
 
 Cr. Even in relenting art thou stern; thy wrath 
 Too far indu'ged, most fearful. Souis like thine 
 Are the just authors of their own remorse. 
 
 (Ed. W^ilt thou not leave me, and depart? 
 
 Cr. I go, 
 
 Unknown ]>y thee, but still by these deemed 
 righteous. 
 
 [Exit CllF.ON. 
 
 Antis'rophe I. 
 
 Ch. Why, lady, dost thou pause 
 To lead thy lord away ? 
 
 Joe. First tell me what inflamed their wrath? 
 
 Ch. Suspicio'i from dark words 
 Arose; and e'en a gromidless charge ofleuds. 
 
 Joe. By both preferred? 
 
 Ch. E'en so. 
 
 Joe. And ^\ hat the cause ? 
 
 Ch. Enough, enough I deem it, wdien the State 
 Is plunged in grief, to cease where lliey too 
 ceased. 
 CEd. Mark how thy speech, although I know 
 thee worthy, 
 Tends but to trouble and depress iny heart! 
 
 Jlntislrophe II. 
 
 Ch. My lord, I spoke not once 
 Unmeaning words alone. 
 But deem me void of wi.sdorn, and bereft 
 Of sage reflection, if I fall from thee, 
 Who, when in adverse storms 
 My much-loved country strove. 
 Didst steer her to a prosperous port. 
 0, if thou canst, be thus our pilot now ! 
 
 Joe. Nay, by the gods, inform me too, king! 
 What to such rancour first inflamed thy wrath? 
 (Ed. I will, for I revere thee more than these; 
 'Twas Creon, who hath framed a treacherous wile. 
 Joe. Say, if thou canst convict him of the crime. 
 (Ed. He dares to tax me with the death of 
 
 Laius. 
 Joe. Himself th' accuser, or apprized by others? 
 (Ed. He hath suborned that false malignant 
 seer. 
 Who claims free license for his slanderous tongue. 
 Joe. Dispel the thoughts that agitate thy breast. 
 Hear me, and learn, that none of mortal birth 
 Can trace the future by prophetic skill. 
 The proof of this concisely will I show. 
 An oracle to Laius once came forth, 
 (I will not say by Phcebus self denounced. 
 But by his ministers.) t!;at fate ordained him 
 To peri.-h by a son whom I should bear ; — 
 And yet, as rumour tells, where three ways meet, 
 By foreign ruffians was the moilarch slain. 
 Our child was born, but ere three days had past, 
 Pierci g the joints, he bound the inAint's feet, 
 And cast him forth by menial hands to die 
 On an untrodden rock. In nought the word 
 Of Phosbus was fulfided ; — nor was the child 
 His father's murderer, nor did Laius meet 
 The doom he dreaded from a fi.ial hand; 
 Yet thus the doughty oracles declared. 
 Then heed them not. If Pluibus wills the 
 
 search. 
 He will himsc f the latent truth disclose. 
 
 Gul. lady, as I listen, how my thoughts 
 Distempered wander, and my soul is torn! 
 
 Joe. What strange solicitude prompts words 
 
 like these? 
 (Ed. I heard, or seem to hear, that Laius fell 
 Beneath the ruffian band, where diree ways meet. 
 Joe. So nunour whispered Uicn, and still i)ro- 
 
 claims. 
 (Ed. What region was the scene of this dark 
 
 deed?^ 
 Joe. Phocis the rea'm is called, the parted road 
 From Deli)hi and from I'aulia blends in one. 
 Qui What time hath now elapsed since this 
 
 befel ? 
 Joe. 'Twas through the State divulged, short 
 time ere thou 
 Didst rise in glory to the throne of Thebes. 
 
94 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 CEd. Almighty Jove! to what hast thou re- 
 served me ? 
 
 Joe. My Qildipus, what means this wild dis- 
 may ■? 
 
 (Ed. Oh, ask not, ask not, tell me of this Laius. 
 What was his aspect, what his age, O speak! 
 
 Joe. His j)ort was lofty, the first snows of age 
 Had tinged his locks; his form resembled thine. 
 
 CEd. Wretch that I am, on mine own head, it 
 seems 
 Have I called down this dread destroying curse. 
 
 Joe. How say'st thou, king! I tremble to be- 
 hold thee. 
 
 CEd. I fear the prophet saw, alas! too clearly. 
 One question more, and all will be disclosed. 
 
 Joe. I tremble — but will truly tell thee all. 
 
 CEd. Went the king private, or with many 
 guards 
 Encompassed, as became his regal sway? 
 
 Joe. His fo! lov\ ers were but five — a herald one ; 
 Sole rode the monarch in a single car. 
 
 CEd. Alas! Alas! 'tis all too evident; 
 But, lady, who this sad narration brought? 
 
 Joe. A slave, the sole survivor of the train. 
 
 (Ed. Is he now present in the palace ? 
 
 Joe. No. 
 
 Returning thence, when he beheld thee crowned 
 Monarch ia Thebes, and Laius now no more. 
 Clasping my hand, with suppliant prayers he 
 
 craved 
 Some rural charge to tend our herds afar. 
 Where never more might he behold the city. 
 Such charge I gave assenting; though a slave, 
 He well deserved a' richer recompense. 
 
 CEd. How can we bid his instant presence 
 hither? 
 
 Joe. Soon shall become. Yet wherefore seek'st 
 thou this? 
 
 (Ed. I tremble, lady, for myself, and much 
 Hath now been said to wake my wish to see him. 
 
 Joe. He will arrive ere long. Meanwhile, O 
 king, 
 I, too, am worthy to partake thy cares. 
 
 (Ed. I will not this deny thee, to such height 
 Of expectation raised ; to whom more dear 
 Could I confide my fortunes, than to thee? 
 My sire was Polybus, fair Corinth's lord, 
 My mother Merope, of Doric race ; 
 L too, was counted noblest of the State, 
 Till chanced a strange event that claimed my 
 
 wonder, 
 Though scarce deserving of the care it caused. 
 One at a banquet, in a drunken mood. 
 Reviled me, as not sprung from Polybus. 
 Oppressed with weighty thoughts, throughout the 
 
 day 
 I scarce could curb my wrath, and on the next. 
 From both my parents warmly asked the truth. 
 They heard my tale, incensed with deepest rage 
 Against th' inebriate babbler. Though with them 
 I was delighted, yet th' opprobious taunt 
 Burnt in my breast, and rankled in my soul. 
 Unknown to both, I hastened to the shrine 
 Of Delphi ; Phcebus, reckless of my prayer, 
 Dismissed me thence dishonoured; butdenounced 
 A long, long train of dark and fearful sorrows ; — 
 
 That T, in wedlock to my mother bound, 
 Should bring to light a race accursed of men, 
 And in a father's blood my hands imbrue. 
 Hearing these bodings dire, I bade farewell 
 To the loved realm of Corinth, by the stars 
 My wandering course directing far away, 
 That never, never might I see the shame 
 Of those dread oracles fulfilled in me. 
 I passed those very regions in my course 
 Where fell the murdered monarch. To thee, 
 
 lady, 
 I will reveal the truth. As I pursued 
 My onv ard journey, nigh the triple path 
 A herald there encountered me, with one 
 Borne, as thou said'st in single car sublime. 
 The leader then, and that old chieftain too, 
 With violent impulse thrust me from the path; 
 I struck the rude aggressor in mine anger, 
 But the old man observing, when I passed 
 Beside his chariot, with his double goad 
 Smote on my brow. Unequal was the meed 
 My hand returned. I raised my vengeful staff, 
 And straight he rolled expiring from the car. 
 I slew the whole. But, if this stranger prove 
 The murdered Laius, who of all mankind 
 Exists more deeply w^retched than myself. 
 Oh! who more hateful to th' avenging gods? 
 Nor citizen, nor stranger to my need 
 Henceforth may grant the refuge of a home; 
 And I, howeer unconscious, on myself 
 Invoked the withering curse. I, by whose hand 
 His blood was shed, pollute«his nuptial couch — 
 Am I not all abandoned, all defiled? 
 If I must fly, and, flying, ne"er behold 
 My best-loved friends, or tread my natal earth, 
 Or else am doom'd, in most unnatural ties, 
 To wed my mother, and my father slay. 
 Good Polybus, who gave me life and nurture, 
 Would he not rightiy judge who deemed these 
 
 woes 
 The work of some inexorable god ? 
 Never, O never, ye most Holy Powers, 
 May I behold that day. Oh, may I sink 
 To death's more friendly darkness, ere my life 
 Be marked and sullied by a stain so foul. 
 
 Ch. Thy words, king! are fearful; yet retain 
 Thy hope, till from this herdsman thou hast 
 heard. 
 
 CEd. I but await his presence, for in him 
 Concentrates all the hope that now is left me. 
 
 Joe. When he arrives, what is thy purpose 
 next? 
 
 (Ed. I wil inform thee; if his tale agree 
 With thine in all things, I escape the crime. 
 
 Joe. What of such moment did my words 
 imply? 
 
 (Ed. Thou said'st, the man ascribed the death 
 of Laius 
 To banded ruffians; if he still adhere 
 To this report, I am at once absolved ; — 
 The deed of numbers is no deed of one : 
 If he but name a single murderer, 
 ''Jis but too plain the deadly act was mine. 
 
 Joe. But this, be well convir.ced, he then 
 affirmed. 
 Nor can he now retract his former tale — 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 95 
 
 Not I alone, th' assembled State is witness. 
 If aught he change the tenor of his words, 
 Still, my good lord, it cannot thence appear 
 That Laius fell, as Phcebus' voice foretold. 
 Slain by my son. Alas ! my hapless child 
 Slew not, — bnt perished ere his father fell. 
 So lightly do I hold each oracle, 
 No longer would I waste a thought on either. 
 
 (Ed. Nor can I blame thee ; but with speed 
 despatch 
 A summons to this herdsman, — linger not. 
 
 Joe. Straight will I send. But pass we now 
 within. 
 Nought of thy pleasure shall be left undone. 
 
 [Exit OEDIPUS. 
 
 Joe. Princes of Thebes, we deemed it meet to 
 seek 
 The temples of the gods, and in our hands 
 These votive wreaths, this odorous incense bear. 
 The soul of Qildipus on a wild sea 
 Of anxious care is tossed ; — nor, as becomes 
 The prudent, weighs by former oracles 
 This late response, but lends a willing ear 
 To all who speak of terrors. Since my voice 
 Avails no more, Lycaean king, to thee 
 I fly, for thou art nearest to our need. 
 And come in prayer, a suppliant to thy shrine. 
 That thou mayst grant us thine auspicious aid ; 
 Since all now tremble, when we thus behold 
 Our very pilot shuddering and appalled. 
 Enter Cohinthian. 
 
 Cor. Can ye inform me, strangers, where your 
 king, 
 Great CEdipus, his regal state maintains ; 
 Or, if ye know^, where I may find the monarch? 
 Ch. These are th' imperial halls — he is 
 within — 
 This is his wife, the mother of his children. 
 Cor. Blest may she be, and ever with the 
 blest 
 Hold glad communion ; to her royal lord 
 A most accomplished consort. 
 
 Joe. Equal joy 
 
 Attend thee, stranger, — thy kind greeting claims 
 This due return of courtesy. But say, 
 Whence cam'st thou to our Thebes, and what 
 thy tidings'? 
 Cor. Joy to thine house, lady ! and thy lord. 
 Joe. What joy? — and from what region art 
 
 thou come ? 
 Cor. From Corinth. At my words thou wilt 
 rejoice : 
 Why should'st thou not — yet fond regrets will 
 rise. 
 Joe. What dost thou mean, and whence this 
 
 two-fold influence? 
 Coc. The assembled States of Isthmus, rumour 
 tells, 
 Will choose thy lord to mount the vacant throne. 
 Jor. How vacant? Reigns not Polybus in 
 
 Corinth ? 
 Cor. No more ! — His only kingdom is the tomb. 
 Joe. Mean'st thou, old man, that Polybus is 
 
 dead? 
 Cor. May I, too, perish if my words be false. 
 
 Joe. Haste, haste, attendant, and convey with 
 speed 
 These tidings to your lord. Vain oracles! 
 Where are your boilings now? My Qildipus, 
 Fearing to slay this man, forsook his country ; 
 Now Fate, and not his hand, had laid him low. 
 Enter (Ed i pus. 
 CEd. Why, my beloved Jocasta, hast thou sent 
 To bid my presence hither? 
 
 /o{. Hear this man — 
 
 Attend his tidings, and observe the end 
 Of these most true and reverend oracles. 
 
 (Ed. Who is this stranger — with what message 
 
 charged ? 
 Joe. He is from Corinth, thence despatched to 
 tell thee 
 That Polybus, thy father, is no more. 
 
 (Ed. What sayest thou, stranger? Be thyself 
 
 the speaker. 
 Cor. Then, in plain terms, the king is dead 
 
 and gone. 
 (Ed. Died he by treason, or the chance of sick- 
 ness? 
 Cor. Slight ills dismiss the aged to their rest. 
 (Ed. Then by disease, it seems, the monarch 
 
 died. 
 Cor. And bowed beneath a withering weight 
 
 of years. 
 (Ed. Ha ! is it thus ? Then, lady, who would 
 heed 
 The Pythian shrine oracular, or birds 
 Clanging in air, by whose vain auspices 
 I was fore-doomed the murderer of my father ? 
 In the still silence of the tomb he sleeps. 
 While I am here — the fatal sword untouched 
 Unless he languished for his absent child, 
 And I was thus the author of his doom. 
 Now in the grave he lies, and with him rest 
 Those vain predictions, worthy of our scorn. 
 Joe. Did I not tell thee this before ? 
 (Ed. Thou didst, 
 
 But terror urged me onward. 
 
 Joe. Banish now 
 
 This vain solicitude. 
 
 (Ed. Should I not fear 
 
 The dark pollution of my mother's bed? 
 
 Joe. Oh why should mortals fear, when for- 
 tune's sway 
 Rules all, and wariest foresight nought avails ? 
 Best to live on unheeding, as thou may'st. 
 And dread not thou thy mother's lawless 
 
 couch ; 
 Oft is the soul dismayed by hideous dreams 
 Of guilt like this, — but life's rough path is found 
 Smoothest to him, who spurns such wild illusions. 
 
 (Ed. I should admit the justice of thy plea, 
 Save that my mother lives; while she survive, 
 Though thou speak'st well, I cannot choose but 
 fear. 
 Joe. Proof strong and sure thy father's fate 
 
 affords. 
 (Ed. Strong, I confess ; — my fears are for the 
 
 living. 
 Cor. And by what woman are these terrors 
 
 roused ? 
 (Ed. By Merope, the wife of Polybus. 
 
96 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 And what, to her relating, thus alarms 
 
 (Ed. From what afflictions didst thou then 
 
 
 thee 1 
 
 preserve me? 
 
 CEd. 
 
 Stranger, a dark and hideous oracle. 
 
 Cor. This let thy scarr'd and swollen feet attest. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 May it be told 1 — or sliouldst thou not 
 
 tLV. Ah ! -why dost thou revive a woe long 
 
 
 disclose it 
 
 passed ? 
 
 To oih 
 
 er's ears ? 
 
 Cor. I loosed thy bound and perforated feet. 
 
 CEd. 
 
 I may and will disclose it. 
 
 (Ed. Such foul reproach mine infancy endured. 
 
 Phffibus foietolil tliat I should wed my mother, 
 
 Cm: From this event arose the nanre thou 
 
 And si 
 
 led with impious hand a father's blood. 
 
 bear'st. 
 
 For th 
 
 s I fled my own Corinthian towers , 
 
 (Ed. Was it a father's or a mother's act? 
 
 To see 
 
 c a distant home — that home was blest; 
 
 By the good gods inform me ! 
 
 Thoug 
 
 1 still I languished to embrace my parents. 
 
 Cor. This I cannot — 
 
 Cor. 
 
 This fear then urged thee to renounce thy 
 
 He may know more, perchance, who gave thee 
 
 
 country ? 
 
 to me. 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Old man, I would not be a father's mur- 
 
 (Ed. Thou didst receive me then from other 
 
 
 derer. 
 
 hands, 
 
 Cor. 
 
 Then wherefore, since thy welfare I re- 
 
 Nor find me as by chance ? 
 
 
 gard, 
 
 Cor. No ; to my hand 
 
 Should I forbear to rid thee of this terror? 
 
 Another herdsman gave thee. 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Do so, and rich shall be thy recompense. 
 
 (Ed. Who was he ? 
 
 Cor. 
 
 This hope impell'd me here, that when 
 
 Canst thou inform me this ? 
 
 
 our State 
 
 Cor. He was, I believe, 
 
 Hails thee her monarch, I might win thy favour. 
 
 A slave of Laius. 1 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Ne'er will I seek the authors of my birth. 
 
 (Ed. MHiat ! of him who erst 
 
 Cor. 
 
 'Tis plain, my son, thou know'st not what 
 
 Ruled o'er this land ? 
 
 
 thou doest ! 
 
 Cor. The same ; — this man to him 
 
 CEd. 
 
 How! how^ ! old man, by heaven, unfold 
 
 Discharged an herdsman's oflice. 
 
 
 thy meaning. 
 
 (Ed. Lives he yet 
 
 Cor. 
 
 If this preclude thee from returning 
 
 That I may see him ? 
 
 
 home — 
 
 Cor. Ye, his countrymen. 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 I fear lest Phcebus saw, alas! too clearly ! 
 
 Are best prepared this question to resolve. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 If thou dost dread pollution from thy 
 
 (Ed. Is there of you who now attend our 
 
 
 parents — 
 
 presence. 
 
 CEd. 
 
 That restless dread for ever haunts my 
 
 One who would know the herdsman he describes. 
 
 
 soul. 
 
 Familiar erst or here, or in the field? 
 
 Cor. 
 
 Know, then, thy terrors all are causeless 
 
 Speak — for the time demands a prompt disclosure. 
 
 
 here. 
 
 Ch. He is, I deem, no other than the man 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 How so? if of these parents I was born? 
 
 Whom thou before didst summon from the fields. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 But Polybus is nought allied to thee. 
 
 This none can know more than the Queen. 
 
 CEd. 
 
 How say'st thou? was not Poiybus my 
 
 (Ed. Thinkst thou, Queen, the man whose 
 
 
 father ? 
 
 .presence late 
 
 Cor. 
 
 No more than I — our claims are equal 
 
 We bade, is he of whom this stranger speaks? 
 
 
 here. 
 
 Joe. Who — spake of whom ? — Regard him not, 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Had he who gave me life no nearer claim 
 
 nor dwell. 
 
 Than thou, a stranger? 
 
 With vain remembrance, on tmmeaning words! 
 
 Cor. 
 
 Nor to him or me 
 
 (Ed. Nay, heaven forfend, when traces of my 
 
 Owst 
 
 rtiou thy birth. 
 
 birth 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Then wherefore did he grant 
 
 Are thus unfolding, I should cease to follow. 
 
 A son" 
 
 3 beloved naute ? 
 
 Joe. Nay, by the gods I charge thee ! search 
 
 Cor. 
 
 He from my hand 
 
 no more. 
 
 Receiv 
 
 ed thee as a gift. 
 
 If life be precious still. Be it enough 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 With such fond love 
 
 That I am most afflicted. 
 
 How c 
 
 ould he cherish thus an alien child? 
 
 CEd. Cheer thee, lady. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 His former childless state to this impelled 
 
 Though my descent were proved e'en trebly 
 
 
 him. 
 
 servile. 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Gav'st thou a purchased slave, or thy 
 
 No stain of infamy would light on thee. 
 
 
 own child ? 
 
 Joe. Ah yield, I do conjure thee — seek no more. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 I found thee in Ciths-ron's shadowy 
 
 (Ed. I will not yield, till all be clearly known. 
 
 
 glades. 
 
 Joe. 'Tis for thy peace I warn thee — yet be wise. 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Why didst thou traverse those remoter 
 
 (Ed. That very wisdom wounds my peace 
 
 
 vales? 
 
 most deeply. 
 
 Cor. 
 
 It was my charge to tend the mountain 
 
 Joe. Unhappy — never may'st thou know thy 
 
 
 herds. 
 
 birth. 
 
 (Ed. 
 
 Wert thou an herdsman, and engaged for 
 
 (Ed. Will none conduct this shepherd to our 
 
 
 hire ? 
 
 presence ? 
 
 Cor. 
 
 I was, my son, but thy preserver too. 
 
 Leave her to triumph in her lordly race. 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 97 
 
 Joe. Woe! woe! unhappy! henceforth by that 
 name 
 Alone can I address thee, and by tliat 
 Alone for ever. 
 
 \^Exit JoCASTA. 
 
 Ch. Whither, my good lord. 
 
 Hath the queen parted, urged by wild dismay? 
 I fear, I fear, lest this portentous silence 
 Be but the prelude to impending woe. 
 
 CEd. Let the storm burst, I reck not. I will on 
 To trace my birth, though it be most obscure. 
 Pride swells lier thus, for in a woman's breast 
 Pride reigns despotic, and she thinks foul scorn 
 Of my ignoble birth. I deem myself 
 The child of Fortune, in whose favouring smile 
 I shall not be dishonoured. She alone 
 Hath been my fostering parent; from low state 
 My kindred months have raised me into great- 
 ness. 
 Sprung from such lineage, none I heed beside, 
 Nor blush reluctant to explore my birth. 
 
 CEd. If aught I may conjecture, friends, of one 
 With whom I ne'er held converse, I behold 
 Th' expected herdsman: for his lengthened years 
 Accord ; and those who lead him, I discern 
 For mine own menial train. But haply thou, 
 To wlioin familiar erst his face hath been, 
 Can speak with more assurance. 
 
 Ch. Yea, I know him — 
 
 The herdsman he of Laius, in his charge 
 Proved to his lord most faithful. 
 
 CEd. First I ask 
 
 Of thee, Corinthian — is this man the same 
 Whom thou didst now describe ? 
 
 Cor. This is the man. 
 
 Enter Herdsmax. 
 
 Q^d. Approach, old man! look on me, and reply 
 
 To my demand. Wert thou the slave of Laius ? 
 
 Herd. I was his slave — bred in his house — not 
 
 purchased. 
 CEd. What office didst thou hold ? What task 
 
 discharge 1 
 Herd. My better part of life was passed in 
 tending 
 The monarch's flocks. 
 
 CEd. What regions wert thou then 
 
 Wont to frequent? 
 
 Herd. Cithaeron, and the meads 
 
 Adjacent. 
 
 (Ed. Dost thou e'er remember there 
 To have beheld this man ? 
 
 Herd. What task performing — 
 
 But which man meanest thou? 
 
 (Ed. I moan this man 
 
 Here present ;—rhadst thou converse with him 
 there ? 
 Herd. Not such, tliat I can instantly retrace it. 
 Cor. No marvel this, O king! But I will soon 
 Revive events forgotten, for I know 
 He cannot but roeal what time he fed 
 Two flocks, I one, in green Citha-ron's vales. 
 Three months we thus consorted, from the spring 
 Till cold Arcturus brings the wintry blast. 
 To mine own stalls I then drove back my herds, 
 13 
 
 He to the stalls of Laius led his charge. 
 Say, are my words unwarranted by fact? 
 
 Herd. Thy tale is true, though told of times 
 
 long passed. 
 Cor. Then answer, dost thou recollect the babe 
 Thou gav'st me there, as mine own child to 
 
 cherish ? 
 Herd. What would'st thou? Whither do thy 
 
 questions tend ? 
 Cor. This is that child, my friend, who stands 
 
 before thee. 
 Herd. A curse light on thee ! wilt thou not be 
 
 silent? 
 OSd. Reprove him not, old man, for thine own 
 
 words. 
 Far more than his, demand a stern reprover. 
 Herd. In what do I ofl'end thee, my good lord? 
 (Erf. In tliat thou speak'st not plainly of the 
 
 child 
 Of whom he ask thee. 
 
 Herd. But he speaks in darkness, 
 
 Mere empty babbling — 
 
 CEd. If thou wilt not answer 
 
 To mild persuasion, force shall soon compel thee. 
 
 Herd. Oh ! for the love of heaven, respect mine 
 
 age. 
 (Ed. Here, quickly seize him ! Bind the fel- 
 low's hands. 
 Herd. Alas! what is my crime? what M'ouldst 
 
 thou learn ? 
 (Ed. Didst thou commit to him the child he 
 
 spake of? 
 Herd. I did : — O, had that moment been my 
 
 last! 
 (Ed. This shall be, if thou wilt not speak the 
 
 truth. 
 Herd. And if I speak it, I am trebly lost. 
 (Ed. This man, it seems, still struggles to 
 
 elude us. 
 Herd. No, I confessed long since I gave the 
 
 child. 
 (Ed. And whence received ? thine own, or 
 
 from another ? 
 Herd. No, not mine own ; I from another's 
 
 hand 
 Bare him. 
 
 (Ed. And from what Theban, from what roof? 
 Herd. O, by the gods ! my lord, inquire no 
 
 further. 
 (Ed. If I repeat th' inquiv)', thou art lost. 
 Herd. The palace of King Laius gave iiim birth. 
 (Ed. Sprung from a slave-, or of the royal stock? 
 Herd. Ah ! how I shrink to breathe the fatal 
 
 truth ! 
 (Ed. And I to hear it; yet it must be heard. 
 Herd. The child was called the son ol" Laius ; 
 
 here 
 Thy royal consort can inform thee better. 
 CEd. Didst thou from her receive him ? 
 Herd. Yea, Ojjjing !— 
 
 CEd. And for what purpose? 
 Herd. That I might destroy him — 
 
 (Ed. What — the unnatural mother ! 
 Herd. She was awed 
 
 By woe denouncing oracles. 
 
 (Ed. What woe ? 
 
98 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Herd. That he should prove the murderer of 
 his parents. 
 
 CEd. Why, then, to this ohl man thy charge 
 consign ■? 
 
 Herd. From pity, my lord, I deemed that he 
 To his own land would bear the child afar. 
 He biaved him to despair. If thou art he 
 Of whom he spake, how dark a doom is thine ! 
 
 CErf. Woe ! woe! 'tis all too fatally unveiled. 
 Thou, Light! O may I now behold thy beams 
 For the last time ! Unhallowed was my birth, 
 In closest ties united, where such ties 
 Were most unnatural ; — with that blood defiled, 
 From whose pollution most the heart recoils. 
 
 FROM THE CONCLUDING SCENE. 
 
 CEdipcs, blind and about to go into exile. 
 For my fate, let it pass ! My children, Creon ! 
 My sons — nay, they the bitter wants of life 
 May master — they are men ! My girls — my dar- 
 lings — 
 Why, never sate I at my household board 
 Without their blessed looks — our very bread 
 We brake together; — Thou'lt be kind to them 
 For my sake, Creon — and (0 latest prayer !) 
 Let me but touch them — feel them with these 
 
 hands, 
 And pour such sorrow as may speak farew^ell ! 
 O'er ills that must be theirs! By thy pure line — 
 For thine is pure — do this, sweet prince. Me- 
 
 thinks, 
 I should not miss these eyes, could I but touch 
 
 them. 
 What shall I say to move thee ? — Hark! those 
 
 sobs ! 
 And do I hear my sweet ones ? Hast thou sent. 
 In mercy sent, my children to my armsl 
 Speak — speak — I do not dream ! 
 
 Creon. Tbey are thy children, 
 
 I would not shut thee from the dear delight 
 In the old time they gave thee. 
 
 (Ed. Blessings on thee ! 
 
 For this one mercy mayst thou find above 
 A kinder gol than I have. Ye, — w^here are ye? 
 My children — come! — Nearer and nearer yet. 
 
 FROM (EDIPUS AT COLONOS. 
 
 Tuts Tragedy is a continuation of the history 
 of (Edipus, who, condemned to perpetual banish- 
 ment from Thebes, arrives with his daughter 
 Antigone, at Colonos, in the neighbourhood of 
 Athens, where he so'icits and obtains tlie pro- 
 tection of King Theseus. In the meantime, Creon 
 having learned from the oracle, that prospeiity 
 awaits the country which should possess the 
 bones of CEdiptis, endeavours to remove him 
 from Colonos, but is prevented from efiectivig his 
 purpose by Theseus. At this juncture Po'yiiices 
 arrives with the design of reconciling his father 
 to his intended invasion of Thebes, but the exiled 
 monarch utters bitterest imprecations on his im- 
 pious purpose, and prophesies the horrid fate that 
 awaits h.im. — After this, finding his end fast ap- 
 proaching, he sends for Theseus and informs him 
 
 that an uninterrupted course of prosperity will 
 befall Athens, as long as his burial place remains 
 unknown to all but th6 reigning monarch of the 
 country. Then taking leave of his daughters, 
 and being left alone with Theseus, he calmly 
 resigns himself to his fate. 
 
 Qi)dipus, Antigone. 
 
 Olid. Say. daughter of a blind and aged sire, 
 Antigone, what region have we reached. 
 Or whose the city? Who will here extend 
 A scanty pittance for the passing day 
 To the poor wandering QHdipus, who asks 
 But for a little, and, receiving less 
 Ev'n than that little, counts the boon enough. 
 For, stern afflictions, long-protracted years. 
 And fortitude of soul, have taught me patience. 
 But now, my child, if haply thou espy 
 A resting-place, be it near the common way. 
 Or by some consecrated grove, there seat me, 
 And ask what land we are come to ? Strangers 
 
 here. 
 We seek the natives of the State, to learn, 
 And what M'e hear, perform. 
 
 ^nt. O, (Edipus, 
 
 My much afflicted father, if mine eyes 
 Deceive me not, some city's shining towers 
 Rise in far prospect; but the spot we tread 
 Is holy, for thick groves of laurel, vine. 
 And olive, bloom around, Avhile, all within, 
 Wing'd nightingales make sweetest melody. 
 Rest now thy faltering limbs on this rude 
 
 stone ; 
 Such lengthened wanderings ill befit thine age. 
 (Ed. Then seat me here, and watch beside the 
 
 blind. 
 Ant. That mournful office time too well hath 
 
 taught me. 
 (Ed. Canst thou then tell me on what place we 
 
 stand ? 
 Ant. The land is that of Athens; but the 
 
 spot 
 I know not. I'll go ask what place it is ; 
 But no; I need not quit thee; for even now 
 A stranger comes this way ; he will inform us. 
 
 Enter an Athenian. 
 (Ed. Stranger, apprized by her, whose sight 
 alone 
 Guides both herself and me, that thou art here, 
 Arrived in welcome moment to unfold 
 Wliat much we long to know. — 
 
 Ath. Ere thou dost urge 
 
 Inquiry further, quit that sacred seat; 
 No foot of man may tread this hallowed soil. 
 (Ed. What is the place? devoted to what 
 
 po'.ver? 
 Alh. From mortal toitch and mortal dwelling 
 pure 
 Is that mysterious grove, the awful powers. 
 Daughters of Earth and Darkness, dwell within. 
 (Ed. By what most holy name should I invoke 
 
 them ? 
 Ath. We call them in this land th' Eumenides,' 
 The all-beholding Powers; in other lands, 
 By various lofty titles men adore them. 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 99 
 
 (Ed. Propitious now may they receive their 
 suppliant, 
 That never may I quit their fated seat. 
 .Alh. Wliat may this mean '? 
 (Ed. A symbol of my doom. 
 
 jilh. 'Twere bold in me to force thee from the 
 spot, 
 Ere thus the mandate of the State enjoin. 
 
 (Ed. O stranger, by the gods, disdain thou not 
 To answer all a wretched wanderer asks thee. 
 jlth. Speak ; and from me thou shalt not meet 
 
 disdain. 
 (Ed. What is the region, then, which now re- 
 ceives us? 
 Alh. Far as I know, thou too shalt hear the 
 whole. 
 The place is holy all. Here reigns supreme 
 The mighty Neptune ; here the Power of Flame, 
 The Titan-god, Prometheus; where thy feet 
 Are resting now, is called the brazen way, 
 The bulwark of great Athens; while the fields 
 Adjacent claim for their illustrious lord 
 Colonus, the equestrian, and from him 
 The circling regions all deduce their name. 
 Such are the things I tell thee ; not alone 
 By words ennobled, but familiar use. 
 
 (Ed. Do any dwell around this hallowed spot? 
 ^Ih. Yes, they who from the God their name 
 
 derive. 
 (Ed. Is there a king, or bear tlie people sway? 
 ^Ih. The king who rules the city rules here 
 
 also. 
 (Ed. Stands his high throne in equity and 
 
 might ? 
 jith. His name may answer this. 'Tis The- 
 seus, son 
 Of .(Egeus, late our lord. 
 
 (Ed. Is there of you 
 
 One who will bear our message to his ear 1 
 ^th. Auglit to recount, or ask his presence 
 
 hither? 
 (Ed. That, for a trivial succour, he may reap 
 A rich reward. 
 
 ^th. Reward ! and what reward 
 
 Can a blind wanderer on a king confer? 
 
 (Ed. The things we would reveal are not less 
 clear 
 Than if our sight had traced them. 
 
 Mh. Know'st thou, stranger, 
 
 That thou art not deceived? and yet thou 
 
 seem'st 
 In all, except thy fortunes, truly noble. 
 Remain where now I see thee, till I seek 
 Those who inhabit the encircling meads, 
 Not the far city, and relate my talc. 
 Be it their task to judge, if in this grove 
 Thou mayest remain, or must again depart. 
 
 [Ejnt Atheniax. 
 (Ed. My daughter, is the stranger now de- 
 parted ? 
 Jlnt. lie is, my father ; all around is still. 
 Speak what thou list, for I alone am nigh thee. 
 (Ed. Dread Powers of fearful aspect, since 
 your scats 
 Have lent my wearied limbs their first repose, 
 Be not relentless or to me or Plicebus, 
 
 Who, when his voice my countless woes de- 
 nounced, 
 Foretold a welcome, though a distant, end. 
 When I should reach the destined realm — where 
 
 find 
 A rest and refuge in the sheltering grove 
 Of venerable Powers — that there my course 
 Of sorrow and of agony shoidd close ; 
 With rich reward to those who should receive me. 
 To those, who thrust me from their land, de- 
 struction ; 
 And that undoubted signals should proclaim 
 The hour ordained by fate — or earthquake's 
 
 roar. 
 Thunders, or lightnings of Almighty Jove. 
 Hence well I know 'twas your own augury. 
 That to this hallowed grove my wanderings led. 
 I had not else thus lighted first on you. 
 The wine-abhorring, pure myself from wine, 
 And on this rude, yet awful, seat reclined. 
 Now, gracious" Powers, Apollo's word confirm, 
 And grant at length a limit to my woes. 
 If I have felt enough of wretchedness, — 
 The slave of miseries far beyond the lot 
 To man's sad race assigned. Come, then, 
 
 come, 
 Propitious daughters of primeval Night; 
 And thou, from thine own patron Pallas named, 
 Fair Athens, noblest of our Grecian states ; 
 Pity the shade of wretched ffidipus; 
 Alas ! I am not now what I have been. 
 
 ^nt. Cease, cease. I see some aged men 
 advance. 
 Perchance with purpose to explore thy seat. 
 (Ed. I will forbear. Conduct me from the 
 path. 
 And screen me in the grove, that I may learn 
 Their secret conference. Knowledge thus ob- 
 tained 
 May best direct ns how to act with prudence. 
 
 [Exeunt ffiDiPUS and ANTiGOjfE. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 Look ! look ! who was he ? where abides be 
 
 now? 
 Or whither from the spot hath fled. 
 Restless, most restless of mankind ? 
 Dost thou behold him ? Search around, 
 And shout on every side. 
 Who — who is this sad aged wanderer? 
 Doubtless of foreign land, or his rash foot 
 Had never trod the grove 
 Of those unconqucred Virgin Powers, 
 Whose name we tremble but to breathe, 
 Whose mystic shrine we pass 
 With far-averted eye. 
 And pondering, silent and devout 
 On happier omens there. 
 But rumour tells that one hath now arrived, 
 Revering not the laws, 
 Whom I have sought with keen observant 
 
 glance 
 Throughout the sacred grove, 
 Yet still he mocks my search. 
 
100 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Enter GEdipus and Antigoxe. 
 
 (Ed. Behold him here; for by your words I 
 know 
 I am the man ye seek. 
 
 Ch. Ah me ! to hear and to behold how fearful ! 
 
 (Ed. O deem me not a scorner of your laws. 
 
 Ch. Protector Jove, who is this aged man? 
 
 (Ed. One on whose lot no favouring Power 
 hath smiled, 
 Ye rulers of the land ! 
 
 Be this the proof, — I had not wandered else, 
 Led by another's eye. 
 Or leaned, though weighty, on so frail a stay. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 Ch. Woe ! woe ! unhappy ! thou, it seems, art 
 doomed 
 To pine with sightless orbs, oppressed 
 By years, and bowed with wretchedness. 
 Yet, if my power avail, to woe 
 Tliou shalt not add this curse; 
 For thou hast passed, far passed, the bound as- 
 signed. 
 Ah! tread not thou that green and hallowed 
 
 grove. 
 Where with the honied draught 
 Commingling, its pure limpid stream 
 The full and flowing goblet pours. 
 This, hapless stranger, this 
 With cautious step beware. 
 Recede — depart — a lengthened space 
 Remains betv\een us still. 
 Dost thou not hear, unhappy wanderer? 
 If thou hast ought to ask 
 In conference, quit that sacred spot, 
 And where the laws allow 
 Demand ; till then refrain. 
 
 (Ed. What, my daughter ! should we now 
 resolve ? 
 
 Ant. Father, we must obey the citizens, 
 And yield, as fits our state, without reluctance. 
 
 (Ed. Sustain me then. 
 
 Ant. My hand e'en now sustains thee. 
 
 (Ed. strangers wrong me not. 
 Since yielding now, I quit the sacred seat. 
 
 Ch. Maiden, do thou his footsteps onward 
 guide. 
 Thou seest the bound prescribed. 
 
 Ant. Follow me then ; 
 
 Follow, my father, whither now I lead thee. 
 A stranger in a foreign land, 
 O thou of many woes ! 
 Whate'er the State abhors 
 Endure to hate, and what it wills, revere. 
 
 (Ed. Then lead me, O my child, where guiltless 
 all 
 We may securely speak, 
 And unoffending hear, 
 Nor strive we more with stern necessity. 
 
 Ch. Stop! nor beyond the rocky pavement 
 aught 
 Thy venturous foot advance. 
 
 (Ed. May I now sit ? 
 
 Ch. On the crag's sloping verge 
 Cautious with reverent awe thy form incline. 
 
 Ant. Father, let me conduct you. [Takes hold 
 of her father atid leading him forward seats him on 
 a stone] 
 
 Ch. Since thou hast now obeyed, ill-fated man, 
 Disclose who gave thee birth. 
 What mighty woe constrains thee thus to roam. 
 And where thy country? 
 
 (Ed. Strangers, I have no country — Ask no 
 more. 
 
 Ch. Why thus evade, old man? 
 
 (Ed. Ask not, I pray thee, ask not of my race. 
 Nor question aught beyond. 
 
 Ch. Ha ! what means this ? 
 
 (Ed. Ah me, my daughter, how can I reply? 
 
 Ch. Say of what line thou cam'st, 
 Who, stranger, ■was thy sire ? 
 
 (Ed. What shall I do, my daughter ? Woe is 
 me ! 
 
 Atit. Speak, since the hand of fate lies heavy 
 on thee. 
 
 Ch. Thou tarriest long, but speed — at once 
 reply. 
 
 (Ed. Know ye a certain child of Laius ? 
 
 Ch. Ha ! 
 
 (Ed. Sprung from the race of Labdacus ! 
 
 Ch. Great Jove ! 
 
 (Ed. The hapless CEdipus ! 
 
 Ch. Art thou that wretch ! 
 
 (Ed. Oh, start not thus appalled. I am, I am. 
 
 Ch. Away, away, and quit this land for ever. 
 
 (Ed. What thou hast promised, how will thou 
 fulfil ? 
 
 Ch. Nay, Heaven's avenging justice smites not 
 him 
 Who wreaks but wrong for wrong; 
 And fraud doth merit fraud for its reward. 
 Thou from these seats, once more 
 An outcast, speed thee — speed thee from the land. 
 Lest thive unhallowed presence blast the city. 
 
 Ant. O venerable strangers, though ye shrunk 
 Recoiling from the tale 
 Of my poor aged sire ; 
 I do conjure you, turn not thus from me, 
 Me, while in suppliant anguish, I implore 
 Compassion for a father; deem me now as one 
 Of your own kindred, and let pity wake 
 To aid the lost. On you, as on the gods. 
 Our hopes depend. Oh ! then relent, and grant 
 This unexpected boon. 
 I here adjure you by each hallowed tie. 
 Your child, your wife, your duty, and your God. 
 
 Ch. Know, child of CEdipus, we pity thee, 
 Nor gaze relentless on thy woe-worn sire ; 
 But we revere the gods, nor dare rescind 
 The firm decision of our former mandate. 
 
 (Ed. What then doth Glory's vaunted name 
 avail. 
 What the fair honours of illustrious fame. 
 Unproved by deeds as noble ? Rumour boasts 
 Of Athens, most observant of the gods. 
 Athens alone, of all our States, the first 
 To save the stranger, and the lost to aid. 
 What are those vaunts to me? Ye from those 
 
 seats 
 Allured, and now expel me from your land, 
 Awed by a name alone. It is not me, 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 101 
 
 Nor yet my deeds ye fear; for in those deeds 
 I have but suffered — not inflicted — wrong, 
 If I may dare iny wretched parents name 
 For whom ye tlius contemn me. This I know 
 Fidl well. And shall I then be foully branded 
 Base e'en by nature, when my sole offence 
 Is — to have borne injustice, and revenged it? 
 Nay, had I e'en been conscious of the crime, 
 I were not thus abandoned. But I went, 
 Oh how unconscious of the path I trod ! 
 But much have I endured from those who knew 
 The fearful wreck they wrought. By the great 
 
 gods, 
 I now adjure you, strangers, at your will 
 Hither removed, save me, save me here, 
 Nor while ye think to venerate your gods. 
 Contemn their holiest laws. Know, while tliey 
 
 gaze 
 Approving on the righteous, they behold 
 The impious too, and guilt shall never win 
 Escape or shelter from the wrath of heaven. 
 
 then forbear to dim the radiant fame 
 
 Of generous Athens leaguing with the lawless; 
 
 But as relying on tliy plighted faith, 
 
 Thou hast received me, save and shield me still. 
 
 Nor spurn with cold contempt this abject frame, 
 
 Thus worn and wasted by consuming woes. 
 
 Sacred I come, and pious, charged alone 
 
 With blessings to your State ; and when your 
 
 king. 
 Whoe'er he be, is present to my tale, 
 
 1 will inform thee all; — till he arrive 
 Insult me not. 
 
 Ch. Thine arguments, old man, 
 
 Are urged by weighty reasonings, and constrain 
 
 me 
 Much to revere thee. Things of import high 
 Thy w^ords involve. Be it enough for me 
 To wait the wise decision of our monarch. 
 
 (Ed. Where, strangers, doth your monarch hold 
 his court? 
 
 Ch. In his ancestral city; and the man 
 Who saw thee first, and bade my presence here, 
 Passed with like tidings to tlie monarch charged. 
 
 (Ed. Will he then deem me worthy of regard, 
 And deign his audience to a blind old man? 
 
 Ch. Doubtless, when he shall hear thy name. 
 
 (Ed. And who 
 
 Will be the bearer of a word like this? 
 
 Ch. Long have thy wanderings been, and 
 travellers soon 
 Diffuse their tales afar; these he will hear 
 And, be assured, will come. Widely, old man, 
 Thy fame is blazoned ; though his step were 
 
 slow. 
 Thy name would urge him to redoubling speed. 
 
 (Ed. ! be his coming prosperous to his State, 
 Prosperous to me. What man of virtuous deeds 
 Bel'riendeth not himself? 
 
 ^nt. Almighty Jove! 
 
 What shall I say, and whitlicr lead rny thoughts? 
 
 (Ed. What meanest thou, my Antigone ? 
 
 ^nt. I see 
 
 A woman, on a fleet Sicilian steed, 
 Advancing hither; from the sun's full beams 
 A close Thessalian bonnet shades her brow. 
 
 What shall I say? Oh ! is it she indeed, 
 Or do my fond imaginings deceive me? 
 Again I doubt, and am assured by turns, 
 Uncertain what to think. — My doubts are o'er; 
 I know her now ; that sweet and welcome smile 
 Hath scattered all misgivings, and I see 
 'Tis she, my dear, my ever-loved Ismene. 
 
 CEt/. What hast thou said, my daughter ? 
 
 jint. That I see 
 
 Thy child, my father, my dear sister too. 
 A moment — and her accents will assure thee. 
 
 Enter Ismene. 
 
 Ism. ye, the names most treasured in my 
 heart, 
 My father and my sister, though in pain 
 I traced your wanderings, now a keener grief 
 Dims my sad eye while gazing on your sorrows. 
 
 (Ed. And art thou liere, my child ? 
 
 Jsm. Unhappy father ! 
 
 (Ed. Sprung from my blood — 
 
 IsTn. To share thy miseries. 
 
 (Ed. And art thou come ? 
 
 Ism. Not without desperate peril. 
 
 (Ed. Embrace me, dearest child. 
 
 Ism. In one fond clasp 
 
 I thus embrace you both. 
 
 (Ed. Her, too, and me. 
 
 hm. Myself the third in sorrow. 
 
 (Ed. my child, 
 
 What brought thee hither? 
 
 Ism. An.Kious thought for thee. 
 
 (Ed. Concern for me ! 
 
 Ism. Yea, fraught with mighty tidings, 
 
 And unattended, save by this true slave. 
 Alone of all yet faithful. 
 
 (Ed. Where are now 
 
 Tliy brothers, nerved by youth for martial toils? 
 
 Ism. Tliey are, where Fate constrains, in dark- 
 est peril ! 
 
 (Ed. How, have they bowed their manners 
 and their mind 
 To the base customs of inglorious Egypt? 
 Where men, immured at home, direct the loom, 
 While in the field their women still procure 
 The sustenance of life. Thus too of you, 
 My children, those whom best such toil behoved 
 Like timid maids, rest idly in their home ; 
 While ye, my (laughters, in their stead partake 
 A wretched father's sorrows. She indeed, 
 
 yro Antigone. 
 Since feebler childhood passed, and blooming 
 
 youth 
 Breathed vigour through her frame, still on my 
 
 path 
 Attendant, ever wanders where I roam, 
 Guides my weak steps, and oft through pathless 
 
 wilds 
 Strays with unsandalled foot, bereft of food 
 Endures the frequent showers and sultry sun, 
 Nor heeds the splendours of a kingly board, 
 So her fond care may tend a father's need. 
 Thou too, Ismene, oil unknown to Thebes 
 Hast left thy homo, to toil thy wandering sire 
 The oracles relating to his doom; 
 And when they thrust me from my native land, 
 I 2 
 
102 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Didst thou stand forth, my firm and faithful guide. 
 And now, beloved daughter, to thy sire 
 What errand dost thou bear ? what mighty cause 
 Moved thee to quit thy home ? Thou dost not 
 
 come, 
 Full well I know, with serious charge unfraught, 
 And much I fear lest new alarms impend. 
 
 Istn. I will not tell thee, father, all the toils, 
 The ills I bore in seeking thine abode ; 
 These now are vanquished, — and 'twere worse 
 
 than vain 
 Once more to waken, by recounting, woes. 
 My errand here was to relate the ills 
 In which thy hapless sons are now immersed. 
 It seemed at first their only wish to yield 
 The throne to Creon, nor pollute the State, 
 Weighing the curse entailed on all their race 
 Which plunged in ruin thy devoted house. 
 Now by some god or frenzy of the mind, 
 Unhappy pair ! perverted, mutual strife 
 Fires them to rancour, struggling for the throne. 
 Reckless of natural rights, the younger spurns 
 His elder, Polynices, and expels him 
 Both from his rightful throne and father-land. 
 He, as the voice of Rumour widely tells, 
 Fled to the vales of Argos, and contracts 
 A new alliance ; arms his martial friends ; 
 And vaunts that Argos shall requite his wrongs 
 On guilty Thebes, and raise his name to heaven. 
 No vague and vain reports are these, my father, 
 But facts too surely proved. But when the gods 
 Will look in mercy on thy lengthened woes, 
 Alas ! I cannot learn. 
 
 QSd. Hast thou then hope 
 
 That Heaven will yet regard, and save me still? 
 
 Ism. I have, my father ; for I firmly trust 
 The recent voice oracular. 
 
 (Ed. What voice ? 
 
 What, daughter, hath it presaged ? 
 
 Ism. That an hour 
 
 Will come when Thebes shall seek thee, living 
 
 still. 
 Or dead, for her deliverance. 
 
 (Ed. Who can look 
 
 For prosperous fortune to a wretch like me ? 
 
 Ism. The oracles proclaim thou art their might. 
 
 (Ed. I deemed that I was nothing ; am I then 
 Once more a man ? 
 
 Ism. The gods exalt thee now ; 
 
 Before — they willed thy downfall. 
 
 (Ed. What avails it 
 
 To raise in age the wretch whose youth they 
 blasted? 
 
 Ism. Know, for this cause will Creon quickly 
 come. 
 
 (Ed. With what intent, my daughter ? tell me 
 all. 
 
 Ism. That near the Theban confines they may 
 hold thee. 
 Though ne'er allowed to pass the sacred bound. 
 
 (Ed. What can one prostrate at their gate 
 avail them ? 
 
 Ism. Thy tomb, if reared in other lands, to them 
 Would prove most fatal. 
 
 (Ed. Though the god withheld 
 
 His certain presage, this were promptly learnt. 
 
 Ism. And therefore seek the Thebans to con- 
 fine thee 
 Near their own realms, not thine own master 
 there. 
 (Ed. Would they inter me too in Theban 
 
 ground ? 
 Ism. This must not be ; the kindred blood 
 
 forbids. 
 (Ed. Then never, never, shall they work their 
 
 will. 
 Ism. An hour must come when Thebes shall 
 
 rue thy vengeance. 
 (Ed. What strange event, my child, shall work 
 
 this marvel? 
 Ism. Thy quenchless wrath, when round thy 
 
 tomb they stand. 
 (Ed. From whom didst thou these oracles re- 
 ceive ? 
 Ism. From those who late returned from Del- 
 phi's shrine. 
 (Ed. Hath then Apollo thus foretold of me? 
 Ism. So those declared, who came but now to 
 
 Thebes. 
 (Ed. Wliicli of my shameless sons heard aught 
 
 of this? 
 Ism. Each heard alike, and both must know 
 
 it well. 
 (Ed. Yet those degenerate wretches, warned 
 of tills, 
 Could grasp at empire, and neglect a father. 
 Ism. I grieve to hear such tidings, — yet I bear 
 
 them. 
 (Ed. Ne'er may the gods extinguish the fierce 
 flames 
 Of this dread fatal strife, but to my will 
 Award the issue of that deadly feud, 
 Which now with equal weapons they prepare : 
 So should the proud usurper vaunt no more ' 
 His sceptre and his throne, nor e"er to Thebes 
 Should he, who left his native towers, return. 
 They, they at least nor succoured nor retained 
 Their \vretched father, from his country spurned 
 With foul dishonour ; but, assenting, joined 
 In the stern edict w^hich proclaimed me exile. 
 Thou wilt reply, to mine own earnest prayer 
 The state that melancholy boon assigned : 
 But "tis not thus ; — on that disastrous day, 
 When frenzy fired my soul, and all I asked 
 Was but to die, and hide my shame for ever. 
 Crushed by o'erwhelming rocks ; — no friendly 
 
 hand 
 Was stretched to rid me of the life I hated ; 
 But when the lenient hand of time had soothed 
 Despair to resignation, and I learned 
 That mine own desperate frenzy had inflicted 
 A wound more piercing than the crime deserved ; 
 Then, then the city thrust me sternly forth 
 To most reluctant exile ; and these sons, 
 My noble offspring, who had power to aid 
 Their father in his need, that power withheld, 
 Deigned not to raise a word in my defence ; 
 While by these virgins, far as their weak sex 
 Avails to aid me, a!l hath been supplied, — 
 Meet sustenance, serene though lowly rest. 
 And all the tender cares of duteous love ; 
 While my base sons with impious ardour grasp 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 103 
 
 Crowns, sceptres, kingdoms, and forget a father. 
 But never shall they gain support from me, 
 Nor shall they flourish on the throne of Thebes 
 In glad and prosperous grandeur; this I know. 
 Hearing these oracles, and pondering well 
 The sure response by Pha;bus breathed ftf old. 
 And let them send their Creon, or some chief 
 As potent and as base, to seek me here ; 
 If ye, O strangers, with these awful Powers, 
 Your tutelary gods, will here stand forth 
 To grant me succour, much will ye promote 
 Your country's weliure and my foes' despair. 
 
 Enter Theseus. 
 Thes. Long by the voice of general fame ap- 
 prized 
 Of thy sad tale, and that infuriate deed 
 Which quenched thy visual orbs in utter gloom, 
 I knew thee, son of Laius ; as I came 
 Much have I heard, and know thee now more 
 
 surely. 
 Thine abject garb and aspect of despair 
 Too plainly speak thy fortunes. Hapless king. 
 Thou wak'st my pity ; and I would but ask 
 What boon thou seek'st from me, or from my 
 
 State, 
 Thou and the sad associate of thy sorrows. 
 Unfold thy wish; and arduous were th" emprize 
 Where thou shouldst ask my utmost aid in vain. 
 L too was nurtured in a foreign land, 
 As thou art now ; an exiles ^voes to me. 
 An exile's perils, are familiar all. 
 Then never, never, from the stranger's prayer, 
 Who comes like thee, relentless will I turn. 
 Or needful aid withhold. I am a man, 
 As thou art; and tny power to rule th' events 
 To-morrow may bring forth, transcends not thine. 
 (Ed. Theseus! in these brief words thy gener- 
 ous soul 
 Hath shone conspicuous ; hence a brief reply 
 May well suffice me. Who I am, and who 
 My father, what my country, thou hast said. 
 Nought then remains, save to prefer my prayer 
 For all I need, and then our conference close. 
 Thes. Speak, then, at once, that I may know 
 
 thy wish. 
 (Ed. I come to proffer thee this withered frame, 
 A gift to sight unseemly ; yet endowed 
 With costlier treasures than the loveliest form. 
 Thes. What rich requital dost thou bring me 
 
 here ? 
 (Ed. This mayst thou learn in time — thou canst 
 
 not now. 
 Thes. When shall thy proffered good approve 
 
 its worth ■? 
 (Ed. When I am dead, and thou hast reared 
 
 my tomb. 
 Thes. The last and saihlest boon of life is all 
 Thy prayer regards. The care of all between 
 Is unremembered, or contemned by thee. 
 
 (Ed. In this one prayer are these concentred all. 
 Thes. Y'et light and trivial is the grace implored. 
 (Ed. Mark me ! no trivial contest shall ensue. 
 Thes. Of me, or of thy sons, dost thou presage ? 
 (Ed. They would constrain me to return to 
 Thebes. 
 
 Thes. If such their wish, it ill becomes thee 
 
 thus 
 To roam a willing exile. 
 
 (Ed. When I sought 
 
 Such refuge, they refused. 
 
 Thes. Oh, most unwise! 
 
 How vain is wrath in wretchedness like thine! 
 
 (Ed. Forbear reproaches, till thou hear my plea. 
 
 Thes. Speak — I were wrong to judge thee un- 
 informed. 
 
 (Ed. O Theseus ! I have suffered woes on woes 
 Exhaustless heaped. 
 
 Thes. Dost thou by this intend 
 
 The ancient ruin of thy fated house ? 
 
 (Ed. Ah no! in this the general voice of Greece 
 Hath left me nought to tell thee. 
 
 Thes. Do thy griefs 
 
 Transcend the common sufferings of our race t 
 
 (Ed. They do, indeed. By mine own heartless 
 sons 
 To exile thrust, like some loathed parricide, 
 Ne'er may I tread my native soil again. 
 
 Tlies. Why, then, recall thee, if consigned to 
 dwell 
 For evermore apart. 
 
 (Ed. The voice of heaven 
 
 Constrains them thus to act. 
 
 Thes. And of what ills 
 
 Do these predictions wake the boding dread 1 
 
 (Ed. Discomfiture and death from this fair land. 
 
 Thes. Whence shall such fatal feud between 
 us rise ? 
 
 (Ed. Most honoured son of .iEgeus, the great 
 gods 
 Alone the high prerogative may claim 
 To shun tlie blight of age, the stroke of death; 
 All else must yield to Time's unconquered sway. 
 The vigour of the earth, man's martial might 
 Are doomed alike to fade ; fair faith expires. 
 And falsehood springs florescent. So in men 
 By dearest ties united, and in states 
 By firmest leagues to amity constrained. 
 The same true soul remains not. What we now 
 Delight to cherish, in the lapse of time 
 Or wakes abhorrence, or revives desire. 
 Thus now, though all is peace with tliee and 
 
 Thebes, 
 Thanks to thy generous faith, revolving time, 
 Which in its ceaseless course gives constant birth 
 To countless days and nights, shall yet produce 
 The fated season, when for trivial wrongs, 
 Your plighted concord shall dissolve in air. 
 Then this cold body in the sleep of tlealh 
 Entombed, shall drink their warm and vital blood. 
 If Jove be mightier still, and Jove-born Phcebus 
 Retains his truth unbroken. But I pause — 
 Let me not breathe what heaven has veiled in 
 
 darkness. 
 Guard thou thy proffered faith, nor shalt thou say 
 In ffidipus, thy hospitable land, 
 A vain and useless habitant received. 
 Unless in this the gods themselves deceive me. 
 
 Ch. Before, O King! to thee and to the State 
 Such promises he proli'cred to fulfil. 
 
 Thes. Oh, who would spurn tlie warm bene- 
 volence 
 
104 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Of one like him, to whom this altar first 
 
 Common to all, its friendly refuge lends. 
 
 Tlien, though a suppliant to these Powers he came, 
 
 To ine and to my people doth repay 
 
 No trivial recompense. Whom I, impressed 
 
 With deepest reverence, never will repulse; 
 
 But in my realms a safe asylum grant. 
 
 If here it please the stranger to remain. 
 
 To guard him be yotir charge. If thou prefer 
 
 With me to quit the spot, Qildipus, 
 
 Choose which thou wilt, I my assent. 
 
 QHd. Pour down thy richest blessings on such 
 men. 
 Almighty Jove ! 
 
 Thes. What then dost thou resolve ? 
 
 Say, wilt thou to the palace? 
 
 (Ed. Would to heaven 
 
 I might attend thee ; but the spot is here — 
 
 Thes. Destined for what? I will in nought op- 
 pose thee. 
 
 (Ed. Here shall I triumph o'er the foes who 
 wronged me. 
 
 Thes. Great recompense thou nam'st for thine 
 abode 
 In these our realms. 
 
 (Ed. If to thy purpose true 
 
 Thou dost remain unchanged, till all be o'er. 
 
 Thes. Distrust me not, I never will betray thee. 
 
 (Ed. I will not bind thee, like the base, by oath. 
 
 Thes. I count no oath more binding than a 
 promise 
 
 CEd. How wilt thou act 1 — 
 
 Thes. What terror thus alarms thee ? 
 
 (Ed. Men will approach — 
 
 Thes. That charge belongs to these. 
 
 (Ed. Beware, lest if thou leave me — 
 
 Thes. Tell me not 
 
 What is my duty. 
 
 (Ed. He who fears must tell thee. 
 
 Thes. Fear is a stranger to my breast. 
 
 CEd. And yet 
 
 Thou little know'st what threats — 
 
 Thes. One thing I know ; 
 
 No mortal hand shall force thee from this spot. 
 In my despite. The impotence of wrath 
 Vents its wild rage in vain and vehement threats, 
 Which, when cool Thought its sober sway resumes. 
 Unheeded pass away. Thus, too, for these ; 
 Though now they proudly menace, should they 
 
 strive 
 To drag thee hence by violence, such emprize 
 Will prove a stormy ocean, where, immerged. 
 Their shattered bark will sink. Take courage 
 
 then — 
 If Phoebus hither was thy guide, 
 Without my feebler aid his arm can save thee : 
 And though ourselves be distant, yet our name 
 Shall still avail from insult to protect thee. 
 
 [Exit Theseus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe I. 
 
 Well did Fate thy wanderings lead, 
 
 Stranger, to this field of fame. 
 Birth-place of the generous steed, 
 Graced by white Colonus' name. 
 
 Frequent in the dewy glade. 
 
 Here the nightingale is dwelling; 
 Through embowering ivy's shade, 
 
 Here her plaintive notes are swelling; 
 Through yon grove, from footsteps pure. 
 
 Where unnumbered fruits are blushing — 
 From the summer sun secure, 
 
 Screened from vv'intry whirlwinds rushing; 
 Where, with his fostering nymphs, amid the grove, 
 The sportive Bacchus joys to revel or to rove. 
 
 Antislrophe I. 
 Bathed in heaven's ambrosial dew, 
 
 Here the fair narcissus flowers. 
 Graced each morn with clusters new, 
 
 Ancient crown of mightiest Powers; 
 Here the golden crocus blows ; 
 
 Here exhaustless fountains gushing, 
 Where the cool Cephisus flows, 
 
 Restless o'er the plains are rushing; 
 Ever as the crystal flood 
 
 Winds in pure transparent lightness ; 
 Fresher herbage decks the sod, 
 
 Flowers spring forth in lovelier brightness, 
 Here dance the Muses ; and the Queen of Love 
 Oft guides her golden car through tliis enchanting 
 grove. 
 
 Strophe II. 
 
 What nor Asia's rich domain, 
 
 Nor by Pelops' ancient reign. 
 
 Famed afar, the Doric coast 
 
 Through its thousand vales can boast — 
 
 Here, by mortal hands unsown. 
 
 Here, spontaneous and alone, 
 
 Mark the hallowed plant expand, 
 
 Terror of each hostile band ! 
 
 Here, with kindly fruit mature, 
 
 Springs the azure olive pure ; 
 
 Youth and hoary age combine 
 
 To revere the plant divine ; 
 
 Morian Jove,* with guardian care, 
 
 Watches ever wakeful there ; 
 
 And Athena's eye of blue 
 
 Guards her own loved olive too. 
 
 Antislrophe II. 
 Let me still my country's fame. 
 Still her matchless praise proclaim. 
 Sing the wondrous gifts bestowed 
 By her potent Patron-God, 
 Steeds in fleetness ne'er outvied. 
 And the gallant navy's pride. 
 Son of Saturn, King whose sway 
 Ocean's restless waves obey. 
 Thou to this transcendent praise 
 Didst thy favoured Athens raise; 
 Taught by thee the courser's flame 
 By the golden curb to tame — 
 "While the light oar, framed by thee, 
 Speeds the swift bark o'er the sea. 
 Bounding through the foaming main 
 Fleeter than the Nereid train. 
 
 * The sacred olives in the Academia were called Mo/jj*/ ; 
 hence Jupiter, who had an altar there as protector of the 
 place, had the name of " Morian." 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 105 
 
 CEdipus cursing his S07i Polynices. 
 Hearken now our firm response — 
 Oh most abandoned! when the very ilirone 
 Was thine, wliich now in Thebes thy brother 
 
 holds 
 Thou didst thyself expel thy wretched sire, 
 Didst spurn me from my country, and consign me 
 To this most abject penury, which now 
 Excites thy tears ; but never did my woes 
 Inflict one pang, till they became thine own. 
 Those ills I may not weep, but must endure ; 
 And ever, ever must remembrance walce 
 Thy worse than parricide. Thou didst enfold me 
 In ail this web of misery; by thy will 
 Constrained, I wandered sadly forth to crave 
 The slender pittance of my daily food. 
 Save that the care of duteous daughters soothed 
 
 me. 
 Long since, for thee, should I have ceased to live ; 
 But they have saved me, they sustain me still; 
 Unlike their weaker sex, with manly hearts 
 They toil unwearied in a father's cause ; — 
 Ye are not mine, but aliens from my blood. 
 Wherefore with other eyes will heaven look 
 
 down 
 On tills emprize ere long, when these thy troops 
 Are marched to Thebes. It shall not be thy lot 
 To win the city; — rather shall thy blood, 
 And thy base brother's, stain her fatal plain. 
 Such were the curses of my first despair ; 
 S\ich now with keener hatred I invoke 
 To wreak my vengeance, that ye late may learn 
 The reverence due to parents; nor, though blind, 
 With causeless insult wound a powerless father. 
 My gentle daughters never acted thus. 
 For this, on thy proud throne and royal seat 
 Shall sit the avenging curse, if Justice, famed 
 Of old, by Jove's august tribunal throned. 
 Maintain the ancient laws unbroken still. 
 Hence to thy doom, accursed ! I disclaim 
 A father's part in thee, thou scorn of men. 
 And with thee bear the curse I call to blast thee: 
 That thou may'st ne'er thy rightful throne regain. 
 And never to the Argive vales return ; 
 But fall unpitied by a kindred hand. 
 Requiting first thine exile by his death. 
 Thus do I curse thee : and I here invoke 
 Dark Erebus, the hated sire of hell. 
 To give thee dwelling iu his deepest gloom ; — 
 These venerable Powers, and mighty Mars, 
 Whose anger cursed thee with this deadly feud. 
 Depart with this mine answer. Hence, and tell 
 Th' assembled Thebans and thy bold allies. 
 Such is the meed which ffidipus repays 
 To his abhorred and most unnatural offspring. 
 
 THE DKATH OF CEDIPUS. 
 
 ffidipus has led the way to a cavern well 
 known in legendary lore, as one of the entrances 
 to the infernal regions, and as the spot where 
 Perithous and Theseus had pledged their faith, 
 and there — 
 
 Betwixt that place and tlie Thorician rock, 
 Tlie old man sate him down, and, having 
 called 
 
 14 
 
 His daughters to his side, he bade them bring 
 
 A pure nidation from the living stream. 
 
 And ho'y lavers : They to Ceres' hill. 
 
 Clad with fresh-glistening verdure, haste with 
 
 speed 
 To do his bidding — 
 
 These sadly pleasing rites at length discharged, 
 Nor aught unfinished of the sire's command, 
 The infernal Jove deep thundered from beneath. 
 The timid virgins trembled as they heard, 
 And smote their breasts with wailings long and 
 
 loud. 
 Then over them his hands the old man clasped. 
 And "O my children,'' said he — "from this day 
 Ye have no more a father — all of me 
 Withers away — the burthen and the toil 
 Of mine old age fall on ye nevermore: 
 Sad travail have ye borne for me, and yet 
 Let one thought soften grief when I am gone — 
 The thought that none upon the desolate world 
 Loved you as I did ; — and in death I leave 
 A happier life to you!" — Tims movingly, 
 With clinging arms and passionate sobs, the three 
 Wept out aloud, until the sorrow grew 
 Into a deadly hush — nor cry nor wail 
 Starts the drear silence of the solitude. 
 Then suddenly a bodiless voice is heard — 
 It called on him ; it called — '• Ho, Qildipus, 
 Why linger we so long?" — 
 
 CEdipus then solemnly consigns his children to 
 Theseus, dismisses them, and Theseus alone is 
 left, with tlie old man. 
 
 So groaning we depart — and when once more 
 We turned our eyes to gaze, behold, the place 
 Knew not the man ! The king alone was there, 
 With close-press'd hand over his shaded brow, 
 As if to shut from out the quailing gaze 
 The horrid aspect of some ghastly thing 
 That nature durst not look on. 
 A little after we beheld hiin bent, 
 In humble adoration to the earth, 
 And then to heaven prefering ardent prayer. 
 But how the old man perished, none can tell 
 Save Theseus ; for nor lightning-breath of heaven, 
 Nor blasting tempest from the ocean borne, 
 Was heard or seen ; but either was he rapt 
 Aloft by wings divine, or else the shades, 
 Whose darkness never looked ufton the sun, 
 Opened, in mercy, to receive him.* 
 
 FROM THE ANTIGONE. 
 The curses of GEdipus have been fulfilled ; 
 Eteocles and Polynices have fallen by each 
 other's hands, and the Argive army been defeated 
 before the \\ alls of Thebes. Creori, who has ob- 
 tained the tyranny, interdicts, on the penalty of 
 death, the burial of Polynices. Antigyne, how- 
 ever, mindful of her brother's request to her in 
 their last interview, resolves to brave the edict 
 and perform tho.'^e rites so indispensably sacred 
 in the eyes of a Greek. Acting on these resolu- 
 
 • The (iosi-ription here has been highly extolled by 
 Longinus. — S. .xv. 
 
106 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 tions, she baffles the vigilance of the guards, and 
 buries the corpse. Creon, on learning that his 
 edict has been disobeyed, orders the remains to 
 be disinterred, and Antigone, in a second attempt 
 to inter them, is discovered, brought before him, 
 and condemned to perish by hunger in the cavern 
 of a rock. Antigone is borne away to her doom, 
 sustaining herself with this one comfort, that she 
 shall go to her grave dear to her parents and to 
 her brother. — In the end, through the denuncia- 
 tions of Tiresias and the intercessions of the 
 Chorus, Creon relents. But it is too late ; on en- 
 tering the cavern, he finds Antigone dead, and 
 her affianced lover, Hsemon, lying beside, with 
 his arms clasped round her waist. The conclu- 
 sion of the play leaves Creon the survivor. His 
 wife and children have perished ; but he himself 
 does not, for he has never excited, our sympathies.* 
 
 Creox, AjfTiGOXE, Chorus. 
 
 Cr. Answer then, — 
 
 Bending thy head to earth, — dost thou confess, 
 Or canst deny the charge ? 
 
 Ant. I do confess it 
 
 Freely; I scorn to disavow the act. 
 
 Cr. Reply with answer brief to one plain 
 question, 
 Without evasion. Didst thou know the law, 
 That none should do this deed ? 
 
 Ant. I knew it well ; 
 
 How could I fail to know ; it was most plain. 
 
 Cr. Didst thou then dare transgress our royal 
 mandate 1 
 
 Ant. Ne'er did eternal Jove such laws ordain, 
 Or Justice, throned amid th' infernal powers. 
 Who on mankind these holier rites imposed, — 
 Nor can I deem thine edict armed with power 
 To contravene the firm unwritten laws 
 Of the just gods, thyself a weak frail mortal ! 
 These are no laws of yesterday, — they live 
 For evermore, and none can trace their birth. 
 I would not dare, by mortal threat appalled, 
 To violate their sanction, and incur 
 The vengeance of the gods. I knew before 
 That I must die, though thou hadst ne'er pro- 
 
 claim'd it, 
 And if I perish ere th' allotted term, 
 I deem that death a blessing. Who that lives. 
 Like me, encompassed by unnumbered ills, 
 But would account it blessedness to die 1 
 If then I meet the doom thy laws assign. 
 It nothing grieves me. Had I left my brother. 
 From mine own mother sprung, on the bare earth 
 To lie unburied, that indeed might grieve me ; 
 But for this deed I mourn not. If to thee 
 Mine actions seem unwise, 'tis thine own soul 
 That errs from wisdom, when it deems me 
 senseless. 
 
 Ch. This maiden shares her father's stubborn 
 soul 
 And scorns to bend beneath misfortune's power. 
 
 ♦ According to that maxim of Aristotle's, that in tra- 
 gedy a very bad man should never be selected as the ob- 
 ject of chastisement, since his fate is not calculated to 
 excite our sympathies. 
 
 Cr. Yet thou might'st know, that loftiest spirits 
 oft 
 Are bowed to deepest shame ; and thou might'st 
 
 mark 
 The hardest metal soft and ductile made 
 By the resistless energy of flame ; 
 Oft, too, the fiery courser have 1 seen 
 By a small bit constrained. High arrogant 
 
 thoughts 
 Beseem not one, whose duty is submission. 
 In this presumption she was lessoned first, 
 When our imperial laws she dared to spurn, 
 And to that insolent wrong fresh insult adds, 
 In that she glories, vaunting of the deed. 
 Henceforth no more deem mine a manly soul ; — 
 Concede that name to hers, if from this crime 
 She shall escape unpunished. Though she spring 
 From our own sister, she shall not evade 
 A shameful death. 
 
 Ant. And welcome! Whence could I 
 
 Obtain a holier praise than by committing 
 My brother to the tomb ? These, too, I know 
 Would all approve the action, but that fear 
 Curbs their free thoughts to base and servile 
 
 silence ; 
 But 'tis the noble privilege of tyrants 
 To say and do whate'er their lordly will. 
 Their only law, may prompt. 
 
 Cr. Of all the Thebans 
 
 Dost thou alone see this 1 
 
 Ant. They, too, behold it. 
 
 But fear constrains them to an abject silence. 
 Cr. Doth it not shame thee to dissent from 
 
 these ■? 
 Ant. I cannot think it shame to love my 
 
 brother ? 
 Cr. Was not he too, who died for Thebes, thy 
 
 brother. 
 Ant. He was; and of the self-same parents 
 
 born. 
 Cr. Why then dishonour him to .grace the 
 
 guilty ? 
 Ant. The dead entombed will not attest thy 
 
 words. 
 Cr. Yes ; if thoti honour with an equal doom 
 That impious wretch. 
 
 Ant. He did not fall a slave, 
 
 He was my brother. 
 
 Cr. Yet he wrong'd his country ; 
 
 The other fought undaunted in her cause. 
 
 Ant. Still death at least demands an equal law. 
 Cr. Ne'er should the base be honoured like 
 
 the noble. 
 Ant. Who knows, if this be holy in the shades ? 
 Cr. Death cannot change a foe into a friend. 
 Ant. My nature tends to mutual love, not 
 
 hatred. 
 Cr. Then to the grave, and love them, if thou 
 must. 
 But while I live, no woman shall bear sway. 
 * * * • * • • 
 
 Chorus. 
 Strophe I. 
 
 What blessedness is theirs, whose earthly date 
 Glides unembittered by the taste of woe ! 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 107 
 
 But, when a house is struck by angry Fate, 
 Throuf^h all its line what ceaseless miseries 
 flow ! 
 As when from Thrace rude whirlwinrls sweep, 
 And in thick darkness wrap the yawning deep, 
 Conflicting surges on the .strand 
 Dash the black mass of boiling sand 
 Rolled from the deep abyss, — the rocky shore, 
 IStruck by the swollen tide, reverberates the roar. 
 
 Antistrophe I. 
 I see the ancient miseries of thy race, 
 
 O Labdacus! arisivg from the dead 
 With fresh despair ; nor sires from sons efface 
 
 The curse some angry power hath rivetted 
 For ever on thy destined line! 
 Once more a cheering radiance seemed to shine 
 O'er the last relic of thy name ; — 
 This, too, the Powers of Darkness claim. 
 Cut off by Hell's keen scythe, combined 
 With haughty words unwise, and frenzy of the 
 mind. 
 
 Strophe II. 
 Can mortal arrogance restrain 
 
 Thy matchless might, imperial Jove! 
 Which all-subduing sleep assaults in vain, 
 
 And months celestial, as they move, 
 In never-wearied train ; — 
 
 Spurning the power of age, enthroned in might, 
 Thou dwell'st mid heaven's broad light. 
 This was, in ages past, thy firm decree, 
 Is now, and must for ever be ; 
 That none of mortal race on earth shall know, 
 A life of joy serene, a course unmarked by woe. 
 
 Antistrophe II. 
 Hope beams with ever-varying ray; 
 
 Now fraught with blessings to mankind, 
 Now with vain dreams that lure but to betray; — 
 
 And man pursues, with ardour blind, 
 Her still deluding way, 
 
 Till on the latent flame he treads dismayed. 
 Wisely the sage hath said, 
 And time hath proved his truth, that when by 
 
 heaven 
 To woe man's darkened soul is driven, 
 Evil seems good to his distorted mind, 
 Till soon he meets and mourns the doom by fate 
 
 assigned. 
 But lo ! the youngest of thy sons, 
 Hipmon advances — comes he wrung with grief 
 For the impending doom 
 Of his fair p!ighted bride, Antigone, 
 And mourning much his blasted nuptial joys ? 
 
 Enter H.EIWOX. 
 
 Cr. We soon shall need no prophet to inform us. 
 Hearing our doom irrevocably past 
 On thy once-destined bride, cotn'st thou, my son, 
 Incensed against thy father? Or, thus acting. 
 Still do we share thy reverence'? 
 
 HcE. I am thine, 
 
 And thou, my father, dost direct my youth 
 By prudent counsels, which shall ever guide me ; 
 Nor any nuptials can with me outweigh 
 A father's just command. 
 
 Cr. 'Tis well, my son : 
 
 A mind like this befits thee, to esteem 
 All else subservient to a father's will. 
 Hence 'tis the prayer, the blessing of mankind, 
 To nourish in their homes a duteous race. 
 Who on their foes may w ell requite their wrongs, 
 And, as their father, honotir friends sincere. 
 But he who to a mean and dastard race 
 Gives life, engenders to himself regret. 
 And much derision to his taunting foes. 
 Then do not thou, my son, by love betrayed. 
 Debase thy generous nature for a woman ; 
 But think how joyless is the cold embrace 
 Of an unworthy consort. Is there wound 
 Which galls more keenly than a faithless friend? 
 Spurn, then, this maiden, as a foe abhorred. 
 To seek in Hell a more congenial bridegroom. 
 Since her have I convicted — her alone 
 Of all the city, daring to rebel: 
 My people shall not brand their king a liar! 
 She dies. Ami let her now invoke her Jove, 
 Who guards the rights of kindred. If I brook 
 Rebellion thus from those allied by blood, 
 How strong a plea may strangers justly urge ! 
 He who upholds the honour of his house. 
 By strict, impartial justice, will be proved 
 True to the public weal. Nor can I doubt 
 The man who governs well, yet knows no less 
 To render due obedience, will be found 
 A just and firm confederate in the storm 
 Of peril and of war. Who dares presume 
 With insolent pride to trample on the laws, 
 Shall never win from me the meed of praise. 
 He whom the State elects should be obeyed 
 In all his mandates, trivial though they seem, 
 Or just or unjust. Of all human ills. 
 None is more fraught with woes than anarchy ; 
 It lays proud states in ruin, it subverts 
 Contending households; "mid the battle strife 
 Scatters the serried ranks, while to the wise. 
 Who promptly yield, obedience brings success. 
 Still, then, by monarchs this should be maintained. 
 Nor e'er surrendered to a woman's will. 
 'Tis better far, if we must fall, to fall 
 By man, than thus be branded the weak prey, 
 The abject prey, of female conquerors. 
 
 Ch. To us, unless our soul be dull M'ith age, 
 Thy words, King, seem well and wisely urged. 
 
 HiB. The gods, my father, have on man be- 
 stow ed 
 Their noblest treasure — Reason. To affirm, 
 That in thy words from prudence thou hast 
 
 swerved. 
 Nor power have I, nor knowledge to maintain. 
 Such task were meeter from a stranger's lips. 
 'Tis mine to guard thine interests; — to explore 
 How each may think, and act, and vent on tliee 
 His cutting censure. Thine imlignant eye 
 Appals the people, when their uttered thoughts 
 Might haply wound thine ear. But to observe 
 These darkly-whispered murmurs is my oflice. 
 '•How the whole State laments this hapless maid, 
 Of all her sex least worthy of such doom 
 As waits her now, for deeds most truly noble ; 
 Who could not brook to leave her brother, slain 
 In fight, without a tomb, nor cast his corpse 
 
108 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 A prey to ravening dogs and birds obscene. 
 Doth she not merit glory's brightest meed?" 
 Such is the general sentence. my father, 
 No treasure can be dearer to thy son, 
 Than thine own prosperous honours. What re- 
 flects 
 Such pride on c?iildren as a generous sire, 
 Such joy on parents as a noble offspring? 
 O, then, indulge not thou this mood alone, 
 To deem no reasoning cogent save thine own ; 
 For he who vaunts himself supremely skilled. 
 In speech and judgment o'er his fellow men, 
 When weighed in Wisdoms balance, is found 
 
 wanting. 
 It cannot shame a mortal, though most wise, 
 To learn much from experience, and in much 
 Submit. Tliou seest the pliant trees, that bow 
 Beneath the rushing torrent, rise luistripped ; 
 But all, that stem erect its onward course. 
 Uprooted fall and perish. Quell thy wrath- 
 Unbend to softer feelings. If one ray 
 Of wisdom's light my younger breast illume, 
 I deem the man, whose vast expansive mind 
 Grasps the whole sphere of knowledge — noblest 
 
 far ; 
 But since such boon is rare, the second praise 
 Is this, to learn from those whose words are ■u'ise. 
 
 Ch. If he hath spoken wisely, my good lord, 
 'Tis fit to weigh his reasoning. Thou, too, youth, 
 
 yro H^MOX. 
 Regard thy father's. Both have argued ■well. 
 
 Cr. And must we stoop, in this our cooler age. 
 Thus to be lessoned by a beardless boyi 
 
 HcB. Not stoop to learn injustice. I am young. 
 But thou shouldst weigh my actions, not my years. 
 
 Cr. Thou deem'st it justice, then, to favour 
 rebels? 
 
 H(B. Ne'er would I ask thy favour for the gviilty. 
 
 Cr. Is not this maiden stained with manifest 
 guilt? 
 
 HcE. The general voice of Thebes repels the 
 charge. 
 
 Cr. Shall then the city dictate laws to me? 
 
 H(B. Do not thy words betray a very youth ? 
 
 Cr. Should I, or should another, sway the State ? 
 
 Hte. That is no State, which crouches to one 
 despot ! 
 
 Cr. Is not a monarch master of his State ? 
 
 Hs. How nobly would st thou lord it o'er a 
 desert! 
 
 Cr. Behold, I pray you, how this doughty 
 warrior 
 Strives in a woman's cause. 
 
 Ha. Art thou a woman ? 
 
 I strive for none, save thee. 
 
 Cr. Oh thou most vile ! 
 
 Wouldst thou withstand thy father? 
 
 H(E. When I see 
 
 My father swerve from justice. 
 
 Cr. Do I err. 
 
 Revering mine own laws ? 
 
 H(B. Dost thou revere them, 
 
 When thou wouldst trample on the laws of 
 heaven? 
 
 Cr. O thou degenerate wretch! thou woman's 
 slave ! 
 
 H<JE. Ne'er shall thou find me the vile slave 
 of baseness. 
 
 Cr. Thou ne'er shalt wed her living. 
 
 H(E. If she die, 
 
 Her death shall crush another. 
 
 Cr. Daring villain, 
 
 Dost thou proceed to threats ? 
 
 H(B. And does he threat 
 
 Who but refutes vain counsels? 
 
 Cr. At thy cost, 
 
 Shalt thou reprove me, void thyself of sense. 
 
 HcE. Now, but thou art my father, I would say 
 That thou art most unwise. 
 
 Cr. Hence, woman's slave ! 
 
 And prate no more to me. 
 
 HcB. Wouldst thou then speak 
 
 Whate'er tliou list, and not endure reply? 
 
 Cr. Aye, is it true? Then, by Olympian Jove, 
 I swear thou shalt not beard me thus unpunished ! 
 Ho! bring that hated thing, that she may die, 
 E'en in the presence of her doting bridegroom. 
 
 HcB. Believe it not. Before mine eyes, at least, 
 She shall not die, nor thou such dream indulge ; 
 I quit thy sight for ever. They who list 
 May stand the tame spectators of thy madness. 
 
 \_Eodt Hmmos. 
 
 Ch. The youth has passed, my lord, in despe- 
 rate wrath ; 
 A soul like his may rush from rankling grief 
 To deeds of frenzy. 
 
 Cr. Let him do, and dare 
 
 Beyond the power of man, he shall not save 
 her. 
 
 Ch. What death dost thou design her ? 
 
 Cr. To a spot 
 
 By mortal foot untrodden, will I lead her ; 
 And deep immure her in a rocky cave, 
 Leaving enough of sustenance to provide 
 A due atonement, that the State may shun 
 Pollution from her death. There let her call 
 On gloomy Hades, the sole Power she owns. 
 To shield her from her doom ; or learn, though 
 
 late, 
 At least this lesson ; 'tis a bootless task 
 To render homage to the Powers of Hell. 
 
 Antigone is brought in guarded. 
 
 Strophe I. 
 
 Ant. Behold me, princes of my native land ! 
 Treading the last sad path. 
 And gazing on the latest beam 
 Of yon resplendent sun — 
 To gaze no more for ever! The stern hand 
 Of all-entombing Death 
 Impels me — living still — 
 To Acheron's bleak shore — ungraced 
 By nuptial rites; — no hymeneal strain 
 Hath hymned my hour of bliss, 
 And joyless Death ^vill be my bridegroom now. 
 
 Ch. Therefore, with endless praise renowned, 
 To those drear regions wilt thou pass; 
 Utiwasted aught by slow disease, 
 Unwounded l(y avenging sword, 
 Spontaneous, living, sole of mortal birth, 
 Shalt thou to death descend. 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 109 
 
 Antistrophe I. 
 
 Ant. Yes! I have heard by how severe a 
 doom 
 The Phrygian stranger died 
 On Sipylus' bleak brow sublime; 
 Whom, in its cold embrace, 
 
 The creeping rock, like wreathing ivy, strained. 
 Her, in chill dews dissolved, 
 A.s antique legends tell, 
 Ne'er do th' exhaustless snows desert. 
 Nor from her eyes do trickling torrents cease 
 To gush. A doom like hers, 
 Alas, how like ! hath fate reserved for me. 
 
 Ch. A goddess she, and sprung from gods ; — 
 We, mortal as our fathers were. 
 What matchless fame is thine! to fall like 
 
 those 
 Of ancestry divine ! 
 
 Strophe II. 
 
 Ant. Ah me ! I am derided. Why, oh why. 
 By my ancestral gods. 
 Why do ye mock, ere yet the tomb 
 Hath veiled me from your sight ? 
 O my loved Thebes ! and ye, 
 Her lordly habitants! 
 
 ye Dircfpan streams ! 
 
 Thou sacred grove of car-compelling Thebes! 
 
 1 here invoke you to attest my wrongs. 
 
 How, by my friends imvvept, and by what laws, 
 
 I sink into the caverned gloom 
 
 Of this untimely sepulchre! 
 
 JNIe miserable ! 
 
 Outcast from earth, and from the tomb, 
 
 I am not of the living or the dead. 
 
 Ch. Hurried to daring's wild excess, 
 Deeply, my daughter, hast thou sinned. 
 Against the exalted throne of Right. 
 The woes that crushed thy father, fall on thee. 
 
 Antistrophe II. 
 
 Ant. Ah ! thou hast probed mine anguish to the 
 quick. 
 The source of all my pangs. 
 My father's widely-blazoned fate; 
 And the long train of ills, 
 Which crushed, in one wide wreck 
 The famed Labdacid-^^e ! 
 Woe for the withering curse 
 Of those maternal nuptials, wliich impelled 
 My sire, unconscious, to a parent's couch ! 
 From whom I sprung, by birth a very wretch: 
 
 Ch. Religion bids us grace the dead ; 
 But might, when regal might bears sway, 
 Must never, never, be contemned. 
 Thine own unbending pride hath sealed thy 
 doom. 
 
 Ant. Unmourned, imfriended, 'reft of bridal 
 
 joys. 
 
 Despairingly I tread 
 
 The path too well prepnred. 
 
 No more for ever »nust I hail thy beams, 
 
 Thou glad and holy sun ! 
 
 Yet to my doom no sorrowing friend accords 
 
 The tribute of a tear. 
 
 Enter Creon. 
 
 Cr. What, know ye not, that none, ere death 
 arrive. 
 Would ever cease their plaints, could words avail 
 
 them ■? 
 Instant conduct her hence ; and, as I bade, 
 Immure her in the deep sepulchral cave ; 
 There leave her lone and desolate, or to die 
 Or live imprisoned in that drear abode. 
 We from her death shall thus be pure; and she 
 Shall hold no more communion with the living. 
 
 Ant. O tomb ! bridal bed ! dark abode ! 
 My ever-during prison ! whither now 
 I sink to join my kindred, a sad train. 
 Whom Proserpine among the silent dead 
 Hath long received ; — of whom tlie last in time. 
 The first in sorrow, I to Death descend. 
 Ere mine allotted earthly term be past. 
 Yet e'en in death I cherish one warm hope, 
 That dear to my loved father I shall come. 
 Dear to thee, mother ! and most dear to thee, 
 My brother ! for in death my hand received you, 
 Your relics laved, your lifeless limbs composed, 
 And o'er your tomb libations poured. And now. 
 Dear Polynices, I have honoured thee 
 With funeral rites, and thus do they requite me. 
 Yet will not justice blame my pious care ; — 
 W^liich of your laws, ye Powers, have I trans- 
 gressed ? — 
 Yet wherefore do I turn me to the gods ? — 
 Whom shall I call to aid me, since I meet 
 For pious deeds the vengeance of the guilty? 
 If acts like these are sanctioned by the gods, 
 I will address me to my dooin in silence ; 
 If not, and these offend, may heaven requite 
 On them such evils as they wreak on me. 
 
 Ch. The same wild storms of frenzied rage 
 Distract the unhappy maiden still. 
 
 Cr. For this the lingering slaves ere long 
 Shall learn in tears to mourn their vain delay. 
 
 Ant. Alas! death cannot be dissevered far 
 From that appalling threat. 
 
 Cr. Aye, I would warn thee not to hope 
 The doom, once sealed, may be reversed. 
 
 Ant. Thebes, proud city of my sires! 
 O tutelary gods ! 
 
 They force me hence, and respite is denied. 
 Behold, ye riders of imperial Thebes, 
 The last sad daughter of a royal line, 
 What fearful wrongs I suffer, and from whom; — 
 My oidy crime a pious deeil. 
 
 [Antigoxe is led off. 
 
 • »»»•»•• 
 
 TiRESiAS, CnEOjr, Cuonx-s. 
 Ti. Princes of Thebes, we tread our wonted 
 path. 
 One sight directing both ; this mode alone 
 Remains to guide the wanderings of the blind. 
 Cr. Hath aught occurred of import new or 
 strange. 
 Aged Tiresias? 
 
 Ti. I will tell thee, king. 
 
 Do thou obey the prophet. 
 
 Cr. Never yet 
 
 Thy warning did I slight. 
 
110 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Ti. Thence hast thou steer'd 
 
 Arif^ht the hehii of empire. 
 
 Cr. I admit, 
 
 Thy counsels oft have led me to success. 
 
 Ti. Then heed them now. Thou art in des- 
 perate peril. 
 Cr. What mean'st thou? — how I tremble at 
 
 thy -words ! 
 Ti. List, and the symbols of mine art shall tell 
 
 thee. 
 When on mine ancient stool of augury. 
 Where every bird flocks round me, I sat down, 
 Burst on mine ear a strange unwonted sound 
 Of birds, with shrill and dissonant screamings 
 
 wild, 
 While with ensanguined talons I perceived 
 They tore each other ; this the flapping hoarse 
 Of wings betokened plainly. Struck with awe, 
 I next essayed the liallowed fires that burn 
 On the high blazing altars; but the flame 
 Refused to shine upon the sacrifice ; 
 And, oozing from the limbs, the vapour flowed 
 Mid the loose ashes, where it fumed and 
 
 hissed ; 
 The swollen entrails wove dispersed ; the thighs, 
 Stripped of th' involving caul, lay bare around. 
 These fearfid signs of import strange and dire 
 I learned from mine attendant — he recounts 
 To me the symbols I explain to others. 
 'Tis thy relentless soul that plagues the country. 
 Our sacred altars and domestic heartlis 
 Are strewed by dogs and birds with their foul 
 
 prey, 
 The corpse of CEdipus' ill-fated son ; 
 For this the gods reject our hallowed rites. 
 Our prayers, and votive victims, — while the birds. 
 Sated with h\mian flesh and human blood. 
 Can only utter sounds of omen dire. 
 Therefore, my son, consider; since to err 
 Is common to mankind ; nor is that man 
 Unhappy or unwise, wlio, when betrayed 
 To error, mourns his lapse, and doth not cleave 
 Inflexible to ill. Know, stubborness 
 Doth ever argue folly. To the dead 
 Give way, nor trample on a fallen foe — 
 What courage needs it to insult the lifeless? 
 I speak with soul benevolent to thee ; 
 'Tis sweet to learn from one \vho counsels well. 
 If he regard our welfare. 
 
 Cr. Ay, old man 
 
 I am your butt ; ye all, like archers, aim 
 Your wily shafts at me. I know you well, 
 The venal tribe of prophets, and by them 
 Too oft have I been bartered and betrayed. 
 Go on ; pursue your traiTic, and acquire 
 The Sardian amber and the Indian gold, 
 If so ye list; but never shall ye shroud 
 This wretch within the tomb, though Jove's swift 
 
 bird 
 Should bear the mouldering relics as his prey. 
 E'en to th' eternal throne. Yea, though I feared 
 Pollution dire as this, t would not yield 
 To honour him with sepulture ; — well I know 
 That none of mortal birth can e'er pollute 
 The holy gods! And mark me, old Tiresias ! 
 Oft do the sagest of our race incur 
 
 The vilest shame, when, lured by sordid gain, 
 
 They clothe base counsels in the garb of honour. 
 
 Ti. Ha! is there one who knows — who thinks — 
 
 Cr. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Are these thy words addressed alike to all? 
 
 Ti. How much is wisdom man's most precious 
 
 treasure ? 
 Cr. So much, as folly is his greatest bane ! 
 Ti. It is, in truth, a malady which seems 
 Conspicuous in thy conduct. 
 
 Cr. I forbear 
 
 To shame the prophet with a keen retort. 
 
 Ti. Yet this tliou dost in charging me with 
 
 falsehood. 
 Cr. Ah ! ye are fond of gold, ye tribe of 
 
 prophets. 
 Ti. The tribe of tyrants seems indeed to love 
 Dishonourable gains. 
 
 Cr. Know'st thou thy words 
 
 Are spoken to thy monarch ? 
 
 Ti. Aye, I know it; 
 
 'Twas by my counsels thou didst save thine 
 empire. 
 Cr. Thou art a skilful prophet, but too prone 
 To deeds of baseness. 
 
 Ti. Wilt thou then provoke me 
 
 To speak the awful secrets of my soul ? 
 
 Cr. Well, speak then, so thou dost not ask 
 
 reward. 
 Ti. And seem I, in thy judgment, to de- 
 mand it? 
 Cr. Know first, thou shalt not trafllc in my 
 
 purpose. 
 Ti. And know thou, too, proud monarch, ere 
 the car 
 Of yon bright sua his destin'd course fulfil. 
 Thou of thine own loved off'spring shalt repay 
 A just and equal ransom, dead for dead, 
 For one whom thou hast plunged from upper air 
 To dwell beneath, whom to the dark abodes. 
 Yet living, thou hast doomed; nor less for one. 
 Whom of the honours due to hell's dread Powers, 
 Of funeral rites, of sacred obsequies. 
 Thou hast bereft. Here no concern hast thou. 
 None have the heavenly Powers, but thou hast 
 
 wrought 
 These shameless deeds by lawless violence. 
 Wherefore the sure avengers, who pursue 
 The track of guilt, the Furies of the shades. 
 Are ambushed round thy path, and soon will 
 
 plunge thee 
 In ruin hopeless as thy rage inflicted. 
 Mark now, if gold hath bribed me thus to pre- 
 sage;— 
 Pass but a few short moments, and the shriek 
 Of men, and wail of women, through thy halls 
 Shall ring; and all the hostile states, whose slain 
 The dogs, and beasts, and ravening birds, have 
 
 torn. 
 Wafting their noisome odours o'er the plain. 
 Shall rise against thee. Such, then, are the shafts. 
 Which, archer-like, my hand hath now dis- 
 charged. 
 For thou hast roused my wrath ; and from the 
 
 wound 
 These shafts inflict, thou wilt not find relief. 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Boy, lead me to my house ; and leave yon tyrant 
 To vent his impotent rage on younger heads; 
 And let him learn to curb his tongue to silence, 
 And hold a wiser mind than now he holds. 
 
 [Exit TlHESIAS. 
 
 Ckeon, Choihts. 
 
 Ch. The prophet hath departed, my lord, 
 Denouncing dread events ; and well I know, 
 Since time's long round hath silvered my dark 
 
 locks, 
 The State hath never proved his presage faithless. 
 C?-. I know it too ; and therei'ore doubts dis- 
 tract me. 
 To yield bespeaks a coward, yet I fear 
 To rush upon destruction, if I cross him. 
 
 Cli. Son of MencEceus, thou hast need of pru- 
 dence. 
 Cr. What wovddst thou have me do? Give 
 thine advice. 
 And I will straight obey it. 
 
 Ch. Then away! 
 
 Release the virgin from her rock-hewn cave 
 And grace th' unburied corpse with sepulture. 
 Cr. Is this thy counsel? Dost thou bid me 
 
 yield ? 
 Ch. Without delay, my lord ! Th' avenging 
 curse 
 Of heaven is swift to crush the disobedient. 
 
 Cr. O but "tis hard ; — yet I must fain submit — 
 To war with stern Necessity were madness. 
 Ch. Haste, then, perform thy purpose, nor 
 intrust 
 The task to others. 
 
 Cr. With all speed I fly — 
 
 Haste — haste — attendants ! ye who here await, 
 And ye too at a distance ; — haste and bring 
 Keen axes in your hands — fly to the cave — 
 I too, since my first sentence is repealed. 
 Who bound, will now release her ; for I fear 
 That, while we live, 'twill prove our truest 
 
 wisdom 
 To venerate the eternal laws of Justice. 
 
 Messenger and Chorus. 
 
 Mess. Inhabitants of Thebes, where Cadmus erst 
 And old Amphion reigned, I know not how, 
 Whate'er it be, to censure or to praise 
 The varying life of man ; — since Fortune still 
 Lifts, at her will, th" unhappy from the dust, 
 Or dooms again the prosperous to despair. 
 Nor can prophetic skill divine the future. 
 I deemed the royal Croon greatly blessed. 
 Who from her foes the Thcban state preserved : 
 Assiuriod the sole dominion of her realms; 
 Bore s\\ay, and flourished in a generous race. 
 And now all — all is lost. For when the joys, 
 The sweet delights of life arc reft for ever, 
 I scarce can say man lives ; — though still he 
 
 breathe, 
 The soul of life is fled. 
 
 Ch. Of what new ills 
 
 Cotn'st thou a herald to the royal h()u.se ? 
 
 Mess. They are no more — those live who 
 caused their ruin. 
 
 Ch. Say, who hath wrought the deed, and who 
 
 hath perished ? 
 Mess. Bathed in his blood, the lifeless Hremon 
 
 lies. 
 Ch. Slain by his own rash hand, or by his 
 
 father's? 
 Mess. Incensed against his father, for the death 
 Of his loved bride, by his own hand he fell. 
 Ch. How true, prophet, was thy fearful 
 
 presage ! 
 Mess. Since it is thus, the rest demands our 
 
 thought. 
 Ch. But lo ! I see the king's unhappy wife, 
 Eurydice, approach us. 
 
 Enter Eurtdice. 
 Eur. Your conference we have heard, O citi- 
 zens. 
 While yet my hand was loosening the firm bars 
 Which close our palace-gates, the whispered 
 
 voice 
 Of some domestic evil met mine ear; — 
 Trembling I sunk amidst my maids supine, 
 With sudden terror lifeless. Yet again 
 I bid thee tell thy tale — for I shall hear it. 
 Not unexperienced in severest woes. 
 
 Mess. As present there, dear lady, all the tale 
 Will I disclose, nor aught of truth disguise. 
 Why should I soothe thee with evasive words, 
 When time must prove their falsehood and mine 
 
 own? 
 The truth is ever best. Thy royal lord 
 I, as the guide, attended to tlie verge 
 Of that far j^lain, where torn by ravening dogs 
 The corpse of Polynices lay defiled. 
 Here first invoking Hecate, and the King 
 Of Hades, that by prayers propitiate now 
 They would avert their wrath, in the pure stream 
 We laved the relics, — on a recent pyre 
 Of boughs consumed them, and upreared a mound 
 Of his loved natal earth. Wo next repaired 
 To the sepulchral cave, the bridal couch 
 Of her espoused to Death. But of our train 
 A murmur of deep wailing from afar 
 Round that imhonoured tomb one haply heard, 
 And hastening told our monarch. He approached, 
 And still the muttered moanings on his ear 
 Smote louder and less doubtful, till he groaned 
 In bitter agony, and thus sighed forth : — 
 "Unhappy me! And is my presage true. 
 And do I tread the most ill-omened path 
 Of all my pilgrimage? It is the voice 
 Of mine own son that meets me! Haste, oh haste, 
 Attendants, to the sepulchre, and remove 
 The rook"s obstructing barrier; look within; — 
 I hear the voice of H.rmon."" — We ob'.'ycd 
 The bidding of our half distracted lord. 
 And looked. Soon in the cavern's dim recess 
 We see the virgin — lifeless — l-.anging there 
 In noose enwoven of her linen robe. 
 There too Lay II;nmon, clasping his pale bride, 
 Mourning his plightc^l consort, to the Powers 
 Of Hell espoused — his fothe.r's act severe — 
 And his most joyless nuptials. When the king 
 Beheld him, deeply sig:iing — to the tomb 
 Entering, with loud lament he thus exclaimed : 
 
112 
 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 "0 my unhappy cliiUl, what hast thou done? 
 What fearful purpose sways thee? By what woes 
 Art thou thus phmiretl in anguish? O my son 
 Come forth, a su])pliant father here conjures thee." 
 But on his sire he turned his glaring eyes 
 With the stern air of mingled hate and scorn, 
 Nor answer deigned, but bared his two-edged 
 
 brand ; 
 The king by flight evaded, and the blow 
 Fell impotent. Then the distracted youth, 
 Indignant with himself, stretched out the sword, 
 And sheathed it in his bosom. Conscious still. 
 Around the lifeless maid^iis arms he threw 
 With fond embrace, and breathing his last sigh, 
 Tinged her pale cheek with crimson, for the 
 
 blood 
 Came gushing with the fluttering sob of death ; 
 And lifeless now he sleeps beside the dead, 
 In Hell's dark gloom his nuptial rites completing. 
 A solemn, sad example to mankind. 
 How great an evil is unbridled rashness. 
 
 [Exit EuRYDici:. 
 
 Chokus, Messenger. 
 
 Ch. What dost thou judge from this? The 
 queen is gone 
 Without one word of patience, or despair. 
 
 Mess. I too am lost in wonder — but I still 
 Indulge a hope ; that, learning thus the doom 
 Of her lost son, she will not deign to wail 
 Throughout the city, but retired within. 
 Will vent her grief in secret with her maidens. 
 She is more prudent than to err in this. 
 
 Ch. I know not — yet I like not this deep silence. 
 It bodes some dark resolve — more clamorous 
 
 grief 
 Vents all its force in words. 
 
 Mess. Soon shall we learn 
 
 If aught so desperate lurks within her breast, 
 By hastening to the palace ; well thou say'st 
 Deep silence is the herald of destruction. 
 
 Ch. And lo ! the king himself appears, 
 Bearing the sad memorials of his woe 
 Within his arms; if we may justly speak, 
 He is the author of his own despair ! 
 
 Enter Creox, bearing his Sari's body. 
 Strophe I. 
 
 Cr. Woe for the errors of a frenzied mind. 
 Ruthless and fraught with death ! 
 O mark, in kindred ties allied, 
 The slayers and the slain ! 
 Such of my counsels is the bitter fruit ! 
 Alas ! for thee, my son, my son, 
 Who, in youth's vernal prime 
 Art perished, and hast fled. 
 Through mine insensate rashness, not thine own. 
 
 Ch. Alas! how late dost thou acknowledge, 
 king. 
 The justice of the gods. 
 
 Strophe II. 
 
 Cr. Ah me ! I learn it in mine own despair. 
 Then, then upon my head the wrath divine 
 Smote heaviest — to perdition urged me on. 
 And trod my joys in dust. Alas! the toils! 
 The hapless toils of man ! 
 
 Enter Second Messenger. 
 2d Mess. Sorrows are deepening round thee, 
 my lord, — 
 One source of bitterest grief thy hands sustain ; 
 One waits within \vhicli thou must soon behold. 
 Cr. What yet remains to dreg the cup of sorrow ? 
 2d Mess. Thy queen, the mother of this lifeless 
 youth. 
 Hath died, unhappy, by a recent wound. 
 
 Antistrophe I. 
 Cr. Oh! thou inexpiable home of death, 
 Why dost thou crush me thus ? 
 
 herald of o'erwhelming woes 
 What horrors dost thou bring? — 
 
 Why, why press down a wretch already lost ? 
 What hast thou said ? What new despair, 
 Redoubling woes on woes? — 
 And to a murdered son 
 
 Dost thou then add my wife's destruction too ? — 
 2d Mess. Thou mayst behold her, now no more, 
 within. 
 
 Antistrophe II. 
 
 Cr. Alas ! I gaze upon a second woe. 
 What doom, ah I what awaits the victim still ? 
 In these sad hands a lifeless son I bear. 
 There mark another recent corpse — woe ! woe ! 
 Sad mother ! wretched son ! 
 
 2d Mess. Before the hallowed altars, in wild 
 wrath 
 She fell — and closed her eyes in Death's dull 
 
 night. 
 Deploring first indeed th' illustrious bed 
 Of Megareus — long since to death consigned ; 
 Then this her hapless son, — last on thy head 
 She imprecated curses, and proclaimed thee 
 The murderer of thy child ! 
 
 Strophe III 
 Cr. Woe ! woe is me ! 
 
 1 quake with horror. Will no friendly hand 
 
 In mercy plunge deep, deep the two-edged sword ? 
 I am a very wretch. 
 
 Condemned to struggle with o'er-mastcring woes ! 
 2d Mess. Ere yet she perished, with her parting 
 breath. 
 She charged on thee the fatal doom of both. 
 Cr. And by what means did death relieve her 
 
 sorrows ? 
 2d Mess. Deep in her side she buried the keen 
 sword. 
 Soon as her son's lamented doom she heard. 
 
 Strophe IV. 
 Cr. Wretch that I am! the guilt is all mine 
 own. 
 None shared the deadly deed ! 
 I am alone the blood-stained homicide!; 
 'Tis all too clear — O ! lead me hence. 
 Attendants, bear me hence ! away — away — 
 For I am nothing now ! 
 
 Ch. Well dost thou judge, if in despair like 
 thine 
 Aught can be well, for heaviest evils press 
 With lighter burden, when from sight removed. 
 
SOPHOCLES. 
 
 113 
 
 Antistrophe III. 
 
 Cr. Come, then, come, 
 
 Shine forth, thou last and lightest of my woes, 
 Bringing the final and most welcome hour 
 Ofsurtering! Come, coine, 
 That I may view the light of heaven no more. 
 
 Ch. These cares respect the future — first befits 
 To weigh with prudent thought the present (nisis. 
 Let those direct on whom such charge devolves. 
 
 Cr. What most my soul desires, I did but malce 
 My first arid warmest prayer. 
 
 Ch. Pray now for nothing — 
 
 There is no refuge for devoted man, 
 When fate consigns him to a doom of woe. 
 
 Antistrophe IV. 
 
 Cr. Lead hence this lifeless shade, far, far 
 away. 
 Who, tliough unwilling all. 
 Slew thee, my son ! thee too, wife beloved ! 
 Ah! wretch! I know not where to look. 
 Or whither fly. All are against me now — 
 Fate is itself my foe. 
 
 Ch. There is no guide to happiness on earth. 
 Save wisdom ; nor behoves it us to fail 
 In reverence to the gods ! High-sounding vaunts 
 Inflict due vengeance on the haughty head. 
 And teach late wisdom to its dark old age. 
 
 FROM THE ELECTRA. 
 
 A CHARIOT RACE. 
 
 TuEY took their stand, where the appointed 
 
 judges 
 Had cast their lots and ranged the rival cars. — 
 Rang out the brazen trump ! Away they bound. 
 Cheer the hot steeds and shake the slackened 
 
 reins ; 
 As with a body, the large space is filled 
 With the huge clangour of the rattling cars: 
 High whirl aloft the dust-clouds ; — blent together 
 Each presses each — and the lash rings — and loud 
 Snort the wild steeds, and from their fiery breath, 
 Along their manes, and down the circling wheels. 
 Scatter the flaking foam. Orestes still. 
 Aye, as he swept around the perilous pillar 
 Last in the course, wheel'd in the rushing axle ; 
 The left rein curbed, — that on the dexter hand 
 Flung loose. — So on erect the chariots rolled! 
 Sudden the Qiinian's fierce and headlong steeds 
 Broke from the bit — and, as the seventh time now 
 The course was circled, on the Lybian car 
 Dash'd their wild fronts : — then order changed 
 
 to ruin : 
 Car crashed on car — the wide Crissfpan plain 
 Was, sea-like, strewn with wrecks; the Athenian 
 
 saw, 
 Slacken'd his speed, and, wheeling round the 
 
 marge, 
 
 15 
 
 Unscatlied and skilfid, in the midmost space, 
 Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm. 
 Behind, Orostes, hitherto the last, 
 Had yet kept back his coursers for the close; 
 Now one sole rival left — on, on he flew. 
 And the sharp .sound of the impelling scourge 
 Rang in the keen ears of the flying steeds. — 
 He nenrs — he reache.'; — tln^y are side by side; 
 Now one — now th' other — by a length the victor. 
 The courses all are past — the wheels erect — 
 All safe — when, as the hurrying coursers round 
 The fatal pillar dash'd, the wretched boy 
 Slackened the left rein : — On the column's edge 
 Crash'd the frail axle — headlong from the car. 
 Caught and all meshed within the reins he fell; 
 And, masterless, the mad steeds raged along! 
 
 Loiul from that mighty multitiule arose 
 
 A shriek — a shout! But yesterday such deeds — 
 
 To-day such doom ! — Now whirled upon the 
 
 earth ; 
 Now his limbs dash'd aloft, they dragged him — 
 
 those 
 Wild horses — till, all gory, from the wheels 
 Released, — and no man. not his nearest friends, 
 Could in that mangled corpse have traced Orestes. 
 
 FROM THE AJAX. 
 
 AJAX'S DIINW SPEECH. 
 
 And thou that makst high heaven thy chariot 
 
 course, 
 O Sun — when gazing on my fatherland, 
 Draw back thy golden rein, and tell my woes 
 To the old man, my father — and to her 
 Who nursed me at her bosom — my poor mother! 
 There will be wailing through the echoing walls 
 When — but away with thoughts like these! — the 
 
 hour 
 Brings on the ripening deed. — Death, Death, look 
 
 on me ! 
 Did I say Death ? — It was a waste of words. 
 We shall be friends hereafter. — 'Tis die Day, 
 Present and breathing round me, and the car 
 Of the sweet sun, that never shall again 
 Receive my greeting! — Henceforth Time is sun- 
 less, 
 And Day, a thing that is not! — Beautifid Light, 
 My Salamis — my country — and the floor 
 Of my dear household hearth — and thou, bright 
 
 Athens, 
 Thou, — for thy sons and I were boys togetlier— 
 Fountains and rivers, and ye Trojan plains, 
 I loved you as my fosterers, — fiic ye well! 
 Take in these words, the last Earth hears from 
 
 Ajax — 
 All else unspoken, ina .«pectre land, 
 I'll whisper to the dead. 
 k2 
 
CRATES. 
 
 [About 450 B. C.) 
 
 An Athenian actor and writer of Comedies, I Aristotle, who departed from the satirical form 
 whereof the titles of twenty-six have come of Comedy, and framed his plots from gen- 
 down to us. He was the first, according to | eral stories. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 These shrivell'd sinews and this bending frame 
 The workmanship of Time's strong hand pro- 
 claim ; 
 Skill'd to reverse whate'er the gods create, 
 And make that crooked, which they fashion 
 straight 
 
 Hard choice for man, to die — or else to be 
 That tottering, wretched, wrinkled thing you 
 
 see : — 
 Yet age we all prefer ; for age we pray. 
 And travel on to life's last lingering day; 
 Then sinking slowly down from worse to worse, 
 Find heaven's extorted boon our greatest curse. 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 [Bom 480— Died 406, B. C] 
 
 Amongst the Athenians who sought refuge in ] 
 Salamis from the invading army of Xerxes, was 
 Clito, the wife of Mnesarchus, and mother of 
 Euripides; and in that island, and on the very 
 day of the great victory obtained by the Greeks 
 over the Persians near its shores, was the poet 
 born. His name, which is formed like a patro- 
 nymic, from " Euripus," the scene of the first 
 successful resistance to the Persian navy, shows 
 how alive were the miads of his parents to the 
 stirring events of that momentous crisis. By his 
 father, a man of family and fortune, Euripides 
 vv'as supplied with all the means of education. 
 He studied under Anaxagoras, Prodicus, Prota- 
 goras, and the best masters of the age ; and was 
 so well versed even in the gymnastic exercises 
 of the day, that he carried off two prizes in the 
 Eleusinian and Thesean games, when only seven- 
 teen years old. To his other accomplishments, 
 he added a taste for painting, and some of his 
 pictures were preserved for many years at Me- 
 gara. His first tragedy, the Peliades, was brought 
 out in 455 B. C, and obtained for him the third 
 prize; but on two subsequent occasions (in 441 
 and 428, B. C.) he bore away the first honours. 
 His reputation had now spread far and wide, 
 and we are told by Plutarch, that some of the 
 Athenians who had survived the Syracusan ex- 
 pedition, obtained their liberty or a livelihood by 
 114 
 
 reciting and teaching such passages of his poems 
 as they chanced to remember.* 
 
 Late in life Euripides took up his abode at the 
 court of King Archelaus, in Macedonia, where, in 
 the society of Agathon, the tragic poet, Timo- 
 theus, the famous musician, Zeuxis, the cele- 
 brated painter, and other eminent men, whom 
 the liberality and taste of the monarch had at- 
 tracted to Pella, he closed his life in the seventy- 
 
 * We also learn from the same authority, that, in after 
 years, when the Lacedemonian general, Lysander, took 
 Athens, it was proposed in a council of war to raze the 
 city and convert its site into a desert ; but that, during 
 the debate, at the banquet of the chief officers, a certain 
 Phorian sung some fine anastrophics from a chorus of the 
 "Eler.tra" of Euripides; which so affected the hearers 
 that they declared it an unworthy act to reduce a place, 
 so celebrated for the production of illustrious men, to 
 total ruin and desolation. The lines are at verse 168. 
 Milton has celebrated the circumstance in his Vlllth. 
 Sonnet. 
 
 Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: 
 The great Eniaihian conqueror bade spare 
 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
 
 Went to the ground : and the repeated air 
 Of sad FAectra's poet had the power 
 
 To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 
 By the epithet " sad," Milton denominates the pathetic 
 character of Euripides.— See T. Wharton's notes on 
 Milton. 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 115 
 
 fifth year of his age and the 406th B. C, the same 
 day on which Dionysius assumed the tyranny of 
 Syracuse. Euripides was entombed among the 
 kings of Macedonia, at Pella, but the Atlienians, 
 though unable to obtain his aslies, erected a ceno- 
 taph to his memory. 
 
 The cause of his quitting Athens is unknown. 
 Possibly it might have been the same as had oc- 
 casioned his misogynism, namely, the infidelity 
 
 of his two wives, Melito and Cherila, and a desire 
 of escaping from the scene of such domestic dis- 
 comfort, especially as his misfortunes were con- 
 tinually recalled to his remembrance by the 
 taunts and jeers of his merciless and unscrupu- 
 lous enemy, Aristophanes. 
 
 Of his many compositions, sixteen tragedies, two 
 tragi-comedios, and a satirical drama, with seve- 
 ral fragments of lost plays, liave come down to us. 
 
 FROM THE ALCESTIS. 
 
 Admetus, king of Pheroe, in Thessaly, on his 
 first accession to the regal power, had kindly re- 
 ceived Apollo, who was banished from heaven, 
 and compelled, for a certain space, to serve a 
 mortal. The god was not ungrateful, and when 
 Admetus lay ill of a disease, from which there 
 was no recovery, prevailed on the Fates to spare 
 his life, on condition tliat some near relation 
 would consent to die for him ; but neither his 
 fatlier nor mother, nor any of his friends, were 
 willing to pay the ransom. His wife Alcestis, 
 on hearing this, generously devotes her own life 
 to save that of her husband ; but while the whole 
 family are plunged in grief for her loss, and are 
 occupied in celebrating her funeral obsequies, 
 Hercides arrives at Pher.p, and being hospitably 
 entertained there, and informed of his hosts dis- 
 tress, goes in pursuit of Orcus, who is conveying 
 his prey to the infernal regions, overtakes him, 
 and recovers Alcestis, whom he restores to tiie 
 arms of her husband. 
 
 THE CHOUUS IN TWO DIVISIONS. 
 
 1st Semich. Why this silence so profound, 
 In the house, and all around? 
 
 2d Scmii.h. Why is there none to let us know 
 If for the deail our tears should flow ; 
 Or if the queen, so dear to sight. 
 Yet lives and looks upon the light. 
 The wife that is, by common fame, 
 The best that ever had the name? 
 
 1st Semich. The silence, of itself alone, 
 Is token [jlain she is not gone. 
 
 [^ fcmdle servatit is seen coming from the palace. 
 
 Ch. But from the house a weeping woman 
 comes. 
 What shall we hear ? wlien onr lords suffer aught, 
 Our mournful sym[)athy is justified; 
 We fain would learn if she be dead or not. 
 
 Serv. She's as it were laid out, near her last 
 gasp. 
 
 Ch. Ah, wretched husband, losing what a wife ! 
 
 Serv. He knows not yet, but soon will feel the 
 loss. 
 
 Ch. Is there no longer hope of saving her? 
 
 Serv. It is the day ap[)ointed her to die. 
 
 Ch. Are not the fitting pr<;i)arations made? 
 
 Serv. The pomp is ready for her burial. 
 
 Ch. Let her tlien know she dies with best 
 renown, 
 As noblest wife of all beneath the sun. 
 
 Serv. Who will deny it? Oh! what must 
 
 she be 
 That can outparagon her excellence ? 
 How can a wife show greater proof of love 
 Than giving her own life to save her lord's? 
 But this the country round already knows; 
 Ye'll be astonished more at what I'll tell you. 
 When she perceived the appointed day was 
 
 come, 
 She bathed in water from the running stream, 
 And from the cedar chest took rich attire. 
 Her lovely person carefully arraying, 
 And, standing at the sacred hearth, exclaimed: — 
 " Queen Vesta! I am going now below. 
 And kneel and pray to thee the latest time, 
 To guard the children I leave motherless; 
 A loving consort for the boy provide, 
 And for the girl a brave and noble spouse; 
 Nor let tliem die untimely as I do. 
 But with all blessings in their fatherland 
 Bring to completion a life full of joy." 
 And then she wept, and every altar crowned, 
 Stripping the foliage from the myrtle boughs, 
 And prayed without a tear, without a groan ; 
 Nor did the coming woe change in the least 
 Her bright complexion. To the bridal room. 
 And bed, she next advanced, but there she wept, 
 And said ; "Oh bed, where virgin to his arms 
 I came, for whom I die to-day, farewell ! 
 I hate thee not, though thou hast brought me 
 
 death ; 
 Loth was I to betray my lord and thee. 
 Thee will another after me possess, 
 Not chaster, but perchance more fortunate." 
 Then on the bed she flung herself, and kissed it, 
 And from her eyes let fall a flood of tears; 
 At last she rose and turned to leave the room, 
 Oft made the attempt, and often she returned, 
 And cast herself again upon the bed. 
 Her children, clinging to her garments, wept; 
 She took them in her arms, and kissed them both, 
 First one, then the other, as al)out to die: 
 The servants, [)iiying her, were all in tears; 
 She gave her hand to all, was spoken to. 
 And for the meanest had a parting word. 
 Such woe is working in our masters house! 
 But had he died, 'twould have been o'er with 
 
 him ; 
 Escaping death he has a lifelong uriof 
 
 Ch. Surely Admetus groatis, with grief opprest, 
 If he must lose so excellent a wife. 
 
 Serv. lie weeps indeed, sustains her in his 
 
 arms, 
 
116 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 And prays her not to leave him, asking for 
 
 What cannot be ; for slie is going fast, 
 
 And visibly droojjs and sinks, passing away. 
 
 She bangs a languid burden on his arm ; 
 
 Yet still, tliough faintly gasping out her breath, 
 
 She would behold die bright rays of the sun, 
 
 As what she never more shall see again, 
 
 But for the latest time will look upon 
 
 Light's glorious orb. Til go and say ye are here. 
 
 For not all subjects wish well to their lords, 
 
 Nor with them grieving truly sympathize ; 
 
 But to my master ye are friends of old. 
 
 Alcestis enters, supported by An:wF,Ttrs, and ac- 
 companied by their two children. 
 
 Ale. Oh sun ! and light, and clouds of heaven. 
 In fleecy rolls revolved and driven ! 
 
 Adm. Cheer up, unhappy consort ; leave me not. 
 But pray the sovereign gods to pity us. 
 
 Ale. I see the two-oared boat ! I see 
 The ferryman of all the dead ! 
 With pole in hand, he calls for me — 
 'Tis Charon calls, with accent dread, 
 And vehemently chides my stay, — 
 "Come quickly, come! why this delay?'' 
 
 Adm. Wretch that I am ! oh crudest voyage 
 to me ! 
 My dearest, doomed wife ! what woe is ours ! 
 
 Ale. Some winged Hades pulls me now 
 Unto the dead ! do you not see ? 
 From underneath his sable brow 
 The King of Terrors glares at me ! 
 What wilt thou do ? unhand me ! oh ! 
 Loose me ! on what a path I go ! 
 
 Adm. Path dismal to thy friends, and most 
 to me. 
 And to these children, sharers of my grief. 
 
 Ale. Lay me down ! I cannot stand ; 
 Hades now is near at hand ; 
 O'er mine eyes the last of sleeps, 
 The long night of darkness creeps. 
 Children ! now my life is o'er, 
 And your mother is no more ; 
 May your lives with joy be bright, 
 May ye long behold the light! 
 
 Adm. Ah, woeful speech for me to hear, 
 Harder than any death to bear! 
 Oh by the gods, and by these ties, 
 Motherless, when their mother dies, 
 Forsake me not ! arise, dear wife ! 
 While I have thee, I still have life. 
 
 Ale. Admetus, you perceive how 'tis with me, 
 But I would tell my wishes ere I die. 
 How I've loved, honoured thee, appears in this, 
 I die when not to die was in my power. 
 Giving my life that thou may'st see the light. 
 Yet both thy parents, both near life's last goal. 
 Betrayed thee, when they might have nobly died. 
 And so have saved their son, their only child. 
 With no hope left of other progeny. 
 Had either of them dared to die for thee. 
 We twain had lived, nor thou disconsolate 
 Been left to rear the children whom I leave — 
 Well, be it so ! then make me a return — 
 Thou lov'st these little ones no less than I ; 
 
 At least if right thy thoughts and feelings be ; 
 Then bring them up as princes in my house, 
 Nor introduce an envious stepmother, 
 Less kind in her affections than myself. 
 To lord it o'er them with a heavy hand. 
 Remember my request : a stepdame hates 
 The children of a former marriage born. 
 My boy will in his father find a tower. 
 But how, my girl, shalt thou fit training have? 
 How will thy father's consort act to thee? 
 Oil, may she not by slanderous rumour spoil 
 Thy hope of marriage in thy bloom of youth! 
 Thy mother ne'er shall deck thee as a bride, 
 Nor, where a mother kinder is than all. 
 Amid tliy groans of childbirth comfort thee! 
 For I must die. 
 
 Ch. I'll answer that he keep 
 
 Thy last injunctions, if he keep his senses. 
 
 Adm. It shall be so, it shall be, doubt it not: — 
 Since I had thee when living, still when dead 
 Shalt thou be my sole wife : none after thee 
 Shall call me husband. 
 
 Ale. My children, ye have heard your father's 
 pledge. 
 
 Adm. Again I give it, and will keep i( too. 
 
 Ale. So pledged, receive these children from 
 my hand. 
 
 Adm. A precious gift from dear hand I receive. 
 
 Ale. Be thou a mother to them in my stead. 
 
 Adm. Ah ! what shall I do, widowed and 
 forlorn ? 
 
 Ale. Time will console thee, for the dead are 
 nothing. 
 
 Adm. Oh Fate ! of what a wife thou spoilest 
 me ! 
 
 Ale. Speak of me as no more, as nothing now. 
 
 Adm. Lift up thy face, abandon not thy 
 children. 
 
 Ale. Notwiilingly — my children, oh! farewell! 
 
 Adm. Look on them, look on me once more. 
 
 Ale. Farewell! [dies.') 
 
 Ch. Daughter of Pelias ! now farewell! 
 Since thou must for ever dwell 
 In the subterranean halls. 
 Where the sun's light never falls. 
 Let the god, whose tresses flow 
 With a glooming blackness, know, 
 And the Rower, old and dread, 
 Ferryman of all the dead. 
 That this woman is the best, 
 Of the rarest worth possest. 
 It was e'er his lot to take 
 O'er tlie Acherontian lake. 
 
 Thy praise shall minstrels often tell 
 On the seven-toned mountain shell. 
 And in solemn hymns and sweet 
 Oft without the lyre repeat, 
 Botli in Sparta, when they keep 
 The Carnean feast, nor sleep. 
 While the vernal moon all night 
 Shineth on them glad and bright, — 
 And in Athens, famed in story. 
 Rich in splendour, wealth, and glory, 
 Such a theme thy death supplies 
 For the minstrel's melodies. 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 117 
 
 Wovild that it (Hd on me depend 
 That thou should'st to the liglit ascend! 
 From the rcahii of Dis supreme, 
 Where Cocytus rolls his stream, 
 From the land of shadows black 
 Would that I could waft thee back, 
 Bring thee up to earth again 
 By the river Subterrane ! 
 Thou, of women thou alone, 
 For thy husband's life thine own 
 Didst to Hades freely give, 
 Dying that thy spouse might live. 
 Lightly lie the earth o'er thee ! 
 If with other ever he 
 Link in love, his children's hate 
 And our scorn upon him wait. 
 
 His mother was not willing found 
 To hide her body under ground, 
 Was not willing, though she bore him, 
 To the grave to go before him ; 
 Nor did his old father dare, 
 When they both had hoary hair. 
 Neither of tliem dared to go, 
 As )iis substitute, below. 
 But thou didst — and in the hour 
 Of thy youth's fresh-breathing flower, 
 Ere life's loveliest hues had fled. 
 Dying in thy husband's stead. 
 
 Enter Hercules. 
 
 Her. Phereans, is Admetus now at home? 
 
 Ch. He is within; but tell us, Hercules, 
 What brings you to this part of Thessaly? 
 
 Her. Eurystheus has appointed nie a task. 
 
 Ch. Where must you travel, and for what 
 exploit? 
 
 Her. To Thrace, and for the steeds of Dioinede. 
 
 Ch. How can you do this ? do you know the 
 man ? 
 
 Her. No! I was ne'er in tlie Bistonian land. 
 
 Ch. Those steeds cannot be won without a 
 battle. 
 
 Her. Whom does their trainer boast of as his 
 sire 1 
 
 Ch. The king of Thracian shields, enrich'd 
 with "gold, 
 Calls Mars his sire. 
 
 Her. Thus does fate deal with me, 
 
 Still tasking me with arduous enterprise; 
 If I must with the sons of Mars contend, 
 First \vith Lycaon, and with Cycnus next, 
 Now with a third, this king and his fierce steeds. 
 But none shall ever see Alcinena's son 
 Shrink from encounter with a liostile hand. 
 
 Ch. And, lo ! Admetus from the palace comes. 
 
 Enter Admetus. 
 
 ^(Im. Hail, son of Jove, prince of the blood 
 
 of Perseus ! 
 Her. Admetus, prince of the Thessalians, hail ! 
 jldrn. Would that your "liail"' was suited to 
 
 my state, 
 For your gooil will toward me \vcll I know. 
 Her. Why are your locks in sign of mourning 
 
 shorn ? 
 
 j?(/ot. To-day I liave to bury somebody. 
 
 Her. 'Tis not one of your children ? Heaven 
 forbi.l ! 
 
 ^^ihn. My children are within, alive and well. 
 
 Her. If 'tis thy father, he went full of y(-ars. 
 
 .Mm. My father and my mother are alive. 
 
 Her. It cannot be Alcestis that is dead ? 
 
 .Afim. Of her I liave to speak a twofold tale. 
 
 Her. Speak you of her as living, or as dead ? 
 
 Adm. She is and is not! but she is my grief. 
 
 Her. I am no wiser, for you speak in riddles. 
 
 Adm. Do you not know the doom imposed on 
 her? 
 
 Her. I know she undertook to die for you. 
 
 Adm. How is she living then, if bound to this? 
 
 Her. Weep not beforehand ; wait until the 
 event. 
 
 Adm. One just about to die is dead already, 
 And one that's dead no longer is in being. 
 
 Her. To be, and not to be, are different things. 
 
 Adm. You judge in one way — in another I. 
 
 Her. But wherefore are you weeping? Who 
 is dead ? 
 
 Adm. A woman : — we were speaking of a 
 woman. 
 
 Her. One of thy blood, or of no kin to thee? 
 
 Adm. Not of my blood, but to my house most 
 dear. 
 
 Her. And did she in thy house depart this life? 
 
 Adm. Her father being dead, she lived with us. 
 
 Her. Oh, that j'ou were not mourning! 
 
 Adm. With what aim 
 
 Do you say this ? 
 
 Her. To seek another liost. 
 
 Adm. That must not be ; let not such ill occur. 
 
 Her. A guest is grievous to a house in grief. 
 
 Adm. The dead are dead : come, go within at 
 once. 
 
 Her. To feast with mourners is a shameful 
 thing. 
 
 Adm. The guest-rooms are apart. 
 
 Her. Nay ! let me go, 
 
 I'll owe you thousand thanks. 
 
 Adm. It must not be ; 
 
 Elsewhere you must not go : lead on, and throw 
 
 Uo an attendant^ 
 The guest-rooms open ; bid the purveyor 
 Provide fit entertainment for my guest; 
 Shut close the doors of the mid-hall, lest groans 
 (It were not well) .should reach the feaster's ears, 
 And with unwelcome grief mar his content 
 
 [Hkbcules Roes into the palace. 
 
 Ch. What means this? When so great mis- 
 chance has fallen, 
 Is it a season for receiving guests 
 
 Adm. Had I driven from my house a new-come 
 guest, 
 Would you have praised me ? No ! I had not lost 
 My grief, Imt rather hospitality ; 
 And such impeachment of my house had been 
 Atiother added to my present ills. 
 Besides, when I to thirsty Argos go, 
 Then this my guest is my most worthy host. 
 
 Ch. Why did you then from such a friend 
 conceal 
 Your present trouble? 
 
118 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 Mm. Had he known my grief, 
 
 He never would have gone within my doors. 
 Yet will lie think I was not wise in this — 
 He'll not like it ; but my roof knows not how 
 To turn away and to dishonour guests. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. I've at the hearth received many a guest, 
 From many a land, for whom I've spread the 
 
 feast, 
 But never worse than this. In the first place, 
 He saw my lord in grief, yet entered in ; 
 Next, for his fare, such as it chanced to be, 
 Made no allowance, knowing our distress, 
 But loudly roared for any thing he lacked ; 
 Then in both hands he seized an ivy goblet, 
 And quaffed the pure juice of the purple mother. 
 Until the flame o' the wine enkindled him ; 
 And then with myrtle-wreath he crowned him- 
 self. 
 And howled discordantly snatches of song. 
 There were two strains to hear ; for while he 
 
 sang, 
 Without a thought of our domestic woe, 
 We servants were bewailing our lost lady : 
 We did not let him see our eyes were wet, 
 For so Admetus ordered. I meanwhile 
 Must entertain this stranger, vagabond ! 
 But she is gone, nor did I follow her, 
 Nor stretch my hand, lamenting my lost mistress. 
 Who was e'en as a mother to us all ; 
 For from a thousand ills she saved us, 
 Appeasing for us oft her husband's ire. 
 Is it not justly then I hate this stranger, 
 Who has intruded on us in our grief 1 
 
 Enter Hercules. 
 Her. Hark you, why do you look so grave and 
 thoughtful ■? 
 A servant should receive a master's guests, 
 Not with a puckered brow, but cheerfully. 
 You show to me, that am your master's friend, 
 Contracted brow and gloomy countenance, 
 Only because of some out-door distress. 
 Come, learn of me, and be a wiser man. 
 Know you the way of life and its events ? 
 I think rtoi — but, indeed, how should you? Hark! 
 Death is a debt that all mankind must pay ; 
 None knows if he shall be alive to-morrow ; 
 For slippery fortune is uncertain ever. 
 Cannot be learnt, nor be found out by skill. 
 Drink and be merry ; and consider life 
 To be thine own only from day to day — 
 The rest is Fortune's. Honour Cytherea, 
 Sweetest of deities to mortal men, 
 For she to them is goddess most benign. 
 If you suppose me right — I think I am, — 
 Leave your dark thoughts and follow my advice. 
 Will you not then quit your excessive grief. 
 Go in, and crown yourself, and drink with me 1 
 I know right well the ^vine-cup's generous gush 
 Will clear your brow, and cleanse your mind of 
 
 gloom. 
 Mortals should entertain such sentiments 
 As suit their mortal state : to them, methinks. 
 
 That wear their visages to sorrow set, 
 Life is not truly life, but wretchedness. 
 
 Scrv. We know it ; but the feast, laughter, and 
 mirth, 
 Are quite unsuited to ovxr present state. 
 
 Her. But who is deadi one of the children 
 gone? 
 Or his old father ? 
 
 Serv. No! his wife is dead. 
 
 Her. What! his wife dead? and yet did he 
 receive me ? 
 
 Serv. He scrupled to repel you from his house. 
 
 Her. Unhappy man ! — Oh, what a loss is thine ! 
 
 Serv. Not only she, with her we all are lost. 
 
 Her. I thought 'twas some misfortune, when I 
 saw 
 His woeful face, shorn hair, and weeping eyes ; 
 But saying 'twas a stranger's funeral. 
 He did deceive me ; and against my will 
 I went within his doors, drank, crowned myself, 
 And revell'd while he was in his affliction. 
 And yet you told me not of this distress! 
 Where does he bury her? where can I find him? 
 
 Serv. On the high-road that to Larissa leads, 
 Just past the city gate, you will observe 
 The tomb of marble shining to the view. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Her. The newly-dead Alcestis must I rescue ; 
 I'll go, and watch for Death, the black-robed 
 
 king 
 Of the Departed ; if, as I expect, 
 I find him near the tomb, drinking the blood 
 Of victims, and I can surprise and seize him, 
 None shall release my panting prisoner 
 Till he resign the woman. If I fail 
 To take him captive so, and he abstains 
 From coming near to taste the clotted gore, 
 Then to the svmless mansions will I go, 
 Of fair Proserpine and her gloomy lord, 
 And ask her at their hands : I have no doubt 
 That I shall bring Alcestis up again, 
 And give her back to his embracing arms. 
 Who welcomed and received me in his house, 
 Though smitten with a sore calamity, 
 Which from respect for me he nobly hid. 
 What man of Thessaly has towards guests 
 A larger spirit and heart more bountiful? 
 Or what Hellenian? Never shall he say, 
 While he was noble, I was otherwise. 
 
 [Exit HERcri.ES. 
 
 Admetus and the company of mourners return. 
 
 Adm. Oh, sad aspect, and entrance drear 
 Of my' poor widowed house ! Oh, vchere 
 Can I find rest ? where go ? what say ? 
 Or how be silent ? Woeful day ! 
 Would all were o'er with me forlorn, 
 A wretch to worst affliction born! 
 I count the dead the only blest. 
 And long to be with them at rest. 
 To tread on earth not gladdens me. 
 Nor the sun's cheerful beams to see : 
 One pledge of joy I had — Death stole her, 
 And Hades has my life's consoler. 
 
 Ch. Go in, and solitary moan ! 
 Thy loss is worthy many a groan. 
 
 lb: 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 119 
 
 Ay, groan ! I know thy heavy lot, 
 But thy lamenting helps her not. 
 Her sweet face ne'er to see again 
 Is grief indeed — and grief in vain! 
 
 Mm. My house ! liow can I dwell in thee, 
 Since this .sad change has fall'n on me 1 
 'Twixt life before, and that behind, 
 Oh, what a difference I lind ! 
 With light of many a Pelian torch 
 I whilom ])asse(l within the porch. 
 With bridal songs, and in my hand 
 My wife, the lady of the land ! 
 Then was there many a cheerful voice 
 To bid the happy pair rejoice, 
 A noble match, well come together, 
 Both nobly born, in life's spring-weather : — 
 But now instead of nuptial songs 
 The wailing voice its note prolongs; 
 And for white shining robes to-day 
 I'm marshalled with a black array, 
 To what was once a happy spot 
 The chamber where — where she is not! 
 
 Ch. This came on thee in grief untried, 
 
 And after fortune's happy tide ; 
 
 But thou, at least, hast saved thy life ; 
 
 And from her loved thy loving wife 
 
 Is gone indeed : — is this thing new? 
 
 'Tis but what Death is used to do. 
 Adm. I deem her fortune happier than mine 
 own ; 
 It may not seem so, but I think it is ; 
 For her no grief shall ever touch again, 
 And she, removed from care, with glory rests; 
 While I, that should have died, escaping death, 
 Must now drag on a weary, woeful life — 
 I see it now. How can I bear my home ? 
 What pleasure can I look for ? whom addressing? 
 By whom addrest ? Oh, whither shall I turn ? 
 The solitude within will drive me out. 
 When I behold the place void where she slept. 
 The seat whereon she sat ; the house neglected ; 
 And when the children, clinging to my knees. 
 Weep for their mother; and tliese poor kind 
 
 creatures 
 Bewailing what a mistress they have lost ! 
 Ch. Dear she was while yet in life, 
 
 Dear too, now, when she is not; 
 
 For thine was the noblest wife 
 
 Ever fell to mortal's lot. 
 
 Let the tomb that covers her 
 Be not as a sepulchre 
 O'er the dead. Her praises meet 
 Shall the traveller repeat. 
 As to Spirit of the Day, 
 Ere he passes on his way: — 
 " She that once did death endure, 
 Of free will, to save her spouse, 
 Now, a Spirit blest and pure — 
 Hail, sweet Saint ! and hear our vows !" 
 
 But lo ! here comes Alcmena's son again. 
 
 Hehccles enters with a lady, lohose face is conceal- 
 ed under a thick veil. 
 
 Her. 'Tis right with freedom to address a friend, 
 And not to hide offence We take at him. 
 
 I thought myself one worthy, as one near 
 
 In friendship, to demand what was your grief: 
 
 You told me not 'twas your wife's funeral. 
 
 But as "twere death did not concern you nearly; 
 
 You entertained me as a welcome guest: 
 
 Meanwhile I crowned myself with myrtle 
 
 wreath. 
 And freely poured libations to the gods. 
 E'en in the house of mourning : 'twas not well— 
 I blame you for't, but will not with reproaches 
 Add to your grief Hear why I have returned: — 
 Receive and keep for me this woman safely, 
 Till with the Thracian mares I come again. 
 When I have slain the rude Bistonian king. 
 But should I meet mischance (which Heaven 
 
 forbid !) 
 Accept her as a gift ; with toil I won her. 
 It chanced I came upon a ring was set 
 For public games, in which, as worth my pains, 
 I took a part, and she became my prize. 
 The victors in the lighter games won horses ; 
 Those in the greater, herds of horned cattle ; 
 This woman was the last and noblest prize. 
 It had been base not to contend for this ; 
 I did, was victor, and commit her now 
 To your protection ; fairly did I wm her. 
 And not by theft ; you will perchance, hereafter, 
 Yourself commend me for the pains I took. 
 
 Jldm. Neither from slight, nor thinking you no 
 friend. 
 Did I conceal my wife's unhappy fate ; 
 But to my grief I had but added grief. 
 If you had gone to any other host : 
 To weep my own misfortune was enough. 
 But for this woman, if it may be so, 
 ("Mong the Phereans you have many friends,) 
 Commit her to the charge of other man, 
 Who has not suffered in the way that I have. 
 The sight of her would only feed my grief. — 
 Take her away! meihinks I see my wife. 
 When I see her ; it stirs my troubled heart. 
 
 Her. Grieve not too much ; endure the stroke 
 with patience. 
 
 Mm. To preach is easier than to practise it. 
 
 Her. You lost a glorious creature. 
 
 Jdm. And with her 
 
 Lost sense of joy, and relish of my life. 
 
 Her. Time will compose the swelling grief yet 
 new. 
 
 Adm. 'Twill do it, if time be death. 
 
 JJcr. Another wife 
 
 Will comfort you. 
 
 Mm. Hush, hush! how ran you speak so? 
 
 Her. Will you then live a lonely widower? 
 
 Adm. No woman e'er shall be my bed-fellow! 
 
 Her. Think you this of advantage to the dead ? 
 
 Adm. I'm bound to lionour her, where'er she be. 
 
 Her. Right, right! I say; but you'll be thought 
 a fool. 
 
 Adm. That let them call me, but a bridegroom 
 never ! 
 
 Her. I i)raise you for your loyalty in love. 
 
 Adm. If ever I betray her, may I perish ! 
 
 Her. Take now this noble dame into the house. 
 
 Adm. Pr'ythee, excuse me, by thy father Jove. 
 I Her. But not to do this is not for thy good. 
 
120 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 Adm. And doing it will cut me to the heart. 
 Her. Do it ; you'll not repent it ; be persuaded. 
 Adm. Alas! would you had never won the 
 
 ])rize ! 
 Her. Yet in my triumph you participate. 
 Mm. Thanks for your nobleness; butlethergo. 
 Her. Yes ! if it must be so, but look to it first. 
 Adm. It must be so, unless you would incense 
 
 me. 
 Her. From knowing what I do, I'll run the risk. 
 Adm. Prevail then, but I like not your pro- 
 ceeding. 
 Her. Some time or other you will praise me 
 
 for it. 
 Adm. Conduct her in then, if it must be so. 
 
 [To his attendants. 
 Her. I will not give her over to your servants. 
 Adm. Then lead her in yourself 
 Her. Into your hands, 
 
 And into yours alone, will I commit her. 
 
 Adm. I will not touch her — but she may go in. 
 Her. I trust in you, and in your hands I place 
 
 her. 
 Adm. Against my will you force me to this act. 
 Her. Boldly advance thy hand, and touch the 
 
 stranger. 
 Adm. As though it were to touch the Gorgon's 
 
 head ! 
 Her. Hast hold of her. 
 Adm. I have. 
 
 Her. Then hold her fast ; 
 
 Hereafter will you call me generous guest. 
 But look on her — {he lifts her veil] — and see if she 
 
 resembles 
 Thy lost Alcestis. 
 
 Adm. My wife, my own wife ! 
 
 Or do you mock me ? 
 
 Her. 'Tis your very wife. 
 
 Adm. My wife ? My buried wife ? 
 Her. Yes ! it is she ; 
 
 I do not wonder at your unbelief 
 
 Adm. Sweet face and person of my dearest 
 wife ! 
 When I did think to see thee never more, 
 Beyond all ho])e do I possess thee now ? 
 
 Her. You do; all enxj of the gods keep hence! 
 Adm. Blest be thou, noble son of highest Jove. 
 And may thy father ever watch o'er thee ! 
 For only thou hast raised me up again. 
 
 FROM THE MEDEA. 
 
 Medea, the daughter of .^etes, king of Colchis, 
 becoming enamoured of Jason, is enabled, by 
 her acquaintance with the art of magic, to extri- 
 cate her lover from all his dangers, and facilitate 
 his acquisition of the celebrated golden fleece. 
 After this conquest, Jason marries his preserver, 
 with whom he elopes, and after some time settles 
 at Corinth. Here, unmindful of his obligations, 
 he is desirous of divorcing his wife, and of con- 
 tracting a marriage with Glauce, the daughter 
 of King Creon, who, fearing the cruelty and 
 power of Medea, banishes her and her two sons 
 from the country, in order to secure his daughter 
 from her revenge. The unhappy woman, driven 
 
 to despair by this insult, pretends to submit to 
 the sentence ; and having secured an asylum for 
 herself at Athens, sends her sons with rich pre- 
 sents to the bride ; and, by the interposition of 
 Jason, succeeds in obtaining her good offices with 
 the king, to permit the youths to remain at Corinth, 
 under the protection of their father. The youths 
 are now sent back to their mother, and Glauce 
 hastens to array herself in the splendid robes 
 presented by her rival ; but soon finds that the 
 enchantress has infused a deadly poison, which 
 proves fatal both to herself and her father. Jason, 
 apprehensive of the fate which may await his 
 sons, hastens to their rescue ; but finds, on his 
 arrival, that Medea has already sacrificed them 
 as an expiation of the infidelity of her husband, 
 whose agony she derides ; and, defying his re- 
 sentment, flies through the air with her slaugh- 
 tered children, in a chariot drawn by winged 
 dragons. 
 
 Nurse of Medea. 
 
 0, THAT the gallant Argo had not wing'd 
 Her course to Colchis through the clashing rocks 
 Of the black Euxine ; that in Pelion's groves 
 The pine had ne'er been fell'd ; nor at the oars 
 The heroes' hands had labour'd when they sought 
 The golden fleece for Pelias : then my queen, 
 Meolea, had not plough'd the watery way 
 To tower'd lolcos, maddening with the love 
 Of Jason ; nor, the daughters won to slay 
 Their father Pelias, had she fixed her seat 
 At Corinth, with her husband and her sons ; 
 A pleasing flight indeed to those, whose land 
 She made her residence ; while every thought, 
 Studious to aid him, was on Jason fix'd. 
 This is the state of firmest happiness. 
 When from the husband no discordant will 
 The wife estranges; but their dearest ties 
 Of love are loosened; all is variance now 
 And hate : for Jason, to his children false, 
 False to my mistress, for a royal bride 
 Hath left her couch, and wedded Creon's daughter, 
 Lord of this land. Ill doth Medea brook 
 This base dishonour ; on his oath she calls, 
 Recalls their plighted hands, the firmest pledge 
 Of mutual faith, and calls the gods to witness 
 What a requital she from Jason finds. 
 Of food regardless, and in sorrow sunk 
 She lies, and melts in tears each tedious hotir 
 Since first she knew her lord had injured her; 
 Nor lifts her eye, nor lifts her face from the earth. 
 Deaf to her friends' entreaties as a rock, 
 Or billow of the sea; save when she turns 
 Her snowy neck, and to herself bewails 
 Her father, and her country, and her house, 
 Which she betray'd to follow this base man, 
 Who treats her now with such indignity. 
 Ariliction now hath taught her what it is 
 Not to forsake a parent and his house. 
 She hates her children, nor with pleasure sees 
 
 them. 
 I fear her, lest she form some strange design ; 
 For violent her temper, and of wrongs 
 Impatient : well I know her, and I fear her. 
 Lest, in the dead of night, when all are laid 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 121 
 
 111 deep repose, she steal into the house, 
 
 And plunge into their breast the piercing sword; 
 
 Or murder ev'n the monarcli of the land, 
 
 Or the new-marvied Jason, on herself 
 
 Drawing severer ills : for like a storm 
 
 Her passions swell : and he that dares enrage her 
 
 Will have small cause to boast his victory. 
 
 But see, her sons from the gymnastic ring 
 
 Returning, heedless of their mother's ills; 
 
 For youth holds no society with grief. 
 
 Tutor, with the Sons of Medea, Nurse. 
 
 Tut. Thou old domestic servant of my mistress, 
 Why dost thou take thy station at the gates, 
 And ruminate in silence on thy griefs'? 
 How hath JNIedea wish'd to be alone? 
 
 Nitr. Thou good old man, attendant on the sons 
 Of Jason, faithful servants with their lords 
 Suffer in their alBictions, and their hearts 
 Are touch'd with social sorrow; and my griefs 
 Swell, for Medea's sufferings, to such height. 
 That strong desire impell'd me to come forth, 
 And tell them to the earth and to the skies. 
 
 Tut. Admits she yet no respite to her groans ? 
 
 Nur. 1 w onder at thee : no, these ills but now 
 Are rising, to their height not yet advanced. 
 
 Tut. Unwise, if of our lords we so rnay speak; 
 Since she knows nothing of more recent ills. 
 
 Nur. What may this be 1 refuse not to inform 
 me. 
 
 Tut. Nothing; and I repent of what I said. 
 
 Nur. Nay, by thy beard, conceal it not from 
 me, 
 Thy fellow-servant: if occasion calls 
 For secrecy, in silence will I keep it. 
 
 Tut. I heard one say, not seeming to attend, 
 But passing on to where they play with dice. 
 Among the grave old men, who then by chance 
 Were sitting near Pirene's hallow'd stream. 
 That Creon, lord of this fair land, will drive 
 These children and their mother from the state 
 Of Corinth : whether this report be true 
 I know not, but I wish it otherwise. 
 
 Nur. Will Jason bear to see his sons thus 
 wrong'd. 
 Though he regards their mother now no more ? 
 
 Tut. To new alliances the old gives place, 
 And to this house he is no more a friend. 
 
 Nur. Ruin would follow, to the former ill 
 If this were added ere the first subsides. 
 
 Tut. Be cautious then ; it were unseasonable 
 Our queen knew this; in silence close thy lips. 
 
 Nur. You hear, my children, how your father's 
 mind 
 Is towards you : yet I wish not ruin on him ; 
 He is my lord, though to his friends unkind. 
 
 Tut. What mortal knows not — thou mayst 
 know it hence — 
 Each for himself conceives a dearer love 
 Than for his neighbour ; some by glory, some 
 By gain induced: what wonder, then, if these. 
 Of his new nuptials fond, their father love not? 
 
 Nur. Go in, my children, go: all will be well; 
 And take thou heed, keep them aloof, nor let 
 
 thein 
 Come near their mother ^vhile her griefs are fresh : 
 16 
 
 Cruel her eye, and wild ; I markd it late, 
 Expressive of some dark design on these: 
 Nor will she check her fury, well I know, 
 Till the storm bursts on some one: may its stroke 
 Fall on. some hostile head, not on a friend. 
 
 Med. Wretch that 1 am, what anguish rends 
 my heart ! [u-ilhin. 
 
 Wretched Medea, how art thou undone! 
 
 Nur. Ay, thus it is. Your mother, my dear 
 children, 
 Swells with resentment, swells with rage: go in. 
 Go quickly in ; but come not in her eye. 
 Approach her not, but keep you from the M-ild 
 And dreadful fury of her violent temper. 
 Go now, go quickly in ; this rising cloud 
 Of grief forebodes a storm, which soon will fall 
 With greater rage: inflamed with injuries. 
 What will not her tempestuous si)irit dare? 
 
 Med. Ah me ! ah me ! what mighty wrongs I 
 bear, 
 Wrongs that demand my tears and loud laments ! 
 Ye sons accursed of a detested mother, 
 Perish, together with your father perish. 
 And in one general ruin sink your house ! 
 
 Nur. Ah me unhappy! in their father's fault 
 Why make thy sons associates? Why on them 
 Rises thy hatred ? O, I fear, I fear. 
 My children, lest some evil threatens you. 
 Kings have a fiery quality of soul, 
 Accustom'd to command ; if once they feel 
 Control, though small, their anger blazes out, 
 Not easily extinguish'd ; hence I deem 
 An equal mediocrity of life 
 More to be wish'd ; if not in gorgeous state, 
 Yet without danger glides it on to age. 
 There's a protection in its very name. 
 And happiness dwells with it: but the height 
 Of towering greatness long to mortal man 
 Remains not fixd; and, when misfortune comes 
 Euiaged, in deeper ruin sinks the house. 
 
 Nurse, Chorus. 
 
 Ch. I heard the voice, I heard the loud laments 
 Of the unhappy Colchian : do her griefs 
 (Say, reverend matron,) find no respite yet? 
 From the door's opening valve I heard her voice. 
 No pleasure in the sorrows of your house 
 I take ; for deeds are done not grateful to me. 
 
 Nur. This is no more a house; all here is 
 vanish'd. 
 Nor leaves a trace behind. The monarch's house 
 He makes his own ; while my unhai>py luistress 
 In her lone chamber melts her life aw:iy 
 In tears, unmoved by all the arguments 
 Urged by her friends to soothe her sorrowing soul. 
 
 Med. O that the ethereal lightning on this head 
 Would fall! Why longer should I wish to live? 
 Unhappy me ! Death would be welcome now, 
 And kindly free me from this hated life. 
 
 Ch. Dost thou hear this, O Jove, O Earth, 
 Light, 
 The mournful voice of this unhappy dame? 
 Why thus indulge this unabated force 
 Of nuptial love, self-rigorous, hastening death ? 
 Let it not be thy wish : if a new bed 
 Now charms thy husband, be not his offence 
 L 
 
122 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 Engraved too deep: Jove will avenge thy wrongs; 
 Let not thy sorrows prey upon thy heart. 
 
 Med. powerful Themis, O revered Diana, 
 See what I suffer, though with sacred oaths 
 This vile, accursed husband I had bound ! 
 O, might I one day see him and his bride 
 Rent piecemeal in their house, who unprovoked 
 Have dared to wrong me thus! Alas, my father! 
 Alas, my country ! whom my shameful flight 
 Abandon'd, having first my brother slain ! 
 
 Nur. You hear her invocations, how she calls 
 On Themis, prompt to hear the suppliant's vows; 
 And Jove, the avenger of neglected oaths 
 To mortal man : nor is it possible 
 Her fiery transports know a moment's pause. 
 Ch. What motives can be urged to draw her 
 
 forth ? 
 Could we but see her, would she hear our voice, 
 Haply our pleaded reason might avail 
 To soothe her soul, and mitigate her rage. 
 My zeal shall not be wanting to my friends. 
 Go then, persuade her forth ; with soft address 
 Allure her hither: haste, thou friendly dame, 
 Ere her resentment burst on those within; 
 For her full grief swells to a dreadful lieight. 
 
 Nur. I will attempt it, though I fear my voice 
 Will not prevail , yet does your friendly zeal 
 Claim from me this return ; but to her slaves, 
 When they approach to speak to her, she bears 
 The aspect of a furious lioness, 
 Ihat watches o'er her young. If thou shouldst 
 
 say 
 That men of former times were unadvised. 
 Shallow, and nothing wise, thou wouldst not err; 
 For festivals, for banquets, and for suppers. 
 They form'd the sprightly song that charm'd the 
 
 ear, 
 Making life cheerful ; but with music's power, 
 And the sweet symphony of varied strains, 
 They knew not to assuage the piercing griefs 
 That rack the heart, whence deaths and ruthless 
 
 deeds 
 Spread desolation : here to soothe the soul 
 With lenient songs were wisdom. Where the 
 
 feast 
 Is spread, why raise the tuneful voice in vain 1 
 The table richly piled hath in itself 
 A cheerfulness that wakes tlie heart to joy.* 
 
 * The rites derived from ancient days 
 With thoughtless reverence we praise, 
 The rites that taught us to combine 
 The joys of music and of wine ; 
 That bade the feast, the song, the bowl, 
 O'erfill the saturated soul. 
 But ne'er the lute nor lyre applied 
 To soothe despair or soften pride. 
 Nor cali'd them to the gloomy cells, 
 Where Madness raves, and Vengeance swells, 
 Where Hate sits musing to betray, 
 And Murder meditates his prey. 
 To dens of guilt and shades of care 
 Ye sons of melody repair. 
 Nor deign the festive hour to cloy 
 With superfluity of joy! 
 Ah, little needs the minstrel's power 
 To speed the lisht convivial hour; 
 The board with varied plenty crown'd 
 May spare the luxury of sound. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Ch. I heard her lamentations mixed with 
 groans, 
 Which in the anguish of her heart she vents; 
 And on her faithless husband, who betray'd 
 Her bed, she calls aloud ; upon the gods. 
 Thus basely wrong'd, she calls, attesting Themis, 
 Daughter of Jove, the arbitress of oaths. 
 Who led her to the shores of Greece, across 
 The rolling ocean, when the shades of night 
 Darken'd its waves, and steer'd her through the 
 straits. 
 
 FROM THE HIPPOLYTUS. 
 
 HippoLYTUS, the son of Theseus, devoting him- 
 self to the service of Diana, and neglecting Venus, 
 draws do^vn upon himself the indignation of the 
 latter goddess, which cannot be ajjpeased but by 
 his ruin. For this purpose she inspires Phtedra, 
 his father's wife, with a guilty passion for her 
 step-son, which she in vain attempts to suppress. 
 Her nurse, however, extorts the secret from her 
 mistress, and, contrary to her commands, reveals 
 it to the youth, who received the declaration with 
 the abhorrence it deserved. The unhappy Phae- 
 dra, betrayed and disgraced, resolves on imme- 
 diate death, and, instigated by revenge, dies with 
 a letter fastened to her hand, in which she ac- 
 cuses Hippolytus of having committed the very 
 crime which his virtue had rejected with so much 
 horror. The accusation, however, is believed by 
 the king, while the son, flying from his ven- 
 geance, is throw^n from his chariot, and dies, but 
 not until his innocence had been made clear, and 
 reconciliation effected between liim and liis re- 
 pentant father. 
 
 Schlegel commends the play as well for the 
 sublime beauty of its hero, as for the propriety 
 and moral strictness observed throughout, on so 
 hazardous a subject. 
 
 SCEITE AT Tr^ZENE. 
 
 HippoLTTus and Attendants. 
 
 Hippolytus. 
 Follow, follow, follow me ; 
 
 To Diana raise the strain: 
 Goddess of the chase is she, 
 And admits us of her train. 
 Attendants. 
 Virgin goddess of the chase, 
 Queen of every noble grace. 
 Holy, awe-commanding power, 
 Whom to Jove Latona bore, 
 Hail, Diana ! and agaiit 
 Hail ; thou most beauteous of the virgin train, 
 That tread the wide-extended realms above 
 Radiant, and grace the golden courts of Jove ! 
 Hippolytus. 
 Hail, Diana, virgin bright. 
 
 Fairest of the forms divine. 
 That in heaven's ethereal height 
 
 Graced with beauty's radiance shine! 
 Thee, goddess, to adorn, I bring this crown 
 Enwoven with the various flowers that deck 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 123 
 
 The unshorn moad, where never shepherd dared 
 To feed his flook, and tlie scythe never came ; 
 But o'er its vernal sweets unshorn tlie bee 
 Ranges at will, and modest nature rolls 
 The irriguous streamlet ; garish art hath there 
 No share: of these the modest still may cull 
 At pleasure, interdicted to the impure; 
 But for thy golden tresses, honoiir'd queen, 
 Receive this garland from my pious hands. 
 To me alone of mortals is this grace 
 Vouchsafed, to share thy company, to hold 
 Free converse witli thee, and to hear thy voice, 
 Though not permitted to behold thy face. 
 
 Alt. Say, royal youth (for we should call the 
 
 gods 
 
 Alone our lords,) wilt thou hear counsel from me? 
 
 Hip. Most willingly ; I else should seem unwise. 
 
 Alt. Know St thou the common law to man 
 
 prescribed '? 
 Hip. I know not ; nor thy question, what it 
 
 means. 
 Alt. To hate whatever of haughty scorns to 
 
 please. 
 Hip. And justly, for the haughty all must hate. 
 Att. And is there in the affable a grace ? 
 Hip. Much, and with little labour to be won. 
 Att. And thinkest thou this reaches to the 
 
 gods? 
 Hip. It must, since from the gods we have our 
 
 laws. 
 Att. Why then this haughty goddess not ad- 
 dress? 
 Hip. What goddess? Butbe cautious of offence. 
 Att. Venus, that hath her station at thy gates. 
 Hip. Her at a distance I, as chaste, salute. 
 Alt. Yet is she haughty, and 'mong men re- 
 nowned. 
 Hip. Each different gods reveres, and different 
 
 men. 
 Alt. Were thy tlioughts what they ought, thou 
 
 wouldst be bless'd. 
 Hip. A god revered by night delights not me. 
 Att. Sacred should be the honour of the gods. 
 Hip. Go, my companions, pass this dome, 
 prepare 
 Provisions ; for the table richly spread 
 After the chase is grateful. I must see 
 j\Iy coursers dress'd, that after my repast 
 1 well may breathe them harnessVl to the car : 
 But to thy Venus here I bid farewell. 
 
 Att. But we, with better thought, (for from 
 young men 
 Wo must not take example,) as becomes 
 Our humble station, to thy image pay 
 Our vows, imperial Venus : be it thine 
 To pardon him, if driven by headlong youth 
 He speaks imprudently : do thou appear 
 As if thou heard'st him not; it well becomes 
 The gods to be more wise than mortal men. 
 
 CHonus. 
 
 Strophe. 
 There is a rock from whose deep base 
 
 The bubbling fountains flow; 
 And from the top we sink the vase 
 
 To reach the stream below. 
 
 I have a friend, who thither brought 
 Her vests, with radiant purple wrought, 
 
 To bathe them in the crystal dews ; 
 Then on the rock's steep ridge display 
 To the warm sun's ethereal ray 
 
 Their richly-tinctured hues. 
 
 Aiilislrophe. 
 There first from her the tidings came 
 
 That, languishing away. 
 On her sick couch, the royal dame 
 
 In her apartments lay; 
 Aiul, every eye avoiding, spread 
 The light veil o'er her golden head. 
 
 Three days from food, through pining grief 
 Have her ambrosial lips refiaiird; 
 And, with some secret anguish pain'd, 
 
 From death she hopes relief. 
 
 But see, the aged nurse before the doors 
 Supports her from the house : a gloomy cloud 
 Hangs' thickening on her brow : what this may be 
 I wish to know ; and why, unhai)j)y queen, 
 The transient bloom is faded from her cheek. 
 
 Ph;edha, NunsE, Cnonus. 
 
 Nur. Unhappy state of mortals, thus to waste 
 
 With irksome sickness ! What to give thee 
 
 ease, 
 Shall I attempt? What shall I not attempt? 
 Here may'st thou view the light of heaven, here 
 
 breathe 
 The ethereal air ; here press thy sickly couch 
 Before the house; for often didst thou ask 
 To be led hither: to thy chamber soon 
 Wilt thou return; for changeful is thy mind. 
 And nothing pleases ; what is present to thee 
 Delights thee not, expecting more of good 
 In what is absent. Sickness hath in this 
 Advantage o"er the arts that work its cure: 
 That is a simple ill ; but these require 
 Attentive thought, and labour of the hands. 
 But all the life of man is full of pain. 
 
 Ph. Yet bear me up my friends, support my 
 head ; 
 I have no strength : you, that attend me, hold 
 My feeble hands. How cumbrous is this dress! 
 Ill can my head support it; take it off, 
 And let these crisped tresses How. Ah me! 
 Nur. Be cheer'd, my child, nor with this rest- 
 less motion 
 Weary thy weak limbs: easier wilt thou bear 
 Thy sickness resting calmly, and thy mind 
 Arming with patience : in this mortal state 
 None are exempt from struggling with their ills. 
 JPh. 0, from the limpid fountain might I draw 
 The cooling stream, and, on the grassy bank 
 Reclined, beneath the poplars rest my head! 
 Nur. What means that wish ? Ah, si)eak not 
 words like these 
 To many; there is something wild in them. 
 
 Ph. O, bear me to the mountain ; to the pines, 
 The forest would I go. where the fleet hounds 
 Pursue the dappled hinds! 0, by the gods 
 I long to cheer the dogs of chase, to wave 
 0"er my bright tresses the Thessalian dart, 
 And grasp the pointed javelin in my hands ! 
 
124 
 
 EURIPIDES, 
 
 Nur. Whence tliis desire, this fondness for the 
 cliase 1 
 Why from tiie limpid foiiiuaia wotildst thou take 
 The cooliii}; draii^cht^ Beside the citadel 
 Hoadion^i the fiiishini> waters roll aioiii; 
 Tlie liviiii; stream: thence mayst tliou slake thy 
 thirst. 
 Ph. Diana, jroddess of the sacred lake, 
 And of the eqnestrian cotu'sers, in thy field 
 
 how I lonj^ to tame the Henetian steeds! 
 Nur. Why are tiiy words ayain tints wild? 
 
 Ev'n now 
 The motmtain and tlie cliase was all thy wish; 
 Now in the thirsty sands to tame the steed. 
 Ph. What have I done, unhappy as I am, 
 And whither wandered from my sober sense? 
 
 1 raved: some angry ijod hath wroiiijlit this ill. 
 Ah me, uidiappy! Let thy friendly hand 
 Cover my head aijain: I iim ashamed 
 
 Of what I said : O cover me : the tear 
 
 Drops from mine eye, and on my cheek I feel 
 
 The warm blush rise. How painful when the 
 
 sense 
 Resumes its former functions ! To be mad 
 Is dreadful ; yet in this a softer ill, 
 We have no sense of the calamity. 
 
 Nur. Tliy head aptin I cover ; when will death 
 Cover my body? From this length of life 
 Much have I learn'd: best suited to the slate 
 Of mortal life are mutual friendships formd 
 With moderation, such as like not root 
 Deep in the soul; affections that with ease 
 May be relax'd, or closer bound at will. 
 
 Ch. Tlioii aged matron, faithful from her youth 
 To the imperial Phiedra, we behold 
 Her cruel sufferings; but no symptoms mark 
 What her disease may be, of this we wish 
 To make inquiry, and to learn from tliee. 
 
 Nur. I am not well assured, nor will she 
 
 speak it. 
 Ch. But of her sufferings what may be the 
 
 cause? 
 Nur. Nor know I this, for slie conceals it all. 
 Ch. Beneath her malady she wastes a^vay. 
 Nur. No food for three long days liatli passed 
 
 her lips. 
 Ch. Through sickness this, or is she bent on 
 
 death ? 
 Nur. From food abstaining soon her life must 
 
 end. 
 Ch. This sure mtist be displeasing to her lord. 
 Nur. She hides it all, and speaks not of her 
 
 illness. 
 Ch. But he must mark it when he views her 
 
 face. 
 Nur. It chances he is absent from this land. 
 Ch. Hast thou been earnest in the attempt to 
 learn 
 What her disease, and what thus racks her 
 mind ? 
 Nur. I have tried all, but vain are my attempts ; 
 Yet shall I not e'en now abate my zeal. 
 O my loved child, let us forget tlie words. 
 We each have spoke; do thou recall thy sweet 
 And gentle natiu-e ; clear that clouded brow; 
 Thou shouldst not be thus silent. Have I spoke 
 
 Amiss? reprove me; if my words are right. 
 Assent to them. What is it? Speak. — By dying 
 Thy sons thou wilt betray, nor will they share 
 The ri('h iidieritance of their father's liouse. 
 This by the warlike Amazonian queen 
 I swear; fur she hath left a son to lord it 
 Over thy sons, of s|nirioiis birth indeed. 
 But now legitinuite thought, thou know"st him 
 
 well, 
 Hijjpolytiis — 
 
 Ph. Ah me ! 
 
 Nur. Doth it then touch thee? 
 
 Ph. Thou hast uiulone me; by the gods I beg 
 thee, 
 never let me licar that name again ! 
 
 Nur. Dost thou see this? thou judgest right; 
 why then 
 Not benefit thy sons, and save thy life? 
 
 Ph. I love my sons ! another storm bursts o'er 
 
 me. 
 Nur. Thy hands, my child, are innocent of 
 
 blood ? 
 Ph. My haiuls are guiltless, but my heart's 
 
 defiled. 
 Nur. Some foreign ill, brought on thee by thy 
 
 foes ? 
 Ph. I by a friend, unwilling both, am rnin'd. 
 Nur. By some misdeed hath Theseus injured 
 
 thee? 
 Ph. Would I were found not to liave injured 
 
 him ? 
 Nur. What dreadful tiling makes thee thus 
 
 wish to die? 
 Ph. Ill would befall thee, should I tell thee all. 
 Nur. Can worse befall me than the loss of 
 
 thee ? 
 Ph. Go ; by the gods, forbear, and quit my 
 
 hand. 
 Nur. Never, till thou indulge me this request. 
 Ph. That suppliant hand revering, I will tell 
 
 thee. 
 Nur. 'Tis mine in silence to attend thy words. 
 Ph. Ah, woiddst thou tell me what is mine to 
 
 speak ? 
 Nur. I am no prophetess in things obscure. 
 Ph. Ah, tell me what is this which men call 
 
 love. 
 Nur. The sweetest pleasure and severest pain. 
 Ph. Taught by experience, one of them I feel. 
 Nur. What says my chiltl? Dost thou then love 
 
 some man ? 
 Ph. Who is this son of the Amazonian queen? 
 Nur. Hippolytus. 
 
 Ph. By thee lie's named, not me. 
 
 Nur. Ah me! What wouldst thou say? O thou 
 liast made me 
 Most wretched. No, this is not to be borne; 
 For now the wise, the modest, are in love 
 (Not willingly indeed) with ill. No god 
 Is Venus then? Nay, if there be aught else 
 More potent than a god, she hath undone 
 My royal mistress, me, and all the house. 
 
 Ph. TrcBzenian dames, wlio this remotest verge 
 Of Pelops' realms inhabit, through the long 
 And silent night oft have my thoughts revolved 
 The sad depravity of human life ; 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 125 
 
 How prone to ill, through no defect, I think, 
 Of" nature ; she to many gives the sense 
 Of what is right ; but my reflections lead mo 
 To this conclusion; Miiat is g(jod we know 
 And feel, but do it not ; through listlessness 
 Some want the spirit to act; and some prefer 
 Their favourite pleasure to the work of virtue ; 
 For life hath various pleasures; ill-spent hours 
 Of frivolous conversation, indolence, 
 A pleasing ill and shame ; — but I unfold 
 The workings of my mind. Soon as I felt 
 The wound of love, my thoughts were turn'd 
 
 how best 
 To bear it ; hence in silence I conceal'd 
 JNIy pains; my next resolve was to o'ercome it 
 With chaste austerity. When these aval I'd not 
 To vanquish love, I deem'd it noblest for me 
 To die ; these resolutions none will blame. 
 I knew how foul this fond desire, I knew 
 How infamous, and, as a woman, well 
 I knew in what abhorrence it is held. 
 0, that she perish'd, suffering every ill. 
 Who with adulterate love the nuptial bed 
 First shamed! The houses of the great gave 
 
 birth 
 To this disease; and thence the infection spread. 
 For when base deeds from those of highest rank 
 Receive a sanction, all below^ esteem them 
 As objects of their honest imitation. 
 But her I hate, whose tongue to modest praise 
 Is filed, while thoughts of lewdness in her heart 
 She dares to harbour. Sovereign, sea-born Venus, 
 How can such look their husband in the face. 
 Nor tremble at the darkness that assists them ; 
 And fear the roof, the walls should find a tongue 
 To publish their misdeeds? I will not live 
 Dear friends, to shame my husband and my 
 
 children. 
 Ch. How lovely in each state is chastity. 
 Which brings to mortals, the sublimest fame ! 
 
 Nur. A sudden terror, lady, seized my heart 
 When first I heard thy griefs ; I now perceive 
 My weakness; it is ever thus; the thoughts 
 Draw wisdom from reflection. Nothing strange 
 Afl'ects thee, nothing singular ; severe 
 The anger of the goddess rushes on thee. 
 Lov'st thou? What wonder? Many feel the force 
 Of love; wilt thou for this refuse to live? 
 Ill would it fare with those that love, and those 
 That shall hereafter love, if they must die; 
 For Venus is resistless, when she comes 
 In all her force ; but gentle to the heart 
 That to her influence yields; the proud, that bids 
 Scornful defiance to her power, she seizes, 
 And, as too well thou know'st, chastises liim. 
 She ranges through the sky, and in the sea 
 Commands the waves ; and all things owe their 
 
 birth 
 To her ; she sows, she gives the seeds of Love ; 
 And all that live on earth, from him arise — 
 Those who revolve the annals of old times, 
 And those who tread the Muses" hallow'd haunts. 
 Know how the breast of Jove, with Semele 
 Was once enamour'd ; to the heavenly seats, 
 How beauteous, bright Aurora, touch'd with love, 
 Bore Cephalus ; yet in the skies they hold 
 
 Their seats, nor fly the assemblies of the gods, 
 Who hold them dear, by the same power, I ween. 
 Themselves subdued : and wilt thou not sustain it? 
 It were too nice through all the parts of life 
 To labour at exactness. — But no more 
 Of these weak thoughts, of these thy vain en- 
 deavours. 
 To be more perfect than the gods. Be firm, 
 If love hath seized thy heart; it is the work 
 Of love"s all-powerfid goddess ; if it pains thee. 
 Try to relieve thy pain; know, there are charms, 
 And spells of wondrous potency to heal 
 The sickness of the sovd ; their influence 
 Shall give thee ease. In their inventions slow 
 Were men, but readier far is woman's skill. 
 
 Ph. This is what ruins many a noble house, 
 And many a Jjeopled town, this glorying speech. 
 Behoves us now no blandishment that charms 
 The ear, but what excites to virtuous deeds. 
 
 Nur. Wherefore this lol"ty strain? Thou hast 
 not need 
 Of fine-formed words, but of a man, and soon 
 May they be known who most discreetly speak 
 What so concerns thee. If this malady 
 Touch'd not thy life, and modesty prevail'd, 
 I would not for thy pleasure and thy love 
 To this have led thee ; but to save thy life 
 Is the great business; let not that find blame. 
 
 Ph. Fye on thy tongne ! Wilt thou not close 
 thy lips ? 
 Wilt thou not cease to urge thy shameful plea? 
 
 Nur. It may be shameful, but consults for thee 
 Better than honour ; it would save thy life, 
 In which more merit lies than in a name, 
 Glorying in which, it is thy wish to die. 
 
 Ph. Now, by the gods (for shameful are thy 
 words 
 Though well design'd) no farther urge thy plea. 
 That, if I give my yielding soul to love, 
 I should do well ; for though with specious phrase 
 Thou varnish o"cr the baseness, I should fall 
 On that disgrace and ruin which I fly. 
 
 Nur. If such thy resolution, it behoved thee 
 Not from the right to deviate ; but ev"n thus 
 Be Tided by me ; do me this grace at least: 
 I in the house have medicines, of power 
 To charm the rage of love ; these to my thought 
 Lately occurr'd; let not thy fears prevail: 
 They, without shame, or injury to sense, 
 Will ease thee of this sickness of the mind. 
 But thou must have some token from the youth 
 Beloved, some word, soine relic of his vest, 
 Of tvvo in imion close to knit one love. 
 
 Ph. An unguent or a potion is the charm ? 
 
 Nur. Wish not to be informed, my child, but 
 eased. 
 
 Ph. Too nmoh, I fear, thou trustest to thy 
 wisdom. 
 
 Nur. Fear every thing, be sure: what dost thou 
 fi!ar ? 
 
 Ph. Lest to the son of Theseus thou disclose it. 
 
 Nur. Confide in me: my care shall order this 
 Right well : do thou, O sovereign, sea-born Venus, 
 Do thou but aid me ! To my friends within 
 To impart the rest is all that's needful now. 
 
 [Erit NuBSK. 
 l2 
 
126 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 Pa^nnA, Chorus. 
 
 Strophe I. 
 
 O Love, O Love, that through the eyes 
 
 Iiistillest softly warm desire, 
 Pleaseil in the soul, with sweet surprise, 
 
 Entrancing rapture to inspire; 
 Never with wild, ungovern'd sw^ay 
 Rush on my heart, and force it to obey: 
 For not the lightning's fire. 
 Nor stars swift darting through the sky, 
 Equal the shafts sent by this son of Jove, 
 When his hand gives them force to fly, 
 Kindling the flames of love. 
 
 Antistrophe I. 
 In vain at Alpheus' stream, in vain 
 
 At bright Apollo's Pythian sWl-ine, 
 Doth Greece, the votive victim slain, 
 With reverence ofi"er rites divine: 
 To him who holds the high employ 
 To unlock the golden gates of love and joy, 
 No honours \ve assign ; 
 The tyrant of the human breast. 
 That ravages where'er he takes his way. 
 
 And sinks mankind with woes oppress'd 
 Beneath his ruthless sway. 
 
 Strophe II. 
 Thee, QEchalia's blooming pride, 
 Virgin yet in love untried, 
 Ne'er before by Hymen led, 
 Stranger to the nuptial bed, 
 Unexperienced, hapless fair, 
 From thy house with wild affright 
 Hastening, like the frantic dame, 
 That to the Bacchic orgies speeds her flight, 
 With blood, with smoke, with flame, 
 And all the terrors wild of war, 
 To nuptials stain'd with gore did Venus give, 
 And bade Alcmena's son the beauteous prize 
 receive. 
 
 jintistrophe II. 
 
 Say, ye sacred towers that stand 
 Bulwarks of the Theban land ; 
 And ye streams, that welling play 
 From the fount of Dirce, say. 
 How to you came the Queen of Love: 
 'Mid the lightning's rapid fire, 
 While around her thunders roar. 
 She caused the blasted Semele to expire, 
 The hapless nymph that bore 
 Bacchus from the embrace of Jove. 
 Thus over all she spreads her tyrant power, 
 As restless as the bee that roves from flower to 
 flower. 
 
 Ph. Be silent, O my friends, I am undone. 
 Ch. What is there dreadful, Phaedra, in thy 
 
 house ? 
 Ph. Forbear, that I may hear their words within. 
 Ch. Thy words forebode some ill : but I am 
 
 dumb. 
 Ph. Ah me, unhappy me, how great my woes ! 
 Ch. What mean these lamentations? Why this 
 
 voice 
 
 Of sorrow 1 Tell us, lady, what thou hearest, 
 That with this sudden terror strikes thy heart. 
 
 Ph. O ruin, ruin! Stand you at the door 
 And hear what tumult in the house is raised. 
 
 Ch. Thou standest nigh the door ; and from 
 the house 
 Issuing, the voice comes to thy ear ; but tell me. 
 Tell me, what dreadful ill hath happen'd thee? 
 
 Ph. The son of that fierce Amazon is loud ; 
 And, high in anger, 'gainst my servant raves. 
 
 Ch. I hear his voice, but to my ear his words 
 Come not distinct; to thine they come, to thine 
 The doors transmit what in the house he speaks. 
 
 Ph. He calls her vile procuress, her lord's bed 
 Falsely betraying ; that I hear distinct. 
 
 Ch. Alas for thy unhappy fate ! Loved queen 
 Thou artbetray'd. What counsel shall I give thee? 
 The secrets of thy soul are all disclosed, 
 And thou art ruin'd, by thy friends betray'd. 
 
 Ph. Yes, she hath told my griefs, and so un- 
 done me. 
 To ease, to heal the sickness of my soul. 
 Friendly her purpose, but dishonourable. 
 
 Ch. What then, unhappy sufferer, vs^ilt thou do? 
 
 Ph. I kno'w not, save one thing ; forthwith to 
 die. 
 Death is the only cure of all my ills. 
 
 Ph^dra, Hippolttus, Nurse, Chorus. 
 Hip. parent Earth, and thou, all-seeing Sun, 
 What words of horrid import have I heard ! 
 Nur. Ah, speak no more, lest some one mark 
 
 thy words. 
 Hip. Not speak ! mine ears thus wounded with 
 
 thy baseness ? 
 Nur. Nay, I conjure thee, by this beauteous 
 
 hand. 
 Hip. Away, keep off thy hands, touch not my 
 
 robes. 
 Nur. Thus at thy knees I beg, undo me not. 
 Hip. Why, since thou say'st thou hast spoke 
 
 nothing ill ? 
 Nur. Aflairs like this may not be told to all. 
 Hip. Things honest may with honour be made 
 
 known. 
 Nur. Ah, do not rashly violate thine oath. 
 Hip. My tongue indeed hath sworn, but not 
 
 my mind. 
 Nur. What wilt thou do? in ruin sink thy 
 
 friends? 
 Hip. I scorn you, nor hold friendship with the 
 
 base. 
 Nur. Forgive me: human weakness oft must 
 
 err. 
 Hip. Wherefore, O Jove, beneath the sun's fair 
 light. 
 That specious mischief, woman, didst thou place? 
 For with the human race if thou wouldsl fill 
 The peopled earth, no need they should be raised 
 From woman; at thy shrines might men present 
 Iron, or brass, or heaps of massy gold. 
 To purchase children, in proportion given 
 For the rich ott'ering ; man might then have lived 
 Free and uncumber'd with this female burden ; 
 But now, to lead this mischief to our house, 
 Our wealth must be expended. Hence appears 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 127 
 
 How great a mischief woman is to man — 
 The father who begot lier, bred her up, 
 Gives her a dowry, to another house 
 Consigning her, to rid hini of the ill ; 
 He who receives the bah^ful ill rejoices ; 
 A(hling each splendid ornament, bright gems 
 And robes, and all the riches of his house 
 On her exhausting. Is the alliance form'd 
 With tliose of noble rank 1 He must perforce 
 Keep with apparent joy the uneasy bed. 
 Or finds he in his choice domestic sweets, 
 But to the ignoble and the base allied ? 
 That evil he suppresses with the good. 
 Happier who 'scapes both these, and to his 
 
 house 
 Leads a plain, gentle-manner'd, simple wife. 
 I hate the knowing dame, nor in my house 
 Be one more wise than woman ought to be; 
 For Venus in these knowing dames with ease 
 Engenders wiles; from all which folly far 
 Simplicity removes the unplotting wit. 
 But female servant never on the wife 
 Should be attendant; let them rather dwell 
 With animals that want the power of speech. 
 That they may neither have with whom to 
 
 talk. 
 Nor hear their conversation in return ; 
 But now the wicked mistress in the house 
 Contrives her wicked purpose, and abroad 
 The base attendant bears her lewd design. — 
 So thou, vile wretch, art come to me, to form 
 Detested commerce with my father's bed. 
 Too holy to be touch'd; thy impure words 
 Pollute mine ears ; — how then should I commit 
 A villany, when but to hear it named 
 Defiles me? But know this, my piety 
 Protects thee, woman ; had I not been caught 
 At unawares, bound by a sacred oath, 
 I never coidd have held me from disclosing 
 This to my father. But the house, while Theseus 
 Is absent from his country, I will leave : 
 Yet shall my lips be closed : when he returns, 
 I with him will return ; then shall I see 
 How^ you will look my father in the face. 
 Thou and thy mistress: I shall know you both. 
 Conscious of your attempts. Perdition seize 
 
 you! 
 My soul can never have its fill of hate 
 Towards women, though I always speak my 
 
 hate, 
 For they are always wicked. Either see 
 That some one forms your sex to modesty. 
 Or let me always taunt you with reproach. 
 
 [Exit Hippoi.TTus. 
 
 Phkdra, Nurse, Chorus. 
 
 Ch. HoAV wretched, how unfortimate the state 
 Of women ! Disappointed of our hopes. 
 What skill, what prudence can instruct us now 
 To free thee from the inextricable toils? 
 
 Ph. This punishment is just. O Enrth! O 
 Light ! 
 How shall I shun my fate, or how, my friends, 
 Conceal this ill? What god will deign to aid, 
 What mortal would appear confoilerate, 
 Or favouring deeds of baseness? From tliis ill 
 
 Life hath no refuge : and you see me here. 
 The most distress'd, most wretched of her sex. 
 Ch. Ruin indeed hangs o'er thee ; naught 
 
 avail'd 
 Thy servant's artful trains; but all falls ill. 
 Ph. Vile wretch, thou base corrupter of thy 
 
 friends. 
 What miscliief hast thou wrought me ? May great 
 
 Jove, 
 The author of my race, with lightning blast thee, 
 And sweep thee from the earth ! Did I not 
 
 charge thee 
 (For I perceived thy purpose) to be silent 
 Of what afflicts me now ? But thou thy tongue 
 Couldst not restrain; I therefore shall not die 
 With glory: new resolves must now be form'd; 
 For he, inflamed with rage, will to his father 
 Disclose my fault, to aged Pittheus tell 
 My miseries, and all the country round 
 Spread the reproachful story. Perish thou, 
 And all like thee, that by inglorious means 
 Are prompt to aid their friends against their 
 
 will! 
 Nur. Thou, lady, I confess, hast cause to blame 
 What I have done amiss ; for what afflicts thee 
 O'erpowers cool discretion. Yet this plea, 
 Wouldst thou admit it, I might urge; thy years 
 Of infancy I nurtur'd, and my heart 
 Glows with aff'ection towards thee : for thy 
 
 pains 
 I sought medicinal relief, but found 
 What least I wish'd : had I succeeded well, 
 I had been reckon'd 'mong the wise : our minds 
 Are so disposed, to judge from the event. 
 
 Ph. I'll hear no more ; thou couldst before 
 
 advise 
 What honour sickens at, and thy attempts 
 Were base ; begone, and of thyself take care. 
 For me, as honour dictates I shall act. 
 Ye generous daughters of TrCEzene, now 
 Grant me one poor request ; give me your faith, 
 In silence to conceal what you have heard. 
 
 Ch. Daughter of Jove, revered Diana, hear 
 My oath, I never will disclose thine ills. 
 
 Ph. 'Tis nobly said. Yet one thing have I 
 
 found 
 Revolving deep, to alleviate these ills, 
 That to my children I may add a life 
 Of glory, and in this affliction give 
 Myself relief ; for never will I shame 
 My Cretan lineage ; never will I come 
 Into the presence of the royal Theseus 
 Stain'd with this baseness, for a single life. 
 Ch. What desperate deed dost thou intend 
 
 to do? 
 Ph. To die ; but how? this will I ponder well. 
 Ch. Talk not thus wildly. 
 
 Ph. And be thy advice 
 
 Less wild. Since Venus has decreed my fall. 
 This day by quitting life, I will delig'at her. 
 And yield to cruel love t!ic victory. 
 Y(n to avother shall my death be cause 
 Of ill ; that he may learn not to be proud 
 At my afflictions, but by sharing them 
 Be taught a lesson of humanity. 
 
128 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 FROM THE irillGENEIA IN AULIS. 
 Thk combined fleet of Greece being detained 
 at Aiilis by contrary winds, the Oracle declared 
 tliat they would not be permitted to sail, unless 
 Iphiireneia were sacrificed to Diana; but that if 
 the fjoddess were thus propitiated, they should 
 reach the Phrytiian shore, and lay the towers of 
 Troy level with the ground. Upon this Aga- 
 memnon had been prevailed on to send for his 
 daughter, under pretence of giving her in mar- 
 riage to Achilles. Iphigeneia arrives, attended 
 by her mother; but, instead of her nuptials with 
 the most accomplished of all the Grecian princes, 
 finds that she is destined to bleed as a victim on 
 the altar of Diana. — The character of Iphigeneia, 
 though drawn with feeling and tenderness, and 
 such as to awake our softest emotions, is not — 
 as Aristotle has remarked — quite consistent or 
 well sustained. "Iphigeneia imploring, (says 
 he,) is altogether unlike Iphigeneia offering up 
 herself a willing sacrifice." 
 
 Agamemnon, Ci.ttemnf.stra, Iphigeneia, and 
 Chorus. 
 
 » * » » « # » 
 
 Iph. Had I, my father, the persuasive voice 
 Of Orpheus, and his skill to charm the rocks 
 To follow me, and soothe whomever I please 
 With winning words, I would make trial of it : 
 But I have nothing to present thee now 
 Save tears, my ordy eloquence ; and those 
 I can present thee. On thy knees I hang 
 A suppliant. Ah ! kill me not in youth's fresh 
 
 prime. 
 Sweet is the light of heaven : compel me not 
 What is beneath to view. I was the first 
 To call thee father, me thou first didst call 
 Thy child. I was the first that on thy knees 
 Fondly caress'd tliee, and from thee received 
 The fond caress : This was thy speech to me : 
 Shall I, my child, e'er see thee in some house 
 Of splendour, happy in thy husband, live 
 And flourish, as becomes my dignity? 
 My speech to thee was, leaning 'gainst thy 
 
 cheek, 
 Which with my hand I now caress, and what 
 Shall I then do for thee? Shall I receive 
 My father when grown old, and in my house 
 Cheer him with each fond office ; to repay 
 The careful nurture which he gave my youth? 
 These words are on my memory deep impress'd : 
 Thou hast forgot them, and wilt kill thy child. 
 By Pelops I entreat thee, by thy sire 
 Atreus, by this mother, who before 
 Suffer'd for me the pangs of childbirth, now 
 These pangs again to suffer, do not kill me. 
 If Paris be enamour'd of his bride, 
 His Helen, what concerns it me? and how 
 Coines he to my destruction? Look upon me. 
 Give me a smile, give me a kiss, my father. 
 That, if my words persuade thee not, in death 
 I may have this memorial of thy love. 
 I\Iy brother, small assistance canst thou give 
 Thy friends, yet for thy sister, oh ! with tears 
 Implore thy father, that she may not die , 
 E'en infants have a sense of ills : and see, 
 
 My father, silent though he be, he sues 
 
 To thee : be gentle to me, on my life 
 
 Have pity : thy two children by this beard 
 
 Entreat t!;ee, thy dear children ; one is yet 
 
 An infant, one to riper years arriv'd. 
 
 I will sum all in this, which shall contain 
 
 More than long speech; to view the light of life 
 
 To mortals is most sweet, but all beneath 
 
 Is nothing: of his senses is he reft, 
 
 Who hath a wish to die ; for life, though ill 
 
 Excels whate'er there is of good in death. 
 
 Ch. For thee unhappy Helen, and thy love 
 A contest dreadful, and surcharg'd with woes, 
 For the Atridte and their children comes. 
 
 ^ga. What calls for pity, and what not, I 
 know : 
 I love my children, else I should be void 
 Of reason : to dare this is dreadful to me, 
 And not to dare is dreadful. I perforce 
 Must do it. What a naval camp is here 
 You see, how many kings of Greece array'd 
 In glitt'ring arms : to Ilium's towers are these 
 Denied t' advance, unless I offer thee 
 A victim, thus the prophet Calchas speaks, 
 Denied from her foundations to o'erturn 
 Illustrious Troy ; and through the Grecian host 
 Maddens the fierce desire to sail with speed 
 'Gainst the barbarians' land, and check their 
 
 rage 
 For Grecian dames : my daughters these will 
 
 slay 
 At Argos ; you too will they slay, and me, 
 Should I, the goddess not revering, make 
 Of none effect her oracle. 
 
 \^Exit Agamemnon. 
 • ••«**• 
 
 Iph. To suff'rings born, the human race 
 In suff'rings pass life's little space : 
 Why, since misfortunes 'roimd them wait, 
 Should men invite their cruel fate ? 
 
 Ch. Alas, what woes, what miseries, hast thou 
 brought. 
 Daughter of Tyndarus, on Greece ! but thee, 
 Unhappy virgin, by this flood of ills 
 O'erwhelm'd I wail : ah, were this fate not thine ! 
 
 Iph. My mother, what a crowd of men I see 
 Advance ! 
 
 Cly. The son of Thetis with them comes, 
 
 •For whom, my child, I led thee to this strand. 
 
 Iph. Open the doors to me, ye female train, 
 That I may hide myself. 
 
 Cly. Whom dost thou fly ? 
 
 Iph. Achilles, whom I blush to see. 
 
 Cly. And why ? 
 
 Iph. These ill-starr'd nuptials cover me with 
 shame. 
 
 Cly. Nothing of pleasure doth thy state pre- 
 sent. 
 Yet stay : this is no time for grave reserve. 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 Ach. Daughter of Leda, O unhappy queen ! 
 Cly. Thy voice speaks nothing false. 
 Ach. Among the Greeks 
 
 Dreadful the clamour. 
 
 Cly. What the clamour? say. 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 129 
 
 ^rh. Touching thy daughter. 
 
 Cly. Thou hast said what bears 
 
 No happy omen. 
 
 drh. That she must be slain 
 
 A victim. 
 
 Cly. And doth none against this speak ? 
 
 ^/lik I was with outrage threaten'd. 
 
 Cly. Stranger, how ? 
 
 ^ch. To be o'erwhehn'd with stones. 
 
 Cly. Whilst thou wouldst save 
 
 My child? 
 
 ^ch. E'en so. 
 
 Cly. Who dar'd to touch thee ? 
 
 Jrh. AH 
 
 The Grecians. 
 
 Cly. Were thy troops of Myrmidons 
 
 Not present to thee 1 
 
 jich. They were first in rage. 
 
 Cly. Then are we lost, my child. 
 
 Jlch. They cried aloud 
 
 That I was vanquish'd by a woman. 
 
 Cly. Aught 
 
 Didst thou reply? 
 
 ^ch. That her who was to be 
 
 My bride, they should not slay. 
 
 Cly. With justice urged. 
 
 jlch. Named by her father mine. 
 
 Cly. From Argos brought 
 
 By his command. 
 
 ^rfi. In vain : I was o'erpower'd 
 
 By their rude cries. 
 
 Cly. The many are indeed 
 
 A dreadful ill 
 
 Jlch. Yet I will give thee aid. 
 
 Cly. May thy designs succeed ! 
 
 ^rh. They shall succeed. 
 
 Iph. My mother, hear ye now my words : for 
 thee 
 Offended with thy husband I behold : 
 Vain anger! for where force will take its way. 
 To struggle is not easy. Our warm thanks 
 Are to this stranger for his prompt good will 
 Most justly due : yet, it behoves thee, see 
 Thou art not by the army charg'd with blame. 
 Nothing the more should we avail ; on him 
 Mischief would fall. Hear then what to my 
 
 mind 
 Deliberate thought presents : it is decreed 
 For me to die : this then I wish, to die 
 With glory, all reluctance banish'd far. 
 My mother, weigh this well, that what I speak 
 Is honour's dictate : all the pow^ers of Greece 
 Have now their eyes on me ; on me depends 
 The sailing of the fleet, the fall of Troy. 
 By dying, all these things shall I achieve. 
 And blest, for that I have deliver'd Greece, 
 Shall be my fame. To be too fond of life 
 Becomes not me: nor for thyself alone, 
 But to all Greece, a blessing didst thou bear me. 
 Shall thousands, when their country's injur'd, lift 
 Their shields ; shall thousands grasp the oar, and 
 
 dare 
 Advancing bravely 'gainst the foes, to die 
 For Greece? and shall my life, my single life 
 Obstruct all this? Would this be just? What word 
 Can we reply? Nay, more ; it is not right 
 17 
 
 That he with all the Grecians should contend 
 In fight, should die, and for a woman: no; 
 More than a thousand women is one man 
 Worthy to see the light of life. If me 
 The chaste Diana wills 't accept, shall I, 
 A mortal, dare oppose her heavenly will? 
 Vain the attempt: for Greece I give my life. 
 Slay me, demolish Troy : for these shall be 
 Long time my monuments, my children these, 
 My nuptials, and my glory. It is meet 
 That Greece slioukl o'er Barbarians bear the 
 
 sway. 
 Not that Barbarians lord it over Greece: 
 Nature hath form'd them slaves, the Grecians 
 free. 
 
 Ch. Thine, royal virgin, is a generous part: 
 But harsh what Fortiuie and the Goddess wills. 
 
 jlch. Daughter of Agamemnon, highly blest 
 Some god would make me, if I might attain 
 Thy nuptials. Greece in thee I hapj)y deem. 
 And thee in Greece. This hast thou nobly spoken, 
 And worthy of thy country : to contend 
 Against a goddess of superior power 
 Desisting, thou hast judg'd the public good 
 A better, nay a necessary part. 
 For this more ardent my desire to gain thee 
 My bride, this disposition when I see. 
 For it is generous. But consider well : 
 To do thee good, to lead thee to my house. 
 Is my warm wish; and much I should be griev'd, 
 Be witness Thetis, if I save thee not 
 In arms against the Grecians : in thy thought 
 Revolve this well: death is a dreadful thing. 
 
 Iph. Reflecting not on any, this I speak : 
 Enough of wars and slaughters from the charms 
 Of Helen rise : but die not thou for me, 
 
 stranger, nor distain thy sword with blood ; 
 But let me save my country if I may. 
 
 jlch. O glorious spirit! nought have I 'gainst this 
 To urge, since such tliy will; for what thou say'st 
 Is generous : why should not the truth be spoken ? 
 But of thy purpose thou may'st yet repent. 
 Know then my resolution : I will go, 
 And nigh the altar place these arms, thy death 
 Preventing, not permitting; thou perchance 
 May'st soon approve my purpose, nigh thy throat 
 When thou shalt see the sword : and for diat 
 cause 
 
 1 will not, for a rash unweigh'd resolve, 
 Abandon thee to die; but with these arms 
 Wait near Diana's temple till thou come. 
 
 [Exit ACHILLKS. 
 
 Iph. Why, modier, dost thou shed these silent 
 
 tears? 
 Cly. I have a cruel cause, that rends my heart. 
 Iph. Forbear, nor sink my spirit. Grant mo 
 
 this. 
 Cly. Say what: by me my child shall ne'er be 
 
 wrong'd. 
 Iph. Clip not those crisped tresses from thy 
 
 head. 
 Nor robe thee in the sable garb of woe. 
 
 Cly. What hast thou said, my child ? when 
 
 thou art lost 
 
 Iph. Not lost, but sav d : through me thou shalt 
 
 be fam'd. 
 
 Jl 
 
130 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 CJy. What, for thy death shall I not mourn, 
 
 my child 7 
 Iph. No, since for me a tomb shall not be rais'd. 
 Cly. To die then, is not that to be cntomb'd ? 
 //»/(. The aluvr of the goddess is my tomb. 
 Cly. Well dost thou speak, my child : I will 
 
 comply. 
 Iph. And deem me blest, as working good to 
 
 Greece. 
 Cly. What message to thy sisters shall I bear? 
 Iph. Them too array not in the garb of woe. 
 Cly. What greetings to the virgins dost thou 
 
 send 1 
 Iph. My last farewell. To manhood train 
 
 Orestes. 
 Cly. Embrace him, for thou ne'er shalt see 
 
 him more. 
 Iph. Far as thou could'st, thou di(tst assist thy 
 friends. [ToOhestes. 
 
 Cly. At Argos can I do aught pleasing to thee? 
 Iph. My father, and thy husband, do not hate. 
 Cly. For thy dear sake fierce contests must he 
 
 bear. 
 Iph. For Greece, reluctant, me to death he 
 
 yields. 
 Cly. Basely, with guile, unworthy Atreus' son. 
 Iph. Who goes with me, and leads me, by the 
 hair 
 E'er I am dragg'd? 
 
 Cly. I will go with thee. 
 
 Iph. No : 
 
 That were unseemly. 
 
 Cly. Hanging on thy robes. 
 
 Iph. Let me prevail, my mother ; stay, to me 
 As more becoming this, and more to thee: 
 Let one of these, th' attendants of my father, 
 Conduct me to Diana's hallow'd mead, 
 Where I shall fall a victim. 
 
 Cly. O my child, 
 
 Dost thou then go ? 
 
 Iph. And never to return. 
 
 Cly. And wilt thou leave thy mother? 
 Iph. As thou seest, 
 
 Not as I merit. 
 
 Cly. Stay, forsake me not. 
 
 Iph. I suffer not a tear to fall. But you, 
 Ye virgins, to my fate attune the hymn, 
 "Diana, daughter of almighty Jove." 
 With fav'ring omens sing " Success to Greece." 
 Come, with the basket one begin the rites. 
 One with the purifying cakes the flames 
 Enkindle ; let my father his right hand 
 Place on the altar; for I come to give 
 Safety to Greece, and conquest to her arms. 
 Iph. Lead me : mine the glorious fate 
 To o'erturn the Phrygian state ! 
 Ilium's towers their head shall bow, 
 With the garlands bind my brow, 
 B;ing them, be these tresses crown'd. 
 Round the shrine, the altar round 
 Bear the lavers, which you fill 
 From the pure translucent rill. 
 High your choral voices raise, 
 Tun'd to hymn Diana's praise, 
 Blest Diana, royal maid. 
 Since the fates demand my aid, 
 
 I fulfil their awful power 
 By my slaughter, by my gore. 
 
 Ch. Reverenc'd, reverenc'd mother, now 
 Thus for thee our tears shall flow : 
 For unhallow'd would a tear 
 Midst the solemn rites appear. 
 
 Iph. Swell the notes, ye virgin train. 
 To Diana swell the strain, 
 Queen of Chalcis, adverse land, 
 Queen of Aulis, on whose strand. 
 Winding to a narrow bay, 
 Fierce to take its angry way 
 Waits the war, and calls on me 
 Its retarded force to free. 
 O my country, where these eyes 
 Open'd on Pelasgic skies ! 
 ye virgins, once my pride. 
 In Mycense who reside ! 
 
 Ch. Why of Perseus name the town 
 Which Cyclopean rarnpires crown ? 
 
 Iph. Me you rear'd a beam of light : 
 Freely now I sink in night. 
 
 Ch. And for this, immortal fame. 
 Virgin, shall attend thy name. 
 
 Iph. Ah, thou beaming lamp of day, 
 Jove-born, bright, setherial ray. 
 Other regions we await. 
 Other life, and other fate ! 
 Farewell, beauteous lamp of day, 
 Farewell, bright atherial ray! 
 
 [Exit Iphigeweia. 
 
 Ch. See, she goes : her glorious fate 
 To o'erturn the Phrygian state : 
 Soon the wreaths shall bind her brow ; 
 Soon the lustra! waters flow ; 
 Soon that beauteous neck shall feel 
 Piercing deep the fatal steel. 
 And the ruthless altar o'er 
 Sprinkle drops of gushing gore. 
 By thy father's dread command 
 There the cleansing lavers stand ; 
 There in arms the Grecian powers 
 Burn to march "gainst Ilium's towers. 
 But our voices let us raise, 
 Tun'd to hymn Diana's praise, 
 Virgin daughter she of Jove, 
 Queen among the gods above. 
 That witli conquest and renoM-n 
 She the arms of Greece may crown. 
 
 To thee, dread power, we make our vowp, 
 Pleas'd when the blood of human victims flows. 
 
 To Phrygia's hostile strand. 
 Where rise perlidions Ilium's hated towers, 
 Waft, O waft the Grecian powers. 
 
 And aid this martial band ! 
 On Agamemnon's lonour'd head, 
 Whilst wide the spears of Greece their terrors 
 spread, 
 Tir immortal crown let ^onquest place. 
 With glory's brightest gace. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Enter Messenokh. 
 
 Mess. O royal Clytenmestra, from the house 
 
 Hither advance, that thou may st hear, ^ly 
 
 words. 
 
 A= 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 13L 
 
 Cly. Hearing thy voice I come, but with affright 
 And terror trembling, lest thy coming bring 
 'I'iilings of other woes, beyond what now 
 Allliet tne. 
 
 Mess. Of thy daughter have I things 
 As^tonishing and awful to relate. 
 
 Cly. Delay not then, but sj)eak them instantly. 
 31css. Yes, honour'd lady, thou shalt hear them 
 all 
 Distinct from first to last, if that my sense 
 Disorder'd be not faithless to uiy tongue. 
 When to Diana's grove and flow'ry meads 
 We came, where stood th' assembled host of 
 
 Greece, 
 Leading thy daughter, straight in close array 
 Was form'd the band of Argives: but the chief, 
 Imperial Agamemnon, when he saw 
 His danghter as a victim to the grove 
 Advancing, groan'd, and bursting into tears 
 Turn'd from the sight his head, before his eyes 
 Holding his robe. The virgin near him stood, 
 And thus address'd him : " Father, I to thee 
 Am present: for my country, and for all 
 The land of Greece I freely give myself 
 A victim : to the altar let them lead me, 
 Since such the oracle. If aught on me 
 Depends, be happy, and attain the prize 
 Of glorious conquest, and revisit safe 
 Your coimtry : of the Grecians for this cause 
 Let no one touch me ; with intrepid spirit 
 Silent will I present my neck." She spoke. 
 And all, that heard, adrair'd the noble soul 
 And virtue of the virgin. In the midst 
 Talthybius standing, such his charge, proclaim'd 
 Silence to all the host: and Calchas now, 
 The prophet, in the golden basket plao'd 
 Drawn from its sheath the sharp-edged sword, 
 
 and bound 
 The sacred garlands round the virgin's head. 
 The son of Peleus, holding in his hands 
 The basket and the laver, circled round 
 The altar of the goddess, and thus spoke: 
 " Daughter of Jove, Diana, in the chase 
 Of savage beasts delighting, through the night 
 Who rollest thy resplendent orb, accept 
 This victim, which th' associate troops of Greece, 
 And Agamemnon, our imperial chief. 
 Present to thee, the unpolluted blood 
 Now from this beaitleous virgin's neck to flow. 
 Grant that secure our fleets may jilongh the main. 
 And that Our arms may lay the ranipir'd walls 
 Of Troy in dust." The son of Atreus stood. 
 And all the host fix"d on the ground their eyes. 
 The priest then took the sword, jireferr'd his 
 
 prny'r. 
 And with his eye mark'd where to give tlie blow. 
 My heart with grief sunk in me, on the earth 
 Mine eyes were cast; when suddea to the view 
 A wonder; for the stroke each deary heard. 
 But where the virgin was none knew : aloud 
 The priest cxc'aims, and all the host with shouts 
 Rifled the air, beholding from some go I 
 A pro ligy, whiidi struck their woiid'ri g eyes 
 l■ln•pas^ing faith when seen : for ou the ground 
 Panting was lai 1 a hind of largest bulk. 
 In ibrm excelling; with its siiouting blood 
 
 Much was the altar of the goddess dew'd. 
 Calchas at this, think with what joy, exulaim'd ; 
 " Ye leaders of th' united host of Greece, 
 See you this victim, by the goddess brought, 
 And at her altar laid, a inoimtain hindl 
 This, rather than the virgin, she accepts. 
 Not widi tlie rich stream of her noble blood 
 To stain the altar; this she hath received 
 Of her free grace, and gives a fav'ring gale 
 To swell our sails, and bear th' invading war 
 To Ilium: therefore rouse, ye naval train, 
 Your courage; to your ships; for we this day, 
 Leaving the deep recesses of this shore, 
 Must pass th' .iEgean sea." Soon as the flames 
 The victim had consum'd, he pour'd a prayer 
 That o'er the waves the host might plow their 
 
 way. 
 Me Agamemnon sends, that I should bear 
 To thee these tidings, and declare what fate 
 The gods assign him, and through Greece "t ob- 
 tain 
 Immortal glory. What I now relate 
 I saw, for I was present : to the gods 
 Thy daughter, be thou well assur'd, is fled, 
 Therefore lament no more, no more retain 
 Thy anger 'gainst thy lord : to mortal men 
 Things unexpected oil the gods dispense. 
 And, whom they love, they save : this day hath 
 
 seen 
 Thy daughter dead, seen her alive again. 
 
 Ch. His tidings with what transport do I hear! 
 Thy daughter lives, and lives among the gods. 
 Cly. And have the gods, my daughter, borne 
 thee hence '( 
 How then shall I address theel or of this 
 How deem 1 vain words, perchance, to comfort 
 
 me? 
 And soothe to peace the anguish of my soul. 
 Mess. But Agamemnon comes, and will con- 
 firm 
 Each circumstance which thou hast heard from 
 me. 
 
 Enter Agamemnox. 
 Jlga. Lady, we have much cause to think our- 
 selves. 
 Touching our daughter, blest: for 'mongst the 
 
 gods 
 Commercing she in truth resides. But thee 
 Behoves it with thine infant son return 
 To Argos, for the troops with ardour haste 
 To sail. And now farewell : my greetings to thee 
 From Troy will be un frequent, and at times 
 Of <listant interval: may'bt thou be blest! 
 
 Ch. VVith joy, Atri le.s, reacli the Phrygian sliore; 
 With joy return to Greece, and bring with tliee 
 Bright conquest, and the glorious spoils of Troy. 
 
 FROM THE HECUB.\. 
 While the Grecian fleet is detained on the 
 coast of Thrace, the idiost of Achilles appears at 
 night and deman Is the .sacrilice of Pnlyx'-na. the 
 <Iaughter of IViam, who is, accordingly, torn from 
 the em!)races of h:-r mother, and put to death, 
 thoitly after, a deal body is cast on s'.iore, which 
 
132 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 Hecuba recognises to be that of her son Polydorus, 
 wliom Polymnestor, his fjiiardian, had barbarously 
 murdered, in order to secure the treasures with 
 whicli the young man had been supplied by his 
 indulgent father. Bent on revenge, Hecuba sends 
 for the perfidious monarch and his two sons, 
 uniler pretence of discovering to then) furtlier 
 treasures, — then seizing a favourable opportunity, 
 has the two princes put to death, and Polyni- 
 nestor deprived of his eyes. This oiitrage is 
 made the subject of formal complaint to Aga- 
 memnon, who justifies and sustains Hecuba. 
 
 Heccba, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Tell me, ye gales, ye rising gales, 
 That lightly sweep along tlie azure plain, 
 
 Whose soft breath fills the swelling sails, 
 And wafts the vessel dancing o'er the main, 
 
 Whither, ah ! whither will ye bear 
 
 This siclc'ning daughter of despair? 
 What proud lord's rigour shall the slave deplore 
 On Doric or on Pythian shore ? 
 
 Where the rich father of translucent floods, 
 Apidauus, pours his headlong waves. 
 
 Through sunny plains, through darksome 
 woods. 
 And with his copious stream the fertile valley 
 laves ? 
 
 Cr shall the wave-impelling oar 
 Bear to the hallow'd isle my frantic woes, 
 
 Beneath w^hose base the billows roar, 
 And my hard house of bondage round enclose ? 
 
 Where the new palm, the laurel where 
 
 Shoot their first branches to the air. 
 Spread their green honours o"er Latona"s head, 
 
 And interweave their sacred shade. 
 There, "midst the Delian nymphs awake the lyre. 
 
 To the Dian sound the solemn strain, 
 Her tresses bound in golden wire. 
 
 Queen of the silver bow, and goddess of the 
 plain. 
 
 Or where th" Athenian tow'rs arise, 
 Shall these hands weave the woof, whose radiant 
 glow 
 
 Rivals the flow'r — impurpled dies 
 That in the bosom of the young spring blow: 
 
 Alas, my children ! battle-slain ! 
 Alas, my parents! Let me drop the tear. 
 
 And raise the mournful, plaintive strain, 
 y.our loss lamenting and misfortune drear. 
 
 Thee, chief, imperial Troy, thy state 
 
 I mourn deserteil, desolate; 
 Thy walls, thy bulwarks smoking on the ground, 
 The sword of Greece triumphant round, 
 
 I, far from Asia, on the wide sea borne, 
 In some strange lantl am called a slave. 
 
 Outcast to insolence and scorn. 
 And for my nuptial bed And a detested grave. 
 
 Taltiit Bius, Hkcura, Chorus. 
 
 Tal. Tell me, ye Trojan dames, where shall I 
 find 
 Th' afflicted matron, late the queen of Troy? 
 
 Ch. Near thee, Talthybius, on the ground she lies, 
 In her robes muffled. 
 
 Tal. supreme of heav'n. 
 
 What shall we say? That thy firm providence 
 Regards mankind ? or vain the thoughts, which 
 
 deem 
 That the just gods are rulers in the sky, 
 Since tyrant Fortune lords it o'er the world! 
 Was not she queen of Phrygia, rich in gold ? 
 Was not she wife of Priam, blest with pow"r? 
 But now her vanquished empire is no more ; 
 Herself a slave, old, childless, on the ground 
 She lies, and soils her hoar head in the dust. 
 Alas the change ! I too am old ; be death 
 ]\Iy portion, e'er I sink to that low fortune. — 
 Rise, thou attlicted, stand on thy feet, hold up 
 Thy reverend head. 
 
 Hcc. Disturb me not : who art thou, 
 
 That wilt not let my sorrows lie on the earth? 
 Why dost thou raise me, whosoe'er thou art ? 
 
 Tal. I am Talthybius, herald of the Greeks, 
 By Agamemnon, lady, sent for thee. 
 
 Hec. O welcome, welcome : have the Greeks 
 decreed 
 To slay me also at the tomb? These tidings 
 Are full of joy: haste, quick lead me, old man. 
 
 Tal. That thy dead daughter, lady, in the earth 
 Thou may'st entomb, attentling thee I come. 
 Sent by the sons of Atreus, and the host. 
 
 Hec. Alas, what wilt thou say? Com'st thou 
 not then 
 Charg'd with my death, but with this bitter 
 
 message ? 
 Torn from thy mother, art thou dead, my cliild? 
 Am I bereaved of thee ? Ah wretched me I 
 But were ye gentle in your butchery? 
 Or did stern rigour steel your hostile hearts? 
 Tell me, old man, no pleasing tale at best. 
 
 Tal. Twice, lady, shall I wipe the tearful eye. 
 In pity of thy daughter; when she died, 
 The warm drop fell; now shall it fall again. 
 As I relate each mournful circumstance. 
 Th" assembled host of Greece before the tomb 
 Stood in fidl ranks at this sad sacrifice; 
 Achilles" son, holding the virgin's hand. 
 On the mound's extreme suuDuit; near him I; 
 An honourable train of chosen youths. 
 In readiness fier struggles to restrain, 
 Followed; the golden goblet crown'd with wine, 
 The hero's son then took, and with his hand 
 Pour'd the libation to his father's shaile 
 At his high bidding I aloud prOclaim'd 
 Silence through all the host; and all were silent. 
 Then he : " O son of Peleus, my father. 
 Accept my otierings, which evoke, which soothe 
 The dead : O come, drink the pure purple stream 
 Which from this virgin we present to thee. 
 Loose all our cables, wing our flying sails, 
 Propitious give us to return from Troy, 
 And safe revisit otir paternal Greece.'' 
 He spoke, and with him all the people pray'd. 
 Then taking by the liilt his golden sword. 
 He drew it from the scabbard: at his nod 
 The noble youths advanc'd to hold the virgin ; 
 Which she perceiving, with these words address'd 
 
 them : 
 " Ye Greeks, beneath whose arms my country fell, 
 Willing I die ; let no hand touch me ; boldly 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 133 
 
 To the uplifted sword I hold my neck: 
 
 You give me to the gods; then give me free; 
 
 Free let me die ; nor let a royal maid 
 
 Blush "mongst the dead to hear the name of slave." 
 
 Loud was th' applause: the royal Agamemnon 
 
 Commands that none should touch her; at the 
 
 voice 
 Of their great chief tti" obedient youths retire. 
 Soon as she hoard th' imperial word, she took 
 Her robe, and from her shoulder rent it down. 
 And bared her bosom, barcil her poli.sh'd breast, 
 Beauteous beyoiul the sculptor's nicest art. 
 Then bending to tlie earth her knee she spoke, 
 Words the most mournful sure that ear e'er heard. 
 " If 'tis thy will, young man, to strike this bosom, 
 Strike : or my tliroat dost thou require 1 behold 
 Stretch'd to thy sword my throat." Awhile he 
 
 paus'd 
 In pity of tlie virgin ; then reluctant 
 Deep in her bosom plung'd the fatal steel ; 
 Her life blood gush'd in streams: yet e'en in death 
 Studious of modesty : c«mpos'd she fell. 
 And cover'd with her robes her decent limbs. 
 Hec. O my poor child ! 'Which first shall I 
 
 bewail 
 'Midst this immensity of ills? If one 
 Engage my thoughts, another rushes on, 
 Bringing distraction; sorrow throngs on sorrow, 
 And misery to misery succeeds. 
 But now the mem'ry of thy cruel fate 
 From my sad heart shall never be eras'd. 
 Yet this alleviates. Nobly didst thou die. 
 If favour'd hy the heav'ns th' unfertile soil 
 Teems with the golden grain; and if the fertile, 
 Robb'd of due culture, brings forth nought but 
 
 weeds, 
 We wonder not; with man it is not so; 
 The bad can never be but bad, the good 
 But good; uninjur'd by calamity. 
 His nature braves the storm, and is good always. 
 But whence this ditference'? from the parents is it. 
 Or from instruction? In the school of honour 
 Is virtue learnt; and he, that's nurtured there, 
 Knows by the law of honour what is base. 
 But all in vain I bolt my sentences. 
 Go thou, require the Grecians not to touch 
 My daughter; no; but keep the rabble from her: 
 In a large army some are riotous : 
 Like wildfire runs the sailor's insolence, 
 And not to be flagitious is a crime. 
 And thou, my old attendant, take thy urn, 
 Di|) in the sea, and bring the briny wave. 
 That with the last al)lutions I may bathe her, 
 Not for the bridal bed, but for the tomb. 
 But I will grace her obsequies with all 
 The honours she deserves: ah, whence? I have 
 
 not 
 Wherewith to grace them; as I may: then what, 
 What shall I do? From the poor captive dames. 
 That sit aroimd me in your lordly tents, 
 I will collect what little ornaments 
 Each from her former house hath snatch 'd by 
 
 stealth. 
 And kept by these new masters unobserv'd. 
 Ye faded splendours of my house : O house 
 Once fortunate ! O Priam, on whose state 
 
 Magnific wealth attended, in thy children 
 Supremely blest, I too was blest in them : 
 How are we fall'n, from all our greatness fall'n. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Stro. Dreadful Discord first arose. 
 Leading dangers, leading woes, 
 Destruction joiu'd the train, 
 When in Ida's forests hoar 
 Paris hew'd the vent'rous oar, 
 And dasli'd it in the main : 
 In gallant trim the vessel cuts its way, 
 
 And wafts the wanton boy to Helen's arms; 
 In his wide course yon radiant orb of day 
 
 Ne'er with his golden beams illumin'd brighter 
 
 charms. 
 Antis. Toil on toil, a hideous band 
 Ruthless Ruin's iron hand. 
 Vindictive close us round. 
 Simois, o'er thy verdant meads 
 Desolation frowning treads. 
 
 And blasts the goodly ground; 
 E'er since the Phrygian shepherd, blind to fate, 
 
 'Midst the contending beauties of the skies 
 Adjudg'd the palm, inexorable hate. 
 
 And war, and death, and havoc round U3 rise. 
 Epod. Nor on Siinois' banks alone, 
 Sighs the sad and plaintive moan, 
 
 Or Ilion's wasted plain; 
 Nigh Eurota's silver tide. 
 Many a tear the Spartan bride 
 Pours for her lover slain ; 
 There for her children lost in wild despair. 
 
 The frantic mother bids her sorrows flow; 
 Rends from her rev'reiid head her hoary hair, 
 And tears her bleeding cheeks in agonies of woe. 
 
 Female Attendant, Chorus, Heccba. 
 
 Att. Daughters of Troy, say where is Hecuba ? 
 Who in the dreadful combat of affliction, 
 Unmatch'd surpasses all of human race ■ 
 That crown nor man nor w^oman bears from her. 
 
 Ck. What new misfortune jars upon thy tongue, 
 That thy discordant clamours never sleep? 
 
 Alt. To Hecuba I bring this grief; in ills 
 The voice of woe is harsh, untunable. 
 
 Ch. See, opportunely from yon tents she comes. 
 
 Alt. O my unhappy mistress, more unliaj>py 
 Than words can utter; ruin comes on thee 
 Quenching the light of life; a queen no more, 
 A wife no more, a mother now no more ! 
 
 Hec. There needs not thy rude voice to tell us 
 this— 
 But wliat? Bringest thou here the lifeless corse 
 Of my Polyxena ? 
 
 Att. Ah, she knows nothing: but lamenting still 
 Polyxena, suspects not this new loss. 
 
 Hec. Omy nnhapi)y fate! Dost thou there bring 
 The heav'n inspir'd Cassandra's sacred head? 
 
 Att. Thou speakest of the living; but the dead 
 Demands the sigh : behold the corse uncovered, 
 A sight to raise astonishment and horror. 
 
 Hec. Ah me ! it is my son, my Polydore, 
 And dead, whom safe beneath the Thracian's 
 
 roof 
 I fondly deem'd : now I am lost indeed, 
 
134 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 In total ruin sunk. My son! Jly son! 
 
 woe, woe, woe! Aflliction's cruel pow'r 
 Teaches my voice tlie frantic notes of madness. 
 
 ^tt. Knowest thou aught then touching thy 
 
 .son's death 1 
 Hec. Strange, inconceivable to thought, I see 
 Horrors on horrors, woes on woes arise. 
 Never henceforth, ah, never shall I know 
 A day without a tear, without a groan. 
 
 Ch. Dreadful, oh dreadful are the ills we 
 
 suffer. 
 
 Her. Alas my son, son of a wretched mother. 
 
 What hard mishap hath robb'd thee of thy life? 
 
 What fate, what hand accurs'd hath wrought thy 
 
 death? 
 
 ^tt. I know not ; on the wave-washed strand 
 
 I found him. 
 Hec. Cast up, or fall'n beneath the bloody spear? 
 jltt. Cast on the smooth sand by the surging 
 
 wave. 
 Hec. Ah me ! now know I what my dream for- 
 bodes : 
 The black-wing'd pliantom pass"d me not ; the 
 
 vision 
 Show"d to my sleeping fancy's frighted eye 
 My son no longer in the light of life. 
 
 Ch. These visions, teach they who hath slain 
 
 thy son? 
 Hec. He, our false friend, who spurs the Thra- 
 cian steed. 
 To whom his father for protection sent him. 
 Ch. Ah me ! what, slew him to possess his 
 
 gold ? 
 Hec. Unutterable deeds, abominable, 
 Astonishing, unholy, horrible ! 
 Where are the laws of hospitality ? 
 Tyrant accurs'd, how hast thou gored his body, 
 Gashd v^'ith the cruel sword his youthful limbs. 
 And steel'd thy heart against the sense of pity? 
 Ch. Never on mortal head did angry heav'n 
 Pour such a storm of miseries as on thine. 
 But Agamemnon I behold, our lord, 
 Advance this way : let us be silent, friends. 
 
 Agamemnon, Hecuba, Chohus. 
 
 ^ga. Why, Hecuba, dost thou delay to come. 
 And place thy daughter in the tomb? For since 
 Talthybius told us not to touch the virgin, 
 The sons of Greece forbear, and touch her not. 
 
 1 marvel at thy stay, and come to seek thee. 
 Well is each mournful honour there prepar'd, 
 If in such mournful honours aught be well. — 
 But, ha ! what lifeless corse before the tents 
 Behold I here ? Some Trojan : for the robes 
 That clothe the limbs, inform me 'tis no Grecian. 
 
 Hec. Unhappy son! But naming the unhappy, 
 
 [apart. 
 I name myself. Alas, what shall I do ? 
 Shall I fall down at Agamemnon's knees, 
 Or bear in silence my calamities? 
 
 jlga. Why thus lamenting dost thou turn from 
 me? 
 What hath been done ? tell me : what body 
 this? 
 Hec. O royal Agamemnon, at thy knees 
 Suppliant I fall, and grasp thy conqu'ring hand. 
 
 ^ga. Why thy request? If freedom to thine 
 age. 
 That grace without reluctance may be granted. 
 Hec. Not freedom, but revenge : revenge on 
 baseness : 
 Grant me revenge, and let me die a slave. 
 
 .^ga. In what high charge wouldst thou en- 
 gage my aid. 
 Hec. In nothing that thy thought suggests, 
 king. 
 Seest thou this corse, o'er which I drop a tear ? 
 ^ga. I see it; nor from thence thy purport 
 
 learn. 
 Hec. He was my son. 
 
 Jga. Thy son, unhappy lady ! 
 
 Hec. But not of those who died when Ilium 
 
 fell. 
 ^ga. Hadst thou another, lady, those beside ? 
 Hec. 1 had, but what avaird it? him thou seest. 
 ^ga. W^here, when the city fell, chanc'd he 
 
 to be? 
 Hec. His father's tender fears sent him from 
 
 Troy. 
 ^ga. Whither, he only of thy sons remov'd? 
 Hec. To this land, where his breathless corse 
 
 was found. 
 ^ga. Sent to the king, to Polymnestor sent' 
 Hec. And sent with treasures of destructive 
 
 gold. 
 ^ga. By whom then dead, or by what cruel 
 
 fate? 
 Hec. By whom but this inhospitable Thracian? 
 ^ga. Inhuman, all on fire to seize the gold ! 
 Hec. E'en so, soon as he kne^v our ruin'd state. 
 jiga. Where didst thou find the body, or who 
 
 brought it ? 
 Hec. She found it lying on the sea-beat shore 
 jlga. By search discovered, or by accident? 
 Hec. Charg'd with the laver for Polyxena. 
 ^ga. By his protector murder'd and cast out? 
 Hec. Thus gash'd, and thrown to float upon 
 
 the wave. 
 j9ga. Unhappy thou, unbounded are thy woes! 
 Hec. All woes are mine. Affliction hath no 
 
 more. 
 jlga. Alas, was ever woman born so wretched ! 
 Hec. Never indeed, not Misery herself 
 But for what cause thus at thy knees I fall, 
 Now hear; if justly I endure these ills, 
 And such thy thought, patient I will endure 
 
 them ; 
 If not, avenge me of this impious man, 
 Who, of the gods above or gods beneath 
 Reckless, hath done a most unholy deed. 
 Oft at my hospitable board receiv'd. 
 And numberd mongst the foremost of my 
 
 friends : 
 Thus grac'd, with fell intent he slew my son; 
 Nor, when the deed was done, deign'd to en- 
 tomb 
 The dead, but flung him welt'ring on the wave. 
 But we are slaves, but we perchance are weak; 
 Yet the blest gods are strong, the law is strong 
 Which rules e'en them; for by the law we judge 
 That there are gods, and form our lives, the 
 bounds 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 135 
 
 Of justice and injustice mark'd distinct: 
 
 This law looks up to thee: if disregarded, 
 
 If he escapes its vengeance, whose bold hand 
 
 Inhospitably stabs his guest, or dares 
 
 Pollute the sacred ordinance of hoav'n, 
 
 There is no justice in th' affairs of men. 
 
 Deem these deeds base then, reverence my woes. 
 
 Have pity on me, as a pic;ture view 
 
 The living portrait of iny miseries. 
 
 Erewhile I was a queen, but now thy slave ; 
 
 Erewhile blest in my children, childless now 
 
 In my old age, abandon'd, outcast, wretched. 
 
 Ah, whither dost tliou turn the backward step? 
 
 Siung shall I reap nothing but repulse? 
 
 Why shoiUd poor mortals with incessant care 
 
 Each unavailing science strive t' attain. 
 
 And slight, as nothing ■worth, divine Persuasion, 
 
 Whose powerful charms command the hearts of 
 
 men, 
 And bend them unreluctant to her will ? 
 Who then may, henceforth, hope his state may 
 
 flourish ? 
 Of all my sons {and I could boast sttcli sons!) 
 Not one is left; myself in bonds, and led 
 To base and ignominious servitude. 
 The smoke of Troy yet mounting to the skies. 
 Oh that by some nice art, or by some god. 
 My arms, my hands, my hair, my feet had voice, 
 That each part vocal with united pray'rs 
 Might suj)])licate, implore, importune thee! 
 Imperial lord, illustrious light of Greece, 
 Let me prevail : give me thine hand, avenge me, 
 A wretch indeed, an outcast ; yet avenge me ! 
 The cause of justice is the good man's care. 
 And always to requite the villain's deeds. 
 
 Ch. how \vonderful th' events of human life, 
 Its laws determin'd by necessity, 
 Changing the sternest foe to a kind friend, 
 And the kind friend to a malignant foe ! 
 
 •^ga. Thee Hecuba, thy son, and thy misfor- 
 tunes 
 I pity, nor reject thy suppliant hand ; 
 And in the cause of justice and the gods 
 Without surmise that for Cassandra's sake 
 I let my vengeance loose, and crush the tyrant. 
 Hence anxious fears rush thronging on my mind : 
 This man the army deems a friend, the dead 
 A foe : though dear to thee, yet this fond love 
 Is private, to the troops no common care. 
 Consider then ; thou hast my will, my wish 
 To favour thee, to yield thee ready aid ; 
 But slow, should Greece with taunting voice re- 
 vile me. 
 Hec. Vain is the boast of liberty in man : 
 A slave to fortune, or a slave to wealth. 
 Or by the people, or the laws restrain'd. 
 He ilares not act the dictates of his will. 
 But since too much thy fears incline to heed 
 The multitude, I free thee from that fear. 
 With vengeance, should the Greeks tumultuous 
 
 rise 
 In aid, restrain them, nor ajipear to act 
 As fav'ring me : what else th' affair requires, 
 Be confident, I well shall execute. 
 
 ^ga. But howl what wilt thou do? infirm 
 with age 
 
 Grasp in thy hand the sword, and stab the 
 
 tyrant ? 
 Or work thy will with poisons? with what aid, 
 What hand ? Or whence wilt thou procure thee 
 friends ? 
 
 Hec. Within these tents are many Trojan 
 dames. 
 
 ^ga. The captives, say'st thou, prizes of the 
 Greeks ? 
 
 Hec. With these will I revenge this bloody 
 deed. 
 
 jiga. How shall weak women over men pre- 
 vail ? 
 
 Hec. Numbers are strong; add stratagem, re- 
 sistless. 
 ^ga. Yet like I not this female fellowship. 
 
 Hec. Were not ^Egyptus" sons by women slain, 
 The men of Lemnos all extirpated? 
 But leave me to conduct this enterprise : 
 Only permit this female slave to pass 
 Safe through the army. — Go thou to the Thracian, 
 Tell him that Hecuba, once queen of Troy, 
 On matters that no less of good to him 
 Import than me, would see him and his sons; 
 It is of moment they should hear my words. — 
 Awhile, O king, the mournful rites forbear 
 For my Polyxena, my late slain daughter ; 
 That on one pile the brother and the sister, 
 To me a double grief, may blaze together, 
 And mix their ashes in one common grave. 
 
 jlga. Then be it so : for should tVie army sail. 
 My power could not indulge thy fond request: 
 But since the god breathes not the fav'ring gales 
 We must perforce await a prosp'rous voyage. 
 Success attend thee : for the general good 
 Of individuals and of states requires 
 That vengeance overtake th' unrighteous deed. 
 And virtue triumph in her just reward. 
 
 Hecuba, Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Thou, then, oh natal Troy ! no more 
 The city of the unsack'd shall be, 
 So thick from dark Achaia's shore 
 The cloud of war hath covered thee. 
 Ah ! not again 
 I tread thy plain — 
 The spear — the spear hath rent thy pride ; 
 The flame hath scarr'd thee deep and wide ; 
 Thy coronal of towers is shorn. 
 And thou inost piteous art — most naked and 
 forlorn! 
 
 I perish'd at the noon of night! 
 When sleep had sealed each weary eye ; 
 When the dance was o'er, 
 And harps no more 
 Rang out in choral minstrelsy. 
 In the dear bower of delight 
 My husband slept in joy, 
 His shield and spear 
 Suspended near, 
 Secure we slept : that sailor band 
 Full soon we deeni'd no more should stand 
 Beneath the walls of Troy. 
 And I, too, by the taper's light, 
 
136 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 Which in the golden mirror's haze 
 
 FlashM its interminable rays, 
 Bound up the tresses of my hair 
 That I love's peaceful sleep might share. 
 
 I slept; but, hark! that war shout dread. 
 Which rolling through the city spread; 
 And this the cry, — "When, sons of Greece, 
 When shall the lingering leaguer cease; 
 When will ye spoil Troy's watch-tower high. 
 And home return?" — I heard the cry. 
 And, starting from the genial bed, 
 Wild, as a Doric maid, I fled, 
 And knelt, Diana, at tliy holy fane, 
 A trembling suppliant — all in vain. 
 They led me to the sounding shore — 
 Heavens! as I passed the crowded way 
 My bleeding lord before me lay — 
 I saw — I saw — and wept no more. 
 Till, as the home\vard breezes bore 
 The bark returning o'er the sea, 
 My gaze, oh Ilion, turned on thee! 
 Then, frantic, to the midnight air, 
 I curs'd aloud the adulterous pair : — 
 "They plunge me deep in exile's woe, 
 They lay my country low : 
 
 Their love — no love ! but some dark spell, 
 In vengeance, breath'd by spirit fell. 
 Rise, hoary sea, in awful tide. 
 And whelm that vessel's guilty pride ; 
 Nor e'er, in high Mycene's hall. 
 Let Helen boast in peace of mighty Dion's fall." 
 
 FROM THE ORESTES. 
 
 Ix this play Orestes is represented as pursued 
 by the Furies, in punishment for the murder of 
 his mother Clytemnestra. 
 
 [Electra watrhing over her sleeping brother ; 
 Chorus approaching his couch. 
 
 Elect. Softly ! softly ! fall the sound 
 Of thy footstep on the ground ! 
 Gently ! gently ! like the breath ' 
 Of a lute-song in its death ; 
 Like the sighing of a reed, 
 Faintly murmuring to be freed. 
 So softly let thy whispers flow. 
 Ch. Like a reed, as soft and low ! 
 Elect. Ay, low, low 1 but tell me why 
 Damsels, ye are lingering by? 
 Long hath sorrow torn his breast ; 
 Now his weary eyes have rest. 
 
 Ch. How fares it with him ? Dearest, say. 
 Elect. Sad and tearful is my lay. 
 Breathing on his couch he lieth. 
 Still he suffereth, still he sigheth. 
 Ch. Wliat say'st thou, mourner ? 
 Elect. Woe to thee. 
 
 If the dewy slumber flee. 
 Ch. Yet wail I his uidiappy state ; 
 Abhorred deeds of deadly hate. 
 Rage of vindictive, torturing woes. 
 Which the relentless powers of heaven impose. 
 
 Elect. Unjust, unjust the stern command, 
 The stern command Apollo gave 
 
 From Themis' seat, his ruthless hand 
 In blood, in mother's blood, to lave. 
 
 Ch. He stirs, he moves his covering vest. 
 Elect. Wretch, thy voice has broke his rest. 
 Ch. And yet, I think, sleep locks his eye. 
 Elect. Wilt thou begone? Hence wilt thou fly, 
 That quiet here again may dwell? 
 
 Ch. Hush, hush ! he sleeps again 
 
 Elect. 'Tis well. 
 
 Ch. Awful queen, whose gentle power 
 Brings sweet oblivion of our woes, 
 And in the calm and silent hour, 
 Distils the blessings of repose, — 
 Come, awful A'ight! 
 Elect. Softly let your warbhngs flow ; 
 Farther, a farther distance keep : 
 
 The far-otr cadence, sweet and low 
 Charms his repose and aids his sleep. 
 Ch. Tell us what end 
 
 Awaits his miseries? 
 
 Elect. Death ! that end I fear. 
 
 He tastes no food. 
 
 Ch. Death then indeed is near. 
 
 Elect. When Phoebus gave the dire command 
 To bathe in mother's blood his hand, 
 By whom the father sunk in dust, 
 He doom'd us victims. 
 
 Ch. Dire these deeds, but just. 
 
 Orest. ^wakingl\ gentle Sleep, whose lenient 
 power thus soothes 
 Disease and pain, liow^ sweet thy visit to me, 
 Who wanted thy soft aid ! Blessing divine. 
 That to the wretched givest wish'd repose, 
 Steeping their senses in forgetfulness ! 
 Where have I been ? Where am I ? How brought 
 
 hither? 
 My late distraction blots remembrance out. 
 Elect. Wiiat heartfelt joy to see thee thus com- 
 posed ! 
 Wilt thou I touch thee? Shall I raise thee up? 
 Orest. Assist me then, assist me ; from my 
 mouth 
 Wipe off the clotted foam ; ^\'ipe my moist eyes. 
 
 Elect. Delightful oflice, for a sister's hand 
 To minister relief to a sick brother! 
 
 Orest. Lie by my side, and from my face re- 
 move 
 These squaliil locks ; they blind my darkened 
 eyes. 
 Elect. How tangled are the ringlets of thy hair. 
 Orest. Pray, lay me down again ; when this 
 ill phrenzy 
 Leaves me', I am very feeble, very faint. 
 
 Elect. There, there; the bed is grateful to the 
 
 sick. 
 Orest. Raise me again, more upright; bend me 
 
 forward. 
 Ch. The sick are wayward through their rest- 
 lessness. 
 Elect. Or wilt thou try with slow steps on the 
 ground 
 To fix thy feet? Variety is sweet. 
 
 Orest. Most willingly ; it hath the show of 
 health: 
 The seeming hath some good, though void of 
 truth. 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 137 
 
 1 
 
 Elect. Now, rny loved brother, hear me while 
 the Furies 
 Permit thy sense thus clear and undisturbed. 
 Orest. Hast thou aught new ? Il'good, I thaidc 
 thee for it ; 
 If ill, I have enoufih of ill already. 
 
 Elect. Thy father's brother, Metielaus, arrives; 
 His fleet lies anchor'd in the Nauphian bay. 
 Orest. Comes he then '? Light on our alilictions 
 dawns ; 
 Much to Tuy father's kindness doth he owe. 
 Elect. He comes ; and, to confirm what now I 
 say, 
 Brings Helena from Ilium's ruin'd walls. 
 
 Orest. More to be envied, were he saved alone ; 
 Bri' ging his wife, he brings a mighty ill. 
 
 Elect. The female race of Tyndarus was born 
 To deep disgrace, and infamous through Greece. 
 Orest. Be thou unlike them then ; 'tis in thy 
 power ; 
 And furtlier than in words thy virttie prove. 
 
 Elect. Alas, my brother, wildly rolls thine eye: 
 So quickly changed ! The fraitic fit returns. 
 Orest. Ah, mother! Do not set thy Furies on 
 me. 
 See how their fiery eyeballs glare in blood, 
 And wreathing snakes hiss in their horrid hair! 
 Tliere, there they stand, ready to leap upon me! 
 Elect. Rest thee, poor brother, rest upon thy 
 bed: 
 Thou seest them not; 'tis fancy's coinage all. 
 Orest. O Phoebus, they vi ill kill me ! these dire 
 forms, 
 These Gorgon-visaged ministers of hell. 
 
 Elect. Thus will I hold thee, round thee throw 
 mine arms. 
 And check the luihappy force of thy wild starts. 
 Orest. Off! Let me go ! I know thee, who thou 
 art — 
 One of the Furies — and thou grapplcst with me, 
 To whirl me into Tartarus. Avaunt! 
 
 Elect. What shall I do 1 Ah me ! Where shall 
 I seek 
 Assistance, since the once friendly god frowns 
 on us ? 
 Orest. Bring me the bow of horn which Pha'bus 
 gave me. 
 And with it bade me drive these fiends away. 
 Should they afi"i ight me with their maddening 
 terrors. 
 Elect. Can any god by mortal hands be wound- 
 ed ? 
 Orest. Should she not instant vanish from my 
 sight — 
 Heard you the clang; saw you the winged shaft; 
 Bound from the distant-wounding bow 7 Ha, ha! 
 Here yet ! On swift wings mount the a'thereal 
 
 air, 
 And there impeach the oracle of Phosbus — 
 Whence this disquiet? Why thus pants my 
 
 breath ? — 
 Ah, whither have I wandered from my bed ? 
 
 18 
 
 Why dost thou weep, my sister? Why decline 
 Thy drooping heail aiid hide it in thy vest? 
 I blush to give thee part in my disease, 
 And wound with grief thy virgin tenderness. 
 Let not my ills be t'jus inlectious to thee; 
 Thou barely didst assent; I did the deed; 
 I shed her hliMjd. But I'httlnis I must name 
 Who urged me in this most unholy act; 
 Then, save with soothing words, assist me not. 
 Had these eyes seen my father, had I asked him 
 In (buy if I ought to slay to my mother? 
 I think he would have prayed me not to plunge 
 My murdering sword in her who gave me birth, 
 Since he could not revisit heaven's sweet light 
 And I must suffer all these miseries. 
 But now unveil thy face and dry thy tears, 
 My sister, though atllictions press us sore; 
 And when thou seest me in these fitful moods. 
 Soothe my disordered sense, and let thy voice 
 Speak peace to my distraction : when the sigh 
 Swells in thy bosom, 'tis a brother's part 
 With tender sympathies to calm thy griefs ; 
 These are the blessed offices of friends. — 
 But to thy chamber go, afflicted maid. 
 There seek rc[)ose, close thy long-sleepless eyes. 
 With food refresh thee and the en'ivening bath. 
 Shouldst thou forsake me, or with too close 
 
 tendance 
 Impair thy delicate and tender health. 
 Then were I lost indeed ; for thou alone, 
 Abandoned as I am, art all my comfort. 
 
 Elect. Should I forsake thee ! No ; my choice 
 is fi.x'd ; 
 And I will die with thee, or with thee live. 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 r. 
 Thkre is a streamlet issuing f;om a rock. 
 The village-girls, singing wild madrigals, 
 Dip their white vestments in its M'aters clear, 
 And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her. 
 Her daik and eloquent eyes, n)ild, full of fire, 
 "Twas heaven to look upon ; and lier sweet voice. 
 As timeable as harp of many strings. 
 At once spoke joy and sadi.'css to my soul ! 
 
 II. 
 Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees; 
 And all, who know it, come and come again. 
 The small birds build tliere ; and, at sununer 
 
 noon, 
 Oft have I heard a child, gay among fJowers, 
 As in the shining grass she sate concealed, 
 Sing to herself 
 
 III. 
 This is true liberty, when freeborn men, 
 Having to advise the public, may speak free; 
 Which he who can and will, deserves high 
 
 praise : 
 Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace: 
 What can be jusier in a state than this? 
 
EMPEDOCLES. 
 
 [About 455 B. C] 
 
 This celebrated philosopher and naturalist 
 was a native of Agrij^entmn. According to Plu- 
 tarch, he maintained that all things were pro- 
 duced from the principles of fire, air, water, and 
 earth, into which they are again resolved. To 
 these he added twoother powers. Love and Dis- 
 cord; the former harmonizing and uniting, the 
 latter disjoining and repelling. Empedocles also 
 believed in a state of pre-existence or metemp- 
 sychosis, declaring that he himself had pre-exist- 
 ed in both sexes of the human race, as well as 
 in the bodies of birds and fishes. He is reported 
 
 to have perished by a fall down the opening of 
 Motmt ^tna. 
 
 Of his poetical works, two epigrams are re- 
 maining, both distinguished by the use of the 
 figure of Paronomasia or Pun. One of these has 
 been translated by Mr. Merivale, and given in his 
 Anthology, " not more (he says) on account of the 
 celebrity of its author, than as an ancient specimen 
 of this sort of writing." The pun consists in the 
 derivation of the name "Pausanias'" artotov rtavfiv 
 raj awaj, — only a portion of which double meaning, 
 however, has been preserved in the translation. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A PHYSICIAN. 
 
 PjlUSxTfiAS — not so named without a cause, 
 As one who oft has given to pain a pause, — 
 
 Blest son of ^sculapius, good and wise, 
 Here, in his native Gela, buried lies; 
 Who many a wretch once rescued by his charms 
 From dark Persephone's constraining arms. 
 
 BACCHYLIDES. 
 
 [About 450 B. C] 
 
 Bacchtlides was the nephew of Simonides, 
 and a native of the island of Cos. He composed 
 hymns and odes, and was generally charac- 
 terized for the uniform delicacy and correctness 
 of his productions. He stood high in favour with 
 Hiero, king of Syracuse, who is even said to have 
 
 esteemed his Pythian Odes above those of Pindar; 
 a judgment, which is justly glanced at and ex- 
 posed by Longinus. One of his admirers, in a 
 later age, was the Emperor Julian, who is stated 
 by Ammianus Marcellinus to have drawn from 
 him many rules for the conduct of his own life. 
 
 DRINKING. 
 
 Thirsty comrade! wouldst thou know 
 All the raptures that do flow. 
 From those sweet compulsive rules 
 Of our ancient drinking schools? — 
 First, the precious draught shall raise 
 Amorous thoughts in giddy maze, 
 Mingling Bacchus" present treasure 
 With the hopes of higher pleasiu-e. 
 Next, 'twill chase through empty air 
 All th' intolerant host of Care ; 
 Give thee conquest, riches, power ; 
 138 
 
 Bid thee reign o'er land and sea 
 With unquestioned sovereignty. 
 Thou thy palace shalt behold 
 Bright with ivory and gold ; 
 While each ship that ploughs the main, 
 Filled with Egypt's choicest grain. 
 Shall unload her ponderous store, 
 Thirsty comrade, at thy door. 
 
 PEACE. 
 Fon thee, sweet Peace, Abundance leads along 
 Her jovial train, and bards awake the song. 
 
EUENUS. 
 
 139 
 
 On many an altar, at thy glad return, 
 Pure victims bleed and holy odours burn ; 
 And frolic youth their hapjiy age apply 
 To graceful movements, sports, and minstrelsy. 
 Dark spiders weave tlieir webs within the shield; 
 Rust eats the spear, the terror of the field, 
 And brazen trumpets now no more atlVight 
 The silent slimibers and repose of night. 
 Banquet, and song, and revel, fill the ways, 
 And youths and maidens sing their roundelays. 
 
 Another translation of I he Same. 
 
 Inncmehous are the boons bestowed 
 
 on man by gracious Peace ! 
 The flowers of poets honey-tongued, 
 
 and wealth's immense increase. 
 Then from the joyous altars 
 
 unto the gods arise 
 The fumes of sheep's and oxen's flesh 
 
 in ruddy sacrifice ; 
 In crowds to the gymnasium 
 
 the strenuous youth resort, 
 Or to the pipe blithe revellers 
 
 pursue their maddening sport; 
 The spiiler black doth weave his web 
 
 in the iron-handled shield, 
 And sharp-set spear and two-edged sword 
 
 to mouldy canker yield ; 
 No longer any where is heard 
 
 the trumpet's brazen blare, 
 From men's eyes soul-delighting sleep 
 
 at midnight sent to scare ; 
 Banquets, heap'd high with food and wine, 
 
 are spread in every street. 
 And songs from youthful companies 
 
 are sounding strong and sweet. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 Alas, poor Child! for thee our bosoms swell 
 With grief, tears cannot cure, words may not tell. 
 
 For tliat he listnn'd to his vow and bore 
 On his solt wings the rich autumnal store. 
 
 THE HUSBANDMANS OFFERING. 
 
 To Zephyr, kindest wind that swells the grain, 
 Eudemus consecrates tliis humble fane ; 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 I. 
 Peacf.tui, wealfli, or painful toil. 
 Chance of war, or civil broil, 
 'Tis not for Man's feeble race 
 These to shun or those embrace. 
 But that all-disposing Fate, 
 Which presides o'er jnortal state, 
 Where it listeth, casts a shroud 
 Of impenetrable cloud. 
 
 As gold-ore by the Lydian stone. 
 So by strong Truth and Truth alone, 
 Man's worth and wit are tried and known. 
 
 Happy he, who has his share 
 Of earthly good and earthly fair; 
 But a life from sorrow free, 
 Dread mischance and poverty, 
 Man ! was never meant for thee. 
 
 ViHTUE, placed on high, doth shine 
 With a glory all-divine; 
 Riclies oft alike are shower'd 
 On the hero and the coward. 
 
 WisE-MEX now, like those of old, 
 Can but tell what others told. 
 Full hard it is the hidden door 
 Of words unspoken to explore. 
 
 Here let no fatted oxen be, 
 Gold nor purple tapestry: 
 But a well-disposed mind ; 
 But a gentle muse and kind ; 
 But glad wine, to glad our souls, 
 Mantling in BcEotian bowls. 
 
 EUENUS. 
 
 [About 450 B. C] 
 
 The poet, to whom the following epigrams I writers, however, of the same name, (one of 
 have been attributed, was a native of Paros, and them living in the cxxxviii Olympiad, or 228 
 flourished in the Ixxxii Olympiad, or about B. C.) to whom some of them may possibly 
 450 B. C. There were other and subsequent | belong. 
 
140 
 
 ARIPHRON. 
 
 THE SWALLOW AND THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 Attic Maiden, breatliing still 
 
 0(" the fragrant Howers that blow 
 
 On Hyniettus' purpled hill, 
 
 Whence the streams of honey flow, 
 
 Wherefore thus a cajjlive bear 
 
 To your nest a grasshopper 1 
 
 Noisy prattler, cease to do 
 
 To your fellow-prattler wrong ; 
 
 Kind should not its kind jjursue, — 
 Least of all the heirs of song. 
 
 Prattler, seek some other food 
 
 For your noisy, prattling brood. 
 
 Both are ever on the ^ving, 
 
 Wanderers both in foreign bowers, 
 
 Both succeed the parting spring, 
 Both depart with summer hours, 
 
 — Those who love the minstrel lay, 
 
 Sliould not on each other prey. 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 Attic Maiden, honey-fed. 
 
 Chirping warbler, bear'st away, 
 Thou the chirping grasshopper 
 
 To thy callow young a prey? 
 Warbling thou — a warbler seize 
 
 Winged — one with lovely wings ! 
 
 Guest thyself, by summer brought, — 
 Fellow guest whom summer brings! 
 
 Wilt not quickly let it drop? 
 
 'Tis not fair, — iutleed 'tis wrong, 
 
 That the ceaseless songster should 
 Die by mouth of ceaseless song 1 
 
 THE VINE AND THE GOAT. 
 
 Though thou shouldst gnaw me to the root, 
 Destructive goat ! Enough of fvuit 
 I bear, betwixt thy horns to shed, 
 When to the altar thou art led. 
 
 CONTRADICTION. 
 
 In contradiction, wrong or right. 
 
 Do many place their sole delight. 
 
 If right, "tis well — if wrong, why so? — 
 
 But contradict whate"er you do. 
 
 Such reasoners deserve, I hold, 
 
 No argument save that of old — 
 
 " You say, 'tis black — / say, "tis white — 
 
 And so, good sir, you"re answered quite." 
 
 Far ditferent is the aspect seen 
 
 Of modest Wisdom's qviiet mien — 
 
 Patient and soon to be persuaded, 
 
 When argument by truth is aided. 
 
 ARIPHRON OF SICYON. 
 
 Of this author the name and country are alone preserved to us. He may, however, be referred to 
 
 an early date. 
 
 TO HEALTH.* 
 
 Health, brightest of the blest, do thou 
 
 To my poor hearth descend ! 
 For what of life kind heaven allow, 
 
 Be thou my guest and friend ! 
 For every joy that fortune brings. 
 All that from wealth or children springs, 
 
 * "There is," says Dr. Johnson, "amona the fragments 
 of the Greek pnets, a short hymn to Health, in which her , ing the images dance in his heart, and adding from his 
 power of exalting the happiness of life, of heightening own experience, new vigour to the wish and new colours 
 the gifts of fortune, and adding enjoyment to possession, ■ to the picture. The particular occasion of this little com- 
 is inculcated with so much truth and heauty, that no one position is not known, but it is probable that the author 
 who lias ever langui'ihed under the discomforts and in- had been sick, and, in the first raptures of returning 
 firmities of a lingering disease, can read it without feel- | vigour, thus addressed the goddess." 
 
 From courtly show or sovereign sway, 
 Lifting to gods us things of clay. 
 From love, or love"s enchanting wiles, 
 From labour's pause, or pleasure's smiles,- 
 With thee they blossom. Health divine; 
 Their spring, their beauty, all is thine; 
 And none — save thou thy smile bestow — 
 May taste of happiness below. 
 
EUPOLIS. 
 
 [Almut «6 B. C] 
 
 BoTiN nt Atlions, in wliinh city, nncording to 
 Suiilas, lie exhibited his first comedy at the early 
 a^e ol' seventeen. The titles of twenty-lour of 
 his plays have been preserved. They are said 
 to have been very per.*onal and scurrilous, and, 
 for the most part, written in caricature or abuse 
 of some obnoxious individuals. Amongst many 
 others \vas Ciinon, whom he assails both in his 
 public and his private character, being animated 
 
 tliereto chipfly by the supposed partiality of tliat 
 statesman for Sparta, and his cHbrts to coimteract 
 the democratical principles at worlc in the Atlie- 
 niari constitution. Eupolis, however, was a warm 
 ailmirer of Pericles, to wliose patronage and 
 favoiu' he is said to have been indebted for the 
 impunity with ■which he shot forth his gall-steeped 
 arrows. The accounts of his time and mode of 
 death are contradictory and uncertain. 
 
 THE PARASITE. 
 Mark now, and learn of me the thriving arts, 
 By which we parasites contrive to live. 
 First I provide myself a nimble thing 
 To be my page, a varlet of all crafts ; 
 Next two new suits for feasts and gala days. 
 Which I promote by turns, wIkmi I walk forth 
 To sun myself upon the public square: 
 There, if perchance I spy some rich dull knave. 
 Straight I acco-t him do him reverence, 
 And, sauntering up and down, with idle chat 
 Hold him awhile in play: at every word, 
 Which his wise worship utters, I stop short 
 And bless myself for wonder; if he venture 
 On some vile joke, I blow it to the skies, 
 And hold my sides for laughter 
 
 ALTERED CONDITION OF ATHENS. 
 
 It grieves me to behold the commonwealth. — 
 Things were not thus administered of old ; 
 Then men of sense and virtue, — men, whose 
 
 merits 
 Gave them consideration in the state. — 
 Held the first ollices : to such we bowed 
 As to the gods — and gods indeed they were — 
 For inider their wise counsels we enjf>yed 
 Security and peace. — Rut now, alas ! 
 We have no other guide in our elections 
 Save chance, blind chance, anil on whatever 
 
 head 
 It falls, though worst and meanest of mankind 
 Up starts he a great man, and is at once 
 lustall'd i)rinie Rogue and Minister of State, 
 
 SLMMIAS OF THEBES. 
 
 [About 410 B. C] 
 
 A disciple of Socrates, and the author of several philosophical works, now lost. 
 
 ON SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Wind, gentle evergreen, to form a shade 
 Around the tomb where Sophocles is laid. 
 Sweet ivy, lend thine aid, and intertwine 
 With blushing roses and the clustering vine: 
 Thus shall your lasting leaves, with beauties hung 
 Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung. 
 
 141 
 
PHERECRATES. 
 
 [About 430 B. C] 
 
 Phekecrates was a comic poet of Athens, 
 and the inventor of a species of verse, called 
 from him the Plierecratic Metre. He is said to 
 
 have been the author of seventeen comedies, all 
 of which, with the exception of a few fragments, 
 are lost. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Age is the heaviest burden man can bear. 
 Compound of Disappointment, Pain, and Care; 
 For when the mind's experience comes at length, 
 It comes to rnourn the body's loss of strength. 
 Resiga'd to ignorance all our better days. 
 Knowledge just ripens when the man decays; 
 One ray of light the closing eye receives, 
 And Wisdom only takes what Folly leaves. 
 
 FROM OXE OF HIS COIMEDIES, ENTITLED 
 '•THE MIJfEIlS." 
 
 Jl. The days of Phitns were the days of gold; 
 The season of high feeding and good cheer: 
 Rivers of goodly beef and brewis ran 
 Boiling and bubbling through the steaming streets, 
 With islands of fat dumjilings, cut in sops 
 And slippery gobbets, moulded into mouthfuls. 
 That dead men might have swallowed; floating 
 
 tripes. 
 And fleets of sausages in luscious morsels, 
 ^'tuclc to the banks like oysters: Here and there. 
 For relishers, a salt-fish seasoned high, 
 Su am down the savoury tide : When soon behold ! 
 The portly gammon sailing in full state 
 Upon his smoking platter heaves in sight, 
 Encompass'd with his bandoliers, like guards, 
 And convoyed by huge bowls of frumenty, 
 That, with their generous odours, scent the air. 
 
 B. You stagger me to tell of these good days, 
 And yet to live with us on our hard fare, 
 When death's a deed as easy as to drink. 
 
 ^. If your mouth waters now, what had it done. 
 Could you have seen our delicate fine thrushes 
 Hot from the spit, with myrtle-berries crammed, 
 And larded well with celandine and parsley, 
 Bob at your hungry lips, crying — '■'■Come, eat me!"' 
 Nor was this all; for, pendant over-head, 
 Tlie fairest, choicest fruits in clusters shone; 
 Girls too, young girls, just budding into bloom. 
 Clad in transparent vests, stood near at hand 
 To serve us with fresh roses, and full cups 
 Of rich and fragrant wine, of which one glass 
 No sooner was despatch'd, than straight behold! 
 Two goblets fresh and sparkling as the first. 
 Provoked us to repeat th' increasing draught. 
 Away then with your ploughs, we need them not; 
 Your scythes, your sickles, and your pruning- 
 
 hooks ! 
 Away with all your trumpery at once ! 
 Seed-time, and harvest-home, and vintage wakes: 
 Your holidays are nothing-worth to us. , 
 
 Our rivers roll with luxury, our vats 
 O'erflow with nectar, which providing Jove 
 Showers down by cataracts ; the very gutters 
 From our. house-tops spout wine ; vast forests 
 
 wave. 
 Whose very leaves drop fatness; smoking viands 
 Like mountains rise — all Nature's one great feast. 
 
 PHILONIDES. 
 
 [About 420 B. C] 
 
 One of the last of tlie old poets of comedy. Little, however, is known cither of him or of his works. 
 
 142 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 THE TRULY BRAVE. 
 
 Because I hold the laws in dui respect, 
 And fear to be unjust, ain I a coward? 
 Meek let me be to all the friends of Truth, 
 And only terrible amongst its foes. 
 
MOSCHION. 
 
 An early comic poet, but of uncertain date. — A few fragments only of his works remain. 
 
 THE DEAD. 
 Let the earth cover and protect its dead ! 
 Antl let man's breath thither return in peace 
 From whence it came; his spirit to the skies, 
 His body to the clay of which 'twas formed, 
 Imparted to him as a loan for life, 
 Which he and all must render back again 
 To earth, the common mother of mankind. 
 
 • ««•«« 
 
 Wound not the .soul of a departed man ! 
 'Tis impious cruelty; let justice strike 
 The living, but in mercy spare the dead. 
 And why pursue the shadow that is past ? 
 Why slander the deaf earth that cannot hear, 
 The dumb that cannot utter? When the soul 
 No longer takes account of hinnan wrongs. 
 Nor joys nor sorrows touch the mouldering 
 
 heart. 
 As well may you give feelings to the tomb, 
 As what it covers — botli alike defy you. 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 The proudest once in glory, mind, and race, 
 The first of monarchs, of mankind the grace. 
 Now wandering, outcast, desolate and poor, 
 A wretched exile on a foreign shore. 
 With miserable aspect bending low, 
 Holds in his trembling hand the suppliant bough : 
 Unhappy proof, how false the flattering light. 
 Which Fortune's blazing torch hokls forth to sight ! 
 Now, not the meanest stranger passing by 
 But greets the fallen hero with a sigh ; 
 Perhaps with gentle accents soothes his woe, 
 And lets the kindly tear of pity flow ; 
 For Where's the heart so hardened and so rude. 
 As not to melt at life's vicissitude ?* 
 
 * One of Moschion's plays was "Themistocles," and 
 proliahly this fragment, preserved by Stobaeus, may refer 
 to Ihe exile of that great man, when a suppliant at the 
 court of Admetus. 
 
 PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 [Bom 429— Died 347, B. C] 
 
 By long descent an Athenian, but born in he abandoned, on becoming acquainted with 
 
 the island of j^gina, where his father had Socrates, for the severer studies of philoso- 
 
 takcn up his residence after its subjection phy, anil not only abandoned for himself, but 
 
 to Athens. The favourite employment of his afterwards proacribed to others in liis ideal 
 
 earlier years was poetry, which, however, rex)ublic. 
 
 A LOVER'S WISH. 
 
 Why dost thoii gaze upon the sky? 
 
 Oh, that I were yon spannied sphere! 
 And every star should bo an eye 
 
 To wander o'er thy beauties here. 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 Oh! on that kiss my soul 
 
 As if in doubt to stay. 
 Lingered awhile on fluttering wing prcpar'd 
 
 To soar away. 
 
 THE ANSWER OF THE MUSES TO VENUS. 
 WiiKiv Venus bade the Aonian Maids obey, 
 Or Cupid else should vindicate her sway. 
 The virgins answered: '-Threat your subjects 
 
 thus! 
 That puny warrior has no arms for us.'' 
 
 The Same, paraphrased and enlarged. 
 Thus to the Muses spoke the Cyprian dame: 
 " Adore my altar.s and revere my name ; 
 My son shall else assume his potent darts: 
 'Twang goes the bow ; my girls, have at your 
 hearts !" 
 
 143 
 
114 
 
 PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 The Muses answered : — " Venus, we deride 
 The infant's malice, and his mother's pride: 
 Send him to Nymphs who sleep in Ida's shade, 
 To the loose ilanee and wanton masquerade ; 
 Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look 
 On the instructive verse and moral book. 
 On female idleness his power relies. 
 But, when lie finds us studying hard, he flies." 
 
 ON A SLEEPING CUPID. 
 
 I piEncKD the grove, and, in its deepest ^loom. 
 Beheld sweet Love, of heavenly form and bloom ; 
 Nor bow nor quiver at his back were Inmg, 
 But harmless on the neighbouring branches hung. 
 On rosebuds pillowed lay the little child, 
 In glowing slumbers pleased, and sleeping 
 
 smil'd. 
 While all around the bees delighted sip 
 The breathing fragrance of his balmy lip. 
 
 ON TWO NEIGHBOURING TOMBS. 
 
 This is a Sailor's — that a Ploughman's tomb ; — 
 Thus sea and land abide one common doom. 
 
 ON THE IMAGE OF A SATYR, 
 
 A?rD A CUPID SLEEPING BT A FOUNTAIN SIDE. 
 
 From mortal hands my being I derive; 
 Mute marble once, from man I learii'd to live. 
 A Satyr now, with Nymphs I hold resort, 
 And guard the watery grottos where tbey sport. 
 In purp'e wine refiiserl to revel more, 
 Sweet draughts of water from my urn I pour ; 
 But, Stranger, softly tread, lest any sound 
 Awake yon boy, in rosy slumbers bound. 
 
 ON A RURAL IMAGE OF PAN. 
 
 Sleep, ye rude winds! Be every murmur dead 
 
 On yonder oak-crowned promontory's head ! 
 
 Be still, ye bleating flocks, — your shepherd calls. 
 
 Hang silent on your rocks, ye waterfalls ! 
 
 Pan on his oaten pipe awakes the strain. 
 
 And fills with didcet sounds the pastoral plain. 
 
 Lured by his notes, the Nymphs their bowers 
 
 forsake. 
 From every fountain, running stream, and lake. 
 From every hill and ancient grove around, 
 And to symphonioas measures strike the ground. 
 
 ON HIS BELOVED. 
 
 In life thou wert my morning star, 
 
 But now that Death has stoln thy light, 
 
 Alas, thou shinest dim and far, 
 
 Like the pale beam that weeps at night. 
 
 ON DION OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 For Priam's queen and daughters, at their birth, 
 
 The Fates weaved tears into their web of life : 
 But for thee, Dion, in thy hour of mirth. 
 
 When triumph crowned thine honourable strife 
 Thy gathering hopes were poured upon the sand. 
 
 Thee still thy countrymen revere and lay 
 In the broad precincts of thy native land. 
 
 But who the passion of my grief shall stay ? 
 
 ON ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 The Muses, seeking for a shrine 
 Whose glories ne'er should cease. 
 
 Found, as they strayed, the soul divine 
 Of Aristophanes. 
 
 LAIS' OFFERING TO VENUS. 
 
 Venus, take my votive glass, 
 Since I am not what I was. 
 What from this day I shall be, 
 Venus ! let me never see. 
 
 ON THE BRONZE IMAGE OF A FROG. 
 
 "A traveller who, when nearly exhausted by thirst, 
 was giiicled by the croaking of a frog to a spring of 
 water, dedicates to the Nymphs a bronze image of his 
 preserver." 
 
 The servant of the Nymphs, the singer dank. 
 Pleased with clear fountains, — the shower-loving 
 
 frog. 
 Imaged in brass, — hath a way-faring man 
 Placed here, a votive gift, — because it served 
 To quench the fever of the traveller's tliirst. 
 For the amphibious creature's well-timed song. 
 Croaked from its dewy grot, the wandering 
 
 steps 
 Of him, who searched for water, hither drew. 
 Not heedless of the guiding voice, he found 
 Tlie longed-for draught from the sweet cooling 
 
 spring. 
 
PLATO, THE COMIC POET. 
 
 [About 428 B. C.) 
 
 HosrornABLE mention has been made of Plato I numerous comedies and other works, only a few 
 by Atheiiajus, Suidas, and other writers, but of liis | fragments and two epigrams are now remaining. 
 
 FRAGMENT 
 
 OF i. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A FATHER AND A SOPH- 
 IST UNDER WHOSE TUITION HE HAD PLACED 
 HIS SON. 
 
 Fath. Thou hast destroyed the morals of my 
 son, 
 Unholy po.dagogue ! and turned to vice 
 His mind not so disposed. Witli morning drams 
 A filthy practice, which he caught frona thee, 
 And all-unlike his former life, he saps 
 His youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him ? 
 
 Soph. And if I did, what harm ? and why 
 complain ? 
 He does but follow what the wise prescribe. 
 The great voluptuous law^ of Epicurus, 
 Pleasure, the best of all good things on earth; 
 And how but thus can pleasure be obtained? 
 
 Fath. Virtue will give it him. 
 
 Soph. And what but virtue 
 
 Is our philosophy ■? When have you met 
 One of our sect Hushed and disguised with wine? 
 Or one, but one, of those you tax so roundly. 
 On whom to fix a fault? 
 
 Fath. Not one, but all, 
 
 All, who march forth with supercilious brow, 
 High-arched with pride, beating the city-rounds, 
 
 Like constables in quest of rogues and outlaws, 
 To find that prodigy in human nature, 
 A wise and perfect man ! What is your science 
 But kitchen-science ? Wisely to descant 
 Upon the choice bits of a savoury carp. 
 And prove by logic that his stinwmm bonum 
 Lies in his head ; there you can lecture well. 
 And, whilst your grey beards wag, the gaping 
 
 guest 
 Sits wondering with a foolish face of praise. 
 
 ON A STATUE OF MERCURY. 
 " HoA there ! Who art thou? — Answer me — art 
 
 dumb?'' — 
 '• Warm from the hand of Dtedalus I come ; 
 My name, Mercurius, and, as you may prove, 
 A statue ; but his statues speak and move. 
 
 ON THE TOMB OF THEMISTOCLES. 
 Bt the sea's margin, on the watery strand, 
 Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand : 
 By this directed, to thy native shore 
 The merchant shall convey his freighted store ; 
 And when our fleets are summoned to the fight, 
 Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight. 
 
 CALLISTRATUS. 
 
 [About 420 B. C] 
 
 Of the name of Callistratus, we find mention 
 of three — one, a comedian and friend of Aristo- 
 phanes, living B. C. 420, — another, the son of 
 Empedus, recorded by Pausanias as having fallen 
 in the expedition of Nicias against Sicily, B.C. 413, 
 — and a third, distinguished as an orator, and flour- 
 ishing at Athens, B. C. 373.* Which of these 
 
 * There was, indeed, another of the name, author of 
 
 some pieces of poetry and poetical criticism quoted by 
 
 Atheiisus and others, and placed by Mr. I'ynes Clinton 
 
 at 154 B. C. But he evidently was not the author, for the 
 
 19 
 
 was the author of the following verses is a mere 
 matter of conjecture, (though I incline to believe 
 it was the first.) — but whichsoever it might have 
 been, it is solely, as associated with the noble 
 ode in honour of the Athenian patriots, Harnio- 
 dius and Aristogeiton, that the name of Callis- 
 tratus remains hallowed in our memories. That 
 ode may be called the great National Anthem of 
 
 power of Athens had then perished, and "Greece was 
 living Greece no more." 
 
 N 145 
 
146 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Athens, and was sung at their theatres and places 
 of public entertainment, in alternate parts, the 
 wholecompaiiy joining inchorus. — Bislioj) Lowth, 
 in his Sacred Poesy of the Hebrews, regrets 
 that the Romans had no such hymns. "Quod 
 si post Idud illas luartias e Tyrannoctonis quis- 
 
 piam tale aliquod carmen Plebi tradisset, inque 
 Suburram et Fori circulos et in ora Vulgi intulis- 
 set, actum profecto fuisset de partibus et de 
 douiinaiione Cvsarum ; jalus niehercule valuis- 
 set unum 'Ap/i66iov jU.4^5, quam Ciceronis Philip- 
 picjJB omnes."' 
 
 HYMN 
 
 IN HONOUR OF HARMODIUS AND IRISTOGEITON. 
 
 In myrtle my s'word will I wreathe, 
 Like our patriots the noble and brave, 
 
 Who devoted the tyrant to death, 
 Aud to Athens equality gave. 
 
 Loved Harmodius, thou never shalt die! 
 
 The poets exultingly tell, 
 That thine is the fullness of joy. 
 
 Where Achilles and Diomed dwell. 
 
 In myrtle my sword will I wreathe, 
 Like our patriots, the noble and brave, 
 
 Who devoted Hipparchus to death. 
 And buried his pride in the grave. 
 
 At the altar the tyrant tliey seized. 
 While Minerva he vainly implor'd. 
 
 And the Goddess of Wisdom was pleased 
 With the victim of Liberty's sword. 
 
 May your bliss be immortal on high. 
 Among men as your glory shall be ! 
 
 Ye doomed the usurper to die. 
 
 And bade our dear country be free. 
 
 ^inothcr translation of the Same. 
 Wreathkd with myrtle be my glaive, 
 
 Wreathed like yours, proud Chiefs! when ye 
 Death to the usurper gave. 
 
 And to Atliens liberty. 
 
 Dearest youths ! ye qre not dead, 
 
 But, in islands of the blest, 
 Witli Tydean Diomed, 
 
 With unmatched Achilles, rest. 
 
 Yes ! with wreaths my sword I'll twine, 
 Wreaths like yours, ye tried and true! 
 
 When, at chaste Athena's shrine, 
 Ye the base Hipparchus slew. 
 
 Bright your deeds beyond the grave ! 
 
 Endless your renown! for ye 
 Death to the usurper gave. 
 
 And to Athens liberty !* 
 
 * " Amidst the doubts and contradictions of historians 
 and philosophers — Herodotus, Thucydides, Plato, — it is 
 difficult not to believe that the action thus commemo- 
 rated, though prompted, perhaps, like the revolt of Tell, 
 by private injury, was an example of that rude justice, 
 whose ambii,'uous morality is forgiven for its signal public 
 benefits. Souiething of greatness and true splendour 
 there must have been about a deed of which the memory 
 was cherished as an heir-lo(m) by the whole Athenian 
 community of freemen, and made familiar as household 
 words by constant convivial celebration. Not until the 
 decline of Attic liberty, and the approach of universal de- 
 gradation, did a comic writer presume to sneer at the lay 
 of Harmodius as wearing out of fashion. It was an ill 
 sign of the poet to indulge in such a sneer, and it was a 
 worse sign of the people to endure it." — Edin. Heview, 
 No. cxii. 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 [.\bout 430 B. C] 
 
 TnoURH eleven of the plays of Aristophanes 
 have come down to us ; yet we know little of 
 him or of his personal character. His father's 
 name was Philippus, and his birth-place is gene- 
 rally supposed to have been Athens, but of the 
 rank and station of his fami'y or of h.is own early 
 years and education, all is bare conjecture. His 
 first comedy, '• The Banqueters," appeared in 
 427 B. C. It was an exposition of the corrup- 
 tions which had crept into the Athenian system 
 of education, and obtained the second prize. In 
 426 he brought out "The Babylonians," and, in 
 the following spuing, "The Acharnians," to the 
 
 ' latter of which was awarded the first prize, Cra- 
 I tinus and Eupolis bearing off the second and 
 I third. His next play, "The Knights," was ex- 
 hibited in 424 B. C, and likewise gained the first 
 prize, the second and third being adjudged to 
 Cratinns and Aristomenes. These were followed 
 t by " The Clouds," (4 23 B. C.,) ridiculing the me- 
 I taphysies of the Sophists — by " The Wasps," (422 
 jB. C.,) exposing the inania of the Athenians for 
 quarrels and law suits, — by " Peace," (419 B. C.) 
 j in praise and recommendation of that first of 
 private and public blessings, — by the " Amphi- 
 ! araus" and "The Birds," (414 B.C.,] exposing 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 147 
 
 the ambitious schemes of Alcibiades, and parody- 
 ing and ridiculing tlie Euripi(h>an Trilogy which 
 had appeared the year before — by the " Lysis- 
 tratas"' and " Thesmophoriazusa^," (111 B. C.) the 
 former in recommendation of peace, and the 
 latter attacking Euripides, — by "The Frogs," 
 (409 B. C.) maintaining the superiority of the old 
 rhapsodical tragedy over the sophistical innova- 
 tions of Euripides, — by the " Plutus," (4U8 B.C.,) 
 vindicating the conduct of Providence in the or- 
 dinary distribution of wealth, and at the same 
 time showing the tendency of riches to corrupt the 
 morals of those who possess them, — and by the 
 " Ecclesiazusa;, (392 B. C.,) a satire on the ideal 
 
 FROM THE KNIGHTS; 
 
 OK, THE DE.MAGOGUES. 
 
 [Acted B. C. 421.] 
 
 The professed object of this singular compo- 
 sition is the overthrow of that powerful dema- 
 gogue, Cleon, whom tire author, in his Achar- 
 nians, had foretold his intention, at some future 
 day, of cutting into shoe-leather ;* and his as- 
 sistants on the occasion are the very persons, for 
 whose service the exploit was to take place, — 
 viz. the rich proprietors, who among the Athe- 
 nians constituted the class of horsemen or knights. 
 For this purpose Athens is represented as a 
 house: Demus (a personilication of the whole 
 Athenian people) is the master of it: Nicias 
 and Demosthenes are his slaves: and Cleon his 
 confidential servant and slave-driver. If the 
 dramatis persona are few, the plot is still more 
 meagre : it consists merely of a series of humi- 
 liating pictures of Cleon and a succession of proofs 
 to Demus, that his favourite servant is wholly 
 unworthy of the trust and confidence reposed in 
 him. The manners are strictly confined to Athens, 
 and might almost be thought to belong to a peo- 
 ple, who imagined, with the Indian, that his own 
 little valley comprehended the whole world ; and 
 that the sun rose on one side of it only to set 
 again on the other. Of all tVie comedies of Aris- 
 tophanes, scarce!}- one can be said to exceed 
 "The Knights"' in value: not so much as a spe- 
 cimen of the dramatic art, as an historical docu- 
 ment, giving a strong, full, and faithful picture, 
 of the most singular people that ever existed. 
 
 DUAMATIS I'ERSOS^. 
 
 Demus, an old citizen of Aihena, la whom the Athe- 
 nian people are typified. 
 
 Demosthenes, 7 ch /■ r, 
 
 ,T t- Slaves of Uemux. 
 
 Nicias, y -^ 
 
 The PArHLAGONiAN, (Cleon,) Steward to Demus. 
 
 Sausage-seller. 
 
 Chorus of Knights. 
 
 * Cleon was the son of a tanner, and had risen from 
 his father's station, not by any euporior merit of his own, 
 but by sheer impudence and demagoguism. 
 
 republics of the philosophers, with their commu- 
 nity of goods and wives. — The two last come- 
 dies which Aristophanes wrote, were the "Qilo- 
 losicon'' and " Cocalus,"'the former being a parody 
 on the " -(Eolu.s" of Eurijjides, the latter a criti- 
 cism on a tragedy or epic poem, whose hero was 
 Cocalus, the fabulous king of Siciiy, and slayer 
 of Minos. 
 
 Aristophanes is supposed to have died about 
 the commencement of the Hundredth Olympiad, 
 or 380 B. C. He left three sons, Philipjjus, Ara- 
 ros. and Nicostratus, who, though all poets of the 
 middle comedy, were by no means inheritors of 
 their father's talents. 
 
 Scene. — The spare before Demus' house. 
 
 Act I. — Scene I. — Demosthenes and Nicias. 
 
 These two illustrious generals enter the stage, 
 dressed in their proper costinne of slaves, and 
 complain bitterly of- the hard.-;hips they suffer 
 since the introduction of an execrable Paphlago- 
 nian into tlie house of their common master, De- 
 mus. — Nicias is for deserting their old master 
 and taking refuge with another. Tliis being ob- 
 jected to by Demosthenes, he says: 
 
 'Twere better then to give our cares the slip, 
 And end our sorrows and our lives at once : 
 One only thought remains, to die as most 
 Befits brave men. 
 
 Demos. How best may that bo done ? 
 
 Nic. Nought better than a draught of bullock's 
 blood : 
 It was the dose that gave Themistocles ^ 
 
 A grave : who dies like him, must needs die 
 bravely. 
 Demos. A draught of bullock's blood! a draught 
 of pure 
 And genuine wine might serve the tttrn much 
 
 better. 
 Nought genders tVioughts .so brilliant as a flask. 
 
 Nic. A flask ! thy soul is ever in thy cups : 
 What thoughts can habit in a toper's brain ? 
 Demos. Hark ye, thou trifling, bubbling water- 
 drinker, 
 Who darest speak treason thus against good liquor! 
 Resolve me — spc^ak — What stirs the wit most 
 
 nimbly ? 
 What makes the purse feel heaviest, or gives 
 Most life to business ? Wine ! What luasters all 
 Disputes? A merry cu]) ! What gives tlie spirits 
 Their briskest flow ? Goodli'pior! What most 
 
 sets 
 The soul afloat in love and friendly benefits? 
 A mantling bowl ! — Hand n)e a pitcher then : 
 Quick, quick, nay quick ! Ill bathe my very mind 
 And soul therein, and then see who can hit 
 Upon a trim device. 
 
 Nic. Alack -a-d a y ! 
 
 What wid that drunkenness of thine engender? 
 
 (^goes in doors.") 
 
148 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Demos. Much good, believe me : quick and 
 bring the wine then. 
 I'll lay me down ; let but the generous fumes 
 Once mount into my head, and they will gender 
 Such dainty little schemes — such tit-bit thoughts — 
 Such trim devices ! — 
 
 ScEWE II. 
 
 Demosthenes. Nicias returning with tvine. 
 Nic. Sing we jubilate ; 
 
 I have purloined the wine and 'scaped observance. 
 Demos. How fares the Paphlagonian, lad ? 
 
 Deliver me. 
 Nic. The rogue hath made of confiscation-sales 
 A sorry meal, and filled his skin with liquor. 
 Now stretch'd at full upon a heap of hides 
 The sorcerer sleeps sound. 
 
 Demos. Then pour me out 
 
 A cup of wine — no stint — a bumper, look ye ; 
 And let the echo smack her lips in unison. 
 Nic. [pouriyig out tvine.') Now make libation to 
 the Better-Genius — 
 To Him the oifering. 
 
 Demos. To the Better-Genius ! 
 
 (^drinks and meditates.) 
 A happy inspiration comes across me ; 
 Thine be the credit of this bright invention ! 
 (^looking at the pitcher with affected devotion, and 
 then turning to Nicias.) 
 Quick, quick ; and while the Paphlagonian sleeps. 
 Bring forth those oracles he hoards within. 
 
 Nic. Is this the scheme the Better-Genius 
 prompts ? 
 I fear me much that your Divinity 
 Will lose his name, and only cross your ends. 
 
 {^Enters the house.) 
 Demos. Meantime I put this pitcher to my 
 mouth, 
 ■<riiat I may wet my drought-parched mind, and hit 
 Upon some neat device. (^Drinks.) 
 
 Nic. (^returning.) The rogue sleeps soundly. 
 Or I had not come off so clean : here is 
 The oracle. 'Tis that he prizes most ; 
 Hoarding with care, as if 'twere somewhat 
 sacred. 
 Demos. Thou art a clever fellow ; reach it 
 here — 
 My eyes must take account of this ; and, friend, 
 Put speed into thy hand and fill a cup. 
 I'll see what stuff these oracles are made of. 
 (reads.) Anan ! some liquor, quick ! 
 
 Nic. 'Tis here. — How runs 
 
 The oracle? 
 
 Demos, (drinks and reads.) More liquor. 
 Nic. Call you that 
 
 The wording on't? 
 
 Demos, (reading.) Bacisl* 
 Nic. Why, what now 1 
 
 Demos, (reading.) Wine, ^vine, more wine* 
 Nic. (pouring out wine.) This Bacis was no 
 
 flincher. 
 Demos, (reading.) So, so; thou varlet of a 
 Paphlagonian ! 
 
 * Bacis, a BcBotian, who was supposed to have received 
 the gift of prophecy from the nymphs of Mount Cithaeron. 
 
 'Twas this bred such distrust in thee, and taught 
 To hoard these prophecies. 
 
 Nic. Say you? 
 
 Demos. I say 
 
 Here is a prophecy which tells the time 
 And manner of this fellow's death. 
 
 Nic. Out with it. 
 
 Demos. The words are clear enough: first says 
 the oracle — 
 There shall arise within our state a lint-seller,* 
 And to his hands the state shall be committed. 
 Nic. One seller note we : — good, — proceed, — 
 
 what follows ? 
 Demos, (reading.) Him shall a sheep-seller 
 
 succeed. 
 
 Nic. A brace 
 
 Of sellers! good — What shall befall this worthy? 
 
 Demos, (reading.) "Tis fix'd that he bear sway 
 
 'till one arise 
 
 More wicked than himself — that moment seals 
 
 him : 
 Then comes the Paphlagonian, — the hide-seller, — 
 Nic. The man of sheep then falls beneath the 
 lord 
 Of hides ? 
 
 Demos. Even so : thus runs the oracle. 
 Nic. Another and another still succeeds. 
 And all are sellers ! — Sure the race must be 
 Extinct ! — 
 
 Demos. One yet is left, whose crafl may stir 
 Your wonder. 
 
 Nic. What's his name? 
 
 Demos. Wouldst learn ? 
 
 Nic. Aye, marry. 
 
 Demos. I give it to thee then : (with emphasis) 
 the man that ruins 
 The Paphlagonian is — a sausage-seller. 
 
 Nic. You jest. A sausage-seller ! — "Tis a craft 
 
 Indeed I and where may such a man be found? 
 
 Demos. The task remains with us to search 
 
 him out. 
 Nic. Why yonder see, he moves into the forum. 
 [Sausage-selleu is seen at a distance. 
 The hand of Providence is sure in this ! 
 
 Demos. Hither, thou happiest of sausage-sel- 
 lers ! 
 I give thee hail ! — this w^ay, dearest of men !^ 
 Mount up, thou saviour of our town and us 
 Thy humble servants. 
 
 SCESE III. 
 Demosthenes. Nicias, and Sausage-seller. 
 Sausage. Prithee now, what wouldst thou 
 
 With me? 
 
 Demos. This way, this way: list friend, and 
 learn. 
 The happy and the blessed man you are. 
 
 Nic. First rid him of his chopping-block : then 
 pour 
 Into his ears how runs the oracle, 
 And what the blessed fortune that awaits him— 
 I'll turn an eye upon the Paphlagonian 
 Within. (Enters the house.) 
 
 * Three of Pericles' successors in the administration 
 had been — Eucrates, a lint-seller — Lycicles, a sheep-sel- 
 ler, — and Cleon, a leather-seller. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 149 
 
 Demos. {Jto the Sausage-seller.') First, please to 
 lay those iiiiplemeiits 
 Upon the ground ; tliLMi do all courtesies 
 And acts of adoration to the gods 
 And mother Earth.* 
 
 Sausage. Anan ! 
 
 Demos. Happiest of men ! 
 
 What wealth awaits thee ! Thou to-day art no- 
 thing ; 
 Yet shall to-morrow see thee top of all, 
 And blessed Athens own thee her prime minister ! 
 
 Sausage. Good man, I fain would wash me 
 these intestines : 
 Why should you put a hindrance in my way, 
 And make a flout at me ? 
 
 Demos, (^rontcmptiwusly.) Intestines, say you ? 
 Simplest of men ! — Your eyes this way awhile — 
 Seest thou yon companies of men'j (^pointing to 
 
 the audience.) 
 
 Sausage. I do : 
 
 What then? 
 
 Demos. Of all of these shalt thou be lord 
 
 And sovereign — the pyrix,+ the ports, the forum, — 
 Not one but waits thy ruling nod. The senate 
 Thy feet shall trample on ; the generals 
 Shall fall, like chips, before thee: lord of stocks, 
 And sovereign of dungeons, thou shalt lock 
 And bind, — nay further, {lowering his voice) in the 
 
 hall shalt have 
 A well-spread bed — nor want companion in it. 
 
 Sausage. All this for me ? 
 
 Demos. Ay, and much more, believe me, 
 But mount thy block, good friend, and cast thine 
 
 eyes 
 On yonder Isles^ — dost see them ? 
 
 Sausage. Yes. 
 
 Demos. Nay, but 
 
 The marts, the merchantmen — 
 
 Sausage. I mark them all. 
 
 Demos. thou art Fortune's very favourite ! 
 The child of happiness ! — Your right eye, sir, 
 On Caria — your left on Chalcedon.^ 
 
 Sausage. And call you this the top of happi- 
 ness — 
 To have my eyes distorted ? — Cry your mercy. 
 
 Demos. Nay, you mistake — a whisper in your 
 ear — 
 All these are so much money in your purse— 
 For thou wilt be — or there's no faith, be sure, 
 In oracles — a most j)rodigious man! 
 
 Satisage. Go to, thou canting varlet, am not I 
 A sausage-vender? How shall greatness ever 
 Sit on a man of my profession ? 
 
 Demos. Tut ! — 
 
 It is the very source of greatness : — answer — 
 Art not a knave ? — Art not of the forum ?§ — Hast 
 not 
 
 * There appears to have been a piece of guperfstition 
 among the lower orders of Athene, which consisted in 
 kissing the s[K>t of ground on wliich they stood, when 
 any piece of pood lurk happened to Ihein. 
 
 t The hill on which the general ;i!!seiiiblie6 were held, 
 and the parish of the allegorical Detntis. 
 
 t All these isles, cities, &c., pointed out by Demos- 
 thenefe, were tributary to Athens. 
 
 i ■' he agora or foriiiii was the resort of all the idle and 
 profligate of Athens. 
 
 A front of brass ? — Can Fortune set her seal 
 Of greatness with more certainty upon thee I 
 
 Sausage. I cannot find in me that worthiness 
 And seal ol" future i)ower you vaimt so mightily. 
 
 Demos. Anan! why sure thou hast some 
 squeamishness 
 Of honesty about thee I all's not right, 
 I fear; — answer, — art fair? — art honest? — art 
 A gentleman? — How say'st? 
 
 Sausage, (^coldly) Not I, by G~d ! 
 
 I am — as all my iathers were — a blackguard. 
 
 Demos. Then thou art blest: Fortune hath 
 shap'd and mark'd thee 
 For state-affairs. 
 
 Sausage. Nay, I want skill in music: 
 
 And am the sorriest dabster e'en at letters. 
 
 Demos. Better you wanted that small skill you 
 boast — 
 'Tis all that makes 'gainst thy sufficiencies; 
 Music and letters! — Tut! we want no gifts 
 Like these in men who rule us — morals, quotha? — 
 A dolt, — a knave, — these are the stuff we make 
 Our statesmen of — but come — throw^ not away 
 The blessing gracious heaven has put upon thee, 
 By virtue of these oracles. 
 
 Sausage. First let me hear 
 
 The wording of them. 
 
 Demos. Nay, you'll find no want 
 
 Of wisdom in them, nor variety 
 In the conceit — observe — (reads) 
 
 When the monster, half-tanner, half-eagle, shall 
 
 take 
 To his mouth, crooked-beak 'd, the dull blood- 
 sucking snake : 
 Then, if, rightly prophetic, the future I trace, 
 Paphlagonia and pickle* shall sink in disgrace. 
 The vender of sausages' star shall arise. 
 And glory come down with a crown from the 
 
 skies : — 
 Unfading their fame, as their sacrifice great, 
 Who leave a good trade to take care of the state. 
 
 Sausage. And how points this to me ? 
 
 Demos. I will resolve tliee. 
 
 The tanner-eagle is the Paphlagonian. 
 
 Sausage. But he is called crook-beak'd. — 
 
 Demos. With reason good. 
 
 What else his hands but beak, and claws, and 
 talons? 
 
 Sausage. But then the serpent — how expound 
 you that ? 
 
 Demos. Nay, 'tis the clearest of similitudes : 
 What is a serj)eiit but a lengthy thing? 
 And what your sausage but the same?— again^ 
 Your sausage is a blood-sucker; — so is 
 Your snake — and snake, so rtuis the prophecy, 
 Shall beat the taiuu'r-cagle ; — take he heed 
 Meantime, tliat no false speeches cozen him. 
 
 Sausage. The light is broke upon me, and I see 
 A call from heaven in this; — 1 marvel most 
 How I shall do to ride the populace? 
 
 Demos. Nought easier : model you upon your 
 trade — 
 
 * Liquid URed in tanning. 
 k2 
 
150 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Deal with the people as with sausages — 
 Twist, implicate, embroil ; nothing will hurt. 
 So you but make your court to Demus— cheating 
 And soothing him with terms of kitchen science. 
 All other public talents are your own ; 
 Your voice is strong, your liver white, and you are 
 O' the forum — say, could Diirulenco ask more 
 To claim the reins of state ? — The Pythian god, 
 The oracles, are in your favour; clap then 
 A chaplet on your head; drop instant prayer 
 Unto Coaleinus,* and bear your manhood 
 Entire against him. 
 
 Sausage. But what aidance may I 
 
 Expect? The wealthier fear the meaner folk — 
 Pay the most crouching reverence to him. 
 
 Demos. Nay, nay. 
 
 The knights will be your friends ; there are among 
 
 them 
 Some twice five-hundred, who detest him : citizens 
 Of breeding and of mark, be sure, will side 
 With you, and such spectators here as boast 
 Right-minded notions — what's more to the pur- 
 pose, 
 Tliou'lt lack no aid which heaven and I can give. 
 But see thou show no fear. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 NiciAS, Demosthexes, Cleox, Sausage-seller, 
 and Chohus. 
 
 Nic. He comes, he comes, the cursed Paphla- 
 gonian ! 
 
 At the sight of Cleon, the sausage-vender's 
 courage forsakes him, and he endeavours to make 
 his escape. He is brought back, however, to the 
 charge by Demosthenes, and assisted by the 
 knights, who attack Cleon in a burst of double 
 trochaics, the common metre for expressing strong 
 emotion on the Greek stage. 
 
 Chorus of Knights. 
 
 Stripes and torment, whips and scourges, for the 
 toll-collecting knave ! 
 
 Knighthood wounded, ti-oops confounded, chastise- 
 ment and vengeance crave. 
 
 Taxes sinking, tributes shrinking, mark his appe- 
 tite for plunder; 
 
 At his craw and ravening maw, dykes and whirl- 
 pools fail for wonder ! 
 
 Explanation and evasion — covert art and close 
 deceit — 
 
 Fraudful funning, force and evmning, who with 
 him in these compete? 
 
 He can cheat, and eke repeat twenty times his 
 felon feat. 
 
 All before yon blessed sim has quench'd his lamp 
 of glowing heat. 
 
 Then to him — pursue him — strike, shiver and 
 hew him ; 
 
 Confound him and pound him, and storm all 
 around him. — 
 
 Confounded by this attack, Cleon calls loudly 
 on the members of the Helia?a, (the high court 
 of Judicature) for help : — 
 
 * The genius of Stupidity. 
 
 Judges, jurymen, or pleaders, ye whose soul is in 
 
 your fee ; 
 Ye, that in a three-piec'd obol, father, mother, bro- 
 ther, see ; 
 Ye, whose food I'm still providing, straining voice 
 
 through right and wrong — 
 Mark and see — conspiracy drives and buffets 
 
 me along ! 
 Ch. 'Tis with reason — 'tis in season — 'tis as 
 
 you yourself have done : 
 Thou fang, thou claw, — thou gulf, thou maw! — 
 
 yielding partage fair to none. 
 Where's the officer at audit, but has felt your 
 
 cursed gripe ? 
 Squeez'd and tried with nice discernment, whe- 
 ther yet the wretch be ripe. 
 Like the men our figs who gather, you are skilful 
 
 to discern. 
 Which is green, and which is ripe, and which is 
 
 just upon the turn. 
 Is there one well-purs'd amongst us, lamb-like in 
 
 heart and life, 
 Link'd and wedded to retirement, hating bus'ness, 
 
 hating strife ? 
 Soon your greedy eye's upon him — when his 
 
 mind is least at home, — 
 Room and place — from farthest Thrace, at your 
 
 bidding he must come. 
 Foot and hand are straight upon him — neck and 
 
 shoulder in your grip. 
 To the ground anon he's thrown, and you smite 
 
 hira on the hip. 
 Cleon. {^f aiming.') Ill from you comes this irrup- 
 tion, you for whom my cares provide. 
 To reward old deeds of valour, — stone and 
 
 monumental pride. 
 'Twas my purpose to deliver words and speech 
 
 to that intent — 
 And for such my good intention, must I be thus 
 
 tempest-rent? 
 Ch. FawMiing braggart, proud deceiver, yielding 
 
 like a pliant thong! 
 We are not old men to cozen and to gull with 
 
 lying tongue. 
 Fraud or force — assault or parry — at all points 
 
 will we pursue thoe : 
 And the course which first exalted, knave, that 
 
 same shall now undo thee. 
 Cleon. {1o the aitdienre.) Tovi^n and weal — I make 
 
 appeal — back and breast these monsters 
 
 feel. 
 Ch. Have we wrung a clamour from thee, pest 
 
 and ruin of the town? 
 Sausage. Clamour as he will, I'll raise a voice 
 
 that shall his clamour drown. 
 Ch. To outreach this knave in speech were a 
 
 great and glorious feat — 
 But to pass in face and brass — that were triumph 
 
 all complete. 
 Clean, (/o the audience.) Allegation, affirmation, 
 
 I am here prepared to make. 
 That this man (^painting to Sausage-seUer) shipp'd 
 
 spars, and sausages, and all for Sparta's 
 
 sake. 
 Sausage. Head and oath, I stake them both, 
 
 and free before this presence say, 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 151 
 
 That the hall a p,Tiest most hungry sees in this 
 
 man (pointins; to Clean) every day : 
 He walks in with belly empty and with full one 
 goes away. 
 Demus. Add to this, on my witness, that in 
 covert close disguise. 
 Of fish, and flesli, and bread most fragrant, he 
 
 makes there unlawful prize ; 
 Pericles, in all his grandeur, ne"er was gifted in 
 such guise. 
 Clean, {loudly.') Fate had mark'd you with 
 her eye : 
 Yet awhile and both must die. 
 
 Sausage, {louder.') Pitch your voice, knave, as 
 you will, 
 I'll that voice outclamour still. 
 
 Cleon. {crescendo.) When I soar, the ocean's 
 roar 
 Fails for very wonder. 
 
 Sausage. In my throat I've but one note, 
 And that note is — thunder. ( Very loud.) 
 
 Cleon. I have test your parts to try : 
 Look at me, nor wink your eye. 
 
 Sausage. Be your challenge on your head : 
 
 {Looks witlwut winking.) 
 Where suppose ye I was bred 1 
 
 Cleon. I can steal, and, matchless grace! 
 Own it with unblushing face; 
 You dare not thus pursue it. 
 
 Sausage. Empty boasting, void as air 
 I can steal, and then outswear 
 The man who saw me do it. 
 Cleon. {mortified.) Small applause your feats 
 demand ; 
 The art, "tis known, 
 Is not your own ; 
 You're but a knave at second hand. 
 But to the hall* anon I go ; 
 Incontinent our chairmen know 
 You've intestines here which owe 
 A tythe to Jove and heaven. 
 
 Ch. Wretch! ■without a parallel, — 
 Son of thunder, — child of hell, — 
 Creature of one mighty sense, 
 Concentrated Impudence ! — 
 From earth's centre to the sea, 
 Nature stinks of that and thee. 
 It stalks at the bar, 
 It lurks at the tolls; 
 In th' assembly, black war 
 And defiance it rolls. 
 It speaks to our ears 
 In an accent of thunder. 
 It climbs to the spheres 
 And rives heaven asunder. 
 
 The storm is kept up so loudly and incessant- 
 ly, that Cleon is fain to throw liimself upon the 
 senate, and challenges his rival to meet him at 
 that awful bar. His antagonist professes his 
 willingness to do so: and tlie Chorus, consider- 
 ing him as one of the combatants who were 
 going to exhibit in the wrestling school, anoint 
 
 * The Prytaneuni. 
 
 his body with the fat of his own .sausages, that 
 he " may slip from his adversary's cahnnnies;" 
 they feed him like a fighting cock with pungent 
 garlic; they remind him (in allusion to the com- 
 bats of the same l)ird,) to ])eck at his adversary, 
 — to tread liim down, — to gnaw his crest, — and 
 swallow his gills; and they finally recommend 
 him to the protection of that divinity, which, in 
 modern times, would under the same mythology, 
 have presided over tlie Palais Royal of Paris, or 
 the Piazza di Marco at Venice. 
 
 Pahabasis.* 
 Weak it one of that old school, learned sirs, who 
 long the rule 
 And the tone to our drama hath given. 
 Who his lessons and his verse having taught us 
 to rehearse 
 Would before this high presence have driven; 
 'Tis great chance that his request, however 
 warmly prest. 
 Might have met with no easy compliance : — 
 But indulgent we have heard the petitions of a 
 bard 
 Of new mettle and noblest appliance. 
 And well may he command aid and service at 
 your hand ; 
 For his hatreds and ours closely blending 
 Into one concurring point leap, and hand and 
 heart and joint 
 To the same noble object are tending. 
 He no shade nor shelter seeks ; — what he thinks he 
 boldly speaks: — f 
 Neither skirmish nor conflict declining, 
 He marches all-elate "gainst that Typhon of the 
 state. 
 Storm and hurricane and teinpest combining. 
 Marvel much we hear has grown, and inquiries 
 through the town. 
 Of the poet have been most unsparing, 
 (With submission be it known, that these words 
 are not our own, 
 But his own proper speech and declaring,) 
 Why his dramas liitherto came not forward as 
 was due. 
 Their own proper Choregns obtaining; 
 Take us with you, sirs, awhile, and a moment's 
 easy toil 
 Will in brief be the reason explaining. 
 'Twas no folly bred, we say, this distrust and 
 cold delay, 
 But a sense of th' extreme application 
 
 * The Parabasis is a digressional address to the spec- 
 tators by the Chorus, in the name and undiT the aiuhority 
 of the poet, and has no concern with the snhjcct of the 
 piece. — In the present*ono, the writer has taken the op- 
 portunity thus afTotded him of displayins the ingratitude 
 of llie Athenians towards many of their old poets, and of 
 explaininjr why lie had not complied with the established 
 custom of putting his work into the hands of one of those 
 wealthy persons, who either voluntarily undertook, or 
 by compulsion of the law were enjoined to defray the 
 expenses of. the choral and theatrical exhibitinna. 
 
 t Such was the dread entertained of the party of Cleon, 
 that no mask-maker woirld venture toexecute his likeness. 
 The poet, therefore, embraced the resolution of acting 
 the part himself, with his face merely painted over. 
 
152 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 And the toil which he, who woos in our town 
 tlie comic muse, 
 Must encounter in such his vocation. 
 Then your tempers quick — severe — ever chang- 
 ing with the year — 
 To tliis thought added fears more appalling, 
 And a sense of those disasters which, through 
 you, tlieir fickle masters, 
 Old age on our poets sees falling. 
 Could it scape observing sight, what was Magnes 
 wretched plight, 
 When the hairs on his temples were hoary; 
 Yet who battled with more zeal, or more trophies 
 left to tell 
 Of his former achievements and glory? 
 He came piping, dancing, tapping, — fig-gnatting 
 and wing-clapping, — * 
 Frog-besmear'd and with Lydian grimaces : 
 Yet he, too, had his date, nor could wit noT merit 
 great 
 Preserve him, unchang'd in your graces. 
 Who Cratinus may forget, or the storm of whim 
 and wit, 
 Which shook theatres imder his guiding? 
 When panegyric's song pour'd her flood of praise 
 along. 
 Who but he on the top wave was riding? 
 Who but he the foremost guest then on gala-day 
 and feast? 
 What strain fell from harp or musicians, 
 But "Doro, Doro, sweet, nymph ■with fig-beslip- 
 per'd feet," 
 Or — " Ye verse-smiths and bard-mechani- 
 cians ?"f 
 Thus in glory was he seen, while his years, as 
 yet, were green ; 
 But now that his dotage is on him, 
 God help him ! for no eye, of all who pass him by. 
 
 Throws a look of compassion upon him. 
 'Tis a couch, but with the loss of its garnish and 
 its gloss ; — 
 'Tis a harp, that hath lost all its cunning, — 
 'Tis a pipe, where deftest hand may the stops 
 no more command, 
 Nor on its divisions be ruining. 
 Connas-like,^ he's chaplet-crown"d, and he paces 
 round and round, 
 In a circle, which never is ended ;— 
 On his head a chaplet hangs, but the curses and 
 the pangs 
 Of a drought on his lips are suspended. 
 O, if ever yet on bard waited, page-like, high 
 reward ; — 
 Former exploits and just reputation. 
 By an emphasis of right, sure had eam'd this 
 noble wight 
 In the hall a ne'er-failing — potation ;§ 
 
 ♦The poet here alludes in his own peculiar manner to 
 the titles of some of the dramatic works of Magnes. 
 
 t Two celebrated songs of Cratinus began in this 
 manner. 
 
 % Connas was a flute-player, and, from a fragment of 
 Cratinus, appears to have made himself a little conspicu- 
 ous by constantly wearing a chaplet on his head. 
 
 } Cratinus is said to have been rather addicted to pota- 
 tions. 
 
 And in theatres high station;* there a mark for 
 Admiration 
 To anchor her aspect and iace on, 
 In his honour he should sit, not serve triflers in 
 the pit 
 As an object their rude jests to pass on. 
 I spare myself the toil to record the buffets vile, 
 
 The aflVonts and the contumelies hateful. 
 Which on Cratesf frequent fell, yet I dare you, 
 sirs, to tell 
 Where was caterer more pleasing and grate- 
 ful? 
 Who knew better how to lay soup piquant and 
 entremets, 
 Dainty patties and little side-dishes? 
 Where, with all your bards, a muse cook'd more 
 delicate ragouts, 
 Or hashed sentiment so to your wishes? 
 Princely cost nor revenue ask'd his banquets, it 
 is true ; 
 Yet he is the only stage-master, 
 Through all changes and all chanc-es, who un- 
 daunted still advances 
 Alike master of success and disaster. 
 Sirs, ye need no more to bear — ye know whence 
 the hue of fear 
 O'er our bard's cheek of enterprise stealing. 
 And why, like prudent men, who look forth with 
 wider ken, 
 In proverbs he's wont to be dealing; 
 Saying — better first explore what the powers of 
 scull and oar, 
 Ere the helm and the rudder you're trying; 
 At the prow next take your turn, there the mys- 
 teries to learn 
 Of the scud and the winds, that are flying. 
 This mastery attain'd, time it is a skiff were 
 gain'd 
 And your pilotaget put upon trial : — 
 Thus with caution and due heed, step by step 
 would he proceed 
 In a course that should challenge denial. 
 Nor let it breed offence, if for such befitting sense 
 
 And so modest a carriage and bearing. 
 We ask some mark of state on its author here to 
 
 wait, — 
 Guard of honour, procession, or chairing : — 
 With a shout of such cheering 
 As Bacchus is hearing, 
 When vats overflowing 
 Set Mirth all a-crowing, 
 And Joy and Wine meet 
 Hand in hand, in each street. 
 So his purpose attain'd 
 And the victory gain'd, 
 
 * There were distinct seats in the theatre. The most 
 commodious and honourable were those near the images 
 of the gods. 
 
 t Crates was first an actor and afterwards a writer of 
 the Old Come<ly. 
 
 t The pilot, says Archbishop Potter, held a much higher 
 rank in the Greek, than in our navy. He had the care 
 of the ship and the government of the seamen, and all 
 things were managed according to his direction. It was, 
 therefore, necessary that he should have an exact know- 
 ledge of the art of navigation. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 153 
 
 Your bard shall depart 
 With a rapture-touch'd heart, 
 While Triumph shall throw 
 O'er his cheeks such a glow, 
 That Pleasure might trace 
 Her own self in his face. 
 • • • • • 
 
 Choral Hymn. 
 O THotr, ^vhom patroness we call 
 Of this the holiest land of all 
 
 That circling seas admire ; 
 The land where Power delights to dwell, 
 And War his mightiest feats can tell, 
 And Poesy to sweetest swell 
 
 Attunes her voice and lyre ; 
 
 Come, blue-eyed Maid, and with thee bring 
 The goddess of the eagle-wing, 
 
 To help our bold endeavour ; 
 Long have our armies own'd thine aid, 
 O Victory, immortal Maid ; 
 But now of other deeds we tell; 
 A bolder foe remains to quell ; 
 
 Give aid then now or never. 
 
 Act n. Scene I. 
 Sausage-seller and Chorus. 
 The Sausage-seller having returned victorious 
 from the senate, is received with shouts of accla- 
 mation by the Chorus, and requested to give a 
 particular account of his exertions. 
 
 Sausage. And trust me, friends, the tale will 
 
 pay the hearing — 
 Straight as he went from lience, I clapt all sail 
 And followed close behind. Within I found him 
 Launching his bolts and thunder-driving words. 
 Denouncing all the knights as traitors, vile 
 Conspirators — jags, crags, and masses huge 
 Of stone were nothing to the monstrous words 
 His foaming mouth heaved up. All these to hear 
 Did the grave council seriously incline ; 
 They love a tale of scandal to their hearts, 
 And his had been as quick as golden-herb. 
 Mustard was in their faces, and their brows 
 With frowns were furrowed up. I saw the 
 
 storm. 
 Marked how his words had sunk upon them, 
 
 taking 
 Their very senses prisoners : — and, oh ! 
 In knavery's name, thought I, — by all the fools 
 And scrubs, and ^rogues, and scoundrels in the 
 
 town. 
 By that same forum, where my early youth 
 Receiv'd its first instruction, let mc gather 
 True courage now : be oil upon my tongue, 
 And shameless Impudence direct my speech. 
 Just as these thoughts pass'd over me, I heard 
 A sound of thunder pealing on my right — 
 And mark'd the omen, — grateful, kissd the 
 
 ground, 
 Raised my voice to its highest pitch, and thus 
 Began upon them — " Messieurs of the senate, 
 I bring good news, and hope your favour for it. 
 Anchovies, such as, since the war began. 
 Ne'er crossed my eyes for cheapness, do this day 
 
 Adorn our markets" — at the words a calm 
 Came over every face, and all was hushed. 
 A crown was voted me upon the spot.* 
 Then I (the thought was of the moment's birth,) 
 Making a mighty secret of it, bade them 
 Put pots and ])ans in instant requisition. 
 And then — " One obol loads you with anchovies," 
 Said I: anon most violent applause, 
 And clapping hands ensued ; and every face 
 Grew into mine, gaping in idiot vac.incy. 
 — My Paphlagonian discern'd the humour 
 O' the time; and seeing how the members all 
 Were tickled most with words, thus uttered him : 
 "Sirs, — gentlemen, — 'tis my good will and plea- 
 sure, 
 That, for this kindly news, we sacrifice 
 One hundred oxen to our patron-goddess.''j" 
 Straight the tide turned : each head within the 
 
 senate 
 Nodded assent and warm good will to Cleon : 
 "What! shall a little bull-flesh gain the day?" 
 Thought I within me : then aloud, and shooting 
 Beyond his mark; — "I double, sirs, this vote; — 
 Nay, more, sirs, should to-morrow's sun see sprats 
 One hundred to the penny sold, I move 
 That we make offering of a thousand goats 
 Unto Diana." — Every head was raised ; 
 And all turned eyes incontinent on me. — 
 This was a blow he ne'er recovered ; straight 
 He fell to muttering fooleries and words 
 Of no account. — The chairman and the oflficers 
 Were now upon him. — .\U meantime was uproar 
 In th' assembly; — nought talk'd of but anchovies. 
 How fared our statesman? — He, with suppliant 
 
 tones, 
 Begg'd a few moments' pause. — "Rest ye, sirs, 
 
 rest 
 Awhile. — I have a tale will pay the hearing — 
 A herald is arrived from Sparta, claiming 
 An audience. — He brings terms of peace, and 
 
 craves 
 Your leave to utter them before you." — "Peace!" 
 Cried all, (their voices one.) " Is this a time 
 To talk of peace ? — Out, dotard ! What ! the rogues 
 Have heard the price anchovies bear ! — Marry, 
 Our needs, sirs, ask not ])eace. — War, war, for us— 
 And, chairman, break the assembly up." — 'Twas 
 
 done 
 Upon their bidding, straight. — ^Who might oppose 
 Such clamour? — ^Then, what haste and expedition 
 On every side! One moment clears the rails! 
 I, the meantime, steal privately away, 
 And buy me all the leeks and coriander 
 In the market — diese I straight make largess of, 
 And gratis give as sauce to dress their fish.— 
 Who may recount the praises infinite 
 And groom-like courtesies this bounty gained me? 
 In short, for a few pennyworths of leeks 
 And coriander vile, I have purchased me 
 
 * A crown or chaplet was a reward usually coriforred 
 upon such persons as, by the annunciation of good news, 
 gained the momentary affections of the Athenians. 
 
 t When the Athenian people were to be cajoled, a feast 
 or sacrifice (and they were nearly synonymous, fur a 
 small portion only of the victim was offered to the gods,) 
 was the surest and most etTectual mode. 
 
154 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 An entire senate. — Not a man, among tliem, 
 But is at my behest, and does me reverence.* 
 
 Chorus of Knights. 
 
 Well, my son, hast thou begun, and well hast 
 
 thou competed ; 
 Rich bliss and gain wilt thou attain, thy mighty 
 
 task completed. 
 He, thy rival, shall admire. 
 Choked with passion, pale with ire, 
 Thy audacity and fire : — 
 He shall own, abash'd, in thee 
 Power and peerless mastery, 
 In all crafts and tricks that be. — 
 At all points art thou equipt. 
 Eye and tongue with treason tipt, 
 Soul and body, both deep-dipt 
 
 In deceit and knavery. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Chohus, Sausage-selleh, Cleon. 
 
 The Paphlagonian returns to the stage at the 
 conclusion of the Chorus' address, with thunder- 
 ing aspect and menacing words, but they are all 
 lost upon the Sausage-seller. Another scene of 
 altercation takes place between these intellectual 
 gladiators. Cleon, after a volley of abuse, threat- 
 ens to bring his adversary before Demus : (that 
 is, in other words, the people.) — "There," says 
 he, "you will be sure to be worsted — you will 
 find no credit there, while I can play upon him 
 as I please." — "You seem to consider this Demus 
 as your own property." — "Yes, for I know the 
 morsels that he likes to feed upon." — "True, and 
 like children's nurses, you grudge the food you 
 give him — you champ, and champ ; and, for one 
 morsel that you give the child, eat three your- 
 self." — Cleon now calls loudly for Demus, the 
 representative of the people ; and that dignified 
 person makes his appearance. The two candi- 
 dates state their several claims to his favour. "I 
 am the friend of Demus," says Cleon, "and am 
 as much attached to him as a lover to his mis- 
 tress." — " I am your rival in his affections," says 
 the Sausage-seller, — " Yes, my dear Demus, I have 
 loved you this long time, and it would give me 
 the greatest pleasure to be of service ; and all 
 honest men partake my sentiments; but this man 
 keeps us away, and prevents our showing you 
 proofs of our attachment." — He proceeds to state 
 very candidly to Demus, that he resembled very 
 much those capricious beauties, who dismiss such 
 suitors from them as are men of probity and 
 honour, and dispose of their favours and affec- 
 tions to the lowest of mankind — to lamp-lighters, 
 tanners, and curriers.— Cleon, knowing his strong- 
 hold, proposes that Demus should call a general 
 assembly, and that it should be there decided, 
 
 * Absurd as some parts of the above narration may 
 appear to a modern reader, it can hardly be called a cari- 
 cature of the public meetings in Athens. Every person 
 conversant with the orators and historians of that singular 
 republic, has occasionally met with instances of ridiculous 
 conduct, which hardly fall below what is here repre- 
 sented. He has seen the most frivolous circumstances 
 swelled into importance, and the most important trifled 
 with, in her crowded and noisy assemblies. 
 
 who had most pretensions to his favour. His 
 adversary has no objection, provided the assembly 
 be not held in the Pntx. "The old gentleman," 
 says he, "is a man of excellent sense, while he 
 abides at home ; but the moment he goes to that 
 cursed place, he is as much at his wit's end, as 
 the man who wishes to dry his figs in the sun, 
 and has not a stalk to fasten them by." — But 
 Detnus will hear of no other place. "Pntx* is 
 my true and proper seat. I hold my sittings no 
 where else." — "Then I am a ruined man," says 
 the sausage-monger. — The Chorus, however, 
 encourage their friend, and prepare him for the 
 arduous contest. 
 
 Scene HI. — The Pnyx hill. 
 Cleon, Sausage-selleh, Demus, Chorus. 
 
 Cleon. {^anapcEstics.^ With our lady divine, the 
 
 town's saviour and mine. 
 
 My prayers make, as meet, their beginning: — 
 
 [a pause of affected devotion. 
 
 If disguise none I wear, while to Demus I swear 
 
 Such love, as from none he is winning. 
 
 Sausage. To love — fair and true — I can make 
 
 my claim too ; 
 And if ever its chain should less bind me ; 
 May I mince into meat, so minute that who eat, 
 Must have eyes keen, as Attic, to find me. 
 Cleon. (to Demus.) For service and zeal, I to 
 
 facts, sir, appeal : — 
 Say, of all that e'er swayed this proud city, 
 Who had ever more skill your snug coffer to fill, 
 
 Undisturb'd by respectance and pityl 
 For one and for two, I've the rope and the screw, 
 
 To a third I make soft supplication ; 
 And I spurn at all ties, and all laws I despise, 
 So that Demus find gratification. 
 Sausage. Mere smoke this and dust ! Demus, 
 
 take it on trust, 
 That my service and zeal can run faster; 
 I am he that can steal at the mouth a man's meal. 
 
 And set it before my own master. 
 Other proofs than of love in this knave's grate 
 and stove. 
 Noble lord, may your eyes be discerning: 
 There the coal and the fuel, that should warm 
 your own gruel. 
 To your slave's ease and comfort are burning. 
 Nay, since Marathon's day, when thy sword (Jo 
 Dennis) paved the way. 
 To Persia's disgrace and declension, 
 (That bountiful mint, in which bards,f without 
 stint. 
 Fashion words of six-footed dimension.) 
 Like a stone or a stock, hast not sat on a rock, 4: 
 
 Cold, comfortless, bare, and derided, — 
 While this chief of the land, never yet to your 
 hand 
 
 * The Pnyx was a public place, which derived its name 
 from the number of stones with which it was tilled. As 
 the general assemblies were usually held on it, it has 
 been made the parish of the allegorical Demus. 
 
 t Not only bards and orators swore by the battles of 
 Marathon and Salamis, but the very cooks embellished 
 their diction by the same appeal. — Vid. Aihen. ix. 380. 
 
 X An allusion to the stones with which the Pnyx hill 
 was crowded. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 isa 
 
 A cushion or seat hath provided ? 
 But take this {^s^vins; a rushion) to the case of your 
 hams and your knot's, 
 For siuce Salaniis, proud day of story, 
 With a fleet ruin hurl'd, they look rank in the 
 worki, 
 Aiul shouiil seat them in romfort and glory. 
 Dcmus. Wliat vision art thou? Let ine read on 
 
 thy brow. 
 What lineage and kindred liave won thee! 
 Thou wast born for my weal, and the impress 
 and seal 
 Of Harmodius are surely upon tliee. 
 Clcon. (^mortified.) feat easy done! And is 
 
 Deimis thus won 
 By diminutive gifts and oblations? 
 Sausage. Small my baits I allow, but in size 
 
 they outgo 
 Your own little douceurs and donations. 
 
 The contest proceeds for some time in the same 
 strain, Cleon all the while talking of his unex- 
 ampled love for Demus. "But tell me," (says 
 the sausage-dealer, addressing himself to Cleon,) 
 "you, who deal in leather, and profess so great 
 an atfection for Dernus — did you ever, in the 
 plentitude of your love, make him your debtor 
 for a pair of shoes?'" — That I'll be sworn he 
 never did," exclaims the old gentleman. The 
 sausage-vender follo\vs up his blow by instantly 
 presenting a pair. Demus is all gratitude — he 
 declares that himself, the republic, and his toes 
 never had so sincere a friend. 
 • » • » # » « 
 
 Demus. I have observed this man; he wears a 
 show 
 Of honesty, more than I ever saw 
 In those who go for many to the penny.* 
 In sooth I love the man — for you, fine Paphlago- 
 
 nian, 
 Who hold such large professions of your love, 
 Know that you've anger'd me beyond all suffer- 
 ance, 
 And art dismiss'd : — I ask your ring of office. 
 
 [Cleon gives the ring. 
 (To Sausage.) To you and to your care do I com- 
 mend it. 
 
 Cleon. One word at parting — I have left your 
 service — 
 Who follows me, believe, will prove a knave 
 Still greater than myself. — But one word more — 
 One word — upon my knees — I have some oracles. 
 Make your ear partner to them ere you pass 
 Your last resolve. 
 
 Sausage. I too have oracles, 
 
 That claim a hearing. 
 
 Cleon. Then, produce your oracles. 
 
 Sausage. I wait no second bidding. 
 
 Demus. (fo Clean.) Let the same 
 
 Be done by you. — 
 
 Clean. Yoiir bidding is obeyed — 
 
 I go. — [Hurrying off.) 
 
 Saitsase. I vanish. 
 
 * Demus alludes to the obol, the usual compensation 
 for services among the Athenians. 
 
 Act III. Scene I. 
 
 The two candidates for the favour of Demus 
 enter, labouring mider a weight of oracles, whicli 
 they severally rehearse. As they would try the 
 reader's patience, however, they are all, witli the 
 exception of the last, omitted. 
 
 Cleon. But enough — I've an oracle yet to de- 
 clare, 
 It comes from the clouds and is borne on the air. 
 [To De7nus.) Like an eagle, it tells, you shall 
 
 spread your wictc wings, 
 A lord over monarchs, a king over kings. 
 
 Suiisuge. [eagerly) I've the same; while a clause 
 
 supplemental extends 
 Your reign to the Red-sea, and earth's farthest 
 
 ends.* 
 With a seat on the bench in remote Ecbatane, 
 And a banquet of sweets, while the suits are in 
 
 train. 
 Cleon. I've seen me a vision ; I've drcam'd me 
 
 a dream : 
 Its author was Pallas, and Demus its theme : 
 The cup Aryttcnaj" blazed bright in her hand, 
 And riches and plenty fell witle o'er the land. 
 Sausage. I, too, have my visions and dreams of 
 
 the night : 
 Our Lady:!: and Owl stood confcst to my sight: 
 From the cup Aryballus§ choice blessings slie 
 
 threw ; 
 On him {Clcmi) fell tan-pickle, and nectar on you. 
 
 (7'o Demus.') 
 
 One only resource now remained for Cleon. 
 The nation, which ranked cookery among the 
 liberal arts, had other appetites to be gratified 
 besides a love of power and dominion ; and Cleon 
 determines to appeal from his master's hopes 
 and fears to the humbler gratifications of his 
 palate. The first attack is made through the 
 medium of barley, and the offer of providing 
 him daily sustenance — but the bare mention of 
 barley is offensive to Demus. He had been de- 
 ceived enough on that point by Cleoir. An offer 
 of prepared wheat does not propitiate him more. 
 The sausage-vender is both more delicate and 
 profuse : the banquet which he proposes to lay 
 before his master is to consist of nice little pud- 
 dings, well baked, and broiled fish ; and his life, 
 as this aspirant to his favour declares, shall be 
 nothing but a scene of mastification. 
 
 The imagination of Demus begins to open to 
 the flattering prospect. 
 
 Demus. About it straight then, anc' — observe— 
 Who caters best and offers me most presents, 
 To him I give the state and all its harness. 
 
 * A singular oath was taken by the young men of 
 .Vthens, before they went upon an expedition, implying, 
 that they would consider wheat and barley, and vines 
 and olives to be the linnts of Attica ; by which, says I'lu- 
 larch, they were taualit to claim a title to all lands that 
 vv'ere manured and fruilful. — Life vf Jilcibmdes. 
 
 f The Arytana was a sort of cup or vessel for drawing 
 water. 
 
 t Our /.nrfi/.— Minerva. 
 
 } The JinjhaUus was a vessel shaped like a purse, broad 
 at bottom, and narrow at top. 
 
156 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 On your own head 
 
 Clean, (nmnin^.') Sayst thou ? I'm on my legs 
 
 and start tliis instant. 
 Satisage. (^running faster.') I've left already 
 
 longer space behind me. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 Cleon, Sausage-seller, Demits, Chorus. 
 Clean. (Jo Sausage.) Otf, knave ! and feast the 
 
 crows. 
 Sausage. 
 Fall the ill wish ! 
 
 Clean. Demus, I wait a week 
 
 With hands prepared to shower my gifts upon 
 you. 
 Sausage. And I a month — a year— a century — 
 Time out of mind, mind, mind. 
 
 Demus. And I wait here 
 
 Expecting your large promises, and venting 
 Curses on both (jnimics) before creation — ation — 
 ation. 
 Sausage, (io Demus.) Knowst what to do? 
 Demus. Your wisdom can advise me. 
 
 Sausage. Start him and me, observe, as from 
 the barriers : 
 We'll run a race as 'twere, who most can give 
 you. 
 Demus. 'Tis well advis'd : one — two — three — 
 
 away ! 
 Sausage. We're gone. 
 Demus. Run qviick. 
 
 Clean. I dare him to outstrip me. 
 
 [E.reunt Cleon and Sausage-seller. 
 Demus. (^solus.) I must be dainty nice indeed, 
 if such 
 A pair of lovers do not satisfy me! 
 
 The rival candidates now commence their 
 contest of presents, consisting chiefly of culinary 
 articles. For some time the sausage-vender has 
 the advantage, till Cleon awakens his fears by 
 talking of a dish of hare, which he has exclu- 
 sively to present. His rival, disconcerted at 
 first, has recourse to a stratagem. " Some am- 
 bassadors come this way to me, and their purses 
 seem well filled.'' — "Where are they?" — exclaims 
 Cleon eagerly and turns about. The hare-flesh 
 was immediately in the hands of his rival, who 
 presents the boasted dainty, in his own name, to 
 Demus! While the sausage-vender piously re- 
 fers the suggestion of this little theft to Minerva, 
 and modestly takes the execution only to him- 
 self, Cleon resents the surprise very warmly. — 
 " I had all the danger of catching the hare," says 
 he, referring to his predecessor Demosthenes. — 
 " And I had all the trouble of dressing it," says 
 his rival. — " Fools I" says Demus, in the true spirit 
 of vulgar selfishness, " I care not who caught it, 
 or who dressed it ; all I regard is the hand that 
 serves it up to table." A conscious feeling of 
 inferiority now comes over Cleon, and one of 
 those powerful words which the Greek language 
 only supplies, expresses his fears that the race is 
 against him, and that he shall be distanced in 
 impudence. His rival proposes a new test of 
 affection. "Let our chests," says he, "be search- 
 ed. It will then be proved, who loves Demus 
 
 most." This is accordingly done. That of the 
 new candidate for power is found empty. " He 
 had given his dear little Demus every thing." 
 In Cleon's, on the contrary, is found abundance 
 of good things ; and a tempting cheese-cake par- 
 ticularly excites Demus' surprise. "The rogue!" 
 says this representative of the sovereign multi- 
 tude, " to conceal such a cake as this, and to cut 
 me ort" but a mere morsel of it; and that, too," 
 subjoins the complainant (changing his dialect 
 from the Attic to the Doric, for a reason which 
 the learned reader will appreciate) " after I had 
 made him a present of a chaplet and added 
 many other douceurs besides !" — Cleon in vain 
 pleads, that he stole for the good of the country. 
 He is ordered to lay do'wn his chaplet,* and in- 
 vest his antagonist with it. — " Nay," says he, still 
 struggling for the retention of office : 
 
 Cleon. I have an oracle ; — it came from Phoe- 
 bus, 
 And tells to whom Fate wills I yield the mas- 
 tery. 
 Sausage. Declare the name — my life upon't— 
 the god 
 Refers to me. 
 
 Clean. Presumptuous! — You! — Low scoundrel! 
 To the proof: — Where were you school'd? and 
 
 who the teacher 
 That first imbued your infant mind with know- 
 ledge ? 
 Sausage. The kitchen and the scullery gave me 
 breeding ; 
 And teacher I had none save cuffs and blows. 
 Cleon. [aside.) My mind misgives me: what 
 am I deliver'd ! 
 But pass we on : — (^aloud) say further what the 
 
 wrestling master 
 Instructed you? 
 
 Sausage. To steal — to look the injured 
 
 Straight in the face, and then forswear the theft. 
 Clean, (^aside.) Angels and ministers of grace 
 protect me ! 
 (^aloud) But say what art or trade your manhood 
 practised ? 
 Sausage. I dealt in sausages. 
 Cleon. Aught more ? 
 
 Sausage. I found 
 
 The bagnios employment. 
 
 Clean, (^aside.) I'm undone. 
 
 One only hope remains. {^Aloud.) Resolve me — 
 
 praetisd you 
 Within the market-place or at the gates ?■}" 
 
 Sausage. Nay, at the gates, among the men 
 who deal 
 In salted fish. 
 
 Cleon. Why then, all is accomplished. 
 
 It is the will of heaven ; — bear me within : — 
 A long farewell to all my former greatness ! 
 
 ♦ Cleon, according to the Scholiast, had received a 
 chaplet m full assembly from the people, with the privi- 
 lege perhaps attached, of vvearin;; it on all occasions. 
 
 t Only the lowest tradesmen practised at the gates of 
 the town. Every answer is made to show the utter base- 
 ness of Cleoirs rival, and thus to place hiui in the most 
 ignominious light. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 157 
 
 Adieu, fair chaplet !* 'gainst my will I quit thee, 
 And give thy matchless sweets to other hands! — 
 There may be knaves more fortunate than I, 
 But never shall the world see thief more rascally. 
 
 Sausage, (^devoutly. ^ Thine be the triumph, Jove 
 Ellenian !j 
 • •*••• 
 
 The piece ends with a triumphal rejoicing, 
 the scene changing from the I'nyx to the majestic 
 PropylcBon ; where Deinus, whose youth has 
 been miraculously renewed, comes forward in 
 the garb of an ancient Atlienian, and shows that, 
 with his early strength, he has also recovered his 
 nobler spirit and the sentiments of the age of 
 Marathon. — See Schlegel's Dramatic Literature, 
 Lecture VI. 
 
 FROM THE CLOUDS. 
 
 [Acted B. C. 423.] 
 
 "The Clouds" was intended as an exhibition 
 of the corrupt state of education at Athens, and 
 as an exposure of Socrates, whom the poet chose 
 to consider as the principal author of that corrup- 
 tion. The story is of a young spendthrift, who 
 has involved his father in debt by his passion for 
 horses, and who, being placed under the care of 
 Socrates, soon learns to defraud his creditors, to 
 contemn his father, and to regard honour amongst 
 men, and piety towards the gods, as the by-gone 
 dreams and vulgar prejudices of a barbarous age. 
 The metaphysics of the Sophists are embodied in 
 the person of Socrates. How foul a wrong this 
 was to that great and good man, (himself a most 
 decided antagonist of the Sophists,:^) every one at 
 all read in Grecian history well knows; nor is it 
 an excuse for the traducer to say that he erred 
 through ignorance, or foresaw not the destruction 
 which his calumnies were assistant in bringing 
 down on the head of his guiltless victim. — But 
 time has set all even, and "poor Socrates"' — as a 
 far loftier bard has sung — 
 
 "Poor Socrates, 
 
 By what he taught, and suffered for so doing. 
 For truth's sake suffering death unjust, lives now. 
 Equal in fame to proudest conquerors." 
 
 Par. Reg. b. iii. v. 96. 
 
 DRAMATIS PEHSONiB. 
 
 Strepsiades. 
 Fheidippidf.s. 
 Servant to Strepsiades. 
 Disciples of Socrates. 
 Socrates. 
 Chords ©/"Clouds. 
 
 DiCiELOOOS. 
 
 Adiceolooos. 
 
 Pasias. 
 
 Amtnias. 
 
 "Witnesses. 
 
 Ch^rephon. 
 
 Scene — Athens. 
 
 * Parodied from Euripides* description of the dying 
 Alcestis talking leave of her bridal bed. 
 
 t Jupiter was worshipped at JEi'xn^ under this title 
 tipon the following occasion. A great drought prevailed 
 in that island, which had nearly brought the people to 
 ruin, but was at length removed by the united prayers 
 of the Pan-Hellenes, or universal Greeks. 
 
 X The very utmost that can, with any semblance of 
 truth, be urged against Socrates, is that he may some- 
 times have engaged and defeated llie Sophists, with 
 their own weapons. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Strepsiades is discovered in his chamber, Pheidip- 
 PIDES sleeping in his bed. Time, before break of day. 
 
 Strep, (stretching and yawning.) Ah me, ah me ! 
 will this night never end ? 
 Oh kingly Jove, shall there be no more day? 
 And yet the cock sung out long time ago; 
 I heard him, but my people lie and snore, 
 Snore in defiance, for the rascals know 
 It is their privilege in time of wnr. 
 Which with its other plagues brings this upon us, 
 That we mayn"t rouse these vermin with a cudgel. 
 There's my young hopeful too, he sleeps it through, 
 Snug under five fat blankets at the least. 
 Would I could sleep so sound! but my poor eyes 
 Have no sleep in them ; what with debts and duns 
 And stable-keepers' bills, which this fine spark 
 Heaps on my back, I lie awake the whilst : 
 And what cares he but to coil up his locks. 
 Ride, drive his horses, dream of them all night, 
 Whilst I, poor devil, may go hang — for now 
 The moon* in her last quarter wanes apace, 
 And my usurious creditors are gaping. 
 What hoa! a light! bring me my tablets, boy! 
 That I may set down all, and sum them up. 
 Debts, creditors, and interest ui)on interest — 
 
 \Boy enters with a light and tablets. 
 Let me see where I am and what the total — 
 Twelve poundsf to Pasias — Hah! to Pasias 
 
 twelve! 
 Out on it, and for what ? — A horse forsooth. 
 Right noble by the mark — curse on such marks! 
 Would I had given this eye from out this head, 
 Ere I had paid the purchase of this jennet ! 
 
 Phei. Shame on you, Philolt keep within your 
 ring. 
 
 Streps. There 'tis ! that's it ! the bane of all 
 my peace 
 He's racing in his sleep. 
 
 Phei. A heat — a heat ! 
 
 How many turns to a heat ? 
 
 Streps. More than enough ; 
 
 You've given me turns in plenty — I am jaded. 
 But to my list — what name stands next to Pasias ? 
 Amynias — three good pounds — still for the race — 
 A chariot mounted on its wlieels complete. 
 
 Phei. Dismount! unharness and away ! 
 
 Sl7-eps. I thatik you ; 
 
 You have unharness'd me : I am dismounted. 
 And with a vengeance — all my goods in pawn, 
 Fines, forfeitures, and penalties in plenty. 
 
 Phei. (wakes.) My father! why so restless? who 
 has vex'd you? 
 
 Streps. The sheriff vexes me ; he breaks my 
 rest. 
 
 Phei. Peace, self-tormentor, let me sleep ! 
 
 * The 30!h of the month, the term for enforcing pay- 
 ments and taking out executions against debtors, was in 
 near approach. 
 
 t The Atlienian pound was of the value of one hundred 
 drachmiE, and each drachma: of six oboli. The pound 
 may be computed at three of ours, which gives the price 
 of the horse about 36/. 
 
 X Philon, Phicnix, Corax, &c., were Grecian appella- 
 tions for horses ; substitutes for our Iligh-flyer, Sly-boota, 
 Diamond, &.c. 
 
 O 
 
158 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Streps. Sleep on ! 
 
 But take tliis witli you; all tlicse debts of mine 
 Will double on your head ; a plague confound 
 That cursed match-niakor, who drew nic in 
 To wed, forsooth, that precious dam of thine. 
 I liv'd at ease in the country, coarsely clad, 
 Rough, free, and full withal as oil and honey 
 And store of stock could lill me, till I took, 
 Clown as I was, this limb of the Alcmseons, 
 This vain, extravagant, high-blooded dame : 
 Rare bed-fellows and dainty — were we not^ 
 I, smelhng of the wine-vat, tigs and fleeces, 
 The produce of my farm ; all essence she, 
 Satlron and harlot's kisses, piiint and washes, 
 A pamperd wanton — idle III not call her; 
 She took due pains in faith to work my ruin. 
 Which made me tell her, pointing to this cloak. 
 Now threadbare on my shoulders — see, good wife. 
 This is your work — in troth you toil too hard. 
 
 [Boy re-enters. 
 
 Boy. Master, the lamp has drunk up all its oil. 
 
 Streps. Ay, "tis a drunken lamp; the more fault 
 yours ; 
 Whelp, you shall howl for this. 
 
 Boy. Why ? for what fault ? 
 
 Streps. For cramming such a greedy wick with 
 oil. [E.vit Boy. 
 
 Well ! in good time this hopeful heir was born ; 
 Then I and my beloved fell to wrangling 
 About the naming of the brat — my wife 
 Would dub her colt Xanthippus or Charippus, 
 Or it might be Callipides, she car'd not 
 So 'twere equestrian* the name — but I 
 Stuck for his grandfather Pheidonides ; 
 At last when neither could prevail, the matter 
 Was compromis'd by calling him Pheidippides : 
 Then she began to fondle her sweet babe, 
 And taking him by th" hand — Lambkin, she cried. 
 When thou art some years older thou shall drive, 
 Megacles-like, thy chaiiot to the city, 
 Rob'd in a satlron mantle. — No, quoth I, 
 Not so, my boy, but thou shall drive thy goats. 
 When thou art able, from the fields of Phelle, 
 Clad in a woollen jacket like thy father : 
 But he is deaf to all these frugal rules. 
 And drives me on the gallop to my ruin ; 
 Therefore all night I call my thoughts to council, 
 And after long debate tind one chance left, 
 To which if I can lead him, all is safe. 
 If not — but soft: 'tis time that I should wake him. 
 But how to soothe him to the task — (^speaking in 
 
 a soft gentle tone) Pheidippides ! 
 Precious Pheidippides ! 
 
 Phei. What now, my father ? 
 
 Streps. Kiss me, my boy! reach me thine hand — 
 
 Phei. Declare, 
 
 What would you? 
 
 Streps. Dost thou love me, sirrah ? speak ! 
 
 Phei. Aye, by equestrian Neptune! 
 
 ♦ Names ending in ippos or ippides among the Greeks, 
 showed a comiectinn with equestrian rank; hence this 
 lady's partiality for the terms Xanthippus, Charippus, 
 &c. The name Pheidonides, which Strepsiades contends 
 for, is derived from a Greek word, implying a man ad- 
 dicted to parsimony ; the compromise therefore for Phei- 
 dippides is so contrived as to suit both parties. 
 
 Streps, {^angrily.) Name not him. 
 Name not that charioteer; he is my bane, 
 The source of all my sorrow — but, my son, 
 If thou dost love me, prove it by obedience 
 
 Phei. In what must I obey ? 
 
 Streps. • Reform your habits ; 
 
 Quit them at once, and what I shall prescribe 
 That do ! 
 
 Phei. And what is it that you prescribe ? 
 
 Streps. But wilt thou do't? 
 
 Phei. Yea, by Dionysus f* 
 
 Streps. "Tis well: get up! come liiiher, boy! 
 look ouf! 
 Yon little wicket and the hut hard by — 
 Dost see them 1 
 
 P)m. Clearly. WHiat of that same hut ? 
 
 Streps. W^hy that's the council-chamber of all 
 wisdom : 
 There the choice spirits dwell, who teach the 
 
 world 
 That heav'ns great concave is one mighty oven, 
 Auel men its burning embers : these are they. 
 Who can sho'U' pleaders how to twist a cause 
 So you'll but pay them for it, right or wrong. 
 
 Phei. And how do you call them? 
 
 Streps. Troth, I know not that. 
 
 But they are men, who take a world of jiains; 
 WV)ndrous good men and able. 
 
 Phei. Out upon 'em ! 
 
 Poor rogues, I know them now : you mean those 
 
 scabs, 
 Those squalid, barefoot, beggarly impostors, 
 The mighty cacodtemons, of whose sect 
 Are Socrates and CliEerephon. Away ! 
 
 Streps. Hush, hush ! be still ; don't vent such 
 foolish prattle ; 
 But if you'll take my counsel, join their college 
 And quit 3'our riding-school. 
 
 Phei. Not I, so help me 
 
 Dionysus our patron ! though you brib'd me 
 With all the racers that Leogaras 
 Breeds from his Phasian stud. 
 
 Streps. Dear, darling lad, 
 
 Prythee be rul'd, and learn. 
 
 Phei. What shall I learn ? 
 
 Streps. They have a choice of logic ; this for 
 justice. 
 That for injustice : learn that latter art. 
 And all these creditors, that now beset me. 
 Shall never touch a drachma that I owe them. 
 
 Plm. I'll learn of no such masters, nor be made 
 A scare-crow and a may -game to my comrades: 
 I have no zeal for starving. 
 
 Streps. No, nor I 
 
 For feasting you and your fine pamper'd cattle 
 At free cost any longer — Horse and foot 
 To the crows I bequeath you. So be gone ! 
 
 Phei. Well, sir, I have an uncle, rich and noble ; 
 Megacles will not let me be unhorsetl ; 
 To him I go : III trouble you no longer. [Exit. 
 
 Streps, (^aloiie.) He has thrown me to the 
 ground, but I'll not lie there ; 
 
 ♦ The poet, with due attention to character, makes the 
 young man first swear hy equestrian J\replune; when 
 driven from that he resorts to Dionysus, the patron of 
 the feast then in actual celebration. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 159 
 
 ril lip, and, with permission of the gods, 
 Try if I cannot learn these arts myself: 
 But being old, sluggish, and dull of wit, 
 How am I sure these sublilties won't pose me? 
 Well ! rU attempt it. 
 
 ScKXE H. — House o/ Socrates. 
 Sthepsiades knocking violently at the door. 
 
 Streps. Hoa! within there! Hoa ! 
 
 Disciple, (^half -opening the door.'^ Go, hang your- 
 self! and give the crows a dinner — 
 What noisy fellow art thou at the door 1 
 
 Streps. Strepsiades of Cicynna, son of Pheidon. 
 
 Dis. Whoe'er thou art, 'fore heaven, thou art 
 a fool 
 Not to respect these doors; battering so loud. 
 And kicking with such vengeance, you have 
 
 marr'd 
 The ripe cotiception of my pregnant brain, 
 And brought on a miscarriage. 
 
 Streps. Oh! the pity! — 
 
 Pardon my ignorance : I'm country bred 
 And far a-field am come : I pray you tell me 
 What curious thought my luckless din has stran- 
 gled, 
 Just as your brain vras hatching. 
 
 Dis. These are things 
 
 We never speak of but amongst ourselves. 
 
 Streps. Speak boldly then to me, for I am come 
 To be amongst you, and partake the secrets 
 Of your profound academy. 
 
 Dis. Enough ! 
 
 I will impart, but set it down in thought 
 Amongst our mysteries — This is the question, 
 As it was put but now to Chterephon, 
 By our great master Socrates, to answer — 
 How many of his own lengths at one spring 
 A flea can hop — for we did see one vault 
 From CliLfrephon's black eye-brow to the head 
 Of the philosojjher. 
 
 Streps. And how did t'other 
 
 Contrive to measure this? 
 
 Dis. Most accurately : 
 
 He dipt the insect's feet in melted wax, 
 Which, hard'ning into sandals as it cool'd, 
 Gave him the space by rule infallible. 
 
 Streps. Imperial Jove ! what subtilty of thought ! 
 
 Dis. But tiiere's a deej)er question yet behind: 
 What would you say to that? 
 
 Streps. I pray, impart it. 
 
 Dis. 'Twas put to Socrates, if he could say, 
 Whenagnathumni'd, whether the sound did issue 
 From mouth or tail. 
 
 Streps. Aye ; marry, what said he ? 
 
 Dis. He said your gnat doth blow his trumpet 
 backwards 
 From a sonorous cavity within him, 
 Which, being fllled with breath, and forc'd along 
 The narrow pipe or rectum of his body, 
 Doth vent itself in a loud hum behind. 
 
 Streps. Hah ! then I see the podex of your gnat 
 Is trumpet-fasliion'd — Oh I the blessings on him 
 P\)r this discovery; well may he escape 
 'i'he law's strict scrutiny, who tlius developes 
 llic aiuitoniy of a gnai. 
 
 Lis. Nor is this all ; 
 
 Another grand experiment was blasted 
 By a ciu'st cat. 
 
 Streps. As how, good sir; discuss? 
 
 J)is. One night as he was gazing at the moon, 
 Curious and all intent upon her motions, 
 A cat on the house ridge was at her needs. 
 And squirted in his face. 
 
 Streps. Beshrew her for it! 
 
 Yet I must laugh no less to think a cat 
 Should so besi)atier Socrates. 
 
 Dis. Last night 
 
 We were bilk'd of our supper. 
 
 Streps. Were you so ? 
 
 What (lid your master substitute instead? 
 
 Dis. Why, to say truth, he sprinkled a few ashes 
 Upon the board, then with a little broach, 
 Crook'd for the nonce, pretending to describe 
 A circle, neatly filch'd away a cloak. 
 
 Stre})s. Wliy talk we then of Thales ? Open to me. 
 Open the school, and let me see your master : 
 I am on fire to enter — Come, unbar ! 
 
 (r/te door of the School is unbarred. The Socratic 
 
 scholars are seen in various grotesque situations 
 
 and positions. Strepsiades, with signs of ustonr- 
 
 ishment, draws back a pace or two, then exclaims) 
 
 Hercules, defend me ! who are these ? 
 
 What kind of cattle have we here in view ? 
 
 Dis. Where is the wonder? What do they re- 
 semble ? 
 
 Streps. Methinks they're like our Spartan pri- 
 soners, 
 Captur'd at Pylos. What are they in search of? 
 Why are their eyes so riveted to the earth? 
 
 Dis. There their researches centre. 
 
 Streps. 'Tis for onions 
 
 They are in quest — Come, lads, give o'er your 
 
 search ; 
 I'll show you what you want, a noble plat, 
 All round and sound — but soft ! what mean those 
 
 gentry. 
 Who dip their heads so low ? 
 
 Dis. Marry, because 
 
 Their studies lead that way : They are now diving 
 To the dark realms of Tartarus and Night. 
 
 Streps. But why are all their cruppers mounted 
 up ? 
 
 Dis. To practise them in star-gazing, and teach 
 them 
 Their proper elevations: but no more: 
 In, fellow-students, in: if chance the master come 
 And find us here — 
 
 {^Addressing himself to some nf his fellow-students, 
 who were crowding about the new-comer.j 
 
 Streps. Nay, prythee let 'em stay, 
 
 And be of council with me in my business. 
 
 Dis. Impossible: they cannot give the time. 
 
 Streps. Now for the love of heav'n, what have 
 we here ? 
 Explain their uses to me. 
 
 Dis. This machine {observing the apparatus'^ 
 Is for astronomy — 
 
 Streps. And this ? 
 
 Dis. For geometry. 
 
 S.reps. As how ? 
 
 L is. For measuring the earth. 
 
160 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 F^treps. Indeed ! 
 
 What, by the lot ? 
 
 Dis. No, faith, sir, by the lump ; 
 
 Ev'n the whole globe at once. 
 
 Streps. Well said, in troth. 
 
 A quaint device, and made for general use. 
 
 Dis. Look now, this line marks the circumfer- 
 ence 
 Of the whole earth, d'ye see — This spot is Athens — 
 
 Streps. Athens! go to, I see no courts are sit- 
 ting ; 
 Therefore I can't believe you. 
 
 Dis. Nay, in truth, 
 
 This very tract is Attica. 
 
 Streps. And where, 
 
 Where is my own Cicynna? 
 
 Dis. Here it lies : 
 
 And here's Eubosa — Mark ! how far it runs — 
 
 Streps. How far it ruiis ! Yes, Pericles has made it 
 Run far enough from us — Where's Lacedaemoni 
 
 Dis. Here ; close to Athens. 
 
 Streps. Ah ! how much too close — 
 Prythee, good friends, take that bad neighbour 
 from us. 
 
 Dis. That's not for us to do. 
 
 Streps. The worse luck yours ! 
 
 But look ! [casting up his eyes ) who's this sus- 
 pended in a basket? 
 
 (Socrates is discovered.) 
 
 Dis. {witU solemnity.^ Himself. The he.* 
 
 Streps. The he ? what he? 
 
 Dis. Why, Socrates. 
 
 Streps. Hah ! Socrates ! — (fo the scholar) Make 
 up to him and roar, 
 Bid him come down ! roar lustily. 
 
 Dis. Not I : 
 
 Do it yourself: I've other things to mind. [Exit. 
 
 Streps. Hoa! Socrates — What hoa, my little 
 Socrates ! 
 
 Sac. Mortal, how now! Thou insect of a day, 
 What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Streps. I would know what thou art doing. 
 
 Soc. I tread in air, contemplating the sun. 
 
 Streps. Ah ! then I see you're basketed so high. 
 That you look down upon the gods — good hope. 
 You'll lower a peg on earth. 
 
 Soc. Sublime in air. 
 
 Sublime in thought I carry my mind with me. 
 Its cogitations all assimilated 
 To the pure atmosphere, in which I float; 
 Lower me to earth, and my mind's subtle powers, 
 Seiz'd by contagious dulness, lose their spirit ; 
 For the dry earth drinks up the generous sap, 
 The vegetating vigour of philosophy. 
 And leaves it a mere husk. 
 
 Streps. What do you say? 
 
 Philosophy has sapt your vigour ? Fie upon it. 
 But come my precious fellow, come down quickly. 
 And teach me those fine things I'm here in quest 
 of. 
 
 Soc. And what fine things are they? 
 Streps. A new receipt 
 
 For sending off" my creditors, and foiling them 
 
 ♦These words, like the mtos «?» of the Pythagoreans, 
 mark the usual veneration of the Greek disciple for his 
 master with great effect. 
 
 By the art logical ; for you shall know 
 
 By debts, pawns, pledges, usuries, executions, 
 
 I am rackt and rent in tatters. 
 
 Soc. Why permit it? 
 
 What strange infatuation seiz'd your senses ? 
 
 Streps. The horse-consumption, a devouring 
 plague ; 
 But so you'll enter me amongst your scholars, 
 And tutor me like them to bilk my creditors, 
 Name your own price, and by the gods I swear 
 I'll pay you the last drachm. 
 
 Soc. By what gods? 
 
 Your gods? Gods are not current coin with me. 
 
 Streps. How swear you then! As the Byzan- 
 tians swear 
 By their base iron coin? 
 
 Soc. Art thou ambitious 
 
 To be instructed in celestial matters, 
 And taught to know them clearly ? 
 
 Streps. Aye, aye, in faith, 
 
 So they be to my purpose, and celestial. 
 
 Soc. And if I bring you to a conference 
 With my own proper goddesses, the Clouds? 
 
 Streps. 'Tis what I wish devoutly. 
 
 Soc. Come sit down ; 
 
 Repose upon this sacred couch. 
 
 Streps. 'Tis done. 
 
 Socr. Now take this chaplet — wear it. 
 
 Streps. Why this chaplet? 
 
 Would'st make of me another Athamas,* 
 And sacrifice me to a Cloud ? 
 
 Soc. Fear nothing; 
 
 It is a ceremony indispensable 
 At OUR initiations. 
 
 Streps. What to gain? 
 
 Soc. (^instead of the sacred meat, which was thrown 
 on the sacrificed victim, a basket of stones is 
 showered on the head of Strepsiades.^ 
 'Twill sift your faculties as fine as powder, 
 Bolt 'em like meal, grind 'em as light as dust; 
 Only be patient. 
 
 Streps. Truly, you'll go near 
 
 To make your words good ; an' you pound me 
 
 thus. 
 You'll make me very dust, and nothing else. 
 
 Soc. {^assuming all the magical solemnity and 
 tone of voice of an adept.') 
 Keep silence then, and listen to a prayer, 
 Which fits the gravity of age to hear — 
 Oh ! Air, all powerful Air, which dost enfold 
 This pendant globe, thou vault of flaming gold, 
 Ye sacred Clouds, who bid the thunder roll. 
 Shine forth, approach, and cheer your suppliant's 
 soul! 
 
 Streps. Hold, keep 'em oflf awhile, till I am 
 ready. 
 Ah ! luckless me, would I had brought my bonnet, 
 And so escap'd a soaking. 
 
 Soc. Come, come away! 
 
 Fly swift, ye Clouds, and give yourselves to view ! 
 
 * The poet plays upon a tra;;edy of Sophocles, then 
 current in every body's mouth ; the story of which had 
 been taken out of the fabulous and romantic history of 
 this old Boeotian prince. In the play Athamas is to be 
 sacrificed to the gods, and like other victims he is led to 
 the altar with a chaplet on his head. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 IGl 
 
 Whether on high Olympus' sacred top 
 Snow-crowa'd ye sit, or, in the azure vales 
 Of your own father Ocean sportinp, weave 
 Your misty dance, or dip your golden urns 
 In the seven mouths of Nile; whether ye dwell 
 On Thracian Mimas, or M.TOtis' lake, 
 Hear mo, yet hear, and thus invok'd approach ! 
 Chorus of Clouds. ( The scene is at the remotest 
 part ojF the stage. Thwukr is heard. Jl large 
 and shapeless Clond is seen floating in the air ; 
 from whirA the folloiring song is heard.'^ 
 Ascetiil, ye watery Clouds, on high, 
 Daughters of Ocean, climb the sky. 
 And o'er the mountain's pine-capt brow 
 Towering your fleecy mantle throw^ : 
 Thence let us scan the wide-stretch"d scene, 
 Groves, lawns, and rilling streams between. 
 And stormy Neptune's vast expanse, 
 And grasp all nature at a glance. 
 Now the dark tempest flits away, 
 And lo! the glittering orb of day 
 Darts forth his clear ethereal beam. 
 Come let us snatch the joyous gleam. 
 Soc. Yes, ye Divinities, whom I adore, 
 I hail you now propitious to my prayer. 
 Didst thou not hear them speak in thunder to 
 me? 
 Streps, (^kneeling., and, with various arts of buf- 
 foonery, affecting terror and embarrassment.^ 
 And I too am your Cloudships" most obedient. 
 And under sutTerance trump against your thun- 
 der ; — 
 Nay, (^turning to Socrates,) take it how you may, 
 
 my flights and fears 
 Have pinch d and cholic'd my poor bowels so. 
 That I can't chuse but treat their holy nostrils 
 With an unsavoury sacrifice. 
 
 Soc. Forbear 
 
 These gross scurrilities, for low bnflbons 
 And mountebanks more fitting. Hush ! be still, 
 List to the chorus of their heavenly voices. 
 For music is the language they delight in. 
 
 Chorus of Clouds, (approaching nearer.) Ye 
 Clouds, replete with fruitful showers, 
 Here let us seek Minerva's towers, 
 The cradle of old Cecrops" race, 
 The ■world's chief ornament and grace; 
 Here mystic fanes and rites divine 
 And lamps in sacred splendour shine; 
 Here the gods dwell in marble domes. 
 Feasted with costly hecatombs, 
 That round their votive statues blaze, 
 Whilst crowded temples ring with praise ; 
 And pompous sacrifices here 
 Jlake holidays throughout the year, 
 And when gay spring-time comes again, 
 Biomins convokes his sportive train. 
 And pipe, and song, and choral dance 
 Hail the soft hours as they advance. 
 Streps. Now, in the name of Jove, I pray thee 
 tell me 
 Who are these ranting dames, that talk in stilts'? 
 Of the Amazonian cast no doubt. 
 
 Soc. Not so. 
 
 No dames, but Clouds celestial, friendly powers 
 To men of sluggish parts ; from these we draw 
 2! 
 
 Sense, apprehension, volubility. 
 
 Wit to confute, and cunning to ensnare. 
 
 St7-eps. Aye, therefore 'twas that my heart leapt 
 within me 
 For very sympathy when first I heard em : 
 Now I could prattle shrewdly of first causes, 
 And s])in out metaphysic cobwebs finely. 
 And dogmatize most rarely, and dispute 
 And paiadox it with the best of you : 
 So, come what may, I must and will behold 'em; 
 Show me their faces, I conjure you. 
 
 Soc. Look, 
 
 Look towards Mount Fames as I point — There, 
 
 there ! 
 Now they descend the hill ; I see them plainly. 
 As plain as can be. 
 
 Streps. Where, where ? I prythee, show me. 
 
 Soc. Here! a whole troop of them through 
 woods and hollows, 
 A bye-way of their own. 
 
 Streps. Whnt ails my eyes, 
 
 That I can't catch a glimpse of them? 
 
 Soc. Behold! 
 
 Here at the very entrance — 
 
 Streps. Never trust me. 
 
 If yet I see them clearly. 
 
 Soc. Then you must be 
 
 Sand-blind or worse. 
 
 Streps. Nay, now^ by father .love, 
 
 I cannot choose but see them — precious creatures! 
 For in good faith here's plenty and to spare. 
 
 Enter -Crohvs of Clouds. 
 
 Soc. And didst thou doubt if they were god- 
 desses ? 
 
 Streps. Not I, so help me ! only I'd a notion 
 That they were fog, and dew, and dusky vapour. 
 
 Soc. For shame ! Why, man, these are the 
 nursing mothers 
 Of all our famous sophists, fortune-tellers. 
 Quacks, med'cine-mongcrs, bards bombastical. 
 Chorus projectors, star interpreters, 
 And wonder-making cheats — The gang of idlers, 
 Who pay tliem for their feeding with good store 
 Of flattery and mouth-worship. 
 
 Streps. Now I see 
 
 Whom we may thank for driving them along 
 At such a furious dithyrambic rate. 
 Sun-shadowing clouds of many-colour'd hues, 
 Air-rending tempests, hundred-headed Typhons; 
 Now rousing, rattling them about our ears, 
 Now gently wafting them adown the sky, 
 Moist, airy, bending, bursting into showers; 
 For all which fine descriptions these poor knaves 
 Dine daintily on scraps. 
 
 Soc. And proper fare ; 
 
 What better do they merit ? 
 
 Streps. Under favour. 
 
 If the.sc be clouds, (d'yon mark me ?) very clouds, 
 How came they meiamorphos'il into women ? 
 Clouds are not such as these. 
 
 Soc. And what else are they? 
 
 Streps. Troth, I can't rightly tell, but I should 
 guess 
 Something like flakes of wool, not women, sure; 
 And look! these dames have noses. — 
 o2 
 
162 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Sor. 
 
 Hark you, friend, 
 Out with it! 
 
 I'll put a question to you 
 
 Streps. 
 Be quick : let's have it. 
 
 Soc. This it is in short — 
 
 Hast thou ne'er seen a clouil, which thuu could'st 
 
 fancy 
 Shap'd like a centaur, leopard, wolf or bull ? 
 Streps. Yea, marry, have I, and what then ? 
 Soc. Why til en 
 
 Clouds can assume what shapes they will, be- 
 lieve me ; 
 For instance ; should they spy some hairy clown 
 Rugged and rough, and like the unlick'd cub 
 Of Xenophantes, straight they turn to centaurs, 
 And kick at him for vengeance. 
 
 Streps. Well done, Clouds! 
 
 But should they spy that peculating knave, 
 Simon, that public thief, how would they treat 
 him ? 
 Soc. As wolves — in character most like his own. 
 Streps. Aye, there it is now ; when they saw 
 Cleonymus, 
 That dastard runavvay, they turn'd to hinds 
 In honour of his cowardice. 
 
 Soc. And now. 
 
 Having seen Cleisthenes, to mock his lewdness 
 They change themselves to women. 
 
 Streps. Welcome, ladies ! 
 
 Imperial ladies, welcome! An' it please 
 Your highnesses so far to grace a mortal, 
 Give me a touch of your celestial voices. 
 
 Ch. Hail, grandsire! who at this late hour of 
 life 
 Would'st go to school for cunning; and all hail. 
 Thou prince pontifical of quirks and quibbles, 
 .Speak thy full mind, make known thy wants and 
 
 wishes ! 
 Thee and our worthy Prodicus excepted, 
 Not one of all your sophists have our ear: 
 Him for his wit and learning we esteem. 
 Thee for thy proud deportment and high looks. 
 In barefoot beggary strutting up and down, 
 Content to suffer mockery for our sake, 
 And carry a grave face whilst others laugh. 
 St7-eps. Oh ! mother Earth, was ever voice like 
 til is. 
 So reverend, so portentous, so divine ! 
 
 Soc. These are your only deities, all else 
 I flout at. 
 
 Streps. Hold ! Olympian Jupiter — 
 Is he no god ? 
 
 Soc. What Jupiter t what god ? 
 
 Prythee no more — away with him at once! 
 Streps. Say'st thou ? Who gives us rain 1 an- 
 swer me that. 
 Soc. These give us rain ; as I v-ill straight de- 
 monstrate : 
 Come on now — When did you e'er see it rain 
 Without a cloud ? If Jupiter gives rain, 
 Let him rain down his favours in the sunshine, 
 Nor ask the clouds to help him. 
 
 Streps. You have hit it, 
 
 'Tis so; heav'n help me ! I did think till now. 
 When 'twas his godship's pleasure, he made 
 water 
 
 Into a sieve and gave the earth a shower. 
 But, harkye me, who thunders? tell me that; 
 For then it is I tremble. 
 
 Soc. These, these thunder, 
 
 When they are tumbled. 
 
 Streps. How, blasphemer, how 1 
 
 Soc. When they are charg'd with vapours full 
 to th' bursting. 
 And bandied to and fro against each other. 
 Then with the shock they burst and crack amain. 
 Streps. And who is he that jowls them thus 
 together 
 But Jove himself? 
 
 Soc. Jove ! 'tis not Jove that does it, 
 
 But the aftherial Vortex. 
 
 Streps. What is he ? 
 
 I never heard of him ; is he not Jove ? 
 Or is Jove put aside, and Vortex crown'd 
 King of Olympus in his state and place 1 
 But let me learn some more of this same thunder. 
 Soc. Have you not learnt? I told you how the 
 Clouds, 
 Being surcharg'd with vapour, rush together. 
 And, in the conflict, shake the poles with thun- 
 der. 
 Streps. Let that pass. 
 
 And tell me of the lightning, whose quick flash 
 Burns us to cinders ; that, at least, great Jove 
 Keeps in reserve to launch at perjury. 
 
 Soc. Dunce, dotard ! were you born before the 
 flood 
 To talk of perjury, whilst Simon breathes, 
 Theorus and Cleonymus, whilst they, 
 Thrice-perjur'd villains, brave the lightning's 
 
 stroke. 
 And gaze the heavens unscorch'd 1 Would these 
 
 escape ? 
 Why, man, Jove's random fires strike his own 
 
 fane, 
 Strike Sunium's guiltless top, strike the dumb oak, 
 Who never yet broke faith or falsely swore. 
 Streps. It may be so, good sooth! You talk this 
 well :' 
 But I would fain be taught the natural cause 
 Of these appearances. 
 
 Sor, Mark "when the winds, 
 
 In their free courses check'd, are pent and purs'd. 
 As 'twere within a bladder, stretching then 
 And struggling for expansion, they burst forth 
 With cracks so fierce as sets the air on fire. 
 Streps. The devil they do ! why now the mur- 
 der's out ; 
 Ch. The envy of all Athens shall thou be, 
 Happy old man, who from our lips dost suck 
 Into thy ears true wisdom, so thou art 
 But wise to learn, and studious to retain 
 What thou hast learnt; patient to bear the blows 
 And buff'ets of hard fortune ; to persist, 
 Doing or suffering; firmly to abide 
 Hunger and cold, not craving where to dine, 
 "Jo drink, to sport and trifle time away; 
 But holding that for best, which best becomes 
 A man who means to carry all things through 
 Neatly, expertly, perfect at all points 
 With head, hands, tongue, to force his way to 
 fortune. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 1G3 
 
 Streps. Be confident ; I give myself for one 
 Of a tough heart, watchful as care can make me, 
 A frugal, pinching follow, that can sup 
 Upon a sprig of savory and to bed ; 
 I am your num for this, hard as an anvil. 
 
 Soc. 'Tis well, so you will ralify your faith 
 In these our deities — Chaos and Clouds 
 And Speech — to these atul ordy these adhere. 
 
 Streps. If from this hour henceforth I ever 
 waste 
 A single thought on any other gods. 
 Or give them sacrilice, libation, incense. 
 Nay, even common courtesy, renounce me. 
 
 Ch. Speak your vvisli boldly then, so shall you 
 prosper 
 As you obey and worship us, and study 
 The wholesome art of thriving. 
 
 Streps. Gracious ladies, 
 
 I ask no mighty favour, simplj- this — 
 Let me but tUstance every tongue in Greece, 
 And run 'em out of sight a hundred lengths. 
 
 Ch. Is that all? there we are your friends to 
 serve you ; 
 We will endow thee with such powers of speech. 
 As henceforth not a demagogue in Athens 
 Shall spout such popular harangues as thou 
 shalt. 
 
 Streps. A fig for powers of spouting! give me 
 powers 
 Of nonsuiting my creditors. 
 
 Ch. A trifle — 
 
 Granted as soon as ask'd ; ordy be bold. 
 And show yourself obedient to your teachers. 
 
 Streps. With your help so I will, being undone, 
 Stript of my pelf by these high-blooded cattle. 
 And a fine dame, the torment of my life. 
 Now let them work their wicked will upon me ; 
 They're welcome to my carcass : let 'em claw it, 
 Starve it with thirst and hunger, fry it, freeze it,* 
 Nay, flay the very skin off; 'tis their own; 
 So that I may but fob my creditors. 
 Let the world talk ; I care not though it call me 
 A bold-faced, loud-tongued, overbearing bully; 
 A shameless, vile, prevaricating cheat; 
 A tricking, quibbling, double-dealing knave; 
 A prating, pettyfogging limb o' the law ; 
 A sly old fox, a perjurer, a hang-dog, 
 A ragamullin made of shreds and patches. 
 The leavings of a dtmghill. — Let "em rail. 
 Yea, marry, let em tm^n iny guts to fiddle-strings. 
 May my bread be my poison! if I care. 
 
 Ch. This fellow hath a prompt and daring 
 spirit — 
 Come hither, sir; do you perceive and feel 
 What great and glorious I'amc you shall acquire 
 By this our scliooling of you 7 
 
 Streps. What, I pray you ? 
 
 Ch. VVhat but to live the envy of mankind 
 Under our patronage? 
 
 ^; 
 
 * It may not be unimportant to remark, that a word is 
 here omitted, wtiicti expres«(!s the vvillinniiess of strep- 
 siades to give up his carcasH to the dirt and filih, as well 
 as hardy privations of his future teachers. All the ideas 
 of the poet on the Socratic character are evidently 
 formed upon exteriors, and show that he.liad very little 
 knowledge of the inner HociateB. 
 
 Streps. When shall I see 
 
 Those halcyon days? 
 
 Ch. Then shall your doors be thronged 
 
 W^ith clients waiting for your corning forth, 
 All eager to consult you, pressing all 
 To cat(di a word from you, with abstracts, briefs, 
 And cases ready drawn for your oiiiiiion. 
 But eonie, begin and lecture this old fellow; 
 Sift him, that we may see what meal he's made of 
 
 Soc. Hark ye, let s hear what princii)les you 
 
 hold, 
 liat these being known, I may apply such tools 
 As tally with your siufi'. 
 
 Streps. Tools! by the gods; 
 
 Are you about to spring a mine upon me? 
 
 Soc. Not so, but simply in the way of practice 
 To try your memory. 
 
 Streps. Oh ! as for that. 
 
 My memory is of two sorts, long aiul short: 
 Widi tliern that owe me aught, it never fails; 
 My creditors indeed complain of it. 
 As mainly ajjt to leak and lose its reck'ning. 
 
 Soc. But let us hear if nature hath endow'd you 
 With any grace of speaking. 
 
 Streps. - None of siieaking, 
 
 But a most a[)t propensity to cheating. 
 
 Soc. Il" this be all, how can you hope to learn? 
 
 Streps. Fear me not, never break your head 
 for that. 
 
 Soc. Well th(»n be quick, and when I speak 
 of things 
 Mysterious and profound, see that you make 
 No boggling, but — 
 
 Streps. I understand your meaning; 
 
 You'd have me bolt philosophy by mouthfuls, 
 Just like a hungry cur. 
 
 Soc. Oh ! brutal, gross 
 
 And barbarous ignorance! I much suspect, 
 Old as thou art, thou tmist be taught with stripes: 
 Tell me now, when thou art beaten, what dost 
 feel ? 
 
 Streps. The blows of him that beats me I do 
 feel ; 
 But having breat.h'd awhile I lay my action 
 And cite my witnesses ; aixju more cool, 
 I bring my cause into the court, and sue 
 For damages. 
 
 Soc. Strip off your cloak ! prepare. 
 
 Sireps. Prepare for what? what crime have I 
 committed ? 
 
 Soc. None; but the rule and custom is with us, I 
 That all shall enter naked. 
 
 Streps. And why naked? 
 
 I come with no search-warrant ; fear me not ; 
 I'll carry nought away with me. ^ 
 
 Soc. No matter ; 
 
 Conform yourself, and strip. 
 
 Sireps. And if I do, 
 
 Tell me, for my encouragement, to which 
 Of all your scholars will you liken me. 
 
 Soc. You shall be call'd a second Cluerephon. 
 
 Streps. Ah! Clia'rephon is but another name 
 For a dead* corpse — excuse me. 
 
 * Aristophanes penerally makes himself merry with 
 the p:ileneB8 and meagre hody of this pupil of tjocrales. 
 See "The Wasps and the Birds." 
 
164 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Soc. No more words: 
 
 Pluck up your courage, answer not, but follow ; 
 Haste and be perfected. 
 
 Streps. Give me my dole* 
 
 Of honey-cake in band, and pass me on ; 
 Ne'er trust me if I do not quake and tremble 
 As if the cavern of Trophonius yawn'd, 
 And I were stepping in. 
 
 Soc. Wliat ails you ? enter ! 
 
 Why do you halt and loiter at the door? 
 
 [Socrates and Strepsiades entei' the mansion 
 
 of the former. 
 Ch. Go, brave adventurer, proceed ! 
 
 May fortune crown the gallant deed; 
 Tho' far advanc'd in life's last stage, 
 Spurning the infirmities of age. 
 Thou canst to youthful labours rise, 
 And boldly struggle to be wise. 
 
 Scene HI. 
 
 SocKATES, (^coming out of the hmise in violent indig- 
 natioHj) Strepsiades, Chorus. 
 
 Soc. vivifying breath, cethereal air. 
 And thou profoundest chaos, witness for me 
 If ever wretch was seen so gross and dull, 
 So stupid and perplex'd as this old clown, 
 Whose shallow intellect can entertain 
 No image nor impression of a thought; 
 But ere you've told it, it is lost and gone ! 
 'Tis time however he should now come forth 
 In the broad day — What hoa ! Strepsiades — 
 Take vip your pallet ; bring yourself and it 
 Into the light. 
 
 St7-eps. Yes, if the bugs would let me. 
 
 Soc. Quick, quick, I say; set down your load 
 and listen ! 
 
 Streps. Lo ! here am I. 
 
 Soc. Come, tell me what it is 
 
 That you would learn besides what I have taught 
 
 you; 
 Is it of measure, verse, or modulation'' 
 
 Streps. Of measure by all means, fori was fobb'd 
 Of two days' dole i' the measure of my meal 
 By a damn'd knavish huckster. 
 
 Soc. Pish ! who talks 
 
 Of meal? I ask which tnetre you prefer, 
 Tetrameter or trimeter. 
 
 Streps. 1 answer — 
 
 Give me a pint pot.f 
 
 Soc. Yes, but that's no answer. 
 
 Streps. No answer ! stake your money, and 111 
 wager 
 That your tetrameter is half my pint pot. 
 
 Soc. Go to the gallows, clod pate, with your 
 pint pot ! 
 Will nothing stick to you? But come, perhaps 
 
 ♦ In the ceremoni.ils of Trophonius' cave, honey-cake 
 was an indispensable oblation to the prophetic dragon 
 under ground. 
 
 ■]• There was a certain measure, as near as possible to 
 our pint, which the Greeks dealt out daily of meal to their 
 slaves. To this .Strepsiades alludes when he says he 
 was defrauded of two measures, and to this humorous 
 mal-entendu he obstinately adheres through the whole 
 scene. 
 
 We may try further and fare better with you — • 
 Suppose I spoke to you of modulation ; 
 Will you be taught of that? 
 
 Streps. Tell me first, 
 
 Will I be profited? will I be paid 
 The meal that I was chous'd of? tell me that. 
 
 Soc. You w ill be profited by being taught 
 To bear your part at table in some sort 
 After a decent fashion; you will learn 
 Which verse is most commensurate and fit 
 To the arm'd chorus in the dance of war, 
 And which with most harmonious cadence guides 
 The dactyl in his course poetical. 
 
 Streps. The dactyl, quotha ! Sure I know that 
 
 well. 
 Sor. As how ? discuss. 
 
 Streps. Here, at my fingers' end ; 
 
 This is my dactyl, and has been my dactyl 
 Since I could count my fingers. 
 
 Soc. Oh ! the dolt. 
 
 Streps. I wish to be no Vv'iser in these matters. 
 Soc. What then ? 
 
 Streps. Why then, teach me no other art 
 
 But the fine art of cozening. 
 
 Soc. Granted ; still 
 
 There is some previous matter, as for instance 
 The genders male and female — Can you name 
 them ? 
 Streps. I were a fool else — These are mascu- 
 line ; 
 Ram, bull, goat, dog, and pullet. 
 
 Soc. There you're out: 
 
 Pullet is male and female. 
 
 Streps. Tell me how ? 
 
 Soc. Cock and hen pullet — So they should be 
 
 nam'd. 
 Streps. And so they should, by the aethereal air ! 
 You've hit it; for which rare discovery, 
 Take all the meal this cardopus contains. 
 
 Soc. Why there again you sin against the 
 genders. 
 To call your bolting-tub a cardopus. 
 Making that masculine which should be fem'- 
 nine. 
 Streps. How do I make my bo!ting-tub a male? 
 Soc. Did you not call it cardopus? As well 
 You might have call'd Cleonymus a man; 
 He and your boliing-tub alike beloiig 
 To t'other sex, believe me. 
 
 Streps. Well, my trough 
 
 Shall be a cordopa, and he Cleonyma ; 
 Will that content you ? 
 I Soc. Yes, and while you live 
 
 ! Learn to distinguish sex in proper names. 
 Streps. I do ; the female I am perfect in. 
 Soc. Give me the proof. 
 
 Streps. Lysilla, she's a female ; 
 
 Philinna, and Demetria, and Cleitagora. 
 Soc. Now name your males. 
 Streps. A thousand — as for instance, 
 
 Philoxenus, Melesias, and Amynias. 
 
 Soc. Call you these masculine, egregious dunce? 
 Streps. Are they not such with you ? 
 Soc. No ; put the case. 
 
 You and Amynias meet — how will you greet 
 hi'm ? 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 165 
 
 Streps. Why, thus, for instance — Hip ! holla ! 
 Amynia ! 
 
 Soc. There, there ! you make a wench of him 
 at once. 
 
 Streps. And fit it is for one who shuns the 
 field ;• 
 A coward ought not to be call'd a man ; 
 Why teach me what is known to all the world'? 
 
 Soc. Aye, why indeed ? — but come, repose 
 yourself. 
 
 StiTps. Why so? 
 
 S(x: For meditation's sake : lie down. 
 
 St7-cps. Not on this pallet, I beseech you, sir. 
 But if I must lie down, let me repose 
 On the bare earth and meditate. 
 
 Soc. Away ! 
 
 There's nothing but this bed will clierish thought. 
 
 Streps. It cherishes, alas ! a host of bugs, 
 That show no mercy on me. 
 
 Soc. Come, begin. 
 
 Cudgel your brains and turn yourself about ; 
 Now ruminate awhile, and if you start 
 A thought that puzzles you, try t'other side. 
 And turn to something else, but not to sleep ; 
 Sufter not sleep to close your eyes one moment. 
 
 Streps, {after a considerable pause.) Ah ! woe is 
 me: ah, woeful, well-a-day! 
 
 Soc. What ails you ? why this moaning ? 
 
 Streps. I am lost ; 
 
 I have roused the natives from their hiding 
 
 holes; 
 A colony of bugs in ambuscade 
 Have fallen upon me: belly, back, and ribs, 
 No part is free : I feed a commonwealth. 
 
 Soc. Take not your sufferings too much to heart. 
 
 Streps. How can I choose — a wretch made up 
 of wants ! 
 Here am I penniless and spiritless, 
 Without a skin, heav'n knows, without a shoe; 
 And to complete my miseries here I lie, 
 Like a starv'd sentinel u[)On his post, 
 At watch and ward, till I am shrunk to nothing. 
 i A pause of some duration.) 
 
 Soc. How* now ; how fare you ? Have you 
 sprung a thought 1 
 
 Streps. Yes, yes, so help me Neptune ! 
 
 Soc. Hah ! what is it? 
 
 Streps. Why I am thinking if these cursed 
 vermin 
 Will leave one fragment of my carcass free. 
 
 Soc. A plague confound you. 
 
 Streps. Spare yourself that prayer; 
 
 I'm plagued already to your heart's content. 
 
 Soc. Prythee don't be so tender of your skin : 
 Tuck yourself up and buft' it like a man : 
 Keep your skull under cover, and depend on't 
 'Twill make your brain bring forth some precious 
 
 project 
 For furthering your good fortune at the expense 
 Of little else but honesty and justice. 
 
 Streps. Ah ! would to lieav'n some friendly soul 
 would help me 
 
 To a fine project how to cheat the btigs 
 
 With a sleek lambskin. (^ long pause.) 
 
 Sue. Whereabouts, I trow, 
 
 Sits the wind now? What ails you? are you 
 dozing? 
 
 Streps. Not I, by heaven ! 
 
 Soc. Can you start nothing yet? 
 
 St7-eps. Nothing, so help me. 
 
 Soc. Will your head breed no project, 
 
 Tho' iivirs'd so daintily? 
 
 Streps. What should it breed ? 
 
 Tell, me, sweet Socrates; give me some hint. 
 
 Soc. Say first what "lis you wish. 
 
 Streps. A thousand times, 
 
 Ten thousand times I've said it o'er and o'er — 
 My cre<Utors, my creditors — 'Tis them 
 I w oidd fain bilk. 
 
 Soc. Go to ! get under cover. 
 
 Keep your head warm, and rarefy your wits 
 Till they shall sprout into some fine conceit, 
 Some scheme of happy promise: sift it well, 
 Divide, abstract, compound, and when 'tis ready. 
 Out with it boldly. 
 
 Streps. Miserable me ! 
 
 Would I were out! 
 
 Soc. Lie still,* and if you strike 
 
 Upon a thought that baffles you, break off 
 From that entanglement and try another, 
 So shall your wits be fresh to start again. 
 
 Streps, (not attendingtnwhat Socrates issaying.) 
 Hah! my dear boy! — My precious Socrates! 
 
 Soc. What would'st thou, gaffer? 
 
 Streps. I have sprung a thought, 
 
 A plot upon my creditors. 
 
 Soc. Discuss ! 
 
 Streps. Answer me this — Suppose that I should 
 hire 
 A witch, who some fair night shall raise a spell, 
 Whereby I'll snap the moonf from out her sphere 
 And bag her. 
 
 Soc. What to do ! 
 
 Streps. To hold her fast, 
 
 And never let her run her courses more ; 
 So shall I 'scape my creditors. 
 
 Soc. How so? 
 
 Streps. Because the calculations of their usury 
 Are made from month to month. 
 
 Soc. A gallant scheme ; 
 
 And yet methinks I could suggest a hint 
 As practicable and no less ingenious — 
 Suppose you are arrested for a debt, 
 We'll say five talents, how will you contrive 
 To cancel at a stroke both debt and writ? 
 
 Streps. Gramercy! I can't tell you how off 
 hand ; 
 It needs some cogitation. 
 
 Soc. Were you apt, 
 
 Such cogitations would not be to seek; 
 
 * This Aniynias seems to have had his full share of 
 abuse from the comic poets of his time : Kupolis, Crates, 
 and our author, in various partei, bestow it very ptenti- 
 fully. 
 
 • Socrates's instructlonB for soliciting the inspiration 
 of some sudden thought, are a banter upon the pretended 
 visions and communiralinns with dn-mons of the sophists 
 and philosophers; tricks brought by ihecn out of Egypt 
 and the T.ast, which served to impose upon the credulous 
 and vulgar. 
 
 + Mr. Cumberland says, that in this project for arrest- 
 ing the moon, the poel eeuniB to glance at Pythagoras. 
 
166 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 They would be present at your fingers' ends, 
 Buzzing alive, like chafers in a string, 
 Ready to slip and liy. 
 
 Streps. I've hit the nail 
 
 That does the deed, and so you vv'ill confess. 
 
 Soc. Out with it ! 
 
 Streps. Good chance but you have noted 
 
 A pretty toy, a trinket in the shops, 
 Whicli being rightly held produceth fire 
 From things combustible — 
 
 Soc. A burning-glass, 
 
 Vulgarly call'd — 
 
 Sti'cps. You are right ; 'tis so. 
 
 Soc. Proceed ! 
 
 Streps. Put the case now your whoreson bailitf 
 comes. 
 Show me his writ* — I, standing thus, d'ye mark 
 
 me. 
 In the svm's stream, measuring my distance, guide 
 My focus to a point upon his writ, 
 And ofl' it goes in fumo ! 
 
 Soc. By the Graces ! 
 
 'Tis wittingly devis'd. 
 
 Streps. The very thought 
 
 Of his five talents cancel'd at a stroke 
 Makes my heart dance for joy. 
 
 Soc. But now again — 
 
 Streps. What next ? 
 
 Soc. Svippose yourself at bar, surpris'd 
 
 Into a suit, no witnesses at hand, 
 The judge prepar'd to pass decree against you — 
 How will you parry that? 
 
 Streps. As quick as thought — 
 
 Soc. But how ? 
 
 Streps. Incontinently hang myself. 
 
 And baulk the suitor — 
 
 Soc. Come, you do but jest. 
 
 Streps. Serious, by all the gods ! A man that's 
 dead 
 Is out of the law"s reach. 
 
 Soc. I've done with you — 
 
 Instruction's lost upon you : your vile jests 
 Put me beyond all patience. 
 
 Streps. Nay, but tell me 
 
 What is it my good fellow, that otfends thee ? 
 
 Soc. Your execrable lack of memory. 
 Why how now ; what was the first rule I taught 
 you? 
 
 Streps. Say'st thou the first? the very first — 
 what was it? 
 Why, let me see; 'twas something, was it not? 
 About the meal — Out on it! I have lost it. 
 
 Soc. Oh thou incorrigible, old doating blockhead. 
 Can hanging be too bad for thee ? 
 
 Streps. Why there now. 
 
 Was ever man so us'd? If I can't make 
 My tongue keep pace with yours, teach it the 
 
 quirks 
 And quibbles of your sophistry at once, 
 I may go hang — I am a fool forsooth — 
 Where shall I turn ? Oh gracious Clouds, befriend 
 
 me, 
 Give me your counsel. 
 
 * It must be remembered, that documents of this kind 
 were inscribed on tablets of wax. 
 
 Ch. This it is, old man — 
 
 If that your son at home is apt and docile. 
 Depute him in your stead, and send liim hither. 
 
 Streps. My son is well endow'd with nature's 
 gifts, 
 But obstinately bent against instruction. 
 
 Ch. And do you sutler it ? 
 
 Streps. What can I do? 
 
 He"s a fine full-grown youth, a dashing fellow, 
 And by the mother's side of noble blood : 
 I'll feel my way with him — but if lie kicks, 
 Befall what may, nothing shall hinder me 
 But I will kick him headlong out of doors, 
 And let him graze e'en where he will for me — 
 Wait only my return; I'll soon dispatch. [Exit. 
 » • * • » » • 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Sthepstades, (^coming out of his house to his son, 
 
 who stands at the door,) Pheiuippides. 
 
 Streps. Out of my house ! I call the Clouds to 
 witness 
 You shall not set a foot within my doors. 
 Go to your Lord Megacles ! Get you hence. 
 And gnaw his posts for hunger. 
 
 Phei. Ah, poor man ! 
 
 I see how it is with you. You are mad, 
 Stark mad, by Jupiter ! 
 
 Streps. By Jupiter ! 
 
 Come, that's a good one, faith. By Jupiter! 
 And at your age ! By Jupiter, indeed ! 
 
 Phei. What! ridicule such solemn truths? 
 
 Streps. I laugh 
 
 To hear a child prate of such old men's fables; 
 But list to what I'll tell you, learn of me, 
 And from a child you shall become a man — 
 But keep the secret close, do you mark me, close; 
 Beware of babbling. 
 
 Phei. Heyday! what is coming? 
 
 Streps. You swore but now by Jupiter. 
 
 Phei. I did. 
 
 Streps. Mark now what 'tis to have a friend 
 like me — 
 I tell you at a word there is no Jupiter. 
 
 Phei. How then? 
 
 Streps. He's off; I tell you for a truth — 
 
 He's out of place, and Vortex reigns instead. 
 
 Phei. Vortex indeed ! What freak has caught 
 you know ? 
 
 Streps. No freak, 'tis fact. 
 
 Phei. Who tells you this ? 
 
 Streps. E'en Socrates the Melian, 
 And Chivrephon, the flea philosopher. 
 
 Phei. And are you so far gone in dotage, sir, 
 As to be dup'd by men like them, fellows 
 Whose bile has overflowed them ? 
 
 Streps. Keep a good tongue ; 
 
 Take heed you slander not such w^orthy men, 
 So wise withal and learned, — men so pure 
 And cleanly in their morals, that no razor 
 Ever profan'd their beards ; their unwashd hides 
 Ne'er dabbled in a bath, nor wafted scent 
 Of od'rous unguent as they pass'd along. 
 But you, a prodigal fine spark, make waste 
 And havoc of my means, as I were dead 
 And out of thought — but come, turn in and learn. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 1G7 
 
 Phei. What can I learn or profit from such 
 
 teachers ? 
 Slrcps. Thou canst learn every thing that turns 
 to profit; 
 But first anil foremost thou canst learn to know 
 Thyself how totally nnlearn'il thoii art; 
 How mere a blockhead, and how dull of brain — 
 But wait awhile with patience — 
 
 \Enters the house hastily. 
 Phi'i. Woe is me ! 
 
 How shall I (leal with this old crazy father? 
 What course pursue with one, whose reason 
 
 wanders 
 Out of all course? Shall I take out the statute, 
 And cite him for a lunatic ; or wait 
 Till nature and his frenzy, with the help 
 Of the undertaker, shall provide a cure ? 
 
 (Strepsiadks returns, vfith a cock in one 
 hand and a hen in the other.) 
 Streps. Now we shall see ! Lo ! what have I 
 
 got here ? 
 Phei. A chicken — 
 
 Streps. Well; and this? 
 
 Phei. A chicken also. 
 
 Streps. Are they the same then ? Have a care, 
 good boy, 
 How you expose* yourself, and for the future 
 Describe them cock and hen-chick severally. 
 
 Phei. Ridiculous! Is this the grand discovery 
 You have just Ijorrow'd from these sons o' th" 
 dunghill? 
 Streps. This, and a thousand others — but being 
 old 
 And lax of memory, I lose it all 
 As fast as it comes in. 
 
 Phei. Yes, and metliinks 
 
 By the same token you have lost your cloak. 
 
 Streps. No, I've not lost it ; I have laid it out 
 Upon the arts and sciences. 
 
 Phei. Your shoes — 
 
 They're vanish'd too. How have you laid them 
 out? 
 Streps. Upon the commonwealth — like Pericles 
 I'm a barefooted patriot — Now no more; 
 Do as thou wilt, so thou wil( but conform 
 And humour me this once, as in times past 
 I humour"d thee, and in thy playful age 
 Brought thee a penny go-cart from the fair, 
 Purchas'd with what my legal labours earn'd, 
 The fee for my attendance. 
 
 {^Going towards the house 0/ Socrates.) 
 Phei. You'll re])ent, 
 
 My life upon "t; you will repent of this. 
 
 (Following reluctantly.) 
 Streps. No matter, so you'll humour inc — What, 
 hoa! 
 Why Socrates, I say, come forth, behold, 
 Here is my son ! 
 
 SCEXE V. 
 
 I've brought him, though in faith 
 Sorely against the grain. 
 
 * The reader's mind, I think, will often recur in this 
 play to Molidre's M. Jourdain. 
 
 Enter Socrates. 
 
 Soc. Aye, he's a novice. 
 
 And knows not where tlie panniers* hang as yet. 
 
 Phei. I would you'd hang yourself there in 
 their stead. 
 
 Streps. Oh monstrous impudence ! this to your 
 master ! 
 
 Soc. Mark how the idiot quibbles upon hans^ins;, 
 Driv'ling and making mouths — Can he be taught 
 The loopholes of the law ; whence to escape, 
 How to evade, and when to press a suit;— 
 Or tune his lips to that soft rhetoric, 
 Which steals upon the ear, and melts to pity 
 The heart of the stern judge ? 
 
 Streps. Come, never doubt him; 
 
 He is a lad of parts, and from a child 
 Took wondrously to dabbling in the mud, 
 Whereof he'd build you up a house! so natural 
 As would amaze you, trace you out a ship, 
 Make you a little cart out of the sole 
 Of an old shoe mayhap, and from the rind 
 Of a pomegranate cut you out a frog, 
 You'd swear it was alive. Now what do you 
 
 think ? 
 Hath he not wit enough to comprehend 
 Each rule both right and wrong? Or if not both, 
 The latter way at least — There he'll be perfect. 
 
 Soc. Let him prepare : his lecturers are ready. 
 
 Streps. I will retire — when next we meet, re- 
 member 
 I look to find him able to contend 
 'Gainst right and reason, and outwit them both. 
 
 [Exit.i 
 
 Enter Dichologos and Adicjeologos. 
 Die. Come forth ; turn out, thou bold audacious 
 man. 
 And face this company. 
 
 Jldic. Most willingly: 
 
 I do desire no better: take your ground 
 Before this audience, I am sure to triumph. 
 Die. And who are you that vapour in this 
 
 fashion ? 
 Mic. Fashion itself — the very style of the 
 
 times. 
 Die. Aye, of the modern times, and them and 
 you 
 I set at naught. 
 
 ^dir. I sliall bring down your pride. 
 
 Die. By what most witty weapon ? 
 ^dic. By the gift 
 
 Of a most apt invention. 
 
 Die. Then I see 
 
 You have your fools to back you. 
 
 ^dir. No, — the wise 
 
 Are those I deal with. 
 
 Die. I shall spoil your market. 
 
 ^dic. As how, good sooth ? 
 
 * Alluding to the panniers in which Socrates used to 
 meditiite. 
 
 + Plato, in his system of education, strongly recom- 
 mends, that the piiiiil should he taucht to coniinence his 
 own course of instruction in this amusing manner. — De 
 Le/r. I. i. p. 572. 
 
 t A preparatory choral song, which preceded the en- 
 trance of the allegorical A-Vyia, is now irretrievably lost. 
 
1G8 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Die. By speaking such plain truths 
 
 As may appeal to justice. 
 
 Mic. What is justice ? 
 
 There's no such thing — I traverse your appeal. 
 
 Die. How ! No such tiling as justice 1 
 
 Adie. No ; where is it 1 
 
 Die. With the immortal gods. 
 
 Mie. If it be there, 
 
 How chanc'd it Jupiter himself escap'd 
 From his unnatural deeds to his own father 1 
 
 Die. For shame, irreverent wretch, thus do you 
 talk ? 
 I sicken at impiety so gross, 
 My stomach kicks against it. 
 
 Adic. You are craz'd j 
 
 Your wits, old gentleman, are oil" the hinges. 
 
 Die. You are a vile blasphemer and butfoon. 
 
 Adic. Go on ! you pelt me — but it is with roses. 
 
 Die. A scojfer ! 
 
 Adie. Every word your malice vents 
 
 Weaves a fresh wreath of triumph for my brows. 
 
 Die. A parricide ! 
 
 Adie. Proceed, and spare me not — 
 
 You shower down gold upon me. 
 
 Die. Lead, not gold, 
 
 Had been your retribution in times past. 
 
 Adic. Aye, but times present cover me w^ith 
 glory. 
 
 Die. You are too wicked. 
 
 Adic. You are much too weak. 
 
 Die. Thank your own self, if our Athenian 
 fathers 
 Coop up their sons at home, and fear to trust them 
 Within your schools, conscious that nothing else 
 But vice and folly can be learnt of you. 
 
 Adie. Methinks, friend, yours is but a ragged 
 trade. 
 
 Die. And yours, oh shame ! a thriving one, 
 tho" late, 
 A perfect Telephus, you tramp'd the street 
 Witli beggar's wallet cramm'd with hungry 
 
 scraps, 
 Choice gather'd from — Pandeletus' larder. 
 
 Adic. Oh ! what rare wisdom you remind me 
 of! 
 
 Die. Oh ! what rank folly theirs, who rule this 
 city. 
 And let it nourish such a pest as you, 
 To sap the morals of the rising age. 
 
 Adic. You'll not inspire your pupil with these 
 notions, 
 Old hoary-headed time ! 
 
 Die. I will inspire him, 
 
 If he has grace, to shun the malady 
 Of your eternal clack. 
 
 Adie. Turn to me, youth ! 
 
 And let him rail at leisure. 
 
 Die. Keep your distance. 
 
 And lay your hands upon him at your peril. 
 
 Ch. {interposing.'\ Come, no more wrangling.^ 
 Let us hear you both ; 
 You of the former time produce your rules 
 Of ancient discipline — of modern, you — 
 That so, both weigh'd, the candidate may judge 
 Who oti'ers fairest, and make choice between you. 
 
 Die. I close with the proposal. 
 
 Adic. 'Tis agreed. 
 
 Ch. But which of you shall open? 
 Adic. That shall he : 
 
 I yield him up that point; and in reply, 
 My words, like arrows levelled at a butt, 
 Shall pierce him through and through ; then, if 
 
 he rallies. 
 If he comes on again with a rejoinder, 
 I'll launch a swarm of syllogisms at him, 
 That, like a nest of hornets, shall belabour him. 
 Till they have left him not an eye to see with. 
 Ch. ''Now, sirs, exert your utmost care. 
 And gravely for the charge prepare ; 
 The well rang'd hoard of thought explore, 
 Where sage experience keeps her store ; 
 All the resources of the mind 
 Employment in this cause will find,— 
 And he, who gives the best display 
 Of argument, shall win the day: 
 Wisdom this hour at issue stands. 
 And gives her fate into your hands j 
 Yours is a question that divides 
 And draws out friends on different sides : 
 Therefore on you, who, with such zealouspraise, 
 Applaud the discipline of former days, 
 On you I call ; now is your time to show 
 You merit no less praise than you bestow." 
 Die. Thus summon'd, I prepare myself to speak 
 Of manners primitive, and that good time. 
 Which I have seen, when discipline prevail'd, 
 And modesty was sanctioned by the laws. 
 No babbling then was suffer'd in our schools ; — 
 The scholar's test was silence. The whole group 
 In orderly procession sallied forth 
 Right onwards, without straggling, to attend 
 Their teacher in harmonics ; though the snow 
 Fell on them thick as meal, the hardy brood 
 Breasted the storm uncloak'd : their harps were 
 
 strung 
 Not to ignoble strains, for they were taught 
 A loftier key, whether to chant the name 
 Of Pallas, terrible amidst the blaze 
 Of cities overthrown, or wide and far 
 To spread, as custom was, the echoing peal. 
 There let no low buflbon intrude his tricks, 
 Let no capricious quavering on a note. 
 No running of divisions high and low 
 Break the pure stream of harmony ; no Phrynis 
 Practising wanton warblings out of place — 
 Woe to his back that so was found otfending ; 
 Hard stripes and heavy would reform his taste. 
 Decent and chaste their postures in the school 
 Of their gymnastic exercises ; none 
 Expos'd an attitude that might provoke 
 Irregular desire; their lips ne'er mov'd 
 In love-inspiring whispers, and their walks 
 From eyes obscene were sacred and secure. 
 Hot herbs, the old man's diet, were proscrib'd ; 
 No radish, anise, parsley, deck'd their board; 
 No rioting, no revelling was there 
 At feast or frolic, no unseemly touch 
 Or signal, that inspires the hint impure. 
 
 Adic. Why these are maxims obsolete and 
 stale; 
 Worm-eaten rules, coeval with the hymns 
 Of old Ceceydas and Buphonian feasts. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 169 
 
 Die. Yet so were train'd tlie heroes, that im- 
 bru'd 
 The field of Marathon with hostile blnod ; 
 Tliis discii)liiie it was that braced tlieir nerves 
 And fitted them for conquest. You, forsooth, 
 At great Minerva's festival produce 
 Your martial dancers, not as they were wont. 
 But smother'd underneath the tawdry load 
 Of cumbrous armour, till I sweat to see them 
 Dangling their shields in such unseemly sort 
 As mars the sacred measure of the dance. 
 Be wise, therefore, young man, and turn to me. 
 Turn to the better guide, so shall you learn 
 To scorn the noisy forvnn, shun the bath, 
 And turn M'ith blushes from the scene impure: 
 Then conscious innocence shall make you bold 
 To spurn the injurious, but to reverend age 
 Meek and submissive, rising from your seat 
 To pay the homage due, nor shall you ever 
 Or wring the parent's soul, or stain your own. 
 In purity of manners you shall live 
 A bright example ; vain shall be the lures 
 Of the stage wanton floating in the dance, 
 Vain all her arts to snare you in her arms. 
 And strip you of your virtue and good name. 
 No petulant reply shall you oppose 
 To fatherly connnands, nor taunting vent 
 Irreverent mockery on liis hoary head. 
 Crying — "Behold lapetus* himself!" 
 Poor thanks for all this fond parental care. 
 
 Mic. Aye, my brave youth, do, follow these 
 fine rules, 
 And learn by them to be as mere a swine, 
 Driveller, and dolt, as any of the sons 
 Of our Hij)pocrates;t — I swear by Bacchus, 
 Folly and foul contempt shall be your doom. 
 
 Die. Not so ; but fair and fresh in youthful bloom 
 Amongst our young athletics you shall shine ; 
 Not in the forum loit'ring time away 
 In gossip prattle, like our gang of idlers, 
 Nor yet in some vexatious paltry suit 
 Wrangling and quibbling in our petty courts, 
 But in the solemn academic grove, 
 Crown'd with the modest reed, fit converse hold 
 With your collegiate equals ; there serene. 
 Calm as the scene around you, underneath 
 The fragrant foliage where the ilex spreads, 
 Where the deciduous poplar strews her leaves. 
 Where the tall elm-tree and wide-stretching plane 
 Sigh to the fanning breeze, you shall inhale 
 Sweet odours wafted in the breath of spring. 
 This is the regimen that will insure 
 A healthful body and a vigorous mind, 
 A countenance serene, expanded chest, 
 Heroic stature and a temperate tongue; 
 But take these modern masters, and behold 
 These blessings all revers'd ; a pa'lid cheek. 
 Shrunk shoulders, chest contracted, sapless limbs, 
 A tongiie that never rests, and mind debas'd, 
 By their vile sophistry perversely taught 
 To call good evil, evil good, and be 
 
 ♦ lapetus here stands for the ve phis ultra of antiquity. 
 
 t The sous of Hippocrates (hetter known to tlie spec- 
 tators than they are to us) were proverbial for their 
 stupidity. 
 
 22 
 
 That thing, which nature spurns at, that disease, 
 A mere Antimachus,* the sink of vice. 
 
 Cfi. "Oh sage instructor, how sublime 
 These maxims of the former time! 
 How sweet this unpolluted stream 
 Of eloquence, how pure the theme! 
 Thrice hapjiy they, whose lot was cast 
 Amongst the generation past. 
 When virtuous morals were display"d 
 And these grave institutes obey'd. 
 Now you, that vaunt yourself so high, 
 Prepare; we ■wait for your reply, 
 And recollect, or ere }0u start, 
 You take in hand no easy jiart ; 
 Well hath he spoke, and reasons good 
 By better only are withstood ; 
 Sharpen your wits then, or you'll meet 
 Contempt as certain as defeat." 
 
 ^dic. Doubt not I'm ready, full up to the throat, 
 And well nigh chok'd with plethory of words, 
 Impatient to discharge them. I do know 
 The mighty masters of the modern school 
 Term me the Lower Logic, so distinguish'd 
 From the old practice of the upper time. 
 By him personified ; which name of honour 
 I gain'd as the projector of tliat method. 
 Which can confute and puzzle all the courts 
 Of law and justice — An invention worth 
 Thousands to them who practise it, whereas 
 It nonsuits all opponents. — Let that pass. 
 Now take a sample of it in the ease, 
 With which 111 baffle this old vaunting pedant 
 With his warm baths, that he forsootii forbids. 
 Harkye, old man, discuss, if so it please you, 
 Your excellent good reason for this rule. 
 That interdicts warm bathing. 
 
 Die. Simply this — 
 
 I hold it a relaxer, rendering men 
 EtTemiuate and feeble. 
 
 Mic. Hold awhile — 
 
 I have you on the hook. Answer me this — 
 Of all the heroes Jupiter has father'd 
 Which is for strength, for courage, and a course 
 Of labours most renown'd ? 
 
 Die. I know of none 
 
 Superior in those qualities to Hercules. 
 
 jidic. And who e'er lieard Herculean bathsf 
 were cold ? 
 Yet Hercules himself you own was strong. 
 
 Die. Aye, this is the very style of the times ; 
 These are the dialectics now in fashion 
 With our young sophists who frequent the baths 
 Whilst the paUvstra starves. 
 
 Jdic. I grant you this ; 
 
 It is the style of the times, by you condemn'd, 
 By me approv'd, and not without good cause; 
 For how but thus doth ancient Nestor talk? 
 Can Homer eir? Were all his wise men f(Xils? 
 They are my witnesses. — Now for this tongue, 
 This member out of use by his decree, 
 
 * Antimachus, arrorfiine to the Scholiast, appe.irs to 
 have l)een equally coiispiiuinis f.ir his beauly, his elfenii- 
 nacy, and the utler corruption of his morals. 
 
 + Tepid halhs, accordinc to I'aliulous lejrends, hein;; the 
 pift of Vulcan to Hercules, il became a fashion to term 
 all such baths Herculean. 
 
170 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Not so by mine. — His scholar must be silent 
 And fihiiste withal — damping; prescriptions both — 
 For what good fortune ever did betide 
 The mute and modest? Instance me a case. 
 Die. Many — chaste Pejeus* so obtaiii'd his 
 
 sword. 
 Mic. His sword ! and what did Peleus gain 
 by that ? 
 Battle and blows this modest Peleus gain'd ; 
 Whilst mean Hyperbolus, whose wretched craft 
 Was lamp-making, by craft of viler sort 
 Garbled his thousands, solid coin, not swords. 
 
 Die. But continence befriended Peleus so, 
 As won the goddess Thetis to his bed. 
 
 Adic. And drove her out of it — for he was 
 cold. 
 Languid and listless : she was brisk and stirring. 
 And sought the sport elsewhere. Now are you 
 
 answered "? 
 Good sooth you"re in your dotage. Mark, young 
 
 sir, 
 TTiese are the fruits of c<*ntinence : you see 
 What pleasure you must forfeit to preserve it — 
 All the delights that woman can bestow ; 
 No am"rous sports to catch the fair one's smile, 
 No luscious dainties shall you then partake, 
 No gay cxjnvivial revels, where the glass 
 With peals of laughter circtdates around ; 
 These you must sacrifice, and without these 
 What is your life? — So much for your delights. — 
 Now let us see how stands your score with na- 
 ture — 
 You're in some scrape we'll say — intrigue — adul- 
 tery — 
 You're caught, convicted, crush'd — for what can 
 
 save you? 
 You have no powers of speech — but arm'd by 
 
 me, 
 You're up to all occasions: Nothing fear; 
 Ev'n give your genius scope ; laugh, frolic, 
 
 sport, 
 And flout at shame ; for should the wittol spouse 
 Detect you in the fact, you shall so pose him 
 In his appeal, that nothing shall stick to you ; 
 For Jove shall take the blame from off your 
 
 shoulders. 
 Being himself a cuckold-making god, 
 And you a poor frail mortal — Why should you 
 Be wiser, stronger, purer than a god ? 
 
 Die. But what if this your scholar should incur 
 The adulterer's correction — pill'd and sanded, 
 And garnish'd with a radish in his crupper, 
 The scoff of all beholders — what fine quirk 
 Will clear him at that pinch, but he must pass 
 For a most perfect Ganymede? 
 
 Jdic. What then ? 
 
 Where is the harm ? 
 
 Die. Can greater harm befall him? 
 
 * Peleus, havinjr withstood the solicitations of Atalante, 
 wife of Acastus, was rewarded for his continence hy the 
 gods, with a sword of celestial temper, the worlituaiisliip 
 of Vulcan. But Atalante, having accused him to her 
 hushand, and sliuiulaled Acastus to reven<ie a supposed 
 attempt upon her honour. Peleus found hiujself driven to 
 declare war against him, and to this Adicffologos alludes 
 in his retort upon Dicaeologos. 
 
 Mie. What will you say if here I can confute 
 
 you? 
 Die. Nothing — my silence shall confess your 
 
 triumph. 
 ^die. Come on then — answer me to what I ask. 
 Our advocates — what are they ? 
 
 Die. 
 
 Jdic. 
 
 Die. 
 
 Jdic. 
 
 Die. 
 
 Our tragic poets- 
 
 Catamites, 
 what are they ? 
 
 The same. 
 Good, very good ! — our demagogues — 
 No better. 
 
 Jldic. See there ! discern you not that you are 
 foil'd ? 
 Cast your eyes round this company ! 
 
 Die. I do. 
 
 Jdie. And what do you discover ? 
 Die. Numerous birds 
 
 Of the same filthy feather, so heaven help me ! 
 This man I mark ; and this, and this fine fop 
 With his curl'd locks. — To all these I can swear. 
 Jdic. What say you then ? 
 Die. I say I am confuted — 
 
 Here, wagtails, catch my cloak — I'll be amongst 
 you.* 
 Soe. (to Strepsiabes, just returned.') 
 Now, friend, what say you? who shall school 
 your son ? 
 Streps. School him and scourge him, take him 
 to yourself, 
 And mind you whet him to an edge on both sides, 
 This for slight skirmish, that for stronger work. 
 Soe. Doubt not, we'll finish him to your con- 
 tent 
 A perfect sophist. 
 
 Phei. Perfect skin and bone — 
 
 That I can well believe. 
 
 Soe. No more — Away ! 
 
 (Strepsiabes retires.) 
 Phei. Trust me you've made a rod for your 
 own back. 
 
 ^^Folloivs Socrates into the house.) 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Strepsiabes (^tinth a sack of meal on his shoulder., 
 and talking to himself.) 
 
 Lo! here's the fifth day gone — the fourth — 
 the third — 
 The second too — day of all days to me 
 Most hateful and accurs'd — the dreadful eve, 
 Ushering the new moon, that lets in the tide 
 Of happy creditors, all sworn against me. 
 To rack and ruin me beyond redemption. 
 I, like a courteous debtor, wno would fain 
 Soften their flinty bosoms, thus accost them — 
 
 ♦ Thus ends this famous episode, says Mr. Cumber- 
 land, reversing the Choice of Hercules, and making the 
 spectators parties in the criminality and injustice of the 
 decision. Wieland, after applauding the truly comic 
 manner in which the dialogue concludes, and allowing 
 the necessity there was of giving the upper hand to the 
 genius, or representative of things on their wrong side, 
 is still in doubt, whether a due regard to the moral graces 
 allowed of the contest being so easily given up hy the 
 genius or representative of things on their right side. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 171 
 
 " All, my good sir, tliis payment comes upon me 
 At :i bud time, excuse me — That bill's due. 
 But yoiill extend your grace — This you will 
 
 cancel, 
 And totally acquit me." — By no moans : 
 All with one voice cry out, they will bo paid, 
 And I must be be-knav'd into tlie bargain, 
 And tlireaten'd with a writ to mend the matter — 
 Well, let it come! — They may ev'n do their 
 
 worst ; I 
 
 I care not so my son hath learnt the trick I 
 
 Or this new rhetoric, as will ajijjear | 
 
 When I have beat this door — (^kiiorks at the door^ 
 — Boy, boy ! come forth. 
 
 (Soc KATES comes forth.) 
 
 Soc. Hail to Strcpsiades ! 
 
 Streps. Thrice hail to Socrates ! 
 
 But first I pray you (^setting down the meal against 
 
 the door') take this dole of meal 
 In token of the reverence I bear you ; 
 And now, so please you, tell me of my son, 
 Your late noviciate. Comes he on apace 1 
 
 Soc. He apprehends acutely. 
 
 Streps. Oh brave news! 
 
 Oh the transcendent excellence of fraud ! 
 
 Soc. Yes, you may set your creditors at 
 naught^ 
 
 Streps. And their avouchers too? — 
 
 Soc. Had they a tViousand. 
 
 Streps, (^singing and dancing.) Then I'll sing out 
 iny song, and sing aloud. 
 And it shall be — Woe, woe to all your gang, 
 Ye money-jobbing caitiffs, usurers, sharks! 
 Hence with your registers, your cents-per-cent ; 
 I fear you not ; ye cannot hook me now. 
 Oh ! such a son have I in training for yon, 
 Arm'd with a two-edg'd tongue that cuts o' both 
 
 sides. 
 The stay, support, and pillar of my house. 
 The scourge of my tormentors, the redeemer 
 Of a most wretched father. 
 
 Chokcs. 
 
 " Mark here, how rarely it succeeds 
 To build our trust on guilty deeds: 
 Mark how this old cajoling elf, 
 Wlio sets a trap to catch himself. 
 Falsely believes he has found the way 
 To hold his creditors at bay. 
 Too late he'll curse the Sophists' school, 
 That taught his son to cheat by rule, 
 And traia'd the modest lips of youth 
 In the vile art of torturing truth; 
 A modern logic much in use, 
 Invented for the law's abuse; 
 A subtle knack of spying flaws 
 To cast in doubt the clearest cause, 
 Whereby, in honesty's despite, 
 The wrong side triumphs o'er the right- 
 Alas! short triumph he must have, 
 Who glories that his son's a knave : 
 Ah foolish sire, the time will come 
 Y'ou'U wish that son of your's were 
 dumb." 
 
 Scene VHI. 
 
 STnF.rsiADES (rushing out of the hmise. in great 
 confusion, folhnced by his son) Pheidipimues, 
 Chokus. 
 
 Streps. Hoa there! Whathoa! for pity's sake 
 some help ! 
 Friends, kinsmen, countrymen ! turn out and help! 
 Oh! mv j>onr head, my checks are bruis'd to 
 
 ' jelly— 
 Help })y all means! — Why, thou ungracious cub, 
 Thy father wouldst thou beat? 
 
 Phri. Assuredly. 
 
 Streps. There, there! he owns that he would 
 beat his falher. 
 
 Phei. I own it, good my father! 
 
 Streps. Parricide ! 
 
 Impious assassin ! Sacrilegious wretch ! 
 
 Phei. All, all, and more — You cannot please 
 me better ; 
 I glory in these attributes. Go on! 
 
 Streps. Monster of turpitude ! 
 
 Phei. Crown me with roses! 
 
 Streps. Wretch, will you strike your parent? 
 
 Phei. Piously, 
 
 And will maintain the right, by which I do it. 
 
 Streps. Oh shameless villain! can there be a 
 right 
 Against all nature so to treat a father? 
 
 Phei. That I shall soon make clear to your 
 conviction. 
 
 Streps. You, you convince me? 
 
 Phei. With the greatest ease : 
 
 And I can work the proof two several ways ; 
 Therefore make choice between them. 
 
 Streps. What do you mean? 
 
 Phei. I mean to say we argue up or down — 
 Take which you like. It comes to tlie same end. 
 
 Streps. Aye, and a precious end you've brought 
 it to. 
 If all my care of you must end in this, 
 That I have jiut you in tlie way to beat me, 
 (Which is a thing unnatural and profane) 
 And after justify it.* 
 
 Phei. Tliat 111 do 
 
 By process clear and categorical. 
 That you shall fairly own yourself a convert 
 To a most wholesome cudgelling. 
 
 Si' reps. Come on ? 
 
 Give me your arguments — but spare your blows. 
 
 Ch. How to restrain this headstrong son of 
 
 yours 
 Behoves you now, old man, to find the means, 
 For sure he could not be thus confident 
 Without some cause ; sometliing there needs must 
 
 be, 
 Some strong possession of himself within, 
 That buoys him up to this high pitch of daring, 
 
 ♦It is not easy to conceive any inciilent more pointed- 
 ly severe than Ihi.i, which the (loet has employed for in- 
 teresting the spectators in his nttaclc upon the sopliisls. 
 A son e.\liil)ite(l in the impious act of slrikinj his father, 
 and justifying tlie criiiic upon (irinciple, is surely as bitter 
 an invective against the schools of the philosophers as 
 can be devised. 
 
172 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 This bold assumption ; which that we may know, 
 Give us distinctively the whole detail 
 From first to last whence this contention sprang, 
 So shall we hear, and, hearing, judge betwixt 
 you. 
 Streps. So please you then I will the cause un- 
 fold 
 Of this base treatment to your patient ears ; 
 And thus it stands — When we had supp'd to- 
 gether, 
 As yon all know, in friendly sort, I bade him 
 Take up his lute and give me the good song 
 Of old Simonides, — ''The ram was shorn;" — 
 But he directly scouted my request — 
 It was a fashion out of date forsooth — 
 He would not sit twanging the lute, not he ; 
 "Twas not for him to cackle o'er his wine, 
 As if he were some wench working the hand- 
 mill*— 
 Phei. Grossly so; 
 
 And was it not high time that I should beat you. 
 Who had no better manners than to set 
 Your guest a chirping like a grasshopper? 
 
 Sli'cps. These were his very words, and more 
 than these ; 
 For by and bye he told me that Simonides 
 Was a most paltry poet. This you'll own 
 Was a tough morsel, yet I gulp'd it down, 
 And pass'd it off with bidding him recite 
 Some passage out of iEschylus, withal 
 Tendering a myrtle wreath, as custom is 
 To grace the recitation — He forsooth, 
 Flouting my tender, instantly replied — 
 "I hold your .(Eschylus, of all our poets, 
 First of the spouters, incoherent, harsh. 
 Precipitous and turgid." — Oh my friends, 
 W^as not this more than flesh and blood should 
 
 bear? 
 Yet^ yet I smother'd rage within my heart, 
 And calmly said — " Call something else to mind 
 More to your taste and from some modern bard. 
 So it be good withal and worth the hearing " — 
 Whereat, vi'ould you believe it ? he began 
 Repeating from Euripides — Great Jove, 
 Guard my chaste ears from such another dose ! 
 A perilous long-winded tale of incest 
 T'wixt son and daughter of the same sad mother. + 
 Sick to the soul I spurned at such declaiming. 
 Adding, as well I might, all that my scorn 
 Of such vile trash could add! till, to be short, 
 Worols begat words, and blou-s too as it prov'd, 
 For leaping from his seat he sprung upon me, 
 
 * Alluding to the ballads sung by women, whilst at 
 work upon the hand-mill. The names of several of these 
 may he found in Hesychiiis and Athenaeus. One of the 
 simplest is preserved in .^lian, lib. vii. c. 4. It bore the 
 name of Pillacus, one of the seven wise men of Greece, 
 and king of .Mitylene, who, accnriiiiig to Plutarch, took a 
 peculiar pleasure in grinding his own corn and making 
 his own bread. The women at their mills did not, of 
 course, forget so honourable a testimony to their craft. 
 
 Grind, grind, good my mill, grind; 
 
 Pittacus turns a mill as we all find. 
 
 Grind, crind. good my mill, grind, 
 
 This miller-king, oh he's the man to my mind. 
 t The story of Macareus the son of .SIolus, and his 
 uterine sister Canace. 
 
 Struck, btiffeted, and bang'd me out of measure, 
 Throttled me, pounded me well nigh to dust— — 
 
 Phei. And what less does that heretic deserve. 
 Who will not praise Euripides, the first 
 In wisdom of all poets? 
 
 Streps. He the first! 
 
 How my tongue itches! — but the rogue is ready; 
 He'll beat me if I answer. 
 
 Phei. And with reason. 
 
 Streps. What reason, graceless cub, will bear 
 you out 
 For beating me, who in your baby age 
 Caressd you, dandled you upon my knee, 
 Watch'd every motion, humour'd all your wants? 
 
 Phei. How gratefully the mind receives new 
 
 lights. 
 Emerging from the shades of prejudice, 
 And casting old establishments aside ! 
 Time was but now^, when every thought of mine 
 Was centred in the stable; then I had not 
 Three words upon my tongue without a stumble; 
 But now, since I've been put into the way 
 Of knowing better things, and the fine art 
 Of subtle disputation, I am bold 
 To meet this questioti and convince my hearers 
 How right it is to punish this old sinner. 
 
 Streps. Mount, mount your chariot! Oh, that I 
 
 could see you 
 Seated again behind your favourite horses. 
 Though 'twere with four iti hand, so that you kept 
 From driving me at such a pelting rate. 
 
 Phei. Now then, I ask you, gathering up my 
 
 thread 
 Where it was broken off, if you, my father, 
 When I was but a stripling, spar'd iny back? 
 Streps. No, for I studied all things for your 
 
 good. 
 And therefore I corrected you. 
 
 Phei. Agreed, 
 
 I also am like studious of your good, 
 And therefore I most lovingly correct you; 
 If beating be a proof of love, you have it 
 Plenteous in measure, for by what exemption 
 Is your most sacred carcass freed from stripes 
 And mine made subject to them? Am not I 
 Free-born as you? Say, if the son's in tears, 
 Should not the father weep ? 
 
 Streps. By what one rule 
 
 Of equity ? 
 
 Phei. What equity were that 
 
 If none but children are to be chastis'd ? 
 And grant they were, the proverb's in your 
 
 teeth, 
 Which says old age is but a second childhood. 
 Again, if tears are seen to follow blows. 
 Ought not old men to expiate faults with tears 
 Rather than children, who have more to plead 
 In favour of their failings? 
 
 Streps. Where's the law 
 
 That warrants this proceeding? There's none 
 
 such. 
 Phei. And what was your law-maker but a 
 
 man, 
 Mortal as you and I are ? And though time 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 173 
 
 Has sanctified his statutes, may not I 
 
 Take up ttie cause of youtli, as he of age, 
 
 And publi.sh a new ordinance for leave 
 
 By the right-filial to correct our fathers. 
 
 Remitting and consigning to oblivion 
 
 All ex-post-facto beating ? Look at instinct — 
 
 Inquire of nature how the brute creation 
 
 Kick at their parents, which in nothing differ 
 
 From lordly man, except that they compile 
 
 No laws, and hold their rights without a statute. 
 
 Streps. If you are thus for pecking at your 
 father 
 Like a young fighting-cock, why do'nt you peck 
 Your dinner from the dunghill, and at night 
 Roost on a perch 1 
 
 Phei. The cases do not tally, 
 
 Nor does my master Socrates prescribe 
 Rules so absurd. 
 
 Streps. Cease then from beating me ; 
 
 Else you preclude yourself 
 
 Phei. As how preclude? 
 
 Streps. Because the right I have of beating you 
 Will be your right in time over your son, 
 When you shall have one. 
 
 Phei. But if I have none, 
 
 All my sad hours are lost, and you die laughing. 
 
 Streps. There's no denying that. — How say you, 
 sirs 1 
 Methinks tliere is good matter in this plea ; 
 And as for us old sinners, truth to say. 
 If we deserve a beating we must bear it. 
 
 Phei. Hear me — theres more to come — 
 
 Sircps. Then I am lost. 
 
 For I can bear no more. 
 
 Phei. Oh fear it not. 
 
 Rather believe what I have now to tell you 
 Will cause you to make light of what is past, 
 'Twill bring such comfort to you. 
 
 Streps. Let me have it : 
 
 If it be comfort, give it me. 
 
 Phei. Then kno\v, 
 
 Henceforth I'm resolv'd to beat my mother 
 As I have beaten you. 
 
 Streps. How say you 1 How ? 
 
 Why this were to out-do all you have done. 
 
 Phei. But what if I have got a proof in petto, 
 To show the moral uses of this beating? 
 
 Streps. Show me a proof that you iiave hang"d 
 yourself. 
 And with your tutor Socrates beside you 
 Gone to the devil together in a string; 
 Those moral uses I will thank you for — 
 Oh inauspicious goddesses, O Clouds! 
 In you confiding, all these woes fall on me. 
 
 Ch. Evil events from evil causes spring, 
 And what you snifer flows from what you've 
 done. 
 
 Streps. Why was I not forewaruM ? You saw 
 me old. 
 And practis'd on my weak simplicity. 
 
 Ch. 'Tis not for us to \^arn a wilfnl sinner; 
 We stay him not, but let him rim his course, 
 Till by misfortunes rous'd, his conscience M'akes, 
 And prompts him to appease th" offended gods. 
 Streps. I feel my sorrows, but I own them just: 
 Yes, ye reforming Clouds, I'm duly punish 'd 
 
 For my intended fraud. — And now, my son. 
 Join liands with me, and let us forth together 
 To wreak our vengeai ce on those base deceivers, 
 That Ch rrephon and Socrates the chief, 
 Who have cajol'd us both. 
 
 Phei. Grace forbid 
 
 I should lift up my hand against my masters! 
 Streps. Nay, nay, but rather dread avenging 
 Jove, 
 God of our ancestors, and him revere. 
 
 Phei. You're mad, methinks, to talk to me of 
 Jove — 
 Is there a god so call'd ? 
 
 Streps. There is ! there is ! 
 
 Phei. There is no Jupiter, I tell you so ; 
 Vortex has whirl'd him from his throne, and 
 
 reigns 
 By right of conquest in the Thunderer's place. 
 Sti-eps. 'Tis false ; no Vortex reigns but in my 
 
 brain. 
 Phei. Laugh at your own dull joke and be a 
 fool! [E.rit. 
 
 Streps, [striking his breast.) Insufferable block- 
 head that I was ; 
 What ail'd me thus to court this Socrates, 
 Ev'n to the exclusion of the immortal gods? 
 
 Mercury, forgive me ; be not angry, 
 Dear tutelary god, but spare me still. 
 And cast a pitying eye upon my follies, 
 For I have been intemperate of tongue. 
 And dearly rue it — Oh my better genius, 
 Inspire me with thy covmcil how to act. 
 Whether by legal process to assail them. 
 
 Or by such apter means as thou may'st dictate. 
 
 1 have it! Well hast thou inspir'd the thought; 
 Hence with the lazy law ; thou art not for it. 
 With fire and faggot I will fall upon them. 
 And send their school \\\ fumo to the Clouds. 
 Hoa, Xanthias, (^mlliitg to one of his slaves) hoa ! 
 
 bring forth without delay 
 Your ladder and your mattock, mount the roof. 
 Break up the rafters, whelm the house upon 
 
 them. 
 And bury the wliole hive beneath the ruins. 
 (^Xanthias mounts the roof and begins working 
 tnth his mattock:) 
 Haste! if you love me, haste! Oh, for a torch, 
 A blazing torch new lighted, to .«et fire 
 To the infernal edifice. — I warrant me 
 I'll .soon unhouse the rascals, that now carry 
 Their heads so high, and roll them in the dust. 
 (Owe of the scholdis comes out.) 
 1st Dis. Woe! mischief! misery! 
 Streps, (mounts the roof and Ji.ves a torch to the 
 joists.) Torch, play your part : 
 
 And wo .shall muster up a co; flagration. 
 \st Dis. What are you doing, fellow? 
 Streps. Chopping logic ; 
 
 Arguing a knotty point with your house-beams. 
 2d Dis. Oh horror ! Who has set our house on 
 
 fire? 
 Streps. The very man whose cloak you nabb'd 
 
 so neatly. 
 2d Dis. Undone and ruin'd — ! 
 Streps. Heartily I wish it — 
 
 And mean you should so be, if this same mattock 
 p2 
 
174 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Docs Dot (locoivc my Iiopo, and I escape 
 W'itli SI wiiule neck. 
 
 (SocuATKS comes forth.) 
 Sor. Hoa tliere ! What man is that 1 
 
 You there upon the roof — what are you doing? 
 Streps. Treaitins; on air^-coiitemplating the sun — 
 Soi: Ah nie ! I'ln siiflbcated, suiother'd, lost — 
 
 (Ch.hiikpiiox njipcars.) 
 
 Ch(e. Wretch that I am, Iin melted, scorchVl, 
 
 consumed ! — 
 Streps. Blasphemers, why did you insult the 
 tiods 1 
 Dash, drive, demolish them ! Their crimes are 
 
 many. 
 But their contemptuous treatment of the gods. 
 Their impious blasphemies, exceed thern all. 
 Ch. Break up ! — The Chorus have fulflird their 
 J) art. 
 
 FROM PEACE. 
 
 [Ac.;ed B. C. 419.] 
 TRTfJ.EUS. 
 
 EvKH. lovely, ever dear. 
 How may I salute thine ear! 
 O what size of words may tell 
 HhU" the charms that in thee dwell! 
 In thy sight are joy and pleasure, 
 Without stint and without measure. 
 In thy breath is all that flings 
 Sense and thought of choicest things; 
 Dropping odours — rosy wine — 
 Fragrant spike and nard divine. 
 
 Ciioitus. 
 
 Pipe and hue and dance are there, 
 Tragic pomp and stately air: 
 With the Sophoclean strain, 
 When he's in his noblest vein, 
 And the daintier lays that please, 
 Falling from Euripides. 
 
 Trtg.eus, {^interrupting.) 
 Out upon thee ! Fie ! for shame ! 
 Vex me not with such a name ! 
 Half a pleader — half a bard — 
 How may such win her regard? 
 
 Chortts. 
 
 O she's joy and recreation. 
 Vintage in fall operation, 
 Vat and cask in requisition, 
 Strainer making in(]uisition 
 For the riew-press'd grape and wine, 
 What is foul and what is fine! 
 Round meantime the fleecy brood 
 Clamour for their fragrant food ; 
 Which by village dame or maid — 
 Bosom-laden — is convey'd. 
 Thus without; while all within 
 Marks the harvest's jovial din ; 
 Hand to hand the goblets flying, 
 Or in sweet disorder lying; 
 
 Serf and master, slave and free 
 
 Joining in the gladsome glee 
 
 Of a general jollity. 
 
 These and thousand blessings more 
 
 Peace hath ever yet in store. 
 
 FROM THE BIRDS. 
 
 [Acted B. C. 411.] 
 
 "The Birds,'' says Schlegel, "sparkles with 
 the most daring and rich invention in the pro- 
 vince of the fantastically marvellous. It is a 
 joyous, winged, gay-plumed creation. I cannot 
 agree with the ancient critic, who conceives the 
 nuuu purport of the work to consist in the most 
 universal, most undisguised satire on the corrup- 
 tion of the Athenian state, nay, of all human so- 
 ciety.* Rather say, it is a very harmless hocus- 
 pocus, with a hit at everything, gods as well as 
 men, but without anywhere pressing towards 
 any particular object. All that is remarkable 
 about birds, whether to be found in natural his- 
 tory, in mythology, in the love of augury, or in 
 proverbial expressions, the poet has ingeniously 
 drawn into his sphere. He goes back as far as 
 the Cosmogony, and shows how first black-winged 
 Night laid a wind-egg, whence Eros, with golden 
 pinions (beyond all doubt a bird !) soared aloft, 
 and then gave birth to all things. Two runagates 
 from the human sjiecies find their way into the 
 domain of the birds, who are determined to 
 avenge themselves on them for the ills they have 
 suffered from man. The captives, however, save 
 themselves by proving to demonstration that the 
 birds are pre-eminent above all creatures, and 
 advise them to collect their scattered powers into 
 one enormous state. Thus the marvellous city, 
 Cloudcuckooto-wn (Nf^if^oxoxxvyta) is built above 
 the earth; new gods are ordained, of course after 
 the image of birds, (just as mankind had made 
 theirs after that of human beings,) and the fron- 
 tier of Olympus is walled up against the old gods. 
 
 "However farcical and fairy-talc-like" con- 
 tiruies Schlegel, " all this may seem, there is, 
 nevertheless, a philosophical significance in thus 
 taking, for once in a while, a sort of birds-eye 
 view of the sum of all things, seeing that most 
 of our conceptions are true only for a human 
 station of view, after all." See Schlegel's Lectures 
 on the Drama of the ancient Greeks and Romans. 
 
 "Of the parabasis before us," says Mr. Frcre, 
 "the merits are well kno^vn ; and perhaps no 
 ])as.sage of Aristophanes has been oftener quoted 
 with admiration. To bring the most subjects 
 within the verge of come<ly, and to treat of them 
 with humour and fancy, without falling into 
 vulgarity or ofl'ending the principles of good taste, 
 
 ♦ In this play, (according to some commentators,) the 
 Athenians are represented as a set of iiapjn^, foolish 
 birds, persuaded by the promises of designins dema- 
 ^oyues to set up a city in the clouds, and declare war 
 aKainst the gods, the whole terniinaiiniJ, as niiL'ht be ex- 
 pected, in the chief adventiner making a meal for himself 
 of his deluded subjects. — The satire seems to have been 
 directed against the air-built castles and ambitious 
 schemes of Alcibiadas. See Donaldson's Theatre of the 
 Greeks, p. 113. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 175 
 
 seems a task wliich no poet whom we know of 
 could have accomplished ; though, if we were 
 possessed of the works of Epicharrnus, it is pos- 
 sible that we might see other specimens of the 
 same style."' 
 
 Ye children of man, whose life is a span, 
 Protracted with sorrow from day to day, 
 Naked and featherless, feeble and querulous. 
 Sickly, calamitous creatures of clay! 
 Attend to the words of the sovereign birds, 
 (Immortal, illustrious, lords of the air) 
 Who survey from on high, with a inert^iful eye, 
 Your struggles of misery, labour and care. 
 Whence you may learn, and clearly discern 
 Such truths as attract your inquij^itive turn; 
 Which is busied of late with a mighty debate, 
 A profound speculation about the creation. 
 An organical life, and chaotical strife. 
 With various notions of heavenly motions. 
 And rivers and oceans, and valleys and moun- 
 tains, 
 And sources of fountains, and jneteors on high. 
 And stars in the sky. We propose l>y and by, 
 (If youll listen and hear) to make it all clear, 
 And Prodicus henceforth shall pass for a dunce. 
 When his doubts are explained and expotjuded 
 at once. 
 Before the creation of ^ther and Light, 
 Chaos and Night together wore plight. 
 In the dungeon of Erebus foully bedight ; 
 Nor Ocean, or Air, or Substance was there, 
 Or Solid or Rare, or Figure or Form, 
 But horrible Tartarus ruled in the storm. 
 At length, in the dreary chaotical closet 
 Of Erebus old, was a privy deposit, 
 By Night the primeval in secrecy laid ; 
 A mystical egg, that in silence and shade 
 Was brooded and hatch'd ; till time came 
 
 about : 
 And Love, the delightful, in glory flew out. 
 In rapture and light, exulting and bright. 
 Sparkling and florid, with stars on his forehead. 
 His forehead and hair, and a flutter and flare. 
 As he rose in the air, triumphantly furnish'd. 
 To range his dominions, on glittering pinions, 
 And golden and azure, and blooming and bur- 
 nish'd. 
 He soon in the murky Tartarean recesses, 
 With a hurricane's might, in his fiery caresses, 
 Impregnated Chaos; and hastily snatch'd 
 To being and life, begotten and hatch'd. 
 The primitive Birds: But the Deities all. 
 The celestial Lights, the terrestrial Ball, 
 Were later of birth, with the dwellers on earth. 
 More tamely combin'd, of a temperate kind, 
 When chaotical mixture apjiroacli'd to a fixture. 
 Our antiquity prov'd ; it remains to be shown; 
 That Love is our author and master alone; 
 Like him we can ramble, and gambol, and fly 
 O'er ocean and earth, and aloft to the sky : 
 And all the world over we're fricmls to tlie 
 
 lover, 
 And wiien other means fail, we are found to 
 
 prevail, 
 When a peacock or pheasant is sent for a pre- 
 sent. 
 
 The City of the Clouds. 
 Enter a Messengeh out of breath, and speaking in 
 sitort snatches. 
 Mess. Where is he? where? where is he? 
 where? where is he? 
 The president Peislhetiirus ? 
 
 Peis. {^coolly.) Here am I. 
 
 Mess. Your Ibrtification's finish'd. 
 Peis. Well! That's well. 
 
 Mess. A most amazing, astonishing work it is! 
 So that Theagines and Proxenides 
 JMight flourish, and gasconade, and prance away, 
 Quite at their ease, both of them four in hand, 
 Driving abreast upon the breadth of the wall. 
 Each in his own new chariot. 
 
 Peis. You surprise me. 
 
 Mess. And the height (for I made measure- 
 ment myself) 
 Is just a hundred fathom. 
 
 Peis. Heaven and earth ! 
 
 How could it be? Such a mass! Who could 
 have built it? 
 Mess. The Birds ; no creatures else, no fo- 
 reigners, 
 Egyptian workmen, bricklayers, or masons. 
 But they themselves alone, by their own elforts, 
 (Even to my surprise, as an eye-witness.) — 
 The Birds, I say, completed every thing. 
 
 There came a body of thirty thousand cranes, 
 (I wont be positive, there might be more,) 
 With stones from Africa, in their craws and 
 
 gizzards. 
 Which the stone-curlews and stone-chatterers 
 Work'd into shape and finish'd. The sand- 
 martins. 
 And mud-larks, too, were busy in their depart- 
 ment. 
 Mixing the mortar, while the water-birds. 
 As fast as it was wanted, brought the water 
 To temper and work it. 
 
 Peis. (in afid<;et.^ But who serv'd the masons? 
 •Whom did you get to carry it? 
 
 Mess. To carry it? 
 
 Of course, the carrion-crows and carrier-]) igcons. 
 
 FROM THE FROGS. 
 
 [Acted 412 B. C] 
 
 This play treats of the decline of tlie tragic 
 art. Euripides was dead, so were Sophocles and 
 Agatlion ; and none but second-rate tragedians 
 remained. Bacchus, missing Euripides, goes, 
 disguised as Hercules, to fctidi him back from 
 the infernal world. He and Xanihias row tli'^in- 
 selves across the Acherusian lake, where tiiey 
 are greeted by the frogs with their mclolious 
 crt)ak. In the mc^antime a contest having ari.-'en 
 between ^schylus and Euripides for the tragic 
 throne of the lower world, Pluto proposes that 
 Bacchus should decide the cause. The two 
 poets, accordingly, stand forward and submit to 
 liitu specimens of their art. They sing, they de- 
 claim against each other, in verses characteri.^iic 
 of the peculiar style of eadi. At length llu.-.chus 
 becomes a convert to iEschylus, who returns 
 
1 
 
 176 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 with him to tl»o living worhl, leaving the tragic 
 throiu" of the lower one to be occupied by tso- 
 phocles. 
 
 Scene. — The Jlcherusian Lake. 
 
 Bacchus and Xanthias in Charon's boat — Cho- 
 
 nus OF Frogs. 
 
 Frogs. Brclce-k("sli, br6ke-kesh, 
 
 Kijonsh, kooash. 
 Bac. O the Frogs, consume and rot 'em, 
 
 I've a blister on my bottom. 
 
 Hold your tongues, you tuneful creatures. 
 Frogs. Cease with your profane entreaties. 
 
 All in vain for ever stirring; 
 
 Silence is against our natures. 
 
 With the vernal heat reviving, 
 
 Our aquatic crew repair 
 
 From their periodic sleep 
 
 In the dark and chilly deep. 
 
 To the cheerful upper air ; 
 
 Then we frolic here and there, 
 
 All amidst the meadows fair; 
 
 Shady plants of asphodel 
 
 Are the lodges where we dwell ; 
 
 Chaunting in the leafy bowers 
 
 All the livelong summer hours, 
 
 Till the sudden gusty showers 
 
 Send us headlong, helter skelter. 
 
 To the pool, to seek for shelter ; 
 
 Meagre, eager, leajjing, lunging. 
 
 From the sedgy wharfage plunging 
 
 To the tranquil depth below, 
 
 There we muster all a-row ; 
 
 Where, secure from toil and trouble. 
 
 With a tuneful bubble-bubble. 
 
 Our symphonious accents flow. 
 
 Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 JBac. I forbid you to proceed. 
 F7'ogs. That would be severe indeed. 
 
 Arbitrary, bold, and rash, 
 
 Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 Bac. I command you to desist — 
 
 my back, there ! Oh my wrist ! 
 What a twist ! 
 What a sprain ! 
 Frogs. Once again — 
 
 We renew the tuneful strain. 
 
 Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 Bac. I disdain — (hang the pain) — 
 
 All your nonsense, noise, and trash. 
 
 Oh my blister ! — oh my sprain ! 
 Frogs. Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 
 Friends and frogs, we must display 
 
 All our powers of voice to-day ; 
 
 Suffer not this stranger here. 
 
 With fastidious, foreign ear. 
 
 To confound us and abash. 
 
 Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 Bac. Well, my spirit is not broke, 
 
 If it's only for a joke, 
 
 I'll outdo you with a croak. 
 
 Here it goes, " Koash, koash." 
 Frogs. Now for a glorious croaking crash, 
 
 Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 Bac. Ill disperse you with a splash. 
 Frogs. Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 
 Bac. I'll subdue 
 
 Your rebellious noisy crew. 
 
 — Have amongst you there, slap-dash. 
 Frogs. Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash. 
 
 We defy your oar and you. 
 
 Scene. — The shore of Hades. 
 Bacchus, Xanthias, and Chorus of the Ix- 
 
 ITIATED. 
 
 Bac. (Jo the Chorus.^ 
 
 Prithy, my good fellows, 
 Would you please to tell us, 
 
 Which is Pluto's door? 
 I'm an utter stranger. 
 Never here before. 
 Ch. Friend, you're out of danger. 
 You need not seek it far; 
 There it stands before ye, 
 Before ye, where you are. 
 Bac. Take up your bundles, Xanthias. 
 Xant. Hang all bundles. 
 
 [Exeunt Bacchus and Xanthias. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Now we go to dance and sing 
 
 In the consecrated shades ; 
 Round the secret, holy ring, 
 
 With the matrons and the maids. 
 Hither I must haste to bring 
 
 The mysterious early light. 
 
 Which must witness every rito 
 
 Of the joyous happy night. 
 
 Semichorus. 
 
 Let ns hasten, let us fly, 
 Where the lovely meadows lie ; 
 Where the living waters flow. 
 Where the roses bloom and blow. 
 Heirs of immortality. 
 Segregated, safe, and pure. 
 Easy, sorrow I ess, secure, 
 Since our earthly course is run 
 We behold a brighter sun, 
 Ho!y lives — a holy vow- 
 Such rewards await us now. 
 
 FROM THE PARABASIS OF THE CHORUS. 
 
 Often times have I reflected no a similar abuse 
 
 In the choice of men for office, and of coins for 
 common use. 
 
 For your old and standard pieces, valued and 
 approved, and tried, 
 
 Here among the Grecian nations, and in all the 
 world beside, 
 
 Recognis'd in every realm for trusty stamp and 
 pure assay, 
 
 Are rejected and abandon'd for the trash of yes- 
 terday, — 
 
 For a vile, adulterate issue, drossy, counterfeit 
 and base. 
 
 Which the traflic of the city passes current in 
 their place ! 
 
 ^nd the men that stood for office., noted for acknoiv- 
 ledg'A worth, 
 
 And for manly deeds of honour, and for honour- 
 able birth, 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 177 
 
 Train'd in exercise and art, in sacred dances and 
 
 in soiif;, 
 All are ousted and supplanted by a base, ignoble 
 
 throng, 
 Paltry stamp and vulgar mettle raise tliein to 
 
 command and place; 
 Brazen counterfeit pretenders, scoundrels of a 
 
 scoundrel race ; 
 Whom the state in former ages scarce would 
 
 have allowed to stand 
 At the sacrifice of outcasts, as the scape-goats of 
 
 the land, 
 — Time it is, — and long has been, — renouncing 
 
 all your follies past, 
 To recur to sterling merit, and intrinsic worth at 
 
 last; 
 If we rise, we rise with honour, if we fall, it 
 
 must be so. — 
 
 CHORAL PRKLUDK TO THE C05VTEST BETWEEN ^S- 
 
 CUrLUS AND EURIPIDES FOR THE THRONE OF 
 
 TRASEDT. 
 
 The fuU-momh'd master of the tragic quire, 
 We shall behold him foam with rage and ire ; 
 Confronting in the list 
 
 His eager, shrewd, sharp-tooth'd antagonist. 
 Then will his visual orbs be wildly wliirl'd, 
 And huge invectives will be hurl'd. 
 Superb and supercilious. 
 Atrocious, atrabilious. 
 With furious gesture and with lips of foam. 
 And lion-crest, unconscious of the comb. 
 Erect with rage; — his brows impending gloom, 
 O'ershadowing his dark eyes' terrific blaze. 
 The opponent, dexterous and wary, 
 Will fend and parry : 
 While masses of conglomerated phrase, 
 
 Enormous, ponderous, and pedantic, 
 
 With indignation frantic, 
 
 And strength and force gigantic, 
 Are desperately sped 
 At his devoted head. — 
 
 Then, in different style. 
 
 The touchstone and the file, 
 
 And subtleties of art 
 
 In turn will play their part; 
 
 Analysis and rule. 
 
 And every modern tool, 
 
 With critic scratch and scribble. 
 
 And nice invidious nibble ; 
 
 Contending for the imjiortant choice; 
 
 A vast expenditure of human voice. 
 
 PLUTUS, THE GOD OF RICHES. 
 
 [Acted n. C. 408] 
 
 "A VERT pretty allegory, which is wrought 
 into a play by Aristophanes the Greek comedian. 
 It seems originally designed as a satire upon the 
 rich, though, in some parts of it, it is a kind of 
 comparison between wealth and poverty.". . . . 
 
 " This allegory instructed the Athenians in two 
 points ; first, as it vindicated the conduct of Pro- 
 23 
 
 vidence in its ordinary distributions of wealth ; 
 and, in the next place, as it showed the great 
 tendency of riches to corrupt the morals of those 
 who possess them." — Annisorr, Spec. No. 4G4. 
 
 DRAMATIS person;!?. 
 
 Chremylus. 
 
 Cariojt, his Slave, 
 
 Plutcs. 
 
 Chorus of Husbandmen. 
 
 Blepsidemus. 
 
 Poverty. 
 
 The Wife of Chremtlus. 
 
 A Goon Man. 
 An Informer. 
 Ax Old Woman. 
 A Youth. 
 Hermes. 
 Priest of Jove. 
 
 Scene — Athens and the Neighbourhood. 
 
 A Street in Athens. 
 
 Chremtlus and Carion following Plutus, 
 
 who is blind. 
 Carion. How hard a hap, Jove, and all ye 
 gods. 
 Bondman to be of a half-witted master! 
 For let the slave give counsel e'er so precious, 
 An' please it not his lord to take it — mark me, 
 Your slave perforce shall have his share of — 
 
 basting : 
 Since of his carcass not the owner, but. 
 By Fortune's grace, the buyer has disposal. 
 Well, — let it pass! But Delphi's obscure god. 
 Who from the golden tripod, where he haunts, 
 Breathes verse oracular, of right I charge, 
 That being leech, and seer, they say, and sage, 
 Bile-mad he's sent my master from him. Lo! 
 He dogs a blind man's heels — a blind old beg- 
 gar's — 
 
 huge reverse of what beseems ! 'Tis we, 
 We that have eyes should lead the eyeless — but 
 He goes behind, and me to boot compels — 
 And all for one says not so much as — lx)h ! 
 Now then I'll hold no longer : — master mine, 
 Why, in the name of wonder, tell me, why 
 We follow thus, or I will plague thee rarely. 
 Beat me thou durst not, while I wear the laurel.* 
 
 Chrem. No! But I'll dotf thy laurel, an' thou 
 tease me. 
 So shalt thou smart the more. 
 
 Car. Pooh, pooh ! I rest not 
 
 Till thou reveal me who this knave may be. 
 Of kindness 'tis I ask it — all of kindness. 
 
 Chrem. Well, thou shalt hear; for of my house- 
 hold slaves 
 
 1 rate thee, after all, the truest — rascal. 
 
 I — the good man and pious that thou know'st 
 me — 
 
 Still poor have been, and bare of means. 
 
 Car. No doubt on't! 
 
 Chrem. All else were rich — church-robbers, 
 orators. 
 
 Informers, reprobates- 
 Car. Ill take thy word for't. 
 Chrem. So to the god I went a-rinestioning. 
 
 Not for my miserable self — I thought 
 
 * The insignia of a sacro-sanct messenger returning 
 from llie oracle. 
 
178 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 My days already spent, my quiver empty — 
 But for my son and sole inheritor, 
 To ask if he should mend his ways — 
 Should turn dare-devil, common cheat, mere 
 
 vilcness. 
 Since such, methought, was now the road to 
 riches. 
 
 Car. And what did Phoebus from his chaplets 
 — ^Ijounce 1 
 
 Chrem. Attend. Distinctly thus the god gave 
 answer : 
 Whom on my exit first I should encounter, 
 From him he bade me part no more, but win 
 
 him 
 To make his home with me. 
 
 Car. And, prithee, whom 
 
 Was it thy luck to light on ? 
 
 Chrem. This man here. 
 
 Car. What then — O numskull! — what! thou 
 apprehend'st not 
 Hisgodship's meaning! Why, he tells thee plainly, 
 Young Hopeful must adopt our country's fashions. 
 
 Chrem. How dost thou so conclude ? 
 
 Car. Conclude! Why, Phoebus, 
 
 Thinks even the blind can see how passing 
 
 good 
 It is to play the thorough rogue in these times. 
 
 Chrem. Impossible ! It cannot be the oracle 
 Should point at this, but something loftier. Now, 
 Would but our man give token of his quality, 
 And why he came with us, and what in quest of. 
 We'd riddle the response I warrant thee ! 
 
 Car. Come then, be smart! your name at once, 
 old gentleman — 
 Or else you know what follows. Come, out 
 with it. 
 
 Pint. I tell thee — go be hang'd ! 
 
 Car. D'ye understand, sir ? 
 
 What name was that? 
 
 Chrem. To thee, not me, he says it : 
 
 Since doltishly and rudely thou dost question 
 
 him. — 
 But — if a gentletnan's address delight thee— 
 To me make known — 
 
 Plut. Go hang thyself for company! 
 
 Car. There, sir, take man and omen too, and 
 welcome ! 
 
 Chrem. How now 1 
 Now, by great Ceres, thou shalt 'scape no longer. 
 Speak, dog, or doglike I will use thee — speak — 
 
 Plut. Be off, my friends — both one and t'other. 
 
 Chrem. Oil! 
 
 A likely tale ! 
 
 Car. Well, I declare, good master. 
 
 My plan's the best, and to his cost he'll find so. 
 I'll set him on a certain crag, and — leave him. 
 Away go I — down he — his neck — 
 
 Chrem. Up with liim ! 
 
 Despatch ! 
 
 Plut. O mercy, mercy ! 
 
 Chrem. Won't you speak, then? 
 
 Plut. But should ye learn whom ye have hold 
 of— ah ! 
 Ye'll work me harm — ye'll never let me go. 
 
 Chrem. Nay, by the gods we will though — if 
 thou ask it. 
 
 Phit. First, then, unhand me. 
 Chrem. See! thou art unhanded. 
 
 Plut. Now, ope your ears and hear! For, will 
 I niU I, 
 Declare I must, it seems, what I was minded 
 To hide for aye. I am — yes — I am — Plutus. 
 Chrem. Plutus — O villain ! Plutus, and con- 
 ceal it ! 
 Car. You Plutus! — ^)'0u ! — in such a beggar's 
 
 pickle ! 
 Chrem. O Pha^bus ! Apollo ! Gods and de- 
 mons ! 
 Jove ! What say'st thou ? He himself? 
 
 Plut. E'en so. 
 
 Chrem. His very self? 
 Plut. His self of selves. 
 
 Chrem. Whence, then, 
 
 So filthy com'st thou? 
 
 Plut. From Patrocles's,* 
 
 Who ne'er, since his first birth-day, washed him- 
 self 
 Chrem. But this misfortune — how befell it? — 
 
 speak ! 
 Plut. Jove dealt the blow in envy to man- 
 kind. 
 For I, a stripling yet, would oft-times threaten 
 That to the good, and wise, and chaste alone. 
 My steps should bend ; and so with stroke of 
 
 blindness 
 Jove seal'd my sight, that it should not discern 
 
 them. 
 Such malice doth he bear to virtuous men ! 
 Chrem. And yet, but for the virtuous and the 
 just, 
 Where were this Jove ? 
 
 Plut. I grant it. 
 
 Chrem. Go to now— 
 
 Mightst thou once more have all thine eyes about 
 
 thee, 
 Wouldst henceforth shun the bad ? 
 
 Plut. For ever shun them. 
 
 Chrem. And to the good resort? 
 Plut. None else, I promise thee. 
 
 I've seen them not, this many a year. 
 
 Chrem. No wonder ! 
 
 Nor I, whose eyes were open. 
 
 Plut. Now let me pass, ye know my story. 
 Chrem. Pass ! 
 
 Not we, by Jove, we'll stick the closer to thee. 
 Plut. There, there, I warn'd thee. Said I not 
 'twas sure 
 Ye'd work me harm ? 
 
 Chrem. Nay, nay, be thou entreated ! 
 
 Desert me not. Search where thou pleasest — 
 Long as thou wilt — thou'lt find no better man. 
 By Jupiter I stand alone— none like me! 
 
 Plut. So say they all — l)ut let them only once 
 Lay hold on me and fill their money-bags, 
 They change their note, and beat the world for 
 viUany. 
 Chrem. 'Tis true — too true — ^yet all are not so 
 
 graceless. 
 Plut. Not all — but one and all. 
 Car. The saucy varlct! 
 
 ♦ A rich niggard who adopted Spartan manners. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 179 
 
 Chrcm. But for thyself — just to make plain what 
 good 
 Awaits thy tarrying here — a moment's patience — 
 I look — I look — with heaven's assistance, mark 
 
 ine, 
 To make thee rid of this infirmity, 
 And give thee back thine cye-siglit. 
 
 Plut. Praj') excuse me ; 
 
 Not for the world. 
 
 Chrcm. How's that? 
 
 Car. By very nature 
 
 This fellow was just made for kicks and cutis! 
 Plut. Jove — well I know — did he but hear 
 their matlness, 
 Would grind me into powder. 
 
 Chrem. What does he now, 
 
 That lets thee grope and stumble up and down? 
 
 PtiU. I know not — but most mortally I fear 
 
 him. 
 Chrem. Is't possible? O lily-livered thing, 
 Scum of celestial spirits, think st thou Jove, 
 His empire and his thunders, worth three obols, 
 Hadst thou a moments space thine eyes again? 
 Plut. Avaunt, blasphemer, rave not thus ! 
 Chrcm. Be easy ! 
 
 I will demonstrate thee more mighty far 
 Than Jove. 
 
 Plut. Me thou demonstrate ! 
 
 Chrem. • Yes, by heavens ! 
 
 For, look you now, through whom hath Jove the 
 croNvn ? 
 Car. Through — money ; 'cause his purse is 
 
 longest. 
 Chrcm. Well : 
 
 And where gets Jove the money? 
 
 Car. From our friend here. 
 
 Chrem. Through whom do altars blaze ? Is't 
 
 not through Plutus ? 
 Car. Lord, sir, they make no secret on't in 
 
 praying. 
 Chrem. Then is not he the cause ? And could 
 he fail 
 Lightly to end it, were he minded so? 
 Plut. As how ? 
 
 Chrcm. Because no mortal more would offer 
 Nor ox, nor cake — not they — nor earthly thing, 
 Thou not consenting. 
 
 Plut. How ? 
 
 Chrem. Still how? How could they? 
 
 How will they buy, forsooth, if you're not there 
 
 To tell the money down? So, were Jove restive. 
 
 His power you'll soon extinguish — .-ingle-handed. 
 
 Plut. Say St thou through me they worship 
 
 him? 
 Chrem. Through thee : 
 
 And, by Jove"s self, if aught of bright or I'air 
 Or lovely bless mankind, through then it flows. 
 The world, and all therein, bow down to riches. 
 
 Car. 1 — I MYSELF — for a little paltry coin 
 Am servitor: — 'tis all for want of richi-s. 
 
 ( hrcm. Then there's the dames of Corinth, as 
 they say. 
 If a i)Oor suitor try to tempt thcni — 
 'i hey turn him a deaf car — but let a rich one, 
 And straight to him they turn — whate'er he 
 pleases. 
 
 Car. Yes; and our youths, they say, will do as 
 much 
 For love — not of the lovers but their purses. 
 
 Chrem. Fye I not our gentle youths : — our base 
 ones may. 
 No money do the gentle ask. 
 .Car. What then? 
 
 Chrem. One — a good horse ; and one — a pack 
 to hunt with. 
 
 Car. Ay, that's their modesty ! — Blushing to 
 ask outright 
 For gold, what pretty names they salve it o'er 
 with ! 
 
 Chrem. All arts, all crafts, all man's inventions 
 Are born of thee. One sets him d(?wn 
 And shapes me certain gear of leather ; one 
 The anvil plies; and one the joiner's tools; 
 One casts the gold he has of thee ; another 
 Cleans clothes ; another — steals them ; bent on 
 
 thee 
 The burglar breaks stone walls ; one washes 
 
 hides ; 
 One tans, and one cries leeks ; for lack of thee 
 The trapp'd adulterer feels a husband's ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Plut. Wretch that I was — all this escap'd me ! 
 
 Car. What ! 
 
 Is't not through him the great king plumes himself? 
 Through him the Assembly holds its sessions? 
 
 What ! 
 Dost thou not man our galleys? Tell me that. 
 At Corinth feeds not he our noble — hirelings? 
 And shall not Pamphilus for him be trounc'd ? 
 And Belonopoles too with Pamphilus? 
 1st not through him Agyrrhius vents his wind, 
 Philei)sius his — stories? Was it not 
 Through him we sent the swart Egyptians suc- 
 cour ? 
 For what but him does Lais love Philonides? 
 Timotheus' tower* 
 
 Chrem. Crush diee, eternal prater ! 
 
 But O, my Plutus, what is not thy doing? 
 For thou most only universal cause 
 Of good and evil art, be sure. 
 
 Car. In war 
 
 That party ever wins, whose sinking scale 
 This gentleman is pleas'd to perch on. 
 
 Plut. I '• 
 
 Poor I — unbacked — do all these thing? ye speak of? 
 
 Chrem. Yes, and, by Jupiter, ten thousand more : 
 So that no living wight had e'er his fill 
 Of thee. Of all besides there may be surfeit: 
 Of love. 
 
 Car. Of loaves, 
 
 Chrem. Of song ; 
 
 Car. Of sugar-comfits ; 
 
 Chrem. Of honour, 
 
 Car. Cheese-cakes, 
 
 Chrem. Martial glory, 
 
 Car. Figs ; 
 
 Chrem. Ambition, 
 
 Car. Flummery, 
 
 Chrem. Command, 
 
 * The rick Tiinollicus had built himself a splendid 
 castle. Out C'jrluii is interrupted when about to say so. 
 
180 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Car. Pease-porridge. 
 
 Chrem. But tliee ! No mortal e'er was sated 
 of thee. 
 Say he has tliirteen talents, 
 
 Three, three to boot he craves, he pines to grapple : 
 That total rounded, lo ! his mark is forty — 
 Or life, he swears, no more is worth the living. 
 
 Pint. Ye talk it well at least, methinks ; — 
 One thing yet gives me jiause. 
 
 Chrem. Announce it. 
 
 riut. How 
 
 Of all this power ye say I have, I e'er 
 Shall lord and master be 1 
 
 Chrem. By Jove thou shalt : 
 
 And yet all say — as thou hast said — that Plutus 
 Is cowardliest of creatures. 
 
 Plut. Slander, slander! 
 
 A burglar's calumny! He stole one day, 
 And could not — stole into the house, ye mark 
 
 me — 
 And could not steal — aught out of it — all fast ! 
 And so he called my caution cowardice. 
 
 Chrem. Vex not thyself about it ; be 
 But bold and zealous for thine own behoof, 
 I'll make thee see more sharp than Lynceus. 
 
 Plut. And how shalt thou — a mortal — so pre- 
 vail? 
 
 Chrem. Tut, man, there's hope — such utterance 
 Phcebus gave 
 While Delphian laurels shook to hear him. 
 
 Plut. Phoebus ! 
 
 Thou canst not mean that Phoebus knows it ? 
 
 Chrem. Yea. 
 
 Plut. Beware ! 
 
 Chrem. Waste thou no thought upon it, friend ! 
 For I, be certain sure, although I die fort. 
 Myself will bear thee through. 
 
 Car. With me to help thee — 
 
 Chrem. And many a prompt ally — good souls, 
 whose goodness 
 Could never keep their pots a-boiling. 
 
 Plut. Pshaw ! 
 
 Sorry confederates ! 
 
 Chrem. Not if they get their pockets lined 
 afresh — 
 But you there — haste, skip, vanish ! 
 
 Car. Speak your errand. 
 
 Chrem. Summon our fellow-husbandmen, per- 
 chance 
 A-field you'll find them, sweating at their tasks. 
 That hurrying hither, each may have his due 
 With us in just partition of this Plutus. 
 
 Car. I'm gone — but soft — this little steak of 
 mine* — 
 Within there — some one give it safe conveyance. 
 
 Chrem. Trust me that; away! [£rii Carion. 
 But O, great Plutus, mightiest of deities, 
 Do thou pass in with me. Behold the house. 
 The which thou must, ere time be a day older, 
 Cram full of wealth — by fair means or by foul 
 ones. 
 
 Plut. Now, by the powers above, I am ever 
 loath 
 To tread a stranger's floor, exceeding loath : 
 
 * A portion brought from the sacrifice at Delphi. 
 
 Ne'er yet to me did good come of it. 
 
 For say I made .some thrifty soul my host. 
 
 Straight under ground he earth'd me, fathom-deep ; 
 
 Then came a friend, an honest, worthy friend, 
 
 Seeking some petty pelting coin to borrow, 
 
 — on his oath he never saw my face ! 
 
 Or did I share some brain-sick spendthrift's 
 
 quarters. 
 To dice and harlots thrown, out of his doors 
 Stark-naked was I kick'd in less than no time. 
 
 Chrem. Ay, for as yet 
 Thou ne'er hast tried one reasonable man. 
 But I — I know not how — a way of mine — 
 Have ever had this turn. In saving, none 
 Shall e'er out-save me; nor out-spend in spending 
 At seasons meet. But in — I long to show thee 
 To my good wife, and only son, whom dearest 
 I cherish — after thee. 
 
 Plut. I do believe thee. 
 
 Chrem. For why with thee dissemble. [Exeimt. 
 
 The Open Country. 
 
 Cahion, Chorus of Husbandmen. 
 
 Car. O ye that here for many a year, 
 
 our trusty friends and neighbours, 
 Have had your share of master's fare — 
 leek-broth and country labours. 
 Come stir your stumps and scour along — 
 
 no time for shilly-shally — 
 But now's the very nick of time 
 to make with us a rally. 
 Ch. And dost not see how^ eagerly 
 
 we tramp it and we trudge it. 
 As fast as poor old fellows, sure, 
 
 with tottering knees can budge it? 
 But bless my heart, you'd have me start 
 to race with thee — unknowing 
 For what, forsooth, this master rare 
 of thine has set me going! 
 Car. And don't I roar, this hour and more? 
 "Tis thou art hard of hearing — 
 How master says that better days 
 
 for all of you appearing — 
 Cold hearths shall turn to fires that burn, 
 and churlish times to cheering? 
 Ch. What's this you tell — and how befell 
 
 the burden of your story? 
 Car. Why, master's come, and brings us home 
 a lodger — old and hoary : 
 He's bent and bow'd ; he's scar'd and cow'dj 
 
 he's toothless, foul, and tatter'd. 
 And scarce, I trow, the parts below 
 
 are left him quite unbatter'd. 
 Ch. Thou glad'st my ear! once more to hear 
 this golden new^s it itches : 
 Our neighbour then's at home again, 
 and brings a heap of riches. 
 Car. A heap of — woes that age bestows, 
 
 sore bones and empty breeches. 
 Ch. And think 'st thou so to come and go — 
 to mock me and to flout me 
 Unscath'd, while I a staff can ply, 
 and lay it well about me? 
 Car. And think ye me a rogue to be 
 so false and eke so graceless. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 181 
 
 That every word my lips have pour'd, 
 iTiupt rotten be and baseless? 
 Ch. O curse the knave, how sour and grave ! — 
 but hark, tliy shins are bawling 
 HalJoo, halloo! — and stocks and cliains 
 
 is that for wliich tliey're calling. 
 Car. Thy lot's* decreed — in burial-weed 
 must thine awards be spoken: 
 What! still withstand! when Charon's hand 
 is holding out thy token? 
 Ch. O burst thy skin, thou devil's kin! 
 so apt to cheat and scold, sir, 
 To flout me and to scout me, and 
 
 to leave it still untold, sir, 
 For what this summons-sending lord 
 
 of thine has made so bold, sir ; 
 Yet hasten we, though labour-spent and 
 
 loath to lose a minute^ 
 And reckless tread o'er many a bed 
 with dainty onions in it! 
 Car. The glorious tale no more I'll veil : — 
 'tis Plutus' self we hold, boys, 
 In master's train he troops amain, 
 
 to glut us all with gold, boys ! 
 Ch. What ! one and all such luck befall ! — 
 
 to turn to peace and plenty 1 
 Car. An if ye please, to Midases: — 
 
 if asses' ears content ye. 
 Ch. How glad I atri, and luad I am, 
 and keen I am for dancing it! 
 Such news as this, if true it is, 
 
 ^vill set our feet a-prancing it. 
 Car. Then on, my boys, I'll siiare your joys — 
 sing derry, hey down derry — 
 With Cyclop's-step,t with rub-a-dub, 
 
 I'll caper it so merry ! 
 So whisk it, frisk it, jolly flock, 
 
 with bleatings shake the air, 0! 
 And sound the lambkin's, kidling's strain. 
 Till startled echo baa again. 
 And cock your tails like frisking goats, and goat- 
 like ye shall fare, O ! 
 • • » » » » » 
 
 Before the house oy Chremtltjs. 
 • Chremtlus, CHoncs. 
 
 Chrem. See then ye still stand by me : show 
 yourselves 
 True patrons and preservers of the god. 
 
 Ch. Fear not: I'll wear 
 Such looks — thou'lt think a very Mars beside thee. 
 'Twere strange were we, who for three obols 
 
 push 
 And jostle i' th' assembly — were we to let 
 The actual monet-coii be wrested from us! 
 Chrcm. "Tis he — 111 swear to it — 'tis Blepsi- 
 demus 
 That comes towards us. Ay, he has got some wind 
 Of our affair, his pace bewrays it. 
 
 ♦The judges, or jiirymen (dicasls.) at Athens, were 
 distributed anions the several courts by iof, and received 
 a staff as the token of Iheir office. 
 
 i So was named a dance which set forth the love of 
 Polyphemus for the sea-nymph Galatea. Our "derry, 
 hey down derry," is substituted for she similar "thretla- 
 nello" of the original. 
 
 Enter Blepsid'emus (^soliloquizing.) 
 Bleps. Did they say Chromylus ! 
 How can it be — whence — by what contrivance- 
 Has he grown rich at once? I'll not Vjelieve it. 
 Yet thus at least says rumour : — so help me, Her- 
 cules, 
 There's not a barber's shop but has the story, 
 That all at once the fellow's rich. Again 
 'Tis strange — "tis passing strange — that in the 
 
 moment 
 Of luck he begs his friends to visit him— 
 That's not the mode with us! 
 
 Chrem. Out it shall come, by heavens! Yes, 
 
 Blepsidemus, 
 
 Things go more smooth to-day than yesterday — 
 
 And thou shalt share; — we hold thee one of us. 
 
 Bleps. Nay but — ist true? Art really, truly 
 
 rich ? 
 Chrem. Shall be, at least — right suddenly — God 
 willing. 
 There is — there is soine — danger in the business. 
 Bleps. What kind ? 
 Chrem. Why such as^ 
 
 Bleps. Quick, whate'er you say. 
 
 Chrem. Such as — with luck — makes men of us 
 for ever. 
 But, should we fail, 'tis utter ruination. 
 
 Bleps. Ha! * 
 
 It has an ugly air — this load upon thee — 
 It likes me not; for thus, too hurriedly 
 To wax so over-rich — and then to tremble — 
 Looks something else than honest. 
 
 Chrem. Else than honest! 
 
 Bleps. Suppose, now — just suppose — thou com'st 
 from yonder. 
 With gold or silver froin the sacred treasure 
 Which thou hast — filch'd ; and perad venture now 
 Repenting — 
 
 Chrem. Phrebus shield me! no, by Jupiter! 
 Bleps. No nonsense, friend ! I know the whole. 
 Chrem. Suspect not 
 
 Of wte such deed as this. 
 
 Bleps. Alas, alas ! 
 
 That honesty should clean forgotten be, 
 And all be slaves of greed and gain ! 
 
 Chrem. By Ceres, 
 
 Thine upper story seems a little damag'd. 
 
 Bleps. How chang'd a man from all his whilom 
 
 ways ! 
 Chrem. Stark mad — by heaven above ! — the 
 
 fellow foams. 
 Bleps. His very eye unfixed ! — See how it 
 wanders ! 
 Sure mark of guilt! 
 
 Chrem. Croak on, I understand thee ; 
 
 Thou deem'st me thief, and fiiin wouldst be par- 
 taker ? 
 Bleps. Partaker would I be? Of tr/irt^ partaker ? 
 Chrem. It is not as thou deem'st, but — 
 Bleps. What? Hast not filched but — forced? 
 Chrem. The devil's in thee. 
 
 Bleps. A breach of trust then? 
 Chrem. No. 
 
 Bleps. O Hercules ! 
 
 Where must one turn one's self ^ No truth from 
 thee! 
 
182 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Chrem. You charge at random, ere you learn 
 my story. 
 
 BUps. Come friend, I'm ready, for a very trifle 
 To compromise this case before "lis public. 
 Stopping the pleaders' mouths with certain — 
 pieces. 
 
 Chrem. Yes ! like a kind — good friend — ^you'll 
 undertake 
 To spend three minne and charge me — a dozen. 
 
 Blcps. I see — I see — one to the Bema* wending, 
 Suppliant to sit with customary bough — 
 His wife, his children near; — no eye shall know 
 
 them 
 From the Heraclidae drawn by Pamphilus.1 
 
 Chrem. Not so, thou sorry devil, but the worthy — 
 None else — shrewd fellows — wise and sober 
 
 fellows — 
 Will I make full of riches. 
 
 Bleps. What ? 
 
 Has stol'n so monstrous much ? 
 
 Chrem. Beshrew my heart ! 
 
 Thou wilt destroy — 
 
 Bleps. Thou wilt thyself destroy. 
 
 Chrem. Never ; for, hark ye, rogue — I've hold 
 of — Plutus. 
 
 Bleps. You — Plutus — you! What Plutus? 
 
 Chrem. t The divine one. 
 
 Bleps. And where ? 
 
 Chrem. Here. 
 
 Bleps. Where ? 
 
 Chrem. With me. 
 
 Bkps. With thee ? 
 
 Chrem. Precisely. 
 
 Bleps. 0, you be hanged ! Plutus with thee ? 
 
 Chrem. 1 swear it. 
 
 Bleps. Say'st true ? 
 
 Chrem. Most true ? 
 
 Bleps. By Vesta ? 
 
 Chrem. Yea, by Neptune. 
 
 Bleps. What? And not send him round to us 
 — thy friends ! 
 
 Chrem. Not yet are matters come to this. 
 
 Bleps. Not yet ! 
 
 Not come to sharing ? 
 
 Chrem. No : for first — 
 
 Bleps. What first ? 
 
 Chrem. We two must give back sight — 
 
 Bleps. Give sight ? To whom ? 
 
 Chrem. To Plutus — by some one device or other. 
 
 Bleps. So then, he's really blind ? 
 
 Chrem. He is, by heaven. 
 
 Bleps. No wonder that he never came to me ! 
 
 Chrem. But now — so please the gods — he'll 
 make amends. 
 
 Bleps. Come then — a leech ! a leech ! — shouldst 
 not have fetched one ' 
 
 Chrem. What leech has Athens now ? They're 
 gone together. 
 The art and its rewards — no fee no physic ! 
 
 Bleps. Let's see. 
 
 Chrem. There's none. 
 
 Bleps. Thou'rt right, i' faith. 
 
 * Here the tribunal ofjtistice. 
 
 t A picture of Alcmena and the children of Hercules as 
 suppiiants. 
 
 Chrem. Not one. 
 
 But listen, I was thinking 
 To lay him down at .^Esculapius' shrine. 
 That were the way — 
 
 Bleps. Far best, by all the powers ! 
 
 Away — delay not — something do, and quickly. 
 
 Chrem. I go. 
 
 Bleps. But haste! 
 
 Chrem. Why, I am hasting. 
 
 Enter Potertt. 
 Pov. Stop ! — 
 
 O ye hot bloods ! Ye moon-struck manikins ! 
 That dare such lawless, rash, and impious deed — 
 Where, where so fast? I charge ye stop — 
 Bleps. Hercules ! 
 
 Pov. Wretches, a wretched end I'll make of you. 
 Your venture — yes, your venture is a rare one, 
 Unbrook'd, unventured yet by god or mortal: 
 So that your doom is fix'd. 
 
 Chrem. And who art thou ? 
 
 Bleps. Perhaps some fury from the tragic 
 boards : 
 Truly her air's a little touch'd and tragic. 
 Chrem. But where's her torch ? 
 Bleps. No torch ! Then let her howl for't. 
 Pov. And whom suppose ye me? 
 Chrem. Some paltry hostess, 
 
 Or market wife mayhap : else would'st thou not 
 Have bawled so loud at us for nothing. 
 
 Pov. Nothing! 
 
 Have ye not done me deadliest injury. 
 Plotting from this whole land to banish me? 
 Chrem. Why, hast thou not the Barathrum* to 
 go to? 
 But — who thou art behoved thee answer — quick! 
 Pov. One that, this day, will ample vengeance 
 take 
 For striving thus to blot me from your city — 
 Bleps. Sure now 'tis just my neighbour, the old 
 tapstress, 
 That's always cheating with her half-pint mea- 
 sures. 
 Pov. One that for many a year with both has 
 
 mated — Potertt. 
 Bleps. King Apollo ! Gods of heaven ! 
 Where can one flee ? 
 
 Chrem. You there — what now ? Thou coward 
 reptile, thou — 
 Not stand thy ground ! 
 
 Bleps. Ne'er dream of it. 
 
 Chrem. Not stand ! 
 
 What we — two men — to run, and from a woman ! 
 Bleps. But she is Potertt, thou rogue, than 
 whom 
 No creature more pernicious e'er was gender'd. 
 Chrem. Stand, I beseech thee, stand. 
 Bleps. Not I, by Jupiter! 
 
 Chrem. What have we done, thou doom'd one ? 
 Wherefore com'st thou 
 Hither to rail, unwrong'd of us ? 
 
 Pov. Unvi'-rong'd ? 
 
 Patience, ye gods ! Unwrong'd ? Is't nothing, 
 think ye, 
 
 ♦ The execution pit of Athens. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 183 
 
 No wrong to me — essaying thus to give 
 Sight hack to Phitus? 
 
 Chrcm. Where's tlie ^vrollg to thee, 
 
 If" good we so achieve lor all niankitul '? 
 
 Pov. Tlie good — the iinghty good — that ye can 
 
 compass ? 
 Chrem. Imprimis, having thrust thee forth of 
 
 Greece — 
 Pov. Me forth of Greece 1 And O, what huger 
 mischief 
 Coidd your curst frenzy work the race of man? 
 Chrem. Wliy, if we purpos'd so, and slept 
 
 upon it. 
 Pov. Now, on this very point I first address me 
 To reckon with you : if I prove myself 
 Sole source of all your blessings ; that through me 
 Ye live and breathe : — if not, if I deceive you, 
 Do your joint pleasure on me. 
 
 Chrem. Loathliest hag, 
 
 Dar'st thou to teach such things? 
 
 Pov. Dare thou to learn them ! 
 
 Right readily I'll show thee all astray. 
 If 'tis the good thou think'st to endow with riches. 
 Bleps. Cudgels and collars, help me to requite 
 
 her! 
 Pov. No need to bawl and bluster ere thou 
 
 hear. 
 Bleps. And who'd not bawl and call ohon! ohon! 
 At words like these ? 
 
 Pov. Whoe'er has brains in noddle. 
 
 Chrem. Name then the damages — how much 
 to lay at — 
 If thou be cast. 
 
 Pov. At what thou pleasest. 
 
 Chrem. Good. 
 
 Pov. The same must ye disburse in t'other 
 
 issue. 
 Bleps. Dost think a score of — hangings — wore 
 
 enough ? 
 Chrem. For her : — for us a pair or so may serve. 
 Pov. About it then — away ! — or who hereafter 
 Shall law or justice plead? 
 
 Ch. Now clear your wit — the time is fit — 
 and deal her blow for blow, 
 In the contest keen of the wordy war, 
 no weakness must ye know. 
 Chrem. And plain it is to all I wis — 
 there's none will say me nay — 
 That virtue fair and honesty 
 
 should carry still the day, 
 And the rabble rout of godless inen 
 
 be worsted in the fray. 
 To compass aim, so worthy fame, 
 
 our bosoms long have glow'd, 
 And scarce at last have chanc'd upon 
 
 a right and royal road : 
 If Plutus sight be burnish'd bright, 
 
 and dark no more he rove. 
 Where the wise and pure his steps allure, 
 
 their mansions he will love; 
 And straight eschew the impious crew, 
 
 and of the righteous rear 
 A race around, with riches crown'd, 
 
 the holy gods to fear ; 
 And Where's the man for brother men 
 can better lot espy ? 
 
 . There's none can do't, I'm witness to't, 
 
 a fig for her reply! 
 Chrem. For mark as now the fates ordain 
 
 the life of man to run, 
 'Tis bedlam hurl'd upon the world — 
 
 'tis hell beneath the sun : 
 The base that gather'd gold by crime, 
 
 they flaunt in gallant trim, 
 The good, they spend with thee their time, 
 
 and pine with famine grim. 
 While sorrow brews their cup of tears, 
 
 and fills it to the brim. 
 Bleps. But Plutus once to sight restor'd, 
 
 and master of the field. 
 Then doubled see the joys of man, 
 
 and all his wrongs repeal'd ! 
 Pov. Ye dotard twain, whose addled brain 
 
 no law of reason rules. 
 Joint fellows in the maudlin band 
 
 of drivellers and fools ! 
 Had ye your silly hearts' desire, 
 
 what benefit to you, 
 Though Plutus saw and portioned fair 
 
 His heritage anew ? 
 For who -H^ould then of mortal men 
 
 to handicrafts apply. 
 Or cianber more his head with lore 
 
 of science stern and high? 
 And who would forge, or frame a wheel, 
 
 or stately vessel plan. 
 Or clout a shoe, or bake a tile, 
 
 or tailor it, or tan? 
 Or break with ploughs the face of earth 
 
 and reap the yellow grain. 
 When all in ease and idle mirth 
 
 might laugh at toil and pain ? 
 Chrem. Thou senseless jade, each toil and trade 
 
 thy tongue has rattled o'er. 
 Our servitors will take in hand 
 
 and labour as of yore. 
 Pov. And how obtain this servile train? 
 Chrem. For money. 
 Pov. Who will sell, 
 
 When rich himself with stores of pelf 1 
 
 Chrem. Dark Thessaly may tell : — 
 'Tis there the slaver's trade is rife, 
 
 that deals in human ware. 
 Pov. But who will lead the slaver's life, 
 
 the slaver's forfeit dare. 
 When, thanks to thee, his wealth is free, 
 
 and comes without a care? 
 So arm thee fast with spade and plough, 
 
 to dig, and drudge, and groan, 
 With burdien heavier far than now — 
 Chrem. The burthen be thine own! 
 Pov. Nor bed shall thou repose upon— 
 for bed there will not be, 
 Nor rug be wrought in coming times 
 
 of blest equality : — 
 Nor sprinkle oils of rich perfume 
 
 on happy bridal day ? 
 Nor broider'd work from ciuining loom 
 
 of thousand hues disi)lay ; 
 And Where's the good of golden store, 
 
 if these be reft away ? 
 
184 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 But all ye want 'tis mine to grant — 
 
 Chrem. That wasp-like waist by famine brac'd, 
 
 and lavish the supply — 
 
 thy nursing cares bestow ! 
 
 For mistress like 1 set me down 
 
 Pov. And virtue meek and modesty 
 
 the base mechanic by, 
 
 with me are fast allied, 
 
 And force for need and lack of bread 
 
 While the lawless hand and the ruthless brand 
 
 his daily task to try. 
 
 are seen on Plutus' side. 
 
 Chrem. What precious grant is thine to vaunt 
 
 Chrem. modest trick ! — a purse to pick, 
 
 but blisters on the skin 
 
 or neighbour's house invade. 
 
 From bagnio fires.* and starving brats, 
 
 Bleps. Most modest sure ! for modest worth 
 
 and scolding grannums' din? 
 
 has ever lov'd — the shade. 
 
 And the swarm of lice, and gnats, and fleas 
 
 Pov. Then mark your fiery orators, 
 
 what lips can never sum, 
 
 the people's honest friends. 
 
 That buzz about the torturd head 
 
 When poor they stand for their father-land, 
 
 with sleep-dispelling hum, 
 
 and patriotic ends ; 
 
 While " up and work, or lie and starve^' 
 
 But fatten'd once on civic jobs. 
 
 they trumpet as they come? 
 
 they plead another cause, 
 
 And rags for robes thou givest us ; 
 
 'Tis down %cith tumult-stirring mobs 
 
 and for the bed of down 
 
 and up unth gagging laws ! 
 
 A lair of rushes stuffed with — bugs, 
 
 Chrem. Thou hitt'st 'em fair, old beldame there — 
 
 to lie and — wake upon ; 
 
 all venom as thou art^ — 
 
 For carpet gay, a rotten mat ; 
 
 Yet plume not thou thyself, nor hope 
 
 for pillow under head. 
 
 unpunish'd to depart : 
 
 A thumping stone to prop the crown ; 
 
 Fine lesson this thou teachest! — 
 
 and mallow-shoots for bread, 
 
 not money makes the man — 
 
 dainty treat! — for barley-brose, 
 
 But poverty thou preachest — 
 
 the meagre cabbage leaves ; 
 
 Pov. Confute it, if you can! 
 
 And for a seat, a broken jar 
 
 In vain you flap and flutter — * 
 
 our weary weight receives; 
 
 Chrem. From yoti the hearer flees. 
 
 For bolting-trough a barrel-side. 
 
 Pov. Because the words I utter 
 
 with cracks to make it fine. 
 
 are virtue's homilies. 
 
 How rich and rare these blessings are ! — 
 
 So see the son his father shun. 
 
 and all the merit thine ! 
 
 who counsels him to good; 
 
 Pov. Thou gib"st not me — 'tis bkggart 
 
 For late and slow by man below 
 
 thou pommellest with scorn. 
 
 the right is understood. 
 
 Chrem. And deem'd we not thy sister come, 
 
 Chrem. Then Jove, it seems, unwisely deems 
 
 when beggary was born ? 
 
 and foolish things commends. 
 
 Pov. Yes — ye that Dionysius hold 
 
 For wealth besides himself he keeps — 
 
 of Thrasybulus strain: — t 
 
 Bleps. And her to us he sends. 
 
 But sunder'd still our lots have been, 
 
 Pov. Dull-sighted pair, whose minds are blear 
 
 and sunder"d shall remain. 
 
 with film of other times, 
 
 The beggar he— as drawn by thee — 
 
 Great Jove is poor — and proof full sure 
 
 that still on nothing lives ; 
 
 shall fortify iny rhymes: 
 
 The poor man's share is frugal care, 
 
 Behold when Greece together throngs 
 
 and all that labour gives, 
 
 each fifth revolving year, 
 
 A modest store — nor less nor more. 
 
 And in his own Olympic lists 
 
 than reason's choice allowed. 
 
 the combatants appear, 
 
 Chrem. rest his soul — the happy dole 
 
 A herald's breath — an olive wreath — 
 
 by Poverty avowd ! — 
 
 is all the victor's prize ; 
 
 To pinch and grieve, and toil and leave 
 
 Gold were the meed, had Jove indeed 
 
 no money for a shroud. 
 
 a treasure in the skies. 
 
 Pov. With your jesting and your jeering, 
 
 Chrem. 'Tis thus he proves how dear his cash, 
 
 and your fleering rail away^ 
 
 how close he keeps his gains. 
 
 Nor dream I boast a nobler host 
 
 He binds the victor's brow with trash, 
 
 than Plutus can array ! — 
 
 the money he retains. 
 
 Ay! nobler far in mood and make: — 
 
 Pov. Thy ribald tongue the fouler wrong 
 
 the gouty go to him. 
 
 than want uj^on him puts — 
 
 Huge tuns of men, with baggy guts. 
 
 That not for need but dirty greed 
 
 and dropsy-swollen limb ; 
 
 his money-bag he shuts. 
 
 To me the tight, the merry v asps, 
 
 Chrem. Jove strike thee down — but first a crown 
 
 the terrors of the foe. 
 
 of olive-twigs bestow ! 
 
 
 Pov. To dare disown from ine alone 
 
 ♦ A common resort of the poor in cold weather. See 
 
 all earthly blessings flow! 
 
 Defoe's Memoirs of Colonel Jack for a similar picture of 
 
 Chrem. Of Hecate ask the question — 
 
 a beggar's life in London in the olden times, 
 t i. e. those who confound Dionysius the Tyrant with 
 
 let her decision tell. 
 
 
 Thrasybulus the Patriot. 
 
 * Like an unfledged bird — unable to fly. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 185 
 
 If riches or if hunger 
 
 shouUl bear away the bell. 
 To her, she says, the jolly rich 
 
 a monthly feast* afloril, 
 But ere 'tis set the harpy poor 
 
 have swept it from the board. 
 But curse thee — rot ! No more upbraid us 
 
 With <;roan or sigh ; 
 Persuasion's self shall not persuade us. 
 Pov. " Town of Argos, hear his cry ! f" 
 
 Chran. On'PausonJ call, thy messmate true! 
 Pov. Unhappy-happy me ! 
 
 Cfircm. Go feed the crows that wait for you! 
 Pav. Ah whither, whither flee? 
 
 Chran. To whipping-post; nor linger more! — 
 
 Thy steps are slack. 
 Pov. Yet soon will ye my loss deplore. 
 And woo me, woo me back! 
 Chrem. Return thou then ! — now, ruin seize 
 thee — 
 Be mine the riches that displease thee — 
 And thou — go rave and roar to ease 
 thee ! [Exit Poverty. 
 
 Bleps. Wealth and wealthy joys for me ! 
 
 With wife and babes to revel free — 
 And sleek returning from the bath, 
 On handicraftsmen in my path 
 And poverty that lags behind 
 To break my jest and break my — wind! 
 Chrem. There — she is gone at last — the scurvy 
 jade ! 
 And now let me and thee at once lead off 
 Our god to bed in jEsculapius' temple. 
 
 Bleps. Ay, bustle, neighbour, bustle — sharp's 
 the word ! 
 Lest fresh disturbers mar our opening plot. 
 Chrem. What, Carion ! Slave, I say, — out with 
 the blankets ! 
 And Plutus' self bring forth, with due observance, 
 And all besides you've furnish'd for the nonce. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Before the house 0/ CnnEMTLUS. 
 
 Cariox, Chorus. 
 
 Car. Hilloa there ! 
 
 Ye grey beards, oft on Theseus' days,§ spoon- 
 
 cram'd 
 With broth good store, to bread in sparest scraps, 
 How happy now, how blest of favouring fortune! 
 Both ye, and all that take an honest turn. 
 
 Ch. Sweet sir, thy news? What have thy 
 
 friends to boast of? 
 'Tis something rare thou seem'st to bring for 
 
 tidings. 
 Car. The master, boys, has prosper'd gloriously. 
 Or rather Plutus" self: instead of blind. 
 His eyes are clear — clean'd out, and fairly — 
 
 whiten'd, 
 A kindly leech in .^Esculapius finding. 
 
 * Offered to her statues at the places where three ways 
 meet: — but soon carried ofi"by Ihi^ poor. 
 
 t A line made up of words from Kuripides. — Argos was 
 poor. i A very poor painter. 
 
 l) On the eighth of each month the poor were enter- 
 tained in honour of Theseus, but at small cost, and chiefly 
 on spoon meat. 
 
 24 
 
 Ch. O lucky day! 
 
 Hurra! Huzza! 
 
 Car. Like it or not, rejoicing-time is come. 
 Ch. Great .(^"'.sculapius, sons never fail thee; 
 Star of the human race, loud will we hail 
 thee ! 
 
 Enter WiFK OF ClIRKMYLUa. 
 
 Wife. What meant that shout ■^ Is't news, good 
 news, it tells? 
 I have pin'd for it, and sat within. 
 Longing to greet this home-returning varlet. 
 
 Car. Quick, mistress, quick ; some wine there, 
 that with me 
 Thou too may'st taste a drop — thou lov'st it 
 dearly ; {^side.) 
 
 For all rich blessings in a lump I bring thee. 
 
 Wife. And where — where are they? 
 
 Car. Soon in words thoii'lt know them. 
 
 W^ife. Thy words then — haste, have done. 
 
 Car. Attend. 
 The whole affair will I from foot to head * 
 
 Wife. To head ! Beware ! To head nor on head 
 neither ! 
 
 Car. What! not this joyful business ? 
 
 Wife. Business, quotha? 
 
 Affair? No — none of your affairs for me! 
 
 Car. Soon as we reach'd the god. 
 Guiding a man, most miserable then. 
 Most happy now, if happy man there l>e ; 
 First to the salt sea sand we led him down, 
 And there we — duck'd him. 
 
 Wife. Happy he, by Jupiter ! 
 
 A poor old fellow, duck'd in the cold brine. 
 
 Car. Thence to the sanctuary hied we ; and 
 When on the altar cakes and corn-oblations 
 Were dedicate — to Vulcan's flame a wafer — 
 We laid our Plutus down, as meet it was. 
 While each of us fell to, to patch a bed up. 
 
 Wife. And were there other siutors to the god? 
 
 C ar. Why, one was Neoclides, blind is he, 
 Yet our best eyes he will out-aim at — thieving; 
 And many a one besides, with all diseases 
 Laden ; — but when the beadle gave 
 The word to sleep, the lainps extinguishing. 
 And strictly charged '^ If any hear a noise, 
 Mute let him 6e'' — we squatted round in order. 
 Well: 
 
 Sleep could I not, but me a certain pot 
 Of porridge hugely struck; 'twas lying there 
 Some siuall space distant from an old wife's 
 
 head, 
 Towards which I felt a wondrous motion draw 
 
 lue ; — 
 So, venturing a peep, I spy the priest 
 Ovtr offerings — scones and figs — snatching away 
 From off" the holy table; after this. 
 Round every altar, one by one, he grop'd 
 If anywhere a single cake were left; 
 Then these he bless'd — into a sort of satchel. 
 So, thinking "twas a deed of vast devotion, 
 Bent on the |)ot of jiorridge, up get I. 
 
 Wife. Wretch! Fear"dst thou not the god? 
 
 * An ominous phraseology, which alarms tho old lady's 
 superstition, and is meant by Carion to do so. 
 q2 
 
186 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Car. By the gods, I did, 
 
 Lest he should fret before me to the pot. 
 Garlands and all; — his priest had tutor'd me. 
 Meanwhile old grannum. 
 
 When once her ear had caught the stir I made. 
 Was stealing out her hand — so, hissing high. 
 With teeth I seized it, like a pufl-cheelc snake ; 
 But she incontinent her hand pluck"d back, 
 And lay all quiet, cuddled in a heap. 
 Fizzling for fear — ugh ! worse than any pole-cat. 
 Then gobbled I my bellyful of porridge. 
 And so — well-stuff d — turn'd in to snooze a little. 
 
 Wife. But say — the god — approach'd he not? 
 
 Cur. Not yet. 
 
 So, after this — such a merry trick 
 I play'd ! 
 
 Wife. Out upon thee ! 
 
 Car. When this was past, forthwith I muffled 
 up, 
 Cowering \vith dread ; but he, most doctor-like, 
 Perform'd his rounds, inspecting case by case. 
 Then placed a lad beside him his stone mortar. 
 Pestle, and chesL 
 
 Wife. Stone, too?* 
 
 Car. No, not the chest. 
 
 Wife. And thou, thou gallows-bird, how could'st 
 thou see, 
 Who say'st thy head was hid ? 
 
 Car. Through this bald jerkin ; 
 
 Windows it had, and not a few, by Jupiter. 
 For Neoclides first he took in hand 
 To jiound a cataplasm — throwing in 
 Three heads of Tenian garlic ; these he bruised. 
 Commixing in the mortar benjamin 
 And mastic ; drenching all with Sphettian vine- 
 gar. 
 He plaster"d o'er his eyelids, inside out. 
 To give him greater torment ; — squalling, bawling. 
 The wretch sprung up to flee ; then laugh'd the 
 
 god, 
 And cried, "Now sit ye down beplastered there. 
 And take thine oath I keep thee from the ses- 
 sions !" 
 
 Wife. what a patriot and a prudent god ! 
 
 Car. He next sat down by Plutus ; 
 And handled first his head ; then with a cloth 
 Of linen, clean and napless, wiped the eyelids 
 Quite round and round ; then Panacea 
 Wrapp'd in a purple petticoat his head. 
 And all his face: then ^^Lsculapius whistled — 
 With that out darted from the shrine two serpents 
 Of most prodigious size. 
 
 Wife. Merciful heavens ! 
 
 Car. And these, smooth gliding underneath 
 the petticoat, 
 Lick'd with their tongues — so seem'd to me — his 
 
 eyelids. 
 And, ere you'd toss me off ten half-pint bumpers, 
 Plutus — mistress! — up rose Plutus skeing. 
 Loud clappd I then both hands for extasy. 
 And fell to wakening master; but the god 
 Vanish'd into the temple, self and serpents. 
 
 Then those that couch'd beside him — canst thou 
 guess 
 
 How they did fondle Plutus, and all night 
 
 Slept not, but watch'd till morning glimmer'd 
 through ? 
 
 While I was lauding lustily the god. 
 
 That in a twinkling he gave sight to Plutus, 
 
 And Neoclides blinded worse than ever. 
 
 Wife. What marvellous power is thine, so- 
 vereign lord ! 
 
 But tell me where is Plutus? 
 
 Car. This way coming. 
 
 But there were crowds about him, infinite great. 
 
 For such as heretofore had decent morals, 
 
 And lean subsistence — these were greeting him, 
 
 And locking hand in hand for very transport. 
 
 But such as wealthy were, with means o'er- 
 flowing, 
 
 And gain'd by no unquestionable arts — 
 
 O theirs' were knitted brows and clouded faces ! 
 
 The rest were tripping, chaplet-crown"d, behind 
 hint, 
 
 With laugh and jubilant cry ; the old men"s slipper 
 
 Clatter'd, with modulated steps advancing. 
 
 Halloo then ! one and all, with one accord. 
 
 Dance ye and jump ye — hands round — cut and 
 shuffle. 
 
 For none henceforth shall meet ye on the thres- 
 hold 
 
 With ^'■harkye, friend^ there's nothing in the meal 
 tub V 
 Wife. So help me, Hecate, I will garland 
 thee, 
 
 For these fair tidings, with a wreath of — pan- 
 loaves. 
 
 Such news thou bring'st! 
 
 Car. About it instantly ! 
 
 The company's already at the door. 
 
 Wife. Nay, let me hurry in and fetch some 
 sweetmeats. 
 
 To welcome these new-purchased eyes,* slave- 
 fashion. 
 Car. And I to meet them fly. \^Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Plutus and Chremtlus. 
 
 Plut. Thy beams, bright Sol ! prostrate I first 
 
 adore, 
 Next great Minerva's ■\vorld-renowned city, 
 And Cecrops' total bounds that harbour'd me. 
 O hoyv I blush for past calamities ! 
 The men — the men — that I unconscious dealt 
 
 with ! 
 And these, the worthy of my fellowship. 
 All-ignorant avoided, luckless me ! 
 'Twas foully done — both that and this — most 
 
 foully. 
 But treading now reverted paths. 111 show 
 To all of mortal mould, in coming times. 
 Unwilling with the bad I held communion. 
 Chrem. Off to the crows, I say. Why, what a 
 
 pest. 
 These friends that sprout so fast when days are 
 
 sunny ! 
 
 ♦ She tries to catch him tripping 
 sharp for her. 
 
 But Carion is too ♦ As a new purchased slave was greeted on coming to 
 his master's house. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 187 
 
 They rub, scrub, crush one's shins;* so clear one's 
 
 grown, 
 E;ic'h must needs find some vent fur liis afreotion. 
 Who miss'd God save ye to me 7 What a throng 
 Of reverend seniors squeezed me at the market! 
 
 Re-enter Wife of Chkemylus. 
 
 Wife. All hail! 
 Thou paragon of men — and tlion — a:id thon too. 
 Come now — so custom rules it — let me scatter 
 These sweetmeat olferings on thee. 
 
 Pint. Prithee, no. 
 
 For entering thy house on a first visit, 
 And with recover'd eyesiglit, it were meet 
 Not out but in to take an offering. 
 
 Wife. Wiiat, not accept my sweetmeats! 
 
 Plut. Well; within tlien, 
 
 Beside your hearth, as best observance rules. 
 So, too, we 'scape turmoil and trickery. 
 Our poets would it misbecome to fling 
 Dried figs and comfits to the lookers on, 
 Thus to extort a laugh. f 
 
 Wife. Right, right; for see 
 
 There's Dexinicus yonder, up and ready 
 To scramble for the figs. ^Exeunt. 
 
 Before the house of Chrf.mtlus. 
 Cauion, Chohus. 
 
 Car. it is sweet, my friends, wlien things go 
 
 merrily. 
 To roll in wealth, cost free, with nit a venture. 
 Here's a whole heap of luxuries come bouncing 
 Whack! right into the house — and all unsinn'd 
 
 for! 
 Full is our bread-bin now of white wheat flour. 
 Our casks of red aroma-scented wine ; 
 There's not a trunk nor box, but gold and silver 
 Heave up the coin-burst lid — you'd gape to see it. 
 The well runs out with oil, the cruets teem 
 With nard, the loft with figs; pot, pan, and pipkin 
 Are turn'd to shining brass; the rotten trenchers, 
 That stunk of fish they held, are solid silver; 
 Kitchen and kitchen gear are ivory ; 
 And we^the gentleinen-domeslics — there 
 At odds and evens play with sterjng staters; 
 So dainty grow^n, that not those rasping stones 
 But onioM-shaws ^ve use for our occasions. 
 And now high sacrifice the master holds 
 Within; wreath-crown'd, swine, goat, and rain he 
 
 offers. 
 But me — the smoke has driven mo forth; I could 
 Stand it no more; my eyes so smarted with it. 
 
 Enter Good Maw with his Slave. 
 Good M. Come on, my lad, come on, that to 
 the god 
 We may repair. 
 
 Enter Chremtlus. 
 Chrem. Hey day! whom have we hero? 
 
 Good M. A man, once wretched, prosperous 
 
 ♦ As flatterers were wont to do to the rich ; rubbing 
 their shin bones as the Squire in "Count Fathom" has 
 his back scratched. 
 
 t A common trick of poets in those days. 
 
 Chrcm. Just so ; 
 
 Clearly, mcthinks, one of the honest folk. 
 
 Good M. jMdst true. 
 
 Chrem. W^hat may'st thou want then ! 
 
 Good M. 'Vn the god 
 
 I come, the source to me of mighty blessings. 
 For, mark my tale — 
 I from my sire a fair inheritance 
 Receiving, hence my needy friends I aided. 
 Trust me, I thought it jirudeiit pf)licy. 
 
 Chrem. And so thy money shortly fail'd thee. 
 
 Good M. "Very. 
 
 Chrem. And so you wax'd right miserable. 
 
 Good M. Very. 
 
 And yet, methought, those in their need so long 
 I heap'd with kindnesses, were steadfast friends. 
 Steadfast and staunch when I might need — but 
 
 they 
 Turn'd tliem aside, nor seem'd to see me more. 
 
 Chrem. And laugh'd thee loud to scorn, I know it. 
 
 Good M. Very. 
 
 For 'twas a drought of — dishes, that destroy'd me. 
 
 Chrem. But now not so. 
 
 Good M. And therefore to the god 
 
 Here am I fitly come, my vows to pay. 
 
 Chrem. But this bald cloak — what's this, pray, 
 to the god* 
 Thy foot-boy brings ? 
 
 Good M. To offer to the god. 
 
 Chrem. What, was't in this thou wert initiated? 
 
 Good M. No ; but in this for thirteen years I — 
 shiver'd. 
 
 Chrem. And these pantofles? 
 
 Good M. Winter'd with me too. 
 
 Chrem. These, too, thou bring' st to offer ? 
 
 Good M. Yes, by Jove. 
 
 Chrem. A proper pair of olferings to the god! 
 Enter Isformeu with his Witness. 
 
 Inf. Woe's me ! woe's me ! 
 Me miserable ! undone, undone for ever ! 
 Thrice wretched — four limes wretched — five 
 
 times wretched — 
 Twelve times — ten thousand times — ohon! ohon! 
 With so robust a devil my fate is dash'd !t 
 
 Chrem. Phctbus protect us! Gracious deities! 
 Why, what the mischief has this fellow met with? 
 
 //(/. What mischief? Tell me is it hard or no 
 To see one's substance gone — stock, rock, and 
 
 block — 
 Through this confounded god? But he shall pay 
 
 for't ; 
 Blind — blind again — if law be left in Athens. 
 
 Good M. Oho ! methinks I smell the matter out. 
 Here comes a knave, in a bad way, no doubt on't ; 
 And of bad stamp to boot, I warrant ye. 
 
 Chrem. Bad way \ fair way fur him — the road 
 to ruin. 
 
 Inf. Where, where is he that promis'd all un- 
 holpen, 
 To make us rich at once — each mother's son — 
 If he but saw afresh ? Here's some of us 
 He has beggar'd past example. 
 
 ♦ Chremylus, a wag in his way, plays on the Good 
 
 Man's repetitions of this ptirase. 
 tLike water dashed with strong wine. 
 
188 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Chrem. Say"st thou sol 
 
 Whotii lias he handled thus? 
 
 Inf. Me ; me, I tell thee ; 
 
 Here as I stand. 
 
 Chrem. So, so ; a rogue — a burglar ? 
 
 Inf. No, villain, no! 'Tis ye — stark naught 
 ye are — 
 'Tis ye — none other — robb'd me of my money. 
 
 Car. Now, Ceres bless us, how the Informer 
 goes it, 
 So fierce and famine-like — a wolfish hunger! 
 
 Inf. To court with ye — to court — no time to 
 dally- 
 That stretoh'd upon the wheel of torture there, 
 Thou may'st confess thy villany. 
 
 Car. You be hang"d I 
 
 Good M. 0, by preserving Jove, a glorious god 
 To all of Greekish blood our god will be, 
 That brings to end as vile these vile informers, 
 
 Inf. Confusion ! 
 
 Thou too must laugh — as their accomplice — thou ! 
 Whence came this mantle else, so spruce and 
 
 trim ? 
 But yesterday thy thread-bare cloak I noted. 
 
 Good M. I heed thee not ; behold this charmed 
 ring ! 
 Mine own; bought from Eudamusfora drachma. 
 
 Chrem. Alas, no charm for an informer's bite! 
 
 Inf. What insolence is this? Ye scotf, ye rail, 
 And have not answerd yet what make ye here ? 
 'Tis for no good ye come. 
 
 Chrem. No good of thine. 
 
 Inf. No ; for at cost of mine ye think to revel. 
 
 Chrem. that to prove it true, thyself and 
 witness 
 Might both asunder burst — but not with eating ! 
 
 Inf. Will ye deny? Within, ye cursed scoun- 
 drels. 
 Such roasts there are, such loads of fish in slices! 
 Uliu. [Sniffling. 
 
 Chrem. Wretch, snufF'st thou aught ? 
 
 Good M. Cold air, mayhap, 
 
 In such a rascal suit of rags attir'd. 
 
 Inf. Shall this be borne? Jove, and ye powers 
 above. 
 That these should scoff at me ! O how it galls 
 Thus to endure — the good — the patriot. 
 
 Chrem. You ! 
 
 The patriot and the good! 
 
 Inf. Ay, none to match me. 
 
 Chrem. Come now, an answer to my question. 
 
 Inf What? 
 
 Chrem. Dost work a farm ? 
 
 Inf. Dost take me for stark mad? 
 
 Chrem. A merchant then ? 
 
 Inf. Can seem so on occasions.* 
 
 Chrem. What then, hast learnt a trade? 
 
 Inf. Not I, by Jupiter. 
 
 Chrem. Why, how didst live, or whence, with- 
 out a calling? 
 
 Inf. Live? Of all state affairs Intendant I, 
 And private business. 
 
 Chrem. You ! For what ? 
 
 /"/. I choose it. 
 
 * Merchants were exempted from military service. 
 
 Chrem. False thief, how art thou good then. 
 Mixing and meddling whore it nought concerns 
 thee ? 
 //(/. Concerns me nought, old gull! Concerns 
 it not. 
 Far as I may, to benefit my city? 
 
 Chrem. So so — ^to meddle is to benefit? 
 /)(/. Yes, the establish'd laws to succour — yes. 
 If rogues offend, to hold them to the forfeit. 
 Chrem. And does the state not crowd her 
 bench with judges 
 Express for this? 
 
 Inf. But who must play the accuser? 
 
 Chrem. Whoever will. 
 
 Inf. Ergo, that man am I. 
 
 So that on me devolve the state's affairs. 
 
 Chrem. Now, by the powers, she hath a rare 
 protector ! 
 But would'st thou not incline, meddling no more, 
 To live a life of ease ? 
 
 Inf. A sheep's existence ! 
 
 No occupation left to stir the soul. 
 
 Chrem. What then, thou'lt not reform ? 
 Inf. Not if you'd give me 
 
 Plutus himself, and the benzoin of Battus.* 
 Chrem. Down with thy cloak. 
 Car. You., sirrah, you he speaks to. 
 
 Chrem. OfT with thy shoes. 
 Car. 'Tis you, still you he means. 
 
 Inf. Come on and take them then : come on, 
 I say, 
 Whoever will. 
 
 Car. Ergo, that man am I. 
 
 [ Witness runs o%it. 
 Inf. Help! robbery! help! I'm stripp'd in 
 
 open day. 
 Car. Yes ; for thou claim'st to live on stran- 
 ger's business. 
 Inf. Thou seest the act ; I hold thee witness 
 
 to it. 
 Chrem. Witness ! he's vanish'd : witness, quotha ! 
 Inf Woe ! 
 
 Caught and alone! 
 
 Car. Now thou wilt clamour, wilt thou? 
 
 Inf. Woe's me again! 
 
 Car. Hand me the thread-bare cloak here, 
 To gird this base informing rogue withal. 
 
 Good M. Nay now, already 'tis devote to 
 
 Plutus. 
 Car. And where, I pray thee, shall it hang 
 more fitly 
 Than round a caitiff's limbs — a plund'ring 
 
 bandit's? 
 Plutus 'twere meet to deck in costly garments. 
 Good M. But these pantofles — 
 Car. To his forehead these, 
 
 Wild-olive-like, incontinent I'll nail. 
 
 Inf. I'm oflf; for w^ell I know myself the 
 weaker 
 Gainst odds like these ; yet, grant me but a 
 
 partner. 
 Ay, though a fig-tree block — your potent god 
 This day Id bring to justice and his doom ; 
 For that alone, unbacked, democracy 
 
 ♦ Battus founded Cyrene, famous for its benzoin. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 189 
 
 He plots to end — a traitor manifest — 
 Council nor people to his side persiuiding. 
 
 Good AL. Harli. ! as in gorgeous jjanopiy of mine 
 Adorn'd thou struttest, to the bath with thee! 
 There as head-man take station next the fire ; 
 That j)ost was mine of yore. 
 
 Chretn. Nay, but the bath-man 
 
 Straight out of doors will haul him by the scrotum ; 
 One glance will show the stamp of scoundrel on 
 
 liim. 
 For us — let's in ; the god expects thy vows. 
 
 \Exev,nt. 
 
 Before the house of Chhemtlus. 
 jin Old Woman, Chuemtlus, Chorus. 
 Old W. A word, beseech you, dear old gentle- 
 men ; 
 Is't true we've reach'd the house of this new god. 
 Or are we off the road and quite astray ? 
 
 Chrem. Believe me, now, you're at the very 
 doors, 
 My buxom lass : — so prettily you ask it. 
 
 Old W. And must I call for some one from 
 
 within ? 
 Chrem. Nay, here I am myself, come forth 
 already. 
 Let's hear thy purpose rather. 
 
 Old W. Dear sir, kind sir — a tale of grief and 
 wrong ; 
 For fronr the hour this god began to see. 
 He has made for me my life unliveable. 
 
 Chrem. What's this? Mayhap thou wert In- 
 formcress 
 Among the dames? 
 
 Old IV. Marry come up, not I. 
 
 Chrem. Thy lot, perchance, turn'd out no drink- 
 
 ing-ticket.* 
 Old W. You jeer : but me — I itch — I burn — I 
 
 die. 
 Chrem. Thine itch — thine itch ? Let's hear — 
 
 as short as may be. 
 Old W. Hear, then : — a certain darling youth 
 I had : 
 Grant he was poor — but O, a proper youth ! 
 Comely and shapely — so obliging too^ 
 If any little services I wanted, 
 He'd do them for me orderly and featly: 
 And me in these same things he found com- 
 plying. 
 Chrem. And what the suits he press'd the 
 
 warmest, eh ? 
 Old W. But few : for his respect was quite 
 prodigious. 
 He'd ask, perhaps, some twenty silver drachms 
 For a new coat — some eight or ten for slippers: — 
 "Buy," he would say, "a little shift for sisters, 
 A cloakey for mamma — poor soul — "gainst win- 
 ter :" 
 Or beg of wheat some half-a-dozen bushels. 
 Chrem. By my troth, not much — as thou hast 
 told the story — 
 'Tis plain he stood in mighty awe of thee. 
 
 Old W. And then observe, " not out of greedi- 
 ness 
 
 * Another allusion to the distribution of dicasls by lot. 
 
 I ask," quoth he ; " but love, that wearing still 
 Thy coat — thy colours — I may think of thee." 
 Chrem. Unhapj)y man! how desperately smit- 
 ten ! 
 Old W. But now — wouldst credit it? — the 
 rogue no more , 
 
 Holds the same mind : he's quite another creature. 
 For when I sent to him this cheesecake here, 
 And those — the other sweetmeats on the platter — 
 And hinted, too, he might ex])ect a visit 
 
 Against the afternoon 
 
 Chrem. What did he ? Say. 
 
 Old W. Did? Send 'em back — this tart into 
 the bargain — 
 On these plain terms — that I should call no 
 
 •longer ! 
 And sent besides this messsge by the bearer, 
 " Once the Milesians were a potent people." * 
 
 Chrem. Ifaith no blockhead was the boy ; — 
 When rich, pease-porridge charms no more his 
 
 palate: 
 Till then he took whatever came, and thankful. 
 Old W. Yes, and till then, each blessed day — 
 Gemini ! — 
 Still was he come — come — coming to my gate. 
 Chrem. To carry thee out ? | 
 Old W. To carry ! No — to listen 
 
 An' he might hear my voice 
 
 Chrem. Say "Sweet, here's for thee." 
 
 Old W. And if he saw me vex'd at aught— 
 
 my stars ! — 
 
 My duckling and my dovelin^, would he whisper. 
 
 Chrem. Then, too, mayhap, would beg for 
 
 slipper-money. 
 Old W. And once, as at the greater mysteries 
 I rode my car — because one gaz'd upon me — 
 Bless you! the livelong day my bones paid for 
 
 it. — 
 So mortal jealous was the stripling of me. 
 
 Chrem. Just so : — he lik'd I guess, to — cat alone. 
 Old W. And then my hands, he vow'd, were 
 
 matchless fair. — 
 Chrem. Oft as they told him down some twenty 
 
 drachms. 
 Old W. And sweet, he'd say, the fragrance of 
 
 my skin. — 
 Chrem. Right, right, by Jove — when Thasian 
 
 ■wine you pour'd — 
 Old W. And eyes Iliad, so soft and beautiful. — 
 Chrem. No clumsy rogue was this : full well 
 he knew 
 To sweat a rutting beldame's ready cash. 
 
 Old W. Here, then, dear sir, the god unfairly 
 deals — 
 Your god, that boasts himself the wrong'd one's 
 righter. 
 Chrem. How shall he serve thee! Speak, aiul 
 
 it is done. 
 Old W. Sure 'tis but fair to force 
 Hiin whom I help'd to lend me help in turn : 
 Or not one glimpse of good the wretch should sec. 
 Chrem. Nay — clcar'd he not each night his 
 scores with thee? 
 
 • A prnverbial expression lo denote reverses of fortune; 
 drawn from ihe fite of Miletus. 
 + For burial, to wit. 
 
^r 
 
 190 
 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 Old W. Ah ! but he swore he'd never, never 
 leave me, 
 Lonj; as I liv'd. 
 
 Chrcm. True — as you liv'd : but uow 
 
 You live, he thinks, no more. 
 
 Old W. 'Tis sorrow's doing — 
 
 I ow'i I've pin'd away. 
 
 Cliirin. Or rotted rather. 
 
 Old W. See, you might draw me through a 
 ring. 
 
 Chrem. A ring! 
 
 An "twere a barley-boulter's. 
 
 Old W. Well, as I live here comes the very 
 youth 
 I've been a-telling thee the tantrums of: 
 He seems on revel bound. 
 
 Chrem. No question : — lo, 
 
 Fillets and flambeau bearing, on he trips it. 
 
 Enter Youth. 
 Youth. I kiss your hands. 
 
 Old W. Kiss, says he ? Kiss ? 
 
 Youth. Old sweetheart, 
 
 How gray thon'rt growr, and all at once, by Jingo. 
 
 Old W. Wretch that 1 am ! The buffets I must 
 
 bear ! 
 Chrcm. 'Tis lonsr, belike, since last he saw thee. 
 Old W. ^ Long! 
 
 When 'twas but yesterday, thou monster, thou ! 
 Chrem. Then trust me, friend, his is no common 
 case : — 
 Fuddled, it seems, he sees the sharper for it. 
 Old W. No : but 'tis alw^ays such a saucy rogue ! 
 Youth. O thou Sea-Nejitune,* and ye senior 
 gods. 
 How seum'd with ruts and wrinkles are her 
 chops ! 
 Old W. Hold not your torch to me. 
 Chrem. Well thought of, old 'un : 
 
 For should one single spark but catch her. 
 Off, like a wool-clad olive-branch, she blazes !t 
 Youth. What say you now ? — We have not met 
 for ages — 
 A little sport? 
 
 Old W. you audacious ! — Where ! 
 
 You'h. Here — nuts in hand. 
 Old W. What sport 's he driving at? 
 
 Youth. How many — teeth J hast thou? 
 Chrem. A guess — a guess — 
 
 A guess for me! — Some three, mayhap, or four. 
 Youth. Pay down: — she has but one, and 
 
 that's a grinder. 
 Old W. Vilest of men, thy wits have left thee : 
 what ! 
 Before such crov^^ds to make a wash pot of me : 
 Youth. 'Fait'i, no bad turn — to wash thee out, 
 pot-fashion. 
 
 * Renerential sirearin% : — IVeptiinR was an ancient deity. 
 ("To svvpir wiih propriety," says my little major, "/Ae 
 oatk .should be an echo to the sense." — Bob Acri:s in The 
 Riuiits) 
 
 + 'Ihe Atlmninns u<(^(\ to hang a branch of this kind 
 al>ove their doors, to keep off famine and pestilence. It 
 hiiHL' a year bptbre it was renewed, and was, therefore, 
 siifTicienlly dry and combualible by the end of the twel ve- 
 inoiiili. 
 
 % Instead of — "How many nuts have I? — odd or even?" 
 
 Chrem. Fy on't, not so : she's now made up for 
 sale. 
 Right huckster's trim — but orilv wash the paint 
 
 off- 
 Lord, how the tatters of her face would show! 
 Old W. Old as you are, your sense is wondrous 
 
 scaiity. 
 Youth. He tempts thee, sure — the rogue ! — and 
 thinks the while 
 Those daring hands escape my jealous eye. 
 
 Old W. So heip me, Venus, not a hand on me 
 He !ays, you brute. 
 
 Chrem. So help me, Hecate, no : 
 
 Else were I mad. But come, my boy, this lass 
 Thou must not loathe. 
 
 Youth. What me? I love to frenzy. 
 
 Chrem. And yet she 'plains of thee. 
 Youth. She 'plains ! As how ? 
 
 Chrem. O, a proud peat you are, she sa)'s, and 
 tell her 
 Once the Milesians ivere a potent people. 
 
 Youth. Well, I'll not fight with thee abouther. — 
 Chrem. No ! 
 
 Your why and wherefore ? 
 
 Youth. Reverence for thine years : — 
 
 There breathes no other wiglit I'd yield her to. 
 And now, take off the lass, and joy be with thee! 
 Chrem. I see, I see your drift: you mean no 
 more 
 To herd with her. 
 
 Old W. And who will brook the traitor ? 
 
 Youth. I've not a word for one so rak'd and 
 riddled 
 By full ten thousand, plus three thousand — years. 
 Chrem. Yet, since you deign'd to quaff the 
 wine — you take me? — 
 'Twere fair to suck the dregs. 
 
 Youth. Ugh ! but these dregs — they are so stale 
 
 and rancid. 
 Chrem. A strainer cures all that — 
 Youth. In, in, I say : 
 
 These garlands to the god I fain would offer. 
 Old W. And I — I do remember me — I too 
 Have a word to say to him. 
 
 Youth. Then go not I. 
 
 Chrem. Tut, man, cheer up ! She shall not 
 
 ravish thee. 
 Youth. A gracious promise: — for enough in 
 conscience 
 I've pitch'd that weather-beaten hulk already. 
 Old IV. Ay, march away: — 111 not bo far be- 
 hind thee. 
 Chrem. O, sov'rcigii Jove ! how fast and firm 
 the beldame 
 Cleaves like a limpet to her stripling flame ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Eefore the house q/" Chuemtlus. 
 
 Hermks, Cakiok, Chrf.mtlits, Old Woman, 
 Choiius. 
 
 (IIetimes knocks at Ihe door, and hides.*") 
 Cur. (coming o;t!.) Who knocks the door there, 
 ho ? Why what could this be ? 
 
 • To make it appear that the door had rattled of itself, at 
 the approach of his godship. 
 
ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 191 
 
 No one, it seems : and so the little wicket 
 Makes all this hullabaloo, forsooth, for nothing. 
 
 Herni. (^shmving: himself.) You there, I say, 
 Yon, Carion, stop ! 
 
 Car. What, fellow, was it thee 
 
 That hansj'd so lustily against the door? 
 
 Hcrm. No: — I but thought oii't — thou hast 
 sav'd the trouble. 
 Eiit presto, jiost away and call tliy master, 
 And furthermore, the mistress and her brats; 
 And furthermore, the slaves, and eke the mastiff; 
 And furthermore, thyself — the pig — 
 
 Car. Nay, tell me. 
 
 What is all this? 
 
 Hcnn. 'Tis Jove, you rogue, is minded 
 
 Hashing you up into one hotoh-potch mess. 
 To send you, great and siriall, to pot together. 
 Car. Heralds like this shall get the tongue* — 
 cut out. 
 But why, an' please you, does he plan such fare 
 For us? 
 
 Herm. Because you've done — a deed without 
 a name : 
 Since first tliis Plutus' eyes were op'd again. 
 Nor frankincense, nor laurel bough, nor cake, 
 Nor victim, nor one other thing one mortal 
 Offers to us — the gods. 
 
 Car. Nor will for CA'er : 
 
 Such wretched care ye took of us heretofore. 
 Herm. Well: for the rest I'm. somewhat less 
 concern'd. 
 But I myself am perishing — am pounded. 
 Car. Shrewd fel'ow ! f 
 
 Herm. Up till now, among the tapstresses, 
 
 I far'd not ill o' mornings ; winecake — honey — 
 Dried figs — and all that's nu>et for Hermes' palate : 
 But now, cross-legg"d, I mope for grief and hun- 
 ger. 
 Car. And serves ye right, too — many a time 
 and oft. 
 For all their gifts — you left them in the lurch. 
 
 Herm. O me ! the cake — 
 The monthly % cheesecake kneaded once for me! 
 Car. Thou crav'st the lost, and callest out in vain.^ 
 Herm. And O the ham — that I was wont de- 
 vour ! 
 Car. Ham ! Ply your ham in dancing on a 
 
 bottle. II 
 Herm. The tripes — the trolly-bags — I guzzled 
 
 hot! 
 Car. The tripes — the gripes! — I guess the 
 
 tripes torment thee. 
 Herm. And O the jolly jorum — half and half! 
 Car. Come, take a swig of this, and off with 
 
 thee. 
 Herm. Ah! would.st thou do thy friend a little 
 favour ? 
 
 * Tlie victim's tonjjiie wns devoted to llermea. But 
 Cariiiii iise.s an aniblKuoiis phrase, by way of threat. 
 
 i To care only for him-ic'lf 
 
 t f'li tlie f.iiirtli ilay of each month. 
 
 } Thi' annniincciiient from heavkii to Hercules, when 
 he callcMl for his h.si Hyins. 
 
 II A well-oiled sliin bottle. It wns one of their baccha- 
 nal [jaines lo jiutip, barefooted, on such a bottle ; and he 
 who kept his footing, won the prize. 
 
 Car. Well: if it lie within my power — com- 
 mand me. 
 Herm. Wonldst thou but fetch a well-fir'd loaf 
 or two — 
 And add a whacking lump of that same meat 
 You're offering up within ! 
 
 Car. Impossible ! 
 
 No fetching forth allow'd. 
 
 Herm. Yet when your lord's stray articles you 
 pilfer"d, 
 I always help'd to hide, and sav'd your bacon. 
 Car. Just on condition you should share — you 
 thief! 
 You never miss'd your cake on such occasions. 
 Herm. Nor you to gobble it down before I 
 
 touch'd it. 
 Car. So : for no equal share of stripes had you, 
 When master caught me in a peccadillo. 
 
 Herm. Think not of past offence, now Phyle's 
 taken :* 
 But O — by all the gods — for an inmate take me. 
 Car. Why, wilt thou leave the gods and quar- 
 ter here ? 
 Herm. You're better off, I trow. 
 Car. What then ? 
 
 Desert! Is that a handsome trick to play them? 
 Hcrm. 'Tis slill one's country, where one prospers 
 
 well] 
 Car. And say we took thee in — how couldst 
 
 thou serve us ? 
 Herm. Beside your door establisli me as Tunir- 
 
 KET.J 
 
 Car. Turnkey! we want no turns of thine, I 
 promise thee. 
 
 Herm. As Thadeu, then. 
 
 Car. Nay, we are rich, and so 
 
 What need have we to keep a pedlar-Hermes. 
 
 Herm. Deckiveh, then. 
 
 Car. Deceiver? Cheat? Ne''er dream on't — 
 No room for. cheating now, but honest practice. 
 
 Herm. Well, then, as Guide. 
 
 Car. Our god's regain'd his twirdclers, 
 
 So we have business for a guide no longer. 
 
 Herm. I have it — REVKL-MASTEn let me be 
 then — 
 What canst thou say to that? 
 For sure with Plutus" I'omp it best agrees 
 To hold high games of music and gymnastics. 
 
 Car. What luck to have good store ol' aliases! 
 Sec now — this knave will earn his bite and sup. 
 Ay, ay — 'tis not for nought our judging varlets 
 Would fain be written down \\ ith many letters.^ 
 
 Herm. On these terms, then, I've leave to en- 
 ter? 
 
 Car. Yes : 
 
 And havk ye, sirrah, find the cistern out, 
 And wash me, with tliy proper hands, these puts; 
 i:o shalt thou straightway ligure off as ^cullioh. 
 
 [Exit HcnMES. 
 
 • As Thrnsybuliis proclaimed an amnesty nfjer the re- 
 estal'lishineiit of (he repniilic, which followed his seizure 
 of I'hyle. Hence the (iroverb. 
 
 t Quoted probably from Luripidcd. 
 
 t The poet playa upon (lie various attributes of Her- 
 ineK. 
 
 i Another hit at the allotment of dicasts. 
 
192 
 
 ARISTOTLE. 
 
 Enter Phikst of Jove. 
 Priest. Who'll tell me where is Chremyliis? 
 Chrem. [entering.) Good fellow, 
 
 What is the matter 1 
 
 Priest. What, but ruination ? 
 
 For iiince your Plutus 'gan to see, I die 
 Of downright famine — not a crinnb to eat — 
 / — the arch-iJriest of Guardian Jove. 
 
 Chrem. Ye Powers ! 
 
 What can the cause be ? 
 
 Priest. Not a sacrifice 
 
 Comes our way any longer. 
 
 Chrem. Wherefore so? 
 
 Priest. 'Cause they're all rich. And yet, in 
 good old times, 
 When they had nought — some home-returning 
 
 merchant 
 Would bring thanks-offering for safety ; or 
 Some one had bilk'd the law — or splendid rites 
 Were lield by some magnifico, and I 
 The priest was sure to be invited : but 
 No victims now — not one — no visitors — 
 Except the thousands that come there to — ease 
 them. 
 Chrem. And hast not lawful share of their — 
 
 oblations'? 
 Priest. So to this Jove — this Guardian — this 
 Preserver — 
 I think to bid good by, and mess with you. 
 Chrem. Cheer up, man ; all shall yet go well 
 with thee. 
 Preserving Jove is here* — alive and kicking — 
 Come of his own accord. 
 
 * In the person of Plutus. 
 
 Priest. O glorious news ! 
 
 Chrem. Ay! And we soon shall set — stop but 
 an instant — 
 Our Plutus, where of yore he sate in state. 
 On sleepless watch behind Minerva's temple.* — 
 Lights from within there ! — Take the torches, 
 
 friend. 
 And marshal on the god. 
 
 Priest. No question of it : — 
 
 Thus must I do. 
 
 Chrem. And some one call for Plutus. 
 
 The Procession comes out from the house. 
 
 Old W. And what of me ? 
 Chrem. Look here, these pots,t w^ith which 
 We consecrate the god, mount on thy noddle, 
 And bear them gravely : flower'd petticoat 
 Thou of thyself hast donn'd. 
 
 Old W. But — what came I for ? 
 
 Chrem. Nay, thou shalt have thy will — 
 This evening the young fellow shall be witli thee. 
 Old W. Well, then — Lud !— if you will 
 pledge his coming — 
 m bear your pots. 
 
 Car. Were never pots before 
 
 In such a case : — in those the scum's a-top, 
 In these a scum — a very scum's at bottom ! 
 Ch. Delay, delay no longer, then: 
 
 the jolly pomp's before us — 
 Make way, make way — and form again, 
 to follow them in Chorus ! 
 
 [Exeunt Omnes. 
 
 * Where the public treasury was. 
 t Pots of pulse, <Stc. 
 
 ARISTOTLE. 
 
 [Bom 381— Died 322, B. C] 
 
 BoRX at Stagira in Macedon, and educated in 
 the school of Plato at Athens. As a philosopher 
 he is known to all mankind, and would perhaps 
 have been equally renowned in poetry, had he 
 
 seriously applied his high faculties to that divine 
 art. The following hymn or paean was composed 
 in honour of his patron, Hermias, tyrant of Atar- 
 nce, an eunuch, and originally a slave. 
 
 HYMN TO VIRTUE. 
 
 O SOUGHT with toil and mortal strife 
 
 By those of human birth, 
 Virtue, thou noblest end of life, 
 
 Thou goodliest gain on earth ! 
 Thee, Maiil, to win, our youth would bear 
 Unwearied, fiery pains; and dare 
 
 Death for thy beauty's worth ; 
 So bright thy proffered honours shine, 
 Like clusters of a fruit divine. 
 
 Sweeter than slumber's boasted joys, 
 
 And more desired than gold. 
 Dearer than nature's dearest ties: — 
 
 For thee those heroes old ; 
 Herculean son of highest Jove, 
 And the twin-birth of Leda, strove 
 
 By perils manifold : 
 Great Peleus' son, with like desire, 
 And Ajax sought the Stygian fire. 
 
HYBRIAS OF CRETE.— PERSES. 
 
 193 
 
 The bard shall crown with lasting lay, 
 
 And age immortal make 
 Atarna's sovereign, "reft of day 
 
 For thy dear beauty's sake : 
 Him, therefore, the reeording Nine 
 In songs extol to heights divine, 
 
 And every chord awake ; 
 Promoting still, with reverence due, 
 The meed of friendship tried and true. 
 
 ON THE TOMB OF A J AX. 
 
 Br Ajax' tomb, in solemn state, 
 
 I, Virtue, as a mourner wait, 
 
 Witli hair dishevell'd, sable vest, 
 
 Fast streaming eyes and heaving breast; 
 
 Since in the Grecian tents I see 
 
 Fraud, hateful Fraud, preferr'd to me.* 
 
 • See page 194. 
 
 HYBRIAS OF CRETE. 
 
 Of this poet, the age and country, with the fol- ! dale'of our great departed minstrel, whose strains 
 lowing short scholium, are all that remain to us. | — free as they are of all conscious imitation — so 
 " Many (observes Sir Daniel Sandford,) as they often, through the force of kindred genius, seem to 
 read these stanzas will have their thoughts re- echo the bold and vigorous expression of finest 
 called, with melancholy pleasure, to the ' AUan-a- j Graecian poetry." 
 
 THE WARRIOR'S RICHES. 
 
 Mt wealth's a burly spear and brand, 
 And a right good shield of hides untann'd. 
 
 Which on mine arm I buckle : 
 With these I plough, I reap, I sow. 
 With these I make the vintage flow, 
 
 And all around me truckle. 
 
 But your wights, that take no pride to wield 
 A tnassy spear and a well-made shield, 
 
 Nor joy to draw the sword : 
 Oh ! I bring those heartless, hapless drones 
 Down, in a trice, on their marrow-bones, 
 
 To call me king and lord. 
 
 PERSES. 
 
 Of this poet there are eight epigrams remain- 
 ing, but none of them affording any trace of the 
 country or age in which he flourished. The fol- 
 lowing has been selected by way of specimen, 
 from the resemblance which (as Mr. Merivale 
 truly observes,) it bears, both in the subject and 
 
 in the manner of treating it, to that exquisite 
 work of sculpture, the group executed by Chan- 
 trey, for the monument of Miss Johnes of Hafod. 
 Had the epigram been modern, instead of ancient, 
 one would say that it had been expressly written 
 for it. 
 
 ON THE MONUMENT OF A DAUGHTER. Just as the death-mists oVr her eye-lids fell, 
 
 Unblest Mnasilla! — On this speaking tomb 
 What means the type of emblematic gloom? 
 Thy lost Callirhoe we here survey. 
 Just as she moaned her ebbing soul away, 
 25 
 
 In those maternal arms she loved so well. 
 There, too, the speechless father sculptured stands, 
 That cherished head supporting with his hands. 
 Alas! alas! — thus grief is made to flow 
 A ceaseless stream — eternity of woe. 
 
NICOSTRATUS. 
 
 [About 380 B. C] 
 
 Ohb of the sons of Aristophanes — known also by the name of PluletEems. 
 See Clinton's F. E. xxxii., note p. 
 
 LOQUACITY. 
 
 If in prattling from morning till night 
 A sign of our wisdom there be, 
 
 The swallows are wiser by right, 
 
 For they prattle much faster than we. 
 
 MNASALCUS OF SICYON. 
 
 The age of this author is unknown. 
 
 ON A VINE. 
 
 Sweet vine ! when howls the wintry hour. 
 Not now, thy leafy honours shower ; 
 Nor strew them on the thankless plain — 
 Soon Autumn will come round again. 
 Then, when with heat and wine opprest, 
 Beneath the grateful bower, to rest 
 Antileon lays his drooping head. 
 Oh then thy shadowy foliage shed, 
 In heaps around the sleeping boy! 
 Thus Beauty should be crown'd by Joy. 
 
 ON THE SHIELD OF ALEXANDER. 
 
 A HOLT offering at Diana's shrine. 
 See Alexander's glorious shield recline ; 
 Whose golden orb, through many a bloody day. 
 Triumphant, ne'er in dust dislionour'd lay. 
 
 ON A TEMPLE OF VENUS 
 
 NEAR THE SEA SHORE. 
 
 Here let us from the wave-washed beach behold 
 Sea-born Cythera's venerable fane, 
 
 And fountains fringed with shady poplars old 
 Where dip their wings the golden halcyon 
 train. 
 
 ON A PIPE IN THE TEMPLE OF VENUS. 
 
 Sat, rustic pipe ! in Cythera's dome 
 Why sounds this echo of a shepherd's home? 
 Nor rocks, nor valleys, here invite the strain; 
 But all is Love — go, seek thy hills again. 
 
 ON A LOCUST. 
 
 Oh, never more, sweet Locust, 
 
 shalt thou with shrilly wing, 
 Along the fertile furrows sit, 
 
 and thy gladsome carols sing: 
 Oh, never more thy nimble wings 
 
 shall cheer this heart of mine 
 With sweetest melody, while I 
 
 beneath the trees recline. 
 
 PARODY 
 
 ON AN INSCRIPTION OF ARISTOTLK's.* 
 
 In woeful guise, at Pleasure's gate, 
 
 I, Virtue, as a mourner wait. 
 
 With hair in loose disorder flowing, 
 
 And breast with fierce resentment glowing 
 
 Since, all the country round, I see 
 
 Base sensual joys preferred to me. 
 
 * See page 193. 
 
 194 
 
SPEUSIPPUS. 
 
 [About 347 B. C] 
 
 A disciple of Plato, and his successor in the Academy. 
 
 EPITAPH ON PLATO. 
 PtATo's dead form this eartlily shroud invests; 
 His soul among the godlike heroes rests. 
 
 ANTIPHANES. 
 
 [Bom 407— Died 333 B. C] 
 
 A NATIVE of Rhodes, and author of nearly three hundred comedies, of which the titles of one 
 hundred and thirty have come down to us. 
 
 THE PARASITE. 
 
 What art, vocation, trade, or mystery. 
 Can match with your fine parasite? — The pain- 
 ter? 
 He ! a mere dauber; a vile drudge the farmer: — 
 Their business is to labour, our's to laugh. 
 To jeer, to quibble, faith sirs! and to drink, 
 Aye, and drink lustily. Is not this rare ? 
 'Tis life, — my life at least: The first of pleasures 
 Were to be rich myself, but next to this 
 I hold it best to be a parasite, 
 And feed upon the rich. Now mark me right! 
 Set down my virtues one by one: Imprimis, 
 Good-will to all men — would they all were rich 
 S'o might I gull them all: — Malice to none; 
 I envy no man's fortune, all I wish 
 Is but to share it: — Wf)uld you have a friend, 
 A gallant, steady friend'? I am your man : 
 No striker I, no swaggerer, no defimor, 
 But one to bear all these and still forbear: — 
 If you insult, I laugh, unruflled. meiry, 
 Invincibly good-humourd, still I laugli : — 
 A stout good soldier I, valorous to a fault. 
 When once my stomach's up and supper served : 
 You know my humour, not otie spark of pride, 
 Such and the same for ever to my friends :— 
 If cudgelled, molten iron to the hammer 
 Is not so malleable ; but if I cudg:'l, 
 Bold as the thunder : — Is one to be blinded 1 
 
 I am the lightning's flash : — to be pufT'd up? 
 I am the wind to blow him till he burst: 
 Choak'd, strangled? — I can do't and save a 
 
 halter : — 
 Would you break down his doors? Behold an 
 
 earthquake. 
 Open and enter them ? — a battering-ram : 
 Will you sit down to supper? — I am your guest, 
 Your very Jly to enter without bidding: 
 Would you move off? — You'll move a well as 
 
 soon : — 
 I am for all work; and, though the job were 
 
 stabbing, 
 Betraying, false-accusing, — only say 
 Do this, and it is done ! I stick at nothing. 
 They call me Thunder-bolt for my despatch; 
 Friend ofiny friends am I: — Let actions speak me; 
 I am much too modest to commend myself. 
 
 LITTLE TRUST TO BE PUT IN WOMAN. 
 
 Fon tliis, and only this, I'll trust a woman, 
 That if you take life from her she will die, 
 And, being dead, will come to life no more; 
 Itj all things else I am an infidel. 
 Oh! might 1 never more behold a woman! 
 Ratlier than I should meet that object, gods? 
 Strike out mine eyes — III thank you for your 
 mercy. 
 
 195 
 
196 
 
 ANTIPHANES. 
 
 CONSCIENCE THE BEST LAW. 
 
 An honest man to law makes no resort; 
 His conscience is the better rule of court. 
 
 NO LIFE WITHOUT LOVE. 
 
 The man, who first laid down the pedant rule, 
 That love is folly, was himself a fool ; 
 For, if to life that transport you deny, 
 What privilege is left us — but to die. 
 
 NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 
 
 Cease, mourners, cease complaint, and weep no 
 
 more : 
 Your dead friends are not lost but gone before, 
 Advanc'd a stage or two upon that road, 
 Which you must travel in the steps they've trode. 
 In the same inn we all shall meet at last. 
 There take new life, and laugh at sorrows past. 
 
 The Same paraphrased. 
 
 When those, whom love and blood endear, 
 Lie cold upon the funeral bier, 
 How fruitless are our tears of woe. 
 How vain the grief that bids them flow ! 
 Those friends lamented are not dead, 
 Though dark to us the road they tread ; 
 All soon must follow to the sliore. 
 Where they have only gone before. 
 Shine but to-morrow's sun, and we, 
 Compell'd by equal destiny, 
 Shall in one common home embrace. 
 Where they have first prepar'd our place. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Yes, — 'tis the greatest evil man can know, 
 The keenest sorrow in this world of woe. 
 The heaviest impost laid on human breath, 
 Which all must pay, or yield the forfeit — death. 
 For Death all wretches pray ; but when the 
 
 prayer 
 Is heard, and he steps forth to ease their care, 
 Gods ! how they tremble at his aspect rude, 
 And, loathing, turn ! Such man's ingratitude ! 
 And none so fondly cling to life, as he 
 Who hath outlived all life's felicity. 
 
 Since that sad moment when my verdant 
 shore 
 
 Was with the crimson hue of murder dyed. 
 
 To cool the sparkling heat of wine we glide, 
 But shrink abhorrent from the stain of gore. 
 
 CONTRIVANCE 
 
 FOR COOLING THE B ANaUET-C HAMBER OF THE 
 KING OF CYPRUS. 
 
 ^. You say you've passed much of your time 
 in Cyprus. 
 
 B. All ; for the war prevented my departure. 
 
 j9. In what place chiefly, may I ask ? 
 
 B. In Paphos ; 
 
 Where I saw elegance in such perfection. 
 As almost mocks belief. 
 
 ^. Of what kind, pray you? 
 
 B. Take this for one — The monarch, when he 
 sups. 
 Is fanned by living doves. 
 
 ^. You make me curious 
 
 How this is to be done ; all other questions 
 I will put by to be resolved in this. 
 
 B. There is a juice drawn from the carpin- 
 tree. 
 To which your dove instinctively is wedded 
 With a most loving appetite ; with this 
 The king anoints his temples, and the odour 
 No sooner captivates the silly birds. 
 Than straight they flutter round him, — nay, 
 
 would fly 
 A bolder pitch, so strong a love-charm draws 
 
 them. 
 And perch, O horror! on his sacred crown, 
 If that such profanation were permitted 
 Of the by-standers, who with reverent care 
 Fright them away, till thus, retreating now 
 And now advancing, they keep such a coil 
 With their broad vans, and beat the lazy air 
 Into so quick a stir, that in the conflict 
 His royal lungs are comfortably cool'd. 
 And thus he sups as Paphian monarchs should. 
 
 OLD AGE 
 
 COMPARED WITH OLD WINE. 
 
 Old age and old wine well inay be compared ; 
 Let either of them once exceed their date, — 
 Be it ne'er so little, — and the whole turns sour. 
 
 ON A FOUNTAIN, 
 
 NEAR WHICH A MURDER HAD BEEN COJITWITTED. RELUCTANCE TO DIE. 
 
 Ehewhile my gentle streams were wont to pour Ah ! good my master, you may sigh for Death, 
 
 Along their banks a pure translucent tide; And call amain upon him to release you; 
 
 But now the waves are shrunk and channel But will you bid him 'Welcome' when he comes? 
 
 dried. Not you. Old Charon has a stubborn task 
 
 And Naiads know their once-loved haunt no To tug you to his wherry, and dislodge you 
 
 more ; i From your rich tables, when your hour is come 
 
ANAXANDRIDES. 
 
 [About 376 B. C] 
 
 A WATiVE of Camirus in Rhodes, and autlior I which he had contended, to have vented his 
 of sixty-five comedies, of which the titles of rage on every person and thing tliat fell in his 
 
 twenty-eight only have come down to us. He is 
 said to have been a man of ungovernable tem- 
 per, and, whenever disappointed of the prize for 
 
 way, not excepting even his own unfortunate 
 dramas. Hence the early loss of the greater part 
 of them. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Ye gods ! how easily the good man bears 
 
 His cumbrous honours of increasing years. 
 
 Age, Oh my father, is not, as they say, 
 
 A load of evils heap'd on mortal clay. 
 
 Unless impatient folly aids the curse 
 
 And weak lamenting makes our sorrows worse. 
 
 He whose soft soul, whose temper ever even, 
 Whose habits placid as a cloudless heaven, 
 Approve the partial blessings of the sky. 
 Smooths the rough road and walks untroubled 
 
 by; 
 Untimely wrinkles furrow not his brow, 
 And graceful wave his locks of reverend snow. 
 
 EUBULUS. 
 
 [About 375 B. C] 
 
 A ITATIVE of Atarna in Lesbos, but of Athe- 1 bly wrote plays of both sorts. Out of one hun- 
 nian ancestry. He stood on the debatable ground dred and four comedies which he is said to have 
 between the old and middle comedy, and proba- | written, the names of about fifty remain. 
 
 INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 Thhee cups of wine a prudent man may take ; 
 The first of these, for constitution's sake; 
 The second to the girl he loves the best 
 The third and last to lull him to his rest; 
 Then home to bed ! — B\it if a fourth he pours, 
 That is the cup of folly and not ours ; 
 Loud noisy talking on the fifth attends; 
 The sixth breeds feuds and falling-out of friends; 
 Seven beget blows and faces stained with gore; 
 Eight, — and the watch-patrole breaks ope the door; 
 
 Mad with the ninth, another cup goes round, 
 And the swill'd sot drops senseless on the 
 ground. 
 
 ON A WLNGED CUPID. 
 
 Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love? 
 Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove: 
 Love hath no wing.*, or none that I can see ; 
 If he can fly, — oh! bid him fly from me! 
 r2 197 
 
ALEXIS. 
 
 [About 356 B. C] 
 
 A XATiVE of Thurium, and author of two hun- 1 nothing of him except that he was an epicure, a 
 dred and forty-five comedies, of which the titles woman-hater, and the uncle and instructor of 
 of one hundred and thirteen remain. We know Menander. 
 
 THE BON VIVANT. 
 
 Mt wealthy master now resolved to seek 
 Instruction late in life, and learn to speak; 
 And, that in logic rules he might excel. 
 He feed a learned doctor, who lived well. 
 Here, at a vast expense, as suits his rank. 
 He ate and drank, and spoke, and ate and 
 
 drank; 
 And, after years of study, boasts to know 
 The best receipt to make a fricandeau. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 The man, who holds true pleasure to consist 
 In pampering his vile body, and defies 
 Love's great divinity, rashly maintains 
 Weak impious war with an immortal God. 
 The gravest master that the schools can boast 
 Ne'er trained his pupils to such discipline 
 As Love his votaries — And where is he 
 So stubborn and determinedly stiflf 
 But shall, at some time, bend his knee to Love, 
 And make obeisance at his mighty shrine. 
 
 One day, as slowly sauntering from the port, 
 A thousand cares conflicting in my breast. 
 Thus I began to commune with myself — 
 Methinks these painters misapply their art. 
 And never knew the being which they draw ; 
 For mark! their many false conceits of Love. 
 Love is nor male nor female, man nor god, 
 Nor with intelligence, nor yet without it. 
 But a strange compound of all these, uniting 
 In one mixed essence many opposites ; 
 A manly courage with a woman's fear. 
 The madman's frenzy in a reasoning mind. 
 The strength of steel, the fury of a beast. 
 The ambition of a hero. — Something 'tis: 
 But, by Minerva and the gods I swear, 
 I know not what this nameless something is. 
 
 WICKEDNESS OF WOMEN, 
 
 AND FOLLT OF THOSE WHO WED THEM. 
 
 Nor house, nor coffers, nor whatever else 
 Is dear and precious, should be watched so closely. 
 As she whom you call wife. Sad lot is our's, 
 Who barter life and all its free delights, 
 198 
 
 To be the slaves of woman, and are paid 
 
 Her bridal portion in the luckless coin 
 
 Of sorrow and vexation. A man's wrath 
 
 Is milk and honey to a woman's rage ; 
 
 He can be much offended and forgive ; 
 
 She never pardons those she most offends : 
 
 What she should do she slights, what she should 
 
 not 
 Hotly pursues ; false to each virtuous point, 
 And only in her wickedness sincere. 
 
 Who, but a lunatic, would wed and be 
 Wilfully wretched? Better to endure 
 The shame of poverty and all its taunts. 
 Rather than this. The reprobate, on whom 
 The censor sets his brand, is justly doomed 
 Unfit to govern others : but the wretch 
 Who weds, no longer can command himself; 
 Nor hath his woe a period but in death.* 
 
 GLUTTONS AND DRUNKARDS. 
 
 You, sir, a Cyrenean, as I take you. 
 Look at your sect of desperate voluptuaries ! 
 There's Diodorus — ^beggary is too good for him — 
 A vast inheritance in two short years. 
 Where is it? Squander'd, vanish'd gone for- 
 ever; 
 So rapid was his dissipation. — Stop ! 
 Stop, my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast; 
 This man went fair and softly to his ruin ; 
 What talk you of two years ? As many days, 
 Two little days, ■were long enough to finish 
 Young Epicharides ; he had a soul, 
 And drove a merry pace to his undoing — | 
 Marry! if a kind of surfeit would surprise us, 
 Ere we sit down to earn it, such prevention 
 Would come most opportune to save the trouble 
 Of a sick stomach and an aching head : 
 But whilst the punishment is out of sight, 
 And the full chalice at our lips, we drink. 
 Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn. 
 Sick, and all-o'er opprest with nauseous fumes ; 
 Such is the drunkard's curse, and hell itself 
 Cannot devise a greater — Oh, that Nature 
 
 • How different the language of our Otvvay ! — 
 
 O woman, lovely woman! Nature made thee 
 To temper man ; we had been brutes without thee. 
 
 Venice Preserved. 
 
ARISTOPHON. 
 
 199 
 
 Mif^ht quit us of this overbearing burden, 
 This tyrant-gocl, the belly! Take that from us, 
 With all its bestial appetites, and man. 
 Exonerated man, shall be all soul.* 
 
 THE PROCURESS. 
 With fresh recruits she still augments her stock. 
 Moulding the young novitiate to her trade ; 
 Form, feature, manners, every thing so changed, 
 That not a trace of former self is left. — 
 
 Is the wench short ? A triple sole of cork 
 Exalts the pigmy to a proper size. 
 
 Is she too tall of stature 1 A low chair 
 Softens the fault, and a fine easy stoop 
 Lowers her to standard-pitch; — if narrow-hipt, 
 A handsome wadding readily supplies 
 What Nature stints, and all beholders cry, 
 "See, what plump haunches!" Hath the nymph, 
 
 perchance, 
 A high round paunch, stuft like our comic drolls. 
 
 * It seems strange that these lines should have been 
 written by a ghitton, such as Athensus describes the 
 author to have beea. 
 
 And strutting out foreright? A good stout busk, 
 Pushing athwart, shall force the intruder back. 
 
 Hath she red brows? A little soot will cure 
 them. 
 Is she too black? The ceruse makes Iter fair: 
 Too pale of hue ? The opal comes in aid. 
 Hath she a beauty out of sight? Disclose it. 
 Strip nature bare, without a blush. — Fine teeth? 
 Let her affect one everlasting grin. 
 Laugh without stint — But ah ! if laugh she cannot, 
 And her lips won't obey, take a fine twig 
 Of myrtle, shape it like a butcher's skewer, 
 And prop them open, set her on the bitt, 
 Day after day, when out of sight, 'till use 
 Grows second nature, and the pearly row, 
 Will she or will she not, perforce appears. 
 
 PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 Wherkas all other states of Greece compel 
 The children of poor parents to support 
 Those who begot them, we of Athens make 
 The law imperative on such children only 
 As are beholden to their parents for 
 The blessing of a liberal education. 
 
 ARISTOPHON. 
 
 [About 350 B. C] 
 
 A wiiiTEa of the middle comedy, of whom nothing but a few fragments remain to us. 
 
 LOVE. 
 Love, the disturber of the peace of heaven, 
 And grand foraenter of Olympian feuds, 
 Was banished from the synod of the gods. 
 They drove him down to earth at the expense 
 Of us poor mortals, and curtailed his wings 
 To spoil his soaring, and secure themselves 
 From his annoyance. — Selfish, hard decree! 
 For ever since he roams the unquiet world. 
 The tyrant and despoiler of mankind. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 A MAN may marry once without a crime. 
 But curst is he who weds a second lime. 
 
 PYTHAGORAS' VISIT TO HELL. 
 
 I've heard this arrogant impostor tell 
 Amongst the wonders which he saw in hell. 
 That Pluto with his scholars sate and fed. 
 Singling them out from the inferior dead : 
 
 Good faith ! The monarch was not over nice. 
 Thus to take up with beggary and lice. 
 
 ON THE DISCIPLES OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 So gaimt they seem, that famine never made 
 
 Of lank Philippides so mere a shade : 
 
 Of salted tunny-fish their scanty dole. 
 
 Their beverage, like the frogs, a standing pool, 
 
 With now and then a cabbage, at the best 
 
 The leavings of the caterpillar's feast : 
 
 No comb approaches their dishevelled hair 
 
 To rout the long established myriads there; 
 
 On the bare ground their bed; nor do they 
 
 know 
 A M'armer coverlid than serves the crow : 
 Flames the meridian sun without a cloud? 
 They bask like grasshoppers, and chirp as loud. 
 With oil they never even feast their eyes; 
 The luxury of stockings they despise ; 
 But, barefoot as the crane they march along. 
 All night in chorus with the screech-owl's song. 
 
DIODORUS OF SINOPE. 
 
 [About 350 B. C] 
 
 CHOICE OF A WIFE. 
 This is my rule, and to this rule I'll hold, 
 To choose my wife by merit, not by gold ; 
 For on that one election must depend 
 Whether I wed a fury or a friend. 
 
 FORGIVENESS OF THE DEAD. 
 When your foe dies, let all resentment cease ; 
 Make peace with death, and death shall give 
 you peace. 
 
 HERMESIANAX OF COLOPHON. 
 
 [About 350 B. C] 
 
 Hehmesianax is said to have been a native I of the celebrated Athenian courtezan of that 
 of Colophon, and was the author of three books! name. The following fragment, preserved by 
 of Elegies entitled Leontium [Atovtiov) in honour | Athenasus, is all that remains of this poet. 
 
 THE LOVES OF THE GREEK POETS. 
 
 Such Avas the nymph whom Orpheus led 
 From the dark mansions of the dead, 
 Where Charon with his lazy boat 
 Ferries o'er Lethe's sedgy moat ; 
 The undaunted minstrel smites the strings. 
 His strain through hell's vast concave rings; 
 Cocytus hears the plaintive theme. 
 And refluent turns his pitying stream ; 
 Three-headed Cerberus, by fate 
 Posted at Pluto's iron gate, 
 Low-crouching rolls his haggard eyes 
 Extatic, and foregoes the prize ; 
 With ears erect at hell's wide doors. 
 Lies listening as the songster soars: 
 Thus music cliarm'd the realm beneath, 
 And beauty triumph'd over death. 
 The bard, whom night's pale regent bore 
 In secret on the Athenian shore, 
 MusiEUS, felt the sacred flame. 
 And burnt for the fair Theban dame, 
 Antiope, whom mighty Love 
 Made pregnant by imperial Jove ; 
 The poet plied his amorous strain, 
 Press'd the fond fair, nor press'd in vain; 
 For Ceres, who the veil undrew. 
 That screen'd her mysteries from view, 
 Propitious this kind truth reveal'd. 
 That woman close-besieged will yield. 
 HoMEH, of all past bards the prime, 
 And wonder of all future time, 
 Whom Jove with wit sublimely blest, 
 And touched with purest fire his breast, 
 200 
 
 From gods and heroes turned away 
 
 To warble the domestic lay. 
 
 And, Avandering to the desert isle, 
 
 On whose parch'd rocks no seasons smile, 
 
 In distant Ithaca was seen 
 
 Chaunting the suit-repelling queen. 
 
 Old Hesiod, too, his native shade 
 
 Made vocal to the Ascraean maid ; 
 
 The bard his heaven-directed lore 
 
 Forsook, and hymn'd the gods no more ; 
 
 Soft, love-sick ditties now he sung. 
 
 Love touch'd his harp, love tuned his tongue. 
 
 Silenced his Heliconian lyre. 
 
 And quite put out religions fire. 
 
 MiMNEKMUs tuned his amorous lay. 
 When time had turned his temples gray; 
 Love revelled in his aged veins. 
 Soft was his lyre, and sweet his strains ; 
 Frequenter of the wanton feast, 
 Nanno his theme, and youth his guest. 
 
 Antimachus with tender art 
 Poured forth the sorrows of his heart; 
 In her Dardaiiian grave he laid 
 Cliryseis, his beloved maid ; 
 And thence returning, sad beside 
 Pactolus' melancholy tide. 
 To Coloplioii the minstrel came. 
 Still sighing forth the mournful name, 
 Till lenient time his grief appeas'd. 
 And tears by long indulgence ceas'd. 
 
 ALCEtJS strung his sounding lyre. 
 And smote it with a hand of fire, 
 
PHILEMON. 
 
 201 
 
 To Sappho, fondest of the fiiir, 
 Chanting the loud and lofty air. 
 • •••*• 
 
 E'en Sophocles, whose honey'd lore 
 Rivals the bee's delicious store, 
 Chorus'd the praise of wine and love, 
 Choicest of all the gifts of Jove. 
 ****** 
 Phtloxknus, by wood-nymphs bred, 
 On famed Cithneron's sacred head, 
 And trained to music, wine, and song, 
 Midst orgies of the frantic throng, 
 When beauteous Galatea died, 
 His flute and thyrsus cast aside; 
 And, wandering to thy pensive coast, 
 Sad Melos, where his love was lost; 
 Each night, through the responsive air, 
 Thy echoes witness'd his despair ; 
 Still, still his plaintive harp was heard, 
 Soft as the nightly singing bird. 
 Philotas, too, in Battis' praise, 
 Sung his long-winded roundelays; 
 His statue in the Coan grove. 
 Now breathes in brass perpetual love. 
 
 The mortified, abstemious Sage, 
 
 Deep-read in learning's craljbed page, 
 
 Pttiiagouas, whose boundless soul 
 
 Scaled the wide globe from pole to pole, 
 
 Earth, planets, seas, and heavens above, 
 
 Yet found no sj)ot secure from love; 
 
 With love declines unequal war. 
 
 And, trendjiing, drags his conqueror's car;- 
 
 Tlicano cla>j)'d him in her arms, 
 
 And Wisdom stooped to Beauty's charms. 
 
 E'en Socrates, whose moral mind 
 With truth enlighten'd all mankind. 
 When at Aspasia's side he sate. 
 Still found no end to love's debate; 
 For strong indeed must be the heart 
 Where love finds no unguarded part. 
 
 Sage Aristippcs, by right rule 
 Of logic, purged the Sophist's school, 
 Check'd folly in its headlong course. 
 And swept it down by reason's force; 
 'Till Venus aimed the heartfelt blow, 
 And laid the mighty victor low. 
 
 PHILEMON. 
 
 [About 339 B. C] 
 
 A NATiTE of Soli, and author of ninety-seven 
 comedies, of which only fragments have come 
 down to us. He was a man of temperate and 
 peaceful liabits, and lived to the age of ninety- 
 nine, when he died, (according to Lucian, 1 in a 
 
 paroxysm of laughter, at seeing an ass devour 
 some figs intended for his own eating. Philemon 
 was considered by some as superior to Menander, 
 and even carried off the prize from him on seve- 
 ral occasions. 
 
 THE JUST MAN. 
 All are not just, because they do no wrong. 
 But he, who will not wrong me when he may, 
 He is the truly just. I praise not them. 
 Who, in their petty dealings pilfer not; 
 But him, whose conscience spurns a secret fraud, 
 When he might plunder and defy surprise : 
 His be the praise, who, looking down with scorn 
 On the false judgment of the partial herd. 
 Consults liis own clear heart, and boldly dares 
 To be, not to be thought, an honest man. 
 
 THE SOVEREIGN GOOD. 
 Philosophehs consume much time and pams 
 To seek the sovereign good; nor is there one, 
 Who yet hath struck upon it: Virtue some, 
 And Prudence some contend for, whilst the knot 
 Grows harder by their struggles to untie it. 
 I, a mere clown, in turning up the soil, 
 Have dug the secret forth — All-gracious Jove ! 
 26 
 
 'Tis Peace, most lovely, and of all beloved ; 
 Peace is the boimteous goddess who bestows 
 Weddings, and holidays, and joyous feasts. 
 Relations, friends, health, plenty, social comforts. 
 And pleasures, which alone make life a blessing.* 
 
 TRUTH. 
 Now, by the gods, it is not in the power 
 Of Painting or of Sculpture to express 
 Aught so divine as the fair form of Thcth! 
 The creatures of tlieir art may catch the eye, 
 But her sweet nature captivates the soul. 
 
 ON TEARS. 
 If tears could nieilicine human ills, and give 
 The o'ercharged heart a sweet restorative, 
 
 » We am mid by Dr. Parr, that the above passage was 
 a very favourite one willi Mr. Fox. 
 
202 
 
 MENANDER. 
 
 Gold, jewels, splendour, all we reckon dear, 
 Were mean and worthless to a single tear. 
 But ah ! nor treasures bribe, nor raining eyes, 
 Our firm inexorable destinies : — 
 Weep we or not, as sun succeeds to sun, 
 In the same course our fates unpitying run. 
 Tears yet are ours, whene'er misfortunes press. 
 And though our weeping fails to give redress. 
 Long as their fruits the changing seasons bring, 
 Those bitter drops will flow from Sorrow's 
 spring. 
 
 SENSE AND NONSENSE. 
 Two words of nonsense are two words too 
 
 much : 
 Whole volumes of good sense will never tire. 
 What multitudes of lines did Homer write! 
 Who ever tnought he wrote one line too much. 
 
 A WORD 
 
 TO THE IDLE AND THOUGHTIESS. 
 
 CtEos-, cease to trifle thus with life : 
 
 A mind, so barren of experience, 
 
 Can hoard up naught but misery, believe me. 
 
 The sliipw^reck'd mariner must sink outright, 
 
 Who makes no effort to regain the shore ; 
 
 The needy wretch, who never learn'd a trade, 
 
 And will not work, must starve — " What then,' 
 
 you cry? 
 " 3fy riches" — Frail security — " My farms, 
 My houses, my estate" — Alas, my friend. 
 Fortune makes quick despatch, and in a day 
 Can strip you bare as beggary itself. 
 Grant that you now had piloted your bark 
 Into good fortune's haven, anchor'd there 
 And moor'd her safe as caution could devise ; 
 Yet, if the headstrong passions seize the helm 
 And turn her out to sea, the stormy gusts 
 May rise and blow you out of sight of port, 
 
 Never to reach prosperity again — 
 " What tell you me: Have I not friends to fly to? 
 I have ; and will not those kind friends protect me?''' 
 Better it were, you should not need their service, 
 And so not make the trial. Much I fear 
 Your sinking hand would only grasp a shade. 
 
 HOPELESS ANGUISH. 
 'Tis not on them alone, who tempt the sea. 
 That the storm breaks; it whelms een us, 
 
 Laches, 
 Whether we pace the open colonnade, 
 Or to the inmost shelter of our house 
 Shrink from its rage. The sailor for a day, 
 A night perhaps, is bandied up and down, 
 And then anon reposes, when the wind 
 Veers to the wish'd-for point, and wafts him 
 
 liome. 
 But I know no repose ; not one day only, 
 But every day, to the last hour of life. 
 Deeper and deeper am I plunged in woe. 
 
 THE TEST OF WISDOM. 
 
 Extremes of fortune are true wisdom's test. 
 And he's of men most wise, who bears them 
 best. 
 
 RICHES. 
 
 Still to be rich is still to be imhappy; 
 
 Still to be envied, hated, and abused ; 
 
 Still to collect new law-suits, new vexations, 
 
 Still to be carking, still to be collecting. 
 
 Only to make your funeral a feast. 
 
 And hoard up riches for a thriftless heir : 
 
 — Let me be light in purse and light in heart ; 
 
 Give me small means, but give content withal; 
 
 Only preserve me from the law, kind gods, 
 
 And I will thank you for my poverty. 
 
 MENANDER. 
 
 [Born 342, Died 291, B. C] 
 
 Menander, son of the Athenian general Dio- 
 peithes, and nephew of the comedian Alexis, 
 was born at Athens, and educated in the school 
 of Theophrastus. He himself, however, in later 
 life, rather leaned to the opinions of Epicurus, 
 whom he described as rescuing Greece " from 
 unreason, just as Themistocles had rescued her 
 from slavery." He wrote upwards of one hun- 
 dred comedies, of which only fragments remain. 
 
 Of their excellence, however, if we may judge 
 from the loudness and unanimity of his country- 
 men in their praise, there can be but little 
 doubt. Terence, whom Julius CEPsar used to call 
 the demi-Menander, is supposed to have been 
 indebted to him for many of his plots. He died 
 at Athens in the fifty-second year of his age, being 
 drowned, according to one account, while bathing 
 in the harbour of the Peiraeus. 
 
MENANDER. 
 
 203 
 
 MISANTHROPY AND DISCONTENT. 
 Suppose some god should say — " Die when thou 
 
 wilt, 
 Mortal, expect another lil'e on earth ; 
 And, for that life, make choice of all creation 
 What thou wilt be ; dog, sheep, goat, man, or 
 
 horse ; 
 For live again thou must; it is thy fate ; 
 Choose only in what form ; there thou art free."-^ 
 So help me, Crato, I would fairly answer, — 
 Let me be all things, any thing hut man ! 
 He only of all creatures feels atiliction. 
 The generous horse is valued lor his worth, 
 And dog by merit is preferred to dog; 
 The warrior cock is pampered for his courage, 
 And awes the baser brood — But vv'hat is man? 
 Truth, virtue, valour, how do they avail him ? 
 Of this world's good the first and greatest share 
 Is flattery's prize; the informer takes the next, 
 And barefaced knavery garbles what is left. — 
 I'd rather be an ass than what I am. 
 And see these villains lord it o'er their betters. 
 
 EVERY CREATURE MORE BLEST THAN 
 
 MAN. 
 
 All creatures are more blest in their condition, 
 And in their natures worthier, than man. 
 Look at yon ass! — A sorry beast you'll say. 
 And such, in truth he is — poor, hapless thing! 
 Yet these his sufferings spring not from himself, 
 For all that Nature gave him he enjoys ; 
 Whilst we, beside our necessary ills; 
 Make ourselves sorrows of our own begetting. 
 If a man sneeze, we're sad — for that's ill-luck; 
 If he traduce us, we run mad with rage ; 
 A dream, a vapour, throws us into terrors, 
 And let the night-owl hoot, we melt with fear : 
 Anxieties, opinions, laws, ambition. 
 All these are torments we may thank ourselves for. 
 
 LUSTRATION. 
 
 If your complaints were serious, 'twould be well 
 You sought a serious cure ; but for weak minds 
 Weak medicines suffice. — Go, call around you 
 The women with their purifying water ; 
 Drug it with salt and lentils, and then take 
 A treble sprinkling from the holy mess : 
 Now search your heart; if that reproach you not, 
 Then, and then only, you are truly pure. 
 
 THE USE OF RICHES. 
 
 Abundance is a blessing to tlie wise; 
 
 The use of riches in discretion lies. 
 
 Learn this, ye men of wealth — A heavy purse 
 
 In a fool's pocket is a heavy curse. 
 
 WOMAN AND WEDLOCK. 
 
 If such the sex, was not the sentence just, 
 That riveted Prometheus to his rock ? — 
 — Why? — For what crime? — A spark, a little 
 spark ; 
 
 But, oh ye gods! how infinite the mischief — 
 Tiiat little spark gave being to a woman. 
 And let in a new race of plagues to curse us. 
 Where is the man that weds? Shov/ me the 
 
 wretch ; 
 — Woe to his lot! — Insatiable desires, 
 His nuptial bed defiled, jioisonings and plots, 
 And maladies untold — these arc the fruits 
 Of marriage — these the blessings of a wife. 
 
 LIFE. 
 The lot of all most fortunate is his, 
 Who, having staid just long enough on earth 
 To feast his sight with the fair face of Nature, 
 Sun, sea, and clouds, and heaven's bright starry 
 
 fires. 
 Drops without pain into an early grave. 
 For -what is life, the longest life of man. 
 But tlie same scene repeated o'er and o'er ? 
 A few more lingering days to be consumed 
 In throngs and crowds, with sharpers, kiuives, 
 
 and thieves ; — 
 From such tlie speediest riddance is the best. 
 
 ENVY. 
 Thou seem'st to me, young man, not to perceive 
 That every thing contains within itself 
 The seeds and sources of its own corruption : 
 The cankering rust corrodes the brightest steel ; 
 The moth frets out your garment, and the worm 
 Eats its slow way into the solid oak ; 
 But Envy, of all evil things the worst. 
 The same to-day, to-moirow, and for ever, 
 Saps and consumes the heart in which it works. 
 
 ADVICE TO THE COVETOUS. 
 Weak is the vanity, that boasts of riches, 
 For they are fleeting things ; — were they not such, 
 Could they be yours to all succeeding time, 
 Twere wise to let none share in the possession; 
 But, if whate'er you have is held of Fortune, 
 And not of right inherent, why, my father. 
 Why with such niggard jealousy engross 
 What the next hour may ravish from your grasp, 
 And cast into some worthless favourite's lap ? 
 Snatch then the swift occasion while 'tis yours ; 
 Put this unstable boon to noble uses ; 
 Foster the wants of men, impart your wealth, 
 And purchase friends; 'twill be more lasting 
 
 treasure. 
 And, when misfortune comes, your best resource. 
 
 THE Riril 
 
 NOT HAPPIER TIIAX THKin N F.IB HBOmS. 
 
 Ne'er trust me, Phanias, but I thought 'till now. 
 That you rich fellows had the knack of sleei)iiig 
 A good sound nap, that held you for the night ; 
 And not like us poor rogues, who toss and turn. 
 Sighing "./^A vie!' and grumbling at our duns: 
 But now I find, in spite of all your money. 
 You rest no better than your needy neighbours, 
 And sorrow is the common lot of all. 
 
204 
 
 TIMOCLES. 
 
 CONSOLATION IN MISFORTUNE. 
 If you, O Tropliimus, and you alone 
 Of all your mother's sons, have Nature's charter 
 For privilege of pleasures uncontrolled, 
 With full exemption from the strokes of Fortune, 
 And that some god hath ratified the grant, 
 You then with cause may vent your loud re- 
 proach, 
 For he hath broke your charter and betrayed you : 
 But, if you live and breathe the common air 
 On the same terms that we do, then I tell you, 
 And tell it in the tragic poet's words — 
 " Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give plare to accidental evils'^ — * 
 The sum of which philosophy is this — 
 You are a man, and therefore Fortune's sport. 
 This hour exalted, and the next abased : 
 You are a man, and, though by nature weak, 
 By nature arrogant, climbing to heights 
 That mock your reach, and crush you in the fall. 
 Nor was the blessing, you have lost, the best 
 Of all life's blessings; nor is your misfortune 
 The worst of its afflictions ; therefore, Tro.phimus, 
 Make it not such by overstrained complaints, 
 But to your disappointment suit your sorrow. 
 
 WHAT DUST WE ARE MADE OF. 
 
 If you would know of what frail stuff you're 
 
 made, 
 Go to the tombs of the illustrious dead ; 
 
 * The lines in italics, taken from Shakspeare's Julius 
 Cassar, correspnnd with the exact meaning of the origi- 
 nal, which was a quotation from some one of the tragic 
 poets, probably Euripides. 
 
 There rest the bones of kings, there tyrants rot; 
 There sleep the rich, the noble, and the wise ; 
 There pride, ambition, beauty's fairest form, 
 All dust alike, compound one common mass; 
 Reflect on these, and in them see yourself. 
 
 BAD TEMPER. 
 
 Or all bad things, by which mankind are curst, 
 Their own bad teinpers surely are the worst. 
 
 KNOW THYSELF. 
 
 You say. not always wisely, — " Kno-w Thtseif ! ' 
 Know others, ofttimes, is the better maxim. 
 
 UNKIND FORTUNE. 
 
 What pity 'tis when happy Nature rears 
 
 A noble pile, that Fortune should o'erthrow it. 
 
 HOW TO PLEASE GOD. 
 
 Think not that God is pleased with blood of 
 
 bidls 
 And goats, — that He delights in images 
 Of gold and ivory ; — deceive not thus 
 Thyself, O man, with vain imaginations; 
 But study rather to conciliate 
 His grace by doing good to all around thee. 
 Abstain from hate, and violence ; from adultery. 
 Theft, fraud, and avarice; covet not so much as 
 The thread of another's needle ; for know thou 
 That God is ever present, ever has 
 His eye upon thee ! 
 
 TIMOCLES. 
 
 [About 330 B. C] 
 
 Of this name there are two comic poets on I towards the latter part of the fourth century before 
 record ; one of uncertain date and country, — the Christ. To \v"hich of them we are indebted for the 
 other, a native of Athens, and flourisl:ing there | following fragment it is impossible to determine. 
 
 A BALM FOR OUR CARES. 
 
 Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confess 
 
 Man is a child of sorrow, and this ^vorld, 
 
 In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague 
 
 us; 
 But it hath means withal to soothe these cares 
 And he, who meditates on other's woes 
 Shall in that meditation lose his own: 
 Call then the tragic-poet to your aid. 
 Hear him, and take instruction from the stage. 
 
 Let Telephus appear ; behold a prince 
 
 A spectacle of poverty and pain, 
 
 Wretclied in both. — And what if you are poor? 
 
 Are you a demi-god? Are you the son 
 
 Of Hercules'? Begone! Complain no more. — 
 
 Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts? 
 
 Do your wits wander? Are you mad? Alas! 
 
 So was Alcmteon, whilst the world adored 
 
 His father as a god. — Your eyes are dim ; 
 
 What then? The eyes of Qildipus were dark. 
 
 Totally dark. — You mourn a son? He's dead? 
 
DIPHILUS. — APOLLODORUS OF GELA. 
 
 205 
 
 n 
 
 Turn to tlie tale of Niobe for comfort, 
 
 And match your loss with hers. — You're laine 
 
 of foot 1 
 Com[)are it with the foot of Philoctetes 
 And make no more complaint. — But you are old, 
 
 Old and unfortunate; — consult O^neus; 
 Hear what a king endured and learn content. 
 Sum up your miseries, number up your siijlis, 
 The tragic stage shall {live you tear liir tear, 
 And wash out all afflictions but its own. 
 
 DIPIIILUS. 
 
 [About 330 B. C] 
 
 DiPHiLUS was born at Sinope, and died at I been preserved. The " Casina" of Plautus and 
 Smyrna. Of one hundred comedies which he is a considerable portion of Terence's "Adelphi" 
 said to have written, a few fragments only have 1 are said to have been borrowed from this poet. 
 
 LAW OF CORINTH AGAINST SPEND- 
 THRIFTS. 
 
 Wf. have a notable good law at Corinth, 
 
 Wlier*^, if an idle fellow outruns reason, 
 
 Feasting and junketing at furious cost. 
 
 The sumptuary proctor calls upon him. 
 
 And thus begins to sift him: "You live well. 
 
 But have you well to live? You squander freely, 
 
 Have you the wherewithal? Have you the fund 
 
 For tliese outgoings? — If you have, go on ! 
 
 If yoti have not, we'll stop you in good time. 
 
 Before you outruii honesty ; for he 
 
 Who Lives, we know not how, must live by 
 
 plunder ; 
 Either he picks a purse or robs a house. 
 Or is accomplice with some knavish gang. 
 Or thrusts himself in crowds to play the informer. 
 
 And put his perjured evidence to sale : 
 This a well-ordered city will not suffer; 
 Such vermin we expel.'' — And yon do wisely: 
 But tvhat is this to me ? — '• Why this it is : 
 Here we behold you every day at work, 
 Living, forsooth, not as your neighbours live, 
 But richly, royally, ye gods! — Why, man, 
 We cannot get a fish for love or money ; 
 You swallow the whole produce of the sea: 
 You've driven our critizens to browse on cabbage ; 
 A sprig of parsley sets them all a-figliting. 
 As at the Isthmian games ; if hare, or partridge, 
 Or but a simple thrush comes into market. 
 Quick, at a word, you snap him — by the gods! 
 Hunt Athens through, you shall not find a feather, 
 But in your kitchen; and for wine, 'tis gold — 
 Not to be jiurchased — we may drink the ditches." 
 
 APOLLODORUS OF GELA. 
 
 [About 330 B. C] 
 
 A WRITER high in fame, and author of several land Hecyra of Terence are generally understood 
 comedies, of which the titles of eight only, and to have been borrowed from him. He was a 
 some few fragments now remain. The Phoimio i rival and contemporary of Menandcr. 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 I. 
 How sweet were life, how placid and serene, 
 Were others but as gentle as ourselves ; 
 But, if we must consort with apes and monkeys, 
 We must be brutes like them — O life of sorrow ! 
 
 What do you trust to, father? — To your money? 
 Fortune indeed to those who have it not 
 Will .sometimes give it; but 'tis done in malice, 
 Merely that she inny take it back again. 
 
206 
 
 CLEARCHUS.— THEOPHILUS.— NOSSIS. 
 
 Not so the father; he cannot demand, 
 Go to! Make fast your gates with bars and bolts ; " Were you not once as old as I am now V 
 Yet never chamber-door was shut so close, 
 But cats and cuckold-makers would creep through | ^^^^^ j^ ^ ^^^^^-^ hospitable air 
 
 In a friend's house, that tells me I am welcome : 
 
 Youth and old age have their respective hu- 
 mours ; 
 And son, by privilege, can say to father, 
 "Were you not once as young as I am now?" 
 
 The porter opens to me with a smile ; 
 
 The yard-dog wags his tail, the servatit runs. 
 
 Beats up the cushion, spreads the couch and 
 
 says, — 
 "Sit down, good sir !'' — ere I can say I'm weary. 
 
 CLEARCHUS. 
 
 ON DRUNKENNESS. 
 
 CotTiB every drunkard, ere he sits to dine, 
 Feel in his head the dizzy fumes of wine. 
 No more would Bacchus chain the willing soul, 
 
 But loathing horror, shun the poison'd bowl. 
 But frantic joy foreruns the pains of fate, 
 And real good we cannot calculate. 
 
 THEOPHILUS. 
 
 [About 320 B. C] 
 
 ON LOVE. 
 
 If Love be folly as the schools would prove. 
 The man must lose his wits who falls in love: 
 Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death. 
 And then it follows he must lose his breath. 
 Good sooth ! there is a young and dainty maid 
 I dearly love ; a minstrel she by trade : 
 
 What then 1 Must I defer to pedant rule. 
 And own that Love transforms me to a fool? 
 Not I, so help me ! By the gods I swear. 
 The nymph I love is fairest of the fair; 
 Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sight 
 Than piles of money on an author's night: 
 Must I not love her then? Let the dull sot, 
 Who made tlie law, obey it! I will not. 
 
 NOSSIS. 
 
 [About 280 B. C.l 
 
 All that we know of this lady is that she was a native of Locri, in Italy. Twelve of her epigrams 
 
 remain. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF LOVE. 
 
 Wh.vt in life is half so .sweet 
 As the hour when lovers meet? 
 Not the joys that Fortune pours, 
 Not Hymettus' fragrant stores. 
 
 Thus sa3's Nossis — Whosoe'er 
 Venus takes not to her care. 
 Never shall the roses know 
 In her blooming bowers that grow. 
 
ANYTE. 
 
 207 
 
 ON AN IMAGE OF HER DAUGHTER. 
 In tliis loved stone Melimia's self I trace. 
 'Tis liers that form, 'tis hers that speaking face, 
 How like'her mother's! Oh, what joy to see 
 Ourselves reflected in our progeny ! 
 
 ON RHINTHON. 
 
 THE INVENTOn OF TnAOI-COMEDT. 
 
 With liearty laughter pass this column by — 
 Just ineed of praise to him, who slumbers nif^h. 
 Rhintlion my name — my home-place Syracuse, — 
 And, though no tuneful darling of the muse, 
 
 I first made Tragedy divert the town, 
 
 And wove — nay doubt not — my own ivy-crown. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF THYMARETE. 
 
 On yonder tablet graved I see 
 The form of my Thyinarete, — 
 Her gracious smile, her lofty air. 
 Warm as in life, all Ijlended there. 
 Her little fondled dog, that keeps 
 Still watch around her while slie sleeps, 
 Would in that shape his mistress trace, 
 And, fawning, lick her honoured face. 
 
 ANYTE. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 A POETESS of Tegea, in Arcadia, of whose productions only a few epigrams — all remarkable for 
 their simplicity — have descended to us. 
 
 ON THE MAID ANTIBIA. 
 The maid Antibia I lament; for whom 
 
 Full many a suitor sought her father's hall ; 
 For beauty, prudence, famed was she ; but doom 
 
 Destructive overwhelmed the hopes of all. 
 
 ON THE YOUNG VIRGIN PHILLIDA. 
 
 In this sad tomb where Phillida is laid, 
 Her mother oft invokes the gentle shade, 
 And calls, in hopeless grief, on her who died, 
 III the full Ijloom of youth Jind beauty's pride; 
 Who left, a virgin, the bright realms of day. 
 On gloomy Acheron's pale coasts to stray. 
 
 ON A STATUE OF VENUS, 
 near the sea. coast. 
 Cythera from this craggy steep 
 LfK)ks downward on the glassy deep, 
 And hither ca'ls the breathing gale, 
 Propitious to the venturous sail ; 
 While ocean flows be.ieat'i, serene, 
 Awed by the smile of beauty's queen. 
 
 ON A DOLPHIN CAST ASHORE. 
 
 No more exulting o'er the buoyant sea. 
 High shall I raise my head in gambols free ; 
 Nor by some gallant ship breathe out the air. 
 Pleased with my own bright image figured there. 
 The storm's black mist has forced me to the land, 
 And laid me lifeless on this coucli of sand. 
 
 ON THREE VIRGINS OF MILETUS, 
 
 WHO DIED TO ESCAPE DISHONOUR FROM TUB 
 CAULS. 
 
 Then let us hence, Miletus dear!^ 
 
 sweet native land, farewell! 
 The insulting wrongs of lawless Gauls 
 
 we dread whilst here we dwell. 
 Three virgins of Milesian race, 
 
 to this dire fate compell'd 
 By Celtic Mars — yet glad we die, 
 
 that we have ne'er beheld 
 Spousals of blood, nor sunk to be 
 
 vile handmaids of our foes, 
 But rat'ier owe our thanks to Death, 
 
 kinil healer of our woes. . 
 
 ON THE ENTRANCE TO A CAVERN. ON A GROVE OF LAUREL. 
 
 Stranger, be'ieath this rock thy limbs bestow — ' Whoe'er thou art, recline beneath the shade. 
 Sweet, 'mid the green leaves, breezes whisper By never fa ling leaves of laurel made ; 
 
 here. ' And here awhile thy thirst securely slake 
 
 Drink the rool wave, while r.oontide fervoms With the pure beverage of the crysial lake: 
 glow; So shall your laugui I liinb-*, by toil opprest. 
 
 For such the rest to wearied pilgrim dear. ' And sumnu-r s burning heat, find needful rest, 
 
208 
 
 DIOTIMUS. — ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS. 
 
 And renovation from the balmy power 
 That stirs and breathes within this verdant 
 bower. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 Poon Erato, when the cohl liand of Death 
 Choked tlie faint struggles of her labouring breath, 
 And parting life scarce glimmered in her face, 
 Strained her fond father in a last embrace : 
 
 " father, it is o'er — dark clouds arise, — 
 And mists of death hang heavy on my eyes." 
 
 ON A LAUREL BY A FOUNTAINS SIDE. 
 
 Rest thee beneath yon laurel's ample shade, 
 And quaff the limpid stream that issues there; 
 
 So thy worn frame, for summer's toil repaid. 
 May feel the freshness of the western air. 
 
 DIOTIMUS. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 A NATIVE of Adramytus, and a schoolmaster 
 in the neighbourhood of Mount Gargarus, of 
 whom about a dozen epigrams have come down 
 to us. His melancholy office is thus recorded 
 
 in the epitaph written on him by his brother 
 
 poet Aratus : 
 "I mourn for Diotimus, who sits among the rocks, 
 Hammering, all day, their A B C, on Gaigara's infant 
 blocks." 
 
 EPITAPH ON TWO AGED PRIESTESSES. 
 
 Two aged matrons, daughters of one sire, 
 
 Lie in one tomb — twin-buried and twin-born, — 
 
 Clio, the priestess of the Graces 'quire, 
 Anaxo, unto Ceres' service sworn. 
 
 Nine suns were wanting to our ninetieth year : 
 We died together — who would covet more? 
 
 We held our husbands and our children dear. 
 Nor death unkind, to which we sped before. 
 
 TO A DUENNA. 
 Guardian of yon blushing fair! 
 
 Reverend matron ! tell me why 
 You affect that churlish air, 
 
 Snarling as I pass you by. 
 I deserve not such rebuke :— 
 All I ask is but to look. 
 
 True, I on her steps attend — 
 True, I cannot choose but gaze ; 
 
 But I meant not to offend — 
 
 Common are the public ways : 
 And I need not your rebuke, 
 When I follow but to look. 
 
 Are my eyes so much in fault 
 That they cannot choose but see? 
 
 By the gods we're homage taught, 
 Homage is idolatry. 
 
 Spare that undeserv'd rebuke ; — 
 
 E'en tire gods permit to look. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A FLUTE-PLAYER. 
 
 Man's hopes are spirits with fast fleeting 
 wings. 
 
 See where in death our hopeful Lesbus lies! 
 Lesbus is dead, the favourite of kings ! 
 
 Hail light-wing'd Hopes, ye swiftest deities! 
 On his cold tomb we carve a voiceless flute, 
 For Pluto hears not, and the grave is mute. 
 
 ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 The friend and preceptor of Theocritus. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF BERENICE. 
 This form is Cytherea's — Nay 
 
 'Tis Berenice's I protest ; 
 So like to both, you safely may 
 Give it to either you like best. 
 
 THE ENJOYMENT OF LOVE. 
 Sweet is the goblet cooled with winter-snows 
 
 To him who pants in summer's scorching heat; 
 And sweet to weary mariners repose 
 
 From ocean's tempests in some green retreat: 
 
SIMMIAS OF RHODES.— SOTADES. 
 
 209 
 
 But far more sweet than these, the conscious 
 
 bower 
 Where lovers meet at Love's delighted hour. 
 
 THE VIRGIN'S TRIUMPH. 
 Still glorying in thy virgin flower? 
 
 Yet, in those gloomy shades below. 
 No lovers will adorn thy bower : 
 
 Youth's pleasures with the living glow. — 
 Virgin, we shall be dust alone, 
 On the sad shore of Acheron ! 
 
 THE POWER OF WINE. 
 Sxow on ! hail on ! cast darkness all around me ! 
 Let loose thy thunders ! With thy lightnings 
 wound me ! 
 
 — I care not, Jove, but thy worst rage defy ; 
 Nor will I cease to revel 'till I die. 
 Spare but my life — and let thy thiniders roar 
 And lightnings flash — I'll only revel more. 
 Thinidercr ! a god more potent far than thee — 
 To whom thou too hast yielded — maddens me. 
 
 ON HESIOD. 
 Sweet bard of Ascra ! on thy youthful head 
 The Muses erst their laurel-branches spread, 
 When on the rugged summits of the rocks 
 They saw thee laid amidst thy sultry flocks. 
 E'en then to thee, o'er fair Casta lia's wave, 
 Their sacred powers unbounded empire gave. 
 By this inspired, thy genius soared on high, 
 And ranged the vaulted azure of the sky ; 
 With joy transported, viewed the blest abodes, 
 And sang th' extatic raptures of the gods. 
 
 SIMMIAS OF RHODES. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 Though distinguished as a grammarian, and I remain of him five "dull epigrams," (as Mr. 
 mentioned .by Strabo among the eminent men Morivale justly calls them.) and the following 
 of Rhodes, he is little known as a poet There 1 fragment of a poem in praise of Apollo. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 I REACHED the distant Hyperborean state. 
 
 The wealthy race, — at whose high banquet 
 
 sate 
 Perseus the hero. On those wide-stretch'd plains 
 Ride the Massagetse, (giving the reins 
 To their fleet coursers.) skilful with the bow. — 
 And then I came to the stupendous flow 
 
 Of Campasus, who pours his mighty tide 
 
 To th" ocean-sea, eternally supplied. 
 
 Thence to isles clad widi olives green and young, 
 
 With many a tufted bulrush ovephung. 
 
 A giant race, half man, half dog, live there: 
 
 Beneath their shoulders grow the heads they 
 
 wear ; 
 Jaws long and lank, and grizzly tusks they bear: 
 Much foreign tongues they learn, and can indite ; 
 But when they surive to speak, they bark outright. 
 
 SOTADES. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 A KATiTE of Athens, and a writer of comedy; of whom, however, nothing remains but the 
 
 following fragment. 
 
 MANS FATE ON EARTH. I Trouble is hard behind.— Conscience direct? 
 
 Is there a man, just, honest, nobly born? Beggary is at his heels. — ^Is he an artist? 
 
 Malice shall hunt him down. Does wealth at- Farewell, repose! — An equal, upright judge? 
 
 tend him ? j Report shall blast lus virtues. — Is he strong ? 
 
 27 8 2 
 
210 
 
 PH^DIMUS.— THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Sickness shall sap his strength. — Account that j How died Diogenes? As a dog dies, 
 
 day With a raw morsel in hi.s hungry throat. 
 
 Whicli brings no new mischance, a day of rest. | Alas ibr ^schylus! Musing he walked — 
 For what is man? What matter is he made of? i The soaring eagle dropp'd a tortoise down, 
 
 How born? What is he, and what shall he be? 
 What an unnatural parent is the world, 
 To foster none but villains, and destroy 
 All who are benefactors to mankind! 
 What was the fate of Socrates ? A prison, 
 A dose of poison J tried, condemn.'d, and killed. 
 
 And crushed that brain, where tragedy had 
 
 birth. 
 A paltry grape-stone choak'd the Athenian Bee. 
 Mastitis of Thrace devour'd Euripides — 
 And godlike Homer, woe the while! was starved. 
 Thus life, blind life, teems with perpetual woes. 
 
 PH^DIMUS. 
 
 A WHITER of elegies, of whom nothing is known but that he was a citizen of Bisanthe in 
 
 Macedonia 
 
 HEROIC LOVE. 
 
 This bow that erst the earth-born dragon slew, 
 
 O mighty God of Day, restrain ! 
 Not now those deadly shafts are due 
 
 That stretch the woodland tyrants on the plain. 
 Rather, Phoebus, bring thy nobler darts, 
 With which thou piercest gentle hearts — 
 
 Bid them Themistio's breast inspire 
 
 With Love's bright flame and Valour's holy fire : 
 
 Pure Valour — firm, heroic Love — 
 
 Twin deities, supreme oer gods above, 
 
 United in the sacred cause 
 
 Of his dear native land and freedom's laws. 
 
 So let him win the glorious crown 
 
 His fathers wore — bright meed of fair renown. 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 [About tn B. C] 
 
 THT.ocniTrs was a rative of Syracuse, and 
 flourished in the reigns of Hiero, king of Sicily, 
 and Ptolemy Philadelphus king of ^Egypt. He 
 resided, however, for the most part at the court 
 of the latter, whose praises he has gratefully re- 
 corded in his xvth and xviith Idyls. Theocritus 
 wrote in the Doric dialect, the si'ftness of which 
 he is said to have improved beyond any who 
 went before him. That it was not, however, to 
 dialect or language alone he owed his honours, 
 is evident from the Eclogues of Virgil, whose 
 most delightful images are nothing more than 
 tra pslations from his great Sicilian master. '■ That 
 which distinguishes Theocritus, (says Dryden,) 
 from all other poets, both Greek and Latin, and 
 which raises him even above Virgil in his Ec- 
 logues, is the inimitable tenderness of his pas- I 
 sions. and the n^'tural expression of them in ' 
 words so becoming a pastoral. A simplicity 
 shines throughout all he writes. — He is softer than ' 
 Ovid, touches the passions more delicately, and I 
 
 performs all this out of his own fund, without 
 diving into the arts and sciences for a ^^pply. 
 Even his Doric dialect has an incomparable 
 sweetness in its clownishness, like a fair shep- 
 herdess, in her country russet, and with her York- 
 shire tone. This was impossible for Virgil to 
 imitate, because the severity of the Roman lan- 
 guage had denied him that advantage. Spenser 
 has endeavoured it in his Shepherds Calendar, 
 but it can never succeed in English." Thus far 
 Mr. Dryden in the preface to his Translations; 
 in another place he says, "Theocritus may justly 
 be preferred as the original, without injury to 
 Virgil, \\ ho modestly contents himself with the 
 second place, and glories only in being the first 
 who transplanted pastoral to his own country." 
 "Theocritus (according to Pope) excels all 
 others in nature and simplicity; his dialect alone 
 has a secret charm in it, which no writer besides 
 could ever attain." And Mr. Warton,in his dedi- 
 cation of Virgil to Lord Lyttleton, observes : 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 211 
 
 "There are' few images and sentiments iti the 
 Eclogues of Virgil but what are drawn from the 
 Idyls of Theocritus ; in whom there is a rural, 
 romantic wijdness of thought, heightened by the 
 Doric dialect, with such lively pictures of the 
 passions, and of simple unadorned nature, as are 
 infinitely pleasing to such judges ami lovers of 
 poetry as yourself He is indeed the great store- 
 house of pastoral description." — Anci again, in his 
 dissertation on Pastoral Poetry: "lf"I might ven- 
 ture to speak of the merits of the several pastoral 
 
 writers, I would say that in Theocritus we are 
 charmed with a certain sweetness, a romantic 
 rusticity and wildness, heightened by the Doric 
 dialect, that arc almost inimitable. — Several of 
 his pieces, too, indicate a genius of a higher class, 
 far superior to pastoral, and equal to the sublimest 
 species of poetry: such are particularly his pane- 
 gyric on Ptolemy, the figiil between Amycus and 
 Pollux, the epithalamium of Helen, the young Her- 
 cules, the grief of Hercules for Hylas, the death 
 of Pantheus, and the killing of the Nema;an lion." 
 
 FROM IDYL I. 
 
 THYHSIS AND THE GOATUEUD. 
 
 Ththsis at the request of his friend the goat- 
 herd, sings the fate of Dapluiis, who died for 
 love; and is rewarded for his song with a milch 
 goat and a pastoral cup of most excellent sculpture. 
 
 Thyr. Sweet are the whispers of yon vocal 
 
 pine. 
 Whose boughs, projecting o'er the springs, recline; 
 Sweet is thy warbled reed's melodious lay; 
 Thou, next to Pan, shalt bear the prize away: 
 If to the god a horned he-goat belong, 
 The gentler female shall reward thy song; 
 If he the female claim, a kid's thy share, 
 And, till you milk them, k'ids are dainty fare. 
 Goat. Sweeter thy song, shepherd, than the 
 
 rill 
 That rolls its music down the rocky hill : 
 If one white ewe content the tunefid Nine, 
 A stall-fed lamb, meet recompense, is thine; 
 And, if the Muses claim the lamb their due, 
 My gentle Thyrsis shall obtain the ewe. 
 
 Thyr. Wilt thou on this decli^-ity repose, 
 Where the rough tamarisk luxuriant grows. 
 And charm the nymphs with thy melodious 
 
 lay? 
 I'll feed the goats, if thou consent to play. 
 
 Goal. I dare not, shepherd, dare not grant your 
 
 boon, 
 Pan's rage I fear,* who always rests at noon : 
 But*Vvell you know loves pains, which Daphnis 
 
 rues — 
 You, the great master of the rural muse. 
 Let us, at ease, boneatli yon elm re(-lino, 
 Where sculptured Naiads o'er their fountams 
 
 shine. 
 Whilst gay Priapus guards the sweet retreat. 
 And oaks, wide-branching, shade our pastoral 
 
 seat : 
 There, Thyrsis, if thou sing as sweet a strain, 
 As erst contending with the Libyan swain. 
 This goat with twins III give, that never fails 
 Two kids to suckle, and to fill two pails: 
 To these III add, with scented wax o'erlaid, 
 Of curious worktnanship, and newly-made, 
 A deep two-handled cup, whose brim is crown'd 
 With ivy and with helichryse around. 
 
 * Goats and thnir keepers bcinj; iindpr ihe protcciion 
 of Fan, the goatlierd was afraid of offending that deity. 
 
 Within, a woman's well-wrought image shines ; 
 A vest her limbs, her locks a caul confines; 
 And near two youths (bright ringlets grace their 
 
 brows) 
 Breathe, in alternate strife, their amorous vows: 
 Smiling, by turns, she views the rival pair. 
 Grief swells their eyes, their heavy hearts despair.- 
 Hard by a fisherman, advanc'd in years. 
 On the rough margin of a rock appears; 
 Intent he stands t" enclose the fish below, 
 Lifts a large net, and labours at the throw ; 
 Such strong expression rises on the sight. 
 You'd swear the man exerted all his might ; 
 For his round neck with turgid veins appears. — 
 In years he seems, but not impair'd with years. 
 A vineyard next, with intersected lines. 
 And red ripe clusters load the bending vines. 
 To guard the fruit a boy sits idly by; 
 In ambusli near, two skulking foxes lie : 
 This plots the branches of ripe grapes to strip, 
 But that, more daring, me<litates the scrip ; 
 Resolv'd, ere long, to seize the savoury prey. 
 And send the youngster dinnerless away : 
 Meanwhile on rushes all his art he plies, 
 In framing traps for grasshoppers and flies; 
 And, earnest only on his own designs. 
 Forgets his satchel and neglects his vines.* 
 All round the soft acanthus spreads its train — 
 This cup, admir'd by each iEolian swain, 
 Brought by a Calydonian o'er the sea.s, 
 I purchased for a groat and new-made cheese. 
 No lip has touch'd it, still umised it stood ; — 
 To you I give this master-piece of wood, 
 If you those Himera-an strains rehearse 
 Of Daphnis' woes — I envy not your verse — 
 Dread fate alas ! may soon deinand your breath, 
 And close your nmsic in oblivious death. 
 
 Thtusis. 
 Begin, sweet Muses, tin- bucolic strain, 
 'Tis Thyrsis sings, 'tis Thyrsi.s .if2tna's swain! 
 Where were ye. Nymphs, in what sequester'd 
 grove ?| 
 
 * This is a picture. 
 
 t Both Vir;;il and Milton, fniore OBpecially the latter,) 
 have beautifully iruilated this pnssage— 
 "(iuiB nemora, aut qui vos sallu.i habutre, Puellx 
 Na'ides, indiuno ciini (J.illiis anioru perirelT 
 Nam neqiie I'arnassi vobis ju!;a, nam neque Pindi 
 Ulla moram fecere, neque Aonia Aganmiipe.— i^c/. x. 9. 
 
212 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Where were ye, Nymphs, when Daphnis pined 
 
 with lovel 
 Did ye on Pindus' steepy top reside, 
 Or where through Tempe Peneus rolls his tide? 
 For neither were ye playing on the steeps 
 Of ^tna, nor by famed Anapus' deeps, 
 Nor yet where Acis laves Sicilian plains — 
 (Begin, ye Nine, your sweet bucolic strains.) 
 Him savage panthers in wild woods deplor'd. 
 For him fierce wolves and fiercer lions roar'd. 
 Bulls, steers, and heifers wail'd their shepherd- 
 swain — 
 (Begin, ye Nine, your sweet bucolic strain.) 
 First from the mountain winged Hermes came ; 
 "Ah! whence," he cried "proceeds this fatal 
 
 flame 1 
 What Nymph, O Daphnis, steals thy heart 
 
 away?" 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 The goatherds, hinds, and shepherds, all inquir'd 
 What sorrow ail'd him, and what fever firVl"? 
 Priapus came, soft pity in his eye, 
 "And why this grief," he said, "ah, Daphnis, 
 
 why V — 
 Silent he sate, consuming in his pain. 
 (Begin ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.) 
 Next Venus self the hapless youth addrest. 
 With faint forc'd smiles, but anger at her breast: 
 " Daphnis, you boasted you could Love subdue, 
 But tell me, has not Love defeated you ? 
 Alas, you sunk beneath his mighty sway." 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 "Ah, cruel Venus!" Daphnis thus began, 
 "Venus abhorr'd ! Venus, thou curse to man I 
 Too true, alas ! thou say"st that Love has won ; 
 Too sure thy triumphs mark my setting sun. 
 Hence to thy swain, to Ida, queen away!" 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 " There bowering oaks will compass you around. 
 Here low cyperus scarcely shades the ground : 
 Here bees with hollow hums disturb the day.'* 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 "Adonis feeds' his flocks, though passing fair; 
 With his keen darts he wounds the flying hare. 
 And hunts the beasts of prey through wood and 
 
 plain. 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic sli-ain.) 
 " Say — if again arm'd Diomed thou see — 
 I've conquerd Daphnis, and now challenge thee ; 
 Dar'st thou, bold chief, with me renew the fray?" 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 " Farewell, ye wolves and bears, and lynxes dire. 
 My steps no more the tedious chace shall tire -. 
 The herdsman Daphnis, now no longer roves. 
 Through flowery shrubs, thick woods, or shady 
 
 groves. 
 
 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remnrseless deep 
 
 Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? 
 
 For neither were ye playing on the steep, 
 
 Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 
 
 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
 
 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 
 
 Lycidas. 
 * The Greelt verse is most expressive of the sense : 
 we hear the very huniniing and buzzing of the bees. 
 
 Fair Arethusa, and, ye streams, that swell 
 
 In gentle tides near Thymbrian towers, farewell, 
 
 Your cooling waves slow-winding o'er the plains." 
 
 (Begin, ye Nine, your sweet bucolic strains.) 
 
 " I — I am he, who lowing oxen fed. 
 
 Who to their well-known brook my heifers led : 
 
 But now with bulls and steers no more I stray." 
 
 (Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 
 " Pan — whether now on Mnenalus you rove, 
 
 Or loiter, careless, in Lycteus' grove, — 
 
 Leave yon iierial promontory's height 
 
 Of Helice, projecting to the sight, 
 
 Where famed Lycaon's stately tomb is rear'd, 
 
 Lost in the skies and by the gods rever'd ; 
 
 Haste and revisit fair Sicilia's plains." 
 
 (Cease, Muses, cease the sweet bucolic strains.) 
 
 " Pan, take this pipe, to me for ever mute. 
 
 Sweet-toned, and bent your rosy lip to suit. 
 
 Compacted close with wax and join'd with art; 
 
 For Love alas ! commands me to depart ; 
 
 Dread Love and Death have summon'd me 
 
 away — 
 (Cease, Muses, cease the sweet bucolic lay.) 
 " Let violets deck the bramble btrsh and thorn, 
 And fair narcissus junipers adorn. 
 Let all things Nature's contradiction wear, 
 And lofty pines produce the luscious pear; 
 Since Daphnis dies let all things change around. 
 Let timorous deer pursue the flying hound. 
 Let screech-owls soft as nightingales complain."' — 
 (Cease, cease, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.) 
 He died — and Venus strove to raise bis head, 
 Bat Fate had cut its last remaining thread — 
 The lake he jjast, the whelming wave he prov'd, 
 Friend to the Muses, by the Nymphs beiov'd. 
 (Cease, Muses, cease the sad bucolic strain.) — 
 Now give me cup and goat, th^t I may drain 
 Her milk, a sweet libation to the Nine — 
 Another day a loftier song be mine ! 
 
 Goat. be thy mouth with figs ^gilean filFd, 
 And drops of honey on thy lips distilld! 
 Thine is the cup (for sweeter far thy voice. 
 Than when in spring the grasshoppers rejoice.) 
 Sweet is its smell, as though the blissful Hours 
 Had newly dipp'd it in their fragrant showers. 
 Come, Ciss ! let Thyrsis milk thee — kids, forbear 
 Your gambols — lo ! the wanton goat is there. 
 
 FROM IDYL 11. 
 
 PHARMACEUTRIA. 
 
 Simfetha, a young woman of Syracuse, is here 
 introduced as complaining of Delphis, and en- 
 deavouring to recall him by her incantations. 
 This Idyl is interesting from the minute descrip- 
 tion which it gives of the rites resorted to on 
 such occasions. The scene is by mooidight. 
 
 Where are my laurels? and my philtres where? 
 Quick, bring thefn,Thestylis — the charm prepare; 
 This purple fillet round the cauldron strain. 
 That I with spells may prove my perjur'd swain : 
 For since he rapt my door twelve days are fled, 
 Nor knows he whether I'm alive or dead : 
 Perhaps to some new face his heart's inclin'd. 
 For Love has wings, and he a changeful mind. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 213 
 
 To the Palaestra* with the morn I'll go, 
 And see and ask'him, why he shuns me so? 
 Meanwhile my charms shall work : Queen of 
 
 Night :t 
 Pale Moon, assist me with refulgent light; 
 My imprecations I address to thee, 
 Great Goddess, and infernal Hecate, 
 Stain'd with black gore, whom e'en gaunt mas- 
 tiffs dread, 
 Whene'er she haunts the mansions of the dead ; 
 Hail, horrid Hecate, and aid me still 
 With Circes power, or Pcrimeda's skill. 
 Or mad Medea's art — Restore, niycharins,^ 
 My lingering Delphis to these longing arms. 
 The cake's consum'd — burn, Thestylis, the 
 rest 
 In flames ; what frenzy has your mind possessed ? 
 Am I your scorn, that thus you disobey, 
 Base maid, my strict commands? — Strew salt, 
 
 and say, 
 "Thus Delphis' bones I strew" — Restore, my 
 
 charms, 
 The perjur'd Delphis to my longing arms. 
 
 Delphis inflames my bosom with desire; 
 For him I burn this laurel in the fire : § 
 Atul as it fumes and crackles in the blaze, 
 And without ashes instantly decays. 
 So may the flesh of Delphis burn — My charms, 
 Restore the })erjur"d Delpliis to my arms. 
 
 As melts this waxen form, by lire dcfac'd,|| 
 So in Love's flames may Myndian Delphis waste: 
 And as this brazen wheel, though quick roU'd 
 
 round, ^ 
 Returns, and in its orbit still is found, 
 
 * The Palmstra. — The place for wrestling, and other 
 exercises. 
 
 t O Queen of Jfight. — Sorcerers addressed their prayers 
 to the Monn and to Night, the witnesses of their abomi- 
 nations. — Thus Medea in Ovid, Met. B. vii, and Cani- 
 dia in Hor. Epode v. 49. 
 
 X-^Iy Charms. — The Greek is Ij>?, a liird which ma- 
 gicians made use of in their incantations, supposed to he 
 the wry-neck. — Virgil has Ducite alt nrbe doinum, niea 
 Carinina, ducite Daphnim. — Ed. viii. 68. 
 $ Fragiles incende bituniine lauros. 
 Daphnis me malus urit, ego hanc in Daphnide lanrum. 
 
 Kd. viii. 82. 
 The laurel was burnt in order to consume the flesh of 
 the person, on whose account the magical rites were per- 
 formed ; it was thouiiht, according to Plmy, B. 16. chap, 
 the last, by its crackling noise, to express a detestation of 
 tire. Mr. Gay has imitated this passage, in his Fourth 
 Pastoral. 
 
 Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame, 
 And to e.ich nut 1 cave a sweet heart's name : 
 This with the hmdest bounce me sore aniaz'd, 
 That in a flame of hrii'htest colour blaz'd : 
 As hlaz'd the nut, so may thy passion grow. 
 For 'twas thy nut that did so briL'htly glow. 
 11 It was c\islomary to melt wax, thereby to mollify the 
 heart of the person beloved ; the sorceress in Vir^'il Kd. 
 viii. makes use of two images, one of mud, and the other 
 of wax. 
 
 I.imus Ht hie durescit, et hnec ut cera liquesclt 
 TIno eod(Mnq\ie ijni: sic noslro Daphnis ainore. 
 TJ It was also usual to imitate all the actions they wish- 
 ed the loved person to perforin; thus Simn-thn rolls a 
 brazen wheel, believing that the motion of this magic 
 machine had the virtue to inspire her lover with those 
 passions which she wished. 
 
 So may his love return — Restore, my charms, 
 The lingering Delphis to my longing artris. 
 
 I'll strew tlie bran : Diana's power can bow 
 Rough Rhadamanth, and all that's stern below. 
 Hnrk! hark! the village-dogs! the goddess soon 
 Will coine — the dogs terrific bay the moon — 
 Strike, strike the sounding brass — Restore, my 
 
 charms, 
 Restore false Delpliis to my longing arms. 
 
 Calm is the ocean, silent is the wind. 
 But grief's black tempest rages in my mind.* 
 I burn for him whose perfidy betrayed 
 My innocence; and me, ah, thoughtless maid! 
 Robb'd of my richest gem — Restore, my charms, 
 False Delphis to my long-deUided arms. 
 
 I pour libations thrice, and thrice I pray : 
 shine, great goddess, with auspicious ray! 
 Whoe'er she be, blest nymph! that now detains 
 My fugitive in Love's delightful chains; 
 Bo she for ever in oblivion lost. 
 Like Ariadne, 'lorn on Dia's coast, 
 Abandon'd by false Theseus — O, iny charms, 
 Restore the lovely Delxdiis to my arms. 
 
 Hippomenes, a plant Arcadia bears. 
 Makes the colts mad, and stimulates the mares. 
 O'er hills, through streams, they rage : 0, could I 
 
 see 
 Young Delphis thus run tnadding after me. 
 And quit the fam'd Pahestra ! — O, my charms! 
 Restore false Delphis to my longing arms. 
 
 This garment's fringe, which Delphis wont to 
 wear,t 
 To burn in flames I into tatters tear. 
 Ah, cruel Love ! that my best life-blood drains 
 From my pale limbs, and empties all my veins, 
 
 ♦ This affecting contrast recalled to the recollection of 
 Warton the noble passage in Api>llnnius Rliodius, where 
 the enchantress is introduced with so powerful an elTect : 
 " iSialit on the earth pour'd darkness ; on the sea 
 The wakesonie sailor to Orion's star 
 And Ilelice, turn'd heedful. Sunk to rest, 
 The traveller forgot his toil ; his charge. 
 The sentinel ; her death-devoted babe. 
 The mother's painless breast. The village-dog 
 Had ceased his troublous bay ; each busy tunnilt 
 Was liush'd at this dread hour, and Darkness slept, 
 Lock'd in the arms of Silence. She alone, 
 Medea, slept not." 
 These are very striking lines. But in a poem, suppos- 
 ed by the historian of Knulish poetry to be the (ddest 
 existing example in our lanL'uage of the pure unmiNed 
 pastoral, we find two stanzas scarcely to be equalled for 
 aflTf?cting simplicity of thought and easy harmony of ex- 
 pression : 
 
 " The owle with feeble sisht 
 I.yes lurking in the leaves ; 
 The sparrow tlirongh the frosty night. 
 
 May shroud her in the eaves; 
 But wo to me, alas I 
 
 In sunne, nor yet in shade, 
 I cannot find a restinir-place, 
 My burden to unlade." 
 t Pimsctha burns the border of Delphis' garment, that 
 the owner may be tortured with the like flame; Virgil's 
 enchantress deposites her |(>vi>r's pli'dies in the ground, 
 under her threshold, in order to retain his love, and se- 
 cure his atfections from wandering. 
 
 Has olini e.xuvias iiiihi perfidus ille reliqult, 
 Pignnra cara sul ; quo- nunc ego limine in ipso. 
 Terra, tibi mando Eel. viii. 91. 
 
214 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 As leeches suck young steeds — Restore, my 
 
 charms, 
 My lingering Delphis to these longing arms. 
 
 A lizard bruis'd shall make a potent bowl, 
 And charm, to-morrow, his obdurate soul ; 
 Meanwhile this potion on his threshold spill 
 Where, though despis'd, my soul inhabits still ; 
 No kindness he nor pity will repay; 
 Spit on the threshold, Thestylis, and say, 
 "Thus Delphis' bones I strew" — Restore, my 
 
 charms. 
 The dear, deluding Delphis to my arms. 
 
 iShe's gone, and now, alas ! I'm left alone ! 
 But how shall I my sorrow's cause bemoan? 
 My ill-requited passion, how bewail? 
 And where begin the melancholy tale? 
 
 When fair Anaxa at Diana's fane* 
 Her offering paid, and left the virgin train, 
 Me warmly she requested, breathing love, 
 At Dian's feast to meet her in the grove : 
 Where savage beasts, in howling deserts bred, 
 (And with them a gaunt lioness) were led 
 To grace the solemn honours of the day — 
 
 Whence rose my passion, sacred Phcebe, say? 
 Theucarila's kind nurse, who lately died, 
 Begg'd I would go, and she would be my guide. 
 Alas ! their importunity prevail'd. 
 And my kind stars, and better genius fail'd. 
 I went adorn'd in Clearista's clothes — 
 
 Say, sacred Phcebe, whence my flame arose? 
 Soon as where Lyco's mansion stands I came, 
 Delphis the lovely author of my flame 
 I saw with Eudamippus, from the crowd 
 Distinguish'd, for like helichrysus glow'd 
 The gold down on their chins, their bosoms far 
 Outshone the moon, and every splendid star; 
 For lately had they left the field of fame — 
 
 Say, sacred Phcebe, whence arose my fl.ame ? 
 O, how I gaz'd! what ecstasies begun 
 To fire my soul. I sigh'd, and was undone : f 
 The pompous show no longer could surprise. 
 No longer beauty sparkled in my eyes : 
 Home I return'd, but knew not how I came ; 
 My head disorder'd, and my heart on flame : 
 Ten tedious days and nights sore sick I lay — 
 
 Whence rose my jiassion, sacred Phcebe, say ? 
 Soon from my cheeks the crimson colour fled, 
 And my fair tresses perish'd on my head : 
 Forlorn I liv'd, of body quite bereft. 
 For bones and skin were all that I had left: 
 All charms I tried, to each enchantress round 
 I sought; alas! no remedy I found: 
 Time wing'd his way, but not to soothe'my woes — 
 
 Say, sacred Phcsbe, whence my flame arose ? 
 Till to my maid, opprest with fear and shame, 
 I told the secret of my growing flame : 
 
 * The Athenian virgins were presented to Diana be- 
 fore it was lawful for them to marry, on which occasion 
 they oftered baskets full of little curiosities to that god- 
 dess, to gain leave to depart out of her train, and change 
 their state of life. — Potter. 
 
 f The Greek is Xwc iJ'cv, a? e/ua.vm K. t. X. There is a 
 similar line in the Third Idyl. ver. 42. fie i^cv, on; iunvn, doc 
 Hc 'iftS'JV clKMt' ifctrx. Virgil has — 
 
 Ut vidi, lit peril, ut me nialus ahftulit error. -£c/. viii. 41. 
 which is confessedly inferior to the Greek. 
 
 " Dear Thestylis, thy healing aid impart — 
 The love of Delphis has engross'd my heart. 
 He in the school of exercise delights, 
 Athletic labours, and heroic fights ; 
 And oft he enters on the lists of fame" — 
 
 Say, sacred Phoebe, whence arose my flame ? 
 "Haste thither, and the hint in private give — 
 Say that I sent you — tell him where I live." 
 She heard, she flew, she found the youth I sought, 
 And all in secret to my arms she brought. 
 Soon at my gate his nimble foot I heard. 
 Soon to my eyes his lovely form appear'd ; 
 Ye gods! how blest my Delphis to survey! 
 
 Whence rose my passion, sacred Phcebe, say? 
 Cold as the snow my freezing limbs were chill'd. 
 Like southern vapours from my brow distill 'd 
 The dewy damps ; faint tremors seiz'd my 
 
 tongue. 
 And on my lips the faultering accents hung; 
 As when from babes imperfect accents fall. 
 When murmuring in their dreams they on their 
 
 mothers call. 
 Senseless I stood, nor could my mind disclose — 
 
 Say, sacred Phoebe, whence my flame arose? 
 My strange surprise he saw, then prest the bed, 
 Fix'd on the ground his eyes, and thus he said : 
 " Me, dear SimsEtha, you have much surpast, 
 As when I ran with young Philinus last, 
 I far out-stript him, though he bravely strove ; 
 But you have all prevented me with love ; 
 Welcome as day your kind appointment came" — 
 
 Say, sacred Phoebe, whence arose my flame ? 
 " Yes, I had come, by all the powers above, 
 Or, rather, let me swear by mighty Love, 
 Unsent for I had come, to Venus true, 
 This night attended by a chosen few. 
 With apples to present you, and my brows 
 Adorn'd like Hercules, with poplar boughs,* 
 Wove in a wreath with purple ribands gay" — 
 
 Whence rose my passion, sacred Phcebe, say ? 
 " Had you receiv'd me, all had then been well. 
 For I in swiftness and in form excel ; 
 And should have deem'd it no ignoble bliss 
 The roses of your balmy lips to kiss : 
 Had you refus'd me, and your doors been barr'd, 
 With axe and torch I should have come pre- 
 pared,! 
 Resolv'd with force resistance to oppose" — 
 
 Say, sacred Phcebe, whence my flame arose ? 
 " And first to beauty's queen my thanks are due. 
 Next, dear Sim;ptlia, I'm in debt to you, 
 Who by your maid, Love's gentle herald, prove 
 My fair deliverer from the fires .of Love : 
 More raging fires than .Etna's waste my frame — 
 
 Say, sacred Phcebe, when arose my flame ? 
 
 * With poplar. — The poplar was sacred to Hercules. 
 Virgil has, 
 
 Populeis adsunt evincti teinpora ramis. 
 
 JEn. viii. 286. 
 t With axe and torch, &c. — If after rapping at the door, 
 the lover was refused admittance, '^^o; tuv aLvctSiuiv, to 
 place the flowery crown on the head of his mistress, he 
 then threatened axes and torches, to break or burn the 
 door. — Thus Horace 
 
 Hie hie ponite lucida 
 Funalia, et vectes, et arcus 
 Oppositis foribus tninaces— S. iii. Od. 26. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 215 
 
 " Love from their beds enraptur'd virgins charms, 
 And wives new-married IVom their hur^baiid's 
 
 arms." 
 He said, (alas, what frenzy scizVl my nnnd !) 
 Soft pre.-it my liaiid, and on the couch reclin'd : 
 Love kindled warmth as close embrac'd we lay. 
 And sweetly whisper 'd precious hours away. 
 At length, O Moon, witli mutual raptures fir'd, 
 We both accomplishVl-^what we both desir'd. 
 E'er since no pause of love or bliss we knew. 
 Bat wing'd with joy the feather'd minutes flew ; 
 Till yester morning, as the radiant sun 
 His steeds had harness'd, and his course begun, 
 Restoring fair Aurora from the main, 
 I heard, alas! the cause of all my pain — 
 Pliilista's mother told me, "she knew well 
 That Delphis lov'd, but whom she could not tell: 
 The marks are plain, he drinks his favourite 
 
 toast. 
 Then hies him to the maid he values most. 
 Besides, with garlands gay his house is crown'd :"* 
 All this she told me, which too true I found. 
 He oft would see me twice or thrice a day. 
 Then left some token that he would not stay 
 Long from my arms ; and now twelve days are 
 
 past 
 Since my fond eyes beheld the wanderer last — 
 It must be so — 'tis my unhappy lot 
 Thus to be scorn'd, neglected, and forgot. 
 He woos, no doubt, he woos some happier 
 
 maid — 
 Meanwhile I'll call enchantment to my aid : 
 And should he scorn me still, a charm I know 
 Shall soon dispatch him to the shades below ; 
 So strong the bowl, so deadly is the draught j 
 To me the secret an Assyrian taught. 
 Now, Cynthia, drive your coursers to the main ; 
 Those ills I can't redress I must sustain. 
 Farewell, dread Moon, for I have ceas'd my spell, 
 And all ye Stars, that rule by night, farewell. 
 
 FROM IDYL III. 
 
 AMARYLLIS. 
 
 I'd Amaryllis Love compels my way, 
 My browsing goats uj)on the mountains stray : 
 O Tityrus, tend them well, and see them fed 
 In pastures fresh, and to their watering led; 
 And 'ware the ridgling with his budding licad. 
 Ah, beauteous Nymph! can you forget your love. 
 The conscious grottos, and the shady grove 
 Where, stretch'd at ease your tender limbs were 
 
 laid, 
 Your nameless beauties carelessly display'd? 
 Then I was call'd your darling, your desire, 
 With kis^s such as set my soul on fire : 
 But you are chang'd, yet I ain still the same ; 
 My heart maintains for both a double flarae; 
 
 * That it was usual for lovers to adorn their houses 
 
 witli flowers and carlaiids in honour of their mistresses, 
 is evident from a passase in Catullus, tie Jlty, ver. 66. 
 Milii floridis corollis redimila domus erat, 
 I.inqnundmn ubi esset orlo niihi sole cubiculum. 
 Fair lloivery \vre:illis around uiy house are spread. 
 When with the rising sun I leave my bed. 
 
 ' Griev'd, but unmov"d, and patient of your scorn; 
 So faithful I, and you so much forsworn! 
 I die, and death will finish all my pain; 
 Yet, ere I ilie, behold me once again; 
 Am I then so deform'd, so chang'd of late? 
 What partial judges are our love and hate! 
 Ten wildings have I gather'd lor my dear, 
 How ruddy like your lips their streaks appear! 
 Far off you view'd them with a longing eye 
 U|)on the topmost branch (the tree was high :) 
 Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I swerv'd ; 
 And for to-morrow have ten more reserv'd. 
 Look on me kindly, and some pity show, 
 Or give me leave at least to look on you. 
 Some god transform me by his heavenly power 
 E'en Xi) a bee to buzz within your bower — 
 The winding ivy-chaplet to invade. 
 And folded fern, that your fair ibrchead shade. 
 Now to my cost the force of Love I find ; 
 The heavy hand it bears on Innnan-kind. 
 The milk of tigers w^as his infant food — 
 Taught from his tender years the taste of blood; 
 His brother whelps and he, ran wild about the 
 
 wood. 
 Ah, Nymph, train'd up in his tyrannic court. 
 To make the sutl'erings of your slaves your sport! 
 Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight! 
 
 polish'd hardness, soften'd to the sight ! 
 Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn. 
 Like midnight those, and these like break of 
 
 morn. 
 Smile once again, revive me with your charms : 
 And let me die contented in your arms. 
 
 1 would not ask to live another day, 
 Might I but sweetly kiss my soul away. 
 I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear 
 
 The garland which I wove for you to wear, 
 Of parsley, with a wreath of ivy bound. 
 And border'd with a rosy etlging round. 
 What pangs I feel, unpitied and unheard ! 
 Since I must die, why is my fate deferr'd ! 
 I strip my body of my shepherds frock; 
 Behold that dreadful downfall of a rock. 
 Where yon old fisher views the waves from high! 
 "Tis that convenient leap I mean to try. 
 Yon would be pleas'd to see me plunge to shore, 
 But better pleas'd if I should rise no more. 
 I might have read my fortune long ago. 
 When, seeking my success in love to know, • 
 I tried the infallible prophetic way, 
 A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay : 
 I struck, and yet no lucky crack did follow ; 
 Yet I struck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow : 
 And, which was worse, if any worse could prove, 
 The withering leaf foreshow'd your withering 
 
 love. 
 Yet, farther, (ah, how far a lover dares !) 
 My last recourse I had to sieve and shears; 
 And told the witch Agree my disease; 
 (Agreo, that in harvest used to lease : 
 But harvest done, to char-work did aspire; 
 i\leat, drink, and two-pence was her liaily hire,) 
 To work she went, her charms she mutter'd 
 
 o'er. 
 And yet the resty sieve wagg'd ne'er the more; 
 I wept for woe, the testy beldame swore, 
 
216 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 And, foaming with her god, foretold my fate — 
 That I M'as doom'd to love, and you to hate. 
 A milk-white goat for you I did provide; 
 Two milk-white kids run friskint; by her side, 
 For which the nut-brown lass Evitliacis, 
 Fidl often olfer'd many a savoury kiss. 
 Hers they shall be, since you refuse the price : 
 What madman would o'erstand his market twice ! 
 My right eye itches, some good luck is near, 
 Perhaps my Amaryllis may appear ; 
 I'll set up such a note as she shall hear. 
 What nymph but my melodious voice would 
 
 move ? 
 She must be flint, if she refuse my love. 
 Hippomenes, who ran with noble strife 
 To win his lady, or to lose his life, 
 (What shift some men will make to get a wife!) 
 Threw down a golden apple in her way — 
 For all her haste she could not choose but stay. 
 Renown said, Run ; the glittering bribe cried, 
 
 Hold ; 
 The man might have been hangxl, but for his 
 
 gold. 
 Yet some suppose t'was love (some few indeed) 
 That stopp'd the fatal fury of her speed: 
 She saw, she sigh'd ; her nimble feet refuse 
 Their wonted speed, and she took pains to lose. 
 A prophet some, and some a poet cry, 
 (No matter which, so neither of them lie,) 
 From steepy Othrys" top to Pylus drove 
 His herd ; and for his pains enjoy'd his love : 
 If such another wager should be laid, 
 111 find the man, if you can find the maid. 
 Why name I men, when Love extended finds 
 His power on high, and in celestial minds? 
 Venus the shepherd's homely habit took. 
 And managed something else besides the crook ; 
 Nay, when Adonis died, was heard to roar. 
 And never from her heart forgave the boar. 
 How blest was fair Endymion with his Moon, 
 Who sleeps on Latmos' top from night to noon ! 
 What Jason from Medea's love possessed. 
 You shall not hear, but know "tis like the rest. 
 My aching head can scarce support the pain ; 
 This cursed Love will surely turn my brain. 
 Feel how it shoots, and yet you take no pity ; 
 Nay, then 'tis time to end my doleful ditty. 
 My head grows giddy ; Love atfects me sore — 
 Yet you regard not ; — so I'll sing no more : 
 Here will I lie; my flesh the wolves shall eat; — 
 That to your taste will be as honey sweet. 
 
 FROM IDYL XL 
 
 THE CYCLOPS. 
 
 The poet, addressing himself to his friend Ni- 
 cias, the physician, asserts that there is no remedy 
 for Love but the Muses. He then gives an ac- 
 count of Polypheme's passion for the Sea-nymph 
 Galatea, and describes liim as sitting upon a rock 
 that overlooked the ocean, and beguiling his 
 cares with a song. 
 
 No remedy the power of Love subdues. 
 No medicine, dearest Nicias, but the Muse ; 
 
 Lenient her balmy hand and ever sure. 
 
 But i'ew are they for whom she works the cure. 
 
 This truth my gentle Nicias holds divine, 
 
 Favour'd alike by P;ean and the Nine. 
 
 This truth, long since, within his rugged breast, 
 
 Torn with fierce passion, Polypheme confest. 
 
 — 'Twas when advancing mardiood first had 
 
 shed 
 The early pride of summer o'er his head, 
 His Galatea on these plains he wooed. 
 But not, like other swains, the Nymph pursued 
 With fragrant flowers, or fruits or garlands fair, 
 But with hot madness and abrupt despair. 
 And, while his bleating flocks, neglected, sought 
 Without a sliepherd's care their fold, self-taught, 
 He, wandering on the sea-beat shore all day, 
 Sang of his hopeless love, and pined away. 
 From morning's dawn he sang, till evening's 
 
 close — 
 Fierce were the pangs that robb'd him of repose; 
 The mighty Queen of Love had barb'd the dart, 
 And deeply fix'd it rankling in his heart: 
 Then song assuaged the tortures of his mind, 
 While, on a rock's commanding height reclined, 
 His eye wide stretching o'er the level main, 
 Thus would he cheat the lingering hours of pain. 
 " Fair Galatea, why my passion slight ? 
 Nymph, than lambs more soft, than curds more 
 
 white ! 
 Wanton as calves before the uddered kine, 
 Yet harsh as unripe fruitage of the vine. 
 You come, when pleasing sleep has clos'd mine 
 
 eye, 
 And, like a vision, with my slumbers fly. 
 Swift as before the wolf the lambkin bounds, 
 Panting and trembling, o'er the furrow 'd grounds. 
 Then first I lov'd, and thence I date my flame, 
 When here to gather hyacinths you came : 
 My mother brought you — 'twas a fatal day ; 
 And I, alas! unwary led the way: 
 E'er since my tortur'd mind has known no rest ; 
 Peace is become a stranger to my breast: 
 Yet you nor pity, nor relieve my pain — 
 Yes, yes, I know the cause of your disdain ; 
 For, stretched from ear to ear with shagged grace, 
 My single brow adds horror to my face ; 
 My single eye enormous lids enclose, 
 And o'er my blubber'd lips projects my nose. 
 Yet, homely as I am, large flocks I keep. 
 And drain the udders of a thousand sheep ; 
 My pails with milk, my shelves with cheese 
 
 they fill. 
 In summer scorching, and in winter chill. 
 The vocal pipe I tune with pleasing glee, 
 No other Cyclops can compare with me : 
 Your charms I sing, sweet apple of delight! 
 Myself and you I sing the live-long night. 
 For you ten fawns, with collars deck'd, I feed, 
 And four young bears for your diversion breed :* 
 Come, live with me; all these you may com- 
 mand. 
 And change your azure ocean for the land : 
 More pleasing slumbers will my cave bestow, 
 There spiry cypress and green laurels grow ; 
 
 * These bears are highly in character, and well adapted 
 presents from Polyphemus to his mistress. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 217 
 
 There round my trees the sable ivy twines, 
 And grapes, as sweet as honoy, load my vines : 
 From grove-crown'd ^tiia, rob'd in purest snow, 
 Cool springs roll nectar to the swains below. 
 Say, who would quit such peaceful scenes as 
 
 these 
 For blustering billows, and tempestuous seas? 
 Though my rough form's no object of desire, 
 My oaks supply me with abundant fire ; 
 My hearth unceasing blazes — though 1 swear 
 By this one eye, to me for ever dear. 
 Well might that fire to warm my breast suffice, 
 That kindled at the lightning of your eyes. 
 Had I, like fish, with fins and gills been made. 
 Then might I in your element have play'd — 
 With ease have divVl beneath your azure tide. 
 And kiss'd your hand, though you your lips 
 
 denied ! 
 Brought lilies fair, or poppies red that grow 
 In summer's solstice, or in winter's snow ; 
 These flowers I could not both together bear 
 That bloom in different seasons of the year. 
 Well, I'm resolved, fair Nymph, I'll learn to dive, 
 If e'er a sailor at this port arrive; 
 Then shall I surely by experience knovi' 
 What pleasures charm you in the deeps below. 
 Emerge, Galatea! from the sea. 
 And here forget your native home like me. 
 O would you feed my flock, and milk my ewes. 
 And ere you press my cheese the runnet sharp 
 
 infuse ! 
 My mother is the only foe I fear ; 
 She never whispers soft things in your ear. 
 Although she knows my grief, and every day 
 Sees how I languish, pine, and waste away. 
 I, to alarm her, will aloud complain. 
 And more disorders than I sufl'er feign. 
 Sad my head aches, sharp pains my limbs op- 
 press. 
 That she may feel, and pity my distress. 
 Ah, Cyclops, Cyclops, where's your reason fled ! — 
 If with the leafy spray your lanil)s you fed, 
 Or, e'en wove baskets, you would seem more 
 
 wise ; 
 Milk the first cow, pursue not her that flies : 
 You'll soon, since Galatea proves unkind, 
 A sweeter, fairer Galatea find.'' 
 
 Thus Cyclops learn'd Love's torments to en- 
 dure. 
 And calm'd that passion which he could not 
 
 cure. 
 More sweetly far with song he sooth'd his heart, 
 Than if his gold had brib'd the doctor's art. 
 
 FROM IDYL XIII. 
 
 HYLAS. 
 
 The poet relates to his friend Nicias the rape 
 of Hylas by the Nymphs, when he went to fctoli 
 water for Hercules, and the grief of that hero 'for 
 the loss of him. 
 
 Love, gentle Nicias, of celestial kind. 
 For us alone sure never was design'd ; 
 Nor do the charms of beauty only sway 
 Our mortal breasts, the beings of a day : 
 28 
 
 Amphitryon's son was taught his power to feel. 
 Though artn'd with iron bri-a.-^t, and heart of 
 
 steel. 
 Who slew the lion fell, lov'd Hylas fair. 
 Young Hylas graceful with his curling hair. 
 And, as a son by some wise parent taugiit, 
 The love of virtue in his breast he wrought. 
 By precept and example was his guide, 
 A faithful friend, for ever at his side; 
 Whether the morn return'd from Jove's high 
 
 hall 
 On snow-\ihite steeds, or noontide mark'd the 
 
 wall. 
 Or night the plaintive chickens warn'd to rest, 
 When careful mothers brood, and flutter o'er the 
 
 nest: 
 That, fully form'd and finish'd to his plan. 
 Time soon niight lead hiin to a perfect man. 
 But when bold Jason, with the sons of Greece, 
 Sail'd the salt seas to gain the golden fleece, 
 The valiant chiefs from every city came, 
 Renown'd for virtue, or heroic fame. 
 With these assembled, for the host's relief, 
 Alcmena's son, the toil-enduring chief. 
 Firm Argo bore him cross the yielding tide. 
 With his lov'd friend, young Hylas, at his side ; 
 Between Cyane's rocky isles she past. 
 Now safely fix'd on firm foundations fast. 
 Thence as an eagle swift, with prosperous gales 
 She flew, and in deep Pliasis fiad'd her sails. 
 
 When first the pleasing Pleiades appear. 
 And grass-green meads pronounc'd the summer 
 
 near, 
 Of chiefs a valiant band, the flower of Greece, 
 Had plann'd the emprise of the golden fleece, 
 In Argo lodg'd they spread their swelling sails, 
 And soon past Hellespont with southern gales, 
 And smooth Propontis, where the land appears 
 Turn'd in straight furrows by Cyanean steers. 
 With eve they land ; some on the greensward 
 
 spread 
 Their hasty meal ; some raise the spacious bed 
 With plants and shrubs that in the meadows 
 
 grow. 
 Sweet flowering rushes, and cyperus low. 
 In brazen vase fair Hylas went to bring 
 Fresh fountain-water from the crystal spring 
 For Hercules, and Telamon his guest; 
 One board they spread, associates at the feast: 
 Fast by, in lowly dale, a well he found 
 Beset with plants, and various herbage round, 
 Cerulean celendine, bright maiden-hair, 
 And parsley green, and bindweed flouriah'd 
 
 there. 
 Deep in the flood the dance fair Naiads led, 
 And kept strict vigils, to the rustic's dread, 
 Eunica, Malis, form'd the festive ring, 
 And fair Nychea, blooming as the spring; 
 When to the stream the hapless yoiilli applied 
 His vase capacious to receive the tide, 
 'J he Naiads seized his hand wiih frantic joy, 
 All were enaniour'd of the Grecian boy; 
 He fell, he sunk ; as from th" etherial plain 
 A flaming star falls headlong nn the main; 
 The boatswain cries aloud, " Unfurl your sails, 
 And spread the canvass to the rising gales." 
 
218 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 In vain the Naiads sooth \l the wee] ing boy, 
 Anil strove to lull him in their laps lo joy. 
 But care and grief had mark'd Alcides' brow — 
 Fierce, as a Scythian chief, he grasp'd his bow. 
 And his rough club, which well he could com- 
 mand. 
 The pride and terror of his red right hand: 
 On Hylas thrice he calTd with voice profound. 
 Thrice Hylas heard the imavailing souml ; 
 From the deep well soft murmurs touch'd his ear, 
 The sound seem'd distant, though the voice was 
 
 near. 
 As when the hungry lion hears a fawn 
 Distressful bleat on some far-distant lawn. 
 Fierce from his covert bolts the savage beast, 
 And speeds to riot on the ready feast. 
 Thus, anxious for the boy, Alcides takes 
 His weary way through woods and pathless 
 
 brakes. 
 The bold adventurers blam'd their hero's stay. 
 While long equipt the ready vessel lay; 
 With anxious hearts they spread their sail at 
 
 night. 
 Hoping his presence with the morning light; 
 But he, with frantic speed, regardless stray'd — 
 Love pierc'd his heart, and all the hero sway'd. 
 Thus Hylas, honour'd with Alcides' love, 
 Is number'd with the deities above. 
 While to Amphitryon's son the heroes give 
 This shameful term, " The Argo's fugitive :" 
 But soon on foot the chief to Colchos came, 
 With deeds heroic to redeem his fame. 
 
 FROM IDYL XIV. 
 
 CHARACTER OF PTOLEMY PHILADELPHUS. 
 
 What is his character? — A royal spirit 
 
 To point out genius and encourage merit; 
 
 The poet's friend, humane, and good, and kind; 
 
 Of manners gentle, and of generous mind. 
 
 He marks his friend, but more he marks his foe ; 
 
 His hand is ever ready to bestow : 
 
 Request with reason, and hell grant the thing, 
 
 And what he gives, he gives it like a king.* 
 
 ♦ To this encomium of Ptolemy by the Sicilian poet, I 
 shall briefly show the favourable side of his character, as 
 it is given by the historians. He was a prince of great 
 learning, and a zealous promoter and encourager of it in 
 others, an industrious collector of books, and a generous 
 patron to all those who were eminent in any branch of 
 literature. The fame of his generosity drew seven cele- 
 brated poets to his court, who, from their number, were 
 called the Pleiades: these were Aratus, Theocritus, 
 Callimachus, Lycophron, Apnllonius, Nicander and Phi- 
 licus. To him we are indebted for the Greek translation 
 of the scripture, called the Septuagint. Notwithstanding 
 his peculiar taste for the sciences, yet he applied himself 
 with indefatigable industry to business, studying all pos- 
 sible methods to render his subjects happy, and raise his 
 dominions to a flourishing condition. Athensus called 
 him the richest of all the princes of his age; and Appian 
 says, that as he was the most magnificent and generous 
 of all kings in laying out his money, so he was of all the 
 most skilful and industrious in raising it. lie built an 
 incredible number of cities, and left so many other public 
 monuments of his magnitirence, that all works of an ex- 
 travagant taste and grandeur were proverbially called 
 Philadelphian works. 
 
 FROM IDYL XV. 
 
 THE STRACUSIAN GOSSIPS. 
 
 Two Syracusian women, who had travelled 
 to Alexandria, go to see the solemnity of Adonis' 
 festival, which had been prepared by Arsinoe, 
 the queen of Ptolemy Philadelphus. 
 
 GoRGO, EuiroE, Praxinoe, Old Woman, and 
 Stranger. 
 
 Gor. Pray, is Praxinoe at home ? 
 
 Eu. Dear Gorgo, yes — how late you come ! 
 
 Prax. Well ! is it you 1 Maid, bring a chair 
 And cushion. 
 
 Gor. Thank you. 
 
 Prax. Pray sit there. 
 
 Gor. Lord bless me ! what a bustling throng ! 
 I scarce could get aUve along : 
 In chariots such a heap of folks! 
 And men in arms, and men in cloaks — 
 Besides, I live so distant hence 
 The journey really is immense. 
 
 Prax. My husband, heaven his senses mend! 
 Here will inhabit the world's end, 
 This horrid house, or rather den ; 
 More fit for savages than men. 
 This scheme with envious aim he labours, 
 Only to separate good neighbours — 
 My plague eternal ! 
 
 Gor. Softly, pray. 
 
 The child attends to all you say ; 
 Name not your husband when he's by — 
 Observe how earnest is his eye ! — 
 
 Prax. Sweet Zopy ! there's a bonny lad, 
 Cheer up ! I did not mean your dad. 
 
 Gor. 'Tis a good dad. — I'll take an oath. 
 The urchin understands us both. 
 
 Prax. (Let's talk as if some time ago. 
 And then we shall be safe, you know,) 
 This person happen'd once to stop 
 To purchase nitre at a shop. 
 And what d'ye think? the silly creature 
 Bought salt, and took it for salt-petre. 
 
 Gor. My husband's such another honey 
 And thus, as idly, spends his money ; 
 Five fleeces for seven drachms he bought, 
 Coarse as dog's hair, not worth a groat. 
 But take your cloak, and garment grac'd 
 With clasps, that lightly bind your waist; 
 Adonis' festival invites. 
 And Ptolemy's gay court delights : 
 Besides, our matchless queen, they say, 
 Exhibits some grand sight to-day. 
 
 Prax. No wonder — every body knows 
 Great folks can always make fine shows: 
 But tell me what you went to see, 
 And what you heard — 'tis new to me. 
 
 Gor. The feast now calls us hence away. 
 And we shall oft keep holiday. 
 
 Prax. Maid ! water quickly — set it down — 
 Lord ! how indelicate you're grown ! 
 Disperse these cats that love their ease — 
 But first the water, if you jilease — 
 Quick! how she creeps; pour, hussey, pour; 
 You've spoil'd my gown — so, so — no more. 
 Well, now I'm wash'd — ye gods be blest! — 
 Here — ^bring the key of my large chest. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 219 
 
 Gor. This robe becomes you miprlity well ; 
 What mi^lit it cost you ? can you tell '? 
 
 Prax. Three pounds, or more ; I'd not have 
 done it, 
 But tliat I'd set my lieart upon it. 
 
 Gor. 'Tis wondrous cheap. 
 
 Prax. You tliink so? — maid, 
 
 Fetch my umbrella, and my sliade ; 
 So, put it on — fie, Znpy, fie ! 
 Stay within doors, and don't you cry: 
 The horse will kick you in the dirt — 
 Roar as you please, you shan't get hurt. 
 Pray, maid, divert him — come, 'tis late: 
 Call in the dog, and sliut the gate. — 
 
 Lord ! here's a bustle and a throng ; 
 How shall w^e ever get along! 
 Such numbers cover all the way, 
 Like emmets on a summer's day. 
 
 Ptolemy, thy fame exceeds 
 Thy godlike sire's in noble deeds! 
 No robber now with Pharian wiles 
 The stranger of his purse beguiles; 
 No ruffians now infest the street. 
 And stab the passengers they meet. 
 
 What shall we do ? lo. here advance 
 The king's war-horses — how they prance ! 
 Don't tread upon me, honest friend — 
 Lord, how that mad horse rears on end! 
 He'll throw his rider down, I fear — 
 I'm glad I left the child, my dear. 
 
 Gor. Don't be afraid; the danger's o'er; 
 The horses, see! are gone before. 
 
 Prax. I'm better now, but always quake 
 Whene'er I see a horse or snake ; 
 Tliey rear, and look so fierce and wild — 
 I own, I've loath'd them from a child. 
 Walk quicker — what a crowd is this! 
 
 Gor. Pray, come you from the palace ? 
 
 Old W. Yes. 
 
 Gor. Can we get in, d'ye think ? 
 ■ Old W. Make trial— 
 
 The steady never take denial ; 
 The steady Greeks old Ilium won ; 
 By trial all things may be done. 
 
 Gor. Gone, like a riddle, in the dark ; 
 These crones, if we their tales remark, 
 Know better far than I or you know 
 How Jupiter was join'd to Juno. 
 Lo ! at the gate, what crowds are there ! 
 
 Prax. Immense, indeed ! Your hand, my dear: 
 And let the maids join hands, and close us, 
 Lest in the bustle they should lose us. 
 Let's crowd together tlirough the door — 
 Heav'ns bless me! how my gown is tore. 
 By Jove, but this is past a joke — 
 Pray, good sir, don't you rend my cloak. 
 
 Man. I can't avoid it; I'm so prest. 
 
 Prax. Like pigs they justle, I protest. 
 
 Man. Cheer up, for now we're safe and sound. 
 
 Prax. May you in happiness abound ; 
 For you have serv'd us all you can — 
 Gorgo ! — a mighty civil man — 
 See how the folks poor Eunoe justle ! 
 Push through the crowd, girl! — bustle, bustle^ 
 Now we're all in ; as Dromo said, 
 When he had got his bride in bed. 
 
 Gor. Lo! what rich hangings grace the rooms — 
 Sure they were wove in heavenly looms. 
 
 Prax. Gracious! how delicately fine 
 The work ! how noble the design ! 
 How true, how happy is the draught! 
 The figures seem inlbrm'd with thought — 
 No artists sure the story wove ; 
 Tlioy're real men — they live, tliey move. 
 From these amazing works we find. 
 How great, how wise, the human mind. 
 Lo! stretch'd upon a silver bed,* 
 (Scarce has the down his cheeks o'erspread) 
 Adonis lies; O, charming show! 
 Lov'd by the sable pow'rs below. 
 
 Sir. Hist! your Sicilian prate forbear; 
 Your mouths extend from ear to ear, 
 Like turtles that for ever moan; — 
 You stun us with your rustic tone. 
 
 Gor. Sure ! we may speak ! what fellow's 
 this? 
 And do you take it, sir. amiss? 
 Go, keep .^Egyptian slaves in awe : 
 Think not to give Sicilians law : 
 Besides, were of Corinthian mould, 
 As was Bellerophon of old : 
 Our language is entirely Greek — 
 The Dorians may the Doric speak. 
 
 Prax. O sweet Proserpina, sure none 
 Presumes to give us law but one ! 
 To us there is no fear you should 
 Do harm, who cannot do us good. 
 
 Gor. Hark ! the Greek girl's about to raise 
 Her voice in fair Adonis' praise; 
 She's a sweet pipe for funeral airs : 
 She's just beginning, she prepares : 
 She'll Sperchist and the world excel, 
 That by her prelude you may tell. 
 
 {^The Greek girl sings.) 
 "0 chief of Golgos, and the Idalian grove, 
 And breezy Eryx, beauteous queen of love! 
 Once more the soft-foot hours, approaching slow, 
 Restore Adonis from the realms below ; 
 Welcome to man they come with silent pace, 
 Dilfusing benisons to human race. 
 O Venus, daughter of Dione fair. 
 You gave to Berenice's lot to share 
 Immortal joys in heaveidy regions blest. 
 And with divine ambrosia fiU'd her breast. 
 And now, in due return, O heavenly born ! 
 Whose honour'd nanu; a thousand fanes adorn, 
 Arsinoe pays the pompous rites divine, 
 Rival of Helen, at Adonis' shrine; 
 All fruits she ofi'ers that ripe autumn yields, 
 The produce of the gardens, and the fields; 
 All herbs and jilants which silver baskets 
 
 hold ; i 
 And Syrian unguents flow from shells of gold. 
 With finest meal sweet paste the women make, 
 Oil, flowers, and honey mingling in the cake: 
 
 * Lo ! stretch'd upon a silrcr bed, Sfe. — At Ihe feast nf 
 Adonis, they always placed his image on a magnificent 
 bed. 
 
 f Sj>erchis.—K celebrated sinster. 
 
 t All herbs and plants. &c.— The Greek is ATithoi x.i'rUt 
 soft gardens ; Archbishop Potter observes, that at the 
 
220 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Earth and the air aflbrd a large supply 
 Of animals that creep, and birds that fly. 
 Green bow'rs are built, with dill sweet-smelling 
 
 crown'd, 
 And little Ciij)ids hover all around ; 
 And. as young nightingales their wings essay, 
 Skip here and there, and hop from spray to 
 
 spray. 
 What heaps of golden vessels glittering bright! 
 What stores of ebon black, and ivory white ! 
 In ivory carvd large eagles seem to move. 
 And through the clouds bear Ganymede to Jove. 
 Lo ! purple tapestry arrang'd on high 
 Charms the spectators with its Tyrian dye. 
 The Samian and Milesian swains, who keep 
 Large flocks, acknowledge 'tis more soft than 
 
 sleep : 
 Of this Adonis claims a downy bed, 
 And lo ! another for fair Venus spread ! 
 Her bridegroom scarce attains to nineteen years. 
 Rosy his lips, and no rough beard appears. 
 Let raptur'd Venus now enjoy her mate, 
 While we, descending to the city gate, 
 Array'd in decent robes that sweep the ground. 
 With naked bosoms, and with hair unbound. 
 Bring forth Adonis, slain in youthful years, 
 Ere Phcebus drinks the mornings early tears. 
 And while to yonder flood we march along, 
 With tuneful voices raise the funeral song. 
 
 "Adonis, you alone of demigods 
 Now visit earth, and now hell's dire abodes: 
 Not fam'd Atrides could this favour boast. 
 Nor furious Ajax, though himself a host; 
 Nor Hector, long his mother's grace, and joy 
 Of twenty sons, not Pyrrhus safe from Troy, 
 Not brave Patroclus of immortal fame. 
 Nor the fierce Lapithfe, a deathless name ; 
 Nor sons of Pelops, nor Deucalion's race, 
 Nor stout Pelasgians, Argos" honourd grace. 
 
 " As now, divine Adonis, you appear 
 Kind to our prayers, bless the future year ! 
 As now propitious to our vows you prove. 
 Return with meek benevolence and love.''* 
 
 feast of Adonis' there were carried shells filled with 
 earth, in which grew several sorts of herbs, especially 
 lettuces, in memory that Adonis was laid out by Venus on 
 abed of lettuces: these were called x-n-rrji, gardens; 
 whence AiS'w.'iSoc nxTrot are proverbially applied to thiiias 
 unfruitful, or fadinjr; because those herbs were only sown 
 so long before the festival, as to sprout forth, and be 
 green at that time, and afterwards cast in the water. 
 See Antiquit. Vol. I. 
 
 * "The Adonia were celebrated in most of the Greek 
 cities in honour of Aphrodite and her paramour Adonis. 
 The solemnity lasted two days; the first of which was 
 devoted to the expression of grief, the second to merri- 
 ment and joy. On the first day the statues of Aphrodite 
 and Adonis were brought forth with great pomp: the 
 women tore their liair, heat their breasts, and went 
 through all the show of violent grief. Small vases filled 
 with earth, containing herbs, and especially lettuces, 
 were carried in the pomp: these were called ' the gardens 
 of Adonis,' and as they were presently cast out into the 
 water, the ' gardens of Adonis' came to signify any thing 
 unfruitful, fading, and transitory. On the second day the 
 demonstrations of joy were made in memory of Adonis, 
 who returned to life, and dwelt with his beloved one- 
 half of every year. 
 
 Gor. 0, fam'd for knowledge in mysterious 
 things ! 
 How sweet, Praxione, the damsel sings ! 
 Time calls me home to keep my husband kind, 
 He's prone to anger if he has not din'd. 
 Farewell, Adonis, lov'd and honour'd boy; 
 come, propitious, and augment our joy. 
 
 FROM IDYL XVI 
 
 IIBBRALITT TO POETS ENJOINED. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Not so the truly wise their wealth employ: — 
 'Tis theirs to welcome every coming guest, 
 And, blessing each departed friend, be blest; 
 But chiefly theirs to mark with high regard 
 The Muse's laurell'd priest — the holy bard; 
 Lest in the grave their unsung glory fade. 
 And their cold moan pierce Acheron's dreary 
 
 shade — 
 As the poor labourer, who, with portion scant, 
 Laments his long, hereditary want. 
 What though Aleua's and the Syrian's domes 
 Saw crowding menials fill their festal rooms ; 
 What though o'er Scopas' fields rich plenty flbw'd. 
 And herds innumerous through his valleys 
 
 low'd ; 
 What though the bountiful Creondje drove 
 Full many a beauteous flock through many a 
 
 grove ; 
 Yet ■when expiring life could charm no more, 
 And their sad spirits sought the Stygian shore. 
 Their grandeur vanish'd with their vital breath, 
 And riches could not follow them in death ! 
 
 "Adonis was the son of Cinyras; he was killed by a 
 wild boar, while hunting As Aphrodite was the ' Ash- 
 toreth of the Sidonians,' Adonis, we find, was the Thatn- 
 niuz worshipped in Syria. The worship of this pair made 
 at one time great progress in Palestine ; and the prophet' 
 Ezekiel says, that he saw in the vision in which the 
 various kinds of idolatry practised at .Jerusalem were 
 shown to him, 'women sitting and weeping for Tham- 
 miiz.' 
 
 "The legend of Venus and Adonia was done into Eng- 
 lish verse by Shakspeare, but with no great success. 
 Milton has introduced the pair with striking effect in a 
 fine passage in his 'Paradise Lost,' (book i.) : — 
 " With these in troop 
 Came Ashtoreth. whom the Phnenicians called 
 Astarte, queen of heaven, with crescent horns; 
 To whose bright image nightly, by the moon, 
 Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs; 
 In Sion also not unsuna, where stood 
 Her temple on th' offensive mountain, built 
 By that uxorious king, whose heart, though large, 
 Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell 
 To idols foul. Thammuz came next behind, 
 Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured 
 The Syrian damsels to lament his fate 
 In amorous ditties all a summer's day. 
 While smooth Adonis from his native rock 
 Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood 
 Of Thammuz yearly wounded : the love-tale 
 Infected .Sion's daughters with like heat. 
 Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch 
 Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led. 
 His eye surveyed the dark idolatries 
 Of alienated Judah." 
 See Chapman's Theocritus. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 221 
 
 Lo ! tliese for many a rollinj; a;?c liad lain 
 In blank oblivion, with the vulgar train, 
 Had not their bard, tlie mighty Coian,* strung 
 His many-cliorded harp, and sweetly sung. 
 In various tones, eacli high-rosoiinding name, 
 And giv'n to long posterity their fame. 
 
 Verse can alone the steed with glory grace, — 
 Whose wreaths announce the triumph of the 
 
 race ! 
 Cotild Lycia"s chiefs, or Cycnus' changing hues, 
 Or llion live with no recording muse? 
 Not e"en Ulysses, who through dangers van 
 For ten long years, in all the haiuUs of man; 
 Who e'en descended to the depths of hell, 
 And fled unmangled from the Cyclop's cell ; 
 Not he liad lived, but sunk, oblivion's prey. 
 Had no kind poet pour'd the imfading ray. 
 Thus, too, Phikrtius had in silence past; 
 And, nameless, old Laertes breatli'd his last; 
 And good Eumajus fed his herds in vain. 
 But for Ionia's life-inspiring strain. 
 Lo ! while the spirit of the spendthrift heir 
 Wings the rich stores amass'd by brooding care, 
 While the dea<l miser's scattering treasures fly, 
 The Muse forbids the generous man to die. 
 
 FROM IDYL XVII. 
 
 PRAISES OF PTOLEMY PHILADELPHUS. 
 
 With Jove begin, ye Nine, and end with Jove, 
 Whene'er ye praise the greatest God above*. 
 But if of noblest men the song ye cast. 
 Let Ptolemy be first, and midst, and last. 
 Heroes of old, from demigods that sprung, 
 Chose lofty poets who their actions sung : 
 Well skill'd, I tune to Ptolemy my reed ; 
 Hymns are of gods above the hoiionr'd meed. 
 To Ida, when the woodman winds his way, 
 Where verdant pines their towering tops dis- 
 play. 
 Doubtful he stands, with undeterniin'd look. 
 Where first to deal the meditated stroke : 
 And where shall I commence 1 New themes 
 
 arise, 
 Deeds that exalt his glory to tlie skies. 
 If from his fathers we connnence the plan, 
 Lagus, how great, how excellent a man ! f 
 Who to no eartlily potentate would yield 
 For wisdom at the board, or valour in the field: 
 Him with the gods Jove equals, and has given 
 A golden palace in the realms of heaven: 
 Near him sits Alexander, wise and great, 
 The fell destroyer of the Persian state. 
 Against them, thron'd in adamant, in view 
 Alcides, who the Cretan monster slew, 
 Reclines, and, as with gods the feast he shares, 
 Glories to meet his own descendant heirs. 
 From age and pain's impediments repriev'd, 
 And in the rank of deities rcceiv'd. 
 
 * Simonides. 
 1^ t Ptolemy Lajus, onn of Alexander's captains, who, 
 Pnpon thai monarch's death, and the division of his em- 
 pire, had Esypt, Libya, and that part of Arabia which 
 borders upon Egypt, allotted to his share. 
 
 For in his line are both these heroes class'd, 
 And both deriv'd from Hercules the last. 
 Thence, when the nectar'd bowl his love in- 
 spires. 
 And to the blooining Hebe he retires, 
 To this his bow and quiver he allots, 
 To that his iron club, distinct with knots; 
 Thus Jove's great son is by his offspring led 
 To silver-footed Hebe's rosy bed. 
 
 How Berenice shone! her parents' pride; 
 Virtue her aim, and wisdom was her guide: 
 Sure Verms with light touch her bosom prest, 
 Infusing in her soft ambrosial breast 
 Pure, constant love: hence faithful records tell, 
 No monarch ever lov'd his queen so well ; 
 No queen with such undying passion burn'd, 
 For more than equal fondness slie return'd. 
 Whene'er to love the chief his mind unbends, 
 To his son's care the kingdom he commends. 
 Unfaithful wives, dissatisfied at home. 
 Let their wild thoughts on joys forbidden roam : 
 Their births are known, yet, of a munerous race, 
 None shows the features of the father's face. 
 Venus, than all the goddesses more fair, 
 The lovely Berenice was thy care ; 
 To thee 'twas owing, gentle, kind and good, 
 She past not Acheron's woe-working flood. 
 Thou caught'st her e'er she went where spectres 
 
 dwell, 
 Or Charon, the grim ferryman of hell; 
 And in thy temple plac'd the royal fair. 
 Thine own high honour's jirivilege to share. 
 Thence gentle love in mortals she inspires, 
 And soft solicitudes, and sweet desires. 
 The fair De'ipyle to Tydeus bare 
 Stern Diomed, the thunderbolt of war: 
 And Thetis, goddess of the azure wave. 
 To Peleus brought Achilles, bold and brave: 
 But Berenice nobler praise hath won. 
 Who bore great Ptolemy as great a son : 
 And sea-girt Cos receiv'd thee soon as born, 
 When first thine eyes beheld the radiant morn. 
 For there thy modier to Lucina pray'd. 
 Who sends, to those that sutler child-bed, aid. 
 She came, and friendly to the genial bed, 
 A placid, sweet tranquillity she shed 
 O'er all her limbs; and thus serene and mild. 
 Like his lov'd sire, was born the lovely child. 
 Cos saw, and fondling in her arms the boy, 
 Thus spoke, transported, with the voice of joy; 
 "Quick rise to light, auspicious babe be born! 
 And me widi equal dignity adorn. 
 As Phabus Delos : — on fiun'd Triops" brow. 
 And on the neighbouring Dorian race bestow 
 Just honours, and as favourably smile. 
 As the god views with joy Rhena a's fertile isle." 
 The Island spoke; and thrice the bird of Jove 
 His pinions clang'd, resounding from above; 
 Jove's omen thimder'd from his eagle's wings; 
 Jove loves and honours venerable kings. 
 But whom in infancy his care befriends. 
 Him power, and wealth, and happiness attends: 
 He rules, bclov'd, unbounded tracts of land. 
 And various oceans roll at his command. 
 Unnumber'd nations view their happy plains. 
 Fresh fertiliz'd by Jove's prolilic rains : 
 
222 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 But none, like Egypt, can such plenty boast. 
 When genial Nile oerflows the humid coast ; — 
 Here, too, O Ptolemy! beneath thy sway 
 What cities glitter to the beams of day! 
 Lo! with thy statelier pomp no kingdom vies, 
 While round thee thrice ten thousand cities rise. 
 Struck by the terror of thy flashing sword, 
 Syria bow'd down, Arabia callVl thee lord; 
 Phtenicia trembled, and the Lybian plain. 
 With the black .^Ethiop, ownd thy wide do- 
 main : 
 E'en Lesser Asia and her isles grew pale, 
 As o er the billows pass'd thy crowd of sail. 
 Earth feels thy nod, and all the subject sea; 
 And each resounding river rolls for thee. 
 And while around thy thick battalions flash, 
 Thy proud steeds neighing for the warlike clash. 
 Through all thy marts the tide of commerce 
 
 flows, 
 And wealth beyond a monarch's grandeur glows.* 
 
 Such gold-hair'd Ptolemy ! whose easy port 
 Speaks the soft polish of the manner'd court; 
 And whose severer aspect, as he wields 
 The spear, dire-blazing, frowns in tented fields. 
 And though he guards, while other kingdoms 
 
 own 
 His conquering arms, the hereditary throne, 
 Yet in vast heaps no useless treasure stor'd 
 Lies, like the riches of an emmet's hoard; 
 To mighty kings his bounties he extends, 
 To states confederate, and illustrious friends. 
 No bard at Bacchus' festival appears. 
 Whose lyre has power to charm the ravish'd 
 
 ears. 
 But he bright honours and rewards imparts, 
 Due to his merits, equal to his arts : 
 And poets hence, for deathless song renown'd, 
 The generous fame of Ptolemy resound. 
 At what more glorious can the wealthy aim, 
 Than thus to purchase fair and lasting farael 
 The great Atridse this alone enjoy, 
 While all the wealth and spoil of plunder'd 
 
 Troy, 
 That scap'd the raging flame, or whelming wave, 
 Lies buried in oblivion's greedy grave. 
 Close trode great Ptolemy, at virtue's call, 
 His father's footsteps, but surpast them alh 
 
 * Ptolemy intended to engross the whole trade of the 
 east and west to himself, and therefore fitted out two 
 great tleets to protect his trading subjects ; one of these 
 he kept in the Red sea, the other in the IVIediterranean : 
 the latter was very numerous, and had several ships of an 
 extraordinary size. By this means, the whole trade being 
 fixed at Alexandria, that place became the chief mart of 
 all the traffic that was carried on between the east and 
 the west, and continued to be the greatest emporium in 
 the world above seventeen hundred years, till another 
 passage was found out by the Cape of Good Hope: but 
 as the road to the Red sea lay across the deserts, where 
 no water could be had, nor any convenience of towns or 
 houses for lodging passengers, Ptolemy, to remedy both 
 these evils, opened a canal along the great road, into 
 which he conveyed the water of the Nile, and built on it 
 houses at proper distances ; so that passengers found 
 every night convenient lodgings, and necessary refresh- 
 ments for themselves, and their beasts of burden. 
 
 FROM IDYL XVIII. 
 
 THE EPITHALAMIUM OF HELEX AND MENEtAtTS. 
 
 Twelve Spartan virgins, noble, young, and fair, 
 With violet wreaths adorn'd their flowing hair ; 
 And to the pompous palace did resort, 
 Where Menelaus kept his royal court. 
 There, hand in hand, a comely choir they led; 
 To sing a blessing to his nuptial bed. 
 With curious needles wrought, and painted flow- 
 ers bespread, — 
 Jove's beauteous daughter now his bride must be, 
 And Jove himself was less a god than he. 
 For this their artful hands instruct the lute to 
 
 sound, 
 Their feet assist their hands, and justly beat the 
 
 ground. 
 This was their song : — " Why, happy bridegroom, 
 
 why, 
 Ere yet the stars are kindled in the sky, 
 Ere twilight shades, or evening dews are shed. 
 Why dost thou steal so soon a^vay to bed '? 
 Has Somnus brush'd thine eyelids with his rod, 
 Or do thy legs refuse to bear their load, 
 With flowing bowls of a more generous god 1 
 If gentle slumber on thy temples creep, 
 (But, naughty man, thou dost not mean to sleep.) 
 Betake thee to thy bed, thou drowsy drone, 
 Sleep by thyself, and leave thy bride alone : 
 Go, leave her with her maiden mates to play 
 At sports more harmless till the break of day ! 
 Giv§ us this evening: thou hast morn and night. 
 And all the year before thee, for delight. 
 O happy youth ! to thee, among the crowd 
 Of rival princes, Cupid sneez'd aloud; 
 And every lucky omen sent before, 
 To meet thee landing on the Spartan shore. 
 Of all our heroes thou canst boast alone. 
 That Jove, whene'er he thunders, calls thee "son: 
 What virgin with thy Helen can compare. 
 So soft, so sweet, so balmy, and so fair? 
 A boy, like thee, would make a kingly line; 
 But oh, a girl like her must be divine. 
 Her equals we, in years, but not in face, 
 Twelve score viragos of the Spartan race, 
 While naked to Eurotas' banks we bend, 
 And there in manly exercise contend. 
 When she appears, are all eclips'd and lost, 
 And hide the beauties that we made our boast. 
 And as, when winter melts, when darkness flies. 
 And spring and noontide brighten all the skies, 
 So bloom'd the virgin Helen in our eyes; 
 So bloom'd she, beautiful above the rest, 
 Tall, slender, straight, with all the graces blest. 
 As pines the inountains, or as fields the corn, 
 Or as Thessalian steeds the race adorn. 
 So rosy-colour'd Helen charms the sight. 
 Our Sparta's grace, our glory and delight. 
 With her no nymph may in the loom contend ; 
 No nymph, like her, the willing osier bend ; 
 None with such raptures animate the lyre ; 
 Whether Minerva the rapt strain inspire, 
 Or Dian, sporting with her virgin choir ; 
 None can record their heavenly praise so well '<# 
 As Helen, in whose eyes ten thousand Cupids 
 dwell. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 223 
 
 O fair, graceful ! yet with maids enrolTd, 
 But whom to-morrows sun a matron shall be- 
 hold ! 
 Yet ere to-morrow's sur^ shall show his head, 
 The dewy paths of meadows we will tread, 
 For crowns and chaplets to adorn thy head. 
 When all shall weep, and wish for thy return, 
 As bleating lambs their absent mother mourn. 
 Our noblest maids shall to thy name bequeath 
 The boughs of Lotos, form'd into a wreath. 
 This monument, thy maiden beauties' due. 
 High on a plane-tree shall be hung to view. 
 On the smooth rind the passenger shall see 
 Thy name engrav'd, and worship Helen's tree : 
 Balm, from a silver box distilld around, 
 Shall all bedew the roots, and scent the sacred 
 
 ground. 
 Hail bride, hail bridegroom, son-in-law to Jove ! 
 With fruitful joys Latona bless your love! 
 Almiy;hty Jove augment your wealthy store, 
 Give much to you, and to his grandsons more! 
 From generous loins a generous race will spring, — 
 Each girl, like her, a queen; each boy, like thee, 
 a king." 
 
 FROM IDYL XXII. 
 
 THE BOXERS. 
 
 Tuu'twins of Leda, child of Thestins, 
 Twice and again we celebrate in song, 
 The Spartan pair, stamped by .(Egiochus, 
 Castor and Pollux, arming with the thong 
 His dreadful hands ; both merciful as strong. 
 Saviours of men on danger's extreme edge. 
 And steeds tost in the battle's bloody throng, 
 And star-defying ships on ruin's ledge. 
 Swept with their crews by blasts into the cruel 
 dredge. 
 
 The wimls, where'er they list, the huge wave 
 
 drive, 
 Dashing from prow or stern into the hold ; 
 Both sides, sail, tackle, yard, and mast they 
 
 rive. 
 Snapping at random : from night's sudden fold 
 Rushes a flood ; hither and thitlier rolled, 
 Broad ocean's heaving volumes roar and hiss. 
 Smitten by blasts and the hail-volley cold : 
 The lost ship and her crew your task it is, 
 Bright pair ! to rescue from the terrible abyss. 
 
 They think to die — but lo! a sudden lull 
 
 0' the winds ; the clouds disperse ; and the 
 
 hush'd sheen 
 Of the calmed ocean sparkles beautiful : 
 The bears and asses, with the stall between. 
 Foreshow a voyage safe and skies serene. 
 Blest brothers! who to mortals safely bring, 
 Both harpers, minstrels, knights, and warriors 
 
 keen : 
 Since both I hymn, with which immortal king 
 Shall I commence my song? of Pollux lirst 111 
 
 sing. 
 
 The justling rocks, the ilangcrous Euxine's 
 mouth, 
 
 Snow-veiled, when Argo safely passed, and 
 
 ended 
 Her course at the Bebrycian shore, the youth 
 Born of the gods from both her sides descended, 
 And on the deep shore, from rude winds de- 
 fended, 
 Their couches spread ; and strook the seeds of 
 
 fire 
 From the.pyrcion. Forthwith unattended 
 Did Pollux, of the red-brown hue, retire 
 With Castor, whose renown for horsemanship 
 was higher. 
 
 On a high hill a forest did appear: 
 The brothers found there a perennial spring, 
 Under a smooth rock, filled with water clear. 
 With pebbles paved, which from below did 
 
 fling 
 A crystal sheen like silver glistering: 
 The poplar, plane, tall pine, and cypress, grew 
 Hard by : and odorous flowers did thither 
 
 bring 
 Thick swarm of bees, their sweet toil to pursue, 
 As many as in the meads, when spring ends, 
 
 bloom to view. 
 There lay at ease a bulky insolent. 
 Grim-looked : his ears by gauntlets scored and 
 
 marred ; 
 His vast chest, like a ball, was prominent; 
 His back was broad with flesh like iron hard, 
 Like anvil-wigught Colossus to regard ; 
 And under either shoulder thews were seen 
 On his strong arms, like round stones which, 
 
 oft jarred 
 In the quick rush with many a bound between, 
 A winter torrent rolls down through the clefl 
 
 ravine. 
 
 A lion's hide suspended by the feet 
 Hung from his neck and o'er his shoulders fell : 
 Him the prize-winner Pollux first did greet: 
 " Hail, stranger ! in these parts what people 
 
 dwell?" 
 "The hail of utter stranger sounds not well, 
 At least to me." " Were not malevolent, 
 Nor sons of such, take heart." " You need not 
 
 tell 
 ]\Ie that — I in myself am confident." 
 " You are a savage, quick to wrath and insolent." 
 
 " You see me as I am ; upon your land 
 I do not walk." "Come thither, and return 
 With hospitable gifts." " I've none at hand, 
 Nor want I yours." "Pray, let me learn, 
 Wilt let me drink from out this fuimtaiu urn?" 
 "You'll know, if your thirst-hanging lips are 
 
 dry." 
 " How may we coax you from your humour 
 
 stern ? — 
 With silver or what else?'' "The comljat 
 
 try—" 
 "How, pray, with gauntlets, foot to foot and eye 
 
 to eye ?" 
 
 "In pugilistic fight, nor spare your skill." 
 "Where is my gauntlci-armed antagonist ?" 
 "At hand ! he's hero; you see hitn if you will, 
 I, Amycus, the famous pugilist,'' 
 
224 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 "And what the prize of the victorious fist?" 
 " The vanquished shall become the victor's 
 
 thrall.'' 
 " Rod-crested cocks so fight, and so desist." 
 " Cock-like, or lion-like the combat call ; 
 This is the prize for which we fight, or none at 
 all." 
 
 Then on a conch he blew a mighty blast : 
 The long-haired Bebryces, hearing the sound. 
 Under the shady plains assembled fast; 
 And likewise Castor, in the fight renowned, 
 Hastened and called his comrades to the 
 
 ground 
 From the Magnesian ship. With gauntlets 
 
 both 
 Armed their strong hands ; their wrists and 
 
 arms they bound 
 With the long thongs ; with one another wroth. 
 Each breathing blood and death, they stood up 
 
 nothing loth. 
 
 First each contended which should get the sun 
 Of his antagonist ; bvit much in sleight 
 That huge man, Pollux ! was by thee outdone ; 
 And Amycus was dazzled with the light; 
 But raging rushed straight forward to the fight, 
 Aiming fierce blows ; but wary Pollux met 
 
 him. 
 Striking the chin of his vast opposite, 
 Who fiercer battled, for the blow did fret him. 
 And leaning forward tried unto the ground to 
 get him. 
 
 Shouted the Bebryces ; and, for they feared 
 The man-like Tityus might their friend down- 
 weigh 
 In the scant place, the heroes Pollux cheered : 
 But shifting here and there Joves son made 
 
 play. 
 And struck out right and left, but kept away 
 From the fierce rush of Neptune's son un- 
 couth. 
 Who, drunk with blows, reeled in the hot 
 
 affray. 
 Out-spitting purple blood ; the princely youth 
 Shouted, when they beheld his battered jaws and 
 mouth. 
 
 His eyes were nearly closed from the contusion 
 Of his swoln face ; the prince amazed him 
 
 more 
 With many feints, and seeing his confusion 
 Mid-front he struck a heavy blow and sore. 
 And to the bone his forehead gashing tore ; 
 Instant he fell, and at his length he lay 
 On the green leaves ; but fiercely as before, 
 On his uprising, they renewed the fray. 
 Aiming terrific blows, as with intent to slay. 
 
 But the Bebrycian champion strove to place 
 His blows upon the broad breast of his foe, 
 Who ceaselessly disfigured all his face : 
 His flesh with sweating shrunk, that he did 
 
 show, 
 From huge, but small ; but larger seemed to 
 
 grow 
 The limbs of Pollux, and of fresher hue 
 
 The more he toiled ; Muse ! for 'tis thine to 
 
 know, 
 And mine to give interpretation true, 
 Tell how the son of Zeus that mighty bulk o'er- 
 threw. 
 
 Aiming at something great, the big Bebrycian 
 The left of Pollux with his left hand caught, 
 Obliquely leaning out from his position. 
 And from his flank his huge right hand he 
 
 brought. 
 And had he hit him would have surely wrought 
 Pollux much damage ; but escape he found, 
 Stooping his head, and smote him, quick as 
 
 thought. 
 On the left temple ; from the gaping wound 
 A bubbling gush of gore out-spurted on the 
 
 ground. 
 
 Right on his mouth his left hand then he 
 
 dashed ; 
 Rattled his teeth; and with a quicker hail 
 Of blows he smote him, till his cheeks he 
 
 smashed : 
 Stretched out he lay ; his senses all did fail. 
 Save that he owned the other did prevail 
 By holding up his hands : nor thou didst claim 
 The forfeit, Pollux, taking of him bail 
 Of a great oath in his own father's name. 
 Strangers to harm no more with word or deed 
 
 of shame. 
 
 FROM IDYL XXIV. 
 
 THE IJTFAJTT HERCULES. 
 
 Young Hercules had now beheld the light 
 Only ten months, when once upon a night, 
 Alcmena having washed, and given the breast 
 To both her heavy boys, laid them to rest. 
 Their cradle was a noble shield of brass. 
 Won by her lord from slaughter'd Pterilas. 
 Gently she laid them down, and gently laid 
 Her hand on both their heads, and yearned, and 
 
 said : 
 " Sleep, sleep, my boys ! a light and pleasant 
 
 sleep,* 
 My little souls, my twins, my guard and keep ! 
 Sleep happy, and wake happy !" And she kept 
 Rocking the mighty buckler, and they slept. 
 
 At midnight when the Bear went down, and 
 
 broad 
 Orion's shoulder lit the starry road. 
 There came, careering through the opening halls 
 On livid spires, two dreadful animals — 
 Serpents, whom Juno, threatening as she drove, 
 Had sent there to devour the boy of Jove. 
 Orbing their blood-fed bellies in and out. 
 They tower'd along; and, as they look'd about, 
 
 * The melody of the original breathes an exquisite and 
 soothing repose : no lullably was ever more delightful. 
 
 The celebrated song of Simonides is of a similar cha- 
 racter. 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 225 
 
 An evil fire out of their eyes came Ifimping; 
 A heavy poison dropp'd about their champing. 
 
 And now they have arrived, and think to fall 
 To their dread meal, when lo! (for Jove sees 
 
 ail.) 
 The house is lit as with the morning's break. 
 And the dear children .'f Alcmena wake. 
 Tlie yoimger one, as soon as he beheld 
 The evil creatures coming on the shield, 
 And saw their loathsome tecnh, began to cry 
 And shriek, and ki(;k away the clothes, and try 
 All his poor little instincts of escape ; 
 The other, grappling, seized them by the nape 
 Of either poisonous neck, for all their twists, 
 And held like iron in liis little fists. 
 
 Alcraena heard the noise, and " Wake !"' she 
 
 cried ; 
 " Ampliitryon, wake! for terror holds me tied ; 
 Up! stay not for the sandals. Hark! the child — 
 The youngest — how he shrieks! The babe is 
 
 wild! 
 And see the walls and windows ! 'Tis as light 
 As if 'twere day, and yet 'tis surely night. 
 There's something dreadful in the house ; there is. 
 Indeed, dear husband !" He arose at this. 
 And seized his noble sword, which overhead 
 Was always hanging at the cedar-bed. 
 
 All in an instant, like a stroke of doom, 
 Returning midnight smote upon tne room. 
 Arnphitryon called, and woke from heavy sleep 
 His household, who lay breathing hard and 
 
 deep : 
 " Bring lights here from the hearth ! lights ! lights ! 
 
 and guard 
 The doorways! rise, ye ready labourers hard !" 
 He said; and lights came pouring in, and ail 
 The busy house was up in bow'r and hall ; 
 But when they saw the little stickler, how 
 He grasped the monsters, and with earnest brow 
 Kept beating tliem together, playthingwise. 
 They shrieked aloud : but he, with laughing 
 
 eyes, 
 Soon as he saw Amphitryon, leaped and sprung. 
 Child like, and at his I'eet the dead tlisturbers 
 
 flung. 
 
 FROM IDYL XXV. 
 
 Hr.HCULKS, TIIK t.lON-.SL.4TER. 
 
 Heiicules, in quest of Augeias, falls in with 
 one of the dependants of that personage. He is 
 amazed at the sight of his herds, having no notion 
 that even ten kings together ]ios8cssed such 
 wealth. He accompanies Aug°ias and his son 
 while they inspect the stalls and the business 
 going on there. In the morning he accompanies 
 Phyleus to the city, and communicates to him, on 
 the road, the particulars of his ailventure wiih 
 the Nemean lion, whose hide is lianging from 
 his shoidders. The beginning, and gnnie ihink 
 the conclusion also, of this Idyl is waniingin tlie 
 original. 
 
 Whkx to perform his fated lord's behest, 
 Amphitryon's son, with toils and perils tried, 
 29 
 
 Hero with the prodigious breadth of breast, — 
 In his right hand his club, the lion's hide 
 Hung from his shoulders by the fore feet tied, — 
 To the rich vale of fruitful Elis came, 
 Where the sweet waters of Alplieus glide. 
 Seeing herds, ilocks, and pastures, none might 
 claim. 
 But only wealthiest lord, some prince well known 
 to i'ame. 
 
 He asked a countryman, whose watchful care 
 O'erlooked the grounds (his task was his de- 
 light,) ' 
 "(rood friend ! wilt ti'll a traveller, whose are 
 These herds, and Ilocks, and pastures infinite? 
 He is, I well may guess, the favourite 
 Of tlie Olympian gods. Here should abide 
 Those I am come to seek." The man, at 
 
 sight 
 And claim of stranger, quickly laid aside 
 The work he had in hand, and courteously re- 
 plied : 
 
 "What thou dost ask I willingly will tell. 
 Good stranger! for I fear the heavy wrath 
 Of Hermes, the way-god; of all who dwcdl 
 Above us, most is he provoked, when scatli 
 Or scorn is done to him who asks his path. 
 Not in one pasture all the flocks ap])ear. 
 Nor in one region. King Augeias hath : 
 Some pasture where Elisson glides; some, 
 
 where 
 Alpheus: at vine-clad Buprasion some; some, 
 
 here : 
 
 "And every flock has its particular fold. 
 Their pasture never fails his numerous kine 
 In the green lowlands that receiving hold 
 The gush of Peneus, and the dew divine: 
 As in the genial moisture they recline, 
 The meads throw up soft herbage, which sup- 
 plies 
 The strength of the horned kind. Beyond the 
 
 shine 
 Of the far-gliding river — turn your eyes 
 A little to the left — their stalled enclosure lies; 
 
 "Yonder, where the perennial planes elate 
 Stand lordly, and the green wild-olives grow, — 
 A grove to King Apollo dedicate, 
 The pastoral god, most porl'cct god we know. 
 Hard by, our dwellings in a lengthened row; 
 Our labour an immense revenue yields 
 To our good lord, as often as we sow, 
 When thrice or four times ploughed, the fallow 
 fields : 
 Each of his husbandmen the spade or hoe that 
 wielils, 
 
 "Earthing the vine-roots, or at vintage-fiJe 
 Toil*- at the wine-press, knows where the 
 
 domain 
 Of rich Augeias ends on every side. 
 For his is all the far-extended plain, 
 Orchards thick-set with trees, and fields with 
 
 grain, 
 E'en to the fount-full hill-tops far away; 
 All wliich we work at (as behoves the swain, 
 
226 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 Whose life is spent a-field) through all tlie day. 
 Why thou art come — to tell may be thy profit — 
 say. 
 
 "Dost seek Augeias, or some one of those 
 Who serve him? I will give an answer clear, 
 And to the point, as one that fully knows. 
 Not mean art thou, nor of mean sires, I'd swear, 
 So grand thy form. The sons of gods appear 
 Such among mf n." To him Joves son replied : 
 "In truth, old man! for that did bring me 
 
 here, 
 Augeias I would see : if it betide 
 Th' Epean chief doth in the city now abide, 
 
 "And, caring for the folk, as judge fulfils 
 True judgment; bid his trusty steward me 
 
 speed, 
 With whom as guide I may converse. God 
 
 wills 
 That mortal men should one another need." 
 To him the husbandman: "It seems, indeed, 
 Thy way was heaven-appointed; in thine aim. 
 E'en to thy wish, thou rlost at once succeed ; 
 For yesterday Augeias hither came. 
 With his illustrious son, Phyleus hight by name. 
 
 "After long time, his rural wealth to see, 
 He came : to this e'en princes are not blind, 
 The master there, his house will safer be. 
 But let us to the stall ; there shall we find 
 Augeias." Led the way that old man kind : 
 Seeing the great hand-filling club, and spoil 
 Of the wild beast, he puzzleil much his mind, 
 Who he could be, come from what natal soil; 
 And with desire to ask him this did inward boil. 
 
 But caught the word just to his lips proceeding. 
 For fear he might with question indiscreet. 
 Or out of place, annoy the stranger speeding: 
 'Tis a hard thing another's thought to weet. 
 The hounds both ways, by scent and fall of feet, 
 Perceived them from afar. At Hercules 
 They flew, loud barking at him, but did greet 
 The old man, whining gently as you please, 
 And round him wagged their tails, and fawning 
 licked his knees. 
 
 But he with stones — to lift them was enough — 
 Scared back the hounds, their barking did re- 
 strain. 
 And scolded thein ; but, though his voice was 
 
 rough. 
 His heart was glad they did such gtiard main- 
 tain. 
 When he was absent. Then he spoke again : 
 "Gods! what an animal ! what faitliful suit 
 He does to man ! if he where to abstain. 
 Where rage, but knew, none other might dispute 
 With him in excellence; but 'tis too fierce a 
 brute." 
 
 And soon they reached the stall. The sim his 
 
 steeds 
 Turned to the west, bringing the close of day. 
 The herds and flocks, returning from the meads. 
 Came to the stables where they nightly lay. 
 The kine in long succession trod the way, 
 
 Innumerous ; as watery clouds on high, 
 By south or west wind driven in dense array, 
 One on another press, and forward fly. 
 Numberless, without end, along the thickened sky ; 
 
 So many upon so many impels the wind ; 
 Others on others drive their crests to twine : 
 So many herds so many pressed behind ; 
 The plain, the ways, were filled in breadth and 
 
 line : 
 The fields were straitened with the lowingkine. 
 The sheep were folded soon ; the cattle, too, 
 That inward, as they walk, their knees incline. 
 Were all installed, a multitude to view^ : 
 No man stood idly by for want of work to do. 
 
 Some to the kine their wooden shoes applied. 
 And bound with thongs; while some in station 
 
 near 
 To milk them took their proper place beside : 
 One to the dams let go their younglings dear, 
 Mad for the warm milk; while another there 
 The milk-pail held, the curds to cheese one 
 
 turned : 
 Meanwhile Augeias went by every where, 
 And with his own eyes for himself he learned 
 What revenue for him his cattle-keepers earned. 
 
 With him his son and mighty Hercules 
 Through his exceeding show of riches went. 
 And though his mind Amphitryonides 
 Was wont to keep on balance and unbent, 
 At sight thereof he was in wonderment : 
 Had he not seen it, he'd have thought it fable 
 That any one, however eminent 
 For wealth, or any ten, in fold, stall, stable, 
 The richest of all kings, to show such wealth 
 were able. 
 
 Hyperion gave unto his son most dear. 
 That he should all in flocks and herds excel. 
 His care increased them more from year to 
 
 year ; 
 For on his lierds no sort of ailment fell. 
 Such as destroys the cattle: his grew well, 
 In jjith improving still. None cast their young. 
 Which almost all were female. He could tell 
 Three hundred white-skinned bulls his kine 
 
 among. 
 And eke two hundred red, that to their pastime 
 
 sprung. 
 
 Twelve swan-white bulls were sacred to the 
 
 sun. 
 All inknee'd bulls excelling; these apart 
 Cropped the green pasture, and were never 
 
 done 
 Exulting ; when from thicket shag did dart 
 Wild beasts, among the herds to play their part, 
 These twelve first rushed, death-looking, to the 
 
 \var, 
 Roaring most terribly. In pri<le of heart 
 And strength great Phaethon (men to a star 
 Did liken him) was first, mid many seen afar. 
 
 When this bull saw the tawny lion"s hide, 
 He rush'd on watchful Hercules, intent 
 To plunge his armed forehead in his side : 
 But then the hero grasped incontinent 
 
THEOCRITUS. 
 
 227 
 
 The bull's left horn, and to the ground back 
 
 bent 
 His heavy neck ; then backward pressed his 
 
 might. 
 The bull, more struggling as more backward 
 
 sent, 
 At last stood, stretching every nerve, upright. 
 The king, and priice, and swains, all marvelled 
 
 at the sight. 
 
 But to the city, on the following day. 
 
 Bold Hercules and Prince I'hyleiis sped. 
 
 At first their path through a thick vineyard 
 
 lay, 
 
 Narrow, and 'mid the green, through which it 
 
 led, 
 Half-hid. This past, Phylciis turned his head 
 O'er his right shoulder, soon as they did reach 
 The public road, and to the hero said, 
 Who walked behiml him — " Frieml, I did im- 
 peach 
 Myself as having lost, concerning thee, some 
 speech. 
 
 " I long since heard : now I remember me, 
 A young Acluian hither on a day 
 From Argos came, from sea-shore Helice, 
 Who, many Epeans present, then diil say 
 He saw an Argive man a monster slay, 
 A lion, dread of all the country round. 
 Whose lair in grove of Zeus the Nemean lay: 
 I am not sure if on Tirynthian ground, 
 Or else in Argos bom, or in Mycenian bound ; 
 
 "But said, if I remember rightly now. 
 The hero sprung from Perseus: I confess 
 Methinks none other Argive man but thou 
 Dared that adventure : yea ! that piece of dress, 
 The lion's hide avows that hardiness. 
 Then, hero, first of ad explain to me, 
 That I may know if right or wrong my guess. 
 Whether thou art in truth that very he. 
 Whose deed was told us by the man of Helice. 
 
 " Next, tell how thou didst slay the dreadful 
 
 beast. 
 And how his way to Nemean haunt he found: 
 One. if he searched in Apian land at least, 
 Such monster could not find, though bears 
 
 abound. 
 Boars and destructive wolves, the country 
 
 round : 
 Wherefore all marvelled at the man's recital. 
 And thought the traveller, with idle sound 
 Of his invented wonders, in requital 
 Of hospitable rites, was striving to delight all." 
 
 Then from the mid-path to the road-side near 
 Phylei'is kept, that both abreast might find 
 Sutlicient room, and he might better hear 
 What Hercules should say, who still behind 
 To him replied : " Not from the truth declined, 
 But with just balance thou hast judged it 
 
 well ; 
 Since thou would'st hear, I with a willing 
 
 mind 
 Will tell, Phyleiis, how the monster fell. 
 But whence he came nor I, nor Argive else can 
 
 tell: 
 
 "Only we think that some Immortal sent, 
 
 For holy riles profaned or left undone. 
 That ill on the Phoronians ; forth he went, 
 And the Piseiins, like a fl(X)d, o'errun: 
 The Binnbinteans least of all could shun 
 His fateful wrath ; they, nearest, fared the 
 
 worst: 
 To slay that terrible redoubted one 
 Was task enjoined me l)y Kurystheus erst: 
 His wish I undertook — of my set toils the first. 
 
 "My flexile bow I took, and rpiiver full 
 Of arrows, and my club, the bark still on, 
 The stem of a wild olive I did pull 
 Up by the roots, when thither I was gone. 
 Under the brow of holy Helicon. 
 But when I came to the Inige lion's lair, 
 I to the tip the string did straightway don. 
 And fix'(l one of the arrows which I bare : 
 To see, ere I was seen, I looked around with care. 
 
 '• It was the mid-day, and not yet I found 
 His traces: nor could hear his mighty roar. 
 I saw no herdsman, ploughman on the ground. 
 To point me w^here I shoiUd his haunt explore: 
 Green fear kept every man within his door. 
 Nor till I saw him and his vigour tried. 
 Ceased I to search the sylvan mountain o'er; 
 And ere came on the cool of eventide. 
 Back to his cavern, gorged with flesh and blood 
 he hied. 
 
 " His dew-lap, savage face, and mane, were 
 
 gory; 
 
 He licked his beard, while I, yet unespied. 
 Lurked in a thicket of tlie jirouiontory ; 
 But as he nearer came, at his left siile 
 I shot an arrow, but it did not glide. 
 Though sharp, into his flesh, but with rebound 
 Fell on the grass. The thick he closely eyed. 
 His bloody head up-lifting from the ground. 
 And ghastly grinned, showing his teeth's terrific 
 round. 
 
 " Then on the string another shaft I placed. 
 And shot — vext that the former idly flew: 
 Mid-breast I hit him, where the lungs are 
 
 placed : 
 His hide the sharp, sharp arrow pierced not 
 
 through, 
 But at his feet fell ineffectual too: 
 Again a third I was in act to shoot. 
 Enraged to think in vain my bow I drew. 
 When I was seen by the blood-Uiirsty brute, 
 Who to the battle-thought his angry signs did suit 
 
 "With his long tail he lashed himself; and all 
 His neck was filled with wrath : the fiery glow 
 Of his vext mane up-bristled ; in a ball 
 He gathered up himself, till like a bow 
 His spine was arched : as when one, who doth 
 
 know 
 Chariots to build, excelling in his art. 
 Having first heated in a fire-heat slow 
 Bends for his wheel a fig-branch; with a start 
 The fissile wild-fig flies far from his hands apart. 
 
 <' Collected for the spring, and mad to rend me, 
 So leapt the lion from afar : I strove 
 
228 
 
 THEOCRITUS. 
 
 M'ith skin-cloak, bow and quiver to defend me 
 With one hand ; with the other I up-hove 
 ]\Iy weijuhty club, and on his temple drove, 
 But broke in ])ieces the rough olive wood 
 On his hard shagsjy head : he from above 
 Fell ere he reached me, by the stroke subdued. 
 And nodding with his head on trembling feet he 
 stood. 
 
 " Darkness came over both his eyes : his brain 
 Was shaken in the bone ; but wlien I spied 
 The monster stunned and' reeling from his 
 
 pain, 
 I cast my quiver and my bow aside, 
 And to his neek my throttling hands applied, 
 Before he could recover. I did bear me 
 With vigour in the death-clutch, and astride 
 His body from behind from scath did clear me. 
 
 So that he could not or with jaw or talons tear 
 me. 
 " His liind feet with my heels I pressed aground ; 
 Of his pernicious throat my hands took care ; 
 His sides were for my thighs a safe-guard found 
 From his fore-feet: till breathless high in air 
 I lifted him new sped to helfs dark lair. 
 Then many projects did my thoughts divide, 
 How best I might the monster's carcass bare. 
 And from his dead limbs strip the sliaggy hide: 
 
 Hard task it was indeed, and much my patience 
 tried. 
 "I tried, and failed with iron, wood, and flint; 
 For none of these his skin could penetrate; 
 Then some Immortal gave to me a hint 
 With his own talons I might separate 
 The carcass and the hide : success did wait 
 The trial of this thought ; he soon was flayed. 
 I wear his hide, that serves me to rebate 
 Sharp-cutting war. The Nemean beast was 
 laid 
 
 Thus low, which had of men and flocks much 
 havoc made.'' 
 
 ON THE STATUE OF ^SCULAPIUS. 
 The son of Papon to Miletus came 
 To meet his Nicias of iUustrious name ; 
 He, in deep reverence of his guest divine, 
 Deck'd with the daily sacrifice his shrine ; 
 And of the god this cedar statue bought — 
 A finish'd work, by skilled Ettion wrought. 
 The sculptor, with a lavish sum repaid. 
 Here all the wonders of his art display'd. 
 
 Another trayislation of the Same. 
 At fam'd Miletus, Pa-<in"s son the wise 
 Arriv'd, with learned Nioias to advise. 
 Who to his shrine with daily ofl^erings came. 
 And rais'd this cedar statue to his fame ; 
 The ce;lar statue by Eetion wrought, 
 Illustrious artist! for large sums he bought: 
 Tue work is linish'd to the owner's will, 
 For here the sculptor lavish'd all his skill. 
 
 A ^'OW TO PRIAPUS. 
 O GOATHKHi) ! wind adown that village road. 
 Where oaks are growing. Thou wilt find be- 
 yond 
 
 A new carved fig-tree image. Though three- 
 legged, 
 Bark'd with rough rind, and earless, know the 
 
 god, 
 Genial Priapus, speeds the 50ft designs 
 Of Venus. He is circled, where he stands. 
 With a I'air chapel; and a running broQk, 
 As clear it sparlcles from the ronk, looks green 
 With luyrtles, bays, aiul aromatic boughs 
 Of cypress trees; and there a branching vine 
 Sjneads broad its clusters. Blackbirds of the 
 
 spring 
 Re-echo shrill their varied whi.stling pipe; 
 And tawny nightingales, perch'd opposite. 
 Strain their sweet throats, with soft, low-gurgled 
 
 tone. 
 Sit, therefore, in that spot ; and pray the god, 
 Gracious Priapus, to release this heart 
 From love of Daphne. Promise at my baud 
 A goodly kid; but, if he still deny. 
 Three victims I devote in sacrifice — 
 A heifer, and a shagged goat, and lamb 
 Fed in the stall ; and may the god be kind ! 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 
 Turning down, goatherd, by the oaks, you'll see 
 
 A fig-tree statue, put up recently. 
 
 Three-footed, with the bark on, without ears; 
 
 Yet plain enough Priapus it appears. 
 
 A sacred hedge runs round it ; and a brook, 
 
 Flowing from out a little gravelly nook, 
 
 Keeps green the laurel and the myrtle trees 
 
 And odorous cypresses : 
 
 And there's a vine there, heaping all about 
 
 Its tendrilled chisters out ; 
 
 And vernal blackbirds through the sprays 
 
 Shake their shrill notes a thousand ways; 
 
 And yellow nightingales reply, 
 
 Murratiring a honied song deliciously. 
 
 Sit you down there, and the kind god implore, 
 
 That I may yearn for Psamathe no more ; 
 
 IMyself, with a fine kid, will follow you, 
 
 And sacrifice : and should the deity nod, 
 
 A heifer and a goat shall thank him too. 
 
 And a house-lamb. Hear, then, kind-hearted god ! 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 OTi EUSTHEXES THE PH YSIOGXO'MIST. 
 
 To Etisthenes, the first in wisdom's list, 
 
 Philosopher aitd Physiognomist, 
 
 This tomb is rais'd: he from the eye could scan 
 
 The cover'd thought, and read the very man. 
 
 By strangers was his decent bier adorn'd. 
 
 By strangers honour'd, and by poets mourn'd : 
 
 Whate'er the Sophist merited lie gain'd, 
 
 And dead, a grave in foreign realms obtaiu'd. 
 
 ON ANACREON. 
 
 Sttiaxgetis. AV'ho near this statue chance to roam, 
 Let it awhile your studious eyes engage ; 
 
 And you may say, returning to your home, 
 " I've seen the image of the Tei'an sage — 
 Best of the bards, who grace the Muses' page.'' 
 
NICIAS. 
 
 2Q9 
 
 Then, if yon add, " Youth loved him passin; 
 
 well,'' 
 You tell tliem all he ^vas, and aptly toll. 
 
 ON A FRIEND DROWNED AT SEA. 
 
 Risk not your life upon the wintry sea ; 
 With all his eare man's life must fragile be: 
 My Clconi(;u.-i sped from Syria's shore 
 To woaltliy Thasos, and rich cargo bore; — 
 Ah ! passinji,- rich : — but as the Pleiad's light 
 In ocean set, he with them sank to night. 
 
 Jlnolher translation of the Same. 
 
 sTRAXGKn ! spare thy life so short and frail, 
 Nor, but when times are seasonable, sail. 
 Poor Cleonicus, innocent of guile. 
 From Syria hasten'd to rich Thasos' isle ; 
 The Pleiads sunk as he approach'd the shore; 
 With them he sunk, to rise, alas ! no more. 
 
 ON HIPPONAX, THE SATIRIST. 
 HETtE lies Hipponax, to the Muses dear. 
 Traveller I if conscience sting, approach not near ! 
 But if si'^icere of heart, and free from guile, 
 Here boldly sit, and even sleep awhile. 
 
 ON EURYMEDON. 
 
 Thint, early death, ah! brave Eurymedon, 
 Hath made an orphan of thine infant son ; 
 
 For thee, this tomb thy grateful country rears; 
 
 For him, she bids thee calm a parent's fears; 
 
 Secure, thy rest do thou wilh heroes take — 
 He shall be houour'd for his father's sake. 
 
 AN OFPEKL\(; TO PAN. 
 Daphnis, the fair, who, with bucolic song 
 And pastoral pipe, could charm the listening 
 
 tlnving, 
 To Pan presents the emblems of his art, 
 A fawn's soft skin, a crook, and pointed dart, 
 Three rural pipes adapted to his lip. 
 And lor his homely food a leathern scrip. 
 
 TO THE MUSES AND APOLLO. 
 This wild-thyme and these roses, fresh with 
 
 dews, 
 Are sacred to the Heliconian Muse; 
 The bay, Apollo, with dark leaves is thine, — 
 Thus art thou honoin-'d at the Delphic shrine : 
 And there to thee this shaggy goat I vow, 
 Ihat loves to crop the fune-tree's pendant bough. 
 
 ORTHON'S EPITAPH. 
 
 To every toping traveller that lives, 
 Orti.on of Syracuse this warning gives: — 
 With wine o'erheatecl, and depriv'd of light, 
 Forbear to travel on a winter's night; 
 This was my fate ; and for my t:ative land 
 I now lie buried on a foreign strand. 
 
 NICIAS. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 Supposed to have been a native of Miletus, and the friend to whom Theocritus has addressed his 
 
 eleventh and thirteenth Idyls. 
 
 THE BEE. 
 MANT-coionnEi), sunshine-loving, 
 
 spring-betokening bee ! 
 Yellow bee, so mad for love 
 
 of early-blooming flowers — 
 Till thy waxen cell be full, 
 
 fair fall thy work and thee, 
 Buzzing round the swectly-smoUinr 
 
 garden plots and bowers. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 I SHALL never sing my pleasant ditty now. 
 Folded round by long leaves on the bough, 
 Under my shrilly chirping wing: 
 For a child's hand seized me in luckless Iwur, 
 
 Sitting on the petals of a flower, 
 Looking for no such evil tiling. 
 
 ON THE TOMB OF AN INFANT.* 
 Stat, weary traveller, stay ! 
 
 Beneath these boughs repose ! 
 A step out of the way, 
 
 My little fountain Hows. 
 And never quite forget 
 
 The monmnental urn. 
 Which Simus here hath set 
 
 His buried child to mourn. 
 
 * The nymph of thn fniintain, hy the fide of wlirh 
 Siimis hnd ereclod a inoniimfiu to his child, is supposed 
 to utter these words to the passer-by. 
 U 
 
LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 Lbonidas lived in the days of Pyrrhns, king of 
 Epirus, and appears to have been one of the cap- 
 tives made by that prince in his war on theTaren- 
 tines. He left behind him about a hundred 
 
 epigrams in the Doric dialect, — some dedicatory, 
 others descriptive, or commemorative, — and all (to 
 his praise be it spoken,) remarkably free from 
 exception on the ground of morality. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Cling to thy home ! If there the meanest 
 
 shed 
 Yield thee a hearth, and shelter for thy head, 
 And some poor plot, with vegetables stor'd, 
 Be all that heaven allots thee for thy board — 
 Unsavoury bread, and herbs that scattered grow, 
 Wild on the river-brink or mountain-brow. 
 Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide 
 More hearts repose than all the world beside. 
 
 THE DYING SHEPHERD. 
 Lone shepherds, who your goats and well-wool'd 
 
 sheep 
 Teach to climb np this mountain's ridgy steep ; 
 By Earth adjured and dark Persephone, 
 O grant this small but grateful boon to me 
 Clitagoras ! that on yon craggy rock 
 Some shepherd softly to my browzing flock 
 May pipe; and meadow-flowers of early spring 
 Wreathe, for my grave a rustic offering. 
 Pressing the milky teats of teeming ewe, 
 With milk-libations may the swain bedew 
 My tomb ; these are — these are those charities 
 Of mutual love, which even in Hades please. 
 
 THE OFFERING TO THE RURAL DEITIES. 
 
 To Pan, the master of the woodland plain, 
 
 To young LyEPus and the azure train 
 
 Of Nymphs, that make the pastoral life their care. 
 
 With offerings due old Areas pours liis prayer. 
 
 To Pan a playful kid, in wars vmtried, 
 
 He vows, yet sporting by its mother's side; 
 
 And lays the creeping ivy on the vine, 
 
 A grateful present to the God of Wine ; 
 
 And to the gentler Deities, who guide 
 
 Their winding streamlets down the mountain's 
 
 side, 
 Each varied bud from autumn's shady bowers. 
 Mixed with the ftUl-blown roses' purple flowers. 
 Therefore, ye Nymphs, enrich my narrow field, 
 With the full stores your bounteous fountains 
 
 yield : 
 Pan, bid my luscious pails with milk o'erflow, 
 And, Bacchus, teach my yellow vines to glow. 
 230 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Ye lowly huts ! thou sacred hill. 
 Haunt of the Nymphs ! pure gushing rill, 
 That underneath the cold stone flowest! 
 Pine, that those clear streams o'ergrowest! 
 And thou, Pan, whose wandering flocks 
 Frolic o'er the thyme-clad rocks 
 Pleased, the rustic goblet take. 
 Filled with wine, and th' oaten cake, 
 Offered to your deities 
 By a true iEacides. 
 
 THE RETURN OF SPRING TO SAILORS. 
 Haste to the port! the twittering swallow calls, 
 
 Again returned ; the wintry breezes sleep ; 
 The meadows laugh; and warm the zephyr falls 
 
 On ocean's breast and calms the fearful deep. 
 Now spring your cables, loiterers ; spread your 
 sails ; 
 
 O'er the smooth surface of the waters roam ! 
 So shall your vessel glide with friendly gales. 
 
 And, fraught with foreign treasure, waft you 
 home. 
 
 A MOTHER ON HER SON. 
 UxHAPPT child! unhappy I, who shed 
 A mothers sorrows o'er thy funeral bed I 
 Tliou'rt gone in youth, Amyntas ; I, in age. 
 Must wander through a lonely pilgrimage, 
 And sigh for regions of unchanging night, 
 And sicken at the day's repeated light. 
 Oh, guide me hence, sweet spirit, to that bourne, 
 Where, in thy presence, I shall cease to mourn.* 
 
 ♦ There is a Latin epitaph, somewl)ere, on a monumeitt 
 erected hy a mother over her children, all of whom she had 
 survived. Having forgotten the exact lines of the oiigi- 
 nal, I can only present the reader with an attempted 
 translation of them: — 
 
 All, all are gone, — the good, the fair, — 
 
 All lost, in life's sweet bloom; 
 And she, whose age might claim their care, 
 
 Survives to raise their tomb. 
 Then hush, fond hearts — hearts that have not 
 
 A parent's rapture known ; 
 And, if ye envied once my lot, 
 
 Now learn to bless your own. — TV. P. 
 
LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM. 
 
 231 
 
 PAN TO HIS WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Go, rouse the deer with horn and hound, 
 
 And chase him o'er the mountains free; 
 Or bid the hollow woods resound 
 
 Tlie tiiumphs of your archery.^ 
 Pan leads — and, if you hail me right, 
 
 As guardian of the sylvan reign, 
 ril wing your arrows on their flight. 
 
 And speed your coursers o'er the plain. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON THE BANKS OF A 
 RIVER. 
 
 Not here, thirsty traveller, stoop to drink ; 
 The sun has warmed, and flocks disturbed, its 
 
 brink ; 
 But climb you upland, where tVie heifers play. 
 Where that tall pine excludes the sultry day; 
 There will you list a bubbling rill that flows 
 Down the cool rock, more cold than Thracian 
 
 snows. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A BOAT. 
 
 They say that I am small and frail. 
 
 And cannot live in stormy seas : — 
 It may be so; yet every sail 
 
 Makes shipwreck in the swelling breeze; 
 Nor strength nor size can then hold fast, 
 
 But fortune's favour, heaven's decree : — 
 Let others trust in oar and mast. 
 
 But may the gods take care of me ! 
 
 ON A GRASSHOPPER.* 
 
 Though humble be this grave of mine, 
 
 O stranger, in thine eyes. 
 And this low tomb-stone scarcely seem 
 
 above the ground to rise ; 
 Yet to the fair Phihenis her 
 
 due meed of praise award, 
 For the love which she has shown to me, 
 
 the thorn-frequenting bard. 
 For two whole years she cherish'd me, 
 
 and when the hand of doom 
 Bereft her of my soothing strains, 
 
 she laid me in this tomb. 
 
 * Chirping crickets, or iiriisshoppers, (the aK;,tS'((. as 
 Well as the tst.'/^6c ) were kept in houses like singing 
 birds, and more especially in the aparlinents of the 
 women. Hy a quick, triMniilous motion of the wings 
 against the sides, these little creatures produced a sort 
 of song, which, according to the notion of the Greeks, 
 formed a part of the full charm of summer. The fashion 
 of wearing a golilim cricket in the hair, was one of great 
 antiquity in Athens. Many fanciful interpretatiimB 
 have heen given of this custom ; by some it was said to 
 denote not only the love of music, but the privileges of 
 autoclithony, of which this insect was the sacred dymbol. 
 See Hose's Ancient Greeks. 
 
 ON HOMER. 
 
 Dim grow the planets, when the God of Day 
 Rolls his swift chariot through the heavenly way; 
 The Moon's immortal round, no longer bright, 
 Shrinks in pale terror from the glorious light: — 
 Thus, all eclipsed by Homer's wondrous blaze, 
 The crowd of poets hide their lessened rays. 
 
 ON A STATUE OF ANACREON. 
 
 Come, see your old Anacreon, 
 
 How, seated on his couch of stone 
 
 With silvery temples garlanded, 
 
 He quart's the rich wine, rosy-red ; 
 
 How, with flush'd cheek and swimming eye, 
 
 In drunken fasliion, from his thigh 
 
 He lets his robe unheeded steal. 
 
 And drop and dangle o'er his heel. 
 
 One saiKhil's ofl"; one scarce can hide 
 
 The lean and shrivvU'd foot inside. 
 
 Old Anacreon — ^liark ! he sings 
 
 Still of love to th' old harp strings ! 
 
 Still, Bathylla— still, Megiste,— 
 
 How he coax'd ye, how he kiss'd ye ! 
 
 Gentle Bacchus, watch and wait, 
 
 You must watch and hold him straight; 
 
 Hold him up; for, if he fall. 
 
 You lose your boldest bacchanal 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN AGED FISHERMAN. 
 
 Theuis, the aged fisherman, whose skill 
 Taught him to live, and many a basket fill 
 With fishes, (for their plnn<lering foe was he. 
 And than the sea-fowl oftener tost at sea,) — 
 Theris, whose few-oared boat, and seine, and 
 
 hooks. 
 Could win the fishes from their secret nooks. 
 Yet. — not Arctnrus, nor the blasts that blow 
 Down-rushing, swept this aged man below : 
 But, like a lamp long burning, and whose light 
 Flickers, self spent, and is extingiiish'd quite, 
 III a rush hut he died : — to him this grave 
 (No wife, no child, he had) his brother fishers 
 
 gave. 
 
 ON HIMSELF. 
 
 Far from Tarentum's native soil I lie. 
 Far from the dear land of my infancy. 
 Tis dreadful to resign this mortal breath, 
 But in a .stranger clime 'tis worse than death. 
 Call it not life to pass a fevered age 
 In ceaseless wanderings o'er the world's wide 
 
 stage. 
 But me the Muse has ever loved, and given 
 Sweet joys to counterpoise the curse of heaven ; 
 Nor lets my memory decay, but long 
 To distant times preserves my deathless song. 
 
POSIDIPPUS. 
 
 [About 280 B. C] 
 
 A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 What course should man pursue in life ? 
 At home there's care; abroad tliere's strife; 
 On shore, 'tis labour without leisure ; 
 At sea, all danger, and no pleasure ; — 
 From realm to realm, a pilgrim, go; 
 If rich, what fear ! if poor, what woe ! 
 House, wife, and children, are a curse, 
 And yet to be without them's worse : 
 Follies and toys our youth engage, 
 And pains and ■weakness come with age. 
 What choice of good amidst such dearth? 
 Oh, had I ne'er been doomed to earth, 
 Or died the moment of my birth !* 
 
 ♦ METRODORUS'S PARODY OF THE ABOVE. 
 
 Live where and how beseems thee best ; 
 
 Abroiid there's fame, at home there's rest: 
 
 Glad Nature's grace attires the fields. 
 
 And gain the sniiliiig ocean yields : — 
 
 Go, roam ; if rich, all are thy brothers ; 
 
 If poor, it is not Itnown to others. 
 
 Art married? O how blest for thee! 
 
 A bachelor 1 Well, at least, thnu'rt free. 
 
 Then children ! What a charm's about them ! 
 
 And yet we've fewer cares without them : 
 
 Youth boasts its health and strength, while age 
 
 Is dignified, religious, sage : — 
 
 Then talk not thus of life with scorn, 
 
 Or wish that thou hadst ne'er been born. 
 
 For good doth all its parts adorn. 
 
 ON THE TOMB OF A SHIPWRECKED 
 
 MARINER. 
 An, why, my brother mariners, 
 
 so near the boisterous wave 
 Of ocean, have ye hollowed out 
 
 my solitary gravel 
 'Twere better much, that far from hence 
 
 a sailor's tomb should be, 
 For I dread my rude destroyer^ 
 
 I dread the roaring sea. 
 But may the smiles of fortune, 
 
 may love and peace await 
 All ye that shed a tear for poor 
 
 Nicetas' hapless fate ! 
 
 ON A CHILD. 
 The little child was playing 
 
 About the crystal well. 
 And, reaching for its image. 
 
 Into the water fell. 
 
 The mother ran and snatch'd it, 
 
 With an ever-watchful care. 
 And fondly kiss'd and clasp'd it, 
 
 To see if life was there. 
 It liath not stain'd the water. 
 
 But upon its mother's breast 
 It hangs, and there in beauty 
 
 'Tis luU'd to gentle rest. 
 
 ARATUS. 
 
 [About 277 B. C] 
 
 Aratus was a native of Soli in Cilicia, and ! 
 physician to Antigonus Gonatus, king of Mace- I 
 don. He was also favoured by Ptolemy Phila- | 
 delphus, and lived on intimate terms with Theo- 
 critus, who mentions him more than once in his 
 Idyls. His principal poems were thrice trans- 
 lated into Latin verse, first by Cicero, secondly 
 by Germanicus, and lastly hy Avienus. Tliey 
 
 are simple and inartificial, bitt contain almost all 
 that Greece then knew of the heavenly pheno- 
 mena. Virgil has, in several instances, availed 
 himself of his predecessor's knowledge on such 
 subjects. — Aratus stood in high favour amongst 
 the fathers of the Church, as being the poet 
 quoted by St. Paul in his speech to the Athenians 
 on Mars' Hill. Jlds xvii. 28. 
 
 PR0E:M TO THE PHENOMENA, 
 
 From Jove begin my song; nor ever be 
 The name unuttcr'd ; all are full of thee ; 
 The ways, and haunts ofmen; the heavens and 
 sea. 
 232 
 
 On thee our being hangs ; in thee ■we move ; 
 All are thy offspring, and the seed of Jove. 
 Benevolent, he warms mankind to good, 
 Urges to toil, and prompts the hope of food. 
 He shows when best the yielding glebe will bear 
 The goaded oxen, and the cleaving share. 
 
LYCOPHRON. 
 
 233 
 
 He shows \vli;it soasons smile, to delve the plain, 
 To set the plant, or sow the scatter'd grain. 
 'Twas he, that placed those glittering signs on 
 
 high, 
 Those stars, dispersM throughout tlie circling sky; 
 From these the seasons and the times a|)|)car, 
 The labours, and the harvests of the year. 
 H(Mico men to him their thankful homage raise. 
 Him, first and last, their theme of joy and praise. 
 Hail, Father! wondrous! whence all blessings 
 
 spring! 
 Thyself the source of every living tiling! 
 Oh of mellifluons voice ! ye Muses hear! 
 And, if my prayer may win your gracious ear. 
 Your inspiration, all ye Muses, bring, 
 And aid my numbers, while the stars I sing. 
 
 PROGNOSTICS OF WEATHER. 
 
 Bk this the sign of wind : with rolling sweep 
 High swells the sea; long roarings echo deep 
 From billow-breaking rocks; shores murmur 
 
 shrill, 
 Though calm from storm, and howls the topmost 
 
 hill. 
 The heron with unsteady motion flies, 
 And shoreward hastes, with loud antl picn.-ing 
 
 cries ; 
 Borne o"er the deep, his flapping puTions sail. 
 While air is ruflied by tlie rising gale. 
 The coots, that wing through air serene their way, 
 'Gainst coming winds condense their close array. 
 The diving cormorants and wild-ducks stand. 
 And s.hake their dripping pinions on tlie sand : 
 And oft, a sudden cloud is seen to spread. 
 With length'ning shadow, o'er the mountain's 
 
 head. 
 By downy-blossom'd plants, dishevell'd strown, 
 And hoary thistles' tops, is wind foreshown : 
 
 When, those behind impelling those before, 
 On the still sea they slowly float to shore. 
 Watch summer thunders break, or lightnings fly, 
 Wind threatens from that quarter of the sky: 
 And, where the shooting stars, in gloomy night, 
 Draw through the heavens a tract of snowy light, 
 Expect the coming wind ; but, if in air 
 The meteors cross, shot headlong here and there. 
 From various points observe the winds arise. 
 And thwarting blasts blow diverse from the skies. 
 When lightnings in the north and south appear, 
 And ea.*t and west, the mariner should fear 
 Torrents of air, and foamings of the main; 
 These rmmorous lightnings flash o'er floodsof rain. 
 And oft, when showers are throat'ning from on 
 
 high. 
 The clouds, like fleeces, hang beneath the sky: 
 Girding heaven's arch, a double rainbow bends, 
 Or, round some star, a black'ning haze extends : 
 The birds of marsh, or sea, insatiate lave. 
 And deeply plunge, with longings for the wave: 
 Swift o'er the pool the fluttering swallows rove, 
 And beat their breasts the rufllcd lake above: 
 Hoarse croak the fathers of the reptile brood, 
 Of gliding v\ater-snakes the fearful I'ood : 
 At break of day, the desert-haunting owl 
 Lengthens from far her solitary hovvl: 
 The clanioiuing crow is perch'd, where high the 
 
 shore 
 With jr.tting clilV o'orhangs the ocean roar; 
 Or with dipp'd head the river wave divides. 
 Dives whole-immers'd, or, cawing, skims the 'tides. 
 IVor less the herds for coming rain prepare, 
 And skyward look, and snuff the showery air. 
 On walls the slimy-creeping snails abound, 
 And earth-worms trail their length, the entrails 
 
 of the gromid ; 
 The cock's young brood ply oft the pluming bill, 
 And chirp, as <lrops from eves on tinklii.g drops 
 
 distil. 
 
 LYCOPHRON. 
 
 [About 2i9 15. C] 
 
 Ltcophhos' was born at Chalois inEubcea; died by the wound of an arrow. Twenty tra- 
 and was one of the seven poets, under Ptolemy gedies of his composition are lost. All that 
 Philadelphus, king of Egypt, who formetl the remains of him is his prophetical rhapsody of 
 poetical constellation of the Pleiads. Lycophron | Cassandra. 
 
 FROM THE CASSANDRA. 
 
 PTIOPHECT OF THE DKATIC OF HECTOR. 
 
 Now Myrina's turrets o'er 
 And along the ocean shore 
 Sounds are heard of wailing cries, 
 Neighings shrill of war-steeds rise 
 30 
 
 When the tawny wolf his feet. 
 With Thessalian swiftness fleet, 
 Springing with impetuous leap. 
 Presses on the sandy steep ; 
 Hidden fountains gu>hing round. 
 As he stamps the yielding ground. 
 u2 
 
234 
 
 HEGESIPPUS. — EUPHORION. 
 
 Mars, in war-dance famed, hath stood 
 Blowing shrill the trump of blood. 
 All the earth, before mine eyes, 
 Drear and desolated lies : 
 Lances bristle, and in air 
 Iron harvests, waving, glare. 
 From the topmost tower I bend ; 
 Shrieks the height of air ascend : 
 Groans are utter'd ; garments torn ; 
 Women o'er the slaughters mourn. 
 Woe my heart ! to me, to me 
 That the heaviest blow will be; 
 That will gnaw my soul to see. 
 
 See the warlike eagle come. 
 Green of eye, and black of plume : 
 Screaming fierce he swooping springs, 
 Marks the dust with trailing wings; 
 Plougher of the furrow"d sand. 
 Sweeping circles track the land. 
 With a mix"d and horrid cry. 
 See, he snatches him on high! 
 Brother ! to my soul endear'd — 
 Nursling, by Apollo rear'd ! 
 Beak and talon keen deface 
 All his botly's blooming grace 
 Slaughter-dyed, his native wood 
 Reddens with the stain of blood. 
 
 HEGESIPPUS. 
 
 Nothing is known of the age or country of this writer. 
 
 THE RIGHT-HAND ROAD TO HADES. 
 
 'Tis by yon road, which from the funeral pyre 
 Slopes to the right, that Hermes, it is said, 
 
 Leads to the seat of Rhadamanthus dire 
 The willing spirits of the virtuous dead. 
 
 That right-han<l path thy pensive ghost pursued. 
 Loved Aristonuus ! when it left behind 
 
 Those not unmindful of the great and good, 
 Eternal joys among the blest to find. 
 
 ON A SHIPWRECKED PERSON. 
 Pf.hish the hour — the dark and starless hour — 
 Perish the roaring mains tempestuous power — 
 That whelmed the ship where loved Abdera's 
 
 son 
 Prayed to unheeding heaven and was undone ! 
 Yes— all were wreck'd ! and by the stormy wave 
 To rough Seriphos borne, he found a grave, — 
 Found, from kind stranger hands, funereal fires, 
 Yet reached, inurn'd, the country of his sires. 
 
 EUPHORION. 
 
 [274—221 B. C] 
 
 A NATiTE of Chalcis, and a celebrated poet of I epigrams and a few inconsiderable fragments, 
 the age and court of Antiochus the Great. Three are all that remain of his writings. 
 
 ON TEARS. 
 Be temperate in grief! I would not hide 
 The starting tear-drop with a Stoic's pride — 
 I would not bid the o'erburthen'd heart be still. 
 And outrage Nature with contempt of ill. 
 Weep ; but not loudly ! He, whose stony eyes 
 Ne'er melt in tears, is hated by the skies. 
 
 ON A CORPSE WASHED ASHORE. 
 Not rugged Trachis hides these whitening bones, 
 Nor that black isle, whose name its colours 
 shows. 
 But the wild beach, o'er which with ceaseless 
 moans 
 The vexed Icarian wave eternal flows. 
 
 Of Drepanus — ill-fated promontory — 
 
 And there, insteatl of hospitable rites, 
 The long grass sweeping tells his fate's sad 
 story 
 To rude tribes gathered from the neighbouring 
 heights. 
 
 AN OFFERING TO APOLLO. 
 
 The first bright honours of his youthful head, 
 Pliabus! to thee hath fair Eudoxus shed. 
 Grant him instead, his temples to adorn 
 With greenest ivy on Acharn;e born.* 
 
 * The custom here alluded to is that of the consecra- 
 tion, by young men first entering into life, of their hair 
 to Apollo. 
 
ANTAGORAS. 
 
 [About 2G0 B. C] 
 
 A NATIVE of Rliofles, and said by Pansanias to I tas. at whose court he resided, 
 have been a familiar friend of Antigonus Gona- writings are lost. 
 
 Almost all his 
 
 CUPID'S GENEALOGY. 
 
 Whither shall we go to prove 
 
 The genealogy of Love ? 
 
 Shall we call him first-created 
 
 Of the gods from Chaos dated, 
 
 When Erebus and Night were mated ; 
 
 And their glorious progeny 
 
 Sprung from out the secret sea? 
 
 Or will Verms claim Love's birth ? 
 
 Or tlie roving Winds, or Earth ? 
 
 For his temper varieth so, 
 
 And the gifts he doth bestow 
 
 (Like his form, which changeth still, 
 Taking either sex at will.) 
 Are now so gootl, and now so bad, 
 We know not whence his heart he had. 
 
 ON TWO CYNIC PHILOSOPHERS. 
 Here Palemo and pious Crates lie — 
 (So speaks this column to the passers by) 
 In life unanimous and joined in death, 
 Who taught pure wisdom with inspired breath: 
 Whose acts, accordant with tlie truths severe 
 Their lips pronounced, bespoke the soul sincere. 
 
 CALLIMACHUS. 
 
 [About 260 B. C] 
 
 Callimachus was born at Cyrene, and taught Euergetes. He produced a variety of works, — 
 letters at Alexandria, where he also filled tlie elegies,* satires, mythologic tales, hymns and in- 
 place of keeper of the Alexandrian Library, nn- scri})tions, — of which only a few of the two latter 
 der Ptolemy Philadelphus and his son, Ptolemy | remain. 
 
 FROM niS HYMN ON THE BATH OF MINERVA. 
 
 THE STORT OF TIRESIAS. 
 
 Ijt times of old, Minerva loved 
 
 A fair companion with exceeding love — 
 
 The mother of Tiresias; nor ajiart 
 
 Liv'd they a moment. Whether she her steeds 
 
 Drove to the Thespians old, or musky groves 
 
 Of Coron;ra, and Curalius" banks. 
 
 That smoke with fragrant altars, or approach'd 
 
 To Haliartus, and Boeotia's fields; 
 
 Still in the cliariot by her side she placed 
 
 The nymydi Chariclo; nor the pratt'ings sweet, 
 
 Nor dances of the nymphs, to her were sweet, 
 
 Unless Chariclo spoke, or led the dance. 
 
 Yet for the nymph Chariclo was reserved 
 
 A store of tears; for her. the favour'd Nymph, 
 
 The pleasing partner of jMinervas hours. 
 
 For once, on He'icon, they loosed the clasps 
 That held their flowing robes, ami bathed their 
 
 limbs 
 In Hippocrene, that, beauteous, glided by; 
 While noonday stillness wrapp'd the mountain 
 
 rrnuid. 
 Both laved together; "twas the time of noon ; 
 And deep the stilly silence of the mount. 
 When, with his dogs of chase. Tiresias trod 
 That sacred haunt. The darkening down just 
 
 Ijloom'd 
 Upon his cheek. With thirst unutterable 
 Panting, he sought that foiimain's gushing stream, 
 Unhappy; and, involuntary, saw 
 What mortal eyes, uot blameless, may behold. 
 
 ♦ One of tliPse, on the ronserralion of Queen Dere- 
 nice's liair in the leini'le of Venus, is known to us by the 
 Latin version of Cnlulliis. 
 
 8.T5 
 
236 
 
 CALLIMACHUS. 
 
 Minerva, though incensed, thus pitying spoke: 
 " VVlio to this Ivickless spot conducted thee, 
 
 son of Evevus? who sightless hence 
 
 Must needs depart!'' she said, and darkness fell 
 On the youth's eyes, astonished where he stood : 
 A shooting anguish all his nerves benumb'd. 
 And consternation chain'd his mnrmnring tongue. 
 Then shriek'd the Nymph ; " What, Goddess, hast 
 
 thou done 
 To this my child ? are these the tender acts 
 Of Goddesses? thou hast bereaved of eyes 
 INFy son. Oh miserable child ! thy gaze 
 Has glanced upon the bosom and the sliape 
 Of Pallas ; but the sun thou must behold 
 No more. Oh miserable me! oh shades 
 Of Helicon! oh mountain, that my steps 
 Shall ne'er again ascend ! for small offence 
 Monstrous atonement! thou art well repaid 
 For some few straggling goats and hunted deer 
 With my son's eyes!" tlie Nymph then folded 
 
 close. 
 With both her arms, her son so dearly loved; 
 And utter'd lamentation, 'with shrill voice. 
 And plaintive, like the mother nig'tingale. 
 The Goddess felt compassion for the Nymph, 
 The partner of her soul, and softly said : 
 " Retract, divinest woman ! what thy rage 
 Erring, has utter'd. 'Tis not I that smite 
 Thy sou wit1i blindness. Pallas hath no joy 
 To rob from youths the lustre of their eyes. 
 The laws of Saturn thus decree — Whoe'er 
 Looks on a being of immortal race, 
 Unless the willing God consent, must look 
 Thus, at his peril, and atoning pay 
 The dreadful penalty. This act of fate, 
 Divinest woman, may not be recall'd. 
 So spun the Destiiiies his mortal thread 
 When thou didst bear him. Son of Everus! 
 Take then thy portion. Btit, what hecatombs 
 Shall Aristtpus and Autonoe, 
 Hereafter, on the smoking altars lay. 
 So that the youth Actseon, their sad son, 
 Might be but blind, like thee ! for know that 
 
 youth 
 Shall join the great Diana in the chase ; 
 Yet, not the chase, nor darts in common thrown. 
 Shall save him; when his undesignicg glance 
 Discerns the goddess in her loveliness 
 .Amidst the batli. His own imconscious dogs 
 Shall tear tlipir master, and his mother cull 
 His scatter'd bones, wild-wandering through the 
 
 woods. 
 That motl'.er. Nymph! shall call thee blest, who 
 
 now 
 Tleceivest from the mount thy sightless son. 
 Oh weep no moie, companion ! for thy sake 
 
 1 yet have ample recomp'^nse in stove 
 For tliis thy son. Behold ! I bid him rise 
 A prophet: far o'er every seer renovvnd 
 To future ages. He shall read the flights 
 Of birds, and know whatever on the wing 
 Hovers auspicious, or ill-oraen'd flies, 
 
 Or void of auspice. Many oraches 
 To the Boeotians shall his tongue reveal ; 
 To Cadmus, and the great Lab:lacian tribe. 
 I will endow him with a mighty staff, 
 
 To guide his steps aright; and I will give 
 A lengthen'd boundary to his mortal life; 
 And, when he dies, he only, midst the dead, 
 Shall dwell inspired, and, honoured by that king 
 Who rules the shadowy people of the grave.'' 
 She spoke, and gave the nod ; what Pallas 
 wills 
 j Is sure: in her, of all his daughters, Jove 
 Bade all the glories of her i'ather shine. 
 Maids of the bath ! no mother brought her forth ; 
 Sprung from the head of Jove. Whate'er the 
 
 head 
 Of Jove, inclining, ratifies, the same 
 Stands firm ; and thus his daughter's nod is 
 fate.— 
 She comes! in very truth, Minerva comes! 
 Receive the goddess, damsels! ye, whose hearts, 
 With tender ties, your native Argos binds. 
 Receive the goddess! with exulting hails, 
 With vows, and shotits. Hail, Goddess i oh pro- 
 tect 
 Inachian Argos! bail! and, when thou turn'st 
 Thy coursers hence, or hitherward again, 
 Guidest thy chariot-wheels, oh ! still preserve 
 The fortunes of the race from Danaus sprimg! 
 
 ON A BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 We buried him at dawn of day: 
 Ere set of sun his sister lay 
 
 Self-slaughtered by his side. 
 Poor Basile! she couid lot bear 
 Longer to breathe the vital air, 
 
 When Melanippus died. 
 
 Thus in one fatal hour was left. 
 Of both a parent's hopes bereft, 
 
 Their desolated sire ; 
 While ail Cyreue mourned to see 
 The blossoms of her stateliest tree 
 
 By one fell blight exinre. 
 
 THE CHASE. 
 Matik, Epieydes, how the hunter bears 
 His honours in the chase — when timid hares 
 And nobler stags he tracks through frost and 
 
 snow. 
 O'er mountains echoing to the vales below. 
 Then if some clown halloos — "Here, master, 
 
 here 
 Lies panting at your feet the stricken deer" — 
 He takes no heed, but starts for newer game: 
 Such is my love, and such his arrow's aim, 
 That follows still with speed the flying fair, 
 But deems the yielding slave below his care. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A GOOD MAN. 
 Ix holy sleep Acanthian Saon lies: — 
 say not that the good man ever dies. 
 
 THE DEATH OF CLEOMBROTUS. 
 CLT.n^rnnoTrs, upon the rampart's height 
 Eaile the bright sun farewell; then plunged to 
 niiiht. 
 
NIC^NETUS OF S AMOS.— DIOSCORIDES. 
 
 237 
 
 The cares of life were yet to him unknown ; 
 Glad were his hours, his sky unclouded shone; 
 But Plato's reason cauglu his youthful eye, 
 Ami fixed his soul on immortality. 
 
 THE VIRGIN'S OFFERING TO VENUS.' 
 
 A SHELL, Zephyritis, is all that I am, 
 
 First IVuits from Selena to thee. 
 Time was, that a nautilus gaily I swam, 
 
 And steer'd my light bark on the sea. 
 
 * It was a custom among the Groek girls on the eve of 
 niarriiise, to consecrate some favourite toy of their child- 
 ish years to Venus, and happy might the liride esteem 
 herself, if. like our fSelena, tlie daughter of Clinias, she 
 had it in her power to present, from hercal)inet of shells 
 and iiiiiritie curiosities, a tribute so maenificcnt as that 
 of the shininir conch of the nautilus. The Venus Zephy- 
 ritis (so called from the promontory of Zephyrion, n.';ar 
 Alexandria, where her tenijile stood,) was also called 
 Chloris and Aisioiios, and, in fact, was no other than the 
 deified wife of I'tolemy Philadeljihas. — ,See jYuleti of 
 Blaml'i Aiithulogij. 
 
 Then hoisting my own little yards and my sail, 
 I swam the soft breeze as it came. 
 
 And rowed with my feet, if a calm did prevail, 
 And thus, Cypris, got I my nume. 
 
 But cast by the waves on the liilian shore, 
 
 I am sent for a plaything to thee, 
 Nov.' lifeless; — the sea-loving halcyon no more 
 
 Shall brood on the waters for me. 
 
 Arsinoe! oh, may all grace from thy hand 
 
 On Clinias' daughter alight; 
 From Smyrna she sends in iEolia's land, 
 
 And sweet be her gift in ihy sight 
 
 ON HERACLEITUS. 
 Thkt told me, Heracleitns, thou wert dead; 
 And then I thought, and tears thereon did sherl. 
 How oft we two talked down the sun; but thou, 
 Halicarnassian guest! art aslies now. 
 Yet live tliy nightingales of song; on those 
 All-plundering Death shall ncer his hand im- 
 pose. 
 
 NIC.ENETUS OF SAMOS. 
 
 [.About 2,00 B. C] 
 
 THE PRECEPT OF CRATINUS. 
 
 If with water you fill up your glasses, 
 You'll never write anything wise; 
 
 For wine is the horse of Parnassus, 
 \Vlii>h hurries a bard to the skies.* 
 
 THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 
 ^OT in the city be my banquet spread. 
 But iit sweet meadows, where around my head 
 
 ♦ Horace says of this jovial philosopher : — 
 " Prisco si credis, Meca;nas docte, Cratino, 
 Nulla placere rtiu nee vivere carmina possum. 
 Qua? scribnntur aqua; potoribus:" 
 And Aristophanes tells us that he died of ve.valion at 
 seeing ajar of good wine broken. 
 
 The zephyr may float freely: be my seat 
 The mossy platform of some green retreat, 
 Where shrubs and creepers, starting at my 
 
 side, 
 jVIay furnish cushion smooth and carpet wide. 
 Let wine be serv'd us, and the warbling lyre 
 Trill forth soft numbers of the INIuses" choir; 
 That we, still drinking, and our hearts con- 
 tenting, 
 And still to dulcet tunes new hyinns inventing, 
 May sing Jove's bride, from whom these plea- 
 sures come, 
 The guardian Goddess of our island home.* 
 
 * The favourite abode of Juno was in the island of 
 Samos, where was also her most ancient temple. 
 
 DIOSCORIDES. 
 
 [About 210 B. C] 
 
 PioscoRinKsnonrishedat Alexandria, under Pto- ' epi'jrams,biit most of them too ti ivial.or nnbeeom- 
 leniy Euergeies. He has bequeathed usabout forty , iug in character, to rep;iy the labours of translation. 
 
 THE PER.:IAN SLAVE TO HIS MASTER. 
 
 O master! shroud my b.ody, when I die. 
 In decent cerements, from the vulgar eye. 
 
 But burn me not tipon yon fune:,'il pyre, 
 Nor dare the go.ls and desecrate their lire: 
 I am a Persian ; 'twere a Persian's shame 
 To dip his body in the sacred liaine. 
 
238 
 
 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 Nor o'er my worthless limbs your waters pour ; 
 For streams and fountains Persia's sons adore; 
 But leave me to the cloels that gave us birth, — 
 For dust should turn to dust, and eartli to earth. 
 
 SPARTAN VIRTUE. 
 Whex Thrasybulns from the einbattled field 
 Was breatldess borne to Sparta on his shield, 
 
 His honoured corse, disfigured still with gore, 
 From seven wide wounds, (but all received be- 
 fore,) 
 Upon the pyre his hoary father laid. 
 And to the admiring crowd triumphant said: 
 Let slaves lament, — while I, without a tear. 
 Lay mine and Sparta's son upon his bier. 
 
 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 [About 3tO B. C] 
 
 Apollojtius was born at Naucratis, and edu- ' obtain from them the freedom of their city, 
 cated at Alexandria. He afterwards migrated i Hence his surname of Rhodius. He finally re- 
 to Rhodes, where he opened a school of rhetoric, turned to Egypt, and succeeded Callimachus as 
 and became so popular with the people as to | keeper of the Alexandrian Library. 
 
 FROM THE ARGONAUTS. 
 
 THE SOJfG OF ORPHEUS, A!f D SAILING OF THE ABGO. 
 
 Thex too, the jarring heroes to compose,* 
 Th' enchanting bard, CEagrian Orpheus rose, 
 And thns, attuning to the trembling strings. 
 His soothing voice of harmony, he sings — 
 Li the beginning how heaven, earth, and sea, 
 In one tumultuous chaos blended lay; 
 Till Nature parted the conflicting foes, 
 And beauteous Order from Disorder rose : 
 How, roU'd incessant o'er the eiherial plain, 
 Mov'd in eternal dance the starry train ; 
 How the pale orb of night, and golden sun. 
 Through months and years their radiant journeys 
 
 run ; 
 'Whence rose the mountains clad with waving 
 
 woods. 
 The rushing rivers and resounding floods. 
 With all their Nymphs; from what celestial seed 
 The various tribes of animals proceed. 
 Next how Ophion held his ancient reign, 
 With his fam'd consort, daughter of the main : 
 On high Olympus' snowy head enthron'd. 
 The new-created world their empire own'd : 
 Till force superior, and successful war. 
 Divested of their crowns the regal pair; 
 On Saturn's head Ophion's honours plac'd. 
 And with his consort's glories Rhea grac'd. 
 Thence to old Ocean's watery kingdoms hurl'd ; — 
 Thus they resign'd the sceptre of the world ; 
 
 ♦ The names of these hemes were Idmnn and Idas, the 
 latter of whom, having been reprimanded by the former 
 for spealting too arrogantly of himself and too disrepect- 
 fully of the gods, being heated with wine, fell into a rage, 
 and from reproaches and threats would have proceeded 
 to blows, had he not been restrained by his brother Argo- 
 nauts, and their leader, Jason. 
 
 And Saturn rul'd the bless'd Titanian gods. 
 While infant Jove possess'd the dark abodes 
 Of Dictes' cave ; his mind yet nninform'd 
 With heav'nly wisdom, and his hand imarm'd : 
 Forg'd by the Cyclops, earth's gigantic race, 
 Flam'd not as yet the lightning's scorching blaze. 
 Nor warr'd the thunder through the realms above. 
 The strength and glory of almighty Jove. 
 
 This said, the tuneful bard his lyre unstrung. 
 And ceas'd th' enchanting music of his tongue. 
 But with the sound entranc'd, th' attentive ear 
 Thought him still singing, still stood fix'd to hear.* 
 In silent rapture ev'ry chief remains. 
 And feels within his heart the thrilling strains. 
 Forthwith the bowl they crown with rosy wine, 
 And pay due honours to the pow'rs divine. 
 The pure libations on the fire they pour, 
 While rising flames the mystic tongues devour. 
 
 Now sable Night ascends her starry throne. 
 And Argo's chiefs her drowsy influence own. 
 But when the bright-ey'd Morning rear'd her 
 
 head. 
 And look'd o'er Pelion's summits, ting'd with red. 
 Light skimm'd the breezes o'er the wat'ry plain. 
 And gently swell'd the fluctuating main. 
 Then Tiphys rose, and, summon'd by his care, 
 Embark the heroes, and their cars prepare. 
 
 ♦ The translator has evidently framed his version of 
 this hne after Milton — 
 
 The angel ended, and in Adam's ear 
 So charming left his voice, that he awhile 
 Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to near. 
 Par. Lost. viii. 
 And Pope has done the same in his narrative of Ulys- 
 ses — 
 He ceas'd; but left so charming in their ear 
 His voice, that, listening, still they seem'd to hear. 
 
 Odyss. xi. 
 
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 239 
 
 Portentous now along the winding shores, 
 Hoarse-sounding Pagasreaii Neptune roars. 
 Iin|)atieiit Argo, the ghiil signal took, 
 Wliile from her vocal keel loud nuirmurs broke; 
 Her keel of sacred oak, divinely wrought, 
 Itonian Pallas from Dodona brought. 
 
 On their allotted posts now rang'd along. 
 In seemly order, sat the princely throng: 
 Fast by each chief his glitt'ring armour flames ; 
 The midmost station bold Anciuus claims. 
 With great Alcides, whose enormous might 
 Arm"d with a massy club provokes the fight. 
 Now plac"d beside him: in the yieUling fiood 
 The keel, deep-sinking, feels the demi-god. 
 
 Their hawsers now they loose, and on the brine 
 To Neptune pour the consecrated wine. 
 Then from his native shores sad Jason turns 
 His oft-reverted eye, and silent mourns. 
 As in Ortygla, or the Del[)hic fane, 
 Or where Ismenus laves Bceotia's plain, 
 Apollo's altars round, the youthful choir, 
 The dance according with the sounding lyre, 
 'I'he hallow'd ground with equal cadence beat. 
 And move in measure their harmouious feet: 
 Together so Thessalia's princes sweep 
 With well-tim"d oars the silver-curling deep, 
 While, raising high the Thracian harp, presides 
 Melodious Orpheus, and the movement guides. 
 On either side the dashing surges broke. 
 And fierce re-murmur'd to each mighty stroke; 
 Thick Hash the brazen arms with stieaniing light, 
 While the swift bark pursues her rai)i(l flight, 
 And ever as the sea-green tide she cleaves. 
 Foams the long track behind, and whitens all 
 
 the waves : 
 So shines the path, across some verdant plain, 
 Trac"d by the footstejJS of the village swain. 
 
 Jove on that day from his celestial throne, 
 And all th" immortal Pow'rs of heav'n look"d 
 
 down, 
 The godlike chiefs and Argo to survey. 
 As through the deep theyurg'd their daring way. 
 Then too on Pelioas cloud-topp'd summits stood 
 The Nymphs and Fauns, and tisters of the wood, 
 With wonder viewing the tall pine below. 
 That shaded once the mountain's shaggy brow. 
 Now, fram'd by Pallas, o'er the sounding sea, 
 Thessalias mighty heroes to convey. 
 But, lo ! from Pelions highest cntf descends, 
 And downward to the sea his footstep ben, Is 
 The centaur Chiron; on the beach he stood, 
 And dipp'd his fetlocks in the hoary flood. 
 Then, waving his broad hand, the bark ho hails. 
 And speeds with prosi)"rous vows the parting 
 
 sails. 
 With him advanc'd his consort to the shore; 
 The young Achilles in her arms she bore : 
 Then raising high in air the pleasing load, 
 To his fond sire the smiling infant sliow'd. 
 
 P.ISSIOX OF MEDEA. 
 
 Amidst them all, the son of ^Eson, chief, 
 Shone forth divinely in his comeliness. 
 And graces of his form. On liim the maid 
 Held still her eyes askance, and gazed bim o'er, 
 
 Through her transparent glistening veil ; while 
 
 grief 
 Consum'd her heart. Her mind, as in a dream, 
 Slid stealthily away, and hovering hung 
 On his departing footsteps. Sorrowing they 
 Went from the palace forth. Chalciope 
 Dreading ^Eetes' anger, hastening pass'd 
 Within her secret chamber, with her sons: 
 And thus Aledea went, her soul absorb'd 
 In many musings, such as love incites. 
 Thoughts of deep care. Now all remember'd 
 
 things 
 In apparition rose before her eyes : 
 What was his aspect; what the robe he wore; 
 What words he iitter'd ; in what posture placed, 
 He on the couch reclined; and with what air 
 He from the porch pass'd forth. Then red the 
 
 blush 
 Burn'd on her cheek ; while in her soul she 
 
 thought 
 No other man existed like to him : 
 His voice was murmuring in her ears, and all 
 The charming words he utter'd. Now, disturb'd. 
 She trembled for his life; lest the fierce bulls. 
 Or lest ^etes should, himself, destroy 
 The man she loved: and she bewailed him now 
 As if already deatl; and down her cheeks, 
 In deep conmiiseration, the soft tear 
 Flow'd anxiously. With piercing tone of grief 
 Her voice found utterance : '• Why, unhai)])y one ! 
 Am I thus wretched? What concerns it me, 
 Whether this paragon of heroes die 
 The death, or lice discomfited? And yet 
 He should unharm'd depart. Dread Hecate! 
 Be it thy pleasure! let him homeward pass, 
 And 'scape his threaten'd fate: or, if his fate 
 Beneath the bulls have destineil him to fall. 
 First let him know, that in his wretched end 
 Medea does not glory." So disturb'd, 
 jVIused the sail virgin in her anguish'd thoughts. 
 
 DELIllEHATIOX OF MEPEA, ON HEIl PIIOMISE TO 
 JASOJf. 
 
 Night then brought darkness o'er the earth : at 
 
 sea 
 The mariners their eyes from shipboard raised, 
 Fix'd on the star Orion, and the Bear. 
 The traveller and the keeper of the gate 
 Rock'd with desire of sleep; and slumber now 
 Fell heavy on some mother, who had \vc\n 
 Her children in the grave. No bay of dogs, 
 No noise of tumult, stirr'd the city streets; 
 All hush'd in stillest darkness. But sweet sleep 
 Soothd not Medea. Many a busy thought. 
 For love of Jason, strain'd her wakeful eyes. 
 She fear'd the bulls, by whose oer-mastering 
 
 strength 
 He, on the battle-field, may haply meet 
 Di,>honouiable death. With feverous throbs 
 The heart within her bosom restless heav'd. 
 As when the glitter of the sun, that springs 
 From water, in some cauldron freshly pour'd. 
 Or milk-pail, brandish'd quivers on the walls. 
 Darts in quick rings, and vibrates round and 
 
 round ; 
 So was the virgin's heart, within her breast, 
 
240 
 
 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 TiirnM to ami fro. Tlie tear, compassionate, 
 Stole tri(.-kliug /Vom her eyes, and inward grief 
 Prey'd with slow ^\•asling on her pining frame ; 
 Such weight of siiti'ering tlid hei sleepless love 
 Lay on her hosoin. Now Imjv will resolves 
 To gift the chief with drugs of charming power : 
 Now she abjures the thought; and she will die 
 Together with the man she loves. Anon 
 Her resolutions change ; nor will she die 
 With him she loves, nor yield the charming drugs ; 
 But calm, with unresisting apathy, 
 Bear with his fate. Then sitting, while her 
 
 thoughts 
 Waver'd in musing doubt, aloud she spake : 
 "Still am I wretched with a choice of ills! 
 My mind is impotent of thought: no care 
 For this, the torment irresistible. 
 That evermore consumes me. Would to heaven 
 That I had fallen by Diana's darts, 
 Ere I beheld him ! Ere my sister's sons 
 Had gone for Greece, whence some unfriendly 
 
 god 
 Or fury, brings these lamentable ■woes. 
 Then let him fight, and perish, if his fate 
 Decree that he sliall die upon the fiehl. 
 How should I shun my parents' eyes, and mix 
 The needful drugs? What speech caii serve my 
 
 turn ? 
 What fraud shall aid me, or what secret will? 
 Shall I, apart from his companions, see 
 The chief alone, and interchange kind words ? 
 Wretch that I am! for if, indeed, he die. 
 How could I hope a respite for my woes? 
 Then were my sum of misery full, if he 
 Were reft of life. Away with modesty! 
 Av/ay with decent forms ! and let him go 
 Saved by my counsels, wheresoeer he list. 
 And then, on that same day, when he achieves 
 The combat, let me die : to yon high beam, 
 Let me, suspended by the throat, expire ; 
 Or drain the juices, that destroy the soul. 
 Yet man will cast reproaches, after life. 
 Upon my breathless body: and, from far. 
 Shall the whole city cry aloud, and rail 
 Upon my death ; and here and there will throng 
 The Colchian women, and ptirsue with taunts 
 jVIy memory: 'This maiden's heart was wrapt 
 So deeply in a stranger, that for him 
 She died, and stain'd her parents, and her house. 
 To love-sick frenzy yielding up herself.' 
 AVhat shame v^■ill not be mine! Oh, misery! 
 Were it not better now, this very night, 
 Here in my chamber, to forsake my life? 
 So, by a sudden death, to 'scape at once , 
 
 All tliis reproadi: before my deeds have wrought 
 This foul disgrace, unworthy of a name ?' 
 
 She said, and to her casket went, full-stored 
 With drugs: some liealthful. sons of deadly bane. 
 She placed it on her knees, and wept; the tears 
 Unceasing bathed her bosom; llowing forth. 
 Spite of herself, abumlantly, for grief 
 Of her hard fate. And now the impulse rose, 
 To cull and taste the drugs that poison life. 
 She loosed the casket's fastenings; with ill hap 
 Gatliering the mortal herbs, when, suddenly, 
 Came o'er her mind a horror of the grave. 
 
 Long time she mused in doubt : life's pleasing 
 
 cares, 
 Li smiling vision, flitted on her sight: 
 She thought uj)on the pleasures that are found 
 Among the living; she remember'd her 
 Of the gay jilaymates of her virgin hours: 
 The sun more pleasant in her I'ancy shone 
 Than ere his light had been ; and, more and inore, 
 Her fondness grew for each remember'd thing. 
 She then replaced the casket from her knees, 
 For Juno turn'd her heart ; and, straight she long'd 
 For morning to appear, that she might give 
 The pruaiis'd drugs of saving power, and greet 
 The face of Jason. Oft she drew the bolts 
 That closed her chamber door, and with long look 
 Watch'd lur the light. 
 
 THE MAGIC TUrAX. 
 
 The evening sun went down beneath the verge 
 Of dusky earth, far glancing o'er the hills 
 Of ^^thiopia ; and the Night arose. 
 And yoked her chariot-steeds. The heroes then 
 Spread at their anchorage their couch of rest. 
 But Jason, instant as the Bear's bright star 
 Had turn'il the pole, and silence from the heaven 
 Suffused the depth of cether, took his Avay 
 To a lone spot, like some night-stealing thief. 
 With all things needful: he all needful things 
 In daylight had prepared: milk from the fold 
 Argus had brought, and a ewe lamb: the rest 
 He from the ship received. When now he saw 
 A spot remote from intercourse of men. 
 And stood, in C[uiet, midst the meadow streams : 
 Then in the sacred river bathed he all 
 His delicate body, duly purified ; 
 And round him threw a sable cloak, the gift 
 Of that fair Lemnian, sad Hypsipyle : 
 IVIournfid memorial of her nuptial bed. 
 Then of a cubit's depth he dug the trench. 
 And piled the logs ; and laid the lamb, its neck 
 Cut by the knife, in order on the pile; 
 Kindled the wood, from underneath, with fire. 
 And she<l the mix'd libation, and invoked 
 Dread Hecate, to aid his bold emprise. 
 And, having call'd her name of terror, fell 
 Back from the altar. She the summons heard : 
 The powerful goddess, from earth's hollow depth, 
 At Jason's charming rite, ascended up; 
 Begirt with oaken bouglis and grisly snakes, 
 And circled with the multitudinous glare 
 or glimmering torches, while around her yelFd 
 The howl of subterraneous dogs; and where 
 Her footsteps trod, earth quak'd on every side. 
 The nymphs of marshes and of rivers shriek'd . 
 Whatever haunt that .solitary spot 
 On Phasis' banks. Then fear on Jason fell : 
 But him with unreverted looks, his ieet 
 Still bore right onward, that he might rejoice 
 His comrades. Morn, now rising in the east. 
 Cast streaks of light o'er snow-topp'd Caucasus — 
 When o'er his breast ^etes, arming, drew, 
 The iirm-conjointed corslet, gift of Mars; 
 Who. with his own hands, rent the bloody spoil 
 From ]\Iinus, Thracia's giant. On liis head 
 He placed a four-coned helm ofburuish'd gold; 
 Resplendent, as the round sun when emerged 
 
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 241 
 
 Fu^'in ocean. Then be grasp'd the massive shield 
 Of many-fohled hides, and clench'd the spear, 
 Weighty, enormous — which no single man 
 Of that heroic band, in combat match'd, 
 Might firm sustain, since Hercules was left 
 On distant shores. Hard by, Absyrtns stood. 
 And held the solid chariot for the king 
 To mount ; and straight he mounted and caught 
 
 up 
 The reins within his grasp, and rode, upborne 
 Through the broad chariot-way, from forth the 
 
 town. 
 To give the fight his presence. With them rush'd 
 The people in a torrent multitude. 
 As Neptune to the Isthmian contest speeds, 
 Clindiing his car, or guides his rolling wheels 
 To T;pnarus, or Lernas lake ; or seeks 
 Orchestus' grove ; or lashes his fleet steeds 
 To Calaurea or Htemonia's rock. 
 Or tree-embower"d Gerastus ; so was seen 
 The king of Colchos. Jason now, with heed 
 Of wise Medea's counsels, liquefied 
 The drug, and with it snieard th' anointed 
 
 shield, 
 And the strong spear and sword. His comrades 
 
 all 
 Essay'd to bend the weapons, nor availM 
 With all their strength : the spears unyielding 
 
 beam 
 Grew hard, and stifTen'd in their vigorous hands. 
 But Idas smote in wrath the spear-head's cross 
 With his huge sword : the clanging edge leap'd 
 
 back. 
 As the reverberating hammer bounds 
 From the struck anvil. Joyful tumult rose 
 Among the heroes, in that victory's hope. 
 Himself he last anointed ; and a strength 
 Intrepid, marvellous, unspeakable, 
 Enter'd his frame : his hands were sudden strung 
 With callous force, his muscles swell'd with 
 
 strength. 
 E'en as a war-horse, in the hope of fight. 
 Neighs, beating with his hoof the trampled 
 
 earth. 
 And, with raised ears, lifts glorying his arcli'd 
 
 neck. 
 High toss'd in air ; so Jason, borne along 
 By new-strung vigour, moved his balanced limbs, 
 Oft pacing to and fro with lofty step : 
 And poising on his arm the brazen shield, 
 And brandishing the spear. A man had said 
 That stormy lightning glitter'd in dark air, 
 And ever and anon gleam'd from the clouds 
 That wafted blackening rain. Nor longer then 
 Abstain'd they from the contest; but all sate 
 Upon the rising benches of the bark. 
 And stretch'd with ease to reach that field of 
 
 Mars. 
 Such distance from the city opposite 
 Then intervened, as from the starting post 
 Spreads to the chariot's goal : when they who 
 
 guide 
 The funeral pageant of some monarch dead, 
 To horse and foot appoint the various games. 
 They came before .^Eetes, and the train 
 Of Colchian people. These stood ranged above, 
 31 
 
 On rocks of Caucasus — he where the bank 
 Of the broad river wound its bending verge. 
 But, when his comrades now had cast the cord 
 That moor'd the ship to land, forth Jason leap'd 
 From the high deck, with buckler and with 
 
 lance. 
 And went to front the combat: and he took 
 His helm of glittering brass, its hollow fiU'd 
 With the sharp serpent's teeth : the falchion slung 
 Athwart his shoulder : naked was his form. 
 He lookd, in part, another Mars — in part 
 Naked Apollo — girded o'er his breast 
 With sword of beamy gold. Then, traversing 
 The fallow with his eyes, he saw the yoke 
 Of brass, and plough of hardest adamant. 
 Still on he went, approaching near, and fix'd. 
 Hard by, his lance erect upon its point. 
 And laid his helmet down ; and, with his shield 
 Upborne before him, touch'd the footmarks vast 
 Of those enormous bulls. They suddenly 
 From subterraneous caves, their rocky stall, 
 Enwrapt in sooty smoke rush'd forth at once. 
 Breathing the glare of Hame. The heroes shrank, 
 Shuddering as they beheld: but he with art 
 Eluded their assault, as, in the sea. 
 A rock awaits the waves, that turbid swell 
 With mighty rush of winds. Before him still 
 He held the buckler. They, with bellowing 
 
 roar. 
 Both thrust, and smote him with their sturdy 
 
 horns — 
 But, as they rush'd against him, could not move, 
 Nor stagger his firm footing. And, as when 
 The bellows in the windy orifice 
 Of a smith's forge, now kindle to a blaze 
 The scorching flame, now cease their breezy 
 
 blast, 
 And deep the crackling roar is heard, while 
 
 mounts, 
 Stirr'd from below, the fluctuating fire: 
 So they, with hollow blowings from their mouths 
 Breathed snorting forth the sharp and flickering 
 
 flame. 
 Still the life-threatening blaze cnwrai)[)'d him 
 
 round 
 As if with sheeted lightning: him preserved 
 The virgin's drug. He then the right-hand bull 
 Grasp'd by his horn, and sternly press'd him 
 
 down 
 With his whole strength, till underneath the yoke 
 Of brass he bent him, prostrating to earth 
 On his bow'd knees, and tripping with swift foot 
 The brazen hoof The otlier rushing on 
 He smote, and at a blow him, too, he fidl'd 
 Doubling the knee. Then, casting on the groimd 
 His huge-orb'd shield, now from their fiery 
 
 breath 
 Released, he strode, and kept them down, and 
 
 held 
 From side to side, where, grovelling, each was 
 
 fallen 
 Upon his foremost knees : ^etes f^ii^ed 
 In wonder on the vigour of the man. 
 The sons of Tyndarus, who long had look'd 
 Upon his prowes.s, close approaching, gave 
 The yoke from off" the field, to throw around 
 V 
 
242 
 
 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 The bulls' broad necks. He firmly bound the 
 
 thongs 
 Clencli'd in the midst, the brazen drauglit-beam 
 
 rais'd, 
 And fitted to die polish'd ring that hung 
 From the jink'd yoke. They backward from the 
 
 flame 
 Retreated to the ship. But he again 
 Seized his round shield, and cast upon his back: 
 Then taking his strong helm, its hollow fill'd 
 With the sharp teeth, he grasp'd th' enormous 
 
 lance 
 IMidway the shaft, and, as a Grecian swain 
 The ox-goad thrusts, so with his pointed spear 
 He smote their lingering sides, and turn"d at 
 
 will 
 The strong plough-staff of solid adamant. 
 They, struggling with immeasurable wrath. 
 Breathed out the ravening flame ; and such a 
 
 blast 
 Of hollow sound arose, as warring winds 
 In tempest breathe, when ocean-faring men 
 Furl the vast sail in fear. Not long they went, 
 Thus quicken'd by the goading spear, nor long 
 The rugged field was, transverse, plough"d and, 
 
 broke 
 By those strong bulls and by that vigorous swain: 
 Ere, marvellous, in the furrows of the ground, 
 The clods, men-teeming, clash 'd. He, following, 
 
 trod 
 The bulls' track'd steps with firm-set foot, and 
 
 far 
 'Midst the plough'd glebe threw thick the serpent 
 
 teeth. 
 His head still backward o"er his shoulder turn'd, 
 Lest the destroying crop of earth-born men 
 Should intercept his way. Right onward still 
 The bulls with brazen hoofs slow-striving toil'd. 
 Now when a third of wasted day was left 
 From rise of morn, and toil-worn labourers 
 
 call'd 
 On the sweet evening's yoke-releasing hour, 
 Then was the fallow of four-acred breadth 
 Plough"d through by that unwearied ploughman's 
 
 hand. 
 He loos'd the draught-beam from the harness'd 
 
 bulls, 
 And scared them through the plains in startled 
 
 flight; 
 He to the ship return 'd ; but bent his eye 
 On those man-teeming furrows. Thronging round, 
 His comrades cheerd him with emboldening 
 
 words. 
 He, from the river current, in his helm 
 Drain'd a full draught, and slaked his panting 
 
 thirst : 
 Then bent his pliant knees with motion light, 
 Filfd with high courage, and impetuous zeal 
 Of daring — as a boar that whets his fangs 
 Against the hunters, while the dropping foam 
 Flows from his chafing jaws upon the ground. 
 And now, from all the furrow'd plain uprose 
 The earth-born men; aU bristling with strong 
 
 shields, 
 And barbed spears, and shining helms, a field 
 Hallow'd to Mars, the mortal-slayer god. 
 
 Through air the splendour flash'd from earth to 
 
 heaven ; 
 As when on earth abundant snows have fallen — 
 The winds disperse again the wintry clouds 
 In the dark night, and thick the crowded stars 
 All glitter through the gloom ; so gleam'd the 
 
 ranks 
 Up-growing from the dusky-moulded soil. 
 But Jason then bethought him of the wile 
 Medea counselTd, and from ofl' the plain 
 Snatch'd a round stone, immense, a quoit for 
 
 Mars — 
 Not four strong youthful men had lifted it. 
 Though but a little. This within his gripe 
 He took, and hurlVl at distance, with full sway 
 Of his impulsive force, amid the host. 
 He back-receding, sate behind his shield 
 Hid. but courageous : then the Colchians sent 
 A mighty outcry, as the sea, that shrill 
 Dashes, re-murmuring, on the pointed rocks. 
 But on ^etes, from tliat quoit's strong cast. 
 Foreboding silence fell. They, like swift dogs. 
 Raging in fierceness, on each other turn'd 
 Tumultuous battle. On their mother earth 
 By their own spears they sank, like pines, or 
 
 oaks, 
 Strew'd by a whirlwind in the mountain dale. 
 But, as a shooting star draws through the heavens 
 A fiery furrow, marvellous to men 
 That view the splendour dart through gloomy 
 
 air, 
 So Jason rush'd upon the earth-sprung host. 
 Drawn from the scabbard waved his flashing 
 
 sword. 
 And smote promiscuous ; mowing with keen 
 
 stroke 
 Some half-uprisen to air, high as the waist; 
 Some striving from the shoulders ; some, but now 
 Erect, and others starting to their feet. 
 And hasting to the charge. As when a war 
 Is kindled on the borders, straight the swain, 
 Fearing lest others reap before the time 
 His harvest, takes his sickle newly sharp'd, 
 And hastening cuts the tender corn, nor waits 
 The warm sun's ripening beams to dry the grain ; 
 So Jason reap'd the crop of earth-born men. 
 The furrows overflow'd with blood, as dikes 
 Fill'd from a fountain. Headlong fell they down. 
 And bit the rugged ground with hard clench'd 
 
 teeth. 
 Some backwards fell ; some on dieir elbows 
 
 propp'd ; 
 Some on their sides, and wallowing lay like 
 
 whales. 
 And many wounded, ere their footing trod 
 Earth's surface, far as into upper air 
 Their bodies half emerged, so far, below 
 The ground sindc down, and plunged their heads 
 
 yet dank 
 With the fresh mould. As when, profuse, the 
 
 rain 
 Is pour'd from asther, the young fig-trees bow. 
 Torn from the roots, to earth ; the gardener's toil 
 Is blasted, and dejection and sore grief 
 O'ercome the orchard's owner; so deep cares.. 
 Press'd oa the sadden'd spirit of the king 
 
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 
 
 243 
 
 iEetes, and he went, on his return 
 To his own city, with the Colchian train; 
 Casting witiiin his troubled mind, how best 
 With sharper trial to confront the chiefs. 
 Day fell, and so the contest was fulfilled. 
 
 THE COMBAT BETWEEN POLLUX AND AMYCUS.* 
 
 Fast Ijy the beach oxptalls and tents were spread 
 By bold Bebrycians, Aniycus their bead, 
 Whom, on the precincts of the winding shore, 
 A fair Bitbyniati Hamadryad bore 
 To genial Neptune, in base commerce join'd, 
 Proud Amycus, most barbarous of mankind. 
 Who made this stern, unequitable law, 
 That from his realm no stranger should with- 
 draw. 
 Till first with liim compell'd in fight to wield 
 The dreadful gauntlet in the listed field: 
 Unmmiber'd guests his matchless prov.^ess slew : 
 Stern he accosts swift Argo's valiant crew, 
 Curious the reason of their course to scan. 
 Who, whence they were: and scornful thus 
 
 began : 
 "Learn what 'tis meet ye knew, ye vagrant 
 
 host, 
 None that e'er touches on Bebrycia's coast, 
 Is hence by law permitted to depart, 
 Till match'd with me he prove the boxer's art. 
 Choose then a chief that can the gauntlet wield. 
 And let him try the fortune of the field : 
 If thus my edicts ye despise and me, 
 Yield to the last immutable decree." 
 Thus spoke the chief with insolent disdain. 
 And rousd resentment in the martial train : 
 But most his words did Pollux" rage provoke, 
 Who thus, a champion for his fellows, spoke : 
 "Threat not, whoe'er thou art, the bloody fray; 
 Lo, we, obsequious, thy decrees obey! 
 Unforc'd this instant to the lists I go. 
 Thy rival I, thy voluntary foe." 
 Stung to the quick with this severe reply, 
 On him he turn'd his fury-flaming eye: 
 As the grim lion, pierced by .some keen wound. 
 Whom hunters on the mountain-top surround ; 
 Though close hemm'd in, his glaring, eye-balls 
 
 glance 
 On him alone who threw the pointed lance. 
 Then Pollux dotf'd his mantle, richly wrought. 
 Late from the Lcinuiun territory brought, 
 Which some fair nymph who hatl her flame 
 
 avow'd, 
 The pledge of hospitable love bestow'd : 
 His double cloak, with clasps of sable hue, 
 Bebrycia's ruler on the greensward threw, 
 And his rough sheep-hook of wild-olive made, 
 Which lately flourish'd in the woodland shade. 
 Then sought the heroes for a placr, at hand 
 Commodious I'or the fight, and on th(! strand 
 They placed their friends, who saw, with won- 
 dering eyes. 
 The chiefs how difl^erent, both in make and 
 
 size : 
 For Amycus like fell Typhccus stood, 
 Enormous; or that miscreated brood 
 
 * See this combat described by Theocritus, pp. 223, 221. 
 
 Of mighty monsters, which the heaving earth, 
 Incens'd at Jove, brought forth, a formiilable birth. 
 But Pollux shone like that mild star on high 
 Whose rising ray illumes the evening sky. 
 Down spread his cheek, ripe manhood's early 
 
 sign, 
 And in his eye fair bcam'd the glance divine : 
 Such seem'tl Jove's valiant son, supremely bright, 
 And equal to the lion in his might. 
 His arms he pois'd, advancing in the ring, 
 To try if still they kept their pristine spring — 
 If pliant still and vigorous as before, 
 Accustom'd to hard toil, the labour of the oar. 
 But Amycus aloof and silent stood, 
 (ilar'd on his foe, and seem'd athirst for blood : 
 With that his squire Lycoreus in full view 
 Two pair of gauntlets in the circle threw, 
 Of barbarous fashion, harden'd, rough and dried ; 
 Then thus the chief with insolence and pricle : 
 " Lo, two stout pair, the choice I give to tliee; 
 Accuse not fate, the rest belong to me. 
 Securely bind them, and hereafter tell 
 Thy friends how much thy prowess I excel : 
 Whether to make the cestus firm and good. 
 Or stain the cheeks of enemies with blood." 
 Thus spoke he boastful ; Pollux nought replied, 
 But smiling chose the pair which lay beside. 
 Castor, his brother both by blood and fame, 
 And Talaus the son of Bias came ; 
 Firm round his arms the gloves of death they 
 
 bind. 
 And animate the vigour of his mind. 
 To Amycus Aratus, and his friend 
 Bold Ornytus, their kind assistance lend : 
 Alas! they little knew, this conflict o'er. 
 Those gauntlets never should be buckled more. 
 Accoutred thus each ardent hero stands. 
 And raises high in air his iron hands. 
 With clashing gauntlets fiercely now they close, 
 And mutual meditate death-dealing blows. 
 First Amycus a furious onset gave. 
 Like the rude shock of an impetuous wave. 
 That, lieap'd on high by driving wind and tide. 
 Bursts thundering on some gallant vessel's side; 
 The wary pilot by superior skill 
 Foresees the storm, and slums the menac'd ill. 
 Thus threatening Amycus on Pollux prest, 
 Nor sufler'd his antagonist to rest: 
 But Jove's brave son observes each coming blow, 
 Quick leaps aside, and disapj)oints the foe ; 
 And wliere a weak unguanleil part he spies. 
 There all the thunder of his arm he plies. 
 As busy shipwrights stoutly labouring strive 
 Through sturdy planks the piercing spikes to 
 
 drive, 
 From head to stern repeated blows go roimd, 
 And ceaseless hammers send a various sound — 
 Thus from their batter'd cheeks loud echoes 
 
 sprung, 
 Their dash'd teeth crackled, and tlieir jawbones 
 
 rung : 
 Nor ceas'd they from the strokes that threaten'd 
 
 death. 
 Till faint with toil they fairly gasp"d for breath: 
 Then first awliih; remit the bloody fray, 
 And paining wipe the copious sweat away. 
 
244 
 
 CLEANTHES. 
 
 But adverse soon they meet, with rage they 
 
 glow, 
 Fierce as two bulls fight for some favourite 
 
 cow. 
 Then Amyous, collecting all his might, 
 Rose to the stroke, resolved his foe to smite. 
 And by one blow the dubious war conclude. 
 His wary foe, the ruin to elude, 
 
 Bent back his head ; defeated of its aim 
 The blow impetuous on his shoulder came. 
 Then Pollux with firm step approaching near. 
 Vindictive struck his adversary's ear ; 
 Th" interior bones his ponderous gauntlet broke — 
 Flat fell the chief beneath his dreadful stroke. 
 The Grecians shouted, with wild rapture fir'd, 
 And, deeply groaning, Amycus expired. 
 
 CLEANTHES. 
 
 [About 240 B. C] 
 
 A NATIVE of Assos in Asia Minor. — He was 
 originally a common wrestler, in which capacity 
 he visited Athens. There, having caught the 
 spirit of knowledge so prevalent among the 
 people, he devoted himself to study, drawing 
 water as a common labourer during the night, 
 that he might have means and leisure to attend 
 the schools of philosophy by day. So great was 
 his poverty, that he is said to have written the 
 
 heads of his master's lectures on shells and bones 
 for want of money to procure better materials. 
 He was a follower of Zeno, and, after his death, 
 succeeded him in the portico. Though he wrote 
 much, yet none of his writings have come down 
 to us but the following hymn, which is deservedly 
 lauded by West, as displaying such correct sen- 
 timents of duty in a heathen, and so much poetry 
 in a philosopher. 
 
 HYMN TO JUPITER. 
 
 Most glorious of the immortal powers above ! 
 Oh thou of many names ! mysterious Jove ! 
 For evermore almighty! Nature's source! 
 That govern'st all things in their order'd course! 
 All hail to thee! since, innocent of blame. 
 E'en mortal creatures may address thy name ; 
 For all that breathe, and creep the lowly earth. 
 Echo thy being with reflected birth — 
 Thee will I sing, thy strength for aye resound : 
 The vmi verse, that rolls this globe around. 
 Moves wheresoe'er thy plastic influence guides. 
 And, ductile, owns the god whose arm presides. 
 The lightnings are thy ministers of ire ; 
 The double-fork'd, and ever-living fire ; 
 In thy unconquerable hands they glow, 
 And at the flash all nature quakes below. 
 Thus, thunder-arm'd, thou dost creation draw, 
 To one immense, inevitable law : 
 And, with the various mass of breathing souls 
 Thy power is mingled, and thy spirit rolls. 
 Dread genius of creation ! all things bow 
 To thee ; the universal monarch thou ! 
 Nor aught is done without thy wise control, 
 On earth, or sea, or round th' ethereal pole, 
 Save when the wicked, in their frenzy blind, 
 Act o'er the follies of a senseless mind. 
 Thou curb'st th' excess ; confusion to thy sight 
 Moves regular ; th' unlovely scene is bright. 
 
 Thy hand, educing good from evil, brings 
 To one apt harmony the strife of things. 
 One ever-during law still binds the whole. 
 Though shunn'd, resisted, by the sinner's soul. 
 Wretches ! M'hile still they course the glittering 
 
 prize. 
 The law of God eludes their ears and eyes. 
 Life then were virtue, did they this obey ; 
 But wide from life's chief good they headlong 
 
 stray. 
 Now glory's arduous toils the breast inflame ; 
 Now avarice thirsts, insensible of shame ; 
 Now sloth unnerves them in voluptuous ease ; 
 And the sweet pleasures of the body please. 
 With eager haste they rush the gulf within, 
 And their whole souls are center'd in their sin. 
 But, oh, great Jove! by whom all good is given! 
 Dweller with lightnings, and the clouds of heaven ! 
 Save from their dreadful error lost mankind! 
 Father! disperse these shadows of the mind! 
 Give them thy pure and righteous law to know; 
 Wherewith thy justice governs all below. 
 Thus honour'd by the knowledge of thy way. 
 Shall men that honour to thyself repay ; 
 And bid thy mighty works in praises ring; 
 As well befits a mortal's lips to sing: 
 More blest, nor men, nor heavenly powers, can be. 
 Than when their songs are of thy law and 
 
 thee! 
 
RHIANUS. 
 
 [About 222 B. C] 
 
 Rhiaxus, a native of Bena in tVie isle of Crete, 
 was originally master of the Pahpstra, or circus of 
 gymnastic exercises ; but by honourable study and 
 exertion, became at length distinguished as a poet 
 and grammarian. He wrote a history of Mes- 
 sene in verse, the accuracy of which is praised 
 
 by Pausanias, and composed similar poems on 
 other Grecian states. Tiberius was so partial to 
 the works of Rliianus, that he caused his Viust to 
 be placed in the jjublic libraries, amongst those 
 of the most eminent poets. For a list of his 
 works, see Clinton's Fast. Hell. vol. ii. p. 512. 
 
 ON HUMAN FOLLY. 
 
 Still err onr mortal souls : nor wisely bear 
 The heaven-dealt lots, that still depress the scale 
 From side to side. The man of indigence 
 Loads with his bitter blame the gods; and, 
 
 stung 
 With discontent, neglects his mental powers, 
 And energies; nor dares, courageous, aught 
 Of speech or action ; trembling, when the rich 
 Appear before him: sadness and despair 
 Eating his very heart. Wliile he, who swells 
 With proud prosperity, whom heaven endows 
 With riches, and with power above the crowd ; 
 Forgets his being's nature ; that his feet 
 Tread the low earth, and that himself was born 
 Of mortal parents ; but, with puff "d-np mind, 
 Sinful in haughtiness, like Jove, be wields 
 The thunder ; and, though small in stature, lifts 
 The neck, with high-rein'd head, as though he 
 
 wooed 
 Fair-arm"d Minerva; and had cleft a way 
 
 To high Olympus' top ; that, with the gods 
 There number'd, he might feast in blessedness. 
 But lo! Destruction, running with soft feet, 
 Unlook'd for, and unseen, bows suddenly 
 The loftiest heads. Deceitfully she steals 
 In unexpected forms upon their sins; 
 To youtliful follies wears the face of age; 
 To aged crimes the features of a maid; 
 And her dread deed is pleasant in the sigh 
 Of Justice, and of him who rules the gods. 
 
 A LOVER'S WISH. 
 
 Dexiottica, with a limed thread. 
 Her snare beneath a verdant plane-tree spread, 
 And caught a blackbird by the quivering wing: 
 The struggling bird's shrill outcries piping ring. 
 
 God of Love ! Graces, blooming fair ! 
 
 1 would that I a thrush, or blackbird, were ; 
 So, in her grasp, to breathe my murmur'd cries, 
 And shed a sweet tear from my silent eyes. 
 
 DAMAGETES, 
 
 tAbout 209 B. C] 
 
 OJV TWO THEBAN BROTHERS, 
 
 SLAIN IN THHACE. 
 
 Bt Jove, the god of strangers, we implore 
 Thee, gentle pilgrim, to the iEolian shore, 
 (Our Theban home,) the tidings to convey 
 Tliat here we lie, to Thracian wolves a prey. 
 This to our father, old Charinus, tell ; 
 And. with it, this, — "We mourn not that we fell 
 In early youth, of all our hopes bereft ; 
 But that his darkening age is lonely left 
 
 ON A WIFE 
 
 DYING IN HF.n HISHANd's ABSENCE. 
 
 These, the last words. Theano, swift descending 
 To the deep shades of night, was heard to 
 say — 
 "Alas! and is it thus my life is ending, 
 
 And thou, my husband, far o'er seas away? 
 Ah! could I but that dear hand press with 
 
 mine. 
 Once — once again ! — all else I'd, pleas'd, resign. 
 tS 245 
 
ALC^US OF MESSENE. 
 
 [About 190 B. C] 
 
 A coiTTBMPORAnT and ardent partisan of the I Philip, whose defeat by the former he celebrates 
 Roman consul, Titus Flamiuius, against King | in some of his epigrams. 
 
 ON THE EXPEDITION OF FLAMINIUS. 
 Xerxes from Persia led his mighty host, 
 And Titus his from fair Italia's coast. 
 Both warred with Greece ; but here the differ- 
 ence see 
 That, brought a yoke — this, gives us liberty. 
 
 ON THE MACEDONIANS 
 
 SLAIN AT CT!fOCEPHAL.E. 
 
 UxMOUHNED, unburied, passenger, we lie, 
 Tliree myriad sons of fruitful Thessaly, 
 In this wide field of monumental clay, 
 ^lolian Alars had marked us for his prey ; 
 Or he, who bursting from th' Ausonian fold, 
 In Titus' form, the waves of battle roU'd ; 
 And taught iEmathia's boastful lord to run 
 So swift, that swiftest stags were by his speed 
 outdone.* 
 
 ' Philip is said to have retorted the insult by the fol- 
 lowing inscription on a tree, in which he pretty plainly 
 insinuates the chastisement reserved for AIceeus, had he 
 fallen into the hands of his enemy. 
 
 Unbarked and leafless, passenger, you see, 
 Fixed in this mound, AIcjeus' gallows-tree. 
 
 ON HIPPONAX THE SATIRIST. 
 
 Thy tomb no purple clusters rise to grace, 
 But thorns and briars choke the fearful place ; 
 These herbs malign and bitter fruits supply 
 Unwholesome juices to the passer-by; 
 And as, Hipponax, near thy tomb he goes, 
 Shuddering he turns, and prays for thy repose. 
 
 ON HOMER. 
 
 The visionary dream of life is o'er; 
 The bard of heroes sleeps on los' shore : 
 Fair los' sons their lamentations pay, 
 And wake the funeral dirge, or solemn lay. 
 O'er his pale lifeless corse and drooping head. 
 Ambrosial sweets the weeping Nereids shed. 
 And on the shore their weeping poet laid, 
 Beneadi the towering mountain's- peaceful shade. 
 Nor undeserved their care — his tuneful tongue 
 Achilles' wrath and Thetis' sorrows sung; 
 His strains Laertes" son in triumph bore. 
 Through woes unnumbered, to his native shore. 
 Blest isle of los ! On thy rocky steeps 
 The Star of Song — ^the Grace of Graces — sleeps. 
 
 BION. 
 
 [About no B. C] 
 
 BroN' was a native of Smyrna, in Ionia, and 1 appears that he died by poison : but when, why, 
 lived some time under Ptolemy Phiiometor. or by whom, the foul act was perpetrated, it is 
 From the monody on his death by Moschus,* it | useless to conjecture. 
 
 ELEGY ON ADONIS. 
 I MOTTRX Adonis, fair Adonis, dead : 
 The Loves their tears for fair Adonis shed: 
 No more, oh Venus! sleep in purple vest; 
 Rise robed in blue : ah, sad one ! smite thy breast, 
 
 * O hapless Bion ! Poison was thy fate ; 
 The baneful potion circumscribed thy date 
 How could fell poison cause effect so strange 1 
 Touch thy sweet lips and not to honey change f 
 246 
 
 And cry " the fair Adonis is no more !" 
 
 I mourn Adonis : him the Loves deplore : 
 
 See fair Adonis oil the mountains lie ; 
 
 The boar's white tusk has rent his whiter thigh : 
 
 While in vain gasps his life-breath ebbs away. 
 
 Grief's harrowing agonies on "Venus prey : 
 
 Black through the snowy flesh the blood-drops 
 
 creep. 
 The eyes beneath his brows in torpor sleep : 
 
BION. 
 
 247 
 
 Tlie rose has fled his lips, anil with him dies 
 The kiss, that Venus, though in death, shall prize : 
 Dear is the kiss, though life the lips have fled; 
 But not Adonis feels it warm the dead. 
 
 I mourn Adonis: mourn the Loves around: 
 Ah ! cruel, cruel, is that hleeding wound : 
 Yet Venus feels more agonising smart; 
 A deeper wound has pierced within her heart. 
 Around the youth his hounds in howlings yell; 
 And shriek the nymphs from every mountain 
 
 dell ; 
 Venus, herself, among the forest-dales, 
 Unsaudal'd, strews her tresses to the gales : 
 The wounding brambles, bent beneath her tread. 
 With sacred blood-drops of her feet are red : 
 She through the lengthening valleys shrieks and 
 
 cries, 
 " Say, where my young Assyrian bridegroom 
 
 lies?'' 
 But round his navel black the life-blood flow'd ; 
 His snowy breast and side with piu-j)le glow'd. 
 Ah ! Venus ! ah ! the Loves for thee bewail ; 
 With that lost youth thy fading graces fail ; 
 Her beauty bloom'd, while life was in his eyes ; 
 Ah, woe ! with him it bloom"d, with him it 
 
 dies. 
 The oaks and mountains " Ah ! Adonis!'' sigh : 
 Tlie rivers moan to Venus' agony : 
 The mountain springs all trickle into tears : 
 The blush of grief on every flower appears: 
 And Venus o'er each solitary hill, 
 And through wide cities chaunts her dirges shrill. 
 
 Woe, Venus ! woe ! Adonis is no more : 
 Echoes repeat the lonely mountains o'er, 
 " Adonis is no more :'" woe, woe is me ! 
 Who at her grievous love dry-eyed can be ? 
 Mute at til' intolerable wound she stood, 
 And saw, and knew the thigh dash'd red with 
 
 blood : 
 Groaning she stretch'd her arms : and "Stay!" 
 
 she said, 
 "Stay, poor Adonis! — lift thy languid head: 
 All ! let me find thy last expiring breath, 
 Mix lips with lips, and suck thy soul in death. 
 Wake but a little, (or a last, last kiss : 
 Be it the last, but warm with life as this. 
 That through my lips I may thy spirit drain. 
 Suck thy sweet breath, drink love through every 
 
 vein : 
 This kiss shall serve me ever in thy stead ; 
 Since thou thyself, unhappy one! art fled : 
 Thou art fled far to Acheron's drear scene, 
 A king abhorr'd, and an inhuman queen : 
 I feel the woe, yet live: and fain would be 
 No goddess, thus in death to follow thee. 
 Take, Proserpine, my spouse : all loveliest things 
 Time to thy realm, oh, mightier Goddess! brings: 
 Disconsolate, I mourn Adonis dead. 
 With tears unsated, and thy name I dread. 
 Oh thrice belov'd, thou now art dead and gone ! 
 And all my sweet love, like a dream, is flown. 
 Venus sinks lonely on a widow'd bed : 
 The Loves with listless feet my chamber tread : 
 My cestus perish'd with thyself: ah, vvhy, 
 Fair as thou wert, the coverts venturous try, 
 And tempt the woodland monster's cruelty?'' 
 
 So Venus mourns : her loss the Loves deplore : 
 Woe, Venus, woe ! Adonis is no more. 
 As many drops as from Adonis bled, 
 So many tears the sorrowing Venus shed ; 
 For every drop on earth a flower there grows: 
 Anemones for tears ; for blood the rose. 
 
 I mourn Adonis: fair Adonis dead: 
 Not o'er the youth in words thy sorrows slied : 
 For thy Adonis' limbs a couch is strown, 
 That couch he presses, Venus! 'tis thy own. 
 There dead he lies, yet fair in blooming grace — 
 Still fair, as if with slumber on his face. 
 Haste, lay him on the golden stand, and spread 
 The garments that enrobed him in thy bed. 
 When on thy heavenly breast the livelong night 
 He slept, and court him. though he scare thy 
 
 sight: 
 Lay him with garlands and with flowers; but all 
 With him are dead, and withcr'd at his fall. 
 With balms anoint him from the myrtle tree: 
 Or perish ointments ; for thy balm was he. 
 
 Now on his pmple vest Adonis lies : 
 The groans of weeping Loves aroimd hiin rise : 
 Shorn of their locks, beneath their feet they 
 
 throw 
 The quiver plumed, the darts, and broken bow : 
 One slips the sandal, one the water brings 
 In golden ewer, one fans him with his wings. 
 
 The Loves o'er Venus" self bewail with tears, 
 .■\nd Hymen in the vestibule appears 
 Shrouding his torch; and sj)rcads in silent grief 
 The vacant wreath that t\\ ined its nuptial leaf. 
 " Hymen!" no more :but " Woe, alas!" they sing: 
 "Ah, for Adonis!'' "Ah! for Hymen!" ring: 
 The Graces for the son of Myrrha pine ; 
 And, Venus! shriek with shriller voice than thine. 
 Muses, Adonis ! fair Adonis! call. 
 And sing him back ; but he is deaf to all. 
 Bootless the sorrow, that would touch his sprite, 
 Nor Proserpine shall loose him to the light: 
 Cease, Venus! now thy wail: reserve thy tear: 
 Again to fall with each Adonian year. 
 
 THE TEACHER TAUGHT. 
 
 As late I slumbering lay, before my sight 
 Bright Venus rose in visions of the night: 
 She led young Cupid ; as in thought profound 
 His modest eyes were fix'd upon the ground ; 
 And thus she spoke : " To thee, dear swaiu, I 
 
 bring 
 My little son ; instruct the boy to sing." 
 
 No more she said ; but vanish 'd into air, 
 And left the wily pupil to my care: 
 I, — sure I was an idiot for my pains, — 
 Began to teach him old bucolii; strains; 
 How Pan the pipe, how Pallas form'd the flute, 
 Phcebus the lyre, and Mercury the lute: 
 Love, to my lessons quite regardless grown, 
 Sung lighter lays, and isonnets of his own ; 
 Th' amours of men below, and gods above. 
 And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love. 
 I, — sure the simplest of all shepherd-swains, — 
 Full soon Ibrgot my old bucolic strains; 
 The lighter lays of love my fancy caught, 
 And 1 remember'd all that Cupid taught. 
 
248 
 
 BION. 
 
 CUPID AND THE FOWLER. 
 
 A YOUTH, once fowling in a shady grove, 
 
 On a tall box-tree spied the God of Love, 
 
 Percli'd like a beauteous bird; with sudden joy 
 
 At sight so noble leap'd the simple boy. 
 
 With eager expedition he prepares 
 
 His choicest twigs, his bird-lime, and his snares. 
 
 And in a neighb'ring covert smil'd to see 
 
 How here and there lie skipp'd, and hopp'd from 
 
 tree to tree. 
 When long in vain he waited to betray 
 The god, enrag'd he flung his twigs away. 
 And to a ploughman near, an ancient man, 
 Of whom he learn'd his art, the youngster ran. 
 Told the strange story, while he held his plough. 
 And show'd the bird then perch'd upon a bough. 
 The grave old iiloughnian archly shook his 
 
 head, 
 Smil'd at the simple boy, and thus he said : 
 " Cease, cease, my son, this dangerous sport give 
 
 o'er. 
 Fly far away, and chase that bird no more : 
 Blest should you fail to catch him ! — hence, away! 
 That bird, believe me, is a bird of prey : 
 Though now he seems to shun you all he can, 
 Yet, soon as time shall lead you up to man. 
 He'll spread his fluttring pinions o'er your breast. 
 Perch on your brow, and in your bosom nest." 
 
 SHORTNESS OF LIFE. 
 If any virtue my rude songs can claim, 
 Enough the Muse has given to build my fame ; 
 But if condemned ingloriously to die, 
 Why longer raise my mortal minstrelsy? 
 Had Jove or Fate to life two seasons lent, 
 In toil and ease alternate to be spent, 
 Then well one portion labour might employ 
 In expectation of the following joy ; 
 But if one only age of life is due 
 To man, and that so short and transient too, 
 How long (ah, miserable race !) in care 
 And fruitless labour waste the vital air? 
 How long with idle toil to wealth aspire. 
 And feed a never-satisfied desire? 
 How long forget that, mortal from our birth, 
 Short is our troubled sojourn on the earth ? 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 Thrice happy they ! whose friendly hearts can 
 
 burn 
 With purest flame, and meet a kind return. 
 With dear Perithous, as poets tell, 
 Theseus was happy in the shades of hell : 
 Orestes' soul no fears, no woes, deprest ; 
 Midst Scythians he with Pylades was blest. 
 Blest was Achilles, while his friend surviv'd, 
 Blest was Patroclus every hour he liv'd ; 
 Blest, when in battle he resign 'd his breath,* 
 For his unconquer'd friend avengd his death. 
 
 * According to Homer, Patroclus, when dying, thu.s 
 addresses Hector: — 
 
 "Insulting man ! Thou shall be soon as 1 ; 
 Black Fate hanss o'er thee, and thy hour draws nigh; 
 E'en now on life's last verge I see thee stand, 
 I see thee fall, and by Achilles' hand." 
 
 HYMN TO THE EVENING STAR. 
 Mild star of eve, whose tranquil beams 
 
 Are grateful to the queen of love. 
 Fair planet, whose eflulgence gleams 
 
 IVIore bright than all the host above, 
 And only to the moon's clear light 
 Yields the first honours of the night! 
 All hail, thou soft, thou holy star. 
 
 Thou glory of the midnight sky ! 
 And when my steps are wandering far, 
 
 Leading the shepherd-minstrelsy. 
 Then, if the moon deny her ray, 
 Oh guide me, Hesper, on my way! 
 No savage robber of the dark. 
 
 No foiil assassin claims thy aid, 
 To guide his dagger to its mark. 
 
 Or light him on his plund'ring trade; 
 My gentle errand is to prove 
 The transports of requited love. 
 
 THE LAMENTATION OF THE CYCLOPS. 
 
 Yet will I go beside the sounding main, 
 
 And to yon solitary crags complain; 
 
 And, onward wandering by the sounding shore. 
 
 The scorn of Galatea's brow deplore : 
 
 But oh, sweet Hope ! be present to my heart, 
 
 Nor with my latest, feeblest age depart. 
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 CLEODAMAS. 
 
 Sat, in their courses circling as they tend, 
 What season is most grateful to my friend ? 
 Summer, whose suns mature the teeming ground, 
 Or golden Autumn, with full harvests crown'd? 
 Or Winter hoar, when soft reclin'd at ease. 
 The fire bright blazing, and sweet leisure please ? 
 Or genial Spring in blooming beauty gay ? 
 Speak, Myrson, while around the lambkins play. 
 
 MTHSOX. 
 
 It ill becomes frail mortals to define 
 What's best and fittest of the works divine ; 
 The works of nature all are grateful found. 
 And all the Seasons, in their various round ; 
 But, since my friend demands my private voice, 
 Then learn the season that is Myrson's choice. 
 Me the hot Summer's sultry heats displease ; 
 Fell Autumn teems with pestilent disease; 
 Tempestuous Winter's chilling frosts I fear, 
 But wish for purple Spring throughout the year. 
 Then neither cold nor heat molests the morn, 
 But )osy Plenty fills her copious horn ; 
 Then bursting buds their odorous blooms display. 
 And Spring makes equal night, and equal day. 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 I. 
 
 Inct^ssant drops, as proverbs say. 
 Will wear the hardest stones away. 
 
 II. 
 Let me not pass without reward ! 
 For Phcebus on each tuneful bard 
 Some gift bestows : The noblest lays 
 Are owing to the thirst of praise. 
 
THEODORIDES. 
 
 Nothing is known of this poet's age and country. 
 
 ON AN ANCIENT MONUMENT OF 
 HERACLITUS. 
 Rounded by age, and, like some pebble-stone, 
 O'er which the wild wave dashes, shapeless 
 
 grown. 
 No letters speak — no graven image tells — 
 That here the dust of Heraclitus dwells. 
 But still with Fame's loud trumpet I proclaim 
 The barking cur's imperishable name. 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN USURER. 
 Without the aid of crutch — entire of limb — 
 
 Servant of Mercury! to hell thou goe.-^t : 
 Whose king will, pleased, receive thee, since to 
 
 him 
 Thou freely renderest all the debt thou owest. 
 
 MAXIM. 
 Speak something better or else hold your tongue. 
 
 TYMN.EUS. 
 
 Of this poet nothing certain is known. 
 
 SPARTAN VIRTUE. 
 Demetrius, when he basely fled the field, 
 A Spartan born, his Spartan mother killed; 
 Then, stretcliing forth his bloody swonl she cried, 
 (Her teeth fierce gnashing with disdainful pride,) 
 "Fly, cursed ofl'spring, to the shades below, 
 Where proud Eurotas shall no longer flow 
 For timid hinds like thee! — Fly, trembling slave. 
 Abandoned wretch, to Pluto's darkest cave! 
 This womb so vile a monster never bore, 
 Disown'd by Sparta, thou'rt my son no more." 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON ONE WHO DIED IN A FOUEIRN COUNTRY. 
 
 Grieve not, Phila-nis, though condemned to 
 
 die 
 Far from thy parent soil, and native sky; 
 Though strangers' hands must raise thy funeral 
 
 pile, 
 And lay thine ashes in a foreign isle : 
 To all on death's last dreary journey bound, 
 The road is equal, and alike the ground. 
 
 MOSCHUS. 
 
 [About 151 B. C] 
 
 MoscHUS, the friend of Bion, was a native of Syracuse, but resided chiefly at Alexandria. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. But when, wliite-foaming, heave the deeps on 
 
 O'er the smooth main, when scarce a zephyr high, 
 
 blows 
 To break the dark-blue ocean's deep repose, 
 I seek the calmness of the breathing sl-.ore, 
 Delighted with the fields and woods no more. 
 32 
 
 Swells tlie black storm, and mingles sea with 
 
 sky. 
 Trembling, I fly .the wild tempestuous strand, 
 And seek the close recesses of the laud. 
 
 2-19 
 
250 
 
 MOSCHUS. 
 
 Sweet are the sounds that murmur through the 
 
 wood, 
 While roaring storms upheave the daiig'rous 
 
 flood ; 
 Then, if the winds more fiercely howl, they rouse 
 But sweeter music in the pities tall boughs. 
 Hard is the life the weary fisher finds 
 Who trusts his floating mansion to the winds, 
 Whose daily food the fickle sea maintains, 
 Unciianging labour, and uncertain gains. 
 Be mine soft sleep, beneath the spreading shade 
 Of some broad leafy plane, inglorious laid, 
 LuH'd by a fovmtain's fall, that, murmuring near, 
 Soothes, not alarms, the toil-worn labourer's ear. 
 
 ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA. 
 
 From where his silver waters glide, 
 Majestic, to the ocean-tide 
 
 Through fair Olympia's plain, 
 Still his dark course Alpheus keeps 
 Beneath the mantle of the deeps, 
 
 Nor mixes with the main. 
 
 To grace his distant bride, he pours 
 The sand of Pisa's sacred shores, 
 
 And flowers that deck'd her grove ; 
 And, rising from the unconscious brine, 
 On Arethusa's breast divine 
 
 Receives the meed of love. 
 
 'Tis thus with soft bewitching skill 
 The childish god deludes our will. 
 
 And triumphs o'er our pride; 
 The mighty river owns his force. 
 Bends to the sway his winding course, 
 
 And dives beneath the tide. 
 
 EUROPA. 
 
 The Queen of Love, on amorous wiles intent, 
 
 A pleasing dream to young Europa sent. 
 
 What time still night had roU'd the hours away. 
 
 And the fresh dawn began to promise day — 
 
 When balmy slumbers and composing rest 
 
 Close every eye, and soothe the pensive breast. 
 
 When dreams and visions fill the busy brain. 
 
 Prophetic dreams, that never rise in vain. 
 
 'Twas then Europa, as she sleeping lay. 
 
 Chaste as Diana, sister of the day, 
 
 Saw in her cause the adverse shore engag'd 
 
 In w^ar with Asia ; terribly they rag'd : 
 
 Each seem'd a woman ; that, in foreign guise, 
 
 A native this, and claim'd the lovely prize 
 
 With louder zeal : " The beauteous Nymph," she 
 
 said 
 " Her daughter was, and in her bosom bred."' 
 But she, w^ho as a stranger was array 'd, 
 Forc'd to her arms the unresisting maid ; 
 Caird her her right, by all the powers above, 
 Giv"n her by fate, and ^gis-bearing Jove. 
 
 The fair Europa, struck with sudden dread, 
 All pale and trembling started from her bed ; 
 Silent she sat, and thought the vision true, 
 Still seem'd their forms to strive before her view: 
 
 At length she utter'd thus the voice of fear : 
 "Ye gods, what spectres to my sight appear? 
 What dreams are these, in fancy's livery drest. 
 That haunt my sleep, and break my golden rest? 
 And who that form that seem'd so wond'rous 
 
 kind? 
 The dear idea still delights my mind. 
 She, like a mother, press'd me in her arms: 
 But, O ye gods ! tliat send such strange alarms, 
 Preserve these visionary scenes from harms." 
 She said, and lightly from her couch up- 
 sprung. 
 Then sought her comrades, beautiful and young. 
 Her social mates ; with them she lov'd to lave 
 Her limbs unblemish'd in the crystal wave ; 
 With them on lawns the sprightly dance to lead, 
 Or pluck sweet lilies in the flowery mead. 
 The nymphs assembled soon, a beauteous band ! 
 With each a curious basket in her hand ; 
 Then reach'd those fields where oft they play'd 
 
 before. 
 The fragrant fields along the sea-beat shore, 
 To gather flowers, and hear the billows roar. 
 
 Europa's basket, radiant to behold, 
 The work of Vulcan, was compos'd of gold ; 
 He gave it Libya, mighty Neptune's bride. 
 She Telephassa, next in blood allied ; 
 From her bequeath'd to fair Europa came 
 This splendid basket of celestial frame. 
 Fair in the work the milk-white lo stood 
 Li roughen'd gold, and, lowing, paw'd the flood, 
 (For 'V^ulcan there had pour'd the azure main) 
 A heifer still, not yet transform'd again. 
 Two men stood figur'd on the oceans brim, 
 Who watch'd the cow, that seem'd inclin'd to 
 
 swim. 
 Jove too appear'd, enamour'd, on the strand. 
 And strok'd the lovely heifer with his hand : 
 Till, on the banks of Nile again array'd, 
 In native beauty shone the blooming maid : 
 The sev'n-mouth'd Nile in silver currents roU'd, 
 And Jove was sculptur'd in refulgent gold. 
 Near piping Hermes sleepless Argus lies. 
 Watching ttie heifer with his hundred eyes : 
 From Argus, slain, a painted peacock grew. 
 Fluttering his feathers stain'd with various hue. 
 And, as a ship expands her swelling sail. 
 He round the basket spread his starry tail. 
 Such were the scenes the Lemnian god display'd, 
 And such the basket of the Tyrian maid. 
 
 The lovely damsels gather'd flow 'rets bright, 
 Sweet to the smell, and beauteous to the sight ; 
 The fragrant hyacinth of purple hue. 
 Narcissus, -wild thyme, and the violet blue ; 
 Some the gilt crocus or pale lily chose, 
 But fair Europa cropp'd the blooming rose ; 
 And all her mates excell'd in radiant mein. 
 As 'midst the graces shines the Cyprian queen. 
 Not long, alas! in these fair fields she shone. 
 Nor long unloos'd preserv'd her virgin zone : 
 Saturnian Jove beheld the matchless maid. 
 And sudden transports his rapt soul invade; 
 He glows with all the fervid flame of love ; 
 For Cupid's arrows pierce the breast of Jove. 
 But, best his amorous intent to screen. 
 And shun the jealous anger of his queen, 
 
MOSCHUS 
 
 251 
 
 He laid his immortality aside, 
 ■And a bull's form tlie intriguing fjod belied; 
 But not of earthly shape, or mortal breed, 
 Such as at large in flowery pastures feed ; 
 Whose stubborn necks beneath the yoke we bow, 
 Break to the wain, or harness to the plough. 
 His golden hue distinguish'd him afar; 
 Full in his forehead beam'd a silver star: 
 His large blue eyes, that shone serenely bright, 
 Languish'd with love, and sparkled with delight: 
 On his broad temples rose two equal horns. 
 Like that fair crescent which the skies adorns. 
 Gently he moves with peaceful look and bland, 
 And spreads no terror in the virgin band : 
 Nearer they draw, with eager longing led 
 To stroke his sides, and pat his comely head : 
 His breath divine ambrosial odours yields. 
 Sweeter than fragrance of the flowery fields. 
 At fair Europa"s feet with joy he stands, 
 And prints sweet kisses on her lily hands. 
 His foamy lips she wipes, unaw'd by dread, 
 And strokes his sides, and pats his comely head. 
 Gently he low'd, as musical and clear 
 As notes soft warbled on the raptur'd ear : 
 And, as on earth his pliant knees he bent, 
 Show'd his broad back, that hinted what he 
 
 meant ; 
 Then turn'd his suppliant eyes, and view'd the 
 
 maid ; 
 Who thus, astonish'd, to her comrades said : 
 " Say, dearest mates, what can this beast intend? 
 Let us (for lo ! he stoops) his back ascend. 
 And ride in sportive gambols round the mead ; 
 This lovely bull is, sure, of gentlest breed : 
 So meek his manner, so benign his mind, 
 He wants but voice to equal human kind.'' 
 
 So spoke the fair, and up she rose to ride, 
 And call'd her lingering partners to her side : 
 Soon as the bull his pleasing burden bore, 
 Vigorous he sprung, and hasten'd to the shore. 
 The nymph, dismay'd, invok'd the virgin band 
 For help, and wav'd her unavailing hand. 
 On the soft bosom of the azure flood 
 With his fair prize the bull triumphant rode : 
 Up rose the Nereids to attend his train, 
 And all the mighty monsters of the main. 
 CiErulean Neptune was the Thunderer's guide. 
 And for the passing pomp he smooth'd the tide : 
 The Tritons hail'd him as he steerd along, 
 And sounded on their conchs the nuptial song. 
 On Jove's Ijroad back the lovely damsel borne 
 Grasp'd with her fair right hand his polish'd horn, 
 Her left essay'd her purple robe to save, 
 That lightly brush'd the surface of the wave : 
 Around her head soft br(?ath'd the gentle gale, 
 And fill'd her garment like a swelling sail. 
 Europa's heart throbb'd quick with chiling fear, 
 Far from her much-lov'd home, and comrades 
 
 dear ; 
 No sea-beat shore she saw, nor mountain's brow, 
 Nor aught but sky above, and waves below. 
 Then with a mournful look the damsel said : 
 
 " Ah ! whither wilt thou bear a wretched maid ? 
 Who, and whence art thou, wond'rous creature, 
 
 say? 
 How canst tliou fearless tread the wat'ry way? 
 
 On the broad ocean safely sails the ship, 
 
 But bulls avoid, and dread the stormy deep. 
 
 Say, can a bull on sea-born viands feed? 
 
 Or, if descended frou) celestial breed, 
 
 Thy acts are inconsistent with a gfxl : 
 
 Bulls rove the meads, and dolphins swim the 
 
 flood ; 
 Rut earth and ocean are alike to thee, 
 Thy hoofs are oars that row thee through the sea. 
 Perhaps, like airy birds, thou soon wilt fly, 
 And soar amidst the regions of the sky. 
 Ah! wretched maid, to leave my native home, 
 And simply dare with bulls in mi^ads to roam ! 
 And now on seas I ride — ah ! wretched maid ! — 
 BiU, 1 I trust, great Neptune, in thy aid ; 
 Soon let my eyes my great conductor hail, 
 For not without a deity I sail.'' 
 
 Thus spoke the nymph, and thus tlic bull re- 
 plied : 
 "Courage, fair maid, nor fear the foaming tide; 
 Though now a bull I seem to mortal eyes. 
 Thou soon slialt see me ruler of the skies. 
 What shape I please, at will I take and keep, 
 Anil now a bull I cross the boundless deep ; 
 For thy bright charms inspire my breast with love : 
 But soon shall Crete's fair isle, the nurse of Jove, 
 Receive Europa on its friendly strand, 
 To join with me in Hymen's blissful band : 
 From thee shall kings arise in long array, 
 To rule the world with delegated sway.'' 
 
 Thus spoke the god ; and what he spoke 
 prov'd true, 
 For soon Crete's lofty shore appear'd in view : 
 Jove straight assum'd another form and air. 
 Then to his bosom clasp'd the yielding fair; 
 The Hours beneath them stre w'd the couch of love, 
 And the coy maid became the bride of Jove. 
 
 CUPID PROCLADIED. 
 Otez ! cried Love's all-powerful Queen — 
 If any man has lately seen 
 My scape-grace, tell me where he is; 
 The sweet reward shall be a kiss: — 
 If further blisses you would rifle, 
 I shall not stand upon a trifle. 
 The boy's so notable, no doubt. 
 Among a score you'd find him out. 
 His skin glows like the fiery gleam ; 
 His eyes flash like the lightning's beam ; 
 His honied tongue distils with lies; 
 His heart is wrapt in dark disguise ; 
 When passion rankles in his mind, 
 To savage deeds the elf's iuclin'd; 
 And, under guise of harmless jest. 
 He stings the unsuspecting breast. 
 Iniuimerous curling tresses grace 
 His impudent and rakish face. 
 His hands are tiny, but their power 
 Extends to Pluto's gloomy bower. 
 The peevish uroliin carries wings, 
 With whi(di from heart to heart he springs. 
 As little birds, in wanton play, 
 Fly carelessly from spray to spray. 
 A trinket-bow and shafts he wears, 
 Which carry to the furthest stars. 
 
252 
 
 MOSCHUS. 
 
 His golden quiver swings behind, 
 With numerous fatal weapons lin'd, 
 Wherewith he deals sharp sorrows round, 
 And dares his mother's heart to wound. 
 His torch, with its portentous blaze, 
 Consumes the very solar rays. 
 If thou shalt catch the vagrant child. 
 Ah, be not by his tears beguild ; 
 Bind fast his triekful hands, nor heed 
 Those smiles that secret treachery breed; 
 Drag him along, nor thoughtless stay 
 To fondle with him on the way. 
 Fly, — fly his kisses: — tliey inflame 
 With every poison thou canst name ; 
 And if he cry, " My arms I yield," 
 Try not those deadly arms to wield : 
 Let prudence check this mad desire, — 
 They're pregnant with celestial fire. 
 
 CUPID TURNED PLOUGHMAN. 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 His lamp, his bovi^, and quiver laid aside, 
 
 A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied, 
 
 Sly Cupid always on new mischiefs bent. 
 
 To the rich fleld and furrowed tillage went; 
 
 Like any ploughman toiled the little god. 
 
 His tune he whistled, and his wheat he sowed, 
 
 Then sat and laughed, and to the skies above 
 
 Raising his eye, he thus insulted Jove : 
 
 " Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain, 
 
 And as I bid you, let it shine or rain ; 
 
 Else you again beneath my yoke shall bow. 
 
 Feel the sharp goad, or draw the servile plough ; 
 
 What once Europa was, Nannette is now." 
 
 LAMENT FOR BION. 
 
 Ye mountain valleys, pitifully groan! 
 Rivers and Dorian springs, for Bion weep ! 
 Ye plants drop tears ; ye groves, lamenting 
 
 moan! 
 Exhale your life, wan flowers; your blushes 
 
 deep 
 In grief, anemonies and roses, steep ; 
 In whimpering murmurs, Hyacinth ! prolong 
 The sad, sad woe thy lettered petals keep ; 
 Our minstrel sings no more his friends among — 
 Sicilian Muses! now begin the doleful song. 
 
 Ye nightingales! that mid thick leaves set 
 
 loose 
 The gushing gurgle of your sorrow, tell 
 The fountains of Sicilian Arethuse 
 That Bion is no more — with Bion fell 
 The song — the music of the Dorian shell. 
 Ye swans of Strymon ! now your banks along 
 Your plaintive throats with meltingdirges swell 
 For him, who sang like you the mournful song; 
 Discourse of Bion's death the Thracian nymphs 
 among — 
 
 The Dorian Orpheus, tell them all, is dead. 
 His herds the song and darling herdsman miss. 
 And oaks, beneath whose shade he propt his 
 
 head ; 
 Oblivion's ditty now he sings for Dis ; 
 
 The melancholy mountain silent is ; 
 His pining cows no longer wish to feed, 
 But moan for him ; Apollo wept, I wis, 
 For thee, sweet Bion! and in mourning weed 
 The brotherhood of Fauns, and all the Satyr breed. 
 
 The tears by Naiads shed are brimful bourns; 
 Afllicted Pan thy stifled music rues; 
 Lorn Echo 'mid her rocks thy silence mourns, 
 Nor with her mimic tones thy voice renews ; 
 The flowers their bloom, the trees their fruit- 
 age lose ; 
 No more their milk the drooping ewes supply; 
 The bees to press their honey now refuse ; 
 What need to gather it and lay it by. 
 When thy own honey-lip, my Bion! thine is dry? 
 
 Sicilian Muses! lead the doleful chant; 
 
 Not so much near the shore the dolphin moans; 
 
 Nor so much wails within her rocky haunt 
 
 The nightingale ; nor on their mountain thrones 
 
 The swallows utter such lugubrious tones ; 
 
 Nor Ceyx such for faithful Halcyon, 
 
 Whose song the blue wave, where he perished, 
 
 o^vns ; 
 Nor in the valley, neighbour to the sun. 
 The funeral birds so wail their Memnon's tomb 
 
 upon — 
 
 As these moan, wail, and weep for Bion dead, 
 The nightingales and swallows, whom he 
 
 taught. 
 For him their elegiac sadness shed ; 
 And all the birds contagious sorrow caught; 
 The sylvan realm was all with grief distraught. 
 Who, bold of heart, will play on Bion's reed. 
 Fresh from his lip, yet with his breathing 
 
 fraught 1 
 For still among the reeds does Echo feed 
 On Bion's minstrelsy. Pan only may succeed 
 
 To Bion's pipe ; to him I make the gift ; 
 But, lest he second seem, e'en Pan may fear 
 The pipe of Bion to his mouth to lift. 
 For thee sweet Galatea drops the tear, 
 And thy dear song regrets, which sitting near 
 She fondly listed; ever did she flee 
 The Cyclops and his song — but ah ! more dear 
 Thy song and sight than her own native sea; 
 On the deserted sands the nymph without her fee 
 
 Now sits and weeps, or weeping tends thy herd. 
 Away with Bion all the muse-gifts flew — 
 The chirping kisses breathed at every word : 
 Around thy tomb the Loves their playmate rue ; 
 Thee Cypris loved — more than the kiss she 
 
 dre\v. 
 And breathed upon her dying paramour. 
 Most musical of rivers ! now renew 
 Tliy i^laintive murmurs; Meles! now deplore 
 Another son of song — as thou didst wail of yore 
 
 That sweet, sweet mouth of dear Calliope ; 
 The threne, 'tis said, thy waves for Homer spun, 
 With saddest music filled the refluent sea ; 
 Now melting wail and weep another son ! 
 Both loved of fountains ; that of Helicon 
 Gave Melesigenes his pleasant draught; 
 But to his Arethuse did Bion run. 
 
POLYSTRATTTS. 
 
 253 
 
 And from her urn the n;lowinK rapture quaffed : 
 Thy elder glory sung how Helen bloomed and 
 laughed ; 
 
 On Thetis' mighty son his descant ran 
 And Menelaus; but our Bion chose 
 Not arms and tears to sing, but Love and Pan; 
 While browsed his herd, his gushing music rose; 
 He milked his kine ; did jiipes of reeds com- 
 pose ; 
 Taught liow to kiss ; and fondled in his breast 
 Young Love, and Cypris pleased. For Bion 
 
 flows 
 In every glorious land a grief confest; 
 Ascra for her own bard, wise Hesiod, less exprest ; 
 
 Bo-otian Hylne mourned for Pindar less ; 
 TeiJs regretted less her minstrel hoar, 
 And Mitylene her sweet poetess; 
 Nor for Alcrpus Lesbos suffered more ; 
 Nor lovely Paros so much did deplore 
 Her own Archilochus. Breathing her fire 
 Into her sons of song, from shore to shore 
 For thee the pastoral Muse attunes her lyre 
 To woeful utterance of passionate desire. 
 
 Sicelidas, the famous Samian star, 
 And he with smiling eye and radiant face, 
 Cydonian Lycidas, renowned afar. 
 Lament thee ; where quick Hales runs his race 
 Philetas wails; Theocritus, the grace 
 Of Syrcause. thee mourns ; nor these among 
 Am I remiss Ausonian wreaths to place 
 Around thy tomb; to me doth it belong 
 To chant for thee, from whom I learnt the Dorian 
 song; 
 
 Me with thy minstrel skill as proper heir — 
 Others thou didst endow with thine estate. 
 Alas ! alas! when in a garden fair 
 Mallows, crisp dill, and parsley yield to fate, 
 These with another year regerminate; 
 But when of mortal life the bloom and crown. 
 The wise, the good, the valiant, and the great 
 Succumb to death, in hollow earth shut down, 
 We sleep, for ever sleep — for ever lie unknown. 
 
 Thus art thou squeezed, while frogs may croak 
 
 at will ; 
 I envy not their croak. Thee poison slew — 
 How kept it in thy mouth its nature ill? 
 If thou didst speak, what cruel wretch could 
 
 brew 
 
 The draught? He did of course thy song 
 
 eschew. 
 But Justice all oVrtakes. My tears fast flow 
 For thee, my friend. Could I, like Orjihcus 
 
 true, 
 Odysseus or Alcides, pass below 
 To gloomy Tartarus, how quickly would I go! 
 
 To see, and hear thee, haply, sing for Dis ; 
 But in the nymph's ear warble evermore, 
 O dearest friend ! thy sweetest harmonies: 
 For whilom, on her own Etnean shore. 
 She sang wild snatches of the Dorian lore. 
 Nor will thy singing unrewarded be; 
 Thee to thy mountain-haunts she will restore, 
 As she gave Orpheus his Eurydice. 
 Could I charm Dis with songs, I too would sing 
 for thee. 
 
 A MOTHER LAMENTING HER CHILDREN. 
 
 But, as a bird bewails her callous brood, 
 While in the brake a serpent drains their blood, 
 And, all too weak the wished relief to bring. 
 Twittering her shrill complaints, on feeble wing 
 At distance hovers, nor will venture near 
 The fell destroyer, chilTd with conscious fear; 
 So I, all frantic, the wide mansion o'er, 
 Unhappy mother, my lost sons deplore. 
 
 CAPRICIOUS LOVE. 
 
 Vath for his neighbour Echo sighs; 
 
 She loves tlie dancing Satyr: 
 The Satyr, caught by Lyda's eyes, 
 
 Is dying to be at her. 
 
 As Echo fires the breast of Pan, 
 
 Behold the Dancer burn 
 The Nymph's soft heart — though Lyda"s man : 
 
 Thus each is scorched in turn. 
 
 While all who slight, are slighted too, 
 
 They feel alternate pain : 
 Then hear — Love those that fancy you, 
 
 And you'll be loved again !* 
 
 * The modern Inillad in imitation of this Idyl must be 
 well known to most of our reailcrs. 
 
 "Tom lovps Mary passing well, 
 While Mary she loves Harry, 
 While Harry siihs for bonny Bell, 
 And fnids liis love miscarry," tec. &c. 
 
 POLYSTRATUS. 
 
 [.\bout 116 B C] 
 
 ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CORINTH. 
 
 AcHi5AX Acrocorinth, the bright star 
 
 Of Hellas with its narrow Isthmian bounrl, 
 Lucius o'ercame ; in one enormous mound 
 
 Piling the dead, conspicuous from afar. 
 
 Thus, to the Greeks denying funeral fires, 
 Have great jEneas' later progeny 
 Perform'd high Jove's retributive decree, 
 
 And well avenged the city of their sires.* 
 
 • The Romans, the reputed progeny of Troy, are here 
 represented as ihe avengers of their parent city. 
 W 
 
ANTIPATER OF SIDON. 
 
 [Ahout 127 B. rj 
 
 Of this poet we know nothing more than that 
 he sprung from a noble and \\ ealtliy family in 
 Sidon, was the friend of Quintus Catulns, the 
 
 Roman consul, and lived to a good old age. — 
 Cicero speaks of his extraordinary facility in 
 pouring forth extempore verses. 
 
 ON A POPLAR NEAR THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 This plant is sacred. Passenger, beware ! 
 From every wound a mortal pang I bear, 
 My tender limbs support a virgin rind, 
 Not the rude bark that shades the forest kind ; 
 And, e'eii in tliese dark glens and pathless glades. 
 Their parent sun protects his poplar maids. 
 
 ON WINE. 
 The wizards, at my first nativity. 
 Declared, with one accord, I soon should die; 
 What if (o'er all impends that certain fate) 
 I visit gloomy Minos soon or late ? 
 Wine, like a racer, brings me there with ease. 
 The sober souls may walk it, if they please. 
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 
 Not the planet that, sinking in ocean. 
 
 Foretells future storms to our tars; 
 Not the sea, when in fearful commotion, 
 
 Its billows swell high to the stars; 
 Not the thunder, that rolls in October, 
 
 Is so hateful to each honest fellow, 
 As he, who remembers when sober. 
 
 The tales that were told him when mellow. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 Here sleeps a daughter by a mother's side ; 
 Nor slow disease nor war our fates allied ; 
 When hostile banners over Corinth waved. 
 Preferring death, we left a land enslaved! 
 Pierced by a mother's steel, in youth I bled, 
 She nobly joined me in my gory bod ; — 
 In vain ye forge your fetters for the brave, 
 Who fly for sacred freedom to the grave. 
 
 CONJUGAL AFFECTION. 
 
 See yonder blushing vine-tree grow, 
 
 And clasp a dry and withered p'ane, 
 And roimd its youthful tendril throw, 
 
 A shelter from the wind and rain. 
 That sap'ess tnmk, in former time, 
 
 Gave covert from the noontide blaze, 
 And taught the infant shoot to climb, 
 
 That now the pious debt repays. 
 And thus, kind powers, a partner give 
 
 '1 o share in my prosperity ; 
 Hang on my strength, while yet I live, 
 
 And do me honour when I die. 
 
 ON ERINNA. 
 Few were thy notes, Erinna, — short thy lay, — 
 
 But thy short lay the Muse herself hath given; 
 Thus never shall thy memory decay. 
 
 Nor night obscure the fame, which lives in 
 heaven ; 
 While we, the unnumbered bards of after-times, 
 
 Sink in the melancholy grave unseen, 
 Unhonoured reach Avernus" fabled climes. 
 
 And leave no record that we once have been. 
 
 ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CORINTH. 
 Where has thy grandeur, Corinth, shrunk from 
 
 sight. 
 Thine ancient treasures, and thy rampart's height, 
 Thy godlike fanes and palaces? — where 
 Thy mighty myriads and majestic fair? 
 Relentless war has poured aroimd thy wall. 
 And hardly spared the traces of thy fall. 
 We nymphs of Ocean deathless yet remain. 
 And sad and silent, sorrow near thy plain. 
 
 ON SAPPHO. 
 Does Sappho then beneath thy bosom rest, 
 ^olian earth ! — that mortal Muse confest 
 Inferior only to the choir above, 
 That foster-child of Venus and of Love, 
 Warm from whose lips divine Persuasion came 
 To ravish Greece and raise the Lesbian name ? 
 O ye ! who ever twine the threefold thread, 
 Ye Fates, why number with the silent dead 
 That mighty songstress, v\ hose unrivall'd powers 
 Weave for the Muse a crown of deathless flowers. 
 
 ON HOMER S BIRTH-PLACE. 
 From Colophon some deem thee sprung. 
 
 From Smyrna some, and some fioni Chios; 
 These, noble Salamis have sung. 
 
 While those proclaim ihee born in los ; 
 And others cry up Thessaly 
 The mother of the Lapitliae. 
 Thus each to Homer has assign'd 
 The birth-place just which suits his mind. 
 But, if I read the volume right, 
 
 By Pliajbiis to his followers given, 
 I'd say they're all mistaken quite. 
 
 And that his real cou' try's heaven: 
 While for his mother, she can be 
 No other than Calliope. 
 
ANTIPATER OF SIDON. 
 
 ON ORPHEUS. 
 No more, sweet Orpheus! shall thou lead along 
 Oalcs, rocks, and savag(> monsters with thy song, 
 Fotter the winds, the struggling hail-stonn chain, 
 The snowy desert soothe, and sounding main; 
 For thou art dead ; — the Muses o'er diy bier, 
 Sad as thy parent, jjour tlfe tuneful tear. 
 Weep we a child '? — Not e'en the gods can save 
 Their glorious offspring from the hated grave. 
 
 ON PINDAR. 
 
 As the loud triunpet to the goatherd's pipe, 
 So sounds thy lyre, all other sounds surpassing ; 
 
 Since round thy lips, in infant fullness ripe, 
 Swarm honied bees, their golden stores amass- 
 ing. 
 
 Thine, Pindar! be the palm, — by him decreed 
 Who holds on Mirnalus his royal sitting; 
 
 Who, for thy love, forsook his simple reed. 
 
 And hymns thy lays in strains a god befitting. 
 
 I. ON ANACREON. 
 Cnow, clustering ivy, where Anacreon lies; 
 There may soft buds from purple meadows 
 
 rise ; 
 Gush, milky springs, the poet's turf to lave, 
 And, fragrant wine, flow joyous from his grave ! 
 Thus charm'd, his bones shall press their narrow 
 
 bod. 
 If aught of pleasure ever reach the dead. 
 In these delights he soothed his age above, 
 His life devoting to the lyre and love. 
 
 The Same paraphrased. 
 Around the tomb, O bard divine, 
 
 Where soft thy hallowed brow reposes, 
 Long may the deathless ivy twine. 
 
 And summer pour her waste of roses! 
 And many a fount shall there distil. 
 
 And many a rill refresh the flowers; 
 But wine shall gush in every rill. 
 
 And every fount yield milky showers. 
 Thus — shade of him whom nature taught 
 
 To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure — 
 Who gave to love his warmest thought, 
 
 Who gave to love his fondest measure; 
 
 Thus — after death if spirits feel — 
 
 Thou may"st from odours round thee streaming, 
 A pulse of past enjoyment steal. 
 
 And live again in blissful dreaming. 
 
 II. ON ANACREON. 
 
 At length thy golden hours have winged their 
 flight. 
 And drowsy Death tliine eye-lid stocpeth ; 
 Tliy harp, that whispered through each lingering 
 night. 
 Now mutely in oblivion sleepelh. 
 
 She too, for whom that heart profusely shed 
 
 The purest nectar of its numbers. 
 She — the young spring of thy desires — has fled, 
 
 And with her blest Anacreon slumbers. 
 
 Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every dart 
 That Love could scatter from his quiver ; 
 
 And every woman found in thee a heart, 
 
 Which thou, with all thy soul, didst give her! 
 
 THE CURE FOR MISERY. 
 One fleecy ewe, one heifer, were the store 
 That drove dire want from Aristides' door. 
 He lost them both : his teeming heifer died ; 
 His single ewe the ravening wolf descried. 
 And bore away : thus all he had was gone. 
 Retiring to his silent hut alone. 
 The belt that bound his empty scrip he takes, 
 Fastens the noose, and wretched life forsakes. 
 
 THE HONEST SHEPHERD. 
 
 When hungry wolves had trespass'd on the 
 
 fold. 
 And the robb'd shepherd his sad story told, 
 "Call in Alcides," said a crafty priest, 
 "Give him one half, and he'll secure the rest." 
 No, said the shepherd, if the Fates decree, 
 By ravaging my flock, to ruin me. 
 To their commands I willingly resign ; 
 Power is their character, and patience mine : 
 Though, 'troth, to me there seems but little odds 
 Who prove the greatest robbers, — wolves or 
 
 gods. 
 
 AGAINST WATER-DRINKERS. 
 Bacchus found me yesterday. 
 As, at ray full length stretch'd, I lay, 
 Sated with the crystal tide — 
 The god stood frowning at my side. 
 And said — "Such sleep upon thee waits 
 As those attends whom Venus hates. 
 Say, idiot! didst thou never hear 
 Of one Hippolytus? — Beware! 
 His destiny may else be thine." 
 He left me then — the God of Wine ; 
 But ever since this thing befell, 
 I've loathed the notion of a well. 
 
 THE WIDOW'S OFFERING. 
 To Pallas, Lysistrata offered her tliimblo 
 And distaff, of matronly prudence the symbol: 
 "Take this too,"' she said; "then farewell, mighty- 
 queen ! 
 I'm a widow, and just forty winters have seen ; 
 So thy yoke I rtnioimce, and henceforward decree 
 To live witli Love's goddess, and prove that I'm 
 free. 
 
MELEAGER. 
 
 [About 100 B. C] 
 
 Of Meleager we know neither the country nor 
 parentage, nor indeed anything more than that 
 he was the first collector of an anthology, and, 
 (judging of him from those specimens of his own 
 
 works, which have escaped the ravages of time 
 and the yet more sweeping and indiscriminate 
 havoc of ignorance and bigotry,) no mean poet 
 himself. 
 
 CUPID WOUNDED. 
 
 Why weep'st thou, Cupid — thou, who steal'st 
 men's hearts, 
 And with their hearts their reason? — Tell me 
 why 
 Thou'st flung away thy cruel bow and darts, 
 An-d doff "d thy radiant wings ? — Has Lesbia's 
 eye. 
 Which beams on all resistless, pierced thy breast? 
 'Tis so — thy cause of sorrow stands confest; 
 And thou art doomed to suffer in thy turn. 
 And feel what torture 'lis with love to burn. 
 
 THE TYRANT LOVE. 
 
 At — tread on my neck, tyrant Cupid ! I swear, 
 Though so little, your weight is no trifle to bear: 
 But I laugh at your darts tipp'd with flaming 
 
 desire. 
 Since my heart, burnt to ashes, is proof against 
 
 fire. 
 
 THE KISS. 
 Timahion's kiss, like bird-lime, clings 
 
 About the happy lips it blesses ; 
 Her eye its sun-like radiance flings 
 
 Beneath her dark o'ershadowing tresses. 
 One look, fond lover, and you're burn'd ; 
 
 One touch, and all your strength is nouglit; 
 And Love himself this lesson learn'd, 
 
 Late in her nets, a captive caught. 
 
 THE DIN OF LOVE. 
 'Tis love, that murmurs in my breast. 
 
 And makes me shed the secret tear; 
 Nor day nor night my heart has rest. 
 
 For night and day his voice I hear. 
 
 A wound within my heart I find, 
 
 And oh! tis plain where Love has been, 
 
 For still he leaves a wound behind, 
 Such as within my heart is seen. 
 
 O bird of Love ! with song so drear, 
 Make not my soul the nest of pain ! 
 
 Oh, let the wing that brought thee here, 
 In pity waft thee hence again. 
 256 
 
 BEAUTY COMPARED WITH FLOWERS. 
 'Tis now that the white violet 
 
 steals out the spring to greet, 
 And that, among his longed-for showers, 
 
 narcissus smiles so sweet ; 
 'Tis now that lilies, upland-born, 
 
 frequent the slopes of green, 
 And that the flower which lovers love, 
 
 <.'f all the flowers the queen, 
 Without an equal any where, 
 
 in full-blown beauty glows — 
 Thou know'st it well, Zenophile ! 
 
 Persuasion's flower, the rose ! 
 Ah, why, ye hills and meadows, 
 
 should laughter thus illume 
 Your leafy haunts? So lavish why, 
 
 and prodigal of bloom ? 
 Not all the wreaths of all the flowers 
 
 that spring herself might cull. 
 As mine own maiden e'er could be 
 
 one half so beautiful ! 
 
 THE GIFTS OF THE GRACES. 
 
 The Graces, smiling, saw her opening charms, 
 And clasped Arista in their lovely arms. 
 Hence her resistless beauty; matchless sense; 
 The music of her voice ; the eloquence, 
 That, e'en in silence flashes from her face ; 
 All strikes the ravished heart — for all is grace: 
 List to my vows, sweet maid ! or from my view 
 Far, far away, remove ! In vain I sue ; 
 For, as no space can check the bolts of Jove, 
 No distance shields me from the shafts of Love. 
 
 THE GARLAND. 
 A FRESH garland will I braid 
 
 Of lilies blithe and fair. 
 Of the hyacinth's blue shade. 
 
 And the crocus's gold hair. 
 Of narcissus dewy-bright, 
 
 Of myrtle, never sere. 
 With the violet virgin white, 
 
 And sweet rose to lovers dear. — 
 — Thus, for Heliodora's hair. 
 
 Freshest, fairest flowers I've twin'd, 
 But none half so sw^eet, so fair. 
 
 As the dear, dear locks they'll bind. 
 
MELEAGER. 
 
 257 
 
 THE LIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 Gazixo on tliee, sweet maid ! all things I see— 
 For thou art the whole universe to me; 
 And, when thou'rt absent, to my vacant si<;ht, 
 Though all things else be present, all is night. 
 
 PANS LAMENTATION FOR DAPHNIS. 
 Faheweli., ye hills? ye sylvan scenes, farewell, 
 
 Which once my shaggy feet rejoiced to tread ! 
 No more with goats on mountain tops I'll dwell. 
 
 Half goat myself — no more the mazes thread 
 Of forest thicket, or of bosky dell: — 
 
 Daphnis — loved partner of my sports — is dead ; 
 And with him, all the joy he knew so well 
 
 To give my sylvan reign, for ever fled. 
 Scenes once beloved ! I quit ye ; to the chase 
 Let others hie — the town shall be Pan's dwelling 
 place. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A TAME HARE. 
 ToHjf from a tender mother's breast, 
 
 A tiny, prick-eared thing, 
 Me lovely Phanion carest. 
 
 And fed on flowers of spring. 
 Home, kin, forgot, — nor want, nor pain, 
 
 I knew beneath her care. 
 But over kindness was my bane 
 
 I died of dainty fare ! 
 And now, beside her maiden bower. 
 
 Entombed my ashes lie. 
 That, e'en in midnight's dreamy hour, 
 
 She still might have me nigh. 
 
 THE VICTIM. 
 The suppliant bull, to Jove's high altar led, 
 Bellows a prayer for his devoted head. 
 Spare him, Saturnius! — His the form you wore. 
 When fair Europa tln-ough the waves you bore. 
 
 EPITAPH ON ^SIGENES. 
 Hail, universal mother! lightly rest 
 
 On that dead form. 
 Which when with life invested, ne'er opprest 
 
 Its fellow worm. 
 
 THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 Farewell bright Phosphor, herald of the morn ! 
 Yet soon, in Hesper's name, again be born — 
 By steahh restoring, with thy later ray. 
 The charms thine early radiance drove away. 
 
 THE GIFTS OF THE GRACES. 
 
 The sister Graces for my fair 
 
 A triple garland wove, 
 When, with each other, they to make 
 
 A perfect mistress strove. 
 
 A tint to mock the rose's bloom; 
 A form like young Desire ; 
 33 
 
 A voice, whose melody out-breathea 
 The sweetness of the lyre. 
 
 Thrice happy fair! whom Venus arm'd 
 
 With Joy's extatic power. 
 Persuasion, with soft Eloquence, 
 
 And Love with Beauty's flower. 
 
 A KISS WITHIN THE CUP. 
 Blest is the goblet — oh. how blest! 
 Which Hcliodora's lips have prest. — 
 Oh, might those liiis but meet with mine. 
 My soul should melt away in thine. 
 
 THE SAILOR'S RETURN. 
 Help, help, my friends! — Just landed from the 
 
 main — 
 New to its toils, and glad to feel again 
 The firm rebounding soil beneatli my feet. 
 Love marks his prey, and with enforcement 
 
 sweet 
 Waving his torch before my dazzled eyes, 
 Drags me to where my queen of beauty lies. 
 Now on her steps I tread — and if in air 
 My fancy roves, I view her picture there, 
 Stretch my fond arms to fold her, and delight 
 With unsubstantial joys my rnvisli'd sprite. 
 Ah! vainly 'scaped the fearful ocean's roar, 
 To prove a fiercer hurricane on shore. 
 
 CUPIDS PEDIGREE. 
 Ask'st thou why Love's eyes, ev'n in laughter, 
 lower ? 
 Or whence his savage thirst for flames and 
 sword ? 
 Was not fierce Mars his mother's paramour. 
 And Vulcan, god of fire, her wedded lord? 
 
 The boy's his mother's son ; his pedigree 
 Explains too well his hate of human kind. 
 
 Who gave that mother birth ? — The foaming sea, 
 Whose surge rebellows to the lashing wind. 
 
 Who was his sire? — If e'er he had a sire 
 Is doubtful ; — but for this I will engage : 
 
 Mars gave him blood-stain'd arrows, Vulcan fire, 
 And Thetis fill'd him with her billowy rage. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 Love ! by the author of your race, 
 
 Of all your sweetest joys the giv^, 
 I vow to hurt) before your face. 
 
 Your arrows, bow, and Scythian quiver. 
 
 Yes — though you point your saucy chin, 
 And screw your nostrils like a satyr. 
 
 And show your teeth, and pout, and grin, 
 I'll burn them, boy, for all your clatter. 
 
 I'll clip your wings, boy, though they be 
 Heralds of joy; your legs I'll bind 
 
 With brazen bolts ; you sha'nt get free — 
 Alas! I have but caught the wind! 
 w2 
 
258 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 Oh ! what had I with Love to do — 
 
 A wolf among tlie shoeji-foUls roaiT)in<j. 
 There — lake your wini;s — put on your shoe, 
 And tell your playmates you are coming. 
 
 TO BACCHUS. 
 Bacchus! I yield me to tliy sway; 
 Master of revels, lead the way! 
 Conqueror of India's hurning plain, 
 My heart obeys thy chariot rein. 
 
 In flames conceiv'd, thou sure wilt prove 
 Indulgent to the fire of Love ; 
 Nor count me rebel, if I own 
 Allegiance to a doulile throne. 
 
 Alas! alas! that power so high 
 Should stoop to treacherous perfidy! 
 The mysteries of tliy hallowed shrine 
 I ne'er profan'd — Why publish mine? 
 
 THE LOVER'S MESSAGE. 
 Haste thee, Dorcas! haste and bear 
 This message to thy lady fair; 
 And say besides — nay, pray begone^ 
 Tell, tell her all — run, Dorcas, run! 
 
 Whither so fast? a moment stay; 
 Don't run with ha f your tale away; 
 I've more to tell — ah me ! I rave — 
 I know not what I'd do, or have. 
 Go, tell her all — whate'er you know, 
 Whate'er you think — go, Dorcas, go ! 
 But why a message send before, 
 When we're already at the door. 
 
 THE VOW. 
 
 In holy night we made the vow ; 
 
 And the same lamp, which long before 
 Had seen our early passion grow, 
 
 Was witness to the faith we swore. 
 
 Did I not swear to love her ever? 
 
 And have I ever dared to rove? 
 Did she not vow a rival jiever 
 
 Should shake her faith, or steal her love? 
 
 Yet now she says those w^ords were air. 
 Those vows were written all in water; 
 
 And, by the lamp that heard her swear. 
 Hath yielded to the first that sought her. 
 
 LOVE PROCLAIMED. 
 Otez ! Take notice ; Love, the runaway. 
 Fed from his bed-chambT at break of day. 
 The boy is an adept at wheedling, crying; 
 Talks much, is pv\ ift of foot, and given to lying. 
 Audacious, cimning, and ^vith malice fraught. 
 He laughs at mischiefs his own wiles have 
 
 wrought: 
 With wings foe flight equipp'd. and for attack 
 With darts, he bears n quiver at his back. 
 Who is his father I could neer discover — 
 Earth, sea, and air alike di.sown the rover. 
 
 He's every body's foe — ah, maids, beware! 
 Youths, too, take heed! For you he spreads the 
 
 snare. 
 But look! — Can I be wrong? — No; there I spy 
 The truant archer, hid in Lesbia's eye. 
 
 SALE OF CUPID. 
 Who'll buy a little boy? Look, yonder is he, 
 Fast aslee]), the sly rogue, on his mother's knee; 
 So bold a young imp 'tis not safe to keep, 
 So I'll part with him now, while he's sound 
 
 asleep. 
 See his a^ch little nose, how sharp it is curl'd, 
 His wings, too, even in sleep unfurl'd ; 
 And those fingers, which still ever ready are 
 
 found 
 For mirth or for mischief, to tickle or wound. 
 
 He'll try with his tears your heart to beguile. 
 But never you mind — he's laughing all the while; 
 For little he cares, so he has his own whim, 
 And weeping or laughing, 'tis all one to him. 
 His eye is as keen as the lightning's flash. 
 His tongue, like the red bolt, keen and rash ; 
 And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
 Is scarce, in his hands, more safe than another 
 
 In short, to sum up this prodigy's praise. 
 He's a dowiu-ight pest in all sorts of ways; 
 And if any one wants such an imp to employ. 
 He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
 But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow— 
 His eyes seem to ask. Could I sell him? Oh, no; 
 Sweet child, no, no — though so naughty you be ; 
 You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 
 
 TO THE BEE. 
 Wandering bee, who lov'st to dwell 
 In the vernal rose-bud's cell. 
 Wherefore leave t':y place of rest 
 To light on Heliodora's breast? 
 Is it thus you mean to show, 
 When flies the shaft from Cupid's bow, 
 What a sweet and bitter smart 
 It leaves within this wounded heart? 
 Yes, thou friend to lovers, yes— 
 I thy meaning well can guess — 
 'Tis a truth too soon we learn ;— 
 Go! with thy lesson home return. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS SLEEPING. 
 Thou sleep'st, soft silken flower! Would I were 
 
 sleep, 
 For ever on those lids my wateh to keep ! 
 So would I have thee all mine own, — or he, 
 Wlio seals Jove's wakeful eyes, my rival be. 
 
 LOVE, THE TENNIS-PLAYER, 
 Love acts the tennis-player's part, 
 J^nd throws to thee my panting heart; 
 Heliodora! ere it fall. 
 Let Desire catch swift the ball ; 
 
MELEAGER. 
 
 259 
 
 Let her in the ball-court move, 
 Fellow in the game with Love: 
 If thou throw me hack afjaiu, 
 I shall ol" foul play comiiluin 
 
 TO ZENOPHILE PLAYING ON THE LYRE. 
 'Tis a sweet strain, — hy Pan of Arra^ly ! 
 
 Which warbles from thy lyre with thrilling 
 sound : 
 Zcnophile, oh! how ean I be free, 
 
 When loves on every side enclose me round, 
 Forbidiling me to breathe a single hour 
 
 In peace, — since first lliy beauty, then thy lyre, 
 Tliy grace, and then .... Oh! words of feeble 
 j)ower, 
 
 Thy perfect all has set me all on fire. 
 
 THE RETURN OF SPRING IN GREECE. 
 Hdsh'd is the howl of wintry breezes wild ; 
 The purple hour of youthful spring has smiled: 
 A livelier verdure clothes the teeming earth; 
 Buds press to life, rejoicing in their birth; 
 The laughing meadows drink the dews of night, 
 And, fresh with opening roses, glad the sight: 
 In song the joyous swains responsive vie ; 
 Wild music floats, and mountain melody. 
 
 Adventurous seamen spread the enbosomed 
 sail 
 0"er waves light heaving to the western gale; 
 While village youths their brows with ivy twine, 
 And hail with song the promise of the vine. 
 
 In curious cells the bees digest their spoil, 
 W^lien vernal sunshine animates their toil. 
 And little birds, in warblitigs sweet and clear. 
 Salute thee, Maia, loveliest of the year: 
 Thee, on their deeps, the tuneful halcyons hail, 
 In streams the swan, in woods the nightingale. 
 
 If earth rejoices, with new verdure gay. 
 And shepherds pipe, and flocks exulting play. 
 And sailors roam, and Bacchus leads his throng. 
 And bees to toil, and birds awake to song. 
 Shall the glad bard be mute in tuneful spring, 
 And, wann with love and joy, forget to sing? 
 
 EPITAPH ON A YOUNG BRIDE. 
 Not Hymen, — it was Ades' self alone 
 That loosened Clearista's virgin zone : 
 And now the eveniiig flutes are breathing round 
 Her gate; the closing nuptial doors rei^ound. 
 The morning spousal song was raised — but, oh! 
 At once "twas silenced into ihrenes of woo ; 
 And tlie same torches, which the ijridal bod 
 Had lit, now showed the pathway to the dead. 
 
 x^nolher translation of the Same. 
 {/LF.KtiA, when she loosed her virgin zone, 
 
 Found in the nuptial bed an early grave; 
 Death claimd the bridegiooni's rig it; to death 
 alone 
 
 The treasure guarded for her spouse she gave. 
 To sweetest sounds the happy evening (led, 
 
 The (lute"s sol'l strain and liyitiene:il clioir ; 
 At m<irn sail bowlings echo round l!ie bud, 
 
 And the glad hymns on quivering lii)s e,\i)iro. 
 
 The very torches that at fall of night 
 
 Shed their bright radiance o'er the bridal room; 
 
 Those very torches, with the morning's light, 
 Conduct the victim to her silent tomb.* 
 
 EPITAPH ON CHARIXENUS. 
 Thee, poor CharixcMms ! in youth's first bloom, 
 Thy mother's hands— an offering to the tonilj — 
 Deek'd with the martial stole. The very stone 
 Made to thy moaning friends responsive moan. 
 As with the houseless corpse they sorrowing 
 
 went — 
 No hymeneal strain, but loud lament. 
 '•Ah me! that getitle bosom's bounteous store, 
 How ill re{)aid ! — How vain the pangs she bore!" 
 O Fate unfruitful! Maid of ruthless mind! 
 That giv'st a mother's yearnings to the wind! 
 Here friends can only wish, and parents weep, 
 And pitying strangers sanctify thy sleep. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Stili., like dew in silence falling, 
 
 Drops for thee the night Ij' tear; 
 
 Still that voice, the past recalling, 
 
 Dwells, like echo, on mine ear, 
 
 Still, still! 
 
 Day and night the spell hangs o'er me ; 
 
 Here, for ever fixed thou art; 
 As tliy Ibrm first shone before me, 
 
 So 'tis graven on this heart, 
 Deep, deep ! 
 
 Love, oh love, whose bitter sweetness 
 Dooms me to this lasting pain ; 
 
 Thou, who cam'st with so much fieetness, 
 Why so slow to go again 1 
 Why? Why? 
 
 EPITAPH ON HELIODORA. 
 Teaus, Heliodora! on thy tomb I shed. 
 
 Love's last libation to the shades below; 
 Tears, bitter tears, by fond renicnubrance fed, 
 
 Are all that Fate now leaves me to bestow. 
 
 "Vain sorrows! vain regrets! yet, loveliest, thee, 
 Thee still they follow in the silent urn. 
 
 Retracing hours of social converse i'rcc, 
 And soft endearments never to return. 
 
 ♦ So in Shakspcare's "Romeo and .Iiiliel :" — 
 "All things that we ordain for foslival, 
 Turn fioiii llKiir olfice to hlack funeral: 
 Our ins^lriniienls to nieluncholy hells ; 
 Our weildina cheer to a sail hiirial feast; 
 Our goleuin liyiuiis lo sullen riirses change ; 
 Our brid.il flowers serve for a buried corse." 
 
 .^cf iv.. Scene v. 
 And likewise Iterrick in his lines '- lljiou a niuid (hat 
 (lied the day she was married." 
 
 "That miirne which saw me made a liride, 
 The evening; wilnessi thai I dird. 
 Thoce hilly lii'his. wherewith they guide 
 Unto the i>ed Ihe liaxhfiil hride, 
 Serv'd liul as lajiers for lo hurne, 
 And lisht my ri-lii|ues lo iheir urne." 
 " El face |)r<) ihalami fax inihi mortis adesl." — Otid. 
 
260 
 
 MELEAGER, 
 
 How thou art torn, sweet flower, that smiled so 
 fair! 
 
 Torn, and thy honour'd bloom with dust defiled ; 
 Yet, holy Earth, accept my suppliant prayer, 
 
 And in a mother's arms enfold thy child. 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 Tears o'er my Helidora's grave I shed, 
 Aftection's fondest tribute to the dead. 
 Oh, flow, my bitter sorrows oer her shrine. 
 Pledge of the love that bound her soul to mine ! 
 Break, break, my heart, o'ercharged with bursting 
 
 woe, 
 An empty ofl'ering to the shades below. 
 Ah, plant regretted ! Death's remorseless power 
 With dust ungrateful choked thy full-blown 
 
 flower ! 
 Take, Earth, the gentle inmate to thy breast, 
 And, soft entombed, bid Heliodora rest. 
 
 THE DAUGHTERS OF LYCAMBES. 
 Bt Pluto's hand we SM'ear — an awful sign — 
 And the dark bed of gloomy Proserpine, 
 Pure went we to our graves, whateer of shame 
 And vile reproach against our virgin fame 
 That bitter bard poured forth, in strains refined 
 Cloaking the foulness of his slanderous mind. 
 Muses, in our despite why favour thus 
 The false Iambics of Archilochus ?* 
 
 THE LOVER'S MESSAGE. 
 Sea-wanderino barks, that o'er the JEgean sail. 
 With pennants streaming to the northern gale, 
 If, in your course, the Coan strand ye reach. 
 And see my Phanion musing on the beach, 
 With eye intent upon the placid sea, 
 And constant heart that only beats for me, — 
 Tell the dear maid, that mindful of her charms, 
 Her lover hastens to her longing arms. 
 Go, heralds of my soul! to Phanion's ear 
 On all your shrouds the tender accents bear ! 
 So Jove shall calm with smiles the wave below. 
 And bid for you his softest breezes blow. 
 
 THE COMPARISON. 
 
 The snowdrop peeps from every glade. 
 
 The gay narcissus proudly glows. 
 The lily decks the mountain shade. 
 
 Where blooms my fair — a blushing rose. 
 Ye meads ! why vainly thus display 
 
 The buds that grace your vernal hour ? 
 For see ye not my Zoe stray. 
 
 Amidst your sweets, a sweeter flower ? 
 
 EPITAPH ON MELEAGER OF GADARA.j 
 Tire was my Island-nurse — an Attic race 
 I boast, though Gadara my native place, — 
 
 * The daughters of Lycambes, driven to suicide by the 
 Iambics of Archilochus, attest the falsity of the charges 
 alleged against them by the malicious poet ; complaining, 
 at the same time, of the assistance given him by the 
 Muses in his base undertaking. 
 
 t Probably an ancestor of the poet's. 
 
 Herself an Athens. Eucrates I claim 
 
 For sire, and Meleager is my name. 
 
 From cliiklhood, in the Muse was all my pride: 
 
 I sang; and with Menippus, side by side, 
 
 Urged my poetic chariot to the goal. 
 
 And why not Syrian ? — to the free-born soul 
 
 Our country is the w^orld ; and all on earth 
 
 One universal chaos brought to birth. 
 
 Now old, and heedful of th' approaching doom ; 
 
 These lines in memory of my parted bloom, 
 
 I on my picture trace, as on my tomb. 
 
 NIOBE. 
 Daughters of Tantalus, lorn Niobe, 
 Sad are the tidings ■which I bear to thee, — 
 Words fraught with woe : — ay, now unbind thy 
 
 hair, 
 The streaming signal of thy wild despair : 
 For Phcebus' darts, grief-pointed, reek with gore, 
 Alas ! alas ! — thy sons are now no more. 
 But what is this '} What means this oozing flood ? 
 Her daughters, too, are weltering in their blood. 
 One clasps a mother's knees ; one clings around 
 Her neck; and one lies prostrate on the ground ; 
 One seeks her breast; one eyes the coming woe 
 And shudders; one, in tremor, crouches low; 
 The seventh is breathing out her latest sigh, 
 And life-in-death seems flickering from that eye. 
 She — the woe-stricken mother, reft, alone ; 
 Erst full of words — is now mute, stiffened stone. 
 
 MUSIC AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Bt the God of Arcadia, so sweet are the notes 
 Which tremulous fall from my Rhodope's lyre ; 
 
 Such melody swells in her voice, as it floats 
 On the soft midnight air, that my soul is on fire. 
 
 Oh, where can I fly ? The young Cupids around 
 me 
 Gaily spread their light wings, all my footsteps 
 pursuing ; 
 Her eyes dart a thousand fierce lustres to wouird 
 me. 
 And music and beauty conspire my undoing.* 
 
 TO THE CICADA. 
 
 Oh shrill-voiced insect! that, with dew-drops 
 sweet 
 
 Inebriate, dost in desert woodlands sing; 
 Perch'd on the spray-top with indented feet. 
 
 Thy dusky body's echoings, harp-like, ring. 
 Come, dear Cicada! chirp to all the grove. 
 
 The nymphs, and Pan, a new responsive strain; 
 That I, in noonday sleep, may steal from love. 
 
 Reclined beneath this dark o'erspreadiug plane. 
 
 * Peace, Chloris, peace, or singing die ! 
 That together you and I 
 To heaven may go ; 
 For all we know 
 Of what the blessed do above, 
 Is that ihey sing, and that they \ove.— Waller. 
 
ARCHIAS. 
 
 [About 100 B. C] 
 
 A NATIVE of Antioch and preceptor and friend of Cicero, who composed one of his most cele- 
 brated orations in his defence. 
 
 ON A GRASSHOPPER. 
 Erst on the fir's green, blooming branch, 
 
 grasshopper, "twas thine 
 To sit, or on the shady spray 
 
 Of the dusky, tufted pine ; 
 And from thy hollow, well-winged sides 
 
 To sound the blithesome strain, 
 Sweeter than music of the lyre 
 
 To the simple shepherd swain. 
 But thee alas ! now overcome 
 
 By ants that haunt the road. 
 The cave of Pluto now conceals, 
 
 That unforeseen abode. 
 Yet still thy fate may be forgiven, 
 
 Since the vulgar fisher-throng 
 By their riddle slew Mtronides, 
 
 The very prince of song.* 
 
 * Homer, (according to the absurd story here alluded 
 to,) whilst sitting on a rock by the sea-shore, in the 
 island of lo, observed some fisher-lads in a boat, and 
 asked them if they had any thing ■? To which the young 
 wags, (who, having had no sport, had been diligently 
 catching, and killing as many as they could catch, of cer- 
 tain personal companions of a race not even yet extinct,) 
 replied — "As many as we caught, we left; and as many 
 as we could not catch we carry with us" — 
 
 The catastrophe was, that Homer, being utterly unable 
 to grasp the meaning of this riddle, broke his heart out 
 of pure vexation. 
 
 ON AN OLD RACE HORSE. 
 Me, at AlphfKus wreathed, and twice the theme 
 Of heralds, by Castalia's sacred stream, — 
 Me, Isthmus' and Nemaha's trumpet-tongue 
 Hailed fleet as winged storms! — I then was 
 
 young. 
 Alas! wreaths loathe me now: and Eld hath 
 
 found 
 An outcast trundling mill-stones round and 
 
 round. 
 
 ON A SHIPWRECKED MARINER. 
 I, Theris, wreck'd and cast a corse on shore, 
 Still shudder at old Ocean's ceaseless roar. 
 For here, beneath the clitTso'ershadowing gloom, 
 Close by its waves have strangers dug my tomb. 
 Hence still its roaring, reft of life, I hear; 
 Its hateful surge still thunders in my ear. 
 For ine alone, by Fate unrespited. 
 Remains no rest to soothe me — even though dead. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Thracians! who howl around an infant's birth, 
 And give the funeral hour to songs of mirth 
 'Well in your grief and gladness are exprest, 
 That Life is labour, and that Death is rest 
 
 PHILODEMUS. 
 
 [About 90 B. C] 
 
 Philodemus was by birth a Gadarene, but I nected with Piso, and is particularly men- 
 migrated in early life to Athens, and afterwards tioned by Cicero in his oration against that 
 to Rome. Here he became intimately con- 1 nobleman. 
 
 YOUTHFUL BEAUTY. 
 
 Not yet the blossoms of the spring decay 'd. 
 Nor full the swelling treasures of the vine ; 
 
 But the young loves prepare their darts, sweet 
 maid, 
 And light their fires upon thy virgin shrine. 
 
 Oh, let us fly, whilst yet unstrung their bows, 
 
 And yet conceal'd, the future splendour glows. 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Mr Helen is little and brown ; but more tender 
 Than the cygnet's soft down, or the plumage 
 of doves ; 
 And her form, like the ivy, is graceful and 
 slender. 
 Like the ivy entwined round tlie tree that it 
 loves. 
 
 261 
 
262 
 
 ZONAS OF SARDIS. 
 
 Her voice — not thy cestus, goddess of plea- 
 sure, 
 Can so melt with desire or with ecstasy burn ; 
 Her kindness unbounded, she gives without 
 measure 
 To her languishing lover, and asks no return. 
 Such a girl is my Helen — then never, ah never, 
 Let my amorous heart, mighty Venus, forget 
 her, 
 Oh grant me to keep my sweet mistress for ever, 
 — For ever — at least, till you send me a better! 
 
 A freer paraphrase of the Same. 
 Mt Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown, 
 But her skin is as smooth as the peach's soft 
 down. 
 And, for blushing, no rose can come near her; 
 In short she has woven such nets round my 
 
 heart,— 
 That I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can 
 part, — 
 Unless I can find one that's dearer. 
 Her voice has a music that dwells on the ear. 
 And her eye from its orb gives a day-light so 
 clear, 
 That I'm dazzled whenever I meet her ; 
 Her ringlets so curly, are Cupid's own net. 
 And her lips, — oh ! their sweetness I ne'er shall 
 forget — 
 Till I light upon lips that are sweeter. 
 
 But 'tis not her beauty that charms me alone, 
 'Tis her mind, 'tis that language, whose eloquent 
 tone 
 From the depths of the grave could revive one ; 
 
 In short, here I swear, that if death were my 
 
 doom, 
 I would instantly join my dead love in the 
 tomb, — 
 Unless I could meet with a tive one. 
 
 INVITATION TO THE ANNIVERSARY OF 
 EPICURUS. 
 
 To-MOHROW, Piso, at the evening hour. 
 Thy friend will lead thee to his simple bower. 
 To keep with feast our annual twentieth 
 night : 
 If there you miss the flask of Chian wine, 
 Yet hearty friends you'll meet, and, while you 
 dine. 
 Hear strains, like those in which the gods de- 
 light. 
 And, if you kindly look on us the while, 
 We'll reap a richer banquet from thy smile. 
 
 ON A FRIEND. 
 
 Still bloom my roses, still my garden bears 
 Its ripening load of plums and juicy pears ; 
 Herbs and young shrubs put forth their vigorous 
 
 shoots, 
 And mingled fragrance breathes from flowers 
 
 and fruits. 
 But in yon much-loved bower I sit no more, 
 Yon bower of myrtles that o'erlooks the shore^ 
 There sat my friend and laughed his cares 
 
 away 
 But yesternight — a senseless corse to-day. 
 
 ZONAS OF SARDIS. 
 
 Strabo mentions two of this name and country; one distinguished for his military talents in the 
 war of Mithridates; the other, a contemporary and friend of his own, in the reign of Tiberius. 
 
 ON A SHIPWRECKED MARINER. 
 Accept a grave in these deserted sands, 
 That on thy head I strew with pious hands ; 
 For to these wintry crags no mother bears 
 The decent rites, or mourns thee with her tears. 
 Yet, on the frowning promontory laid, 
 Some pious dues, Alexis, please thy shade ; 
 A little sand beside the sounding wave, 
 Moisten'd with flowing tears, shall be thy grave. 
 
 TO THE BEES. 
 Yk nimble, honey-making bees, 
 
 the flowers are in their prime ; 
 
 Come now and taste the little buds 
 
 of sweetly-breathing thyme ; 
 Or tender poppies all so fair, 
 
 or bits of raisins sweet. 
 Or down that decks the apple-tribe, 
 
 or fragrant violet: 
 Come nibble on, your vessels store 
 
 ■«'ith honey while you can, 
 In order that the hive-protecting, 
 
 bee-preserving Pan 
 May have a tasting for himself; 
 
 and that the hand so rude. 
 That cuts away the combs, may leave 
 
 for yourselves a little food. 
 
ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA 
 
 A DISTINGUISHED court-poet, in the reigns of Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula. 
 
 THE SEPARATION. 
 O HATEFUL bird of morn, whose harsh alarms 
 Drive me thus early from Chrysilla's arms. 
 Old age has sprinkled Tithon's brow with snow, 
 No more his veins in ruddy currents flow; 
 How cold his sense, his withered heart how dead. 
 Who drives so soon a goddess from his bed. 
 
 A WISH. 
 O THAT we had the art to know 
 Each man by more than outward show ; 
 To ope the door of every breast 
 
 And see the soid's most secret place, — 
 Then close it fast, and, thus possest, 
 
 Cling to our friends with strict embrace. 
 
 GREEK POETESSES. 
 
 These the maids of heavenly tongue, 
 Rear'd Pierian cliffs among : 
 Anyte, as Homer strong, 
 Sappho, star of Lesbian song; 
 Erinna, famous Telesilla, 
 Myro fair, and fair Praxilla; 
 Corinna, — she, that sang of yore. 
 The dreadful shield Minerva bore. — 
 Myrtis sweet, and Nossis, known 
 For tender thought and melting tone ; 
 Framers all of deathless pages, 
 Joys, that live for endless ages — 
 Nine the muses famed in heaven. 
 And nine to mortals earth has given. 
 
 CRINAGORAS. 
 
 A ITATITE of Mitylene, and a court-poet and client in the family of Augustus and his successor. 
 
 ON AN IMAGE OF CUPID BOUND. 
 Perfidious wretch! well may you cry. 
 And wring your hands, and sob and sigh: 
 For who your advocate will be? 
 Who now from chains will set you free? 
 You oft, by causeless doubts and fears. 
 From other eyes have forced the tears, 
 And by your bitter-biting darts, 
 Instill'd love's poison in our hearts. 
 You oft have langh'd at human bale ; 
 But now your arts, elusive, fail. 
 And justice will at last prevail. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 Let's fly, my love, from noonday's beam, 
 And plunge us in yon cooling stream ; 
 Then, hastening to the festal bower. 
 We'll pass in mirth the evening hour : 
 'Tis thus our age of bliss shall fly. 
 As sweet, though passing, as that sigh, 
 Which seems to whisper o'er your lip ;— 
 "Come, while you may, of rapture sip." 
 For age will steal the graceful form. 
 Will chill the pulse, while throbbing warm. 
 
 And death — alas! that hearts which thrill 
 Like yours and mine, should e'er be still. 
 
 THE BRIDAL OFFERING. 
 
 Chiiuiien of spring, but now in wintry snow, 
 We purple roses for Calista blow. 
 Duteous we smiled upon her natal morn; 
 Her bridal bed to-morrow we adorn. 
 Oh, sweeter far to bloom our little day. 
 Wreathed in her hair, than wait the sunny May. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A SOLDIER, 
 
 IX THE ARMT OF GEllMAyiCUS. 
 
 Let Cynegeirus' name, renowned of yore. 
 And brave Othryades be heard no more! 
 By Rhine's swoln wave Italian Arrius lay 
 Transfix'd with wounds, and sobbd his soul 
 
 away. 
 But seeing Rome's proud eagle captive led. 
 He started from the ghastly heaps of dead. 
 The captor slew, the noble prize brought home. 
 And found death only not to be o'ercome. 
 
 263 
 
ANTIPHILUS. 
 
 A NATIVE of Byzantium, who flourished under Nero, and from his time to that of Domitian. 
 
 ON AN ANCIENT OAK. 
 Hail, venerable boughs, that in mid sky, 
 Spread broad and deep your leafy canopy! 
 Hail, cool, refreshing shade, abode most dear 
 To the sun-wearied traveller, wand'ring near! 
 Hail, close inwoven bow'rs, fit dwelling place 
 For insect tribes, and man's imperial race ! 
 Me too reclining in your green retreat. 
 Shield from the blazing day's meridian heat. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF MEDEA, 
 
 - BX TIMOMACHUS. 
 
 When bold Timomachus essay'd to trace 
 
 The soul's emotions in the varying face. 
 
 With patient tliought, and faithful hand, he 
 
 strove 
 To blend with jealous rage maternal love. 
 Behold Medea! Envy must confess 
 In both the passions his complete success. 
 Tears in each threat — a threat in every tear, 
 The mind with pity warm, or chill with fear. 
 
 The dread suspense I praise, the critic cries; 
 Here all the judgment, all the pathos, lies; 
 To stain with filial blood the guilty scene, 
 Had inarr'd the artist, but became the queen. 
 
 ON A BEE'S NEST. 
 O beautiful Bee-homestead 
 
 with many a waxen cell. 
 Self-built — for hanging, so it seems, 
 
 that airy citadel ! 
 An unbought blessing to man's life, 
 
 which neither plough, noi hoe, 
 Nor axe, nor crooked sickle, 
 
 is needed to bestow ; 
 A tiny vessel — and no more — 
 
 wherein the busy bee 
 From its small body, liquid sweets 
 
 distilleth lavishly. 
 Rejoice, ye blessed creatures ! 
 
 regaling while ye rove. 
 Winged workers of Nectareous food, 
 
 on all the flowers ye love. 
 
 LEONIDAS OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 A POET, who flourished under the emperor I youth to study, and spent his after years in habits 
 Nero, and from his times to those of Hadrian, of intimacy with the first literary characters of 
 He speaks of himself as having devoted his | Rome. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT 
 
 PLATrjfG NEAR A PRECIPICE. 
 
 While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels, 
 And the blue vales a thousand joys recall. 
 
 See, to the last, last verge her infant steals ! 
 fly — yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall. — 
 
 Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare. 
 
 And the fond boy springs back to nestle there. 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER TO HIS FRIENDS. 
 That soul, which vanquish'd war could never 
 
 win. 
 Now yields reluctant to a foe within. 
 Oh, seize the sword ! grant me a soldier's due, 
 And thus Disease shall own my triumph too. 
 264 
 
 ON THE VENUS ANADYOMENE OF 
 APELLES. 
 When from the bosom of her parent flood 
 She rose, refulgent with the encircling brine, 
 Apelles saw Cythera's form divine. 
 And fix'd her breathing image where it stood. 
 
 Those graceful hands, entwined, that wring the 
 spray 
 From her ambrosial hair, proclaim the truth; 
 Those speaking eyes, where amorous lightnings 
 play. 
 Those swelling heavens, the harbingers of 
 youth ; 
 The rival powers behold with fond amaze. 
 And yield submission in the conscious gaze. 
 
PHILIP OF THESSALONICA.— PARMENION. 
 
 2G5 
 
 ON THE VOTIVE IMAGE OF A LION. 
 
 Ix the dark winter's night, while all around 
 The furious hail-storm clatters on the ground, 
 While every field is deep in drifted snow, 
 And Boreas bids his bitterest tempests blow, 
 A solitary lion, gaunt and grim, 
 Ravenous with cold, and numb'd in every limb, 
 Stalks to the goat-herd's miserable shed. 
 From the rude air to shield his storm-beat head. 
 The astonish'd natives of this lonely spot 
 ■With cries of stilled horror fill the cot : 
 
 No more their numerous herds demand their care, 
 While for themselves they pour the broken prayer, 
 And call the ISaviour Jove, as fix'd they stand. 
 Together press'd, a trembling, shuddering band. 
 Meanwhile the lordly savage, safe and warm, 
 Stays through the pelting of the wintry storm, 
 Then caltuly quits the whole anVighted horde, 
 And leaves their meal untouch'd upon the board. 
 In grateful memory of so rare a fate. 
 The swains to Jove this ofi'ering consecrate, 
 And still, suspended from the oak-tree show, 
 This faithful image of their generous foe. 
 
 PHILIP OF THESSALONICA. 
 
 The second collector of epigrams, flourished about 150 years after Meleager, and the 60th year 
 
 of the Christian era. 
 
 ON A VINE. 
 Who has that unripe cluster torn, 
 
 And thrown, with wrinkled lip, away. 
 And left the parent vine to mourn 
 
 Her fruit to barbarous hands a prey ? 
 May Bacchus on the spoiler turn 
 
 His fiercest rage, and bitterest smart ; 
 His head with fever'd frenzy burn. 
 
 With agony distract his heart. 
 For hence some transitory pleasure 
 
 The child of misery might have found; 
 Burst into song of wildest measure. 
 
 And quaff 'd oblivion of his wound. 
 
 ON A BRONZE STATUE 
 
 OF THE HITER EUROTAS. 
 
 Pltjitged by the sculptor in a bath of flame, 
 Yet in his native bed the god appears : 
 
 The watery veil yet hangs o'er all his frame, 
 And every pore distils the crystal tears. 
 How great the victory of art that gave 
 To brass the trembling moisture of the wave ! 
 
 ON A YOUNG MAID, 
 
 WHO DIED THE DAT OF HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 The flute now sounded in the bridal room 
 Of fair Nicippus, and the joyous throng 
 
 Danced to the Hymenean, when, sad doom ! 
 Loud lamentation drowned the spousal song. — 
 
 The wedded maiden lies — a stricken corse. 
 Grim Ades, while the widowed husband 
 sheds 
 Those bitter tears, oh ! hast thou no remorse, — 
 Pleased though thou be with weeping bridal 
 beds? 
 
 PARMENION. 
 
 [About 60 A. D] 
 
 A Macedoxian by birth, and a contemporary of Philip, the second collector of the Anthology 
 
 ON THE DEFEAT OF XERXES AT 
 THERMOPYL^. 
 Him, who reversed the laws great nature gave, 
 I Sail'd o'er the continent, and walk'd the wave, 
 
 i ^J 
 
 Three hundred spears from Sparta's iron plain. 
 Have stoppd — oh blush, ye mountains, and thou 
 main. 
 
XENOCRITUS OF RHODES. 
 
 ON A DAUGHTER DROWNED AT SEA. 
 
 Cold on the wild wave floats thy virgin form, 
 Drench'd are thine auburn tresses by tlie storm, 
 Poor lost Eliza ! in the raging sea, 
 Gone was my every joy and hope with thee ! 
 
 These sad recording stones thy fate deplore, 
 Thy bones are ■wafted to some distant shore; 
 What bitter sorrows did thy father prove. 
 Who brought thee, destined for a bridegroom's love! 
 Sorrowing he came — nor to the youth forlorn 
 Consign'd a maid to love, or corpse to mourn. 
 
 MARCUS ARGENTARIUS. 
 
 " Perhaps," says Mr. Merivale, " the Greek rhetorician mentioned by Seneca ; or perhaps, the Marcus 
 Byzantinus noticed by Philostratus in the life of ApoUonius." 
 
 ON A SON DROWNED AT SEA. 
 
 Her hapless son, now buried in the deep, 
 Along the shore Lysidice must weep 
 With wailing multitudinous, while she 
 Eyes this vain cenotaph, and thinks of me, 
 Pythagoras whose corpse the gods ordain 
 To float with sea-fowl on the heaving main. 
 The blue .lEgean, where my doom was pass'd, 
 While striving to resist the northern blast. 
 But not e'en thus were all my wanderings o'er. 
 My bark I left for that which seeks the Stygian 
 shore. 
 
 THE LEAN LO^'ERS. 
 Dear Lyce, thou art wond'rous thin, 
 And I'm a bag of bones and skin ; 
 
 Yet thou'rt to me a Venus ! 
 Fat lovers have not half our bliss; 
 Our very souls each other kiss, 
 
 For there's no flesh between us. 
 
 THE TEST OF LOVE. . 
 
 Call it not a test of love 
 If sun-like beauty lights the flame. 
 
 Beauty every heart can move ; 
 
 It delights the gods above. 
 And is to all tlie same. 
 
 But if thy fond doting eye 
 Has taught thy heart a different creed ; 
 
 If for wrinkled age you'll sigh, 
 
 Or adore deformity. 
 Then you must love indeed. 
 
 iEMILIANUS NIC^US. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT 
 
 SUCKIXG AT THE BREAST OF ITS DYING MOTHER. 
 
 ■ Pictura est, oppldo capto, ad Matris tnorientis e viilnere mammam adrepens infans: intelligiturque sentire mater, 
 et tiiiiere ne emortuo lacte sanguineni infans lambat. — Plin. 
 
 Suck, little wretch, wliile yet thy mother lives! 
 Svxck the last drop her fainting bosom gives ! 
 She dies — her tenderness survives her breath, 
 And her fond love is provident in death. 
 
TULLIUS GEMINUS. 
 
 ON TIIEMISTOCLES. 
 
 GiiEECK bo the monnment: aronnd lier tlirow 
 The brolcen trophies of the Persian fleet; 
 
 Inscribe the gods that led tiie insiiltinic foe, 
 And mighty Xerxes at the tablet's feet. 
 
 There hiy Theinistocles — to spread his fame 
 A lasting coinnm Salainis shall be; 
 
 Raise not, wealc man, to that immortal name 
 The little records of mortality. 
 
 ONESTUS. 
 
 Called a Corinthian in the titles to his epigrams. Reiske supposes his true name to have been 
 
 Onesias. 
 
 THE DIFFICULTY AND REWARD OF 
 SCIENCE. 
 
 'Tis hard Parnassus to ascend, 
 But at the top there is a fount 
 
 Shall well reward you at the end 
 For all the pains you took to mount. 
 
 'Tis hard to reach the top of science, 
 But, when arriv'd, securely breathe ; 
 
 To pride and envy bid defiance, 
 
 Nor heed the storm that growls beneath. 
 
 HELICON. 
 
 As nectar, welling from the holy fount 
 Of Hippocrene, doth the spirit cheer 
 
 Of him, who up tlie Heliconian mount 
 
 Hath toil'd, until its crest at length is near ; 
 
 Such is the steep of song; but gain that height, 
 
 And every muse will grace thee with delight. 
 
 LUCIAN. 
 
 [Bom about 90— Died 180, A. D.] 
 
 A WELL-KiToww Greek writer, born at Samo- 
 sata in Syria. He was bred a sculptor, but 
 afterwards devoting himself to literature, and 
 becoming an author, acquired by Lis writings 
 
 such favour with the emperor Marcus Au- 
 relius, as to be appointed by liim to the Re- 
 gistrarship of Egypt. He died at the age of 
 ninety. 
 
 TO A WORN-OUT BELLE. I THE PHYSICIAN AND HIS SON. 
 
 Yes, you maychange your liair,but not your age, ' His darling son a certain doctor brought, 
 
 Nor smoothe alas! the wrinkles of your face; 
 Yes, you may varnish o"er the tell-tale page 
 
 And wear a mask for every vauislrd grace: 
 But there's an end. No Hecuba by aid 
 Of rouge and ceruse is a Helen made. 
 
 To be by me in the belles lillies tauglit. 
 The lad began — "Achilles' wrath, tlie spring 
 Of woes uniuuubcreil, heavenly goddess, sing'' — 
 When to the following line he ownward went^ 
 " Of souls to Hades prematurely sent.'' 
 
 267 
 
268 
 
 DIONYSIUS. 
 
 " Hold," said the leech, " no use in this I see ; 
 Such lesson he may learn as well of me. 
 Who souls to Hades prematurely send 
 Without the aid of grammar-rules, my friend. 
 
 TO A LONG-BEARDED COXCOMB. 
 
 If beards long and bushy true wisdom denote, 
 Then Plato must bow to a hairy he-goat ! 
 
 PLEASURE AND PAIN. 
 Ix pleasure's bowers whole lives unheeded fly; 
 But to the wretch one night's eternity. 
 
 AN ENIGMA. 
 Hater of poverty and scourge of those 
 Who live in wealth and indolent repose ; 
 Borne on another's feet and not thine own. 
 Thou sittest where the poor are never known ; 
 
 Wreath'd and perfum'd, the all-delighted guest 
 Art thou where Mirth and Bacchus rule the feast, 
 And hovering ever at the rich man's door, 
 Thou shunn'st the humble dwelling of the poor.* 
 
 EPITAPH ON A CHILD. 
 Weep not, though thus, in life's fifth year, 
 
 I fall, Death's early due: 
 If few the joys allow'd me here, 
 
 My sorrows were as few. 
 
 * The gout is treated in much the same way by Mar- 
 tial. Ixii. 17: — " Qiiare tarn multis a le, Lentine, diebus," 
 &c., and its parentage is not unphilosophically given in 
 the following distich by Hedylus : — 
 
 AiiTt/jilKcv; BaJC^w an) AutTijuiK(iu; A<plioJiT>tC 
 Fsvi'aTal BuyaTUfi, Kua^lfAiKK TlitSdypx. 
 Says limb-relaxing Bacchus to limb-relaxing Venus, 
 A daughter, limb-relaxing Gout, is now begot between us. 
 
 DIONYSIUS. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 1 WISH I could, like Zephyr, steal 
 
 To wanton o'er thy mazy vest ; 
 And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-veil, 
 
 And take me panting to thy breast! 
 I wish I might a rose-bud grow. 
 
 And thou wouldst cull me from the bower, 
 To place me on that breast of snow. 
 
 Where I should bloom, a wintry-flower. 
 I wish I were the lily's leaf. 
 
 To fade upon that bosom warin ; 
 Content to wither, pale and brief. 
 
 The trophy of thy fairer form. 
 
 HYMN TO APOLLO. 
 
 Keep silence now, with reverential awe. 
 Wide aether, and ye mountains, and ye meads. 
 With earth, and sea, and every breeze, and 
 
 sound. 
 And voice of tuneful bird — be silent all ; 
 For Phoebus, with his beaming locks unshorn, 
 Descends among us — on a stream of song. 
 Sire of Aurora, — her whose eyelids fair 
 Are of the braided snow — her rosy car. 
 Along the boundless ridge of heaven's expanse, 
 Drawn by those winged steeds, thou urgest 
 on — 
 
 Exulting in thy curls of flaming gold. 
 
 Thy coronal are rays of dazzling light 
 Revolving much, and pouring on the earth, 
 From their blest fountains, splendours ever 
 
 bright : 
 While of thy rivers of immortal fire 
 DAY, the beloved, is born. 
 
 For thee, the choirs 
 Of tranquil stars perform their mystic round 
 O'er heaven's imperial pavement; — with thy 
 
 lyre. 
 Oh ! Phcebus, warbling forth its ceaseless notes — 
 Delighted : — 
 
 While the Moon serenely clear, 
 Borne onward in her steer-drawn team of light, 
 Heralds the changeful seasons — and her heart 
 With pleasure glows — while clothing dfedal earth 
 With beauteous vestments of a various hue. 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 The kiss, that she left on my lip. 
 
 Like a dew-drop, shall lingering lie ; 
 'Twas nectar she gave me to sip, 
 
 'Twas nectar I drank in her sigh. 
 From the moment she printed that kiss, 
 
 Nor reason nor rest has been mine. 
 My soul has been drunk with the bliss, 
 
 And feels a delirium divine. 
 
PHILOSTRATUS. 
 
 [About 2O0 A. D.] 
 
 This writer, who lived at the court of the 
 pinperors Septimius Severus and Alexander, is 
 inontioned here from hid connection with the 
 
 following popular song of Ben Jonson's ; of 
 which Cumberland was the first, I believe, to 
 discover the origin. See Obsci-ver, No. cix. 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 DnixK to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss within the cup, 
 
 And I'll not ask for wine. 
 The thirst, that from my soul doth rise, 
 
 Demands a drink divine : 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sip, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee, 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It might not withered be. 
 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe, 
 
 And sent it back to me. 
 Since when it grows and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself, but thee. 
 
 STRATO. 
 
 A NATIVE of Sardis, and supposed to have I (says Mr. Merivale,) though elegant in language, 
 flourished early in tlie third century. His poems | are, for the most part, disgraceful in sentiment. 
 
 LOVE NOT EXTINGUISHED BY AGE. 
 Oh how I loved, when, like the glorious sun. 
 Firing the orient with a blaze of light, 
 Tliy beauty every lesser star outshone ! — 
 
 Now o'er that beauty steals the approach of 
 
 night — 
 Yet, yet I lovo ! Tliou!;h in the western sea 
 Half sunk, the day-star still is fair to me ! 
 
 RUFINUS. 
 
 MAIDEN RESERVE. 
 Whf-v blest I met my Rhodoclee alone. 
 On the cold earth a timid suppliant thrown, 
 I clasp'd her beauteous knees, and bade her save 
 A wretch, at her disposal, from the grave. 
 Listening she wept — too soon her tears were 
 
 dried, 
 And with soft hand she moved me from her side. 
 
 THE GARLAND. 
 A •WBEATH to thee, my Rhodocleo, 
 
 Twined by these hands, I send, 
 Where the lily's snow, and the rose-cup's glow. 
 
 In rival beauty blend ; 
 Where the violet's hue of freshest blue 
 
 With jonquil pale you see, 
 
 And, fragrant yet with morning dew. 
 
 The soft anemone. 
 Then wear them, love ; but not elate, 
 
 For soon such charms are flown ; 
 And in the flowerets' changing fate 
 
 Thou dost but read thine own. 
 
 ENJOYMENT OF LOVE. 
 The queen of heaven's bright eyes illume thy face, 
 Great Pallas lends thine arms her polish'd grace ; 
 Thetis thine ancles' slender strength bestows, 
 Atul Veniis in thy swelling bosom glows: 
 Happy the lover of thy sight possest. 
 Who listens to thy melting voice, thrice blest ; 
 Almost a god, whose love is met by thine, 
 Who folds thee in his arms, indeed divine ! 
 x3 269 
 
270 
 
 CARPHYLIDES. — LUCILLIUS. 
 
 EXHORTATION TO PLEASURE. 
 Now, as we rise from the reviving wave, 
 
 Braid we our locks, my Prodice, with flowers; 
 Drain we deeji bowls ol" wine, and wisely save 
 
 From slow-paced care youth's transitory hours. 
 For withering age upon our path attends, 
 Joys drop by joys, and death the picture ends. 
 
 THE WARNING. 
 Did I not warn thee, Prodice, that time 
 
 Would soon divide thee from the yonthful 
 throng, 
 Feed on the blooming damask of thy prime, 
 
 And scatter wrinkles as he pass'd along? 
 The hour is come — for who with amorous song 
 
 Now M'oos thy smile, or celebrates thy bloom ? 
 See, from thy presence how tlie gay and young 
 
 Retiring turn, and shrink as from the tomb ! 
 
 THE DENIAL OF LOVE. 
 Why will Melissa, young and fair, 
 
 Still her virgin love deny, 
 When every motion, every air, 
 The passion of her soid declare, 
 
 And give her words the lie 1 
 
 That panting breath, that broken sigh, 
 
 Those limbs that trembling lail. 
 And that ilark hollow round her eye, 
 (The mark of Cupid's archery,) 
 Too plainly tell the tale. 
 
 But, oh thou god of soft desire, 
 
 By thy mother throned above, 
 Oh, let not pity quench thine ire, 
 Till, yielding to thy fiercest fire, 
 She cries, at length, "I love." 
 
 THE CURE OF DISDAIN. 
 Cold Rhodope, of beauty vain, replies, 
 Whene'er I greet her, with disdainful eyes: 
 The wreath I wove, and on her door-post bound, 
 Scornful she tore, and trampled on the ground. 
 Remorseless age and wrinkles, to my aid 
 Fly, swiftly fly, and Rhodope persuade. 
 
 ENJOYING LIFE. 
 Let us. my friend, in joy refine. 
 Bathe, crown our brows, and quaff" our wine; 
 Short is the space of human joys. 
 What age prevents not, death destroys. 
 
 CARPHYLIDES. 
 
 ON A HAPPY OLD MAN. 
 
 Thiwr not, whoe'er thou art, my fate severe ; 
 Nor o'er my marble stop to shed a tear! 
 One tender partner shared my happy state, 
 And all that life imposes, but its wreight. 
 Three lovely girls in nuptial ties I bound, 
 And children's children smiled my board around. 
 
 And, often pillow'd on their grandsire's breast, 
 Their darling ofl"spring sunk to sweetest rest. 
 Disease and death were strangers to my door. 
 Nor from my arms one blooming infant tore. 
 All, all survived, my dying eyes to close. 
 And hymn my spirit to a blest repose. 
 
 LUCILLIUS. 
 
 [About 375 A. D.J 
 
 THE GOOD PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Whkn Magnus sought the realms of night. 
 Grim Pluto trembled for his right. 
 "That fellow comes," he said, "'tis plain, 
 To call my ghosts to life again." 
 
 ENVY. 
 PooTi Cleon out of envy died, 
 
 His brother thief to see 
 Nail'd near him to be crucified 
 
 Upon a higher tree. 
 
 FORTUNE. 
 FoRTCNE reverses with a smile or frown. 
 Exalts the poor, and pulls the mighty down. 
 Though rich in golden ore ttiy rivers flow. 
 Her pow'r shall curb thy pride and hauglity 
 
 brow. 
 The wind that sweeps tempestuous through the 
 
 sky. 
 Howls o'er the bending broom, and passes by; 
 But the broad oak uproots, and planes that 
 
 waved 
 Their royal branches and its fury braved. 
 
GREGORY NAZIANZEN. 
 
 271 
 
 ON LONG NOSES. 
 Heavens, what a nose ! Forbear to look, 
 Whene'er you drink, in fount or brook : 
 F'or, as the fair Narcissus died, 
 When hanging o'er a fountain's side, 
 You too, the hinpid water quafTing, 
 May die, my worthy sir, with laughing. 
 
 FALSE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Art thou my friend — forbear to do me guile, 
 Nor clothe a secret grudge in friendship's smile : 
 For traitorous friendship wounds th' unguarded 
 
 breast 
 With surer aim than enmity profess'd ; 
 
 And more on shoals the sailor fears to wreck, 
 Than where the rocks hang frowning o'er his deck. 
 
 THE FEAR OF DEATH. 
 I MOURN not those, who, banish'd from the light, 
 Sleep in the grave through Death's eternal night ; 
 IJut those whom Death, for ever near, appals, 
 Who sees the blow suspended ere it falls.* 
 
 Despair 
 
 Tended the sick, busiest from coiieli to couch j 
 And over them triumphant Death his dart 
 Sliook, but delayed to strike, though oft invok'd 
 With vows, as their chief good and final hope. 
 
 MUton. 
 
 GREGORY NAZIANZEN. 
 
 [Born about 325— Died .389, A. D.] 
 
 GiiEGony was born in Cappadocia, and became 
 first, bishop of Sasim^i, and afterwards, of Nazianzus. 
 " The title of Saint" says Mr. Gibbon, " has been 
 added to his name ; but the tenderness of his heart 
 
 and the elegance of his genius reflect a more 
 pleasing lustre on his memory." In taste, elo- 
 quence, and learning, he was inferior to none of 
 his age. 
 
 A LAMENTATION FOR THE SOUL. 
 
 Full* oft a maiden to her virgin bed 
 
 Hath borne, with faltering steps, the bridegroom 
 
 dead ; 
 In love's resplendent robe array'd in vain. 
 Hath waked, mid tears and groans, the funeral strain ; 
 While all her haiiditi.iids. and her friends around, 
 Conspire to swell the melancholy sound. 
 Full oft a mother o'er her fallen child 
 Hath wrung her hands and wept with anguish wild. 
 Men oft have mourn'd their country's bligiited fame, 
 Their honies laid prostrate by the lightning llanie. 
 But ah ! what tears, or sighs, or notes of wo. 
 For thee, my soul, can adequately flow? 
 Heaven's l)eautei)us image is elTiced by sin, 
 And all is dark, and all is foul within. 
 O'er Death's domain thy niidiiiiig ruins bow : 
 Weep, sinner, wee[), 'tis ail tliy refiia;e now. 
 Yes, I will leave the gay and roseate bower, 
 The joy that lives a transitory hour, 
 The fleeting bliss that hangs on forlunc's power; 
 Yes, I will shun Aurora's lovely lig'it, 
 And veil this shuddering frame in genial night; 
 
 *T should suppose thnt such a case did not occur often ; 
 but I translate the word literally. 
 
 Such joys let others prize : but o'er my head. 
 Repentant ashes shall be duly spread. 
 While on my couch this fading form shall lie, 
 My groans will thrill, will melt each mourner nigh. 
 'I'he transient balm of pity may be mine. 
 But soon, O Death, these relics must be thine, 
 'i'hink not thy gates my trembling spirit scare ; 
 I fear alone the dread tribunal there. 
 O God ! O God ! from sin my soul would fly : 
 Let sable clouds enwrap my form on high. 
 Or be it mine, mid gulfs profound to lie! 
 A realm from ills secure, the poets feign, 
 Wliere no fell savage haunts the beauteous plain. 
 Is there no spot from Sin's dominion free ? 
 If such exist, to that I fain would flee. 
 A port defends from storms; from spenr.^. a shield; 
 And our sweet homes a grateful siielter yicM, 
 VVlicn howls the blast : but Sin, her whelming tide 
 .Around us pouis, and reigns on ev(;ry side. 
 A filming car to hiavcn Elias bore; 
 From Pharaoh's hand was Moses saved of yore ; 
 Jonah escaped the whale; wild beasts grew lame 
 At D.iriiel's feet; the youths survived the flame, 
 Though lirigiit the furnace glow'd : but ah ! to me 
 What flight fro:n Sin rciuainsl O JesUs, set me 
 free! 
 
272 
 
 PALLADAS. 
 
 ADMONITIONS TO VIRGINS. 
 With circumspection tread life's slippery ground, 
 And ever waiting on thy God be found. 
 Be thou as Hesper 'mid the starry train ; 
 The* pearl 'mid gems ; the lily on the plain ; 
 'Mid birds the dove ; the olive in the wood ; 
 The calm that smoothes the bosom of the flood. 
 The world's unhallow'd joys, O virgin, spurn. 
 And unto Christ, thy radiant bridegroom, turn. 
 Lead him, O lead him, to thy fragrant bower. 
 Where Purity unfolds her spotless flower ; 
 Where every charm and every beauty meets, 
 Perennial pleasures and immortal sweets. 
 In his most sacred hand, thy hand infix. 
 And thy pure myrrh with myrrh celestial mix. 
 blend thy pure ineffable desire. 
 With the chaste fervour of his hallow'd fire; 
 And all the graces in thy soul combined. 
 Blend with the graces of the heavenly mind ! 
 Let Him thy bright, thy glorious beauty see ; 
 Let Him thy lover and thy bridegroom be ! 
 Lo ! he hath drawn thy maiden veil aside, 
 And wonder'd, viewing his transcendent bride ; 
 August, enthroned, in orient pearl array'd, 
 Lovely before, and now far lovelier made. 
 Thy Lord will bear thee to his seat on high, 
 And spread the bridal feast above the sky ; 
 While choral angels, with aerial strains 
 And heavenly warblings, fill the golden plains. 
 Thy Lord will bear thee to his radiant bowers. 
 And wreathe thy head with ever blooming flowers; 
 For thee, the vine-empurpled cup infuse 
 With balm nectareous, and ambrosial de.ws ; 
 Bid sacred Wisdom's awful page unrol. 
 And pour its radiance on thy raptured soul. 
 
 * Mapyapov tv Xacaaiu. The Ancients considered pearls 
 to be much more valuable than we do. They ranked 
 thera among the precious stones. 
 
 For here we faintly trace with view confined, 
 The veil'd effulgence of th' Almighty mind : 
 But there 'twill prove our glorious lot, to see 
 Th' unclouded blaze of naked Deity ! 
 The flesh sublimed, will own the spirit's sway, 
 And drink the flood of ever-during day. 
 
 Ye youths and virgins, who with hallow'd fire 
 Adore the Leader of th' angelic choir. 
 With hearts attuned and voice symphonious, sing 
 The heavenly nuptials of your God and King. 
 O bid your intellectual torches shine. 
 The humble semblance of the light divine ; 
 Let holy words and actions fan the fire. 
 Till the pure flame to heaven's pure flame aspire. 
 
 And thou, O Triune Power, benign descend : 
 Deign from thy throne, benignly deign to bend, 
 While we with awe invoke thee. Let thy beam 
 Illume us here with mild attemper'd gleam : 
 But oh ! hereafter may thy glory stream 
 In all the splendour of its brilliant rays, — 
 One flood of light — one clear refulgent blaze ! 
 As Father, Word, and Spirit, fully shine. 
 All great, all glorious, perfect, and divine ! 
 
 ON A YOUTH OF FAIR PROMISE. 
 EuPHEMius slumbers in this hallowed ground. 
 Son of Amphilocus, by all renown'd : 
 He, whom the Graces to the Muses gave. 
 Tuneful no more, lies mouldering in the grave : 
 The minstrels came to chaunt his bridal lay, 
 But swifter Envy bore the prize away. 
 
 Another on the same. 
 
 EtjPHEMius flash'd, then veil'd his dazzling beam. 
 As bright and transient as the lightning's gleam. 
 
 PALLADAS. 
 
 [About 370 or 3f0, A. D.] 
 
 Supposed to be the same with Palladius, the 
 author of several epistles in the collection of Liba- 
 nius. He was (says Mr. Merivale) a moderate 
 
 and philosophical pagan ; and, in one of his epi- 
 grams, lamented the overthrow of the worship of 
 his fathers by the emperor, Theodosius. 
 
 ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. 
 This life a theatre we well may call. 
 
 Where every actor must perform with art. 
 Or laugh it through, and make a farce of all, 
 
 Or learn to bear with grace his tragic part. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 Ix marriage are two happy things allow'd, 
 A wife in wedding garb, and in her shroud : 
 Who then dares say that state can he accurst, 
 Where the last day's as happy as the first 1 
 
JULIAN, PREFECT OF EGYPT. 
 
 273 
 
 ON THE SHORTNESS AND EVILS OF LIFE. 
 Dark are our fates — tomorrow's sun may peer 
 From the niish"d east upon our funeral bier ; 
 Then seize the joys tliat wine and music give, 
 Nor talk of death while yet 'tis giv'n to live ; 
 Soon shall each pulse be still, closed every eye. 
 One little hour remains or ere we die. 
 
 On the Same. 
 Ix tears I drew life's earliest breath. 
 In tears shall give it back to death ; 
 And all my past quick fleeting years 
 Have been one varied scene of tears. 
 Oh race, for ever doom'd to mourn. 
 To weakness, pain, and misery born ; 
 Then driven to unknown shades away, 
 To ashes burnt or turn'd to clay ! 
 
 On the Same. 
 Waking, we burst, at each return of morn. 
 From death's dull fetters and again are born ; 
 No longer ours the moments that have past : 
 To a new remnant of our lives we haste. 
 Call not the years thine own that made thee gray, 
 That left their wrinkles, and have fled away; 
 The past no more shall yield thee ill or good, 
 Gone to the silent times beyond the flood. 
 
 SPARTAN VIRTUE. 
 Frox the dire conflict as a Spartan fled. 
 His mother cross'd his path, and awful said, 
 
 Pointing her sword against his dastard-heart, 
 " If thou canst live, the tnark of scorn and shame, 
 Thou liv'st, the murderer of thy mother's fame, 
 
 The base deserter from a soldier's part. 
 If by this hand thou diest, my name must be 
 Of mothers most unblest ; but Sparta's free." 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 Thk laughing women call me old, 
 And bid me in the glass behold 
 
 The ruins of my former state ; 
 T?ut let the locks my temples bear 
 Be gray or black, I little care. 
 
 And leave it to the will of Fate. 
 
 Yet this I know — though Nature's call 
 Subjects me to the lot of all. 
 
 Still, as my ebljing days decline, 
 I'll make the most of my short hours, 
 Be bathed in odours, crown'd with flowers, 
 
 And drown old care in floods of wine. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE. 
 Thk brazen image of Jove's patient son 
 Alcides, — prostrate and dishonoureil lay, 
 Where worshippers their vows were wont to 
 pay. 
 And moved with grief I cried — " Thee, mighty 
 
 One, 
 With triple toil begot, filth now begrimes. 
 The plague-subduer, ne'er before subdued." 
 "Friend," said the smiling god, who near me 
 stood, 
 " We gods must serve the spirit of the times." 
 
 ON A CELEBRATED ACTOR.* 
 
 Once, in a fearful vision of the night, 
 Lothario seem'd Rowe"s frowning ghost to see. 
 "I never wrong'd thee," cried the lam-ell'd sprite, 
 " Oh why, Lothario, dost thou murder me ?" 
 
 ♦ In the original, Menander is the poet for whom the 
 name of Rovve is here substituted; and as for Lothario, 
 he may be any actor the reader chooses to fancy. 
 
 JULIAN, PR.EFECT OF EGYPT. 
 
 [About 390 A. D.] 
 
 host 
 
 ON DEMOCRITUS. 
 
 Pltito, receive the Sage, whoso 
 Is wafted to thy lilnomy shore. 
 
 One laughing spirit seeks the coast, 
 Where never smile was seen before. 
 
 LOVE AND WINE. 
 Once on a time, as for my fair 
 
 a w^reath I chanced to twine, 
 I caught young Love amongst the flowers, 
 
 and plunged him in my wine ; — 
 I plunged him in, and drank him up, 
 
 with such delicious glee, 
 And now the urchin, with his wings, 
 
 is always — tickling me. 
 35 
 
 ON A YOUNG BRIDE. 
 Thine, Laura, — thou of every grace the bloom,— 
 Were timely spousal and untimely tomb. 
 Tears, bitter tears, diy sire, thy husband, shed ; 
 Tears, that might melt die boatman of the dead — 
 Scarce one short year to marriage joys allowed. 
 Thy sixteenth summer wraps thee in thy shroud. 
 
 OFFERING OF LAIS TO VENUS. 
 Lais, when time had spoiled her wonted grace, 
 Abhorred die look of age that ploughed her face; 
 Her glass, sad monitor of charms decay'd, 
 Before the queen of lasting bloom she laid : 
 "The sweet companion of my youthful years 
 Be thine (she said) ; no change diy beauty fears." 
 
MUS^^US. 
 
 The author of the following poem was not though now frequently used as such. The pro- 
 the ancient Musteus, (as some have conjeotured ; fession, styled by the ancients rpa/xna-tixyj, w-as 
 him to be,) but a grammarian of that name, ! the same as that of Belles Lettres among the 
 who lived in the fifth century. "Nor let the moderns; and the appellation of grammarian 
 English reader" says the translator, " look upon was particularly applied to those who excelled 
 the title of grammarian as a term of reproach, 1 in every kind of polite learning." 
 
 THE LOVES OF HERO AND LEANDER. 
 Sing, Muse ! the conscious torch, whose nightly 
 
 ray 
 Led the bold lover through the watery way. 
 To share those joys which mutual faith hath 
 
 seafd, 
 Joys to divine Aurora unreveal'd. 
 Abydos, Sestos, ancient towns, proclaim, 
 Where gentlest bosoms glow'd with purest flame. 
 I hear Leander dash the foaming tide! 
 Fix'd high in air, I see the glimmering guide! 
 The genial flame, the love-enkindling light. 
 Signal of joy that burn'd serenely bright; 
 Whose beams, in fair eflrilgency display'd, 
 Adorn'd the nuptials of the Sestian maid: 
 Which Jove, its friendly office to repay, 
 Should plant, all-glorious, in the realms of day, 
 To blaze for ever 'midst the stars above. 
 And style it gentle harbinger of Love. 
 
 Against Abydos sea-beat Sestos stood. 
 Two neighboring towns, divided by the flood: 
 Here Cupid prov'd his bow's unerring art, 
 And gain'd two conquests with a single dart: 
 On two fond hearts the sweet infection prey'd. 
 A youth engaging, and a beauteous maid : 
 Of Sestos she, fair Hero was her name ; 
 The youth, Leander, from Abydos came. 
 Their forms divine a bright resemblance bore. 
 Each was the radiant star of either shore. 
 
 Thou, whom the Fates commission here to 
 
 stray, 
 Awhile the turret's eminence survey; 
 Thence Hero held the blazing torch, to guide 
 Her lover rolling on the boisterous tide; 
 The roaring Hellespont, whose wave-worn strait 
 Still in loud murmurs mourns Leander's fate. 
 Say, heav'nly Muse, had Hero charms to iiiove, 
 And melt the Abydinian into love ? 
 Say, with w^hat wiles tlie amorous youth inspir'd, 
 Obtain'd the virgin whom liis soul admir'd? 
 
 Fair Hero, priestess to th' Llalian queen, 
 Of birth illustrious, as of graceful mein. 
 Dwelt on a high sequester'd tower, that stood 
 Firm on the ramparts, and o'erlook'd the flood : 
 Chaste, and unconscious of Love's pleasing pain, 
 She seem'd a new-born Venus of the main ; 
 But, nice of conduct, prudently withdrew 
 Far from the follies of the female crew : 
 274 
 
 Blest in retreat, she shunn'd the vain delight 
 
 Of daily visits, and the dance at night. 
 
 Content in sweet tranquillity to screen 
 
 Her blooming beauty from malignant spleen; 
 
 For where superior beauty shines confest, 
 
 It kindles envy in each female breast. — J 
 
 To soften Venus oft with prayer she strove. 
 
 Oft pour'd libations to the God of Love ; 
 
 Taught by th' example of the lieavenly dame. 
 
 To dread those arrows that were tipp'd with 
 
 flame. 
 Vain all her caution, fruitless prov'd her prayer; 
 Love gains an easy conquest o'er the fair. i^ 
 
 For now the sacred festival appear'd, 
 By pious Sestians annually rever'd. 
 At Venus' fane to pay the rites divine, 
 And offer incense at Adonis' shrine. - V»M 
 
 Vast crowds from all the sea-girt isles repair. 
 The day to rev'rence, and the feast to share. 
 From flowery Cyprus, circled by the main, 
 And high Hamonia, hastes the youthful train; 
 Not one remain'd of all the female race 
 Thy towns, Cythera. and thy groves to grace; 
 Afar from spicy Libanus advance 
 The throngs unnumber'd, skill'd to lead the 
 
 dance ; 
 From Phrygian plains they haste in shoals away. 
 And all Abydos celebrates the day. ^1 
 
 To Sestos all the mirthful youths repair, 
 All that admire the gay, the young, the fair; 
 For amorous swains, when rumour'd feasts in- 
 vite, 
 Joy at the news, and follow with delight. 
 Not to tlie gods to pay the rites divine, 
 Or offer incense at some sacred shrine; 
 Few are their otl'erings, and concise their prayer, 
 'Who give their whole devotion to the fair. 
 
 As through the temple pass'd the Sestian maid. 
 Her face a soften'd dignity display'd ; _ 'r^ i^ 
 
 Thus silver Cynthia's milder glories rise, 
 To glad the pale dominion of the skies. 
 Her lovely cheeks a pure vermilion shed. 
 Like roses beautifully streak'd with red ; 
 A flowery mead her well-turn'd limbs disclose, 
 Fraught with the blushing beauties of the rose: 
 But when she mov'd, in radiant mantle drest, 
 Flowers half unveil'd adorn'd her flowing vest, 
 And numerous graces wanton'd on her breast. 
 
MUS^US. 
 
 275 
 
 Tlie anoient sajjes made a false dooree, 
 Who said, the Graces were no more than three ; 
 When Hero smiles, a thousand graces rise, 
 Sport on her cheek, and revel in her eyes. 
 Such various beauties sure conspir'd to prove 
 The priestess vyorihx of the Queen of Love 
 Thus as she shone superior to the rest. 
 In the sweet bloom of youth and beauty drest. 
 Such softness temper'd with majestic mien, 
 The earthly priestess match'd the heav'nly queen. 
 The wondering crowds the radiant nymph ad- 
 mire. 
 And every bosom kindles with desire; 
 Eager each longs, transported with her charms, 
 To clasp the lovely virgin in his arms ; 
 Where'er she turns, their eyes, their thoughts pur- 
 sue, 
 They sigh, and send their souls at every view. 
 Then thus some ardent youth bespoke the rest, 
 Cast a fond look, and open'd all his breast: 
 
 " I oft at Sparta wondering have beheld 
 Young maids contending in the listed field, 
 Sparta, that boasts the emulated prize 
 Of fairest virgins, and of brightest eyes; 
 Yet ne'er till no\v beheld a nymph so fair. 
 Such beauty blended with such graceful air: 
 Perhaps (for sure immortal is her race) 
 Beneath the priestess Venus hides a Grace. 
 My dazzled eyes with constant gazing tire, 
 But my fond fancy ever could admire. 
 O! make me, Venus, partner of her bed, 
 Though Fate that instant strike the lover dead: 
 Let but my love the heavenly Hero crown, 
 I on the gods will look superior down. 
 Should you this boon deny, O queen ! decree, 
 To bless my days, a nymph as fair as slie !" 
 
 Thus spoke the general voice ; the train apart 
 Conceal the wound deep rankling in the heart. 
 But when Leander saw the blooming fair. 
 Love seiz'd his soul instead of dumb despair ; 
 Rcsolv'd the lucky moments to improve, 
 He sought occasion to reveal his love ; 
 The glorious prize determin'd to obtain. 
 Or perish for those joys he could not gain. 
 Her sparkling eyes instilling fond desire 
 Entrane'd his soul, and kindled amorous fire. 
 Such radiant ])cauty, like the pointed dart. 
 With piercing ang(Ur,h sti-v^^s th' uiignarded heart : 
 For on the eye tha wound is first imprest, 
 'Till by degrees it rankles in 'the breast. 
 Pfow hope and confidence iiTvade his soul; 
 Then fear and shame alternately control : 
 Fear through his bosom thrillJ ; a conscious 
 
 shame 
 Confess'd the passion which it secmM to blame: 
 Her bi.'auties fix'd him iu a wild amaze ; 
 Love made him bold, and not afraiil to gaze. 
 With step ambiguous, and affected air. 
 The youth advancing fac'd the charming fair: 
 Each amorous glance he cast, though forin'd by 
 
 artj 
 Yet sometimes spoke the language of his heart; 
 With nods and becks he kept the nymph in play, 
 And tried all wjjes to steal her soul away. 
 Soon as she saw the fraudful youth begiiil'd, 
 Fair Hero, conscious of her beauty, smil'd ; 
 
 Oft in her veil conceal'd her glowing face, 
 Sweetly vermilion'd with the rosy grace; 
 Yet all in vain to hide her passion tries. 
 She own? it with her love-consenting eyes. 
 Joy touch'd the bosom of the gentle swain, 
 To find his love was not indulg'd in vain. 
 Then, while he chid the tedious lingering day, 
 Down to the west declin'd the solar ray; 
 And dewy Hesper shone serenely bright, — 
 
 In shadowy silence leading on the night. 
 Soon as he saw the dark involving shade, 
 Th' embolden'd youth approach'd the blooming 
 
 maid ; 
 Her lily hand he seiz'd, and gently prest, 
 And softly sigh'd the passion of his breast: 
 Joy touch'd the damsel, though she seem'd dis- 
 
 pleas'd, 
 And soon withdrew the lily hand he seiz'd. 
 The youth perceiv'd, through well-dissembled 
 
 wiles, 
 A heart just yielding by consenting smiles ; 
 Then to the temple's last recess convey'd ~ 
 
 The unreluctaut, unresisting maid : 
 Her lovely feet, that seem'd to lag behind. 
 But ill conceal'd her voluntary mind. 
 She |eign"d resentment with an angry look, 
 And, sweetly chiding, thus indignant spoke: 
 
 " Stranger, what madness has possess'd tliy 
 brain. 
 To drag me thus along the sacred fane? 
 Go — to your n.itive habitation go— 
 'Tis quite unkind to pull my garments so. 
 Rich are my ])arents — urge not here your fate, - 
 Lest their just vengeance you repent too late : 
 If not of me, of Venus stand afraid. 
 In her own fane soliciting a maid : 
 Hence speed your flight ; and Venus' anger dread ; 
 'Tis bold aspiring to a virgin's bed." 
 
 Thus chill the maid, as maids are wont to do, 
 And show'd her anger, and her fondness too : 
 The wily youth, as thus the fair complain'd. 
 Too well perceiv'd the victory was gain'd : 
 For nymphs enrag'd the more com|>lying prove, 
 And chidings are the harbingers of love. 
 He kiss'<l her snowy neck, her fragrant breast : 
 And thus the transport of his soul exprest: 
 
 "O lovely fair, in whom comhin'd are seen 
 The charms of Venus, and Minerva's micu! 
 For sure no virgin of terrestrial race 
 Can vie with Hero in the bloom of face : 
 I deem your lineage fiom the gods above. 
 And style you daughter of Saturnian Jove. 
 Blest is the fatlier from whose loins you spnmg, 
 Blest is the mother at whose breast you hung. 
 Blest, doubly blest, tlie fruitful womb that boro 
 This heavenly form for mortals to adore. 
 
 " Yet, beauteous Hero, grant a lover's prayer, 
 And to my wishes prove as kiml as fair: 
 As Venus' priestess, just to Venus prove, 
 Nor shun the gentle ollices of love. 
 O let us, while the haiipy hour invites, 
 Propitious, celebrate the nuptial rites. 
 No mail can serve in Cytherea's fane; — 
 Her eyes delight not in t!u'^ virgin-train. 
 Then as you fear the (Joddess to oll'end. 
 In me behold your husband and your friend, 
 
 S^ 
 
 IpJ 
 
 
 X( 
 
276 
 
 MUS^US. 
 
 =1 
 
 Ordain'd by Cupid, greatest God above, 
 
 To teach you all the mysteries of love : 
 
 As winged Mercury, w ith golden wand, 
 
 Made Hercules, with distaff in his hand. 
 
 To every task of Omphale submit; 
 
 Thus Love, more powerful than the God of Wit, 
 
 Sent me to you. "Tis needless to relate 
 
 The chaste Arcadian Atalanta's fate; 
 
 Who from th' embraces of Milanion fled. 
 
 Her faithful lover, and the nuptial bed : 
 
 But vengeful Venus caus"d the nymph to burn 
 
 With equal flame, and languish in her turn. 
 
 O let example warn you to revere 
 
 The wrathful Goddess, and your lover hear !" 
 
 Thus spoke the youth — his magic words con- 
 trol 
 Her wavering breast, and soften all her soul. 
 Silent she stood, and, rapt in thought profound. 
 Her modest eyes were fix'd upon the ground: 
 Her cheeks she hid, in rosy blushes drest, 
 And veild her lily shoulders with her vest: 
 On the rich floor, with Parian marble laid, 
 Her nimble foot involuntary playd. 
 By secret signs a yielding mind is meant; 
 And silence speaks the willing maids consent. 
 Now had the wily God's envenom'd dart 
 Diffus'd the pleasing poison to her heart; 
 Leander"s form7 instilling soft desire, 
 WooVl her pleas'd eyes, and set her soul on fire. 
 While on the ground fair Hero fix'd her sight, 
 Leander view'd, with exquisite delight. 
 Her swelling breast, and neck as ivory white. 
 At length her face with lovely blushes spread 
 She rais'd, and thus in sweet confusion said: 
 
 " Stranger, thy words such magic sounds convey 
 With soft compassion rocks would melt away. 
 Who form"d thy tongue with such persuasive art 
 To pour delightful ruin on tVie heart ? 
 Ah ! tell me, who thus taught thee to explore 
 My lone retirement on the Thracian shore? 
 Thy speech, though pleasing, flow'd to me in vain : 
 How can a stranger Hero's love obtain? 
 Should I in public give to thee my hand. 
 My parents would forbid the nuptial band. 
 And should'st thou here in close concealment stay 
 Our secret passion would itself betray : 
 For soon the voice of scandal-spreading fame 
 The deed of silence would aloud proclaim. 
 But, gentle youth, thy name, thy country tell ; 
 For mine, alas ! by thee are known too well. 
 In yon high tower, which close to Sestos stands, 
 And all the roaring Hellespont commands, 
 With one attending damsel I remain ; 
 For so my parents and the Fates ordain! 
 No nymphs, coeval, to sweet music's sound 
 Lead the smooth dance, or lightly beat the ground ; 
 But stormy winds eternal discord keep. 
 And blustering bellow through the boundless 
 deep.'' 
 
 Thus spoke the priestess, and, with modest 
 grace, 
 Conceal'd the new-born beauties of her face; 
 For on her cheeks the roseate blush that hung 
 Seem'd to condemn the language of her tongue. 
 
 Meanwhile Leaniler feeds the hidden fire. 
 Glows in each vein, and burns with fierce desire : 
 
 But anxious doubt his musing breast alarms ; 
 How shall he gain admittance to her charms? 
 Nor lo:'g he paus'd, for Love injviles abounds, 
 Well-pleas'd to heal the bosoms which he 
 
 wounds : 
 'Twas he, whose arrows men and gods control. 
 That heal'd Leander's love-afflicted soul; 
 Who thus, while sighs upheav'd his anxious 
 
 breast. 
 The nymph with artful eloquence addrest: 
 
 " For thee, dear object of my fond desire, 
 I'll cross the ocean, though it flame with fire : 
 Nor would I fear the billows' loud alarms. 
 While every billow bore me to thy arms; 
 Uncheck'd, undaunted by the boisterous main. 
 Tempestuous winds should round me roar in vain : 
 But oft as night her sable pinions spread, 
 I through the storm would swim to Hero's bed : 
 For rich Abydos is the home I boast. 
 Not far divided from the Tliracian coast. 
 Let but my fair a kindly torch display, 
 From the high turret, to direct my way ; 
 Then shall thy daring swain securely glide, 
 The bark of Cupid, o'er the yielding tide, 
 Thyself my haven, and thy torch my guide: 
 And while I view the genial blaze afar, 
 I'll swim regardless of Bootes' car, 
 Of fell Orion, and the Northern Wain 
 That never bathes his brightness in the main: 
 Thy Star, more eminently bright than they. 
 Shall lead the lover to his blissful bay. 
 But let the torch, O nymph divinely fair ! 
 My only safety, be thy only care ; 
 Guard well its li :ht, when wintry tempests roar. 
 And hoarse waves break tumultuous on the shore. 
 Lest the dire storms, that blacken all the sky, — 
 The flame extinguish, and the lover die. 
 More would'st thou know ? Leander is my name. 
 The happiest husband of the fairest dame." 
 
 Thus mutual vow'd the lovers to employ 
 The nights in raptures of mysterious joy; 
 Her task, secure th" extended torch to keep, 
 And his, to cross th' unfathomable deep: 
 Leander, ere he left his lovely bride, 
 Mark'd well the station of the blazing guide, 
 Then sought Abydos cross the sounding tide. 
 
 What now but amorous scenes their thoughts 
 employ, 
 Confus'd ideas of the ger.ial joy? 
 Slow rose on leaden wings the morning light, 
 Slow noon came on — the lovers wisli'd it night. 
 At length dark gloom a dusky mantle spread ; 
 Sleep o'er the world liis balmy influence shed. 
 All but Leander lay dissolv'd in rest. 
 Love kept a ceaseless vigil in his breast. 
 Silent he wander'd on the winding shore. 
 The deep resounded with tremendous roar: 
 Wide o'er the foaming waves his anxious sight 
 Explor'd the torch's love-proclaiming light: 
 He little deem'd, alas! its flame would prove 
 The blaze of Death, though meant the torch of 
 Love. 
 
 Soon as fair Hero from her tower survey'd 
 Th' horizon darken'd in the sable shade, 
 The torch on high she fix'd ; its flames inspire 
 Leander's bosom with the kindred fire : 
 
0-. 
 
 MUS^US. 
 
 277 
 
 Quick through his frame the bright contagion ran, 
 .j. And with the glowing signal glow'd th' en- 
 amour'd man. 
 But when he heard the hoarse-resounding roar 
 Of thun<lering billows breaking on tlie shore, 
 Aghast lie stood, he shrunk, and thus addrest 
 These words of courage to his trembling breast: 
 
 " All cruel Love ! whose woe the waves con- 
 spire ! ^ 
 The waves are water, but I burn with fire : 
 Be bold my heart, the foaming billows brave. 
 Nor fear the threat'nings of the wintry wave. 
 Fair Venus rose propitious from the main; 
 She calms the ocean's rage, and soothes the lover's 
 pain." 
 
 He spoke, and straight his lovely limbs undrest. 
 And folded round his head the various vest; 
 Then dauntless plunging in the foaming tide, 
 Dash'd with his arms th' intruding waves aside: 
 Full in his view he kept the shining mark. 
 Himself the pilot, passenger, and bark. 
 While faithful Hero, to her promise true, 
 Watch"d on the turret every wind that blew ; 
 Oft with her robe she screen'd the torcli"s blaze 
 From dangerous blasts that blew a thousand 
 
 ways 
 
 Till the tir'd youth, on rolling stirges tost, 
 Securely landed on the Sestian coast. 
 Soon as she saw her lover safe on shore. 
 Eager she ran, and led him to her tower, 
 Welcom'd with open arms her panting guest. 
 And, sweetly smiling, to her bosom prest: 
 Then dumb with joy the shivering youth she led. 
 Still wet and weary, to the genial bed, 
 Wip'd his fair limbs, and fragrant oils applied, 
 
 ^ - To cleanse his body from the oozy tide;* 
 
 Then clasp'd him close, still panting, to her breast. 
 And thus with fond, endearing words addrest: 
 
 " My life, my lover, thou hast suffer'd more 
 Than fondest bridegroom e'er endur'd before ; 
 Destin'd, alas! dread troubles to sustain 
 On the rough bosom of the briny main : 
 Now let sweet joy succeed in sorrow's place. 
 And lull thy labours in my warm embrace." 
 She spoke : He loos'd her virgin zone, to prove 
 ■ The secret rites, and mysteries of love. 
 No youths with measur'd dance the nuptials 
 
 crow^n'd. 
 Nor tuneful hymn's congratulating sound: 
 No bard invok'd the heavenly queen with prayer, 
 To smile propitious on the wedded pair: 
 No nuptial torch its golden lustre shed. 
 Bright torch of Love, to grace the bridal bed ! 
 No lii pteans musically rung; 
 No greeting parents liymen;pals sung: 
 But all was gloom, and silence all around,"^. 
 
 4 Instead of music's love-inspiring sound. >* 
 
 * Thus in the Third Bonk of the Odyssey, Polycaste, the 
 daughter of Nestor, bathes and anoints Telemachus : 
 Sweet Polycaste took the pleasini; toil 
 To bathe the prince, and pour the fraijrant oil. 
 On which Ur. Broome remarks, tliat the practice of wo- 
 men bathing and anointing men frequently occurs in the 
 Odyssey : neither is this done by women of inferior qua- 
 lity, but we have here a young princess bathing, anoint- 
 ing, and clothing the naked Telemachus. 
 
 Beneath the covert of the night conceal'd. 
 
 They tasted pleasures mututil faith had seal'd : 
 
 In close embraces all entranc'd they lay, 
 
 In raptures never uslier'd to the day: 
 
 Till the fond youth reluctant left his bride, 
 
 Still breathing love, and cross'd the foaming tide. 
 
 Thus Hero liv'd unnoted, unbetray'd. 
 
 Each iiiglit a woman, and each day a maid. 
 
 Both wish'd the liourson swiftest wings would fly, 
 
 And hail'd the evening, not the morning sky. •-• 
 
 Thus rapt in hidden joys, each blissful night 
 They pass'd in ecstasies of full delight: 
 But soon, alas! those dear-bought pleasures fled. 
 And short the transports of that bridal bed ! 
 
 For now relentless winter, that deforms 
 With frost the forest, and the sea with storms. 
 Bade the wild winds o'er all the ocean reign. 
 And raise the rapid whirlpools of the main; 
 The hoarse wild winds obey, and, with harsh 
 
 sound. 
 Roar o'er the surface of the vast profound. 
 Rouse from their beds the scattered storms tlirit 
 
 sleep 
 In the dark caverns of the dreary deep : 
 The trembling sailor hears tlie dreadful roar, 
 Nor dares the wintry turbulence explore, 
 But drags his vessel to the safer shore. 
 
 But tliee, bold youth, no wintry storms restrain. 
 Nor all the deathful dangers of the main: 
 For when thou saw'st the torch's blaze from far, 
 (Of nuptial bliss the bright prophetic star) 
 Thee not the furious tempest could control. 
 Nor calm the glowing raptures of thy soul. 
 Yet sure fair Hero, when the gloomy sky 
 With gathering clouds proclaim'd rough winter 
 
 nigh. 
 Without her lover should have pass'd the night, 
 Nor from the tower, ill-omen'd, shown the light. 
 But she, ah hapless! burns with fond desire, 
 'Tis Love inflames her, while the Fates conspire: 
 The torch of Death now glimmer'd from above. 
 No more the ge itle harhingi^r of Love. 
 
 'Twas night, and angry iEolus had hurl'd 
 The winds tempestuous o'er the watery world ; 
 The bellowing winds with rage impetuous roar 
 And dash the foaming billows on the shore: 
 Ev'n then the youth, with pleasing visions fed. 
 Glows widi remembrance of the bridal bed ; 
 And, while fierce tempests howl on every side, 
 Floats on the bosom of the briny tide. 
 Waves, roH'd on waves, in hideous heaps are 
 
 driven, 
 Swell'd into mountains, and upheav'd to heaven: 
 Bleak blasts, loud-roaring, the vex'd ocean sweep, 
 Foam the dasli'd billows, and resounds the deep. 
 From every part the blustering terrors fly,' 
 Rage o'er the main, and battle in the sky: 
 Tlie growling thunder of the vast profound 
 The rocks rebellow, and the shores rebound. 
 Amidst the watery war, with toils oppress'd 
 O'erwhelm'd with billows, and in gulfs dis- 
 
 tress'd, 
 Leander oft with suppliant prayer implor'd 
 [ The sea-sprung Goddess, and old Ocean's Lord : 
 I But prayers are fruitless, and petitions vain; — 
 I Love must submit to what the Fates ordain. 
 Y 
 
 
 ^l^ 
 
 1-C 
 
 V 
 
278 
 
 AGATHIAS. 
 
 From wave to wave the hapless youth is tost, 
 Now heav'd on high, and now in whirlpools lost. 
 His wearied feet no more his will obey. 
 His arms hang useless, and forget to play. 
 Borne on the surge supine, and void of breath, 
 He drinks the briny wave, and draws in death. 
 Thus while in fatal rage each wind conspires. 
 Extinct at once the flame, and lover's fires. 
 Fainting he sinks, and with the torch expires. 
 
 While on the turret Hero mourn'd his stay, 
 And fondly sighing, chid his long delay, 
 Perplexing anguish in her bosom rose, 
 Nor knew her eyes the blessings of repose. 
 
 Now rose the morn, in russet vest array'd, 
 Still from th' impatient fair the lover stayed : 
 
 Watchful she stood, and cast her eyes around 
 O'er the wide beach, and o'er the depths profound, 
 Haply to spy her lover, should he stray, 
 The light extinguish'd, 'midst the watery way: - 
 But when she saw him breathless on the sand, 
 Stretch'd, ghastly-pale, by Death's relentless hand. 
 She sliriek'd aloud ; and from her throbbing breast 
 Rent the gay honours of her flowery vest; 
 Then from the tower her beauteous body cast, 
 And on her lover's bosom breath'd her last : 
 Nor could the Fates this faithful pair divide; 
 They liv'd united, and united died.* 
 
 * They lir'd united, and united died.] — " They were 
 lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they 
 were not divided." — //. Sam. chap. i. ver. 23. 
 
 AGATHIAS. 
 
 [About 550 A. D.] 
 
 A NATiTE of j^^olis, in Asia Minor; known to us as a collector and writer of epigrams, and as the 
 historian to whom we are indebted for six years of the reign of Justinian. 
 
 ADDRESS OF ANCHISES TO VEN'US. 
 Oft hast thou left the realms of air 
 To dwell with me on Ida's shore ; 
 But now gay youtli is mine no more 
 And age has mark'd my brows with care. 
 Oh Queen of Love, my youth restore, 
 Or take my ofl'ering of gray hair. 
 
 ON DEATH. 
 
 Why fear ye Death, the parent of repose. 
 Who numbs the sense of penury and pain? 
 
 He comes but only once, nor ever throws, 
 Triumphant once, his painful shaft again. 
 
 ON A YOUNG BRIDE DROWNED IN THE 
 
 BOSPHORUS. 
 Sthangeh! shouldst thou to Thessaly return. 
 Say to my heart's dear lord that here I lie. 
 Here, where the Bosphor's waves are foaming 
 high, 
 And bid him near ovir bower my name inurn, — 
 So to preserve his young bride's memory. 
 
 MAIDEN PASSION. 
 
 Go, idle amorous boys ! 
 
 What are your cares and joys 
 To love, diat swells the longing virgin's breast? 
 
 A flame, half-hid in doubt. 
 
 Soon kindled, soon burnt out, 
 A blaze of momentary heat at best ! 
 
 Haply you well may find, 
 
 (Proud privilege of your kind,) 
 Some friend to share the secret of your heart ; 
 
 Or, if your inbred grief 
 
 Admit of such relief. 
 The chase, the dance, the play, assuage your 
 smart. 
 
 Whilst we, poor hapless maids, 
 
 Condemn'd to pine in shades. 
 And to our dearest friends our thoughts deny, 
 
 Can only sit and weep. 
 
 While all around us sleep, 
 Unpitied languish, and unheeded die. 
 
 THE LOVER'S DEVICE. 
 In wayward mood by artifice I strove 
 To test the fervour of my Helen's love; 
 And " Oh, farewell, my dearest girl !" I cried 
 " Forget me not when seas and lands divide." — 
 Pale at the news, she wept, and in despair 
 Her forehead struck, and tore her silken hair. 
 And sighed "Forsake me not!" — By sorrow prest 
 I nod compliance with her fond request; 
 I yield by generous selfishness inspir'd. 
 And hardly grant her what I most desir'd. 
 
 THE TORMENTS OF LOVE. 
 
 An night I wept, and when the morning rose 
 And short oblivion o'er iny senses crept, 
 The swallows, twittering round me as I slept, 
 
 Drove from my couch the phantom of repose. 
 
AGATHIAS. 
 
 279 
 
 Be silent, envious birds ! It was not I, 
 
 Who stopp'cl the voice of tuneful Philomel. 
 Go, — and again your plaintive descant swell 
 
 With Itylus, among the mountains high. 
 
 Leave me, oh leave me for a while, "to steep 
 My senses in a sweet forgetfulness!" 
 Perchance my dreams Rhodanthes' form may 
 bless, — 
 
 Her lovely image fill my arms in sleep. 
 
 CLIENT AND LAWYER. 
 
 A PLAINTIFF thus explain'd his cause 
 
 To counsel learned in the laws: 
 
 " My bondmaid lately ran away, 
 
 And in her flight was met by A, 
 
 Who, knowing she belonged to me, 
 
 Espoused her to his servant B. 
 
 The issue of this marriage, pray, 
 
 Do they belong to me, or A ?" — 
 
 The lawyer, true to his vocation. 
 
 Gave sign of deepest cogitation, 
 
 Look'd at a score of l)Ooks or near. 
 
 Then liemm'd, and said : "Your case is clear. 
 
 Those children, so begot by B 
 
 Upon your bondmaid must, you see, 
 
 Be yours or A's. — Now, this I say, 
 
 They can't be yours, if they to A 
 
 Belong. It follows then, of course. 
 
 That if they are not his, they're yours. 
 
 Therefore, by my advice, in short. 
 
 You'll take the opinion of the court." 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 NicosTRATUS, that second Stagirite, 
 
 Who sits, like Plato, perched on Wisdoin's height, 
 
 A simple scholar thus addressd one day : 
 
 "What is the soul, sage illumin'd, say — 
 
 Mortal or deathless? Substance or mere shade? 
 
 Of reasoning sense, or naked feeling made. 
 
 Or both alike ? Resolve my doubts'' — he said. 
 
 The sage his books of meteors 'gan unroll. 
 
 And Aristotle's treatise on the soul. 
 
 And Plato's Phcedon to its source explor'd. 
 
 Where truth from heaven's eternal fount is 
 
 pour'd ; 
 Then waved his hand, applied it to his chin. 
 And uttered thus the oracle within : 
 "If all the world be soul — and if 'tis so 
 Or not, I must confess I do not know — 
 But if, I say, all nature spirit be, 
 It must be mortal or from death be free ; 
 
 Must be substantial, or. if not, mere shade ; 
 Of reasoning sense, or naked feeling made. 
 Or both or neither : — But, my friend," he said, 
 "If more you wish to learn, to Hades go. 
 And there, as much as PlaTo, soon you'll know; 
 Or, if you choose, ascend the rampart's height, 
 Mimic Cleombrotus, and plunge to night; 
 Quit tliis encimibering vest of mortal clay. 
 And then return and teach me, if you may." 
 
 ON A WAX IMAGE OF EUSTATHIUS. 
 
 Sweet, dear Eustathius, is the form I see; 
 Yet 'tis of wax — no phrase of boyish glee 
 Sits on those lips : thy tender prime is fled, 
 And dust, mere dust, remains to us instead 
 Of all thou wert! Scarce of thy fifteenth year 
 Four little weeks had run their brief career; 
 Nor aught avail'd thee, or thy grandsire's throne, 
 Or wealth paternal. All, to whom is shown 
 This thy mere bust, tax Fate's unjust decree. 
 Which merciless could crush such grace in thee ! 
 
 LOVE AND WINE. 
 Farewei.!. to wine! or, if thou bid me sip. 
 Present the cup more honour'd from thy lip 
 Pour'd by thy hand, to rosy draughts I fly, 
 And cast away my dull sobriety; 
 For, as I drink, soft raptures tell my soul 
 That lovely Glycera has kissed the bowl. 
 
 THE REVENGE OF LOVE. 
 
 She who but late in beauty's flower was seen, 
 Proud of her auburn curls, and noble mien. 
 Who froze my hopes, and triumph'd in my fears, 
 Now sheds her graces to the waste of years. 
 Changed to unlovely is that breast of snow. 
 And dimm'd her eye, and wrinkled is her brow, 
 And querulous the voice by time repress'd. 
 Whose artless music stole me from my rest, 
 Age gives redress to love; and silvery hair. 
 And earlier wrinkles, brand the haughty fair. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S OFFERING. 
 Venus, this chaplet take ! Callirhoe pray'd. 
 The youth I loved, thy power hath made him 
 mine ; 
 This lock to thee I vow, Athenian maid ! 
 By thee, I holy kept my virgin shrine ; 
 To Artemis my zone ; a mother's joy 
 She gave me to possess, my beauteous boy. 
 
MACEDONIUS. 
 
 [About 550 A. D.] 
 
 A contemporary of Agathias, surnamed 'Trtafoj, or the Consul. Nothing more is known of him. 
 
 THE POET'S OFFERING. 
 There hang, my lyre ! This aged hand no 
 
 more 
 Shall wake the strings to rapture known before. 
 Farewell, ye chords! Ye verse-inspiring powers, 
 Accept the solace of my former hours ! 
 Be gone to youths, ye instruments of song! 
 For crutches only to the old belong. 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 I ASK not gold ; I ask not power ; 
 I never prayed great Jove to shower 
 On me the wealth that Homer sings, 
 The grandeur of the Theban kings. 
 I shall be w^ell contented, so 
 My cup with ceaseless bumpers flow, 
 
 And my moist lips for ever shine 
 
 In honour of tlie God of Wine, 
 
 And friends, who share my inmost soul, 
 
 Share also in the fragrant bowl. 
 
 Let the grave and dull possess 
 
 Their toil-worn wealth (short happiness!) 
 
 These are my riches, which 111 love 
 
 As long as I'm allow'd by Jove. 
 
 For vv'hile the sparkling bowl I drain. 
 
 The boasts of pride and pomp are vain. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE AND FORGETFULNESS. 
 
 AxL hail, remembrance and forgetfidness ! 
 
 Trace, Memory, trace whate'er is sweet or 
 kind— 
 When friends forsake us, or misfortunes press, 
 
 Oblivion, raze the record from our mind. 
 
 PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 
 
 [About 550 A. D.] 
 
 So called from an office which he held in the I prostituting his muse in celebration of the infa- 
 court of Justinian, corresponding to that of gentle- mous Theodora, and freely indtilging himself in 
 man usher. He was a courtier and voluptuary — [ all the debasing pleasures of the age. 
 
 WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY? 
 
 Why does she so long delay? 
 Night is waning fast away ; 
 Thrice have I my lamp renew'd, 
 Watching here in solitude. 
 Where can she so long delay? 
 Where so long delay? 
 
 Vainly now have two lamps shone ; 
 See the third is nearly gone : 
 Oh, that love would, like the ray 
 Of that weary lamp, decay ! 
 But no, alas ! it burns still on. 
 Still, still, burns on. 
 2S0 
 
 Gods, how oft the traitress dear 
 Swore by Venus, she'd be here! 
 But to one so false as she, 
 What is man or deity? 
 Neither doth this proud one fear. 
 No, neither doth she fear. 
 
 TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE ROSE. 
 To weave a garland for the Rose, 
 
 And think, thus crown'd 'twould lovelier be, 
 Were far less vain than to suppose. 
 
 That silks and gems add grace to thee. 
 
PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 
 
 281 
 
 Where is the pearl, whose orient lustre 
 
 Would not, Ijeside thee, look less bright ? 
 Wliat gold could match the glossy cluster 
 
 Of those young ringlets full of light ? 
 Bring from the land, where fresh it gleams, 
 
 The bright blue gem of India's mine, 
 And see how soon, though bright it beams, 
 
 'Twill pale before one glance of thine; 
 Those lips, too, when their sounds have blest us. 
 
 With some divine, mellifluous air, 
 Who would not say that beauty's cestus 
 
 Had let loose all its witcheries there? 
 Here, to this conquering host of charms 
 
 I now give up my spell-bound heart, 
 Nor blush to yield e'en reason's arms 
 
 When thou her bright-eyed conqueror art 
 Thus to the wind all fears are given; 
 
 Henceforth those eyes alone I see, 
 Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 
 
 Sits beck'ning us to bliss and thee. 
 
 THE VICTORY OF VENUS. 
 IiT my green and tender age, 
 
 I the Queen of Love defied, 
 Steel'd my heart against her rage. 
 
 And her arts repell'd with pride. 
 Inaccessible before. 
 Now, almost grey, I burn the more. 
 
 Venus, laugliiiig hear the vow 
 By your slave repentant made ! 
 
 Greater far your triumph now 
 Tlian of old in Ida's shade. 
 
 There a boy adjudged the prize — 
 
 Here Pallas from the contest flies. 
 
 ABSENCE INSUPPORTABLE. 
 Whex I left thee, love, I swore 
 
 Not to see that face again, 
 For a fortnight's space, or more. 
 
 — But the cruel oath was vain : 
 Since, the next day I spent from thee 
 Was a long year of misery. 
 Oh, then, for thy lover pray 
 
 Every gentler deity. 
 Not in too nice scales to weigh 
 
 His constrained perjury — 
 Thou too, oh pity his despair ! 
 Heaven's rage, and thine, he cannot bear. 
 
 ON A DAUGHTER WHO DIED YOUNG. 
 Sweet maid, thy parents fondly thought 
 
 To strew thy briile-bed, not thy bier; 
 But thou hast left a being fraught 
 
 With wiles, and toils, and anxious fear. 
 For us remains a journey drear, 
 
 For thee a blest eternal prime. 
 Uniting, in thy short career. 
 
 Youth's blossom, with the fruit of time. 
 
 Happy the art that could dispose 
 Wliate'er in sea or garden grows. 
 And summon'd to the enchanted land 
 The Naiads and the Nereid's band. 
 
 Oh the Same. 
 
 Here strive for empire, o'er the liappy scene, 
 The Nymphs of fountain, sea, and woodland 
 
 green ; 
 The power of grace and beauty holds the prize 
 Suspended, even to her votaries; 
 And finds amazed, where'er she casts her eye, 
 Their contest forms the matchless harmony. 
 
 TWINST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH 
 THY BROW? 
 
 Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow? 
 
 Such glory then thy beauty sheds, 
 I almost think, whil'st aw'd I bow, 
 
 'Tis Rhea's self Ijefore me treads. 
 Be what thou wilt, — this heart 
 Adores wliate'er thou art ! 
 
 Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave. 
 Like sunny waves, to wander free ? 
 
 Then such a chain of charms they weave, 
 As draws mine inmost soul from me. 
 
 Do what thou wilt, — I must 
 
 Be charmed by all thou dost ! 
 
 E'en when enwrapt in silvery veils. 
 Those sunny locks elude the sight, — 
 
 Oh, not e'en then their glory fails 
 To haunt me with its unseen light. 
 
 Change as thy beauty may, 
 
 It charms in every way ! 
 
 For thee the graces still attend, 
 
 Presiding o'er each new attire, 
 And lending every dart they send 
 
 Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 
 Be what thou wilt, — this heart 
 Adores wliate'er thou art! 
 
 GARDEN SCENERY. 
 This lovely spot old Ocean laves, 
 And woody coverts fringe the waves ; 
 36 
 
 WHEN THE SAD WORD. 
 
 Whe:* the sad word "Adieu," from my lip is nigh 
 falling. 
 
 And, with it, hope passes away. 
 Ere the tongue has half breathed it, my fond heart 
 recalling 
 
 That fated farewell, bids me stay. 
 For oh ! 'tis a penance so weary, 
 
 One hour from thy presence to be. 
 That death to this soul were less dreary. 
 
 Less dark, than long absence from thee. 
 
 Thy beauty, like day, on the ilull world breaking. 
 
 Brings life to the heart it shines o'er, 
 And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking. 
 
 Made light wliat was darkness before. 
 But mute is the day's sunny glory, 
 
 While thine has a voice, on whose breath. 
 More sweet than the syren's sweet story. 
 
 My hopes hang through life and through death ! 
 v2 
 
282 
 
 MARIANUS SCHOLASTICUS. 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 Oh ! many a tear, from hearts by anguish torn, 
 
 Aromul thy tomb our streaming eyelids pour'd; 
 A connaon son, a common friend, w% moiu-n, 
 
 In thee too much belov'd, so much deptor'd. 
 Harsh, heartless fate, nor pity had, nor ruth — 
 Alas ! alas ! — nor spared thy tender youth. 
 
 THE OFFERING OF A DESERTED LOVER. 
 
 To thee the relics of a thousand flowers, 
 Torn from the chaplet twined in gayer hours ; 
 To thee the ffoblet carved with skill divine, 
 Erewhile that foamVl with soul-subduing wme ; 
 The locks, now scatter'd on the dusty ground, 
 Once dropping odours, and with garlands crown'd. 
 Outcast of pleasure, and of hope bereft, 
 Lais ! to thee, thy Corydon has left. 
 Oft on thy threshold stretch'd, at close of day, 
 He wept and sigli'd the cheerless night away, 
 Nor dared invoke thy name, nor dared aspire 
 To melt thy bosom with his amorous fire, 
 Or plead a gracious respite to his pain, 
 Or speak the language of a happier swain. — 
 Alas! alas! "now cold and senseless grown," 
 These last sad offerings make his sorrows known, 
 And dare upbraid those scornful charms that gave 
 His youth unpitied to the cheerless grave. 
 
 LOVE NOT EXTINGUISHED BY AGE. 
 For me thy wrinkles have more charms, 
 
 Dear Lydia, than a smoother face I 
 I'd rather fold thee in my arms, 
 
 Than younger, fairer nymphs embrace. 
 To me thy autumn is more sweet, 
 
 More precious, than their vernal rose ; 
 Their summer ^varms not with a heat 
 
 So potent, as thy winter glows. 
 
 THE DRENCHED LOVER. 
 
 The voice of the song and the banquet was o'er, 
 Ami I hung up my chaplet at Glycera"s door. 
 When the mischievous girl from a window above. 
 Who look'd down and laugh'd at the otfering of 
 
 love, 
 Fill'd with water a goblet whence Bacchus had 
 
 fled, 
 And pour'd all the crystal contents on my head. 
 So drench'd was my hair, three whole days it 
 
 resisted 
 All attempts of the barber to friz it or twist it; 
 But tlie water (so whimsical, Love, are thy ways !) 
 While it put out my curls, set my heart in a blaze. 
 
 THE CHAIN OF LOVE. 
 
 In wanton sport, my Doris from her fair 
 And glossy tresses, tore a straggling hair. 
 And bound my hands, as if of conquest vain. 
 And I some royal captive in her chain. 
 At first I laughd — "This fetter, lovely maid, 
 Is lightly worn, and soon dissolved," I said, 
 I said — but ah, I had not learned to prove 
 How strong the fetters that are forged by Love. 
 That little thread of gold I strove to sever. 
 Was bound, like steel, about my heart for ever. 
 And, from that luckless hour, my tyrant fair 
 Has led, and turn'd me by a single hair. 
 
 THE PICTURE. 
 
 Oh how unequal is the painter's art, 
 
 To reach the glowing picture of the heart. 
 
 To catch the roseate graces of my fair, 
 
 "Her eyes' blue languish, and her golden hair!" 
 
 First paint the gorgeous day-star's beam divine. 
 
 Then may your imaged Lydia equal mine. 
 
 MARIANUS SCHOLASTICUS. 
 
 [About 550 A. D.] 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A BATH. 
 
 As, in this fount, Love wash'd the Cyprian dame, 
 
 His touch the water ting'd with subtle flame ; 
 
 And, while his busy hands his mother lave. 
 
 Ambrosial dews enrich the silver wave, 
 
 And all the undulating bason fill ; 
 
 Such dews as her celestial limbs distill. 
 
 Hence how delicious float these tepid streams ! 
 
 What rosy odours ! what nectareous steams ! 
 
 So pure the water, and so soft the air. 
 
 It seems as if the Goddess still were there. 
 
DEMOCHARIS. 
 
 [AlH.ut 560 A. D.] 
 
 A GTiAMMARiAPf, aiitl disciplo of Agatliias. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF SAPPHO. 
 
 Nature herself this ma^ic portrait drew^, 
 And, Painter! gave thy Lesbian Muse to view. 
 Light s{)arkles in her eyes; and Fancy seems 
 Tlie radiant fountain of tliose living beams : 
 
 Tlirough the smooth fullness of the unclouded 
 
 skin 
 Looks out the clear ingenuous soul within; 
 Joy melts to fondness in her glistening face, 
 And Love and Music breathe a mingled grace. 
 
 FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 THE HYMN OF ARION. 
 HtiL, Neptune, greatest of the gods! 
 ']"hou ruler of the salt-sea floods ; 
 Thou with the deep and dark-green hair, 
 That dost the golden trident bear : 
 Thou that, with either arm outspread, 
 Embosomest the earth we tread : 
 Thine are the beasts with fins and scales, 
 That, round thy chariot, as it sails. 
 Plunging and tumbling, fast and free, 
 All reckless, follo'w o'er the sea. 
 Thine are the gentle dolphin throng, 
 That love and listen to the song; 
 With whom the sister Nereids stray, 
 And in their crystal caverns play. 
 They bore me well to Pelops' isle, 
 And Lacedipmon's rocky pile; 
 And through the deep Sicilian sea 
 The briny champaign ploughed for me ; 
 When wicked men had cast me o'er 
 Our vessel's side, into the roar 
 Of clashing waters, and a grave 
 Yawned for me in the purple wave. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Thou art not dead, my Protc, though no more 
 A sojourner on earth's tempestuous shore; 
 Fled to the peaceful islands of the blest, 
 Where youth and love, for ever beaming, rest; 
 Or joyful wandering o'er Elysian ground. 
 Among sweet flowers, where not a thorn is foimd. 
 No Winter freezes there, no Summer fires, 
 No sickness weakens, and no labour tires; 
 No hunger, poverty, or wants oppress. 
 Nor envy of man's boasted happiness; 
 But Spring for ever glows, serenely bright, 
 And bliss immortal hails the heavenly light. 
 
 ON A CORPSE WASHED AFHORE. 
 
 Not rugged Trauhis hides those whitening bones, 
 Nor that black isle whose name its colour 
 shows. 
 But the wild beach, o'er which, with ceaseless 
 moans, 
 The vexed Icarian wave, eternal, flows, 
 Of Drepaniis — ill-famed promontory — 
 
 And there, instead of hospitable rites, 
 The long grass sweeping tells his fate's sad 
 story 
 To rude tribes gathered from the neighbouring 
 heiffhts. 
 
 ULYSSES ON HIS RETURN. 
 Hail Ithaca, my loved paternal soil! 
 How, after years of travel, war, and toil, 
 How, after countless perils of the sea, 
 My heart, returning, fondly clings to thee ! 
 Where I shall once more bless my father's age, 
 And smooth the last steps of his pilgrimage; 
 Again embrace my wife, again enjoy 
 The sweet endearments of mine only boy. 
 Now, from my soul, I feel how strong the chain 
 That binds the passions to our native plain. 
 
 ON A STATUE OF NIOBE. 
 This female (so the poets sing) 
 
 Was changed to stone by Dian's curse. 
 The sculptor did a better thing — 
 
 He did exactly the reverse. 
 
 On the Same. 
 Relf.xtixg Heaven had given the mourner rest, 
 And hushed in stone the terrors of her breast; 
 What cruel hand renews the sense of pain, 
 And bids the marble live to weep again? 
 
 283 
 
284 
 
 FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 ON A SHIPWRECKED PERSON. 
 
 Perish the hour — that dark and starless hour — 
 Perish the roaring main's tempestuous power,^ 
 That wliehii'd the shiji, where loved Abdera's 
 
 son 
 Prayed to unheeding heaven, and was undone. 
 Yes — all were wrecked ; and, by the stormy wave 
 To rough SerTphos borne, he found a grave, — 
 Found, from kind stranger hands, funereal fires, 
 Yet reached, inurned, the country of his sires. 
 
 ON ERINNA, THE POETESS. 
 Scarce nineteen summer suns had shed 
 Youth's roses o'er the virgin's head. 
 While by a guardian mother's side. 
 Her customary tasks she plied, 
 Bade the rich silks her loom prepare, 
 Or plied the distaff's humbler care ; — 
 Her modest worth the Muses knew, 
 Brought her bright genius forth to view, 
 And — ah, too soon ! — from mortal eyes — 
 Bore her, their handmaid, to the skies. 
 
 BIS DAT, QUI CITO DAT. 
 Swift favours charm, but when too long they 
 
 stay. 
 They lose the name of kindness by delay. 
 
 FUNERAL HONOURS. 
 
 Seek not to glad these senseless stones 
 
 With fragrant ointments, rosy wreaths ; 
 No warmth can reach our mouldering bones 
 
 From lustral fire, that vainly breathes. 
 Now let me revel whilst I may: 
 
 The wine, that o'er my grave is shed. 
 Mixes with earth, and turns to clay — 
 
 No honours can delight the dead. 
 
 On the Same. 
 
 Oh, think not that with garlands crown'd. 
 
 Inhuman near thy grave we tread; 
 Or blushing roses scatter round, 
 
 To mock the paleness of the dead! 
 What though we drain the fragrant bowl, 
 
 In flowers adorn'd, and silken vest. 
 Oh, think not, brave departed soul. 
 
 We revel to disturb thy rest. 
 Feign'd is the pleasure that appears. 
 
 And false the triumph of our eyes; 
 Each draught of joy is dash'd with tears. 
 
 And all our songs but echo sighs. 
 
 ON A POOR MAN 
 becoming rich in his old age. 
 Poor and destitute at twenty — 
 Now — at three-score — I have plenty. 
 
 What a miserable lot! 
 Now, that I have hoarded treasure, 
 I no more can taste of pleasure: 
 When I could, I had it not. 
 
 ON DEATH. 
 
 The bath, obsequious beauty's smile, 
 
 Wine, fragrance, music's heavenly breath, 
 
 Can but our hastening hours beguile. 
 And slope the path that leads to Death. 
 
 ON A MURDERED CORPSE. 
 Though here thou'st laid my corpse, when none 
 
 W'ere nigh ; 
 One saw thee, murderer ! — One all-seeing Eye. 
 
 ON HOMER. 
 Still in our ears Andromache complains, 
 And still in sight the fate of Troy remains; 
 Still Ajax fights, still Hector's dragg'd along — 
 Such strange enchantment dwells in Homer's song; 
 Whose birth could more than one proud realm 
 
 adorn, 
 For all the world is proud that he was born. 
 
 ON ANACREON. 
 Nor yet are all his numbers mute, 
 
 Though dark within the tomb he lies ; 
 But, living still, his amorous Lute 
 
 In sleepless animation sighs. 
 
 ON ONE WHO SLEW HIS MOTHER. 
 BURT not the dead, but let him lie 
 A prey for dogs beneath th' unpitying sky ! 
 Our common mother. Earth, would grieve to 
 
 hide 
 The hateful body of the Matricide. 
 
 ON A HAPPY OLD MAN. 
 Take old Amyntor to thy breast, dear Soil, 
 In kind remembrance of his former toil, 
 Who first enrich'd and ornamented thee 
 With many a lovely shrub and branching tree. 
 And lured the stream to fall in artful showers 
 Upon thy thirsting herbs and fainting flowers. 
 First in the spring he knew the rose to rear. 
 First in the autumn cull the ripen'd pear ; 
 His vines were envied all the village round. 
 And favouring heaven showered plenty on his 
 
 ground. 
 Therefore, O Earth, lie lightly on his head, 
 And with thy choicest sj)ring-flowers deck his 
 
 bed. 
 
 ON A MISERABLE OLD MAN. 
 By years and misery worn, no hand to save 
 With some poor pittance from a desperate grave; 
 With the small strength my wretched age sup- 
 plied, 
 I crawled beneath this lonely pile and died. 
 Screened from the scoff of pride and grandeur's 
 
 frown. 
 In this sad spot I laid my sufferings down, 
 Reversed the doom of nature, and, instead 
 Of " dead and buried," buried was and dead. 
 
FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 285 
 
 1 
 
 ON FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 How sweet is life when passed with those 
 
 Wlioin our own hearts approvini; chose; 
 
 When on some few surrounding friends 
 
 Our all of happiness depends! 
 
 It is not life to drag, alone, 
 
 A miserable being on, 
 
 Without one kindred soul to share 
 
 Our pleasure or relieve our care. 
 
 O welcome falls the stroke of fate, 
 
 That frees us from so sad a state. 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. 
 
 Too soon, grim monarch, with unholy hand, 
 Tliou'st snatch'd this infant to thy dreary land. 
 Like some fair rose-bud, plucked from mortal 
 
 sight. 
 Ere all its beauties opened into light. 
 Cease, wretched parents, cease your wailings 
 
 wild. 
 Nor mourn for ever your departed child! 
 Her youthful graces, and her form so fair. 
 Deserved a dwelling in the realms of air. 
 As Hylas once (believe the soothing lay!) — 
 The Nymphs — not Death — have borne your child 
 
 away. 
 
 ^7iother. 
 
 Five years I lived with lightsome heart and gay, 
 Then, tranquil, mingled with my fellow clay. 
 Mourn not my fate! IVIy days of life were few; 
 My pleasures brief, — but brief my sorrows too. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A FIGURED GEM, 
 
 nEPHESEJf TIXG A GOAT GIVING SUCK TO A YOUNG 
 WOLF. 
 
 A WOLF with my own milk I feed, 
 
 Obedient to a master's will; 
 By him, I nourish, doomed to bleed, 
 
 For nature will be nature still. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER S REMONSTRANCE. 
 
 Why, shepherds, from the dewy spray. 
 Chase me thus spitefully away, — 
 Me, the Nymphs' bard, — who, summer long, 
 Cheer vale and upland with my song? 
 The thrush, the blackbird, and the stare, — 
 'Tis tlieij have laid your gardens bare ; 
 Such thieves 'twere justice to pursue, 
 But why grudge me my leaves and dew ? 
 
 ON A GRASSHOPFER IN A SPIDERS WEB. 
 
 Whtlf. with lithe feet Ids tnsk the spider plied. 
 Within his snares a grasshopper he drew ; 
 
 Under its slender chains the captive sigh'd, 
 And to release the child of song I flew. 
 
 '•Save thee," I cried, "thy chains are off, — be 
 free, — 
 
 And now indulge thy sweetest minstrelsy."' 
 
 TO THE LOCUST. 
 
 Thou, Locust, soother of my love, 
 
 whose music slumber brings ; 
 Thou, Locust, minstrel of the fields, 
 
 endowed with shrilly wings; 
 Thou artless mimic of the lyre, 
 
 some song of beauty sing, 
 By striking, with thy pliant feet, 
 
 each music-speaking wing. 
 Thou, Locust, trill me from thy chords 
 
 a love-releasing strain, 
 That thus thou may'st remove my care, 
 
 my ever-wakeful pain ; 
 And 111 the evergreens to thee, 
 
 as morning gifts, assign, 
 And tlie dew-drops split in parts to fit 
 
 that little mouth of thine. 
 
 ON MENANDER. 
 
 The bees, Menander, who with active wing 
 Sport midst the flowers that deck the Muses' 
 
 spring. 
 Around thy lips in thickening clusters hung. 
 And tipp'd with honey-drops thine infant tongue ; 
 The Graces, too, on thee their gifts bestow. 
 And teach thy strains with elegance to flow. 
 Celestial Bard ! — immortal as thy lays. 
 Thy native Athens shares thy meed of praise. 
 
 ON THE STATUE OF MENANDER. 
 
 Beholb Menander! Siren of the stage. 
 Who charm'd, with Love allied, a happier age; 
 Light wanton wreaths, that never shall be dead, 
 Are curld luxuriant round the poets head. 
 Who dress'd the scene in colours bright and gay. 
 And breathed enchantment o'er the living lay. 
 
 ON THE STATUE OF THE SAME POET, 
 
 PLACED BY THE SIDE OF THE FIGUUE OF CUPID. 
 
 Menander, sweet Thalia's pride. 
 
 Well art thou placed by Cupids side ; 
 
 Priest to the god of soft delights. 
 
 Thou spread'st on earth his joyous rites; 
 
 And siu-e the boy himself we see 
 
 To smile, and please, and breathe in thee. 
 
 For, musing o'er yon imaged stone. 
 
 To see thee, and to love, are one. 
 
 THE GARDENERS OFFERING. 
 
 To Pan, the guardian of my narrow soil. 
 Who gave my fruits to grow, and blest my toil, 
 Pure water and a votive fig I bear, 
 A scant oblation from the teenung year: 
 The fruit ambrosial in thy garden blush "d. 
 And from thy rock the living water gush'd : 
 Receive the tribute from my niggard urn. 
 Nor with thy bounty weigh my poor return. 
 
286 
 
 FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 OFFERING TO VENUS. 
 Goddess of surf and sliore,tliese cakes receive — 
 'Tis all tliy Iiunihle votary has to give: 
 To-morrow o'er the broad Ionian main 
 I haste to clasp my Chloe's charms again. 
 My love, my canvass, ask thy favouring breeze, 
 Venus, bright queen of spousals and of seas. 
 
 SONG OF THE CROW.* 
 
 Lords and ladies, for your ear 
 We have a petitioner; 
 Name and lineage would ye know ? 
 'Tis Apollo's child, the Crow; 
 Waiting till your hands dispense, 
 Gift of barley, salt, or pence. 
 He's not one, who picks and chuses ; 
 Nought that's protiered, he refuses. 
 Who, to-day, gives salt, he knows 
 Next day fig or honey throws. 
 Open, open, gate and door : 
 JVIark ! the moment we implore, 
 Conies the daughter of the squire 
 With such figs as wake desire. 
 Maiden for this favour done, 
 May thy fortunes, as they run, 
 Ever brighten : — Be thy spouse 
 Rich, and of a noble house ; 
 May thy sire, in aged ease. 
 Nurse a boy who calls thee mother; 
 And his grandam, on her knees. 
 Rock a girl, who calls him brother; 
 Kept as bride, in reservation, 
 For some favoured near relation. 
 But enough now ; I must tread, 
 Where my feet and eyes are led; 
 Dropping at each door a strain, 
 Let me lose my suit or gain. 
 
 Then search, worthy gentles, the cupboard's close 
 
 nook ; 
 To tlie lord, and still more to the lady, we look: 
 Custom warrants the suit; — let it btill then bear 
 
 sway ; 
 And your Crow, as in duty most bounden, shall 
 
 pray. 
 
 * All persons and all things in Greece seem to have 
 had their own pecnliiir songs, — ploughmen, reapers, 
 millers, weavers, shepherds, &c.., as may be seen in 
 Athena'us, xiv. 619. Even the poor luipopiilar crow 
 could boast of one, and persons went about begging in 
 his name, and piping in strains suitable to his habits and 
 disposition. "The crows," says Mr. Mitchell, "appear 
 to have been in great disfavour with the Athenians ; they 
 had the fee-siiiiple of all Ihat society wished to eject from 
 itself; and thus stood to the Greeks somewhat in the re- 
 lation of tliat malignant person, w-lio, according to Ra- 
 belais, breakfasts on the souls of serjeant-at-arms fri- 
 casseed. This song will show that the dislike to the 
 crow did not prevail universally amoni/ the Grenks, hut 
 that (he same use was made of him in some parts, as in 
 others was made of the swallow." 
 
 In like manner, (as we learn from Scripture,) the He- 
 brews also had tlieir songs, adapted to different occupa- 
 tions and employments. The griiuler at the mill, the 
 h;irvest-inan in the field, the vintager on his hill-side, all 
 heguil.id their labours with song.— See Isaiah ix, ."i ; 
 Jeremiah xxv, 10; xlviii, 33; Ecclesiasticus xxxii, 5, 9. 
 
 SONG OF THE SWALLOW.* 
 
 Thk Swallow is coine ! 
 The Swallow is come! 
 He brings us the season of vernal delight 
 With his back all of sable, and belly of white. 
 
 Have you nothing to spare 
 
 That his palate would please 
 
 A fig, or a pear, 
 
 Or a slice of rich cheese? 
 
 Mark, he bars all delay: 
 
 At a word, my friend, say, 
 
 Is it yes — is it nay ? 
 
 Do we go ? Do we stay ? 
 
 One gift, and were gone : 
 
 Refuse, and anon 
 
 On your gate and your door 
 
 All our fury we pour. 
 
 Or our strength shall be tried 
 
 On your sweet little bride ; 
 
 From her seat we "will tear her, 
 
 From her home we will bear her; 
 
 She is light, and will ask 
 
 But small hands to the task. 
 
 Lei your bounty then lift 
 
 A small aid to our mirth ; 
 
 Antl whatever the gift, 
 
 Let its size speak its worth. 
 
 The Swallow, the Swallow, 
 
 Upon you doth wait ; 
 
 An alms-man and suppliant, 
 
 He stands at your gate : — 
 
 Let him in then, I say. 
 
 For no greybeards are we 
 
 To be foiled in our glee ; 
 
 But boys, who will have our own way. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 Did Jove a queen of flowers decree. 
 The Rose tlie queen of flowers should be. 
 Of flowers the eye, of plants the gem ; 
 The meado^v's blush, earth's diadem : 
 Glory of colours on the gaze. 
 Lightning in its beauty's blaze : 
 It breathes of love : it blooms the guest 
 Of Aphrodite's fragrant breast : 
 In gaudy pomp its petals spread : 
 Light foliage trembles round its head : 
 With vermeil blossoms fresh and fair, 
 It laughs to the voluptuous air. 
 
 LAIS. 
 Gi^EECE, once the nurse of generous hearts, 
 Mistress of nations, Queen of arts. 
 No longer great, no longer free. 
 Yields to a willing slavery, 
 A girl of Corinth holds the chain 
 Which circled once the Ionian main. 
 
 * The swallow, as the herald of spring, was an univer- 
 sal favourite amongst the Greeks, and was welcomed by 
 the children in their little songs. The one presented 
 here, was that usually sung by ihe children of Rhodes, 
 who ran about in troops, carrying a live swallow with 
 them, and choiring its praises from door to door. — .See 
 llase's public and private life of the ancient Greeks. 
 
FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 287 
 
 ON ERINNA. 
 
 Thou who hadst lately birth to music given 
 Of bee-engender"d hymns, and swan-voiced 
 lays, 
 
 Art now o"er Acheron's dark waters driven 
 By Fate, — the spindle of man's life that sways. 
 
 Yet still, Erinna, will the Muse proclaim 
 
 Thy labours — deathless in the choirs of Fame. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A BATH. 
 
 Oil from this fount, a joyous birth. 
 The Queen of Beauty rose to earth, 
 Or heavenly Venus, bathing, gave 
 Her own quintessence to the wave. 
 
 THE OLIVE TO THE VINE. 
 I AM Minerva's sacred plant; 
 
 Press me no more, intruding vine! 
 Unwreathe your wanton arms! Avauut! 
 
 A modest maiden loves not wine. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 Fortune and Hope, adieu! I've found my port; 
 You've done witli me ; be others now your 
 sport. 
 
 CONVIVIALITY AND REFINEMENT. 
 When to the lip the brimming cup is prest, 
 
 And hearts are all afloat upon its stream, 
 Then banish from thy board the unpolish'd guest, 
 
 Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme. 
 But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes 
 
 The muses' laurel with the Cyprian flower, 
 O, give me him whose soul expansive breathes 
 
 And blends refinement with the social hour. 
 
 ON A FRIEND. 
 
 How often, Lycid, shall I bathe with tears 
 This little stone, which our groat love endears ! 
 Thou, too, in memory of tlic vows we made, 
 Drink not of Lethe in the realms of shade.* 
 
 » Imitated hy Jortin in llie fiillowin'r beautiful lines. 
 '•Qu« te suh tencrd rapiierunt, Pocta, juventa 
 <), utiiiaui me trudelia Fata voceiit : 
 Ijt liri(|uani terr.-is, iiivisaqiie luuuna soils; 
 
 Utqiie tuus riirsnni (Mirpiire sim posito. 
 Tc se(|iiar ; ol)s< iinnn per iter dux il)jt eunli 
 FIdus Amor, teneliras limpade diseuliens; 
 Tu cave I,ellia"o coiitiiiwuas ora llqunre; 
 Et cito venluri sis uieuior, oro, Viri " 
 Oh 1 had the Fate that cut tliy tender age. 
 Made me companion of thy pilKrimage, 
 'I'hat I mlcht say. Farewell to earth and sky, 
 And once aj;ain beside my I'ofla lie! 
 Thee will I follow — on the darksome road 
 I.ove lights me onward to thy calui abode: 
 Kefrain lliy lip from that oblivious wave, 
 And ihiiik of liini who liastuns to thy grave. 
 
 Bland. 
 In the same spirit the ghost of .lulia addresses I'ompey. 
 " Non me I.elhx'a?, conjux, oblivia vitx 
 Iinmeinorcm fuc^re tui." 
 
 THE LOVES OF SAPPHO AND ANACREON.* 
 Anac. SpiniT of Love ! whose tresses shine 
 Along the breeze, in golden twine, 
 Come! within a fragrant cloud, 
 Blushing with light, thy votary shroud ; 
 And, on those wings that sparkling play, 
 Waft, oh! waft me hence away! 
 Love! my soul is full of thee, 
 Alive to all thy luxury: 
 But she, the Nymph, for whom I glow, 
 The pretty Lesbian mocks my woe ; 
 Smiles at the hoar and silver hues 
 Which Time ujjon iny forehead strews. 
 Alas ! I fear, she keeps her charms 
 In store for younger, happier arms. 
 
 Sapph. O Muse, who siit'st on golden throne ! 
 Full many a hymn of dulcet tone 
 
 The Teian Sage is taught by thee. 
 But, Goddess! from thy throne of gold, 
 The sweetest hymn thon'st ever told. 
 
 He lately learn'd and sang for me. 
 
 THE LOVES OF SAPPHO AND ALCiEUS. 
 
 Mr. I FAiPf would speak — I fain would tell — 
 But shame and fear my utterance quell. 
 
 Sapph. If aught of good, if aught of fair, 
 Thy tongue were labouring to declare. 
 Nor shame should dash thy glance, nor fear 
 Forbid thy suit to reach my ear. 
 
 ON SAPPHO. 
 Come, Lesbian maids, to Juno's royal dome ! 
 With steps that hardly press the pavement, 
 
 come ! 
 Let your own Sappho lead the lovely choir, 
 And to the altar bear her golden lyre. 
 Then first, in graceful order, slow advance. 
 Weaving light mazes of the joyous dan(-e. 
 While from on high the heav'n-rapt Maid shall 
 
 pour 
 Such strains, that men shall wonder and adore. 
 
 DIOGENES TO CRffiSUS. 
 Whev now the Cynic in dark Pluto's reign, 
 
 His earthly task of snarling wisdom clos'd; 
 Laughing he heard the Lydian king complain. 
 And .spread his cloak and near the prince 
 reiios'il. 
 " Dreamer," he cried, " of streams, that flowed 
 
 with gold, 
 My higher dignity in hell behold! 
 For all I had on eardi this nether sphere 
 Receives with me, — but tliou hast nothing here." 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 Jot follow thee; if joy can reach the deal. 
 
 And — or my mind misgives — it surely will: 
 For when the miseries of life are lied, 
 
 How sweet the deep forgetfulness of ill! 
 
 * " Mais, par malheur," ns IJayle says, "Sappho vint 
 an nionde environ cent ou si.x vingl ans avant Anatre • 
 oil." 
 
288 
 
 FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 Quaff with me the purple wine, 
 And in youthful pleasures join ; 
 Crown with me thy flowing hair ; 
 Love with me the blooming fair; 
 When secret madness fires my soul, 
 Thou shall rave without control ; 
 When I'm sober, sink with me 
 Into dull sobriety. 
 
 RESTITUTION. 
 
 Whilst thus a few kisses I steal, 
 O do not, dear Chloris, complain; 
 
 If any resentment you feel, 
 
 I'll give you them all back again. 
 
 VIRTUOUS, THOUGH POOR. 
 
 I AM poor, 'tis true ; but why for that upbraid me 1 
 For thus my Fate, and not my Fault, has made me. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 Ask'd or unask'd, Lord, with all good befriend us; 
 But from all evil, e'en though ask'd, defend us. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 Whence was I born, and howl 
 
 How was I born, and why ? 
 Alas ! I nothing know 
 
 But, born, that I must die. 
 From nothing I was born, 
 To nought must I return. 
 
 The end and the beginning 
 Of life is nothingness; 
 
 Of losing or of winning. 
 Of pleasure or distress. 
 
 Then give me wine at least, 
 
 There's nought for't but to feast. 
 
 TO ROME. 
 
 Dattghteti of Mars! Hail, mighty Power! 
 
 Stern Queen, in golden crown array'd ! 
 Who build'st on earth thy regal tower, 
 
 A high Olympus, ne'er assay'd ! 
 To thee alone hath awful Fate 
 
 The pride of vast dominion lent. 
 The strength to bind a rising state 
 
 In bonds of ordered government. 
 Beneath thy yoke's compelling beam 
 
 Unnieasur'd earth and ocean hoar 
 Together bend; whilst thou, supreme, 
 
 The nations rul'st from shore to shore. 
 E'en mightiest Time, whose laws prevail 
 
 To change the world at his decree, 
 Can never turn the prosperous gale 
 
 That swells thy potent sovereignty. — 
 Of thee alone a race is born. 
 
 The first to blaze in glorious fight. 
 Like spicy ranks of waving corn, 
 
 That Ceres marshals, golden-bright.* 
 
 * This ode has been sometimes ascribed to Erinna, but 
 i evidently the production of a later age. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 The Zephyrs and the Graces wove her garment. 
 And deck'd it with the sweetest flowers that 
 
 Spring, 
 Exuberant with gentle showers, brings forth; 
 Such as adorn the hours, the yellow crocus, 
 The purple hyacinth, violet fresh and moist, 
 Sweet-scented rose, the lily's fragrant cup, 
 Narcissus, too, whose odours fill the air. 
 Venus preserve with never-fading grace 
 A garment so divinely wrought. 
 
 REASON 
 
 JfOT PHOOF AGAINST CUPID AND BACCHUS UNITED. 
 
 With Reason I cover my breast as a shield, 
 And fearlessly meet little Love in the field ; 
 Thus fighting his Godship, I'll ne'er be dismay'd; 
 But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid, 
 Alas ! then, unable to combat the two. 
 Unfortunate warrior, what should I del 
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE. 
 Life's ills, could man by knowing 
 Be spared from undergoing. 
 There would be sense in knowing 
 But since, with all our knowing. 
 We must still ])e undergoing. 
 Why, what's the use of knowing? 
 
 THE DEAD. 
 The phantom of a substance fled, 
 
 The echo of a sound, 
 Where darkness all above is spread, 
 
 And silence all around, — 
 These — these alone, when we are dead. 
 
 In Ades will be found. 
 Down through that yawning gulf, the grave, 
 
 When life's brief fit is o'er, 
 Shall sink the great, the good, the brave, 
 
 Down to the sunless shore. 
 Where, by the hush of sullen wave, 
 
 They sleep for evermore. 
 
 DEATH THE UNIVERSAL LOT. 
 
 Straight is our passage to the grave, 
 Whether from Meroe's burning wave, 
 
 Or Attic groves we roam. 
 Grieve not in distant lands to die ! 
 Our vessels seek, from every sky, 
 
 Death's universal home. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 The ever-smiling Venus, and the Nymphs 
 That form her happy train, their foreheads bind 
 With garlands of the choicest flowers that grow 
 On the sweet-smelling bosom of the earth, 
 Breathing and dropping odours — as they move, 
 The Graces join in mirthful song, the while 
 Old Ida's lofty summit, crown'd with springs, 
 In quick vibration echoes back the strain. 
 
FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 
 
 28!) 
 
 THE LOVER'S WISH. 
 
 Oh, that I were some gentle air, 
 
 That when the heats of siininier glow, 
 Ami lay thy panting hosoin bare, 
 
 I might upon that bo.soni blow !— . 
 Oh. that I were yon blushing flower, 
 
 Which, even now thy hands have prest. 
 To live, though but lor one short hour. 
 
 Upon the Elysium of thy breast. 
 
 EXCLAMATIOX OF VENUS, 
 
 ox SEKIXG HER STATUE KV PUAXITELES. 
 
 My naked charms! The Phrygian swain. 
 
 Anil Dardan boy — to those I've shown thorn, 
 
 And only those of mortal strain; — 
 
 How should Praxiteles have known tliem ? 
 
 ON A STATUE OF ENVY. 
 
 Moulded with envied skill, black Envy see, 
 A living mass of prostrate misery. 
 Grieved at another's good, the wretch has thrown 
 His aged limbs down on the hard rough stone : 
 And there the shrivell'd form in squalor lies. 
 Heaving with ill-represt, soul-maddening sighs. 
 With one old hand, which props those hoary hairs, 
 His pale, thin temjjles, see! the madman tears; 
 While, in tlie other hand, a statF is found, 
 Wherewith he smites, with furious grins, the 
 
 ground. 
 Gnashing in double row, those teeth declare 
 How auich his neighbour's weal o'erwhelnis him 
 
 with despair. 
 
 ON AN INFANT. 
 
 Relkxtless Ades, why of life bereave 
 The child CalUesclirus? — if a toy he be 
 In her dark home to thy Persephone, 
 
 Still with what sorrow must his parents grieve 1 
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 Come, sit by yon shadowy pine, 
 
 That covers my sylvan retreat, 
 And see how its branches incline 
 
 The breathing of Zephyr to meet. 
 See the fountain that, gurgling, dilfuses 
 
 Around me a glittering spray, 
 By the brink, as the traveller muses, 
 
 I soothe him to sleep with my lay. 
 
 THE TRYSTING TREE. 
 
 See a meet spot for longing lovers" vows, 
 Beneath this platane's over-arching boughs, 
 Where the ripe clusters of the clasping vine 
 Well-pleased amid the greenery recline. 
 Grow on, thou platane ! may thy sheltering boughs 
 Conceal fond lovers breathing tender vows. 
 
 THE MIND OF MAN. 
 
 Of things on earth least understood, there can 
 
 Be found none less so, than the Mind of Man. 
 
 .37 
 
 PANS RETREAT. 
 
 Rest here, beneath these sliady groves reclin'd, 
 Whose tall tops gently murmur to the wind ; 
 Here, where the brook tnelliduous flows along, 
 And woos ine with her ever-gurgling song; 
 Whilst on my solitary pipe I play. 
 Or sweetly sleep the noontide hours away. 
 
 ON A FOUNTAIN SACRED TO PAN. 
 These elms and willows, with long pointi.'d 
 
 leaves. 
 This plane, where bough with bough its foliage 
 
 weaves, 
 This fountain, with its water trickling clear; 
 These rustic drinking-cups, for ever near — 
 To Pan are sacred all : drink, passer-by! 
 Thou It find it medicine — if thy throat be dry. 
 
 ON A LAUREL, 
 
 CUT DOWX WITH A HATCHET. 
 
 Ah! where was Phoebus, when the God of arms 
 Dared to profane his l)ai)hue's virgin charms? 
 
 ON ERINNA. 
 
 See, how the maid her distatf plies. 
 And at the web her task pursues, 
 
 Fearing her mother's watchful eyes. 
 But all her thoughts are on the ^luse. 
 
 ON IBYCUS. 
 Rhegium, whose feet Trinacria's straitcn'd sea 
 Laves ever, verge extreme of Italy, 
 Honour'd be thou in song for having laid 
 Under thy leafy elms' embow ering shade 
 The dust of Ibycus, the bard beloved, 
 The bard of Love, who all its joys had proved — 
 Mantle his grave with ivy — roiuid it plant 
 Reeds, to send forth the shepherd's rural chant. 
 
 DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SUITOR AND 
 HIS MISTRESS'S MAID. 
 " Good day, my love !'' — " The same to you."' 
 "That lovely lady, — tell me who?" — 
 "What's that to thee?" — "I wish to know.'' 
 "My mistress, then; now let mo go." 
 "Stay — may I hope?" — •• Hope ! what?" — "At 
 
 night?" 
 " Perhaps." — " Here's money." — " Well — that's 
 
 right." 
 "I've only silver." — "What? No gold? 
 No sir — my mistress can't be sold." 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 The sod so lately stirr'd, the wreaths that shed 
 
 On this sepulchral stone their waning bloom. 
 And these sad words — the story of the dead — 
 
 Tell whose the bones that moulder in this tomb. 
 I, Aretemias, in Cnidos born, 
 
 In pangs of child-birth, twins to Euphron gave ; 
 One lives to prop his father's age forlorn — 
 
 One with his mother sleeps within the grave. 
 Z 
 
PART II. 
 
 FROM THE ROMAN POETS. 
 
 S91 
 
ENNIUS. 
 
 [Born 239— Died 
 
 li. C] 
 
 This father of Roman song, as he has heen 
 called by the Latin writers, was born at Riuli;p, 
 a town of Calabria, in the year of Rome 51C>. 
 Like ^Eschylus, the great father of the Grecian 
 stage, he was a soldier before lie became an au- 
 thor, having followed Titus Manlius to the war 
 ■waged in Sardinia against the allies of Carthage. 
 There he continued to reside until the age of 
 thirty-five, wlien he was brought to Rome by the 
 elder Cato, and supported himself by instructing 
 the patrician youth in Greek. In this humble, 
 though honourable employment, lie acquired for 
 himself not only the freedom of the city, but the 
 friendship of many of its most illustrious men, 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 I. TELAXOX ON HEARING THE DEATH OF HIS SOJf 
 AJAX. 
 
 I KNEW, when I begat him, he must die, 
 And train'd him to no other destiny,^ 
 Knew, when I sent him to the Trojan shore, 
 'Twas not to halls offcast, but fields of gore. 
 
 II. ANSWER OF PYRUHUS TO THE ROMAN AMBAS- 
 SADORS, WHO CAME TO RANSOM THE PRISONERS 
 TAKEN FROM THEM BY THAT PRINCE IN 
 BATTLE. 
 
 Your goUl I ask not; take your ransoms home ; 
 Warriors, not iralficers in war, we come ; 
 Not gold, biU steel, our strife should arbitrate, 
 And valour prove which is the choice of fate. 
 The brave, whose lives the battle spar'd, with 
 
 me 
 Shall never mourn the lossrof liberty. 
 Unrausom'd then your comrades hence remove, 
 And may the mighty gods the boon approve.! 
 
 HI. FABIL'S. 
 
 Heedless of wliat a censuring world might 
 
 say. 
 One man restor'd the state by wise delay; 
 
 * Tor some account of Enniiu's works, particularly liis 
 Aiiinls. see Cicero'.s Tiisc. I)is|Mii. Unitiis. tc. Jtc. ; 
 Sclilc-iel's I.ecliircs on l.itoriiliire ; Nifhiihr's Iloiiilsclie 
 (Jescliiclile, and l)uhlo|>'s Koiiiaii l,il<;ralMrp, &.c. kc 
 
 t"l{(;^alis saii6" s;i}s Cicero "el iligiia jKacidaruiii 
 gcnere suiitenlia. 
 
 more particularly of that great ornament of his 
 age and nation, the elder Africanus. Eimius died 
 at the age of seventy, when a bust was erected 
 to him in the tomb of the Scipios, who, until the 
 time of Sylla, had continued the practice of bury- 
 ing, instead of burning, their dead. This bust, 
 togetlier with the statues of Africanus and Asia- 
 ticus, was remaining in the days of Livy, and is 
 supposed, by many, to be the same which now 
 stands on the sarcophagus of Scipio Barbatus, in 
 the Vatican. Of the numerous compositions of 
 Ennius, translated or original, — of all his dramas, 
 satires, and annals or metrical chronicles, — the 
 scantiest fragments alone remain.* 
 
 Hence time has hallow "d his immortal name. 
 And, with increasing years, increas'd his fame. 
 
 A ROMAN TRIBUNE WITHSTAN DI NR THE AT- 
 TACK OF A WHOLE HOST. 
 
 Forth on the tribune, like a shower, 
 
 the gathering javelins spring, 
 His buckler pierce — or on its Ijpss 
 
 the quivering lances ring — 
 Or rattle on his brazen helm ; 
 
 but vain the utmost might 
 Of foes, that press on every side, — 
 
 none can the tribune smite. 
 And many a spear he shivers then, 
 
 and many a stroke bestows, 
 While with many a jet of reeking sweat 
 
 his labouring body fiows. 
 No breathing time the tribune has — 
 
 no pause — the winged iron. 
 The Istrian darts, in ceaseless showers, 
 
 provoke him and environ : 
 And lance and sling destruction bring 
 
 on many heroes stout, 
 Who tumble headlong from the wall, 
 
 within it, or without. 
 
 V. SOOTHSAY KllS. 
 
 For no Marsiau augur, (whom fools view with 
 
 awe.) 
 Nor diviner, nor <^tar-ga/.er, care I a straw; 
 'I'lio Egyptian quack, an ex])0under of dreams, 
 Is neither in sciontre nor art what he seems; 
 SiiiiersiiiioMS and slianicle.ss, lliey prowl through 
 
 our .stretrt?, 
 Some himgry, some crazy, but all of them cheats 
 z 2 2.)3 
 
294 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Impostors! who vaunt that to others they'll show 
 A path, which themselves neither travel nor 
 
 know. 
 Since they promise us wealth if we pay for their 
 
 pains, 
 Let them take from that wealth, and bestow 
 
 what remains. 
 
 VI. AHE THERE GODS? 
 
 Yes ! there are gods ; but they no thought bestow 
 On human deeds, — on mortal bliss or woe,— 
 Else would such ills our wretched race assail? 
 Wouldihe Good suffer ? — would the Bad prevail? 
 
 VII. THE IDLE SOLDIER. 
 
 Who know not leisure to employ. 
 
 Toil more than those whom toils employ; 
 
 For they, who toil with purpose! mind, 
 
 In all their labours pleasure find ; 
 
 But they, whose time no labours fill, 
 
 Have in their minds nor wish nor •will. 
 
 — So 'tis with us, eaird far from home. 
 
 Nor yet to fields of battle come, 
 
 We hither march, we thither sail, 
 
 Our minds as veering as the gale. 
 
 Till. THE CALM OF EVENING. 
 
 The heaven's vast world stood silent ; Neptune 
 
 gave 
 A hushful pause to ocean's roughening wave ; 
 The sun curb'd his swift steeds ; th' eternal floods 
 Stood still ; and not a breath was on the woods. 
 
 IX. THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 Sweet smil'd the Olympian Father from above. 
 And the hush'd storms return'd his smile of 
 love! 
 
 X. ON THE REVIVAL OF ILIUM IN ROME. 
 
 Sack'd, but not captive, — burn'd, but not con- 
 
 sum'd, — « 
 
 Nor yet, on Dardan plains, to perish doom'd. 
 
 XI. THE CHARACTER OF AN ADVISER AND FRIEND. 
 
 [.Supposed by many to be a portrait of the poet himself.] 
 
 His friend he calTd, — who at his table far'd, 
 And all his counsels and his converse shar'd ; 
 With whom he oft consum'd the day's decline 
 In talk of petty schemes or great design, — 
 To him, with ease and freedom uncontroll'd. 
 His jests and thoughts, or good or ill, were 
 
 told ; 
 Whate'er concern"d his fortunes was disclos'd. 
 And safely in that faithful breast reposd. 
 This chosen friend possess'd a stedfast mind, 
 Where no base purpose could its harbour find ; 
 Mild, courteous, learn'd, with knowledge blest 
 
 and sense, 
 A soul serene, contentment, eloquence ; 
 Fluent in words or sparing, well he knew 
 All things to speak in place and season due ; 
 His mind was amply graced with ancient lore, 
 Nor less enrich'd with modern wisdom's store : 
 Him, while the tide of battle onward press'd 
 Servilius call'd 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 [Born 229— Died 181, B. C] 
 
 Plautus, so named from his splay feet, was 
 a native of Sarsina, a town in Umbria. From 
 his father, a freedman, he is said to have re- 
 ceived a good education, and, turning his atten- 
 tion early to the stage, soon realized a consider- 
 able fortune by the popularity of his dramas. 
 This, how^ever, he afterwards lost, — by ill success 
 in trade, according to some, — or by spending it, 
 as others say, on theatrical ornaments and dresses, 
 as an actor, at a time when, owing to the great 
 famine then prevalent at Rome, theatrical amuse- 
 ments were little resorted to. To such necessity 
 was he reduced, as to labour in a mill for his 
 daily support. Many of his plays were written 
 in these unfavourable circumstances, and may, 
 therefore, claim from the critic an indulgence to 
 which they could not otherwise pretend. Plautus 
 has left nineteen comedies, almost all of them, 
 more or less, borrowed from the ancients, and 
 imitated by the moderns. Amongst these may 
 be enumerated the Amphitryon, taken from a 
 
 play of Epicharmus, and imitated by Ludovico 
 Dolce, Moliere, and Dryden ; the Menachmi, 
 borrowed, it is supposed, from some lost play of 
 JMenander or Epicharmus, and known on the 
 English stage, as the origin of Shakspeare's 
 Comedy of Errors; t^ Aulularia, or little pot of 
 money, supposed likewise to have been borrowed 
 from the Greek, and freely drawn on by Moliere, 
 Fielding, and Goldoni, in their respective come- 
 dies of L'Avare, Miser, and Vero Amico; — The 
 Casina, translated from Diphilus, a Greek writer 
 of the new comedy and a contemporary of Menan- 
 der, and imitated by Machiaval in his Clitia, and 
 Beaumarchais in his Marriage de Figaro. — Plau- 
 tus, writing for his bread, and consulting rather the 
 humours of the many, than the tastes of the few, has 
 frequently exposed himself to the lash of censure; 
 yet, with all his irregularities and defects, he is ab- 
 solutely pure as compared with Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, Massinger, Dryden, Wycherly, and other 
 of our dramatic writers in the days of the Stuarts. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 295 
 
 AMPHITRYON. 
 
 DRAMATIS PEnsoTr;B. 
 
 Jupiteh. 
 Mkucuiiy. 
 Ampuitryok. 
 Alcmena. 
 
 Blepharo. 
 
 8091A. 
 
 BuOiMIA. 
 
 TllESSALA. 
 
 Scene. — Thebes, be/ore Ampuitrtons hoicse. 
 
 PROIOOUE. 
 
 Mercury disguised like Sosia. 
 
 Now lend attention, whilst that I unfold 
 The arginnent of this our comedy. 
 This city here is Thebes, and in that house 
 Amphitryon dwells, an Argive by his birth, 
 And husband of Alcmena. Which Amphitryon 
 Commands the Theban forces ; for there's war 
 Betwixt the Thebans and the Teleboans. 
 Ere his departure hence to join the troops, 
 His wife was pregnant by iiim. Verily 
 Ye know my father, how he is inclin'd. 
 How freely he indulges in love matters. 
 With what excess he doats, where once he loves. 
 He for Alcmena entertain'd a passion, 
 And now is with her, in Amphitryon's form, 
 While I take that of tsosia, his servant. 
 That in this guise my father I may serve, 
 And none about the house ask who I am. 
 Meantime he is within, recounting to 
 His love what was transacted in the army, 
 She, all the while, mistaking him for her husband. 
 He tells her how he put the enemy's troops 
 To flight, and that they gave him many gifts. 
 These gifts, bestow'd upon Amphitryon, we 
 Have stolen ; for my father can with ease 
 Do what he will. — Now, on this very day, 
 Amphitryon will arrive here from the army. 
 Together with his slave, whose form»I bear. 
 That ye may then distinguish us more readily, 
 I, on my hat, these little wings shall wear; 
 My father, he will bear a golden tuft ; 
 Which mark the right Amphitryon will not have. 
 And no one of the family will be able 
 To see these marks ; ye only shall discern them. — 
 But Sosia yonder comes, and bears him hither- 
 ward 
 A lantern in his hand : — He makes for home, 
 But I shall drive him thence. — So — liere he is. 
 It will be worth your while to mark how Jove 
 And Mercury will play the part of actors. 
 
 [Mercury places himself before 
 Amphituyons" door. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 Sosia advances with a lantern. 
 Sos. Is there a bolder fellow ? Is there anyone 
 More stout of heart than I am? I, who know 
 The humours of our wild young sparks, yet dare 
 Walk by myself at this late hour of night. 
 What shall I do now, if the watch should seize 
 And thrust me in a prison? — Why, to-morrow 
 I shall be serv'd up from that dainty larder. 
 And well dress'd with a whipping: — not a word 
 
 Allow'd me in my own defence ; — no master 
 To take my part; — and ev"ry soul will think 
 I've my deserts: — so shall eight sturdy fellows 
 Bellunnp me like an anvil. — In this sort 
 They'll greet me on my coming, thus receive 
 And entertain me at the public charge ! 
 These honours has my master forc'd upon me, 
 Who sent me from the port, so late at night. 
 Against my inclination. — CouUl he not 
 Have waited till 'twas day-light to despatch me? 
 This is the hardship of a great man's service, 
 Wherefore his servant leads a plaguy life on't: 
 By day, hy night, there's work enough, and more, 
 That will not let him rest. The master, he 
 Being free himself from labour, thinks his slave 
 Can drudge and drudge still on, whatever befalls 
 
 him ; 
 Nay, thinks it just, and never counts the toil, 
 Nor once considers, whether his commands 
 Are right or wrong. Wherefore in servitude 
 We suffer much oppression : yet the burthen 
 Must be endured with pain. 
 
 3Ierc. (^aside.j On this account 
 
 I have more reason surely to complain 
 Of servitude, — I, who before was free, 
 Though now my father has nie for his slave: 
 This fellow, who was born a slave, complains! 
 But hold — I only am a slave in name. 
 
 Sos. Stay, — now I think on't. I should thank 
 the gods 
 For my arrival. Woidd they recompense me, 
 As I deserve, they should commission some one 
 To welcome me with douses on the chaps: 
 For all their goodness has been thrown away 
 On an ungrateful ra.-^cal. 
 
 Me7-c. His deserts 
 
 He knows then, which such fellows seldom do. 
 Sos. Well, — to come home in a whole skin! — 
 'twas what 
 I never thought, or any of our people. 
 The foes subdued, our troops are marching home- 
 ward — 
 The war extinguished, and the eneiny slain. 
 That wrought such bitter troubles to our Thebans; 
 Their town was storm'dand taken, by the strength 
 And valour of our men, but chief of all 
 By the command and conduct of Amphitryon, 
 My master, who has since distributed 
 The booty, lands, and corn among the soldiery, 
 And firmly fix'd King Crcon in his throi'". 
 He has sent me on before him, to acquiiint 
 His lady with the news, — with what command 
 x\nd contluct he discharg'd his public trust. 
 Now let me study how to frame my story : — 
 What if I tell her lies? I act in character: 
 For when the armies fought with all their might, 
 With all my might I ran away: however, 
 I'll make pretence that I was in the action, 
 Anil speak from hearsay. 
 
 Merc. Ah, ha, he's coming liitlicr ; 
 
 I'll meet him then; I nuist not let him enter 
 Within the doors to-day : but since 1 bear 
 His semblance, I'm resolved to play liim off. 
 As I've assum'd his form and garb, 'twere fit 
 I should resemble too his deeds and manners : 
 I must be a sly, a cuiming knave, and light him 
 
296 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 With liis own weapons, drive him from the door 
 By villainous craft. — But, how now, what's the 
 
 matter ? 
 He's staring at the sky. — III watch his motions. 
 
 Sos. As I have faith in any thing, as sure 
 As I know any thing, I think and know 
 That Night, this night, went drunk to bed: for 
 
 see! 
 The seven stars are motionless, the Moon 
 Has stirr'd not, since she rose ; nor is Orion, 
 The evening star, or Pleiades yet set : 
 The signs stand stock still ; and the night don't 
 
 budge 
 A jot for day. 
 
 Merc. Good Night, as you've begun, 
 
 Go on, obsequious to my fathers pleasure : 
 'Tis the best service, for the best of beings, 
 Best done; and you will find your interest in it. 
 
 Sos. I think I never saw a longer niglit 
 Than this, except one night, when I was drubb'd 
 And hung up by the heels : yet this, methinks. 
 Exceeds e'en that in length. — Faith, I believe 
 The sun has drunk too mucli, and dropp'd asleep. 
 
 Here. Say you so, varlet 1 Do you think the gods 
 Are like yourself? — You hang-dog! — but Til pay 
 
 you 
 For your vile deeds and sijeeches. 
 
 Sos. What do I see ? 
 
 A man before the house? .and at so late 
 An hour of night ? I like him not. 
 
 Meir. The rogue 
 
 Has not his equal for rank cowardice. — 
 He's frightened; Fll have sport with liim. 
 
 Sos. im ruined. 
 
 How my teeth chatter! Sure he's posted here 
 To give me a reception with his fists. 
 Fm lost forever ; — what a swinging rogtie ! 
 How brawny ! 
 
 Merc. Fll draw nearer, raise my voice 
 
 That he may bear me, and from thence conceive 
 More terrible fears within liim. (^aloud.) Come, my 
 
 fists. 
 To action ; stir ye ; quick ! — 'tis a long while 
 Since ye have made provision for my belly. 
 Methinks it is an age since, yesterday, 
 Ye stripp'd four men, and laid them dead asleep. 
 
 Sos. Four men : I fear I shall augment the 
 nundjer. 
 
 Mere, (^thrmving about his arms.^ There I could 
 have him. 
 
 Sos. Who ? 
 
 Merc. Whoever comes 
 
 This way, shall eat my fists. 
 
 Sos. Psha^v ! 
 
 I don't like to eat so late at night ; 
 I supp'd just now ; so pray, bestow^ your supper 
 On tliem that have more appetite. 
 
 Merc. This fist 
 
 Is not of trifling weight. 
 
 Sos. Fm a dead man : 
 
 He's weighing of his fists. 
 
 Merc. What if I stroke him 
 
 Gently to sleep? 
 
 Sos. You'll do me a great service; 
 
 For I have watoh'd these three whole nights to- 
 gether. 
 
 Merc. A mercy on his bones ! 
 
 Sos. Why sure he means 
 
 To bone me like an eel. I wish him further 
 With these his boning tricks. — Fm a dead man 
 If he should see me now. 
 
 3Ierc. Some fellow stinks. 
 
 Sos. What! do I smell? 
 
 Merc. Nor can he be far off. 
 
 Sos. Sure he's a conjuror. 
 
 Merc. Oh, how my fists 
 
 Itch to be at him. 
 
 Sos. If you mean on me 
 
 To exercise them, prithee cool them first 
 Against the wall. 
 
 Merc. The wretch ! he calls for it ; 
 
 He claims it of me, a most heavy lading 
 On his beast's back. 
 
 Sos. Not I ; — I am no beast 
 
 Of burthen, truly. 
 
 Merc. Y'es, he shall be loaded 
 
 Well with these fists. 
 
 Sos. In troth, I am fatigued 
 
 With coming from on shipboard, and e'en now 
 I am so crop-sick, I can scarcely crawl, 
 Even without a lading. Do not think then, 
 That I can carry burthens. 
 
 Merc. Certainly 
 
 There's some one speaks. 
 
 Sos. He says, there's some one speaks. 
 
 Merc. The voice was on the right! Ho! who 
 goes there ? 
 
 Sos. I cannot budge a foot, I am so fright- 
 ened. 
 All's over with me. — Y'^et am I resolv'd 
 To face the fellow, and bespeak him boldly. 
 I'll seem as valiant as I can, that he 
 May keep hands oil' me. 
 
 Merc. Y^ou, sir, whither go you ? 
 
 Y'ou there, that carry Vulcan in your horn. 
 
 Sos. Whg made you an examiner ? you, who 
 bone 
 Men with your fists ? 
 
 Merc. Are you a slave, or free 1 
 
 Sos. Whichever likes me. 
 
 Merc. Say'st tliou — 
 
 Sos. Ay, I say it. 
 
 Merc. You want a drubbing. 
 
 Sns. Now you lie, I don't. 
 
 Merc. I'll make you own it. 
 
 Sos. Wherefore ? 
 
 Merc. I must know 
 
 Whose you are, where you're going, what's your 
 errand. 
 
 Sos. My way lies here : I am my master's 
 servant : 
 What are you now the wiser ? 
 
 Merc. I shall make you 
 
 Hold that foul tongue of yours. 
 
 Sos. You cannot do it : 
 
 I keep it pure and clean. 
 
 Merc. How ! prating still? 
 
 What business have you at this house? 
 
 Sos. And pray 
 
 What business have you here? 
 
 Merc. King Creon sets 
 
 A watch here ev'ry night. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 297 
 
 Sos. 'Tis gracious in him 
 
 To guard our lioiise the while we are abroad. 
 Bin prithee now go in, and tell the family, 
 Some of their fellow-servants have arrived. 
 
 Merc. Wliose fellow you may be I know not; 
 but if 
 You don't begone this instant, I shall give you 
 Such a reception, fellow, as you will not 
 Take in good fellowship. 
 
 Sos. I tell yon, I 
 
 Live here, and am a servant of this house. 
 
 Merc. D'ye mind? unless you take yourself 
 away, 
 I shall exalt you. 
 
 Sos. How ? 
 
 Merc. You shall be carried ; 
 
 If I but take a cudgel, you'll not walk, 
 I promise you. 
 
 Sos. Nay, but I do affirm 
 
 That I'm a servant in this family. 
 
 Merc. Look to't — you'll have a drubbing, if 
 you don't 
 Begone this instant. 
 
 Sos. Would you then desire 
 
 To drive me from my home, when I am just 
 Arriv'd here from abroad? 
 
 Merc. Is this your home? 
 
 Sos. It is I say. 
 
 Merc. Who is your master then? 
 
 Sos. Amphitryon, general of the Theban troops. 
 The husband of Alcmena. 
 
 Merc. Ha! what say you? 
 
 What is your name ? 
 
 Sos. Our Thebans call me Sosia, 
 
 The son of Davus. 
 
 Merc. To thy sore mishap 
 
 Art thou arriv'd, thou monster of eflrontery ! — 
 With made-up lies and patched-up knaveries. 
 
 Sos. I'm come with patch'd-up clothes, 'tis 
 true, but not 
 With knaveries. 
 
 Merc. 'Twas with your feet you came. 
 
 Sos. Ay, verily — 
 
 Merc. Ay, verily ; then take 
 
 This drubbing for your lie. 
 
 Sos. Indeed, forsooth 
 
 I don't desire it, I — 
 
 Merc. Indeed, forsooth, 
 
 But you shall have it, though you don't: indeed 
 'Tis so re.solv'tl, and 'tis not in your choice. 
 
 (^Striking him.') 
 
 Sos. I cry you mercy! 
 
 Merc. Dost thou dare affirm 
 
 That thou art Sosia, when myself am ho? 
 
 Sos. Murder! (Still striking him.) 
 
 Merc. This is but little in respect 
 
 Of vv hat you'll have in future. Now whose are 
 you? 
 
 Sos. Your's: for your fists have mark'd me for 
 your own. 
 
 (Mercury continvcs to s'rike him.) 
 Help, help, good cili/ens ! 
 
 Merc. Still bawling, sirrah? 
 
 Spi';il<, wherefore came you here? 
 
 Sos. That you might have 
 
 Somebody to belabour with your lists. 
 38 
 
 Merc. Whose are you then ? 
 
 Sos. I say, Amphitryon's Sosia. 
 
 Merc. You shall be drubbd more heartily for 
 thi';; 
 You talk so idly. — 1 myself am Sosia, 
 Not you. 
 
 Sos. (^jJside.) I would to heav'n your were indeed, 
 That I were beating you ! 
 
 Merc. What! muttering. 
 
 Sos. I'll 
 
 Be dumb now. 
 
 Merc. Who's your master? 
 
 Sos. Whom you will. 
 
 Merc. Come prithee, what's your name? 
 
 Sos. I have no name 
 
 But what you shall command. 
 
 Merc. You said you were 
 
 Amphitryon's Sosia. 
 
 Sos. I mistook : I meant 
 
 To say I was Amphitryon's associate.* 
 
 Merc. I knew we had no servant of the name 
 Of Sosia but myself. — You've lost the use 
 Sure of your reason. 
 
 Sos. {^side.) Would that you had lost 
 
 The use too of your fists ! 
 
 Merc. I am that Sosia, 
 
 You said you were. 
 
 Sos. Let us discourse in peace, 
 
 I jiray you, — without hazard of a beating. 
 
 Merc. Well, lor a while then, we will hold a 
 truce. 
 If you have ought to say. 
 
 Sos. I will not speak 
 
 Till peace is ratified, for you are mightier 
 In fists than I. " 
 
 3Ierc. If you have ought to offer, 
 
 Sj)eak ; I'll not hurt you. 
 
 Sos. May I trust your honour? 
 
 Merc. You may. 
 
 Sos. But what if you deceive me ? 
 
 Merc. Then 
 
 May Mercury's displeasure light on Sosia ! 
 
 Sos. Mark. — Now lam allowed to speak with 
 freedom, 
 I am Amphitryon's Sosia. 
 
 Merc. What, again? 
 
 {^Offeriag to strike.) 
 
 Sos. The peace is made, the covenant is 
 ratified : 
 I speak the tnnh. 
 
 Merc. Beware thee of a beating. 
 
 ( Threatening.) 
 
 Sos. Do as you please, and what you please ; 
 — 'tis true. 
 In fists you are the mightier, — yet I'll not 
 Be silent on this point, do what you may. 
 
 Merc. Nay, you shall never make me, while 
 you live 
 Other than Sosia. 
 
 Sos. Nor shall you make me 
 
 An alien here. — We have no other Sosia 
 But me, who wont to th' army with Amphitryon. 
 
 Merc. The fellow's mad. 
 
 * This pun in tliH Latin, dcppnils upon Ihe similitude 
 ofsuund in the pronuncialiuii oT Susiam and sociwn. 
 
298 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Sos. 'Tis you that are distempered. 
 
 Why, what a plague ! am I not Sosia, 
 Amphitryon's slave'? Did not the ship, that 
 
 brought me, 
 Arrive this night here from the Persian port?* 
 Did not my master send me ? Do not I 
 Stand here before our house now ? Have I not 
 A lantern in my hand ? Do I not speak "? 
 Am I not broad awalce ? Did not this man 
 Bethump me with his fists? — In troth he did; 
 My cheeks smart to my sorrow still. — Then why, 
 Why do I doubt? Why don't I go directly 
 Into our house? (Makes up to the door.') 
 
 Merc, (stepping between.) What! your house? 
 
 Sos. 'Tis so truly. 
 
 Merc. 'Tis all a lie, all, ev'ry syllable 
 
 That you have said. I am Amphitryon's Sosia : 
 This night our vessel left the Persian port : 
 The city we besieg'd, where Pterelas reign'd ; 
 The Teleboan forces we o'ertlrrew 
 By dint of arms: Amphitryon's self cut ofl" 
 King Pterelas' head in battle. 
 
 Sos. (Jlside.) I can scarce 
 
 Believe myself, when I thus hear him talk : 
 He tells offhand, as it were without book. 
 What was transacted in the war. — But hark ye, 
 What present from the Teleboan spoils 
 Was given to Amphitryon. 
 
 Merc. A gold cup 
 
 King Pterelas used to drink from. 
 
 Sos. He has said. — 
 
 But where is now the cup ? 
 
 Merc. 'Tis in a casket, 
 
 Seal'd with Amphitryon's seal. 
 
 Sos. What's the impression. 
 
 Merc. Sol rising in his chariot. — What, you 
 rascal, 
 Are you upon the catch ? 
 
 Sos. His argimients 
 
 Have overcome me : I must e'en go seek 
 Another name. — 'Tis strange, where he could see 
 All this. But I shall trap him now most rarely, 
 For what I did alone, when no one else 
 Was in the tent ? — Tell that, and I knock under. 
 
 Merc. There was a cask of wine — I fiU'd a 
 cup — 
 
 Sos. He has hit it. 
 
 Merc. Suck'd it down unmix'd, and pure 
 
 As from the mother it was born. 
 
 Sos. O wonderful ! 
 
 He must have liid him in the cup. — "Tis fact: 
 I drank a cup-full of sheer wine. 
 
 Merc. What now ? 
 
 Have I convinc'd thee that thou art not Sosia. 
 
 Sos. Do you deny it? 
 
 Merc. Can I but deny it. 
 
 When I am he ? 
 
 Sos. By Jupiter I swear 
 
 I am, nor do I lie. 
 
 Merc. I swear by Merciuy, 
 
 Jupiter won't believe thee ; for I know 
 Hell sooner credit me without an oath 
 Thaa with one he will thee. 
 
 Sos. Tell me at least 
 
 * Portus Persicus, in the Euboean sea, so called from 
 the Persian fleet that rode there, not far from Thebes. 
 
 Who am I, if so be I am not Sosia ? 
 I ask you that. 
 
 Merc. My pleasure when it is 
 
 No longer to be Sosia, then be thou 
 Sosia, and welcome. Now that I am he. 
 Begone, as thou would'st 'scape a drubbing. — 
 
 Hence, 
 Thou fellow ! 
 
 Sos. Now I view him well, by heav'ns 
 
 I see my very figure, such as I 
 Have often seen it in a glass. — 'Tis certain. 
 He's very like me. — The same hat, same coat — 
 He is as like me as I'm like myself. — 
 The shanks, feet, stature, shorn pate, eyes, nose, 
 
 teeth. 
 Lips, cheeks, chin, beard, neck — 'tis myself all 
 
 over ! 
 Need I say more to't? — If his back be scarr'd 
 There's nothing can be liker than this likeness. 
 — Yet surely, when I think on't, I'm the same 
 I ever was : I know my master, know 
 Our house ; and verily I have not lost 
 My wits nor senses. — I'll not heed this fellow, 
 Say what he chooses, but knock at the door. 
 
 Merc. Whither so fast ? 
 
 Sos. Why, home. 
 
 Merc. Though thou wert now 
 
 To mount the car of Jove, and fly from hence, 
 Scarce should'st thou 'scape destruction. 
 
 Sos. May I not 
 
 Deliver my master's message to my mistress ? 
 
 Merc. To thine deliver what thou wilt, I care not ; 
 But I'll not suffer thee t'approach our lady — 
 And now, if once thou dost provoke me, fellow, 
 Depart thou shalt not without broken bones. 
 
 Sos. Ill be gone rather — Heav'ns have mercy 
 on me 1 
 Where did I lose my form ? or was I haply 
 So thoughtless as to leave myself behind here? 
 For certainly this fellow is possess'd 
 Of my whole image, which was mine before. 
 My statue is erected in my stead : 
 What never will be done when I am dead, 
 Is done, while now I'm living. — 111 return 
 Back to the port, and tell this to my master. — 
 But if he likewise know me not ! Jupiter, 
 Grant that he may not: — so shall I directly 
 Cover my shorn crown with the cap of freedom. 
 
 \_Exit Sosia. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Enter Jupiteh and Alcmena. 
 
 Jup. Farewell, my Alcmena: 
 
 Take care of that, in which we both have interest; 
 
 And ! be sparing of yourself, I pray you : 
 
 You're gone, you know, the fall time of your 
 
 reckoning. 
 I must away hence of necessity. — 
 Whatever child is born, you'll IVring it up.* 
 
 Ale. My lord, what business can it be, that you 
 Should quit your home so sudden? 
 
 ♦The Latin word is "tollilo." According to custom 
 among the ancients, as soon as a child was born, it was 
 laid on the ground, and, if not taken up by the father, was 
 disowned and exposed. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 299 
 
 Ji'p. By my faith, 
 
 It is not that I am wearied or of you, 
 Or of iny home : but when the chief commander 
 Is absent from his army, 'tis more Hkely 
 Things will be done, which help not, than which 
 Ollf^ht. 
 
 Merc, [behind.) A crafty cozener he, this sire 
 of mine ! 
 Mind ye, how sweetly does he smooth lier 
 over! 
 
 ^Ic. Ah ! I do find indeed now by experience, 
 How much you prize your wife ! 
 
 Jtip. Is't not enough 
 
 I love her more than any of her sex? 
 
 Merc. Faitli, if your wife but knew your tricks, 
 I warrant 
 You'd rather be Amphitryon than high Jove. 
 
 jllc. Twonld please me more to find it, than 
 be told so. 
 You leave me ere the bed, in which you lay. 
 Could well grow warm : you came at midnight 
 
 to me ; 
 And now you"re gone again. — Say, is this kind f 
 
 Merc. I will approach and speak to her, and 
 second 
 My father in his wheedling, (jto Ale.') Never sure 
 Did mortal man so doat upon a wife ! 
 He loves you to distraction. 
 
 Jup- Rogue ! I know you. 
 
 Out of my sight. — What business is't of yours ? 
 Hang-dog! — how dare you chatter? — If I take 
 A stick in hand — 
 
 Mc. O don't be in a rage. 
 
 Jup. Dost mutter, sirrah ? 
 
 Merc, (aside.) This, my first attempt 
 
 At wheedling has, I find, but ill succeeded. 
 
 Jup. Sweet wife, you. ought not be angry with 
 me 
 For that which you complain of — I withdrew 
 In secret from the army, stole this interview. 
 That you might be the first to learn from me, 
 How I succeeded. I have told you all. 
 This, if I had not lov'd you to th' extreme, 
 I had not done. 
 
 Merc, (aside.) So — is't not as I said 1 
 See how this stroking cheers her! 
 
 Jup. I must now 
 
 Return from hence in secret, lest the troops 
 Should scent my absence, when they'll say, that I 
 Preferred my wife before the public good. 
 
 Ale. I cannot choose, but weep for your de- 
 parture. 
 
 Jup. Come, come, no more bewailings: do not 
 spoil 
 Those pretty eyes : I shortly shall return. 
 
 A/c. Ah me! that shortly will be all too long. 
 
 Jup. 'Tis with reluctance I must leave you here, 
 And jjart thus from you. 
 
 Ale. Ay, I do perceive it: 
 
 For on the very night you came to me, 
 On that same you ilepart. 
 
 (Htitigs about Jupiter.) 
 
 Jup. Why do you hold me? 
 
 'Tis time ; and I would leave the city ere 
 It waxes light. — Alcmena, with this cup 
 I now present you, given me for my valour, 
 
 The same King Pterelas drank from, whom I slew 
 With my own hand. 
 
 Ale. (tahiiig the cup.) Done like all your other 
 actions : 
 As you are always wont to do. — By heavens 
 A noble gift, and worthy him that gave it! 
 
 Merc. A noble gift indeed, and worthy her 
 To whom 'tis giv'n ! 
 
 Jup. You rascal! what, again? 
 
 Why don't I put an end to you at once. 
 And your impertinence? 
 
 Ah: Nay prithee, love. 
 
 Do not be angry with him for my sake. 
 
 Jup. Sweet, you shall be oboyd. 
 
 Merc, (aside.) How plaguy cross 
 
 His wenching makes him! 
 
 Jup. (going.) Would yon aught else? 
 
 Ale. This ; — that you'd love me, though I am 
 away ; 
 Me that am your's still, though you're absent 
 from me. 
 
 Merc. 'Tis almost day, sir : come, sir, let's be 
 going. 
 
 Jup. Go you before : 111 follow you this in- 
 stant. [Exit MtnccRT. 
 Would you au;.rht else ? 
 
 Ale. Yes, one thing, — that you would 
 
 Return, and presently. 
 
 Jup. It shall be so: 
 
 My presence shall forerun your expectation. 
 Be of good heart, my love.* 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Jupiter alone. 
 
 Now gentle Night, 
 Who long for me hast tarried, I di.siniss thee ; 
 Yield thee to Day, that he at length may break 
 On mortals with a clear unclouded light: 
 And in proportion. Night, as thon wast lengthen'd 
 Beyond thy next career, by so much Day 
 Shall shorten his, that the disparity 
 Betwixt you may be squared, and Day to Night 
 Duly succeed. — I'll go and follow Mercury. 
 
 [Exit Jui'ITEH. 
 
 Act II. ScEXE I. 
 
 Enter AMPiiiTnTox and Sosia at the farther end 
 of the stage. 
 
 Amph. Come, follow me. 
 
 Sos. I do, I'm after you, 
 
 Close at your heels. 
 
 Amph. Thou art the veriest rogue. 
 
 Sos. For why? 
 
 Amph. Because you tell me what is not, 
 
 Nor was, nor will be. 
 
 Sos. Look ye now, — 'tis like you; 
 
 You ne'er believe your servants. 
 
 Amph. What! — how's that? 
 
 By heavens, thou villain. I'll at once cut out 
 That villainous tongue of thine. 
 
 * The impatience of Ju|iiter (the f^lse .\niphilrynn) to 
 be pone, anil the reliicLince of the fund. Ritnpl>>, luisiis- 
 pectin? Alcmena, at parting from him, are well marked 
 in this scene. 
 
300 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Sos. Fm your's, and you 
 
 May cise me as you please, and as it suits you ; 
 But as I've told you the plain fact, you cannot 
 j\Iake me recant my story. 
 
 jjmpfi. Why ynu villain? — 
 
 Dare you affirm, that you are now at home. 
 And here too, at tliis very time? 
 
 Sos. 'Tis true though. 
 
 Atnph. Confound you! 
 
 Sos. I'm your's, and in your power. 
 
 Amph. Slave ! dare you put your tricks upon 
 your master ? 
 Dar'st thou affirm what never was, nor is. 
 Nor ever can be ? — that the self-same person 
 Should at one time be in two different places? 
 
 Sos. Indeed, "tis fact I tell you. 
 
 Amph. Jove confound you ! 
 
 Sos. In what have I deserved ill at your 
 hands? 
 
 Amph. Villain, d'ye ask, who make me tlius 
 your sport? 
 
 Sos. With reason you might curse me, wer't 
 not so : 
 I do not lie, but tell you the plain fact. 
 
 Amph. The fellow's drunk, I think. 
 
 Sos. I would I were ! 
 
 Amph. You have your wish already. 
 
 Sos. I ? 
 
 Amph. Ye?,you. — 
 
 Say, where have you been drinking? 
 
 Sos. No where, truly. 
 
 Amph. What sort of fellow is it? 
 
 Sos. I have told you 
 
 Ten times already. — I'm at home, I say; 
 And I — d'ye mark me? 7, that self-same Sosia 
 Am here with you — What think you? do I speak 
 Plain enough now, and to the purpose ? 
 
 Amph. Hence, 
 
 Avaunt; go get thee from me. 
 
 Sos. What's the matter? 
 
 Amph. The plague has seiz'd you. 
 
 Sos. Why dye say so? — ^Faith 
 
 I feel, sir, very well. 
 
 Amph. But I shall make you 
 
 Feel very ill, and very miserable. 
 As you deserve, when I get home. — Come, follow 
 
 me; 
 You, who abuse your master's easy nature 
 With vain and frantic stories ; who, because 
 You have neglected to perform his orders, 
 Come to deride hira. — You relate such gross 
 Impossibilities, such as before 
 Were never heard of — knave ! — But every lie 
 Your back shall answer. 
 
 Sos. Of all grievances 
 
 This is most grievous to a trusty servant ; 
 That, though he tell his master truth, the truth 
 He is beat out of by authority. 
 
 Amph. How this can be, convince me, thou 
 vile plague, 
 With argvunents. — I fain would liave explain'd, 
 How can you be at home, and yet be here. 
 
 Sos. Troth I'm both here and there. — Well 
 may one wonder. 
 Nor can it seem more strange to you tlian me. 
 
 Amph. As how ? 
 
 Sos. I say it cannot seem more strange 
 
 To you than me ; nor, as I hope for mercy, 
 Did I at first believe me-myself, Sosia, 
 Till Sosia, t'other I-myself, convinc'd me. 
 He told disti ctly ev'ry thing that past 
 During our sojourn with the enemy: — 
 Then he has robbed me of my very figure 
 Together with my name. — One drop of milk 
 Is not more like another than that I, 
 Is like to me: for when you sent me home, 
 Before 'twas day-break, from the port — 
 
 Amph. What then ? 
 
 Sos. I at the door was standing long before 
 I came there. 
 
 Amph. Plague! what trifling stuff is this? 
 
 Have you your senses ? 
 
 Sos. I am as you see me. 
 
 Amph. Sure, since he left me, he has been be- 
 witch'd 
 And work'd on by ill hands. 
 
 Sos. Ill hands, I own ; 
 
 For he has maul'd me with his fists most sadly. 
 
 Amph. Who beat you ? 
 
 Sos. I-myself beat me-myself 
 
 I, that am now at home. 
 
 Amph. Be sure you answer 
 
 Nothing but what I ask you. — First of all 
 I willingly would learn, who is that Sosia? 
 
 Sos. Your servant. 
 
 Amph. In good sooth, I've one more 
 
 By you, than I could wish ; nor ever had I, 
 Since I was born, another servant Sosia 
 Besides yourself. 
 
 Sos. But I do tell you now, 
 
 You'll find, when you go home, another Sosia 
 Besides myself; the son of Davus; sprimg 
 From the same father as myself: in form. 
 And age, the same too with myself. In short 
 You've here a double Sosia. 
 
 Amph. Your account 
 
 Is wondrous strange ! — But have you seen my 
 wife? 
 
 Sos. He would not let nae come within the 
 door. 
 
 Amph. Who hinder'd you? 
 
 .So.?. That Sosia ; he I spoke of. 
 
 Who maul'd me with his fists. 
 
 Amph. Who is that Sosia ? 
 
 Sos. Myself, I say : — how^ often must I tell you? 
 
 Amph. But what is"t you are talking?— Have 
 you not 
 Been sleeping all the while? 
 
 Sos. No, not the least. 
 
 Amph. Haply you saw, if any such you saw, 
 That Sosia in a dream. 
 
 Sos. I am not wont 
 
 To dream o'er your commands — awake I saw 
 
 him ; 
 Awake I see you now; awake I'm talking; 
 And with his fists just now did He awake 
 Maul Me awake. 
 
 Amph. What He ? 
 
 Sos. I tell you, Sosia. 
 
 That I-He. — Prithee don't you tmderstand? 
 
 Amph. How is it pos.'^ible, that any one 
 Should understand such jargon as you jabber? 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 301 
 
 Sos. But you will know him quickly. — 
 
 Jnipk. Wlio? 
 
 Sos. You'll know 
 
 Thiit other Sosia. 
 
 Amph. Follow me. — 'Tis needful 
 
 I should first sift this matter. — See that all things 
 Be brought from ship-board, as I ordered. 
 
 Sos. I am 
 
 Mindful and diligent to obey your orders. 
 I have not drank up your authority 
 Together with my wine. 
 
 Amph. Now, would to heaven, 
 
 The fact may turn out different from your story. 
 
 [They keep aloof.* 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Alcmena attended by Thessala. 
 
 Ale. How scanty are the pleasures in life's 
 course. 
 If plac'd in opposition to its troubles ! 
 For in the life of man, to every one 
 'Tis thus allotted, thus it pleases heaven, 
 That Sorrow, her companion, still should tread 
 Upon the heels of Pleasure ; and if aught 
 Of good befall us, forthwith there should follow 
 Of ill a larger portion. — This I feel, 
 And know it of myself now, imto whom 
 A little spice of pleasure was imparted, 
 In that it was permitted me to see 
 My husband but one night : he left me, and 
 Departed on a sudden, ere 'twas day. — 
 Here seem I now deserted and forlorn, 
 Since he I doat on, prizing above all, 
 Is absent from me. — I have ta'en my grief 
 From the departure of my husband, more 
 Than I receiv'd of pleasure from his coming. 
 In this, however, am I blest at least, 
 That he has conquer'd, and is home return'd. 
 With honours heap'd upon him : — that's a comfort. 
 Let him be absent; so that he return, 
 Crown'd with the acquisition of bright fame, 
 ni bear it, his departure, with a mind 
 Resolv'd and steadfast. — If this recompense 
 Be giv'n me, that my husband shall be styled 
 A conqueror in battle, I shall think 
 I have enough. — Valour's the best reward : 
 'Tis Valour that surpasses ail things else : 
 Our liberty, our safety, life, estate, 
 Our parents, children, country, are by this 
 Preserv'd, protected; Valour every thing 
 Comprises in itself; and ev'ry good 
 Awaits the man, who is possess'd of valour. 
 
 Amph. I am persuaded, that my coming home 
 Most eagerly is wish'd for by my wife, 
 Who loves me, and by me no less is lov'd ; — 
 But more especially, seeing success 
 Has crown'd our enterprise. In truth, I know 
 She much expects, and longs for my return. 
 
 Sos. And don't you think my deare.xpects me too? 
 [AMPHiTUTOJf advances with Sosia. 
 
 * The Roman stafre was of prodigious extent and 
 breadth, l)eiiig (according to some) not less than one 
 hundred and eighty feet in front. Tliis will account for 
 many things in the representation, which would be im- 
 practicable on our modern narrow stages. 
 
 Ale. Sure, 'tis my husband ! 
 
 Amph. Follow mc this way. 
 
 Ak. Wherefore returns he, when he said just 
 now 
 He was in a hurry to be gone? — And is it 
 His purpose then to try me? — Would he prove 
 How I affect his parting? — By my faith 
 To me he's always welcome. 
 {^(ulvanring.^ I shall show 
 
 My duty more, if I approach and meet him. 
 
 [Amphitiitox aytd Alcmkva meet. 
 
 Amph. With joy Amphitryon greets his wish'd- 
 for spotise, 
 Whom he accounts the best of all in Tliebes, 
 Whom all our Thebans so extol for virtue ! 
 How have you fared this age since ?^Did you 
 
 long 
 For my return ? 
 
 Sos. (ironically .^ O yes, extremely long'd ! — 
 One could not take less notice of a dog. 
 
 Amph. It joys me that I see you burthen'd thus, 
 Bearing your load so well. 
 
 Ale. Prithee, my lord, 
 
 Why do you thus salute me in the way 
 Of mocTcery? Why address me all so strange 
 As though yon had not seen me very lately, 
 As though it were the first time you return'd 
 Home hither from the conquest of your foes? 
 Why, why do you accost me now, as though 
 You had not seen me for a long time past? 
 
 Amph. By all that's sacred, never till this hour 
 Have I beheld you. 
 
 Ale. Why will you deny it? 
 
 Amph. Because that I have learn'd to speak the 
 truth. 
 
 Ale. He who unlearns what he has learn'd, 
 does wrong. — 
 You'd try my disposition ! — But what makes you 
 Return so soon? — Has any ominous thing 
 Retarded, or the weather kept you back? — 
 How comes it to the army you're not gone, 
 As lately you declared that you were going? 
 
 Amph. Lately! how lately was it? 
 
 Ale. Do you try me ? 
 
 A while ago, just now, this very instant. 
 
 Amph. How can that be, I pray you, as you say 
 A while ago, just now ? 
 
 Ale. And can you think 
 
 I'd play the fool as you do, who maintain 
 This is your first arrival, when e'en now 
 You parted hence? 
 
 Amph. How wild .«he talks ! 
 
 Sos. Have patience, 
 
 Until she has slept out her dream. 
 
 Amph. She dreams 
 
 With her eyes open. 
 
 Ale. No, I do not dream ; 
 
 But am awake, and waking I relate 
 That which is true : for now — ere break of day 
 I saw both him and you. 
 
 Amph. Where? in what place? 
 
 Ale. Here, in your own house. 
 
 Amph. No, it could not be. 
 
 Sos. Hold, sir — who knows but that the vessel 
 brought us 
 From the port hither, while we were asleep? 
 2 A 
 
302 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 ^mph. Will you too join in her extravagance? 
 
 Sos. What would you have- me do, sir? Don't 
 you know 
 If yon oppose a Bacchant in her rage, 
 You'll make her desperate; she'll strike the 
 
 oft'ner ; 
 But if you himiour her, one stroke contents her. 
 
 jlnijih. By heav'ns but I'm resolv'd to rate her, 
 since 
 She will not welcome me. 
 
 Sos. Do thrust your hand 
 
 Into a hornet's nest. 
 
 Amph. Hold your tongue, sirrah. 
 
 Alcmena, I would ask one question. 
 
 Mc. Ask 
 
 And welcome. 
 
 Amph. Is it frenzy, or is"t pride. 
 
 Which thus possess you ? 
 
 Mc. My lord ! — How came it 
 
 Into your thoughts to ask so strange a question ? 
 
 Amph. You were wont hitherto to welcome me 
 On my return, and greet me in such terms 
 As virtuous wives use to their husbands — now 
 I've found your practice other. 
 
 Mc. By my faith, 
 
 ]My lord, most certainly on yesternight 
 I welcom'd you as soon as you arriv'd. 
 And ask'd you at the same time of your health. 
 And took you by the hand, and gave a kiss. 
 
 Sos. How! yesternight you welcom'd him? 
 
 Ale. I did ;— 
 
 And you too, Sosia. 
 
 Amph. What! You saw me here 
 
 Last night? 
 
 Ale. I did, I say ; — must I repeat it 
 
 Ever so often? 
 
 Amph. In a dream perhaps. 
 
 Ale. No, we were both awake. 
 
 Amph. Alas! alas! 
 
 Sos. What ails you, sir? 
 
 Amph. My wife is gone distracted. 
 
 Sos. She's troubled with black bile, and nothing 
 sooner 
 Works men to madness.* 
 
 Amph. (Jo Ale.') When did you perceive 
 
 Yourself tirst seiz'd. 
 
 Ale. By heaven there's nothing ails me. 
 
 Amph. Why then d'ye say you saw me, when 
 we came 
 But last night into port; and there I supp'd. 
 There rested the whole night, on board the ship; 
 Nor have I set my foot here in the house. 
 Since with the army I march'd hence against 
 Our foes the Teleboans, and o'ercame them. 
 
 Ale. With me you supp'd, with me you pass'd 
 the night. 
 
 Amph. How! What's all this you're saying? 
 
 Ale. You departed 
 
 Back to the army at the dawn of day. 
 
 Amph. How could that be ? 
 
 Sos. She's very right: she's telling you 
 
 Her dream, while now 'tis fresh upon her 
 
 memory. 
 Indeed good dreaming madam, when you wak'd, 
 
 * Mrd, an percita est. Madness by the ancients was 
 attributed to the bile. 
 
 Y'"ou should have offered a salt cake or frankin- 
 cense 
 To Jove, disposer of strange prodigies.* 
 
 Ale. A mischief on your head! 
 
 Sos. On your's, unless 
 
 You have a care. 
 
 Ale. This fellow dares again 
 
 Speak rudely to me with impunity. 
 
 Amph. Hold your tongue, sirrah. 
 (To Ale.^ Tell me, did I leave you 
 
 At break of day this morning ? 
 
 Ale. Who but you 
 
 Recounted to me, how the battle went? 
 
 Amph. And know you that too? 
 
 Ale. Surely, since from you 
 
 I heard it; how you took their capital city, 
 And slew King Pterelas yourself. 
 
 A7nph. Did I, 
 
 J tell you this? 
 
 Ale. Yes, you ; and Sosia here 
 
 Was l)y too. 
 
 Amph. (to Sos.) Did you hear me tell her this? 
 
 Sos. Where should I hear you ? 
 
 Amph. Ask herself. 
 
 Sos. In troth. 
 
 No, never in my presence, that I know of. 
 
 Ale. Ay to be sure, — he'll contradict you doubt- 
 less! 
 
 Amph. Come hither, sirrah : — look me in the face. 
 
 Sos. I do sir. 
 
 Amph. I would have you speak the truth, 
 
 Without or favour or affection to me. — 
 Say did you hear me give her such account 
 As she affirms? 
 
 Sos. Prithee art thou too mad, 
 
 To ask me such a question? When it is 
 The first time I have seen, you here together. 
 
 Amph. Now madam !^-do you hear? 
 
 Ale. I hear him utter 
 
 That which is false. 
 
 Amph. So — then you won't believe 
 
 Or him or me, your husband ? 
 
 Ale. I believe 
 
 Myself, and know what I have said is true. 
 
 Amph. Will you affirm I came here yester- 
 day? 
 
 Ale. Will you deny you went from hence to- 
 day? 
 
 Amph. I do ; and do affirm, that this is now 
 My first arrival. 
 
 Ale. And will you deny too 
 
 That you presented me with a gold cup, 
 Y'^ou told me had been giv'n to you? 
 
 Amph. By heaven 
 
 I neither gave it )'ou, nor told you of it ; — 
 Though I was so dispos'd, and am so now, 
 That cup to give you. But who told you of it? 
 
 Ale. I heard it from yourself, — from your own 
 haiids 
 Receiv'd the cup. 
 
 Amph. Hold, hold, I do beseech you. — 
 
 Sosia, I marvel much how she should know 
 I was presented with a golden cup ; — 
 Unless yourself have lately been with her, 
 And told her all. 
 
 A custom among the ancients. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 303 
 
 Sos. Not I ; — I never told her 
 
 Nor saw lier, till with you, now. 
 
 ^Ic. What a knave ! 
 
 Would you that I produce the cup? 
 
 Amph. Produce it. 
 
 Ale. It shall be done — Go, Tliessala, and bring 
 The cup here, which my husband this day gave 
 me. 
 
 [Thessala. goes in and Amphithyon 
 and SosTA walk on one side. 
 
 Amph. Step hither Sosia — of all wonders I 
 Should wonder most, if she should have the cup. 
 
 Sos. Can you suppose that possible, when here 
 It's in the casket, (^showing it) seal'd with your 
 own seal ? 
 
 Amph. Is the seal whole ? 
 
 Sns. Look at it. 
 
 Amph. 'Tis secure, — 
 
 Just as I seal'd it. 
 
 Sos. Should she not be treated 
 
 Like a mad person ? 
 
 Amph. On my troth there's need on't ; 
 
 For sure she is possess'd. 
 
 [Thessala returns with a gold cup. 
 
 Air. Need there more words 1 
 
 See her-^'s the cup. 
 
 Amph. O give it to me. 
 
 Ale. There, — 
 
 Look at it well, you that deny your deeds : 
 But this will openly convince you. — Say, 
 Is't not the same with which you were pre- 
 sented "? 
 
 Amph. O Jupiter! What do I see? It is 
 The very cup — Sosia, undone for ever ! 
 
 Sos. Sure, she's the greatest juggler that e'er 
 breath H, 
 Or else the cup must be in here. 
 
 Amph. Despatch, — 
 
 Open the casket,^quick. 
 
 Sos. Why need I open it ? 
 
 'Tis seal'd securely: — so far all is well. — 
 You have brought forth, sir, an Amphitryon; I 
 A Sosia: — If the cup bring forth a cup. 
 Then shall we all have doubled one another. 
 
 Amph. I am resolved to open, and inspect. 
 
 Sos. Look if the seal be right, — that afterwards 
 You may not lay the blame on me. 
 
 Amph. Come, open it 
 
 This instant; for she means to drive us mad. 
 
 Ale. Whence could I have this present but 
 from you ? 
 
 Amph. That must I find. 
 
 Sns. (opening the easket.') Jupiter! Jupiter! 
 
 Amph. What ails you? 
 
 Sos. There's no cup here in the casket! 
 
 Amph. What do I hear ? 
 
 Sos. The truth. 
 
 Amph. Sad truth for you. 
 
 Unless the cnp appear. 
 
 Ale. (^showing it.\ It doth appear. 
 
 Amph. Who gave it to you ? 
 
 Ale. He that asks the question. 
 
 Sos. You're on the catch, good master ! — You 
 have stolen 
 Some other way, in private from the ship 
 Before me, taken the cup out, given it her, 
 
 And seal'd the casket up again. 
 
 Amph. Ah me! 
 
 You help her frenzy too. — {^To Ale.) You say 
 
 we came 
 Last night here ? 
 
 Ale. So I say, and on your coming 
 
 Straight you saluted me, as I did you. 
 And met you with a kiss. 
 
 Amph. (aside.) I do not like 
 
 That kiss in the beginning. Well — go on. 
 
 Ale. You badi'd. 
 
 Amph. What after bathing. 
 
 Ale. You sat down 
 
 To table. 
 
 Sos. Bravo! excellent! examine her. 
 
 Amph. [to Sos.) Don't interrupt — (<o Ale.) Pro- 
 ceed you in your story. 
 
 Ale. The supper being serv'd, we supp'd to- 
 gether ; 
 I sat me down — 
 
 Amph. On the same couch ? 
 
 Ale. The same. 
 
 Sos. So then ! — methinks this banquet is not 
 relished. 
 
 Amph. Let her go on — (to Ale.) What after we 
 had supped ? 
 
 Ale. You said you found yourself inclined to 
 sleep : 
 The table was remov'd : we went to bed. 
 
 Amph. Where did you lie? 
 
 Ale. With you in the same chamber, 
 
 In the same bed. 
 
 Amph. You've utterly destroy'd me ! 
 
 Sos. What ails you. 
 
 Amph. She has giv'n me my death's wound ! 
 
 Ale. What have I done, I pray ? 
 
 Amph. O I am a lost, lost wretch, 
 
 Since foul dishonour, while I was away, 
 Has stain'd her chastity. 
 
 Ale. My lord ! — I pray you, 
 
 Why do I hear such language from your tongue? 
 
 Amph. Am I your lord? — Thou false one I do 
 not call me 
 By that false name. 
 
 Sos. A pretty business truly. 
 
 Ale. What have I done, that you should talk to 
 me 
 In terms like these? 
 
 Amph. When you yourself proclaim 
 
 What you have done, why ask of me in what 
 You have oflended ? 
 
 Ale. Is my being with you. 
 
 Who are my husband, an offence to you ? 
 
 Amph. With me? was you with me? — im- 
 puilence 
 Unparallel'd ! — If you are void of shame. 
 You might at least have borrowVl the appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Ale. The crime, with wliich you charge me, 
 ne'er disgraced 
 Our family; and though you mean to fix 
 The imputation on me of incontinence 
 You cannot trap me. 
 
 Amph. O immortal gods! — 
 
 At least you know me, Sosia? 
 
 Sos. Pretty well. 
 
304 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Ainph. Did I not sup last night on board our 
 si lip 
 In the Eubcean port? 
 
 jilc. I have at hand 
 
 Witnesses likewise, ready to confirm 
 All that I say. 
 
 Amph. How! witnesses? 
 
 Ale. Yes, witnesses. 
 
 Amph. You produce witnesses ? 
 
 Ale. Yet one's sufficient : 
 
 For nobody was by besides ourselves, 
 But Sosia. 
 
 Sos. Troth I know not what to say 
 
 In this affair — haply there is some other 
 Amphitryon, who takes care, sir, of your business, 
 And does your office here, while you're away. 
 'Tis very wonderful, that other Sosia, — 
 But this Amphitryon is a greater wonder! 
 
 Ale. Now by the kingdom of the Pow'r su- 
 preme. 
 By Juno, matron goddess, whom to fear 
 And reverence is most fitting, here I swear, 
 That never mortal man, save you alone, 
 Has had my love, — none wooed me to dishonour. 
 
 Amph. Would this were true ! 
 
 Ale. I speak the very truth; 
 
 But all in vain, since you will not believe. 
 
 Amph. You are a woman, and can boldly 
 swear. 
 
 Ale. Bold may she be, who no offence has 
 wrought. 
 And, with a confident and haughty spirit, 
 Plead her own cause. 
 
 Amph. You're bold enough. 
 
 Ale. No more 
 
 Than does become a modest, virtuous woman. 
 
 Amph. As far as words can make you, you are 
 honest. 
 
 Ale. I hold not that my portion, which is call'd 
 so; 
 But honour, modesty, subdued desires, 
 Fear of the gods, affection for my parents, 
 And friendship with my kindred, — that to you 
 I am obedient, bounteous to the good. 
 And ever ready to assist the virtuous. 
 
 Sos. Now by my soul, if what she says is true. 
 She is the very model of perfection. 
 
 Amph. I scarce know who I am, I'm so be- 
 wildered. 
 
 Sos. You are Amphitryon, doubtless : but be- 
 ware. 
 You do not lose yourself; for men, you find, 
 Are strangely metamorphos'd since our coming. 
 
 Amph. I am resolvM to search into this matter. 
 
 Ale. With all my heart. 
 
 Amph. How say you? answer me, 
 
 What if I bring your kinsman Naucrates, 
 Who in the same ship bore me company : — 
 If he deny all you assert for fact, 
 What treatment is your due? — Can you show 
 
 cause. 
 Why you should not be punish'd with divorce? 
 
 Ale. Prove me delinquent. 
 
 Amph. Ill to the port 
 
 To find out Naucrates, and bring him hither. 
 
 \_Exit Amphitryon. 
 
 Sos. [to Ale.) Now there is no one here besides 
 ourselves. 
 Tell me, in sober sadness, is there not 
 Within another Sosia, like to me? 
 
 Ale. Go, fellow — a fit slave for such a master ! 
 Sos. I will be gone for good, if you command. 
 
 [Exit Sosia. 
 Alcmeita alone. 
 'Tis wondrous strange, my husband should be 
 
 pleas'd 
 Thus to accuse me of so foul a crime. 
 So wrongfully. — But I shall learn it soon 
 Whate'er the cause be, from my kinsman Nau- 
 crates. [Alcmena goes in. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Scene II, 
 Enter Alcmena. 
 I cannot bear to stay here in the house. — 
 
 that )ny husband should accuse me thus 
 Of wanton prostitution and dislionour ! 
 Facts he avers on facts, and loudly clamours, 
 Whilst to my charge he lays things never done, 
 Never by me admitted or allowed. 
 
 He thinks, too, I shall bear it with indifference: — 
 No, by the gods, I will not: I'll not sufl'er 
 The imputation of dishonesty 
 To lie against me without cause ; for I 
 Will either leave hiin, or from him receive 
 Due satisfaction: further, he shall swear 
 That he repents him it had eer been said, 
 What he alleged against me innocent. 
 
 Jupiter comes forward as Amphitrton. 
 Jup. I must consent to do what she requires, 
 If I would meet reception as a lover. 
 
 Ale. But lo I behold him here, — see, see the 
 man, — 
 That charges me, unhappy as I am, 
 With shameless prostitiuion and dishonour. 
 
 Jup. Wife, I would hold discourse with you — 
 ah why, 
 Why do you turn away your face thus from me ? 
 
 Ale. It is my nature. — I have always loath'd 
 To look upon my foes. 
 
 Jup. Your foes ! 
 
 Ale. So is it ; 
 
 1 speak the truth, — although you will pretend. 
 This too is false. 
 
 Jup. {offering to ernhraee her.) Nay, now you are 
 too angry. 
 
 Ale. Keep your hands off: — for sure, if you are 
 wise. 
 Or in your senses, you would never hold 
 Parley with her, in earnest or in mirth. 
 Whom you imagine and pronounce a strumpet. 
 No, no — unless of all the fools that are, 
 You are the veriest doit. 
 
 Jup. It does not make you 
 
 A whit the more so for because I said it: — 
 Nor do I think you such : and therefore am I 
 Hither return'd, to clear myself before you. 
 For nothing did I ever lay to heart 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 305 
 
 So sore as the ropnrt of your displeasure. 
 Wliy did you mention it? Yourself shall say 
 I can acquit me of design. — I did it 
 To try your temper, see what you would do, 
 Atid with what ease you would be brought to 
 
 bear it 
 Only for sport: do but ask ?osia else. 
 
 Jlh. But why not brinp: my kinsman, Naucrates 
 To testify you was not here before? 
 
 Jnp. It is not fair to turn in earnest wliat 
 Was only spoke in jest. 
 
 Air. But yet I know 
 
 And feel, ho'w much it pains me to the heart! 
 
 Jiip. By your right hand, Alcmena, I entreat. 
 Implore, beseech, you'd grant me this request: — 
 ForL'ive me, and be angry now no longer. 
 
 Air. I by my virtue, render your reproaches 
 Vain, and of no effect ; and though you now 
 Acquit me of dishonour, I'd avoid 
 The very imputation. — Fare you well ;* 
 Keep your own things, and give me mine. You'll 
 
 sutler 
 jMv women to attend me ? 
 
 Jnp. Are you mad? 
 
 Jllr. Or if you will not, I will go without them. 
 Bearing my virtue v.'ith me for companion, [goins;.) 
 
 Jup. Stay ! — I submit this oath to your dis- 
 cretion : 
 "I do believe my wife is truly virtuous." 
 If I deceive in this, then, highest Jove, 
 I do beseech yoti, let your anger fall 
 With unremitted vengeance on Amphitryon. 
 
 Ale. Ah ! may he rather be propitious to him ! 
 
 Jup. Trust that he will : the oath, that I have 
 taken. 
 Is a sincere and true one. — Now, I hope 
 You're no more angry. 
 
 Ale. I am not. 
 
 Jup. 'Tis well : 
 
 For in the life of man, full many a chance 
 Befalls them in this wise: and now they take 
 Their fill of pleasure, then again of misery : 
 Now quarrels intervene, and now again 
 Tlieyre reconcil'd : — but when these kind of 
 
 quarrels 
 Hnply arise betwixt two loving souls, 
 When reconciliation's made again, 
 Their fritmdship doubles that they held before. 
 
 Ale. You ought not to have said what late you 
 did: 
 But as you clear yourself, I am content. 
 
 Jtip. See that the sacred vessels be prepar'd, 
 To pay the vows I promis'd to perform, 
 If I return'd in safety. 
 
 £lc. I'll take care 
 
 Jup. Call Sosia hither. He shall go to Blepharo, 
 The master of our vessel, and invite him 
 To come and dine with us. — As for himself (ast'rfe) 
 He shall be fooi'd so as to lose his dinner; 
 And when unwittingly Amphitryon comes, 
 I'll drag him by the throat from hence. 
 
 Ale. I wonder 
 
 What he is talking to himself about ! 
 But the door opens — Oh, 'tis Sosia comes. 
 
 * Valeas, tibi habeas res tuas, reddas tiieas. This was 
 the formulary used in divorce. 
 39 
 
 ScKXE III. I 
 
 Enter Sosia. 
 I'm here. — Command me if you want my service : 
 I will obey your orders. 
 
 Jup. You arc come 
 
 Most opportunely. 
 
 Sos. Is it pence betwixt yon? 
 
 I am rejoic'd to see 3^011 in good humour. 
 A trusty servant still should fashion him 
 So as to be himself as is his master. 
 To set his face by his face, to be urave 
 If he is grave, and merry if he is merry:^ 
 But come now. tell me, are yon reconciled? 
 
 Jvp. You jeer me now, as if you did not know- 
 That what I said before, was but in jest. 
 
 Sos. In jest you said it? By my ti^ith, I thought 
 You spoke it seriously, in sober sadness. 
 
 Jvp. I've clear'd myself: we've ma le peace. 
 Sn.i. Best of all. 
 
 Ji(p. I have a solemn business to transact. 
 Within, which I have vow'd. 
 
 So.'!. Ay. I suppose so. 
 
 Jnp. Go to the vessel, in my name, invite 
 The master, Blepharo, to dine with me 
 After the sacrifice. 
 
 Sos. I shall be here. 
 
 Ere you can think me there. 
 
 Jup. Return with speed. 
 
 ^Erit Sosia. 
 Ale. Would you ought else? or shall I now 
 go in, 
 That what is needful be prepar'd. 
 
 Jnp. Pray, go, 
 
 And to your best see ev'ry thing b° rea 'y. 
 
 Ale. Come in, what time you will: I'll take 
 due care 
 That nothing shall be wanting. 
 
 Jup. Tis well spoken, 
 
 Like an observant wife. [.\LC>iEyA goes in. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Jupiter alone. 
 
 So, both of these, 
 The servant and the mistress, are deceiv'd 
 In thinking me Amphitryon. — Now Mercury, 
 Now my immortal Sosia, be at hand. 
 (You hear me, though not present :) — You must 
 
 bar 
 Amphitryon's entrance, and contrive to fool him, 
 While I indidge me with this borrowed wife. 
 Look to it, — you know my pleasure, — and assist 
 
 me. 
 While to myself I offer sacrifice. 
 
 Act IV. Scene T. 
 
 Enter ISlEncunr rnnnins:, at the further end of the 
 
 stage. 
 
 Stand by, make room, all clear the way before me, 
 Nor any be so bold to stop my speed. 
 
 (^To Ike Spectators.) 
 I am Jove's messenger, and hither now 
 Have hied mo at his bidding: therefore is it 
 More fitting, they should clear the way for me. 
 'Ty father calls, I follow him, and pay 
 Attention to his orders: I'm to him 
 2a2 
 
306 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Such as a good son should be to his father. 
 I second his am6urs, encourage liim, 
 Assist him, counsel him, rejoice with him: 
 If any thing's a pleasure to my father, 
 The pleasure is to me the greater far. 
 Now wouhl he have Amphitryon play'd upon: — 
 I'll do it rarely, — here before your eyes, 
 E'en now — 111 place a chaplet on my head,* 
 And sham the drunkard, get me up above, 
 And drive him hence, this husband, with a ven- 
 geance. 
 As soon as he approaches, iiom above 
 I'll give him such a sluicing, ye shall say 
 He's sober, yet in liq)ior. Sosia then 
 Will suffer fort, accus'd of having done 
 'What I shall do. — But what is that to me? 
 It is my duty to obey my father. 
 And be subservient to his will and pleasure. — 
 But lo ! Amphitryon comes. — Now, if you'll lend 
 Attention, ye shall see him bravely fool'd. — 
 ril in, and straight equip me for my part, 
 Then to the house-top, and thence drive him off. 
 [Mercurt goes in. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Amphitrtoit. 
 
 This Naucrates, whom I did wish to meet, 
 Was not on board ; nor found I any one, 
 At home, or in the city, that had seen him. 
 I've travers'd every street, been at the riding 
 
 house. 
 At the perfumer's, the exchange, the market, 
 The wrestling ring, the forum, at the barber's, 
 Th' apothecaries' shops, at all the temples.^ 
 I'm tired ■with searching; — no where can I find 
 
 him. — 
 I'll now go home, and of my wife proceed 
 To make inquiry, — who "tw^as, for whose sake 
 She gave her body up to prostitution 1 
 For it were better I were dead, than leave 
 This search unfinish'd. 
 
 {finds the door shut.) The}"- have barr'd the door! 
 'Tis very fine! — just like their other doings! — 
 But I'll make bold to knock, and soundly too. 
 
 {knocks.) 
 Open the door — holloa there — who's within? 
 Open the door, I say, — will no one open? 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Mercurt appears above, iiyith a rhaplet on his head, 
 pretending to he drunk. 
 
 Merc. Who's at the door ? 
 
 Amph. 'Tis I. 
 
 Merc. I ? Who is I ? 
 
 Amph. 'Tis I, I tell you. 
 
 Merc. Jove and all the gods 
 
 Owe you a spite, you bang so at the door. 
 
 Amph. How ? 
 
 Merc. How ? that you may live a wretch for 
 ever. 
 
 Amph. Sosia. 
 
 Meir. Ay, I am Sosia : — you don't tliink 
 
 That I've forgot my name ? — What is't you want ? 
 
 * It was a custom among the ancients to wear chaplets 
 at their carousals. 
 
 Amph. Ask what I want, villain? 
 
 Merc. Yes, you fool ; 
 
 You've almost torn our door here off its hinges : 
 Think you we're furnish'd at the pidjlic charge 
 With doors ? — You numskull ! Why do ye stare 
 
 s(j at m e ? 
 What would you have? — Who are you? 
 
 Amph. You whipp'd knave : 
 
 D'ye ask who I am? — You hell of elm-rods!* 
 Slave! I will have you tortur'd for this language. 
 
 Mc7-c. I sacrifice to you. 
 
 Amph. How? — what d'ye mean ? 
 
 Merc. I offer a libation of ill luck, {throvnng 
 water.) 
 ( What follows is supplied by another hand, the ori- 
 ginal being lost.) 
 
 Amph. Is this yottr off 'ring, rascal? — If the gods 
 Preserve me what I am, your back shall bend 
 With many a leathern thong, laid heavy on it; 
 Victim of Saturn ! Yes — I'll sacrifice you — 
 With torture on the gallows. — Come you out, 
 You hang-dog. 
 
 Mei-c. Apparition ! What, yoit think 
 
 To fright me with your threats? But if you don't 
 Take to your heels, if you dare knock, or touch 
 Our door here even with your little finger, 
 I'll beat about your pate so witli this tile. 
 You'll sputter tongue and teeth out all together. 
 
 Amph. You rascal ! won't you suft'er me to come 
 Into my own house? knock at luy own door? — 
 I'll pluck it off the hinges. {beati?ig vehemently.) 
 
 Merc. You persist? 
 
 Amph. I do. 
 
 Merc. Take this then, {throwing a tile.) 
 
 Amph. "V^illain ! at your master ? 
 If I but catch you, to such misery 
 I will reduce you, you shall live a wretch 
 For evermore. 
 
 3Ierc. You've play'd the Bacchanalian, 
 
 Old grey-beard. 
 
 Amph. Why ? 
 
 Merc. To think I am your slave. 
 
 Amph. Not think it ? 
 
 Merc. Plague confound you ! for I own 
 
 No master but Amphitryon. 
 
 Amph. Have I lost 
 
 My form ? — 'Tis strange that Sosia should not 
 
 know me. 
 I'll make a further trial.^Holloa ! tell me 
 Whom do I seem? is't plain I am Amphitryon? 
 
 Merc. Amphitryon? Are you mad? I told you, 
 dotard. 
 That you had play'd the Bacchanalian, 
 To ask another, who you are ! — But go. 
 Go, I advise you, and make no disturbance: — 
 Amphitryon has returne<l. and is at rest, 
 A-bed now with his wife. 
 
 Amph. What w^ife. 
 
 ji ere. Alcmena 
 
 Amph. Who is ? 
 
 Merc. How often would you have me tell you? 
 Amphitryon my master. Don't be troublesome. 
 
 Amph. Who is he with ? 
 
 * Ulmorum Achernus. That is, one whose back devours 
 as many elm-rods as Acheron does souls. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 307 
 
 Merc. Beware you do not seek 
 
 Your own miscliance in trifling with rue thus. 
 
 .^mph. Nay, prithee tell me, my good Sosia, do. 
 
 Merc. Now you bespeak me fairly! — with 
 Alcmena. 
 
 Jlrnph. In the same chaudjer. 
 
 Merc. The ^ame chamher, — ye.*, 
 
 And the same bed too. 
 
 Amph. O, I am most wretched. 
 
 — Sosia ! 
 
 Merc. Well — what a plague now would you 
 have 
 With Sosia, — Sosia? 
 
 ^mph. Don't you know me, sirrah ? 
 
 Merc. I know you for a wrangling saucy fellow. 
 
 Aniph. Yet once more, tell me, am I not Am- 
 phitryon, 
 Yonr master ? 
 
 Merc. You are Bacchus, not Amphitryon. 
 How often would you have me tell it you"? 
 Must I repeat if? Our Amphitryon's here, 
 And hugging his sweet spouse. If you persist 
 I'll bring him hither, — to your cost I warrant you. 
 
 Amph. I would that you would call him here. — 
 (asjrfe.) Pray heav'n, 
 I may not lose for my good services 
 My country, house, wife, family, and myself! 
 
 Merc. I'll call him ! But meanwhile get from 
 the door. 
 The sacrifice is ended, I suppose, 
 And now to dinner. Prithee don't disturb us 
 Or I will make a sacrifice of you. 
 
 [Mehcuht withdraws. 
 
 Amph. Ye gods! what madness has possess'd 
 our house ! 
 What wonders have I seen since my arrival ! — 
 Now do I hold those fabulous tales for true 
 Which I have heard of old, that Attic men 
 Were in Arcadia turn'd to savage beasts. 
 So that their friends could never know them 
 after. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Blepharo and Sosia at a distance. 
 
 Blcph. How Sosia ; — 'Tis most strange what 
 yon relate, 
 You found at home another Sosia, say you. 
 Resembling you ? 
 
 Sos. I did I say. — But hark ye, 
 
 Since I myself have spawu'd another Sosia, 
 Amphitryon an Amphitryon, how d"y<^ know 
 But you too peradveiiture may engender 
 Another Blepharo? Would to heav'n, that you 
 Were thiunp"d and bruis'd, your teeth knock'd 
 
 out, and kept 
 Without a dinner; then you might believe me: 
 For I, that other Sosia, who am yonder, 
 Manl'd me most grievously. 
 
 Blcph. 'Tis wondrous strange! 
 
 But we must mend our pace ; for as 1 see, 
 Ani])tL^yon"s waiting, and my empty stomach 
 Begins to grundjie. 
 
 Amph. (to himxelf.) Wherefore slioukl I talk 
 Of foreign legends, when they tales recount 
 More wondrous of the founder of our Tiiebes ? 
 
 This mighty searcher of Europa lost. 
 Having subdued the Mars-engender'd beast, 
 Rais'd on the spot a troop of armed men 
 By sowing of the serpent's teeth : — these parted, 
 And 'twixt the two bands a dread fight ensued ; 
 With spear and helmet brother press'don brother. 
 Nor is this all. Ejiirus has beheld 
 The author of our race, together with 
 His spouse Hermione, fair Venus' daughter, 
 Creep in the form of serpents. Jove sujjreme 
 Did tlins ordain from high, thus wilTd the Fates. 
 All, all the noblest chieftains of our house 
 Have for their bright achievements been pursued 
 With dire afflictions; and the same sad fate 
 Now presses me : — yet could I stand its force. 
 And suffer miseries scarce to be endur'd, 
 Were but Alcmena honest. 
 
 Sos. Blepharo! 
 
 Bleph. What? 
 
 Sos. I fear there's some mischance or other. 
 
 Bkph. Why? 
 
 Sos. Look you, — our door is shut, and there's 
 my master 
 Sauntering before it, like an humble courtier, 
 Waiting to bid good-morrow. 
 
 Bleph. Poll ! that's nothing. 
 
 He's walking only for an appetite. 
 
 Sos. A curious tliought indeed ! — to shut the 
 door 
 Lest it should come too early. 
 
 Bleph. Cease your yelping, 
 
 You puppy you. 
 
 Sos. I neither yelp nor bark. 
 
 If you'll be rul'd by me, pray let's observe him: 
 Something he's nutsing on, I know not what: 
 He's reckoning some accoiuit methinks : I here 
 Can overhear him. Don't be in a hurry. 
 
 Amph. O how I fear me, lest the gods should 
 raze 
 The glory I have gain'd in vanquishing 
 Our foes the Teleboans! All our family 
 I find in strange confusion and disorder: 
 My wife too! O she kills me. she's so full 
 Of stain, of prostitution, and dishonour. — 
 But I do marvel much about the cup; 
 For yet the seal was whole. What shall 1 say? 
 She told me the particulars of the fight, 
 And how King Pterelas I bravely slew 
 With my own hand. Oh, now I know the trick! 
 'Tis Sosia's doing, who has had the impuilence 
 To get before me here. 
 
 Sos. He talks of me, 
 
 And little to my liking. — I beseech you 
 Don't let us face him, till he has discovcr'd 
 What 'tis broils in liis stomach. 
 
 Bleph. As you will. 
 
 Amph. If I but lay hold on him, — a whipp'd 
 slave ! 
 I'll teach him what it is with tricks and threats 
 To put upon a master. 
 
 Sos. Do you hear him ? 
 
 Bleph. Yes, very plain. 
 
 Sos. 'I'he burthen on't will light 
 
 Ujion my shoulders. — Prithee let's accost him. — 
 Do you not know the saying? 
 
 Bleph. Troth I know not 
 
308 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 What you'll be saying, but I shrewdly guess 
 What you'll be suffering. 
 
 Sos. An old proverb — "Hunger 
 
 And a slack guest breed anger." 
 
 Bleph. By my faith 
 
 A true one. Let's accost him then directly. 
 Amphitryon ! 
 
 Amph. Sure 'tis Blepharo's voice 1 hear. 
 
 I wonder wherefore he should come to me ! 
 He comes though opportunely to assist 
 In proving my wife's baseness. — Blepharo, 
 What brings you hither ? 
 
 Bleph. How ! have you forgot 
 
 So soon your sending Sosia to the ship 
 This morning to invite me here to dinner? 
 
 Amph. I never did. May I perish, Blepharo, 
 If I have been within yet, or e'er sent him. 
 Where did you leave me ? Speak. 
 
 Sos. At your own house. 
 
 And with my lady, — when I parted from you 
 I flew to the port, and in your name invited 
 Blepharo here to dinner. We are come ; — 
 I never saw you after till this instant. 
 
 Amph. How villain, with my wife ? You shall 
 not hence 
 Without a drubbing. {^strikes him.') 
 
 Sos. Blepharo ! 
 
 Bleph. (^interposing.) Good Amphitryon 
 
 Let him alone now for my sake, and hear me. 
 
 Amph. Well — speak your pleasure. 
 
 Bleph. He has lately told me 
 
 Of things most strange. Some juggler, perad- 
 
 venture, 
 Or sorcerer, has enchanted all your family. 
 Inquire into it, see what it can be, 
 And do not torture this poor wretch, until 
 You've leani'd the truth. 
 
 Amph. You counsel me aright. 
 
 Let's in : I'd have you for an advocate 
 Against my wife. (^hey move towards the door.) 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Enter Jupiter. 
 
 Who is it with such vast 
 And vehement bangs hath almost shook our door 
 From off it's hinges' Who is it hath rais'd 
 Such foul disturbance for so long a time 
 Before the house? Whom if I once can find, 
 By Jove, I'll sacrifice him to the souls 
 Of slaughter'd Teleboans. — Notliing now 
 Speeds, as they say, riglit with me. I left 
 
 Blepharo 
 And Sosia, to go seek my kinsman Naucrates : 
 Them I have lost, and liim I have not found. 
 
 Sos. Blepharo! That's my master, jiistcome out; 
 But this here is the sorcerer. 
 
 Bleph. Jupiter, 
 
 What do I see? This is not, but that is 
 Amphitryon; or, if this be he, that cannot; 
 Except indeed he's iloiible. 
 
 Jup. See — here's Sosia 
 
 And Blepharo with him : I'll accost them first. 
 So, are you cotne at last? I die with hunger. 
 
 Sos. Did not I say, this other was tlie sorcerer? 
 (^pointing to Amphitryon.) 
 
 Amph. That is the sorcerer, my fellow The- 
 bans. 
 Who has sedno'd my wife, and stor'd my house 
 With shame and prostitution. 
 
 Sos. (to Jup.) My good master. 
 
 You may be hungry ; for my part I've had 
 My belly-full of cuffs. 
 
 Amph. Still prating, rascal? 
 
 Sos. Hie thee to Acheion, thou damned sorcerer! 
 
 Amph. Ha! — dost thou call me sorcerer? — 
 Then have at thee. (^strikes him.) 
 
 Jup. Stranger! what wild distemperature is 
 this. 
 That you should strike my servant? 
 
 Amph. Thine. 
 
 Jup. Yes, mine. 
 
 Amph. Thou liest. 
 
 Jup. Sosia go in, and see the dinner 
 
 Got ready, whilst I sacrifice this fellow. 
 
 Sos. I'll go — Amphitryon will, as I suppose, 
 Receive Amphitryon with like courtesy 
 As I, the other Sosia, did receive 
 Me Sosia. — In the meantime, while they're squab- 
 bling, 
 111 to the kitclien, there lick all the platters. 
 And empty all the cups. \_Erit Sosia. 
 
 SCEXE VI. 
 
 Remain Jupiter, Amphitrtox, and Blepharo. 
 
 Jup. Say'st thou I lie ? 
 
 Amph. Thou liest, I say, — corrupter of my 
 family. 
 
 Jup. Now for these scurvy terms I'll throttle 
 thee. (takes him by the collar.) 
 
 Amph. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Jup. You should have look'd to this before. 
 
 Amph. Help, Blepharo. 
 
 Bleph. They are both so like each other, 
 
 I know not which to side with ; but I'll try 
 To finish their contention, if I can. 
 Amphitryon do not kill Amphitryon : pray 
 Let go his collar. 
 
 Jup. Call'st thnu him Amphitryon ? 
 
 Bleph. Why nof He was but one, but now 
 he's double. 
 What though you say you are, the other too 
 Is still Amphitryon in his form. Then pray 
 Let go his collar. 
 
 Jup. Well ; but tell me truly, 
 
 Does he appear to you to be Amphitryon? 
 
 Bleph. Both verily. 
 
 Amph. hisihest Jupiter! 
 
 When did you take away this form of mine? — 
 But I'll examine him. — Art thou Amphitryon ? 
 
 Jup. Dost thou deny it ? 
 
 Amph. Surely, since there is 
 
 No other of that nam" in Thelr>s but I. 
 
 Jup. No none but I; — then Blepharo, be thou 
 judge 
 Betwixt us. 
 
 Bleph. I will make diis matter clear 
 
 By tokens if I can. (to Amph.) You answer first. 
 
 Amph. Most willingly. 
 
 Bleph. What orders did you give me 
 
 Ere you began the battle with the Taphians? 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 309 
 
 jlmph. To hold the ship in readiness, and stick 
 Close to the rudder. 
 
 Jup. Tlmt in case our troops 
 
 Were routed, I might find a safe retreat. 
 
 Amph. And for another reason : — to secure 
 The bag, well loaded with a store of treasure. 
 
 Jup What money was there? 
 
 Bleph. Hold, you : — 'tis for me 
 
 To put the question, [to Jup.) Do you know the sum? 
 
 Jup. Yes, fifty Attic talents. 
 
 Bleph. To a jot. 
 
 And you — [to Arnph.) how many Philippeans 
 were there ? 
 
 Aniph. Two thousand. 
 
 Jup. And of Oholi twice as many. 
 
 Bleph. Both hit the mark so truly, one of them 
 Must needs have hid him in the bag. 
 
 Jup. Attend. 
 
 With this right arm, (as you are not to learn) 
 I slew King Pterelas ; seized on the spoils, 
 And in a casket brought the golden cup, 
 Which he was wont to drink from. This I gave 
 A present to my wife, with whom to-day 
 I bathd, I sacrific'd, I lay. 
 
 Amph. Ah me ! 
 
 What do I hear ? I scarcely am myself! 
 Awake I sleep ; awake I dream ; alive, 
 In health, and in perfect mind, I perish. 
 I am Amphitryon, nephew of Gorgophone 
 Commander of the Thebans, favourite 
 Of Creon, conqueror of the Teleboans, 
 Who vaiiquish'd with his might the Arcananians 
 And Taphians, by his warlike prowess slew 
 Their monarch, and appointed Cephalus 
 Their governor, son of Deioneus. 
 
 Jup. I by my bravery in the battle crush'd 
 Those hostile ravagers, that had destroyd 
 Electryon, and the brothers of our wife, 
 These wand'ring through th" Ionian, the iEgean, 
 And Cretan seas, with pow'r piratical 
 Laid waste Achaia, Phocis, and .^tolia. 
 
 Amph. 0, ye immortal gods! I scarce can have 
 Faith in myself, so just is his relation. 
 What say you, Blepharo ? 
 
 Bleph. One thing yet remains: 
 
 If that appear, be double, both — Amphitryons. 
 
 Jup. I know what you would say ; that scar 
 you mean 
 Upon my right arm from the wound by Pterelas, 
 Deeply intrenchd. 
 
 Bleph. 
 
 Amph. 
 
 Jup. 
 Lo ! look ! 
 
 Bleph. 
 
 Jup. 
 Uncovered ; 
 
 The same. 
 
 Well thought on. 
 
 bee you ? 
 
 Uncover, and 111 look. 
 
 look! 
 
 We have 
 
 [they both show tJieir arms.) 
 Bleph. O Jupiter su|>reine ! 
 
 What do I see? — On both of you most plainly, 
 Upon the right arm, in the self-same place, 
 The self-same token does appear, — a scar, 
 New-closing, of a reddish wannish hue ! 
 All reasoning fails, an<l judgment is struck dumb. 
 I know not what to do. 
 
 (^Here cuds tlie suppositious part.) 
 
 Between yourselves 
 You must decide it: I must hence away 
 I've business calls me. — Never did I see 
 Such wonders ! 
 
 Amph. I beseech you, Blepharo, stay 
 
 And be my advocate ; pray do not go. 
 
 Bleph. Farewell. — An advocate liow can I be 
 Who know not wliicli to side with? 
 
 J%ip. I'll go in : 
 
 Alctnena is in labour. 
 
 [Blepharo goes off. and Jupttf.r 
 goes into the house. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 Amphitutox alone. 
 
 Woe is me ! 
 What shall I do, abandon "d by my friends, 
 And now witliout an advocate to help mel 
 Yet shall he ne'er abuse me unreveng'd, 
 Whoe'er he is. — I'll straight unto the king 
 And lay the whole before hiin. — 111 have ven- 
 geance 
 On this damn'd sorcerer, who has strangely 
 
 turn'd 
 The minds of all our family. — But where is he? — 
 I doubt not, but he's gone in to my wife. 
 Lives there in Thebes a greater wretch than I ? — 
 What shall I do now, since all men deny me. 
 And fool me at their pleasure ? — "Tis resolv'd. 
 Til burst into the house, and whomsoe'er 
 I set my eyes on, servant male or female, 
 Wife or gallant, father or grandfather, 
 III cut them into pieces: — Nor shall Jove, 
 Nor all the gods, prevent it, if they would ; 
 But 1 will do what I've resolv'd. — I'll in now. 
 [As he advmires towards the door, it thunders and 
 and he fulls down. — (^Thunder and lightning.) 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Bromia. 
 (AMPHiTUTOsr continuing in a srvoon.) 
 Brom. I have no means of safety left; my 
 
 hopes 
 Lie in my breast extinct and buried ; I 
 Have lost all confidence of heart and spirit; 
 Since all things seem combin'd, sea, earth, and 
 
 heaven. 
 To oppress and to destroy me. — I am wretched ! — 
 1 know not what to do, such prodigies 
 Have been displayd within ! — Ah, woe is me ! 
 I'm sick at heart now, — would I had some water, 
 I faint, my head aches, — I don't hear, nor see 
 Well with my eyes. — Ah me! no woman sure 
 Was e'er so wretched, an event so strange 
 Has happen'd to my mistress ! — When she found 
 Herself in lalx)ur, she invok'<l the gods: — 
 Then what a rumbling, grumbling, flashmg, 
 
 clashing, 
 Straitway ensued! how suddenly, how quick, 
 How terribly it tinmdcr'd ! All that stood 
 Fell fiat down at the noise : and then we heard 
 Some one, I know not who, with mighty voice 
 Cry out—" Alcmena, succour is at hand : 
 Be not dismay'd: the heavens high ruler comes 
 To you propitious and to yours. Arise,'' 
 
310 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Says he. " ye who have fallen through the terror 
 And dread of me." I arose from where I lay, 
 And such a brightness stream'd through all the 
 
 house, 
 Methought it was in flames. Then presently 
 Alcmena call'd : — I ran to her, in haste. 
 To know what she might want, and (bless my 
 
 eyes !) 
 Saw she had been deliver'd of two boys ; 
 Nor any of us knew, or did suspect, 
 When she was thus deliver'd. — But what's this? 
 Who is this old man, stretch'd before our house ? 
 Has he been thunder-stricken'? I believe so: 
 For he is laid out as if dead : I'll go. 
 And learn who 'tis. — 'Tis certainly Amphitryon, 
 My master. — Hoa, Amphitryon ! 
 
 Amph. I am dead. 
 
 Brom. Come, rise, sir. 
 
 Amph. I'm qviite dead. 
 
 Brom. Give me your hand. 
 
 Amph. Who is* it holds me? 
 
 Brom. I your maid, sir, Bromia. 
 
 Amph. I tremble every joint, with such amaze 
 Has Jupiter appall'd me ! and I seem 
 As though I were just risen from the dead. 
 But wherefore came you forth 1 
 
 Brom. The same dread fear 
 
 Fill'd us poor souls with horror. I have seen, 
 Ah me ! such wondrous prodigies within, 
 I scarce am in my senses. 
 
 Amph. Prithee tell me ; 
 
 D'ye know me for your master, for Amphitryon? 
 
 Brom. Yes, surely. 
 
 Amph. Look again now. 
 
 Brom. I well know^ you. 
 
 Amph. She is the only person of our family 
 That is not mad. 
 
 Brom. Nay, verily they all 
 
 Are in their perfect senses. 
 
 Amph. But my wife 
 
 By her foul deeds has driv'n me to distraction. 
 
 Brom. But I shall make you change your lan- 
 guage, sir, 
 And own your wife a chaste one ; on which point 
 I will convince you in few^ words. Know lirst, 
 Alcmena is deliver'd of two boys. 
 
 Amph. How say you, two ? 
 
 Brom. Yes, two. 
 
 Amph. The gods preserve me. 
 
 Brom. Permit me to go on, that you may know 
 How all the gods to you are most propitious 
 And to your wife. 
 
 Amph. Speak. 
 
 Brom. When your spouse began 
 
 To be in labour, and the wonted pangs 
 Of child-birth came upon her, she invok'd 
 Th' immortal gods to aid her, w^ith w^ash'd hands 
 Add cover'd head ;* then presently it thunder'd, 
 And with a crack so loud, we thought at first 
 The house itself was tumbling, and it shone 
 As bright throughout, as if it were of gold. 
 
 Amph. Prithee relieve me quickly, sinoe you 
 have 
 Perplex'd me full enough. — Whatfollow'd after? 
 
 * Agreeably to the religious ceremonies of the ancients. 
 
 Brom. Meantime, while this was done, not one 
 of us 
 Or heard your wife once groan, or once com- 
 plain; 
 She was deliver'd e'en without a pang. 
 
 Amph. That joys me, I confess, however little 
 She merits at my hands. 
 
 Brom. Leave that, and hear 
 
 What more I have to say. After delivery, 
 She bade us wash the boys : we set about it, 
 But he that I wash'd, O how sturdy is he ! 
 So strong and stout withal, not one of us 
 Could bind him in his swaddling-clothes. 
 
 Amph. 'Tis wondrous 
 
 What you relate : if your account be true, 
 I doubt not but Alcmena has been favour'd 
 With large assistance and support from heaven. 
 
 Brom. You'll say what follows is more won- 
 drous still. 
 After the boy was in his cradle laid 
 Two monstrous serpents with high-lifted crests 
 Slid down the sky-light ! in an instant both 
 Rear'd up their heads. 
 
 Amph. Ah me ! 
 
 Brom. Be not dismay'd : 
 
 The serpents cast their eyes around on all ; 
 And after they had spied the children out. 
 With quickest motion made towards the cradle. 
 I, fearing for the boys, and for myself, 
 Drew^ back the cradle, stirr'd it to and fro, 
 Backwards and forwards, on one side and 
 
 t'other; 
 The more I work'd it, by so much the more 
 These serpents fierce pursued. That other boy, 
 Soon as he spied the monsters, in an instant. 
 Leaps him from out the cradle, straight darts at 
 
 them, 
 And suddenly he seizes upon both, 
 In each hand grasping one. 
 
 Amph. The tale you tell 
 
 Is fraught with many wonders, and the deed 
 That you relate is all too terrible ; 
 For horror at your words creeps through my 
 
 limbs. — 
 What happen'd next? Proceed now in your 
 story. 
 
 Brom. The child kill'd both the serpents. — 
 During this 
 A loud voice calls upon your wife. — 
 
 Amph. Who calls? 
 
 Brom. Jove, supreme sovereign of gods and 
 men, 
 He own'd that he had secretly enjoy'd 
 Alcmena, that the boy, who slew the serpents. 
 Was his ; the other, he declar'd, was yours. 
 
 Amph. I now repent me, an' it pleases him, 
 To share a part with Jove in any good. 
 Go home, and see the vessels be prepar'd 
 For sacrifice forthwith, that I may make 
 My peace with Jove by olfering many victims. 
 
 [Bromia goes in. 
 I'll to the soothsayer Tiresias, and 
 Consult with him what's fittest to be done: 
 I'll tell him what has happened — but what's 
 
 this? 
 How dreadfully it thunders! — Mercy on us! 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 311 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Jupiter appears above — thunder and lightning. 
 
 Be of good olieer, Ampbitryon ; I am come 
 'J'o comfort and assist you and your family. 
 Nothing you have to fear; then let alone 
 All soothsayers and diviners: Til inform you 
 Of wliat is past, and what is yet to come, 
 Macli better tlian they can, since I am Jove. 
 Know first of all, I have enjoy'd Alcmena, 
 Whence she was pregnant by me with a son : 
 Yon likewise left her pregnant, when you went 
 To th" army. At one birth, two boys together 
 She has brought forth : the one, sprung from my 
 
 loins, 
 Shall gain immortal glory by his deeds. 
 Restore Alcmena to your ancient love : 
 In nothing does slie merit your reproaches: 
 Slie was compell'd, by my resistless power. 
 To what site did. — I now return to heaven. 
 
 [Jupiter ascends. 
 
 Scene the Last. 
 Amphitryon alone. 
 
 I'll do as yon command; and I beseech you 
 That you would keep your promises. — I'll in 
 Unto my wife, and think no more of old 
 Tiresias. — Now, spectators, for the sake 
 Of highest Jove, give us your loud applause.* 
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 dramatis person^b 
 
 Hegio. 
 
 Philocrates. 
 Ttndarus. 
 Aristophontes. 
 
 Philopolemus. 
 Ergasilus. 
 Stalagmus. 
 Servants. 
 
 Scene. — Calydon in ^tnlia^ before Hegio's house. 
 
 FROM THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 Our play is not in the common style, nor yet 
 Like other plays : — here are no ribald lines 
 
 * The Romans believed that this play made much for 
 the honour of J\ipitcr; therefore, afterwards, it was 
 cominoiiiy acted in times of public troubles and calamities, 
 to appease his an£Pr. 
 
 There is no doubt but that this play ends happily and 
 seriously in our author, with the vindication of Alcniena's 
 honour, entirely to the satisfaction of .Amphitryon. Mo- 
 liere, to accommodate his piece more to the modern taste, 
 humourously enouah makes Sosia conclude it with sayin^r 
 (whi^n the company present were for consratulating 
 Amphitryon upon the honour done him by .lupiler,) 
 Snr telles atTairps toujours 
 Le meilleur est de ne rien dire. 
 Dryden copies him exactly in this speech ; but he gives 
 it (thouL'h not nearly so much in character) to Mercury, 
 who had already declared his godship. 
 
 "All. We all coneratul.ite Amphitryon. 
 
 Merc. Keep your consratulations to yourselves. Gentle- 
 men. — 'Tis a nice point, let ine tell you that ; and the less 
 that is said of it the better." 
 
 Unfit to be remembered ; here you'll find 
 
 No infamous, abandoned courtezan. 
 
 No rascal pimp, no braggard captain here. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Ergasilus. 
 
 Because I usually attend at feasts, 
 
 An invocated guest, our sparks forsooth 
 
 Nickname me mistress.* This, I know, the 
 
 jeerers 
 Say is absurd. — I say, 'tis right. — The lover 
 At a carousal, when he throws the dice, 
 Invokes his mistress. Is she invocated, 
 Or is she not? Most plain, she is. — But yet 
 To say the truth, we are termed Parasites 
 For a much plainer reason. — For, like mice,t 
 Ask'd or not ask'd, we always live u])on 
 Provisions not our own. — In the vacation 
 When to the country men retire, 'tis also 
 Vacation with my teeth. — As in hot weather 
 SnaiLs hide them in their shells, and, if no dew 
 Should cliance to fall, live on their proper mois- 
 ture, 
 We Parasites, in times of the vacation, 
 Keep ourselves snug; and while into the country 
 Those are retired, on whom we us'd to feed. 
 Poor we support our natural call of appetite 
 From our own juices. — We in the vacation 
 Are thin as hounds ; — but when men coine to 
 
 town. 
 We are as plump as mastiffs, full as troublesome, 
 And as detested. What is^ivorst of all. 
 Except we patiently endure a drubbing, I 
 
 An'd let them break their pots upon our heads, 
 We must submit to sit among the beggars 
 Witliout the city gate. — That this will be 
 My lot, there's not a little danger, since 
 My patron is a captive with the enemy. 
 Th" iEtolians and the .iElians are at war: 
 We now are in .iEtolia. Philopolemus, 
 Old Hegio's son, whose house is here hard by, 
 Is prisoner now in .^'lis. — Sad indeed 
 This house to me! which, often as I see it. 
 Brings tears into my eyes. The good old father, 
 U|)on his son's account, not in coinpliance 
 With his own inclination, has engaged 
 In an illiberal traffic, J and by purchasing 
 Of captives hopes, that in .some lucky hour 
 He may find one to barter for his son. — 
 But the door opens, whence I've sallied forth 
 Full many a time, drunk with excess of cheer. 
 
 * Parasites are by our author often called Mistresses. 
 This humour of callin}; parasites by droll names, we may 
 suppose was common, as we liiid it again in the Menachmi 
 or Ticivs, where the parasite is made lo say — 
 "Our young men call me Dishclout. — for this reason, 
 Whene'er I dine, I wipe the tables clean. 
 
 + Diogenes, the Cynic, when he saw mice creeping 
 under a table, used to say, "See there Diogenes* para- 
 sites!" — The same allusion we meet with again in the 
 Perstt, act i , scene ii. 
 
 Quasi mures semper edere alienum eibum. 
 
 Like mice, they lived on victuals not their own. 
 
 t Quo-slum inhonestum. So in another place it is called 
 quirslum ciircerariuvi. Whence it is plain, that dealing 
 in slaves was accounted irreputable. 
 
312 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 ScESF, II. 
 
 Enter Hegio and a Slave. 
 
 HeR 
 
 Mind vhat I say : — from those two cap- 
 tives there, 
 Whom yesterday I purchased from the Quaes- 
 tors, 
 Take off the heavy chains with which they're 
 
 bnnnd. 
 And put on li<ihter: let them walk about 
 Within door?, or abroad, as likes them best: — 
 Yet watch them well. — A free man, made a cap- 
 tive, 
 Is like a bird that's wi'd : it is enough, 
 If once you give it opportunity 
 To fly away ; — you'll never catch it after. 
 
 Slave. Freedom to slavery we all prefer. — 
 
 Heg. You do not think so, or you'd find the 
 means. 
 
 Slave. If I have nought to offer else, permit 
 me 
 To give you for it a fair pair of heels. 
 
 Heg. And if you do, I presently shall find 
 What to bestow on you. 
 
 Slave. I'm like the bird 
 
 You talk'd of even now. — I'll fly away. 
 
 Heg. Indeed ! Bew are the cage then, if you 
 do.— 
 No more ; mind what I order'd, and begone. — 
 
 Erg. (asif/c.) May he succeed in his design ! — 
 If not. 
 And he should miss redeeming of his son, 
 I have no house to fl^tt my head into. — 
 Young fellows of this age are all self-lovers; 
 I have no hopes of 'em ; — but Philopolemus, 
 He is a youth keeps up our ancient manners:— 
 I never rais'd in him a single smile, 
 But I was paid for't ; — and old Hegio here 
 Is ju^t the same. — 
 
 Heg. I'll now vmto my brother's. 
 
 Visit my other captives there, and see 
 If ought has been amiss last night among them; 
 Thence will I take me home again forthwith. 
 
 Erg. It grieves me much, that this unhappy 
 man 
 Sliovild act so meanly as to traile in slaves, 
 On the account of his unhappy son ; 
 But, if by this, or any means like this. 
 He can redeem him, let him deal in men's 
 
 flesh, 
 I can endure it. 
 
 Heg. WliO is it that speaks there? 
 
 Erg. 'Tis I. sir — I, that pine at your distress. 
 Grow thill with it, wax old, and waste away; 
 Nay, I'm so lean withal, that I am nothing 
 But skin and bone : — whate'er I eat at home 
 Does me no good ; but be it e'er so little 
 I taste abroad, that relislies, that cheers me. 
 
 Heg. Ergasilus! — Good day. 
 
 Erg. (^crying.) Heav'ns bless you, Hegio! 
 
 Heg. Nay, do not weep. 
 
 Erg. Must I not weep for him ? 
 
 For such a youth not weep ? 
 
 Heg. My son and you, 
 
 I know, were ever friends. 
 
 Erg. 'Tis then at length 
 
 Men come to know their good, when they have 
 
 lost it;* — 
 I, since the foe has made your son a captive, 
 Fin'l his true value, and now feel his want. 
 
 Heg. If you, who stand in no relation to him. 
 So ill can bear his sufferings, what sliould I, 
 Who am his father, — he my darling child? 
 
 Erg. I stand in no relation to him? — he 
 In no'ie to me? — Ah, Heaio! say not that, — 
 And do not think so: — if he is to you 
 A darling child, to me he's more than darling. 
 
 Heg. I cannot but commend you, that you hold 
 Your friend's mishap your own. — Be comforted. 
 
 Erg. Ah me ! 
 
 Heg. (half aside.^ 'Tis this afflicts him, that the 
 army, 
 Rais'd to make entertainments, is disbanded. 
 Could you get no one all this while, again 
 To put it in commission? 
 
 Erg. Would you think it ? 
 
 Since Philopolemus has been a captive, 
 They all decline the office. 
 
 Heg. And no wonder, 
 
 That they avoid it. — You w^ill stand in need 
 Of many soldiers, and of various kinds: — 
 Bakerians, Pastry-cookians, Poultererians, — 
 Besides whole companies of Fishmongerians. 
 
 Erg. How greatest geniusses oft lie conceal'd! 
 
 w hat a general, now a private soldier ! 
 
 Heg. Have a good heart. — I trust, within these 
 few days 
 My son u-ill be at home again : for lo ! 
 Among my captives I've an .^.olian youth 
 Of noble family and ample state. — 
 
 1 trust, I shall exchange him for my son. 
 
 Erg. Heav'ns grant it may be so ! 
 
 Heg. But are you ask'd 
 
 Abroad to supper? 
 
 Erg. No where that I know. — 
 
 But why that question ? 
 
 Heg. As it is my birth day, 
 
 I thought of asking you to sup with me. — 
 
 Erg. Oh ! good, sir, good — 
 
 Heg. If you can be content 
 
 With little. 
 
 Erg. Oh, sir! very, very little: — 
 
 I love it. — 'tis my constant fare at home. 
 
 Heg. Come, set yourself to sale. 
 
 Erg. (loud.) Who'll buy me? 
 
 Heg. I,— 
 
 If no one will bid more. 
 
 * Very like this is a sentiment in Horace, booli ii, 
 ode 24. 
 
 firtutem incoluinem odimvs, 
 
 Sublatam ex oriilis qn(primus inridi. 
 
 Tlio' livinz virtue we despise. 
 We follow her, when dead, with envious eyes. 
 
 FrnvrU. 
 And the snnie sentiment is finely touched by Shak- 
 speare.— Jl/«c/i Ado about J\rothin<r, act iv., scene i. 
 
 For it so falls out. 
 
 That what we have, we prize not to the value, 
 Whilst we enjoy it ! but being lark'd and lost. 
 Why then we rack the value ; then we find 
 The virtue that possession would not show us. 
 Whilst it was ours. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 313 
 
 Erg. Can I expect, 
 
 I or iTiy friends, a better ofler?— So 
 I bind me to tlie barf^ain, all the same 
 As though I sold you terra firina. 
 
 Heg. Say, 
 
 A qnlcksand rather, that will swallow all. — 
 But if you come, you'll come in time. 
 
 Erg. Nay, now 
 
 I am at leisure. 
 
 Heg. Go, and linnt a hare ; — 
 
 Tve nothing but an hedge-hog: — you will meet 
 With rugged fare. 
 
 Erg. Don't think to get the better 
 
 Of nie by that: — ru come with teeth well sliod. 
 
 Heg. To say the truth, my viands are full hard. 
 
 Erg. You don"t champ brambles? 
 
 Heg. Mine's an earthly supper. 
 
 Erg. A fine i'at sow, why that's an earthly 
 animal. 
 
 Heg. Plenty of vegetables. 
 
 Erg. The best thing 
 
 To cure your sick with. — Have you more to say 1 
 
 Heg. You'll come in time. 
 
 Erg. You need not put in mind, 
 
 Whose memory never fails him. 
 ' [Ergasilus goes off. 
 
 Heg. I will in, 
 
 Look over my accounts, and see what cash 
 I have remaining in my banker's hands; 
 Then to my brother's, where I said I'd go. [Exit. 
 
 Act II. ScEJfE I. 
 
 Enter Slaves of Hkgio, icith Piulocrates and 
 Ttndarus. 
 
 ^ Slave. If the immortal gods have so decreed. 
 That tliis affliction you should undergo, 
 It is your duty patiently to bear it; 
 Which if you do, the trouble will be lighter. 
 When at your home, you I presume, were free : 
 But since captivity is now your lot. 
 Submission would become you, and to make 
 Your master's rule a mild and gentle one 
 By your good dispositions. — Should a master 
 Commit unworthy actions, yet his slaves 
 Must think them worthy ones. 
 
 Phil, and Tynd. Alas! alas! 
 
 Slave. Why this bewailing? — tears but hurt 
 your eyes : — 
 Our best support and succour in distress 
 Is fortitude of mind. 
 
 Phil. But oh I it shames us. 
 
 That we are thus in chains. 
 
 Slave. Yet mi'jfht it grieve 
 
 Our master more, were he to loose your chains. 
 And let you be at large, when he lias boughtyou. 
 
 Phil. What can he fear from us? — We know 
 our duty. 
 Were we at large. 
 
 Slave. You meditate escape : 
 
 I know what you'd be at. 
 
 Phil. We run away! 
 
 Ah 1 whither should we run ? 
 
 Slave. To your own country. 
 
 Phil. Prithee no more : it would but ill become us 
 To imitate the part of fugitives. 
 40 
 
 Slave. Yet, by my troth ! was there an oppor- 
 tunity, 
 I would not be the man that should dissuade you. 
 
 Phil. Perniit us then to a.sk one favour of you. 
 
 Slave. What i.- it ? 
 
 Plul. That you'd give us opportunity 
 
 To talk together, so that you yourselves, 
 Nor any of these captives overliear us. 
 
 Slave. Agreed. — (/o the slaves.) Move further 
 
 oir.— 
 
 (/o his ronipanions) W(>"ll too retire, 
 But let your talk be short. 
 
 Phil. 'Twas my intention 
 
 It should be so. — A little this way, Tyiidarus — 
 
 (/o the other captives, and retires with them.') 
 
 Slave. Go farther from them. 
 
 Tynd. We on this account 
 
 Are both your debtors. 
 
 Phil. Farther off, so please you. {to Tynd.) 
 A little off, that these may not be witnesses 
 Of what we have to say, and that our plot 
 Be not discovered. — ^For not plann'd widi art. 
 Deceit is no deceit, but if discovered, 
 It brings the greatest ill to the contrivers. 
 If you, my Tyndarus, are to pass for me. 
 And I for you, — my master you, and I 
 Your servant, — we have need of foresight, cau- 
 tion, 
 Wisdom and secrecy, — and we must act 
 With i)rudence, care, and diligei ce. — It is 
 A business of great moment, and we must not 
 Sleep, or be idle in the execution. 
 
 Tynd. I'll be what you would have me. 
 
 Phil. So I trust. 
 
 Tynd. Now for your precious life you see me 
 stake 
 My own, that's no less dear to me. 
 
 Phil. I know it. 
 
 Tynd. But when you shall have gained the 
 point you aim at. 
 Forget not then ! — It is too oft the way 
 With most men ; — when they're suing for a 
 
 favour, 
 While their obtaining it is yet in doubt, 
 They are most courteous, but when once they've 
 
 got it. 
 They change their manners, and from just become 
 Dishonest and deceitful. — I now think you 
 All that I wish, and what I do advise 
 I would advise the same unto my father. 
 
 Phil. And verily, if I durst, I'd call you father; 
 For next my father you are nearest to me. 
 
 Tynd. I understand. 
 
 Phil. Then what I ofi have urg'd, 
 
 Remember.— I no longer am your master. 
 But now your servant. — This I be_' tlien of you, — 
 Since the immortal gods will have it so, 
 That I, from bein-z once your master, now 
 Should be your fellow-slave, I do entreat, 
 By Prayer,* a favour which I could command, 
 Once as my riglit. — By our uncerinin state, 
 By all my father's kindness shown unto you 
 By our joint fellowship in slavery, 
 Th' event of war, bear me the same regard, 
 
 • Per Prerem. Acrnriiine lo limner, who inakRS Prayer 
 a goddess, and one of the daughters of Jupiter. 
 2B 
 
314 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 As once I bore you, when I was your master, 
 And you my slave; forget not to remember, 
 What ouoe you liave been, and w^ho now you are. 
 
 Tynd. I know — 1 now am you, and you are I. 
 
 Phil. Fornfct not, — and there's hope our scheme 
 will prosper. 
 
 SCEXE II. 
 
 Enter Hegio speaking; to those within. 
 
 When Fm inform'd of what I want to know, 
 I shall come in again. — Where are those captives, 
 I ordered to be brought before the house? 
 
 Phil. Chaiu'd as we are, and wall'd in by our 
 keepers. 
 You have provided, that we shall not fail 
 To answer to your call. 
 
 Heg. The greatest care 
 
 Is scarce enough to guard against deceit; 
 And the most cautious, even when he thinks 
 He's inost upon his guard, is often trick'd. — 
 But have I not just cause to watch you mcII, 
 When I have bought you with so large a sum 1 
 
 Phil. 'Twould not be right in us to blame you 
 for it ; 
 Nor, should occasion offer to escape. 
 Would it be right in you to censure us, 
 Tliat we made use of it. 
 
 ffeg. As you are here, 
 
 So in your country is my sou confin'd. 
 
 Phil. What! Is your son a captive? — 
 
 Jfeg. Yes, he is. 
 
 Phil. We are not then, it seems, the only 
 cowards. 
 
 Heg. (io Phil, supposing him servant to Tynd. ) 
 Come nearer this way — something I wovild know 
 In private of you, — and in which affair 
 You must adhere to truth. 
 
 Phil. In what I know 
 
 I'll do it, sir; and, should you ask me aught 
 I do not know, I'll own my ignorance. 
 
 Tynd. (aside.) Now is the old man in the bar- 
 bers shop, 
 Philorrates holds in his hand the razor, 
 Nor has he put a cloth on, to prevent 
 Fouling his clothes; but whether he's about 
 To shave him close, or trim liim through a comb, 
 I know not: if he rightly play his part. 
 He'll take off skin and all. 
 
 Heg. Which would you choose? 
 
 To be a slave, or have your freedom ? tell me. 
 
 Phil. That I prefer, which nearest is to 20od, 
 And farthest off from evil : — though. I own, 
 My servitude was little grievous to me; — 
 Tlicy treated me the same as their own child. 
 
 Tynd. (^aside.) Bravo! — I would not give a 
 talent now 
 To purchase even Thales the Milesian : — 
 A very oaf in wisdom match "d v\ ith this man : 
 How cleverly does he adapt his phrase 
 To suit a slave's condition. 
 
 Heg. Of what family 
 
 Is this Philocrates ? 
 
 Phil. The Polyphusian, 
 
 A potent and most honourable house ! 
 
 Heg. What honours held he in bis coimtry ? 
 
 Phil. High ones, 
 
 Such as the chief men can alone attain to. 
 
 Heg. Seeing his rank's so noble, as you say, 
 What is his substance? 
 
 Phil. As to that, the old one 
 
 Is very warm. 
 
 Heg. His father's living then? 
 
 Phil. We left him so, when we departed 
 thence ; 
 But whether he is now alive or no, 
 You must ask further of the nether regions. 
 
 Tynd. (^aside.) So — all is right, — he's not con- 
 tent with lying. 
 But reasons like a wise man. 
 
 Heg. What's his name ? 
 
 Phil. Thesaurochrysonicochrysides. 
 
 Heg. A name bestow^ed upon him for his 
 wealth ? 
 
 Phil. Nay, rather for his avarice and extor- 
 tion. — 
 His real name was Theodoromedes. 
 
 Hes:. How say you ? — Is his father covetous ? 
 
 Phil. Very. — To let you more into his charac- 
 ter, — 
 In sacrificing to his household genius 
 He uses nothing but vile Samian vessels, 
 For fear the god should steal them: — mark by 
 
 this, 
 What trust he puts in others. 
 
 Heg. Come you this ^vay.— 
 
 (aside.) What further information I require, 
 111 learn from him. 
 
 (^addressing Tyndarus as Philocrates.") 
 Philocrates, )"our servant 
 Has acted as behoves an honest fellow. — 
 I've learn'd of him your family : — he has own'd 
 
 it: — 
 Do you the same ; "twill turn to your advantage,— 
 If you confess what, be assur'd, I know 
 From him already. 
 
 Tynd. Sir, he did his duty. 
 
 When he confess'd the truth to you, — although 
 I would have fain conceal'd froiu you my state, 
 My family, and my means. — But now alas ! 
 Since I have lost my country and my freedom. 
 Can I suppose it right, that he should dread 
 Me before you? The power of war has sunk 
 My fortunes to a level with his own. — 
 Time was, he dar'd not to offend in word. 
 Though now he may in deed. — Do you not mark. 
 How Fortime moulds and fashions human beings. 
 Just as s!ie pleases? Me, who once was free, 
 She has made a slave, from highest thrown me 
 
 down 
 To lowest state : — Accustom'd to command, 
 I now abide the bidding of another. — 
 Yet if my master bear him with like sway, 
 As when myself did lord it over mine, 
 I liave no dread, that his authority 
 Will deal or harshly or unjustly with me. — 
 So far I wished you to be made acquainted, 
 If peradventnre you dislike it not. 
 
 Heg. Speak on, and boldly. 
 
 Tynd. I ere this was free 
 
 As your own son. — Him has the power of war 
 Depriv'd of liberty, as it has me. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 315 
 
 He in my country is a s'ave, — as now 
 I am a slave in this.^There is indeed 
 A God, tliat hears and sees -u hate'er we do : — 
 As you respect me, so will He respect 
 Your lost son. — To the well-deserving, good 
 Will happen, to the ill-descrvir.g, ill. — 
 Think, that my father feels the want of me, 
 As much as you do of your son. 
 
 Heg. I know it. — 
 
 But say, will you subscribe to the account 
 Your servant gave? 
 
 Tynd. My fiither's rich, I own, 
 
 My family is noble ; — but, I pray you. 
 Let not the thought of these my riches bend 
 Your mind to .'sordid avarice, lest my father. 
 Though I'm his only child, .should deem it fitter 
 I were your slave, clothed, pamper'd at yoiu" cost. 
 Than beg my bread in my own country, where 
 It were a foul disgrace. 
 
 Hes;. Thanks to the gods. 
 
 And to my ancestors, I'm rich enough. — 
 Nor do I hold, that every kind of gain 
 Is always serviceable. — Gain, I know. 
 Has render'd many great. — But there are times. 
 When loss should be preferr'd to gain. — I hate it, 
 'Tis my aversion, money : — many a man 
 Has it enticed oft-times to wrong. — But now 
 Attend to me. tliat you may know my mind. 
 My son's a captive and a «lave of .i^lis : — 
 If you restore him to ine, I require 
 No other recompense; — I'll send you back. 
 You and your servant : — on no other terms 
 Can you go hence. 
 
 Tynd. You ask what's right and just, — 
 
 Thou best of men ! — But is your son a servant 
 Of the public, or some private person 1 
 
 Heg A private — of Menarclius, a physician. 
 
 Phil. O 'tis his father's client; — and success 
 Pours down upon you, like a hasty shower. 
 
 Heg. Find means then to redeem tuy son. 
 
 Tynd. Fll find them. — 
 
 But I must ask you — 
 
 Heg. Ask me what you will, 
 
 I'll do't, — if to that purpose. 
 
 Tynd. Hear, and judge.^ 
 
 I do not ask you, till your son's return 
 To grant me a dismission ; but, I pray you, 
 Give me my slave, a price set on his hearl. 
 That I may send him forthwith to my father, 
 To work your sou's redemption. 
 
 Hcg. I'll despatch 
 
 Some other rather, when there is a tnico, 
 Your father to confer with, who may bear 
 Any commands you shall intrust him with. 
 
 Tynd. 'T would be in vain to send a stranger 
 to him : — 
 You'd lose your labour: — Send my servant: — he'll 
 Complete the whole, as soon as he arrives. 
 A man more faithful you can never send, 
 Nor one my father sooner would re'y on, 
 More to his mind, nor to whose care and confi- 
 dence 
 He'd sooner trust your son. — Then never fear : 
 At my own peril will I prove his faith. 
 Relying on his nature, since he knows 
 I've borne me with benevolence towards him. 
 
 Heg. Well — III despatch him, if you will, — 
 your M ord 
 Pawn"d for his valuation. 
 
 Tynd. Prithee do. 
 
 And let him be dismiss'd withoiu delay. 
 
 Heg. Can you show reason, if he don't return. 
 Why you should not pay twenty mina; for himl* 
 
 Tynd. No surely: I agree. 
 
 Hcg. Take off his chains, — 
 
 And take them off from both. 
 
 Tynd. May all the gods 
 
 Grant all yonr wishes! Since that you have 
 
 <leign'd 
 To treat me with such favour, and releas'd me 
 From my vile bonds: — I scarce can thiidv it irk- 
 some 
 To have my neck free from this galling collar. 
 
 Heg. The favours we confer on honest souls 
 Teem with returns of service to the giver. — 
 But now, if you'd despatch him hence, acquaint 
 
 him. 
 Give him your orders, and fortliwith instruct him 
 What you would have him say unto your father. — 
 Shall I then call him to you? 
 
 Tynd. Do, sir. — call him. 
 
 (Hegio calls Philocrales, who advances.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 PaiLocRATEsyoiMS Hegio and Ttxdarus. 
 
 Heg. Heav'ns grant, that this affair may turn 
 out happily 
 To me. and to my son, and to you both ! — 
 [to Phil.) 'Tis your new master's order, tliat you 
 
 serve 
 Your old one faithfully : I have giv'n you to him. 
 Rated at twenty mina»- : he desires 
 To send you back to ^.lis to his father. 
 Thence to redeem my child, that so there maybe 
 Mutual exchange betwixt us of our sons. 
 
 Phil. I'm of a pliant nature, alul will bend 
 To either. — You may use me like a wheel ; — 
 This way or that way will I turn and twirl, 
 As you shall please to order. 
 
 Heg. It is much 
 
 To your advantage truly, that you own 
 This easy nature, which enables you 
 To bear your state of slavery as you ought. — 
 Follow me this way. — (to Tynd.) Here now is 
 the man. 
 
 Tynd. I thank you for the liberty you give me 
 To send this messenger to my relations, 
 That he may tell my father all about nie. 
 And how I fare, and what I would have done. — 
 We have agreed betwixt us, Tyndarus, 
 To send you unto JEWs to my father; 
 And, if that you return not, I have bargained 
 To forfeit for your trespass twenty niinu'. 
 
 Phil. Rightly agreed : — for the old gentleman 
 Expects me, or some other messenger, 
 To come to him from lience. 
 
 Tynd. Then mind me now, 
 
 What I would have you say unto my father. 
 
 • According to Cook's tables, about 6il. lis. 8d. of our 
 money. 
 
316 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Phil. master, as I've hitherto behav'd, 
 My best endeavours I'll exert; what most 
 Will turn to your advantage, I'll pursue 
 With all my heart, my soul, v/ith all my power. 
 Tyiid. You act, as it behoves you. — Now at- 
 tend. — 
 First, to my dearest mother and my father 
 Bear my respects, and next to my relations,-^ 
 Then to whatever other friend you see. 
 Inform them of my health ; and tell them like- 
 
 \\ ise. 
 That I am slave here to this best of men, 
 Who ever has, and still goes on to treat me 
 Wiih honourable usage. — 
 
 Phil. Don't instruct me ; 
 
 This I shall think of readily. — 
 
 Tynd. For indeed, 
 
 Save that I have a !:aiard plac'd over me, 
 I should conceive I had my liberty. — 
 Acquaint my father with th' agreement made 
 'Twixt me and Hegio, touching Hegio's son. — 
 Pkil. This is mere hindrance, to recount and 
 
 dwell on 
 What I already am so well appris'd of. — 
 
 Tynd. 'Tis to redeem the youth, and send him 
 
 hither 
 Exchang'd for you and me. — 
 
 Phil. I shall remember. — 
 
 Heg. And soon too as he can, for both our 
 
 sakes. 
 Phil. You long not more to see your son re- 
 
 turn'd, 
 Than he does his. 
 
 Heg. My son to me is dear ; 
 
 Dear is his own to everyone. 
 
 Phil, (to Tynd.) Aught else 
 
 To bear unto your father? 
 
 Tynd. Say, I'm well ; 
 
 And tell him, boldly tell him, that our souls 
 Were link'd in perfect harmony together; 
 That nothing you have ever done amiss, 
 Nor have I ever been your enemy; 
 That in our sore affliction you maintain'd 
 Your duty to your master, nor once swerv'd 
 From your fidelity, in no one deed 
 Deserted me in time of my distress. 
 When that my father is informed of this, 
 And learns, how well your heart has been in- 
 
 clin'd 
 Both to his son and to himself, he'll never 
 Prove such a niggard, but in gratitude 
 He will reward you with your liberty; 
 And I, if I return, with all my power 
 Will urge him the more readily to do it. 
 For by your aid, your courtesy, your courage. 
 Wisdom and prudence, you have been the means 
 Of my return to iElis, since you own'd 
 To Hec'io here my family and fortune. 
 By which you've freed your master from liis 
 
 chains. 
 Phd. True, I have acted as you say ; — and 
 
 much 
 It pleases me you bear it in remembrance. 
 What I have done was due to your deserts: 
 For were I in my count to tell the sum 
 Of all your friendly offices towards me, 
 
 Night would bear off the day ere I had done. 
 You've been obliging, been obsequious to me, 
 As though you were my servant. 
 
 Heg. ye gods ! — 
 
 Behold the honest nature of these men! — 
 They draw tears from me. — Mark, how cordially 
 Thy love each other ! and what praise the ser- 
 vant 
 Heaps on his master ! 
 
 Phil. He deserves from me 
 
 An hundred times more praise, than he was 
 
 pleased 
 To lavish on me. 
 
 Heg. [to Phil.) Then, since hitherto 
 You've acted worthily, occasion now 
 Presents itself to add to your good deeds, 
 Tliat you may prove your faithfulness towards 
 
 him 
 In this affair. 
 
 Phil. My wish to compass it 
 
 Cannot exceed th' endeavours I will use 
 To get it perfected. — And to convince you, 
 Here do I call high Jove to witness, Hegio, 
 I will not prove unfaithful to Philocrates. — 
 
 Heg. Thou art an honest fellow. — 
 
 Phil. Nor will I 
 
 Act otherwise to Him, than I myself 
 Would act to Me. 
 
 Tynd. Would you might make your words 
 True by your actions ! — Bear it in your mind, 
 That I have said less of you than I would. 
 And prithee be not angry with my words. 
 Think, I beseech you, that my honour's staked 
 For your dismission, and my life is here 
 A pledge for your return. When out of sight. 
 As shortly you will be, deny not then 
 All knowledge of me : when you shall have left 
 
 me 
 Here as a pawn in slavery for you, 
 Yourself at liberty, desert not then 
 Your hostage, then neglect not to procure 
 His son's redemiJtion in exchange for me. 
 Remember, you are sent on this affair. 
 Rated at twenty minfe. See, that you 
 Be trusty to the trusty : — beware. 
 You are not of a frail and fickle faith. — 
 My father will, I know, do all he ought: 
 Preserve me then your friend for evermore. 
 And still find Hegio your's, as you have found 
 
 him. 
 By your right hand, which here I hold in mine, 
 I pray you, be not you less true to me. 
 Than I am unto you. — About it then ; 
 Be careftd of this business ; — you are now 
 My master, you my patron, you my father: 
 To you I do commend my hopes, my all. 
 
 Phil. If I accomplish all that you command, 
 Will that content you? 
 
 Ty.-d. 
 Phil. 1 
 
 I shall be content, 
 will return furnishd to both your 
 
 Would you aught else? 
 
 Tynd. Back with what speed you may. 
 
 Phil. Of that the business of itself reminds me. 
 Heg. [to Phil.) Follow me now. — I will give 
 you from my banker 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 317 
 
 Wliat yon may want to answer yonr expenses 
 Upon yonr voyage, at tlip samp time take 
 A passport from the Prretor. 
 
 Tytid. Why a passport? 
 
 //('If. Wliii-li lie may carry witli liim to the 
 army, 
 That lie may have permission witliont let 
 To rernrn home to JE. is. (/o Ti/iiil.) Ho yon in. 
 Tyml. Now speed you well, my Tyndarns! 
 Phil. Adien! 
 
 Heg. [asi^e.) I've compass'd my design by 
 purchasinsj 
 These captives of the QufBstors from the spoil :— 
 So please the gods ! I've freed my son from 
 
 bondage. — 
 Within, hoa ! — Keep a strict watch o'er this cap- 
 tive ; 
 Let him not bndije a foot withont a srnard. — 
 T soon shall be at home. — Now to my brother's : 
 I'll go and visit there my other captives, 
 At the saine time inquire, if any know 
 This youth here. — (to Phil.) Do you follow, that 
 
 I may 
 Despatch you straight ; — for that's my first con- 
 cern. 
 
 THegio goex off wilh Phtlocratt.s, and 
 Ttxdaiius goes in wilh the slaves. 
 
 Act III. ScEXE I. 
 
 Enter Etigasiltts. 
 
 It's a sad case for a poor wretch to prowl 
 In quest of a meal's meat, and at the last 
 With much ado to find one; sadder is it, 
 "With much ado to hunt upon the trail. 
 And at the last find nothing; but most sa,il, 
 To Isave a keen and craving appetite, 
 Witliout a morsel to appease it's lo ging — 
 A plague upon this day! — I'd dig it's eyes out. 
 Had I the pow'r, it lias so fill'd mankind 
 With enmity towards me. — Never sure 
 Was there a wretch so starv'd, so cvamm'd with 
 
 hiniger. 
 Or one, ^vhose projects have so little prosper'd. — 
 I fear, my belly will keep holiday. 
 Would it were hang'd for me. this scurvy trade, 
 This parasite's profession ! — Our younr sparks 
 Consort not now a-days with us poor drolls; 
 They care not for us humble han'ers-on. 
 Who are content to take the lowest seat 
 At table, who bear buffets like a Spartan, 
 And have no other fortune but our jests. — 
 Their choice is to associate with their equals, 
 Who. having ate with them, return the favour 
 At their own houses. — For tliemselves they cater. 
 Which was the province heretofore of parasites. — 
 Shame on them ! they will go into a brothel 
 Bar(>faced, nor muffled up, but all as publicly 
 As magistrates pass sentence on the guilty, 
 Unveil'd, in open court. — Buffoons they now 
 Count nothing worth ; but they are all self-lovers. 
 For when I went from hence awhile ago, 
 I met some of these young men at the Forum. 
 Good daj", said I! — Where shall we dine together? 
 No answer. — What! will no one speak? says I, 
 None promise me a dinner? — Silent all, 
 
 As thoy were dumb. — Nay, not a single smile. 
 Where shall we sup then? — Still no invitation. 
 One of my best jests, such as heretofore 
 Have got me suppers for a month, I then 
 Repeat thetn. — Not a soul vouchsafed to smile. 
 I then found out, 'twas a concerted matter : 
 Not one would deign to imitate a dog. 
 When he's provok'd ; — But if they did not choose 
 To laugh outright, at least they might have shown 
 Their teeth, as though they smiled. — Finding 
 
 myself 
 The scoff and mockery of these sparks, I leave 
 
 them, 
 March up to others, others still, and others; 
 All the same thing! all in confederacy. 
 Like the oil merchants in the market. — Well 
 
 then, 
 Seeing myself thus fool'd, I came back hither. — 
 More parasites were sauntering at the Forum, 
 And to as little purpose as myself. — 
 I am determin'd, that the law shall right me 
 Against all those, who join in combination 
 To have me starv'd. — 1 will appoint a day 
 For them to give their answer. — I will have 
 Large satisfaction. — Dear as are provisions, 
 They shall be fined at least ten entertainments. — 
 Now to the port, where I liave yet one hope 
 Offeastin.fr: — if that fail me, I'll return 
 To this old Hegio, and his scurvy supper. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCEN'E II. 
 
 Enter Hegio urith AnisroPHONTES behind. 
 What can be more deli::htftd than promoting 
 The public good, as yesterday I did 
 By purchasing these captives? Ev'ry one. 
 Soon as he sees me, straisht makes up to me, 
 Congratulates me on it: — they have tired me 
 Quite out, by stopping and detaining me: — 
 Scarce have I scaped alive from their civilities. 
 At length I got me to the Prir-tor; — there 
 Scarce rested mo : — I ask'd a passport of hitn : 
 'Tvvas granted ; and I gave it straight to Tyn- 
 
 rlarns. 
 Who is set off: — from thence I hurried home : 
 Then to my brother's, to my ot'ier captives. 
 I ask'd, if any one among them knew 
 Philocrates of ^lis, when this man 
 Cried out, he ^vas his friend and ijitimate. 
 On telling him he now was at my house. 
 He begsr'd me, I would give him leave to see him : 
 On which I order'd off his chains- that instant. — 
 [to Arist.) Follow me now, that you may have 
 
 your \\-ish. 
 And meet the person you desire to see. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCEXE III. 
 Enter TryD.Aiirs. 
 
 Would I were dead now rather than alive, 
 As things turn out ! — Hope 1ms deserted me, 
 No succour will come near me. — See the day, 
 In which there is no chance to save my life! 
 Destruction's unavoidab'e, — no hope. 
 That can dispel my fear. — no cloak to screen 
 My subtle lies, false dealings, and pretences: 
 yB2 
 
318 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 No deprecation can excuse my perfidy, 
 No subterfuge can palliate my offence: 
 No room for confideiice, no place for cnnning. — 
 What liitlicito was hid is brought to light, 
 My tricks laid open, and the whole discover'd : 
 Nor have I aught to do but meet my fate. 
 And die at once for me and for my master.— 
 Aristopliontes, who is just gone in. 
 Has been my utter ruin ; for he knows me: 
 He is a friend and kinsman to Philocrates. 
 Salvation could not save me, if she would:* 
 Nor can I "scape, — except that I contrive 
 Some cuiming trick, some artifice, (^meditating.) 
 
 A plague ont ! 
 What can I think of? — what devise? — my 
 
 thoughts 
 Are foolish, and my wit quite at a stand. 
 
 (Retires aside.) 
 
 SCKNE IV. 
 
 Enter Hegio, Aristophontes, and slaves. 
 
 Hcg. Where can he now have stole him out 
 of doors ? 
 
 Tynd. (aside.) Tis over with me! — Tyndarus, 
 your foes 
 Are making their advances straight towards you. 
 What shall I say? what talk off? what deny. 
 Or what confess? — Tis all uncertainty; 
 Nor know I what to think of or confide in. — 
 Would that the gods had utterly destroyed you, 
 Aristopliontes, ere you lost your country. 
 To disconcert a scheme so well contrived. 
 Our state is desperate, if I don't devise 
 Some cnnning trick. 
 
 Heg. (to Jrist.) Follow me. — Here he is: — 
 Approach, and speak to him. 
 
 Tynd. (aside, and turning away.') Can there 
 exist 
 A greater wretch than I am 1 
 
 Arist. Why is this, 
 
 That you avoid my eyes, and slight me, Tyndarus, 
 As though I were a stranger, and you neer 
 Had known me. — It is true, I am a slave 
 As you are : — though in ^lis I was free ; 
 You from your youth have ever been a slave. 
 
 • JVeqiie jam Salus servare, si volet, me potest. 
 By Salus, which I have rendered Salvation, is meant the 
 groddess that was worshipped liy the Romans under that 
 appellation. There is no doubt, but that ihis passage was 
 proverbial, since we meet wiih it several times in our 
 author in so many words, — as in his Mostellaria, act ii. 
 scene i., Cistellaria, act. iv. scene ii. Terence likewise 
 introduces it in TTie Brothers, act. iv. scene vii. where 
 the word Solus is, in Mr ("olman's translation, properly 
 rendered Proeidence, though it would not be so fit here. 
 Ifsa si cupiat salus 
 Servare prorsils non potest have fainiliam. 
 'Tis not in the power 
 Of Providence herself, where she desirous, 
 To save from ruin such a family. 
 We meet with the same expression also in Cicero, in one 
 of his orations against Verres — Ecquod judicium Rom<B 
 tarn dissolvtum, tarn perditum, tarn nummariumfareputosti, 
 quo ex judicio te vlla Salus seuvare posset ? Is there, 
 thinkest thou, in Rome, an opinion so dissolute, so aban- 
 doned, so corrupted, as to iniagine that Salvation can at 
 all save you from the sentence you deserve? 
 
 Heg. In troth I am not in the least amazed. 
 That he should shun you, and avoid your si^ht, 
 Or hold you in despite and detestation. 
 When for Philocrates you call him 'Jyndarus. 
 
 Tynd. Hesiio, this fellow was at ^;is deem'd 
 A madman: — give no ear to what he says. 
 'Tis there notorious, that he .sought to kill 
 His father and his mother, and has often 
 Fits of the falling sickness come upon him. 
 Which makes him foam at mouth. — Pray get you 
 from him. 
 
 Heg. Here — bear him further off. (to the slaves.) 
 
 Arist, How say you, rascal ! 
 
 That I am mad ? and that I sought to kill 
 My father and my mother? and have often 
 Fits of the falling sickness come upon me, 
 Wliich makes me foam at mouth? 
 
 Heg. Be not dismay 'd. 
 
 Matty have laboiir'd tmder this disease. 
 And spitting has restor'd them to their health. 
 
 Tynd. I know, to some at ^lis it has piov'd 
 Of special use. 
 
 Jlrist. And will you credit him? 
 
 Heg. I credit him! — in what? 
 
 ^rist. That I am mad. 
 
 Tynd. See how he eyes you with a furious 
 aspect! — 
 "Twere best retire. — 'Tis, Hegio, as I said : — 
 His frenzy grows upon him, — have a care. 
 
 Heg. True, — when he call'd you Tyndarus, I 
 thought, 
 That he indeed was mad. 
 
 Tynd. Nay, but sometimes 
 
 He knows not his own name, nor who he is. 
 
 Heg. He said, you was his friend. 
 
 Tynd. I never saw him. 
 
 Alcmapon, and Orestes, and LycnrLais,* 
 Are just as much my friends, as he is, Heuio. 
 
 ^rist. How, rascal! do you dare bespeak me ill? 
 Do I not know you? 
 
 Heg. By my troth "tis plain 
 
 You know him not, when for Philocrates 
 You call him Tyndarus: — you are a stranger 
 To him you see, and name him whom you see not. 
 
 Jlrist. 'Tis he pretends himself the man he is not. 
 Denies himself to be the man he is. 
 
 Tynd. O to be sure, you'll get the better of me 
 In reputation for veracity! 
 
 ^rist. You, as it seems, my truth will over- 
 power 
 With falsehood. — Prithee, look me in the face. 
 
 Tynd. Well. 
 
 ^7-ist. Speak. — Do you deny, that you are Tyn- 
 darus? 
 
 Tynd. I tell you, I deny it. 
 
 Jlrist. Will you say, 
 
 You are Philocrates? 
 
 Tynd. I say, I am. 
 
 Jlrist. (to Phil.) And you, — do you believe him ? 
 
 Heg. More than you, 
 
 Or than myself. — The man, you say he is. 
 Set out this day for jS^lis to his father. 
 
 ♦ Three celebrated madmen of antiquity: the two first 
 of whom became so from having killed their mother, and 
 the other from having held in contempt the worship of 
 the god Bacchus. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 319 
 
 ^rist. What father? — He's a slave. — 
 
 Tynd. And so are you, 
 
 Orioe free as T was, — as I trust I shall be, 
 Wlieii I have gain'd this old man's son his 
 liberty. 
 
 Ar'ist. How, rascal ! dare you call yourself a 
 freeman ? 
 
 Tynd. Not Freeman, but I say, I am Philo- 
 crates. 
 
 ^rist. See, Herio, how the rogue makes sport 
 with you ! 
 For he's a slave, and never own'd a slave 
 Besides himself. 
 
 Tynd. So then, — because you liv'd 
 
 A beggar in your country, without means 
 For your support, you would have ev'ry one 
 Plac'd on the self-same footing with yourself.— 
 No wonder: — 'tis the nature of the poor 
 To liate and envy men of property. 
 
 Arist. Have a care, Hegio, how you rashly 
 credit him. 
 -As far as I can see, he means to trick you : — 
 Nor do I like at all his talking to you 
 Of the redemption of your son. 
 
 Tynd. I know. 
 
 You wish it not : but with the help of heav'n 
 I shall accomplish it: — I shall restore 
 His son to him, and he will send me back 
 To ^lis to my father ; for which purpose 
 Have I sent Tyndarus. 
 
 Jlrist. Why you are he ; 
 
 Nor is there any other slave at .^lis 
 Of that name but yourself. 
 
 Tynd. And will you still 
 
 Reproach me with my state of servitude, 
 Brought on me by the chance of hapless war? 
 
 Jrht. I can't contain myself 
 
 Tynd. Ha ! do yo hear him ? — 
 
 Will you not fly? — He'll pelt us now with stones, 
 Unless you have him seiz'd. 
 
 JlrM. I'm vex'd to death. 
 
 Tynd. Look,hoM^ his eyes strike lire! — A cord, 
 a cord, 
 Good Hegio. Don't yon see his body's charged 
 With livid spots all over? — The black bile 
 Disorders him, poor fellow! 
 
 Jrist. The black pitch* 
 
 Disorder you beneath the hangman's hand, 
 And (if this old man would but serve you right.) 
 Illuminate your head ! 
 
 Tynd. How wild he talks! 
 
 He is possess'd by evil spirits. 
 
 Heg. Suppose 
 
 I order him to be seiz'd. 
 
 * Planfus here nllnrtes to a piinishmont inflicted on 
 in,ilcf;ict(»rs. by wrappniL' tip llicir Ixxlii^s, wlii'n tliey 
 wore to he hiirned, in a snrmcnl sniiMied over with pitch, 
 wax, and other conilmslililps. 
 Juvenal alludes to the same, in his first Satire, v. 155. 
 Piive Tiirellinum. teilA /«rfft).s- in Hid.. 
 Qii/i .«.'finfe.f nrdenf, qui fijo n-iittiire fiiwcnl, 
 Kt latiim vtediA stilcum deiliirit iirenA. 
 Death is your doom, impal'd upon a. stake, 
 Snriear'd o'er with wax, and set on fire, to lijht 
 The streets, and make a dreadful blaze by nishf. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Tynd. 'Twere the best way. 
 
 Arist. It vexes me I cannot find a stone 
 To dash the villain's brains out, who insists 
 That I am mad. 
 
 Tynd. There — do you hear him, sir? 
 
 He's looking for a stone. 
 
 Arist. Shall I beg, Hegio, 
 
 A word with you alone? 
 
 Hcs;. Speak where you are, — 
 
 What would you? — I can hear you at a distance. 
 
 Tynd. If you permit him to approach you 
 nearer, 
 He'll bite your nose off. 
 
 Arist. Hegio, do not you 
 
 Believe that I am mad, or ever was; 
 Nor have I the disorder he pretends. 
 If any outrage you do fear from me, 
 Command me to be bound : 'tis my desire, 
 So at the same time he be bound with me. 
 
 Tynd. Let him be bound, that chooses it. 
 
 Arist. No more : — 
 
 I warrant I shall make you, false Philocrates, 
 To be found out the real Tyndarus.^ 
 Why do you nod at me ? 
 
 Tynd. I nod at you ? 
 
 (^0 Heg.') What would he do, if you were further 
 off? 
 
 Heg. How say you? What if I approach this 
 madman? 
 
 Tynd. He'll teaze you with his fooleries, and 
 jabber 
 Stuff without head or tail. — He only wants 
 The habit, else he is a perfect Ajax. 
 
 Heg. No matter — I'll go to him. (^advances to 
 Arist.) 
 
 Tynd. I'm undone.^ 
 
 Now do I stand between the stone and victim, 
 Nor know I what to do. 
 
 Heg. Aristophontes, 
 
 If you would aught with me, I lend attention. 
 
 Arist. Sir, you shall hear the real truth from ine, 
 Which now you deem a falsehood. — But I first 
 Would clear nie to you from this charge of mad- 
 ness. — 
 Beli(n-e me, Hegio, I'm not mad, nor have I 
 Any complaint but this,-:-that I'm a slave. — 
 O never may the king of gods and men 
 My native cotunry suffer me to see, 
 If this is any more Philocrates 
 Than you or I. 
 
 Heg. Tell me. who is lie then? 
 
 Arist. The saine, I said he was from the be- 
 ginning. 
 If you shall find it other, I can show 
 No cause, no rea.son, why I should not suffer 
 A lack of liberty, your slave for ever. 
 
 I{rg. {to Tynd.) And what do you say ? 
 
 Tynd. That I am your slave, 
 
 And you my master. 
 
 Heg. I don't ask you that. — 
 
 Was you a free man? 
 
 Tynd. Yes, I was. 
 
 Arist. Indeed 
 
 He never wna : he trifles v ith you, Hegio. 
 
 Tynd. How <lo you know ? or was yuu perad- 
 venture 
 
320 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 My mother's midwife, that you dare affirm 
 What you advance with so much confidence? 
 
 ^rist A boy I saw you when a boy. 
 
 Tynd. A man 
 
 I see you now a man. — So— there's an answer. — 
 If your behaviour was as would become you, 
 You would not interfere in my concerns. — 
 Do I in yours? 
 
 Heg. (^to ^rist.) Pay, was his father's name 
 Thesaurochrysonicochrysides ? 
 
 jirist. 'Twas not, — nor did I ever hear the name 
 Before to-day : — Philocrates' father 
 Was called Theodoromedes. 
 
 Tynd. I'm ruin'd ! 
 
 Be still my heart! — prithee go hans: yourself — 
 Still, still will you be throbbinij. — Woe is me! 
 I scarce can stand upon my legs for fear. 
 
 Heg. Can I be sure this fellow was a slave 
 In ^lis, and is not Philocrates? 
 
 ^Irist. So certain, that you'll never find it other. 
 But where is he now ? 
 
 Heg. Where I least could wish him, 
 
 And where he wishes most himself to be. 
 Ah me! I am disjointed, sawn asunder, 
 By the intrigues of this vile rascal, who 
 Has led me by the nose just at his jsleasure. — 
 But have a care you err not. 
 
 Jrist. What I say, 
 
 Is as a thing assur'd, a truth establish'd. 
 
 Heg. And is it certain? 
 
 ^rist. Yes, — so very certain, 
 
 That you can never find any thing that's more so. 
 I and Philocrates have been friends from boys. 
 
 Heg. What sort of person was Philocrates? 
 
 Arist. His l:air inclin'd to red, frizzled and 
 curl'd, 
 A lenten jaw, sh'arp nose, a fair complexion. 
 And black eyes 
 
 Heg. The description's very like him. 
 
 Tynd. jYow by my troth it was a sore mis- 
 chance. 
 My coming here : — woe to the hapless twigs, 
 Will die upon my back. 
 
 Heg. I plainly see, 
 
 I have been cheated. 
 
 Tynd. Why do ye delay ? 
 
 Haste, haste, ye chains, come and embrace my legs. 
 That I may have you in my custody. — 
 
 Heg. These villainous captives, hovv they have 
 deceiv'd me! 
 He, that is gone off, feign'd himself a slave. 
 And this a free man. — I have lost the kernel. 
 And for security the shell is left me. — 
 Fool that I am! they have impos'd upon me 
 In ev'ry shape. — But he shall never more 
 Make me his sport. — Hoa, Colapho, Cordalio, 
 Corax, go in and bring me out the thongs. 
 
 Slave. What, is he sending us to bind up faggots? 
 (//if slaves go in, and return with thongs.) 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Hegio, AnrsTopHOiTTES, and slaves. 
 
 Heg. This instant manacle that rascal there. 
 
 (fo his slaves.) 
 Tynd. Ah! why is this? in what have I of- 
 fended ? 
 
 Heg. What, do you ask? you that have been 
 the sower. 
 The weeder, and the reaper of these villainies. — 
 Tynd. Why, first of all, did you not call me 
 harrower ? 
 Husbandmen always harrow first the ground, 
 Before they weed it. — 
 
 Heg. See, with what assurance 
 
 He stands before me ! 
 
 Tynd. It becomes a slave, 
 
 That's innocent, unconscious of a crime, 
 To bear him with such confidence, especially 
 Before his master. — 
 
 Heg. See you bind his hands, 
 
 And hard too. 
 
 Tynd. I am yours, my hands are yours ; — 
 If 'tis your pleasure, bid them be cut off. — 
 But what's the matter? — why thus angry with 
 me? 
 Heg. Because that by your knavish lying 
 schemes 
 You have destroy'd, as far as in your power, 
 Me and my hopes, distracted my affairs. 
 And by your tricks have chous'd me of Philo- 
 crates. 
 I thought he was a slave, and you a free man. 
 For so you said you were, arid for that purpose 
 You chang'd your names. 
 
 Tynd. I own that I have acted 
 
 E'en as you say, — that he has found the means 
 For his escaping, and through my assistance.— 
 Is it for this then you are angry with me? 
 
 Heg. What you have done, you'll find will 
 
 cost you dear? 
 Tynd. Death I esteem a trifle, when not 
 merited 
 By evil actions. — If I perish here. 
 And he return not, as he gave his word. 
 This act will be remember'd to my honour, 
 After I'm dead: — that I contriv'd to free 
 My master, when a captive, from his state 
 Of slavery and oppression with the foe ; 
 Restor'd him to his country and his father. 
 Preferring rather to expose my life 
 To danger for him, tlian that he should suffer. 
 Heg. Enjoy that fame then in the other world. 
 Tynd. He dies to live, who dies in Virtue's 
 
 cause. 
 Heg. When I have put you to severest torture, 
 And for your tricks have ta'en away your life. 
 Let them extol you, that you are no more, 
 Let them extol you, that you've lost your life, 
 Nay, let them say, that you are still alive. 
 It matters not to me, so you but die. 
 
 Tynd. Do, — put your threats in force, — you'll 
 suffer for it. 
 If he return here, as I trust he will. 
 
 Arist. (^aside.) ye immortal gods ! — I know 
 it now, 
 I understand it all. — My friend Philocrates 
 Enjoys his liberty, is with his father 
 At large in his own country. — That is well. — 
 'J here's not a man whom I wish better to. — 
 But O! it grieves me, I have done for him 
 So ill an office, who alas ! is chain'd 
 On my account for what I happ'd to say. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 321 
 
 Heg. Did I not cliarge you not to tell me false 1 
 
 TyncL You did. 
 
 Ilcg. Then wherefore have you dared to do it? 
 
 Tyiid. Truth would have done him hurt I 
 wisli"d to serve : 
 Falsehood has done him good, 
 
 lies;. But hurt to you. 
 
 Tyad. 'Tis best. — I've serv'd my master, and 
 I joy in't : — 
 My good old master gave him to my care. — 
 And do you think this wrongly done in me? 
 
 Hcg. Most wrongly. 
 
 TyniL I, who can't but differ from you, 
 
 Say riglitly. — Only think, — if any slave 
 Of your"s had done the same thing for your son, 
 How, how would you have thank'd him ! would 
 
 you not 
 Have given him freedom? would you not have 
 
 held him 
 In your esteem high above all his fellows? — 
 I prithee answer me. 
 
 Hcg. I think I should. 
 
 TyiuL Why are you angry then w^ith me? 
 
 Hcg. Because 
 
 You were to him more faithful than to me. 
 
 Tynd. Wliat ! could you have expected, that a 
 man. 
 Newly a captive, and just made your slave. 
 Should in one night and day be taught by you 
 More to consult your interest than the good 
 Of one, whom he had liv'd with from a boy? 
 
 Hcg. Seek your reward then of that one. — 
 Qo the slaves.^ Go bear him. 
 Where he njay put on large and ponderous 
 
 chains. — 
 To the stone-quarries after shalt thou go: 
 There, in the time, that others dig out eight. 
 If ev'ry day thou dost not dig twelve stones. 
 Thou shall be dubb'd with stripes, Sexcento- 
 plagus.* 
 
 Arist. By gods and men I do conjure you, 
 Hegio, ^ 
 
 let him not be lost. 
 
 Heg. I'll look to that : 
 
 At night he shall be guarded, bound with thongs. 
 And in the day shall labour in the quarries. 
 I'll keep him in continual exercise. 
 Nor shall he know the respite of one day. 
 
 Arist. Is that your resolution ? 
 
 Heg. Sure as death. — 
 
 Bear him directly to Hippolytus 
 The smith, and bid him clap upon liis legs 
 Huge massy irons ; then without the gate 
 Go, carry him to Cordalus my freedman. 
 
 ♦ Sexcentoplago nomen indetur Mi. The meaning of 
 this is. — thou shalt be called Sexcentoplagus, from having 
 six hundred stripes jrirem ^Ace. This kind of pleasantry 
 is not uncommon in nio<lern as well as ancient writers. 
 The nickname of Don Cholerir.-Snap-Shorlo-de-Testy, In 
 Gibber's Fop's Fortune, never fails to produce a lau^h ; 
 and M. Coste has pointed out a similar piece of humour 
 in Moliere's Cuckold in Cuiueil, act i. scene vi. 
 
 .Siianarelle est un nom, Qu'on nc me dira plus. 
 Jit Von va m' appeller. Seigneur Cornelius. 
 That is, — I shall no longer be known by the name of Sg-a- 
 narelle, they will now call me Mr. Cornelius, i. e. Cuck- 
 old. 
 
 41 
 
 That be may make him labour in the quarries j 
 And tell him, 'tis my pleasure be be used 
 No better than the vilest slave I have. 
 
 Tynd. Against your will why should I wish to 
 live ? 
 My loss of life will be a loss to you. 
 There is no evil I need dread in death. 
 When death is ovet Were I to survive 
 To th' utmost age of man, my space of time 
 To bear the hardships, which you threat me with. 
 Would yet be short. — Then fare you well, — be 
 
 ha{)[)y, — 
 Though you deserve another language from me. 
 And you, Aristophontes, lake from me 
 As good a farewell, as you've merited: 
 For you have been the cause of this. 
 
 Heg. Hence with him. 
 
 Tynd. One thing I yet request, — that, if Plulo- 
 crates 
 CotTie back again, I may have leave to see him. 
 Heg. Bear him this instant from my sight, ye 
 slaves. 
 Or you yourselves shall suffer. 
 
 ( The slaves lay hold on Tyndarus and push 
 him along.') 
 Tynd. This indeed 
 
 Is downright violence, — to be dragg'tl and driven. 
 I He is borne ojf by the slaves.) 
 
 SCEJTE VI. 
 
 Enter Hegio and Ahistopiiontes. 
 
 Heg. So — he is carried olf to limbo. — Well, — 
 I'll teach my other captives, how to dare 
 Attempt another such-like enterpri^se ! 
 Had it not beeu for him, who made discovery 
 Of this device, they all with knavish arts 
 Had led me by the bridle. — I'm resolv'd 
 Henceforth I will have faith in none of them. — 
 I have been once iinpos'd on full enough. — 
 Ah me! I hop'd to have redeem'd my son 
 From slavery. — That hope is vanish'd quite ! — 
 One son I lost at four years old ; — a slave 
 Then stole him from me; nor have I once heard 
 Froin that time of the slave or of ray son. — 
 My eldest is a captive with the foe. — 
 Ha! how is diis? as though I had b^got 
 My children only to be childless. — Follow me; 
 
 (/o Arist.) 
 And I'll conduct you to your former stirtion. 
 I am resolv'd, to no one will I show 
 Pity henceforth, — since no one pities me. 
 
 Ayist. Widi an ill omen freed from chains I 
 came. 
 With an ill omen I to chains return. [Exeimt. 
 
 Act IV. ScEXE I. 
 Enter Erbasilus at a distance. 
 O Jove supreme ! how has thy providence 
 Preserv'd me! how hast thou increas'd my means, 
 And thrown most ample plenty in my way! 
 What store of honours and emolument, 
 Celebrity, sport, pastime, holidays. 
 With ev'ry choice provision for good cheer. 
 Potations deep, and feastings in abundance. 
 Till the gorg'd appetite shall cry. Enough ! — 
 
325; 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 'Tis fix'd, in future I will cringe and crouch 
 
 To no man, I : for now I am possess'd 
 
 Of means to help a iViend, or hurt an enemy. 
 
 this delightful day has heap'd upon nie 
 Delights the most delightfid: — I am master 
 Of an inheritance without eiicimibrance. — 
 Now will I shape my course to Hegio here, 
 And bring him as much Imil^iiness, as himself 
 Could wisli for from the gods, and even more. 
 Well — I will throw my cloalc then o'er my 
 
 shoulder, 
 Like slaves"in comedies, for expedition, 
 That I may be the first to tell it him : 
 And for my tidings I have hopes to get 
 Good eating with him to eternity. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Hegio. 
 
 The more I think on this affair, the more 
 Is my uneasiness of mind increasVl. — 
 That they should gull me in this sort! — and I 
 Never perceive it! — When this once is known, 
 
 1 shall be made the jest of the whole town ; 
 And soon as e'er I come into the Forum, 
 "That's the old fellow there," they all will cry, 
 " Who has been trick'd." — But is not this Erga- 
 
 silus, 
 I see at distance ? — Sure it is, — ^liis cloak 
 Thrown o'er his shoulder. — What is he about 1 
 Erg. ^advancing.) Haste, haste, Ergasilus, — 
 look to thy business. 
 (loud.) Hence, — have a care, — I warn you, and 
 
 forewarn you, — 
 Let no man stop me in my way, unless 
 He thinks that he has had enough of life; — 
 Whoever stops me, he shall kiss the ground. 
 Heg. He puts himself in posture as for box- 
 ing. — 
 Erg. I'll dot, — by heav'ns I'll do't. — Let every 
 one 
 Pursue his own track, nor by any business 
 Clog up the street. — My fist is a balista, 
 My arm a catapulta, and my shoulder 
 A battering-ram. — On whomsoever once 
 I dart rny knee. 111 give him to the ground. — 
 Whatever mortal I shall light upon, 
 111 knock his teeth out, and emjjloy the wretch 
 To pick them up again. 
 
 Heg. What mighty menaces ! 
 
 They quite astonish me. 
 
 Erg. If any dare 
 
 Oppose my course, I'll make him to remember 
 Tlie day, the place for evermore, and me: 
 Who stops me, puts a stop to his existence. 
 
 Heg. What would the man be at with all his 
 
 swaggering? 
 Erg. I give you notice, caution you before- 
 hand, 
 That it may be your own fault, if you're caught. — 
 Keep home then, guard you from assault. 
 
 Heg. 'Twere strange this, 
 
 Had not his belly got him tliis assurance. 
 I pity the poor wretch, whose cheer has swol'n 
 
 liim 
 To all this insolence. 
 
 Erg. Then for your bakers. 
 
 Breeders of swine, rascals who feed their hogs 
 With refuse bran, that no one can pass by 
 Their bake-house for the stench ; — let me but see 
 One of their swine here in the public way. 
 My fists shall give the owner such a dusting, 
 As shall beat out his bran about his ears. 
 
 Heg. He issues royal and imperial edicts! 
 His belly's full : his belly gives him impudence. 
 
 Erg. Then for your fishmongers, who liawk 
 about 
 Upon a four legg'd dull provoking jade 
 Their stale commodities, whose very stench 
 Drives off our sauuterers in the Forum ; — troth, 
 rit'beat their filthy baskets bout tlieir chaps, 
 Tliat tliey may know how mucli offence they 
 
 give 
 To others' noses. — Then too for the butchers, 
 Who under the pretence of selling lamb 
 Will put off ewe upon you, fob you off 
 With ram for weiher mutton; — in my w^ay 
 If I should chance to meet a ram of theirs, 
 Woe to the ram, and woe too to it's owner! 
 
 Heg. Heyday! this swaggering fellow issues 
 out 
 His edicts and commands, as though he were 
 Comptroller of tlie victualling : — Our .^Etolians 
 Have made him, sure, inspector of the market. 
 
 Erg. No more a parasite, but I'm a king, — 
 More kingly than a king, — a king of kings; 
 In port I have it, such an ample store ! 
 Provision for the belly. — Why do I 
 Delay to load old Hegio here witli transport, 
 Who is in truth the happiest man alive. 
 
 Heg. What transport is it, that himself, it 
 seems. 
 Is in a transport to impart to me? 
 
 Erg. (knocking at Hegio s door.) 
 Hoa there — where are ye ? some one, ope the 
 door. 
 
 Heg. He's come to sup with me. 
 
 Erg. Ope both the doors. 
 
 Ere piece-meal I demolish them with knocking. 
 
 Heg. I have a mind to speak to him. — Ergasilus ! 
 
 Erg. Who calls Ergasilus? 
 
 Heg. Turn your head — look on me. 
 
 Erg. Look on you ? — That's what Fortune 
 never does. 
 Nor ever will. — Who is it? 
 
 Heg. Look. — I'm Hegio. 
 
 Erg. (turning.) Best of best men, most oppor- 
 tunely met. 
 
 Heg. You have got some one at the port to sup 
 with. 
 And therefore do yon treat me with this scorn. 
 
 Erg. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Heg. My hand ? 
 
 Erg. Thy hand, I say. 
 
 Give it this instant. 
 
 Heg. There it is. (^giving his hand.) 
 
 Erg. Be joyous. 
 
 Heg. Joyous! for what? 
 
 Erg. Because it is my order. — 
 
 Come, come, be joyous. 
 
 Heg. Joy alas! with me 
 
 By sorrow is prevented. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 323 
 
 Er;^. Do not grieve : 
 
 I'll wipe away, this instant, ov'ry stain 
 Of sorrow from your soul. — Pluck up, — bo joyous. 
 
 Heg. Well, — tliou;j;h I know no reason to re- 
 joice. 
 
 Erg. That's bravely done. — Now order — 
 
 Heg. Order what I 
 
 Erg. A monstrous fire. 
 
 Heg. A monstrous dicl 
 
 Erg. 1 say it : 
 
 A luiiie one let it be. 
 
 Heg. Why how now, Vulture? 
 
 Think you, that I will fire my house to please you ? 
 
 Erg. Nay, prithee don't be angry. — Will you 
 order. 
 Or will you not, the pots to be put on ? 
 The dishes to be wash'd ? the larded meats, 
 And kickshaws to be set upon the stoves? 
 Won't you send some one to buy fish? 
 
 Hvg. He dreams 
 
 With his eyes open! 
 
 Erg. Bid another go 
 
 For pork, lamb, pullets? 
 
 Heg. Yes, you understand 
 
 Good living, had you wherewithal to get it. 
 
 Erg. For liams, for turbot, salmon, mackerel, 
 cod, 
 A fat cheese ? 
 
 Heg. Easier 'tis for you to talk 
 
 Of all those dainties, than with me to eat them. 
 
 Erg. Think you, I speak this on my own ac- 
 count ? 
 
 Heg. You will have nothing, don't deceive 
 yourself. 
 Like what you talk off. — Pritliee bring with you 
 A stomach suited to such common fare. 
 As you may meet with ev'ry day, — no nice one. 
 
 Erg. But let me tell you, I shall be the author 
 Of your providing a most sumptuous treat, 
 E en though I should forbid it. 
 
 Heg. I ? 
 
 Erg. Yes, you. 
 
 Heg. Hey ! you are then my master. 
 
 Erg. I'm your friend. — 
 
 Say, shall I make thee happy? 
 
 Heg. Certainly; 
 
 I'd rather so, than you should make me \\ retched. 
 
 Erg. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Heg. There, — there's my hand. 
 
 Erg. The goihs, 
 
 The gods are all your fri(!nds. 
 
 Heg. I feel it not. 
 
 Erg. You are not in a thorn-bush, else you'd 
 feel.— 
 But let your sacred vessels be i)ropar'd. 
 And bid them bring forthwith a fattiHl lamb. 
 
 Heg. For what? 
 
 Erg. To make a sacrilicc. 
 
 Heg. To whom ? 
 
 Which of the gods? 
 
 Erg. To me. — For I am now 
 
 Thy Jupiter supreme, — I thy ^"alvation. 
 Thy Life, thy Fortune, thy Delight, thy .Toy. — 
 To make this gol propitious, cram hiin well. 
 
 Heg. May Jupiter and all the gods confound 
 you. 
 
 Erg. Nay, you should rather thank me for tlie 
 news 
 I bring yon from the i)ort, such gladsome news. — 
 Your supjier likes me now. 
 
 Heg. Begone, you fool, — 
 
 You're come too late. 
 
 Erg. Your words had been more true. 
 
 Had I come sooner. — Now receive from me 
 The transjjort that I bring you. — At the port 
 Just now I saw your son, your Philopolemus, 
 Alive and hearty, — in the packet-boat 
 I saw him, — with him too that other spark, 
 Your captive, he of .^lis, — and besides, 
 Your slave Stalagmus, he that nm away. 
 And stole your little boy at four years old. 
 
 Heg. Away, — you joke with me. 
 
 Erg. ' Holy Gluttony 
 
 So help me, — as I wish for evermore 
 By her high title to be dignified, — 
 I saw — 
 
 Heg. My son ? 
 
 Erg. Your son, my genius. 
 
 Heg. Widi him 
 
 The captive youth of jElis? 
 
 Erg. By Apollo. 
 
 Heg. Stalagmus too, who stole my child — 
 
 Erg. By Sora. 
 
 Heg. Long ago, — 
 
 Erg. By Prseneste. 
 
 Heg. 
 
 Erg. 
 
 Heg. Art sure? 
 
 Erg. By Phrysiuone. 
 
 Heg. 
 You do not tell a falsehood. 
 
 Erg. By Alatrium. 
 
 Heg. Why do you swear thus by these bar- 
 barous cities 
 With uncouth names? 
 
 Erg. Because they are as hard 
 
 fcAs is the supper wliich, you said, you'd give me. 
 
 Heg. A plague confound you! 
 
 Erg. Why? because you won't 
 
 Believe me, though I speak in sober sadness. — 
 But of what country was Stalagmus, when 
 He ran away? 
 
 Heg. Of Sicily. 
 
 Erg. But now 
 
 He's no Sicilian : he is a Siave-onian, 
 To a Slave-onian yoke-mate tied for life. 
 A fit match for him to keep up the family. 
 
 Heg. And may I then rely on what you've said? 
 
 Erg. You may rely. 
 
 Heg. O ye immortal gods! 
 
 If he speak truth, I shall seem born again. 
 
 Erg. And can you doubt me, when I swore so 
 solemnly ? 
 If you have little faith then in my oaths, 
 (jlo to the port yourself 
 
 //eg. And so I \\\\\. — 
 
 Take thou the neces.sary care within :* 
 
 Come ? 
 By Signia. 
 
 Have a care. 
 
 • Our author's parasilps Inve l>pen iniitaleil by modern 
 (Iriiiiulic |)n(;ls, parlliiilarly liy Kltlclier in the character 
 ol' l/izarillo in hi.-! Il'oviun llaler, anil liy Massonper in 
 that of Jiisilcc! (Jirrdy, in .^ JVeto Way to pny Old Debts. 
 Sir UiIks Ovcr-reucli, in the latter, giving llie Justice the 
 
324 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Use, and demand, broach any cask you like, 
 I make you cellar-man. 
 
 Erg. And if yoti find me 
 
 Not a true prophet, curry me witli your cudgel. 
 
 Heg. If your intelligence should turn out true, 
 I will insure you everlasting eating. 
 
 Erg. From whence ? 
 
 Heg. From me and from my son. 
 
 Erg. You promise? 
 
 Heg. I do. 
 
 Erg. And I too, that your son is come. 
 
 Heg. You'll manage for the best. 
 
 Erg. AH good attend you. 
 
 [Exit Heoio. 
 
 SCEXE III. 
 
 Ergasilus alone. 
 He's gone, — and has intrusted to my care. 
 The high and grand concern of catering. — 
 Immortal gods ! how I shall cut and quarter ! 
 How I shall chop the crags from off the chines! 
 What devastation will befall the hams ! 
 What a consumption rage among the bacon ! 
 What massacre of fat sows' paps! of brawn 
 What havoc will arise ! — Then what fatigue 
 Awaits the butchers! what the hog-killers! — 
 But to say more of v/hat concerns good eating. 
 Is loss of time, and hindrance. — I will now 
 Go enter on my government, and sit 
 In judgment o'er the bacon, — set at liberty 
 Hams that have hung untried and uncondemned. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 Enter, from Hegio"s house, a Lad, servant to Hegio. 
 May Jove and all the gods, Ergasilus, 
 Confound thee and thy belly, with all parasites. 
 And all who sliall hereafter entertain them! 
 Storm, tempest, devastation, have just broke 
 Their way into our house! — I was afraid, 
 He would have seiz'd me, like a hungry wolf: 
 I was indeed in a most piteous fright, 
 He made such horrid grinding with his teeth. — 
 Soon as he came, he knock'd down the whole 
 
 larder 
 With all the meat in't: — then he snatch'd a knife 
 And stuck three pigs directly in the throat; — 
 Broke all the pots and cups that were not mea- 
 sure, 
 And ask'd the cook, whether the salting-pans 
 With their contents might not be clappd upon 
 The fire together all at once; — He has broke 
 The cellar door down, laid the store-room open. — 
 Secure him, I beseech you. fellow-servants : — 
 I'll to my master, tell him he must order 
 Some more provisions, if he means to have 
 Any himself: — for, as this fellow manages. 
 There's nothing left, or nothing will be shortly. 
 
 command of the kitchen, and absoliue authority there in 
 respect to the entertainment, (act iii., scone ii.) seems 
 more particularly to have had it.s original from this pas- 
 sage ; and Lazarillo's drawing his sword, and demanding 
 the way, (Woman-Hater, act iii., scene iv..) seems not 
 unlikely to have been a hint from the behaviour of Er- 
 gasilus in the beeinning of this scene. There is also a 
 character in many respects like it in a comedy, called 
 The Canterbury Quests, by Ravenscroft. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Hegio, Phiiopolemus, and Pkilocrates. 
 Stalagmus at a distance. 
 
 Heg. (to his son, advancing.) my dear boy ! — 
 To Jove and to the gods. 
 In duty botmd, I pay my utmost thanks;— 
 That they have thus restor'd you to your father; — 
 That they have freed me from the load of sorrow 
 I've labour'd under, since depriv'd of you; — 
 That I behold yon villain in my pow'r ; — 
 
 (^pointing to Stalagmus.) 
 I And that this youth has kept his word with me. 
 (pointing to Philocrates.') 
 No more, — enough alreacly I've experienc'd 
 Of heart-felt angui.«h. — with disquietude 
 And tears enough have worn me, — I have heard 
 Enough too of your troubles, which, my son. 
 You told me at the port. — Then now to business. 
 Phil. Well, sir, — what recompense may I ex- 
 pect. 
 For keeping of my word, and bringing back 
 Your son in liberty'? 
 
 Heg. You've done, Philocrates, 
 
 What I can never thank you for enough, — 
 So much you merit from my son and me. 
 
 Philop. Nay, but you can, my father, and you 
 shall. 
 And I shall too: — the gods too will enable you 
 Amply to pay a kindness back to one. 
 Who has deserv'd so highly of us both. — 
 Indeed, my father, but you must. 
 
 Heg. No more, — 
 
 (fo Phil.) I've no tongue to deny whate'er you 
 ask. 
 Phil. I ask of yon that slave I left behind 
 An hostage for me, (one, who ever has 
 Preferr'd my interest to his own,) that so 
 I may reward him for his services. 
 
 Heg. Your services I'll thankfully repay. — 
 That w^hieh you ask, and that and any thing 
 Which you require, you may at once command. 
 Don't be offended, that your slave has felt 
 The marks of my displeasure. 
 
 Phil. How displeasure? 
 
 Heg. Finding myself impos'd upon, in chains 
 I had him laid, and sent him to the quarries. 
 Phil. Ah me! it grieves me, that this best of 
 fellows 
 Should undergo these hardships for my sake. 
 Heg. I will have nothing therefore for his ran- 
 som : — 
 Freed, without cost, so take him. 
 
 Phil. Kindly done. 
 
 But let him, pray, be sent for strait. 
 
 Heg. He shall. 
 
 (?o attendants.) Where are you? — Go, bring Tyn- 
 
 darus here directly. — 
 Do you go in. — [to Phil, and Philop.) Meantime 
 
 will I examine 
 This w^hipping-post, to learn what he has done 
 With my poor younger son. — You'll bathe the 
 while. 
 Philop. Philocrates, you'll follow. 
 fhil. I attend you. 
 
 [Exeunt Philopolemus and Phii.ockates. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 325 
 
 Scene III. 
 Heoio and Stalaomus. 
 
 Heg. My honest lad ! — come hither ; — my fine 
 slave ! 
 
 Stal. What d'ye expect from me, when such a 
 man, 
 As you are, will tell lies? — An honest lad ! 
 A fine slave ! I ne'er was, nor ever shall be ; — 
 Hope not to make me so. 
 
 Heg. You see at once 
 
 Your situation: — if you speak the truth, 
 You'll better your bad fortune: — speak it then, — 
 Be true and just, though you was never so 
 In all your life belbre. 
 
 Stal. And do you tliink 
 
 I blush to own it, when yourself affirm it? 
 
 Heg. But I shall make you blush; — nay, I will 
 make you 
 Redden all over. 
 
 Stal. So! — you threaten me 
 
 As thougli I were not used to stripes. — Away 
 
 then — 
 Say, what's your pleasure ? — 'Tis but ask, and 
 have. 
 
 Heg. Fine talking this ! — to cut the matter short, 
 Prithee be brief 
 
 Stal. I'll do as you command. 
 
 Heg. he was ever an obedient lad ! — 
 But to the business. — Now attend, and answer me 
 To what I ask you : — if you speak the truth, 
 You'll better your condition. 
 
 Stal. That's a joke ! — 
 
 Can you imagine, that I do not know 
 What I deserve ? 
 
 Heg. But yet you may avoid 
 
 A part, if not the whole. 
 
 Stal. A trifling part : — 
 
 Much is my due; — because I ran away, 
 And stole your son, then sold him. 
 
 Heg. Sold ! to whom ? 
 
 Stal. Theodoromedes the Polyplusian 
 Of ^lis, for six minoe. 
 
 Heg. O ye gods ! 
 
 He is the father of this same Philocrates. 
 
 Stal. I know him better than I know yourself. 
 And I have seen him oft'ner. 
 
 Heg. Jove supreme 
 
 Preserve me and iify^ son ! — Hoa there ! — Philo- 
 crates ! 
 I beg you, as you love me, to come forth : — 
 I have to say to you — 
 
 ScEJfE IV. 
 
 Enter Philocuates. 
 
 Phil. Behold me here : 
 
 Command me what you wid : say, what's your 
 pleasure ? 
 
 Hcf^. This fellow tells me, that he sold my son 
 At .iElis to your father for six minae. 
 
 Phil, [to Stal.) How long was this ago? 
 
 Stfil. Near twenty years. 
 
 Phil. He says what is not true. 
 
 Stal. Or you or I do. — 
 
 Your father gave you, when a child, a slave 
 Of four years old, for your own use and service. 
 
 Phil. What was his name? — If what you say 
 is true. 
 Tell me his name. 
 
 Stal. His name was Pfpgnium 
 
 But afterwards you call'd him Tyndarus. 
 
 Phil. How came I not to recollect you? 
 
 Stal. 'Tis 
 
 The usual way with folks not to remember 
 Or know the man, whose favour is worth nothing. 
 
 Phil. Tell me, — that slave, you sold unto my 
 father. 
 Who gave him me for my own service, was he 
 This old man's son? 
 
 Heg. Lives he? 
 
 Stal. I had the money, 
 
 I card for nothing more. 
 
 Heg. What says Philocrates? 
 
 Phil. That he, this very Tyndarus, is your son, 
 Tlie proofs show. — He was brought up from a boy 
 With me a boy in modesty and virtue 
 Even to manhood. 
 
 Heg. If ye speak the truth, 
 
 I am indeed both happy and unhappy. 
 I am unhappy, if he is my son, 
 That I have us'd severity towards him. 
 Ah me ! I've treated him with less afl'ection. 
 And with more cruelty than it behoved me. 
 It grieves me, I have wrought him so much 
 
 harm : — 
 Would it had ne'er been done ! — But see, he 
 
 comes. 
 Accoutred little suiting to his virtues. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Tyndahus. 
 I've often seen the torments of the damn'd 
 In pictures represented : but no hell 
 Can equal that, where I was, in the quarries. 
 That is a place, where ev'ry limb with toil 
 A||tl labour must be wearied. — Soon as I 
 Arriv'd there, — as your brats of quality 
 Have daws, or ducks, or quails to play with, — me 
 They gave, t'amuse myself withal, a crow. — 
 But see, my master's here before his door ! 
 My other master too, return'd from iElis! 
 Heg. Save you, my wish'd for son ! 
 Tynd. Ha! what? your son! 
 
 Yes, yes, I understand you, why you call 
 Yourself my father, me your son: — you've done, 
 As parents do, — caus'd me to see the light. 
 Phil. Save you, sweet Tyndarus ! 
 Tynd. And you too, — though 
 
 On yo\ir account I undergo this trouble. 
 
 Pldl. But through my means you'll now arrive 
 at wealth 
 And liberty. — Tliis is your father, — ^pointing to 
 Hegio.'^ 
 
 This (^pointing to Stalagmus.) 
 The slave, that stole you hence at four years old, 
 And sold you to my father for six minse, 
 Who gave you to me, then a little boy 
 Like to yourself, for my own use and service. 
 He has confess'd the whole : we've brought him 
 
 back 
 From ^lis liither. 
 
 Tynd. Where is Hegio's eon? 
 
 20 
 
326 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Phil. Your brother, — he's within. 
 
 Tynd. How say you? have you 
 
 Then brought him home ? 
 
 Phil. I tell yon, he's within. 
 
 Tynd. "Twas rightly done in you. 
 
 Phil. This is your father, 
 
 And that the thief, wlio stole you when a boy. 
 
 Tynd. And for that theft, now I'm a man as 
 he is, 
 111 give him to the hangman. 
 
 Phil. He's deserving. — 
 
 Tynd. And I'll reward him equal to his merits. — 
 (?o Hcgio.^ But tell me, pray. — are you indeed 
 my father ? 
 
 Heg. I am, my son. 
 
 Tynd. At length I recollect, 
 
 And have a dark remembrance, that I've heard 
 My father's name was Hegio. 
 
 Heg. I am he. 
 
 Phil. let your son be lightened of those chains, 
 And that slave loaded with them. 
 
 Heg. 'Tis my purpose : 
 
 I'll do it the first thing. — Then let us in, 
 And strait send for the smith to take the chains 
 From otf my son, and give them to that rascal. 
 
 Stal. 'Tis right to give them nie, for I have 
 nothing. [Exeunt. 
 
 A Comedian addresses the Spectators. 
 Gallants, this play is founded on chaste manners; 
 No wenching, no intrigues, no child expos'd, 
 No close old dotard cheated of his inoney, 
 No youth in love, making his mistress free 
 Without his father's knowledge or consent. 
 Few of these sort of plays our poets find, 
 T' improve our morals, and make good men 
 
 better. 
 Now if the piece has pleas'd you, with our acting 
 If you're content, and we have not incurr'd 
 Displeasure by it, give us then this token : 
 All who are willing that reward should wait 
 On chaste and virtuous manners, give applause. 
 
 THE MISER, OR POT OF GOLD. 
 
 EuciTO, the Miser. 
 Megadorus. 
 Ltconides. 
 Strobilus, Servant 
 
 Lyconides. 
 Stasimus, Servant 
 
 Megadorus. 
 
 DHAMATIS PERSOX.E. 
 
 EuNosriA, Mother of Ly- 
 conides. 
 
 Staphila, Servant to 
 EurUo. 
 
 Ph. 'En R I A, Daughter to 
 Etirlio. 
 
 Anthrax. 
 
 CONGIO, 
 
 to 
 
 Cooks. 
 
 Scene. — Athens, before the houses of Euclio and 
 Megadorus. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 THE HOUSEHOLD GOD.* 
 
 Lest any one should wonder who I am, 
 111 tell you in few words. I am the god 
 
 * Lar Familiaris. Every house among the ancients had 
 its peculiar tutelary deity, which is called Lar. 
 
 Domestic of this family, from whence 
 
 Ye saw me come. It now is many years. 
 
 Since I've possess'd tliis house, protecting it 
 
 Both in the grandfather's and father's time 
 
 Of him who now inhabits it. The grandfather, 
 
 Unknown to every one, entrusted me 
 
 With a rare treasure, all of gold : for this 
 
 He dug a hiding-place beneath the hearth, 
 
 Beseeching me with prayers to keep it for him. 
 
 He died, and was withal so covetous. 
 
 He would not even tell it to his son, 
 
 But rather chose to leave him indigent 
 
 Than show him this same treasure. On his 
 
 death 
 He left his son a bit of ground, from whence 
 He might pick up a piteous livelihood 
 With industry and labour. Now when he 
 Was dead, who with this gold had trusted me, 
 I set me to observe, whether the son 
 Would hold me in more honour than the father 
 Had done before him : but he treated me 
 With less regard, less honour'd and rever'd me. 
 I did the same with him. He also died 
 And left a son, who now inhabits here. 
 Of the same close and niggard disposition 
 As was his father and his grandfather. 
 He has an only daughter : she indeed 
 Makes ev'ry day her constant supplications 
 With frankincense, or wine, or something else, 
 And gives me wreaths of flowers. For her sake 
 Have I caus'd Euclio to find out this treasure, 
 That, if he please, he may more readily 
 
 Dispose of her in marriage 
 
 But hark ! — I hear old Euclio now within 
 Making an uproar, as he's won't to do. 
 He's thrusting his old woman out of doors, 
 That she should nothing know. Belike he wants 
 To see his treasure, if it be not stolen. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 Euclid driving out Staphila. 
 
 Eucl. Out of my house I say; — out of my 
 house ; 
 Nay, but you must and shall ;— out of my doors 
 Good gossip Pry-about, — poking your eyes 
 And peering, here and there, in every corner. 
 
 Staph. Why do you beat me, a poor wretch ? 
 
 Eucl. ^ To make you 
 
 A poor wretch ; — you shall lead a sorry life on"t. 
 
 Staph. Why have you thrust me out of doors? 
 
 Eucl. You jade! 
 
 Give you a reason? Get you from the door, — 
 There, there. — See how she crawls ! — Do you 
 
 know what? 
 If I but take a stick in hand, I'll quicken 
 That tortoise-pace of yours. 
 
 Staph. Would I were hang'd 
 
 Rather than serve you at this rate. 
 
 Eucl. The beldam ! 
 
 See how she grumbles to herself! — You jade, 
 III tear your eyes out; I'll prevent your watch- 
 ing — 
 Peeping and prying into all I do. 
 Get farther off there, — farther. — farther still. 
 Farther, — so, — stand there. — If you dare to budge 
 A finger or a nail's breadth from that place, 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 327 
 
 Oi- if you turn your head oiicf^ till I hid you, 
 I'll send you for a schooling to tho giiUows. 
 (ff.w/c.) Was ever such a beldam ! — I'm afraid 
 bhe'II catch me unawares, and smell the place 
 
 out 
 Where I have hid my money. — The curs'd jade ! 
 Why, she has eyes too in her pole — I'll go 
 And see whether iny gold is as I lodg'd it, — 
 My gold, wliich gives me so much pain and 
 
 trouble. [Goes in. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Staphila alone. 
 Egad, I can't tell what's come to my master: 
 He's out of his senses. — Here now, in this 
 
 manner, 
 He turns me out o'doors, ten times a day, 
 Ever so often. — Troth, I can't imagine 
 What whim-whams he has got into liis head. 
 He lies awake all night, and then he sits 
 Purring and poring the whole day at home, 
 Like a lame cobbler in his stall. And then 
 My poor young mistress, she's upon the point 
 Of being brought to bed ; and how shall I 
 Hide her disgrace'? The best thing I can do is 
 To get a rope, and stretch me at full length. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Re-enter Eucito. 
 End. So, so — my heart's at ease. — all's safe 
 within. 
 (?o Staph.^ Come, hussy, get you in now, and be 
 
 sure 
 Take care of all within. 
 
 Staph. Take care of what ? 
 
 Will any one, think you, run away with the 
 
 house ? 
 I'm sure there's nothing else to carry off. 
 Except the cobwebs. — Troth, it's full of empti- 
 ness. 
 Eucl. You hag of hags ! why Jove, to satisfy 
 you. 
 Should make me a King Philip or Darius. — 
 Harkye, I'd have you to preserve those cob- 
 webs. 
 I'm poor, I'm very poor, I do confess ; 
 Yet I'm content : I bear what heaven allots. 
 Come, get you in : bolt the door after you ; — 
 I shall be back directly; and be sure 
 Don't let a soul in. 
 
 Staph. What if any one 
 
 Should beg some fire ? 
 
 End. I'd have you put it out. 
 
 That there may be no plea to ask for any. 
 If yon do leave a spark of fire alive, 
 I'll put out every spark of life in you. 
 If any body wants to borrow water. 
 Tell them, "tis all run out; and if, as is 
 The custom among neighbours, they should want 
 A knife, an a.xe, a pestle, or a mortar, 
 Tell them some rogues broke in, and stole them 
 
 all. 
 Be sure let no one in, while I'm away ; — 
 I charge you even if Good Luck should come, 
 Don't let her in. 
 
 Staph. Good Luck, quotlia ! I warrant you, 
 She's not in such a hurry : she has never 
 Come to our house, though she is ne'er so near. 
 Eud. Have done, — go in. 
 
 Staph. I say no more, — I'm gone. 
 
 Eud. Be sure you bolt the door both top and 
 bottom. — 
 I shall be back this instant. 
 
 [Exit Stapuila. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 EucLio alone. 
 
 I am vex'd. 
 Whenever I'm oblig'd to be from home. 
 I don't care to go out; — but now I must. 
 The master of our ward has given notice. 
 He shall distribute money to each family. 
 If I forego my share, and don't put in for it, 
 They will suspect I have a hoard at home: 
 For 'tis not likely a poor man would slight 
 The smallest sum, and not make application. 
 Nay now indeetl, maugre my utmost pains 
 To hide it from the knowledge of each soul, 
 Yet every one seems to be in the secret ; 
 They're so much civiller than they us'd to be; 
 They come up to me, take me by the hand. 
 Ask how I do, and what I am upon. 
 Well, — but I'll go now whither I was going. 
 And make haste back again as fast as possible. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Eunomia and Megadohus. 
 
 Elm. I'd have you think, my brother, what I 
 say 
 Arises purely from my friendship for you. 
 And a regard for what concerns your interest, 
 Such as in short becomes a loving sister. 
 I know we women are accounted troublesome, 
 Nor without reason look'd on as mere praters. 
 'Tis true, there never was, in any age, 
 Such a wonder to be found as a dumb woman. — 
 But to be serious ; do but think, my brother, 
 That I am near to you, as you to me : 
 We should consult with and advise each other 
 In ev'ry thing we think for our advantage; 
 Nor should we hide from one another aught, 
 Or hesitate through fear about communicating 
 Whatever may advantage either party 
 On this account I've taken you aside 
 And brought you out here, to discourse with you 
 Upon a sidjject that concerns you nearly. 
 
 Mc<^. Give me thy hand, thou best of women. 
 
 Eun. Ha ! 
 
 Where is she? and who is she — that best of 
 women 1 
 
 Meg. Yourself. 
 
 Eun. What I ? a pretty joke 'faith. 
 
 Meg. Nay, 
 
 If you deny it, I deny it too. 
 
 Eun. You should say nothing but the truth, 
 good brother. 
 Your best of women you can pick out nowhere : 
 One is indeed worse, brother, than another. 
 
328 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Meg. In troth I'm of the same opinion, sister, 
 Nor shall I dilier witli yon on that point. 
 
 Kun. Jokini:; apart, — attend to me, I beg you. 
 
 Meg. Use and command me, as you will. 
 
 Eun. I'm going 
 
 To advise you what will be most for your in- 
 terest, 
 
 Meg. 'Tis your way, sister, ever. 
 
 Eun. What will bring 
 
 Eternal satisfaction. You should have 
 An heir to your estate. — Heaven grant you may ! 
 What say you? — In a word, my dearest brother. 
 Id have you marry. 
 
 Meg. Oh ! I'm slain. 
 
 Eun. How sol 
 
 Meg. You've cut me to the brain by what 
 youve said: 
 Oh ! you speak daggers. 
 
 Eun. Poh. now prithee do 
 
 As I advise. 
 
 Meg. Well — if you"ll have it so. 
 
 Eun. It is for your advantage. 
 
 Meg. Yes, to die 
 
 Sooner than marry. — Look ye, my good sister. 
 If you will have me wiv'd, it shall be only 
 On this condition : — Let her be brought home 
 To-morrow, and the next day carried out.* 
 On these terms you may marry me : Im ready. 
 
 Eun. I can indeed help you to one, my brother. 
 That's very rich ; but then she is not young ; 
 She's middle-aged. What say you? Shall I ask 
 
 her 
 The question for you? 
 
 Meg. Come, I'll save you trouble. 
 
 Thanks to the gods, and to my ancestors, 
 I'm rich enougli : nor do I value power. 
 Pomp, honours, acclamations of the people. 
 Ivory cars, rich robes, and purple vestments, 
 Which by their cost may bring a man to beggary. 
 
 Eun. Tell me, who is she you would take to 
 wife? 
 
 Meg. I'll tell you. Do you know our poor old 
 neigbbour, 
 Euclio ? 
 
 Emi. I know him, — a good sort of man. 
 
 Meg. His daughter I would marry. — Nay, nay, 
 sister, 
 Speak not a word, — I know what you would 
 
 say, — 
 She has no fortune. — What of that? — ^I like her. 
 
 Eun. Well then, — heaven prosper you ! 
 
 Meg. I hope the same. 
 
 Eun. Any commands? 
 
 Meg. Your servant. 
 
 Ewi. Brother, yours. 
 
 [Exit EulfOMTA. 
 
 Meg. I'll go meet Euclio, if he be at home — 
 But see he's coming hither, whence I know not. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Enter Euclio. 
 Eucl. My mind misgave me, as soon as I 
 Avent out. 
 That I should go on a fool's errand : therefore 
 
 * Buried. 
 
 There was not one 
 -no one there, whose 
 
 I went against the grain. 
 Of all our ward there,- 
 
 business 
 'Twas to make distribution of the money. — 
 So now 111 hie me home as fast as possible. 
 For though myself am here, my mind's at home. 
 
 Meg. May health and happiness attend you, 
 Euclio! 
 
 Eud. Heaven bless you, Megadorns ! 
 
 Meg. How is't with you? 
 
 Are you as hearty and as well in health 
 As you could wish to be ? 
 
 Eucl. (flsif/e.) 'Tis not for nothing, 
 
 When a rich man speaks kindly to a poor one. 
 Now, to be sure, he knows I have got money ; 
 And therefore he's so wondrous complaisant. 
 
 3{eg. How are you ? 
 
 Eucl. 'Faith but poorly as to circumstances. 
 
 Meg. If you are but content, you have enough 
 To live upon with comfort. 
 
 Eucl. (asif/e.) The old woman 
 
 Has told him of the gold : — yes, all's discover'd : — 
 The jade ! I'll cut her tongue out, tear her eyes 
 
 out, 
 When I get home. 
 
 Meg. What is it you are mutteing? 
 
 Eucl. I was lamenting of my poverty: 
 I have a great girl unprovided for. 
 And can't dispose of her without a portion. 
 
 Meg. No more ; — take courage ; — she shall be 
 dispos'd of; — 
 I'll stand your friend ; — say what you want, com- 
 mand me. 
 
 Eucl. ^^aside.') He asks and promises both in a 
 breath : 
 He's gaping for my treasure, to devour it. — 
 And so he thinks to entice me, like a dog. 
 By holding bread in one hand, and a stone. 
 Ready to knock my brains out, iu the other! 
 I place no confidence in your rich man, 
 When he's so monstrous civil to a poor one: 
 If he holds out his hand to you in courtesy, 
 'Tis with design to gripe yon. — Ah, I know 'em; 
 They are a kind of polype, that hold fast 
 Whatever they once touch. 
 
 Meg. Attend a while ; 
 
 I've something, Euclio, to communicate 
 In common, that concerns both you and me. 
 
 Eucl. (aside.) Undone ! — my money's stole, — 
 and now^ he w^ants 
 To enter into composition with me. — 
 I'll in. (_going.) 
 
 Meg. Where going? 
 
 Eucl. I'll be back this instant. — 
 
 There's something I must look into at home. 
 
 [Euclid goes in. 
 
 Meg. I verily believe, that when I come 
 To ask him to bestow his daughter on me, 
 He'll think I only mean to make a jest of him. 
 Never was man so close and niggardly ! 
 
 Eucl. (^returning.) Well, heaven be prais'd all's 
 safe : if nothing's lost. 
 All's right. — But I was terribly afraid ; 
 Before I went in, I was almost dead. — 
 [to Meg.^ You see I am come back ; — your plea- 
 sure, sir? 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 329 
 
 Meg. I thank you. — Prithee now resolve me 
 readily 
 In what I ask. 
 
 Eud. Provided you don't ask 
 
 What I don"t choose to answer. 
 
 Meg. Tell me then, 
 
 What think you of my family"? 
 
 End. 'Tis good. 
 
 Meg. My honour 1 
 Eud. Strict. 
 
 Meg. My actions? 
 
 Eud. Neither bad, 
 
 Nor wicked. 
 
 Meg. Do you know what age I'm off? 
 
 Etui. I know you are advanced in years, as 
 also 
 Advanc'd in circumstances. 
 
 Meg. I have always 
 
 Thoui^ht you an honest fellow free from guile. 
 And think so still. 
 
 Eud. Oh ho, he scents the money. — 
 
 Would you aught farther? (^going.'j 
 
 Meg. Since we know each other, 
 
 And what we are, I you, you me, I ask 
 Your daughter for a wife ; and may it prove 
 A blessing to us all, to me, to you, 
 And to your daughter ! — Give me your consent. 
 
 Eud. Megadorus, it but ill becomes 
 Your character to mock a poor man thus, 
 AVlio never gave offence to you or your's, 
 Or ever merited in word or deed 
 That you should treat me as you do. 
 
 Meg. By heavens, 
 
 I come not to deride; I do not mock you. 
 Nor do I think you merit it. 
 
 Eud. Then why 
 
 D'ye ask my daughter for a wife ? 
 
 Meg. To serve you, 
 
 And to promote my good through you and your's. 
 Eud. I'm thinking, Megadorus ; — you are rich 
 And pow'rful ; I am of poor men the poorest. 
 Now if I give my daughter to your worship^ 
 
 Meg. 'Tis for your interest, the nearer you 
 Can form affinity with men of worth 
 And means. Accept my proffer ; hearken to 
 
 me. 
 And give me your consent. 
 
 Eud. But I can give 
 
 No portion with her. 
 
 Meg. You need give her none. 
 
 She, that has virtue, has sufficietit dower. 
 
 End. I tell it you, because you may not think 
 I've found a treasure. 
 
 Meg. Say no more ; I know it. — 
 
 You'll give her to me then? 
 
 Eud. Jupiter ! 
 
 I am undone! I'm ruin'd! 
 
 Meg. What's the matter? 
 
 Eud. What noise was that there, like the crash 
 of iron? 
 
 [EucLio mns in haslihj. 
 Meg. They're digging in my garden. — Hey! 
 where is he ? 
 He's gone, and left me in uncertainty.— 
 He treats me with disdain, because he sees 
 I court his friendship. 'Tis the way of them : 
 42 
 
 If a rich man seek favour from a poor one. 
 
 The poor man is afraid to treat with him. 
 
 And by his awkward fears hurts his own in- 
 
 tci-ot; 
 Then, whi-ii tlie opportunity is lost, 
 Too late he wishes to recover it. 
 
 Eud. {leturning, and speaks to his maid iri'/u'n.) 
 If 1 don't icar your tongue out from tlie root, 
 111 give them leave to unman me. 
 
 Meg. Oh, I see 
 
 You think me a fit object for your sport. 
 Though at these years; but sure I don't deserve it. 
 
 Eud. Not I indeed ; — nor could I, if I would. 
 
 31cg. Well, will you now betrodi your daughter 
 to me ? 
 
 Eud. Upon the terms I said, — without a por- 
 tion. 
 
 Meg. You do betroth her then ? 
 
 Eud. I do betroth her. 
 
 Heavens prosper it ! 
 
 Meg. I say the same. 
 
 Eud. Remember, 
 
 'Tis the agreement, that she brings no dowry. 
 
 Meg. I shan't forget it. 
 
 Eud. But I know your tricks: 
 
 'Tis off or on, 'tis done or not done, with you. 
 Just as you like. 
 
 Meg. We shall have no disjuUe. 
 
 What hinders but the wedding be to-day? 
 
 Eurl. 'Tis best. 
 
 Meg. I 11 go then, and get all things ready. 
 Would you aught else? 
 
 Eud. Nothing but what you say. 
 
 Meg. It shall be done. Your servant. — 
 (^calling at the door of his house.") Stasimus^ 
 
 (^Stasimus enters.) 
 Here, follow me directly to the market. 
 
 [Mesaborus goes off with STisiMtis. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 EucLio alone. 
 
 He's gone. — Ye gods, what cannot money do ! 
 He must have heard, that I've a hoard within : 
 'Tis that he wants; and therefore has he been 
 So obstinately bent on this alliance. 
 (calling.) Where are you? — you, that have run 
 
 gossiping. 
 And chitter-chattering to all the neighbours, 
 'J'liat I would give a portion with my daughter? 
 Hoa, Staphila, — I call you, — don't you hear? 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Enter Staphila. 
 
 Eicd. Make haste, and clean the vessels for a 
 
 sacrifice. 
 I have betroth 'd my daughter, and to-day 
 She marries with our neighbour Megadorus. 
 Staph. Heavens blessings on't ! — but faith it 
 cannot be : 
 It is too sudden. 
 
 Eud. Silence, and begone: 
 
 See that all things be rcaily by the time 
 I rgturn home from market; and d'ye hear? 
 Fasten the door: I shall be back directly. 
 
 \_Erit Ecci.io. 
 
330 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 Staphila alone. 
 What's to he done now ? we are both of us, 
 I and my mistress, on the brink of ruin. 
 She's just upon delivery, and her shame 
 Must come at last to light; what hitherto 
 We have conceal'd, we can no longer hide. 
 I'll in, and do what master order'd me 
 Against his coming. Troth, I'm sore afraid, — 
 Poor I shall have a bitter pill to swallow. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Act II. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Stasimus ivith Anthrax and Congrio, 
 cooks, music-girls, and others carrying provisions. 
 
 Stas. After my master liad bought these provi- 
 sions. 
 And hir'd these cooks and music-girls, he bade me 
 Divide them equally into two parts. 
 
 Cong. In troth you shan't split me, I tell you 
 bluntly : 
 If you will have me whole, I'm at your service. 
 
 Stas. You put a wrong construction on my 
 words ; — 
 My masters to be married. 
 
 Cong. Ay ! to whom ? 
 
 Stas. The daughter of our neighbour here, old 
 Euclio; 
 And therefore, he has bid me give him half 
 Of these provisions, with one cook, one music-girl. 
 
 jinlh. So he's to have one-half, and you the 
 other. 
 
 Stas. Just as you say. 
 
 Anth. What! could not he himself 
 
 Make entertainment at his daughter's wedding? 
 
 Stas. Pshaw! 
 
 Anth. What's the matter ? 
 
 Slas. What's the matter, ask you ? 
 
 A pumice stone is not so dry as he. 
 
 Anth. And is it as you say ? 
 
 Stas. Be judge yourself. — 
 
 He's ever crying out on gods and men 
 That he is ruin'd, absolutely niurder'd, 
 If any smoke comes from his kitchen-chimney. 
 Nay, when he goes to bed, he ties a bag 
 Close to his gullet. 
 
 Anth. Why ? 
 
 Stas. That he may'nt lose 
 
 The smallest portion of his breath in sleeping. 
 Do you know further 1 He will even weep 
 To throw away the water he has wash'd with. 
 
 Anth. Think you, we can persuade the old 
 curmudgeon 
 To give us a round sum to buy our freedom 1 
 
 Stas. Were you to ask for hunger, he'd refuse 
 you. 
 When t'other day the barber cut his nails. 
 He gather'd up and brou'j;ht away the parings. 
 
 Anth. 'Tis a most stingy wretcli, as you describe 
 liim. 
 
 Stas. A kite once stole his scrap of supper : 
 straight 
 Our don went howling to the Prre'tor, begginghini 
 To make the thief give bail for his appearance. 
 A thousand other things I could relate, 
 
 If I had leisure. — ^But come, follow me. 
 
 (^Stasimus goes up to Euclio' s house.) 
 Ho! Staphila! — open the door. 
 
 Staph, (^within.') Who call's there ? 
 
 Stas. Stasimus. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Staphila. 
 Staph. What is't you waiit? 
 
 Stas. Take in these cooks, this music-girl, and 
 these 
 Provisions for the wedding. — Megadorus 
 Has order'd me to send them in to Euclio. 
 
 Staph. This wedding is in honour then of 
 
 Ceres ? 
 Stas. Why? 
 Staph. As I understand, you've brought no 
 
 wine. 
 Stas. But 'twill be brought anon, when sir re- 
 turns 
 From market. — Shew them in : — 
 
 Staph. Come, follow me. 
 
 [Staphila, cooks, fyc, go into Euclid's house, and 
 
 Stasimus, with the rest, go into Megadorus'. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Euclio. 
 I woidd at last have found it in my heart 
 To have done things handsome at my daughter's 
 
 wedding. 
 I went to th' market, ask'd the price of fish, — 
 And found it very dear, — lamb dear, — beef 
 
 dear, — 
 Veal dear, — nay, ev'ry thing in short was dear : 
 What made them dearer still, I had not money. 
 Seeing that there was nothing I could purchase, 
 I came away in rage, and bade adieu 
 To the vile rascals. As I trudg'd along, 
 I with myself reflected, "Feast to-day, 
 Makes fast to-morrow :" so I brought my mmd 
 And stomach to this wise resolve, — to marry 
 My daughter with as little charge as possible. — 
 But ha ! what do I see ? The door is open ! 
 And there's a noise within ! I'm robb'd, I'm 
 
 plunder'd ! 
 Cong, (^within.') Go borrow if you can, a larger 
 
 pot 
 Among the neighbourhood : this is too little ; 
 It will not hold enough. 
 
 Eitcl, 0, I'm undone ! 
 
 They've seiz'd my gold, they're asking for my pot. 
 I'm a dead man, if I don't run this instant. 
 Apollo, come to my assistance, kill 
 These robbers with your arrows: you have help'd 
 
 me 
 Upon a like occasion heretofore. 
 But why do I delay from running in, 
 Before I'm ruin'd past recovery? 
 
 [Runs in hastily. 
 
 Act III. Scene I. 
 Enter Anthrax from Megadorus' house. 
 (Speaking to some one ivithin.) 
 Here, Dromo, scale those fishes,— and do you, 
 Machserio, split that conger and that lamprey, 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 331 
 
 As fast as possible, — d"yo hear? — and bone 
 
 tllOlll. 
 
 I'm only stopiiiiis; to iii>xt door to borrow 
 A bakiiig-pari of Congrio. — See, you pick 
 Tliat capon clean as a yoiins; actor's chin. — 
 How now? what means this uproar at next 
 
 door '? 
 The cooks are at it, I suppose. I'll in, 
 For fear that ours should make the same disturb- 
 ance. \^Goes in. 
 
 PcEVE TT. 
 
 Enter Conghio hastily from Euctio's hmise. 
 Room, room, good citizens, dear coimtrymen, 
 Inhabitants, and strangers, give me way, 
 Let me have room to run, clear all the streets 
 Before me. — Never did I till this day 
 Go cook for Bacchants at a Bacchanal's ; 
 I and my comrades are so brnis'd, so cudgel'd,* 
 I'm sore all over, I am scarce alive. 
 The old hunks has belaboured me so lustily 
 By way of exercise. — I never saw 
 A man in all my life so generous. 
 So liberal of his tcood :1[ for he has loaded 
 Me and my fel'ow-cooks with sticks in plenty. 
 Ha! I am ruin'd, I am dead, I'm done for: 
 The Bacchanal now opens, — here he comes. 
 Close after me: — I know what I'm to do, — 
 Take to my heels, — for so my master taught me. 
 
 [^Going off. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Euclio. 
 Eucl. Come back, — where are you running? — 
 
 Stop him, stop liim. 
 Consr. You fool, why do you bawl so? 
 End. I will give 
 
 Your name in to the magistrate. 
 
 Con^. For what? 
 
 Eucl. Because you have a knife stuck in your 
 girdle. 
 
 Why so a cook should have, (^brandish- 
 ing it.^ 
 
 What! do you threaten me? 
 By good rights, I should sheath it in your 
 guts. 
 Eucl. There's not a greater rascal breathing, 
 one 
 That I should take so much delight to cudgel. 
 Cong. You need not tell me so ; the tiling is 
 manifest ; 
 I know it with a witness: you have made 
 My limbs as soft and pliant as a tumbler's. 
 But prithee, you poor dog, what has provok'd you 
 To treat us in this manner? what's the matter? 
 Eucl. D'ye ask ? What, have I not giv'n you 
 
 enough ? [going tn strike him.) 
 Cong. Let me alone. — If this head thiidc at all, 
 I'll make you suffer for't. 
 
 Eucl. I can't tell what 
 
 Your head will think ; I now know what it feels. 
 
 Cons 
 
 End. 
 Con^. 
 
 * This alludes to the fensts of Brtcchns, at which the 
 Barch.inalian women ran ahniit wilh friirlilfiil eesliires, 
 strikins every one Ihey met wiih llieir ihyrsi, or wands. 
 
 t This is a joke in the oriL'inal, alluding to firewood for 
 dressing victuals, and cudgels. 
 
 But pray what business had you in my house, 
 When I was absent? Did 1 send you there? 
 I should be glad to know. 
 
 Cons;. Don't make a noise then. — 
 
 We came to dress the wedding supper. 
 
 Eucl. Plague ! 
 
 What is't to you, whether I eat my meat 
 Or dross'd or raw, except you are my guardian? 
 Cong. I should be glad to know, whether or 
 not 
 You'll let us dress the supper? 
 
 Eucl. And I too, 
 
 I should be glad to know, whctlicr my house 
 Is safe. 
 
 Cong. I wish I had my things again, 
 Which I brought withjne; I should hardly meddle 
 With anything of yours. 
 
 Eucl. Well, say no more. 
 
 Cong. But wherefore won't you let us dress 
 
 the supper ? 
 Eucl. D'ye ask, you rascal, when ye have been 
 prying 
 In every nook and corner of my liousc. 
 Made it a downright thorouuhfare? — But had 
 
 you 
 Stuck to your fireside as it was your business. 
 You had not had your crown split, as you've 
 
 merited. 
 But now, that you may know my mind, I'll tell 
 
 you ; 
 Come but a step here nearer to the door. 
 Unless I order you, and I will make you 
 The most unhappy of all mortals. — So, — 
 D'ye know my mind now? Whither are you 
 
 going? 
 Come back again. [Euclid goes in. 
 
 Cong. Laverna be my friend.* 
 
 (holloaing after Euclio.) 
 
 Hark ye me now, if you don't give me back 
 The utensils I brought here, I wi I expose you 
 Before your own door. — What now shall I do? 
 I have been hired for a good round siun, 
 But it will cost me more to pay the surgeon. 
 
 SCEXE IV. 
 
 Re-enter Euclio with the pot of money. 
 
 Eucl. Well, by my faith, this shall accompany 
 nie 
 Where'er I l'O, I'll always liear it with me, 
 Nor will I ever trust it in such danger. — 
 (to Cong, ^c.) Get ye all in, cooks, music-girls, 
 
 an(l all ; 
 Nay, you may introduce too a wliole tribe 
 Of hirelings, if you will. Fry, stew, bake, boil, 
 Make as much stir and bustle as you please. 
 Cong. Faith in good time, when you have cleft 
 
 our skulls. 
 Euc. Get you in, sirrah. — You was hired to 
 work, 
 Not prate. 
 
 Cong. Ha ! are you there, old gentleman ? 
 
 * The goddess to whom thieves addressed themselves. 
 So Horace, in his sixteenth epistle, hook i. 
 I'nichra Laverna, 
 Da niihi fallere, da justo sanctoque videri. 
 
332 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 I shall expect youll pay me for my bruises : 
 For I was hired to cook, not to be drubb'd. 
 
 Eticl. The law is open : don't be troublesome. 
 Go dress the supper, or go hang yourself. 
 
 Cong. Nay, prithee go yourself, sir, if you 
 please. [Congrio goes in. 
 
 Scene V. 
 EccLio alone. 
 He's gone. — Good lieavens! how rash a diing it is 
 For a poor man like me to have concern 
 Or dealings with a rich one. Mesradorus 
 Tries to surprise me every way whatever. 
 Under pretence, forsooth, to do me honour, 
 He sent these cooks in to purloin this from me. 
 
 (^pointing to his pot.') 
 The cock too, which belongs to the old jade, 
 Had near undone me : he be^ran to scratch 
 The ground up all about, where this was buried. 
 It so provok'd me, that I took a stick, 
 And knock'd him on the head at once ; — the thief! 
 I caught him in the very act. — No doubt 
 The cooks had promised to reward the villain, 
 If he could make discovery; but I snatch'd 
 The means out of their hands, — to say no more, 
 I slew the dunghill knave. — But Megadorus, 
 My son-in-law, comes hither from the market. 
 I dare not pass him : I must stop, and speak to him. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Enter Megadouus at a distance. 
 Meg. I have commimicated my design. 
 Touching tliis match, to many of my friends: 
 They're lavish in their praises of the girl, 
 And say, 'tis wisely and discreetly done. 
 Indeed, were other men to do the same, 
 If men of ample means would take for wives 
 The daughters of the poorer sort unportioned. 
 There would be greater concord in the state. 
 We should have less of envy than we have. 
 Wives would be more in dread of acting wrong 
 Than now they stand in, husbands too would live 
 At less expense than diey are at, at present. 
 The greater part would be advantag'd by it; — 
 Tliough a few niguard wretches might object, 
 Whose greedy and insatiate dispositions 
 No law can check, no magistrate set bounds to. 
 But 'twill be said, — suppose diis rule should hold 
 In favour of the poor, liovv shall the rich, 
 Those maidens that have portions, get them hus- 
 bands ■? 
 Why let them marry whom they will, provided 
 Their portion do not go along with them. 
 Were this the case, our girls would be solicitous 
 About their manners, rather than their portions. 
 Eucl. [overhearing.') Now, by the gods, I hear 
 him with deliglit : 
 I'm sure he loves economy by his talk. 
 
 Meg. No wife would tlien say twittingly, — 
 "I've brought you 
 A larirer portion than your own estate : 
 It is but just then I should have fine clothes. 
 Maids, mules, and muleteers, lackeys, and lads 
 To carry how-d'yes,* carriages to ride in." 
 
 * Salutigerulos pueros. 
 
 Eucl. How well he knows the fashions of our 
 ladies ! 
 Would he were made inspector of their mo- 
 rals! 
 
 Meg. Go wliere you will, you'll see more car- 
 riages 
 Than in the country at a country villa. — 
 But this is light, compar'd to other charges. — 
 The scourer comes for payment, the embroid- 
 erer, 
 The jeweller, the clothier, tissue-weavers, 
 Dyers in sundry colours, mantua-makers, 
 Perfumers, haberdashers, linen-drapers. 
 Shoemakers, milliners, and many more. 
 Who gain a livelihood by women's gear. 
 Well, — these are satisfied : a thousand others 
 Block up your gates like guards before a prison. 
 You pay them : these are satisfied : yet still 
 More come, and more ; stiil one damn'd plague 
 
 or other. 
 To tease and press you evermore for money. 
 All these, and many other inconveniences 
 With vinsupportable expenses, w^ait 
 On ample portions: maidens, that come dower- 
 less, 
 Are ever in their husbands' power ; but dames 
 With full-swoln portions, are their plague and 
 
 ruin. 
 But see — my father-in-law before his door. — 
 (^advancing.) Euclio! how fares if? 
 
 Eurl. I've been greedily 
 
 Devouring your discourse. 
 
 Meg. You've overheard me ? 
 
 Eucl. From the beginning, ev'ry word. 
 
 Meg. Methinks 
 
 You should be somewhat smarter, better dressd. 
 Upon your daughter's wedding day. 
 
 Eticl. Why, ev'ry one 
 
 Should cut his coat according to his cloth : 
 Those, that have wherewithal, should bear in 
 
 mind 
 To act becoming of their birth and station. 
 My circumstances rank me with the poor. 
 Nor are they better than opinion speaks them. 
 
 Meg. Surely they are, and may the gods still 
 add 
 To what you have at present. 
 
 Eucl. (aside) Have at present! 
 
 I don't like that. — He knows what I have got 
 As well as I myself: th' old jade has told it. 
 
 Meg. Why do you talk apart ? 
 
 Eucl. I was considering. 
 
 How I should rate you soundly. 
 
 Meg. What's the matter? 
 
 Eucl. D'ye ask rne, what's the matter ? You've 
 undone me. 
 Fill'd every nook and corner of my house 
 With thieves and pick-locks. 
 
 Meg. Come, come, I intend 
 
 To take a cup with you. 
 
 Eucl. I shall not drink. 
 
 3Ieg. I'll bid them bring a cask of good old 
 wine 
 From my own cellar. 
 
 Eucl. I'll not touch a drop, 
 
 I am resolv'd to drink nothing but water 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 333 
 
 Meg. Yon sliall be soak'd with wine, seas 
 over, you 
 That are resolv'd to drink nothins; bnt water. 
 End. (asiV/c.) I know what he designs: he 
 sroes the way 
 To knock me up with drinkinp;, and transport 
 Tiiat which I hold here to another quarter. 
 But ril prevent him: for Til hide it somewliere 
 Out of the liouse : so shall he lose his labour, 
 And wine, too, in the bargain. 
 
 Mp<;. Have you any 
 
 Further commands with me? I'll go and bathe. 
 So shall I be prepar'd to sacrifice.* 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ScENK VII. 
 
 EucLio alone. 
 My dear Pot! thou hast many enemies. 
 So has the gold committed to thy care. — 
 The best that I can do now is to carry thee 
 Straight to the temple of the Goddess Faith, 
 There hide thee. — Faith, thou know"st me, and I 
 
 thee. 
 Beware thee, that thou do.st not change thy 
 
 name, 
 If I intrust diee with this charge. — I come, 
 Good Faith, relying on thy confidence. 
 
 \_Goes into the temple of Faith. 
 
 Act IV. ScEXE I. 
 Enter STROBiLrs. 
 'Tis a good servant's duty to behave 
 As I do, — to obey his master's orders 
 Without delay or grumbling: for whoever 
 Seeks to demean him to his master's liking, 
 Ought to be quick in v/hat concerns his master. 
 And blow to serve himself: his very dreams. 
 When sleeping, shoidd remind him what he is. 
 If any serve a master that's in love, 
 (As I do for example) and he find 
 His passion has subdued him, 'tis his duty 
 To keep him back, restrain him for his good. 
 Not i>usli him forward, where his inclinations 
 Hurry him on. As boys that learn to swim, 
 Rest on a kind of raft composed of rushes. 
 That they may labour less, and move their hands, 
 And swim more easily; so should a servant 
 Buoy up his master, that is plung'd in love. 
 From sinking like a plummet. — Such a one 
 Will read his master's pleasure in his looks. 
 And what he oiders haste to execute. 
 As quick as lightning. Whatsoever servant 
 Acts in this wise, will never feci the lash. 
 Nor make his fetters bright by constant wear. 
 My master is enaiuour'd with the daughl'^r 
 Of this poor fellow Euclio, and has learu'd 
 She's to be married to our Megadorus. 
 He therefore sent me hither as a spy, 
 To inform liim of what passes. — I may seat me 
 Close by this altar here without suspicion ; 
 Whence I can learn what's doing on all sides. 
 
 (^Sits down by an altar."^ 
 
 * The ancients never set abniit any thins of conse- 
 quence wllhout makinjj a sacrifice, liefure which they 
 used to batlie, that they might come pure lo the allar. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter EtjcT.io from the temple of Faith. 
 Good Faith, discover not to any one, 
 That here my gold is plao'd : I iiave tio fear, 
 That any one will find it, it is lodg'd 
 So privily. — On my troth, if any one 
 Should find this put cramm'd full of gold, he'd 
 
 have 
 A charming booty on't: but I beseech you 
 Prevent it, Faitli ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 STROBiLtrs from his lurking^lace. 
 What did I hear him say? — Immortal gods! 
 That he had hid a pot, brim full of gold, 
 Here in this temple. — I beseech you. Faith, 
 Be not to him more faithful than to me. 
 This is the father, if I don't mistake, 
 Of lier my master is enamour'd with. 
 I'll in, and rummage the whole temple o'er 
 To find this treasure, now tliat he's employ'd. 
 If I do find it. Faith, I'll ofler you 
 A gallon full of wine, and faithful measure 
 I'll offer, — but 111 drink it all myself 
 
 [Goes to the temple of Faith. 
 
 SCEXE IV. 
 FucLTo returning. 
 'Tis not for nothing that I heard die raven 
 On my left hand : and once he scrap'd the 
 
 ground. 
 And then he croak'd : it made my heart to jump 
 And flutter in my breast. Why don't I run. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Euci.10 dragging out Strobilus. 
 Out, earthworm, out, who but a moment past 
 Crept under ground, wert no where to be seen ; 
 But now t':ou dost appear, 'tis over with thee. 
 Rascal, I'll be thy death. 
 
 Strob. What a plague ai's yon? 
 
 What business have you, you old wretch, with 
 
 me? 
 Why do you lug me so? what makes you beat me? 
 Eucl. D'ye ask? you whipping-stock! you vil- 
 lainous thief! 
 Not one alone, bnt a'l the thieves together ! 
 Stroh. AVhat have I stolen of yours? 
 End. Restore it to me. 
 
 S!rob. Restore it? what? 
 Eud. D'ye ask? 
 
 Strob. I've taken nothing. 
 
 Eud. Come, give me what you've got. 
 Sirol). What are you at? 
 
 End. What am I at ? — You shall not carry it ofT. 
 Strob. What is it you would have? 
 End. Come, lay it down. 
 
 Strob. Why we have laid no wager, that I 
 
 know of 
 Eud. Come, come, no joking ; lay it down, I 
 
 say. 
 Strob. What must I lay down? tell me, name 
 it to me : 
 I have not toiich'd, nor taken any thing. 
 Eu^l. Show ine your hands. 
 
334 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Strob. Here they are. 
 
 Enrl. Show them mc. 
 
 SirnI). Why Iiore they are. 
 
 Eucl. I spo — sshow me your tlrinl hand. 
 
 Sirob. (asiilc.) Sure the old fellow's crazy; hc"s 
 hewitcird. 
 Prithoe, now don't yon nso me very ill? 
 
 Kurl. Very ill truly, not to have yon hang\l, — 
 Which I will do, if now you don't confess. 
 
 Strob. Don't confess what? 
 
 Eurl. What did yon talce from hence? 
 
 Slioh. May I be curs'd, if I took any thing 
 Belonirin'i to yon, or desired it, I — 
 
 Eucl. Come, come, pull off your cloak. 
 
 Siroh. (pulling it off.) Just as you please. 
 
 End. Yon may have hid it under your clothes. 
 
 Strob. Search where yon will. 
 
 Eurl. (nsifle.') The rogue, how civil is he 
 
 That I may not su?j)ect! — I know his tricks. 
 Once more show me your right hand. 
 
 Siroh. Here it is. 
 
 Eurl. Well — now show jne your left. 
 
 S/rnb. Here they are both. 
 
 Eurl. Come, — I will search no further, — give 
 it me. 
 
 Strob. What must I give yon? 
 
 Eurl. Pshaw ! don't trifle with me. 
 
 Yon certainly have got it. 
 
 Siroh. Got ? Got what ? 
 
 End. So, — you would have me name it ; — hut 
 I will not. 
 Restore whatever you have got of mine. 
 
 Sti-ob. You're mad sure. — You have search'd 
 me at your pleasure, 
 And yon have found nothing of yonr's upon me. 
 
 Eud. Stay, stay, — who was that other with you 
 yonder ? 
 (aside.) I'm rniu'd! he's at work within; and if- 
 I let him go, this other will escape. 
 I've search'd him, it is true, and he has nothing'. 
 (<o Slrob.) Go where you will, and may the gods 
 confound you ! 
 
 Strob. I'm much oblig'd to you for your kind 
 ^^ ishes. 
 
 Eurl. I'll in, and. if I light on your accomplice, 
 I'll strangle him. — Out of my sight — ^begone. 
 
 Strob. I go. 
 
 Eud. And never let me see yon more. 
 
 [EucLio goes into the temple. 
 
 Scr.xE VI. 
 Sthobilus alone. 
 I'd rather die the worst of deaths, than now 
 Not lay an ambush for this old man's money. 
 He wi 1 i!Ot dare to hide it here, I fancy; 
 But he will bring it out with him. and change 
 Its situation. — Hush, the door is opening. 
 And out he conies, the old hunks, with his trea- 
 sure. 
 1 11 draw a little nearer to the gate here. 
 
 \ Skulks on one side. 
 
 SCKNF, VII. 
 
 EucLio rettirns with his pot of money. 
 Knw. — let me see — wliere can I find a place, 
 A lonely one, wliere I may hide this treasure? 
 
 (meditating.') There is a grove, vi itliout the city 
 
 walls. 
 That's sacred to Sylvanus, unfrequented, 
 Thick set with widows: on that spot I'll fix. 
 Sylvanus will I sooner trust than Faith. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene VIH. 
 Stiiobilds alone. 
 I'll run before him, c'imb into a tree. 
 And watch where this old fellov/ hides his 
 
 money. 
 My master bade me wait here, — ^bnt no matter; 
 I'll risk mishap in quest of such advantage. 
 
 [E.dt. 
 
 ScEXE IX. 
 
 Enter Ltconides and Euxomia. 
 Lye. I've told you all, good mother : you are 
 now 
 As w^ell acquainted as myself with all 
 Concerning Euclio's daughter. My dear mother 
 I now unask you what I ask'd before: — 
 Impart it to my uncle, I beseech you. 
 
 Eun. Your will, you know, is mine, son ; and 
 I trust 
 I shall obtain my brother's approbation ; 
 And there is reason good, if, as you say. 
 You us'd her unbecomingly in liquor. 
 
 Lye. You cannot think I'd. tell you an untruth. 
 PH35nniA wit kin. 
 Jly pangs come on — Help, help, nurse ! I shall 
 
 die! 
 Juno Lucina, save me !* 
 
 Lyr. Hark, good mother ! 
 
 This is a further proof: she's crying out, 
 She's now in labour. 
 
 Eun. Come then, my dear son. 
 
 You shall go in here with me to my brother, 
 And I'll persuade him to forego his marriage. 
 Lye. Ill follow you this instant. 
 
 [EcNOMiA goes in. 
 
 ScEXE X. 
 
 Lyconides alone. 
 
 I'm amazed 
 Where Strobilus can be, when I had order'd him 
 To wait me here. And yet, upon reflection, 
 If he is absent now to do me service, 
 It would be wrong to be offended with him. 
 I'll in then, where they sit in judgment on me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Act V. Scene I 
 Enter Stuobilus with the pot of money. 
 The grifilns, dwelling on the golden mountains. 
 Are not so rich as I. — Of other kimrs 
 I speak not, beggarly, poor, abject follows, — 
 I am King Philip's self. — Fine day for me! 
 Parting from hence I got there long before him. 
 
 * TliP goddess supposed to preside over child-birth. 
 Tlie same circumstance with this occurs twice in Ter- 
 ence, in tile Jiiidrian and Brothers, in bolh which plays a 
 very hnmoroiis use is mad.; of il. This circunistaiicp, (as 
 Mr. Coleman remarks,) "is not easily to he rpconcih-d t-o 
 modern notions of decency, though certainly considered 
 as no indecorum in those days." 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 335 
 
 Clirnb'd up a tree, and waited to observe 
 Wliere the old fellow would conceal his treasure. 
 When he was f^orie, down slid I from the tree, 
 And dug his pot up full of f?old : — I then 
 Saw him come back to the same place again ; 
 But me he saw not, for I turn'd a little 
 Out of his way. — ,\h ! here he is himself 
 I'll go, and lay this i)ot up safe at home. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Euclid. 
 
 I'm dead ! kill'd ! murder'd ! — Whither shall I rtm ? 
 
 Whither not rmi? — Stop thief! stop thief! — Who? 
 
 what? 
 I know not, — I see nothing, — I walk blind, — 
 I cannot tell for certain where I'm going. 
 Or where I am, or who I am. 
 
 {to the spectators.) *Good people 
 I pray you, I implore yon, I beseech you, 
 Lend me your help, — show me the man who 
 
 took it. 
 See ! in the garb of innocent white they skulk 
 And sit as they were honest. 
 (to o)ie of the spectators.^ What say you ? 
 
 I will believe you : — You're an honest fellow, — 
 I read it in your countenance. — How's this ? 
 What do you laugh at? — 0, I know you all ; 
 I know that there are many thieves among you. 
 Hey! — none of you have got it? — I am slain!— 
 Tell me who has it then? — You do not know ! 
 Ah me! ah woe is me! I'm lost! I'm ruin'd ! 
 Wholly undone! in a most vile condition! 
 Such grief, such groaning, has this day brought 
 
 oil me. 
 Hunger and poverty ! — I am a wretch, 
 The vilest wretch on earth ! — Oh, what have I 
 To do with life, depriv'd of such a treasure? 
 A trea.sure that I kept so carefully, 
 And robb'd myself of comfort ! — Others now 
 Rejoice through my mishap, and make them 
 
 merry 
 At my expense. — Oh ! oh ! I cannot bear it. 
 
 (Tfwns about crying, stamping, 4rc.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 LTCosrinES entering. 
 Who can this be, that moans so bitterly 
 Before our house? — Ha! it is Euclio sure ; 
 'Ti.s he I think. — I'm ruiii'd, all's discover'd. 
 He is acrpiaiiited with his daughter's labour. — 
 What shall I do? — I'm all uncertainty, — 
 Wore't best to go or stay? — Shall I accost him, 
 Or shun his sight? — I know not what to do. 
 Eud. Wlio's that, that speaks tliere ? 
 
 ♦ Moliere, who has imitated this whole soliloquy, h.is 
 not scrupled to make his misKr also address hiiii:>L'lf to 
 the audience in like manner : 
 
 "Que de cens asseiiililes ; Je ne jette mes regarils Fiir 
 porsonne qui ne me doiine des smip(;oiis el loin me semlile 
 iiuin voiil iir. I'.hf de qnoi esl co qn'im parle la I de celiii 
 qui iii'a deroIiC'l Qiitd limit fait on la-haul l Est ce iiinn 
 vniileiir qui esll l)i; grace, si I'on fait des noiivelles de 
 miin voiileiir je supplie que I'on m'en dise. N'esl-il |i<iiiil 
 carhii la pariiii vuus > lis iiic regardent tous, el sc iiiut- 
 tenl i rire." 
 
 Lyr. I sir, 
 
 Eud. I, sir, am 
 
 A wretch, a ruin'd wretch, such dread calamity, 
 Such sorrow, has befallen me. 
 
 Lye. Take courage. 
 
 Eud. Prithee how can I ? 
 
 Lyr. . Since the deed, that now 
 
 Troubles your mind, I did, — and I confess it. 
 
 Eud. What do I hear you say ? 
 
 Lye. The truth. 
 
 Eud. Young man, 
 
 In what have I deserv'd .such usage from you. 
 That you should treat me thus, and go the way 
 To ruin me and my poor child? 
 
 Lye. A god 
 
 Was my enticer ; he allur'd me. 
 
 Eud. How ? 
 
 Lye. I own my crime, — I know T am to blame. 
 And therefore come I to imiilore your pardon. 
 
 Eud. How durst you lay violent hands on that 
 You had no right to touch ?* 
 
 Lye. 'Tis past. — What's done 
 
 Cannot be undone. — I believe the gods 
 Would have it so : if not, it had not been. 
 
 Eud. I believe the gods would have me hang 
 myself 
 
 Before your face. 
 
 Lye. Ah ! say not so. 
 
 Eud. But why 
 
 Would you lay hands, I pray, on what was mine, 
 Against my inclination? 
 
 Lye. Love and wine 
 
 Did prompt me. 
 
 End. What consummate impudence! 
 
 How dare you come to me with such a sjieech? 
 If this is right, if this excuse will hold. 
 Why we may strip a lady of her jewels 
 In open daylight,— then, if we are taken. 
 Plead in excuse, forsooth, that love and wine 
 Led us to do it. — Oh, this love and wine 
 Arc of great value, if they can empower 
 The lover and the drunkard to indulge 
 In whatsoever likes him with impunity. 
 
 Lye. I come to beg you to forgive my folly. 
 
 Eud. I relish not these ftdlows, who commit 
 A misdemeanor, and then dare defend it. 
 You know you had no right; not being yours, 
 Yon should have kept hands otf. 
 
 Lye. But as I dar'd 
 
 Make the attempt, I shall have no objection 
 To have and hold. 
 
 Eud. To have and hold what's mine, 
 
 At my disposal? — and against my will? 
 
 ♦ This whole scene very humourously turns upon Eu- 
 clio and I.yconides niistakinj one annllier's meaning; 
 EiH-lio all llie while supposiiiK llial I.yccmidrs is liilkiiig 
 ofUw. pot, when he is spcakinj; of the idd iii iii's dtiiiL'hIcr. 
 This is ha|ipily ex[ircsscd in ihc ori!;iiial, on nccuiiiit of 
 the Latin idiom, the word olta (whii h si'^iiifies a pot,) 
 haviii'i a fi'iiiinine terniinalion. Molii-re, Injin!! possessed 
 of the saiiii- .idvaiitavo in the I'reiuh ti'iitriie, has availed 
 hinisi'irot'il. and lias iMana^icd the andiijiiity of this cir- 
 ciiiii^tance wiili more art and address llian our country- 
 men have done. 
 
 It lieiii-; iinpospilile to preserve the equivoque of the 
 original exactly, I have Ijeeii uhlij;ed to use some latitude 
 ill llie iraiislalion. 
 
336 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Lye. Against your will I ask not ; — but I think 
 It is my right, and you yourself will find 
 I have a just claim.* 
 
 Eud. If you don't return me — 
 
 Lye. Return you what? 
 
 Eucl. What you have stolen of mine, 
 
 I'll have you 'fore the Pro-tor and commence 
 A suit against you. 
 
 Lye. Stolen of your's ? how ? where ? 
 
 What is"t you mean? 
 
 Eucl. As if you did not know ! 
 
 Lye. Not I, except you tell me what it is. 
 
 Eucl. The pot of gold, I say, which you con- 
 fess'd 
 You stole, — restore it to me. 
 
 Lye. I ne'er said 
 
 A syllable about it, nor have taken it. 
 
 Eucl. Will you deny it? 
 
 Lye. Yes, deny it wholly: 
 
 Nor do I know what gold, what pot, you mean. 
 
 Eucl. That which you stole out of Sylvanus' 
 grove. 
 Come, give it me : — I'll rather halve it with you. 
 Though you have robbed me, I'll not trouble you: 
 Come then, restore it to me. 
 
 Lye. # Are you mad. 
 
 To call me thief? — I thought that you had got 
 Scent of another matter, that concerns me: 
 'Tis of importance, and if leisure serves, 
 I should be glad to talk with you upon it. 
 
 Eucl. Tell me, upon your faith: you have not 
 stolen 
 This gold? 
 
 Lye. Upon my faith. 
 
 Eucl. And if 
 
 You shall discover him, you'll reveal him to me ? 
 
 Lye. I'll do't. 
 
 Euel. Nor will you take, vsrhoe'er he be, 
 
 A portion of the spoil, to hide the thief? 
 
 Lye. I will not. 
 
 Eucl. What if you deceive me? 
 
 Lye. Then 
 
 May Jupiter do with me what he will I 
 
 Eucl. I'm satisfied. — Now tell me, what's your 
 pleasure ? 
 
 Lye. If you're a stranger to my birth and 
 family. 
 Know, Megadorus yonder, is my uncle, 
 My father was Antimachus, my name 
 Lyconides, Eunomia is my mother. 
 
 Ev,el. I know your family. — Then what's your 
 business ? 
 I should be glad to learn. 
 
 Lye. You have a daughter. 
 
 Eucl. I have ; she is within. 
 
 Lye. If I mistake not. 
 
 You have betroth'd her to my uncle. 
 
 Euel. Right. 
 
 You know the whole. 
 
 Lye. He has commanded me 
 
 To bring you his refusal. 
 
 Euel. How ? — refusal, 
 
 * Accordii)!; to the Roman laws, whoever had debaurhed 
 a girl that was free, was obliged either to marry her 
 himself, without a portion, or to give her such a portion 
 as was suitable to her station. 
 
 When every thing is ready for the wedding? 
 May all the gods confound him! for through him. 
 Wretch that I am! I've lost so great a treasure. 
 
 Lye. Be comforted : don't curse : but let us 
 hope, 
 That this atl'air will turn out happily 
 To you and to your daughter. — Say, heaven grant 
 It may ! 
 
 Eucl. Heaven grant it may! 
 
 Lye. And to me too. — 
 
 Now give me your attention. Never was there 
 A man so worthless, that had done a fault. 
 But was asham'd, and sought to clear himself; 
 I do conjure you, Euclio, to forgive me 
 If all unwittingly I have offended 
 You and your daughter : give her me to wife, 
 According to the laws: for I confess 
 That, on the night of Ceres' festival. 
 Heated with liquor, and impell'd by youth, 
 I injur'd her fair honour. 
 
 Euel. Out alas ! 
 
 What do I hear? monstrous villainy! 
 
 Lye. Why do you howl thus? It is true, I've 
 made you 
 A grandsire on your daughter's wedding day: 
 She's brought to bed, ten months are past, pray 
 
 reckon. 
 On this account my uncle Megadorus 
 Sent a refusal. But go in, inquire 
 If 'tis not as I say. 
 
 Euel. Undone for ever! 
 
 So many evils are conibin'd to plague me. 
 I'll in, and know the truth. 
 
 Lye. I'll follow you. 
 
 [Euclio goes in.* 
 
 * As this scene is admirably worked up in Moliere, the 
 reader will not perhaps be displeased with seeing it in an 
 English dress. It is sufficient to premise, that Valere, a 
 young gentleman, who was in love with the miser's 
 daughter, had got into his service in disguise; and when 
 the miser had lost his money, which his son's servant 
 had stolen, Valere was accused by another servant, out 
 of pique, of having taken it. 
 
 Enter Valere to Harpagon. 
 
 Harp. Come, and confess an action the most black, 
 The foulest and most horrible attempt, 
 That ever was committed. 
 
 Viil. What d'ye mean, sir? 
 
 Harp. How, traitor: don't you blush at your offence 1 
 
 Val. At what offence 1 
 
 Harp. At what offence ■? you villain! 
 
 As if you did not know what I would say. 
 But 'tis in vain you offer to disguise it : 
 T he affair's discover'd : they have told me all. 
 How, how could you abuse my kindness thus, 
 And introduce yourself into my house 
 On purpose to betray me, to deceive, 
 A.iid play me such a scurvy trick? 
 
 Val. Since all 
 
 Has been discover'd, sir, I will not seek 
 To put a gloss on, or deny the matter. 
 'Twas my design to speak to you ; 1 waited 
 Hut tor a fit and favourable time : 
 IJut since it thus has happen'd, I conjure you 
 Don't be displeas'd, but deign to hear my reasons. 
 
 Harp. And what fine reasons can you give? vile thief! 
 
 Val. I have not meriled these names. 'Tis true, 
 I have committed an offence against you: 
 But, after all, my fault is pardonable. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 337 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Ltconides alone. 
 So, ev'ry tiling is safe, as it should seem. — 
 But where is Strobilus'? lean find him nowhere, 
 
 ITarp How! pardonable 1 what! a wilful murder 1 
 A foul assassination of this kimll 
 
 r,il. For heaven's sake, don't put yourself In rage. 
 When you have heard me, you'll perceive the damage 
 Is not so great as you imagine. 
 
 Harp. Not 
 
 So great as I imapine i What : my blood, 
 My bowels, rogue 1 
 
 f^al. Your blood, sir, is not fall'n 
 
 Into had hands. I'm of a rank as will not 
 Let it be wrnnsi'd : there's nothing in all this. 
 For which I cannot make full reparation. 
 
 Harp. 'Tis my intention to oblige you to it, 
 iVIake you restore what you have ravish'd from me. 
 
 yal. Your honour shall be fully satisfied. 
 
 Harp. Hnnouri that's not the question. —But inform me, 
 What led you to this action? 
 
 ynt. Can you ask? 
 
 Harp. Yes truly, I do ask. 
 
 '^"'- A deity. 
 
 That carries his excuse for all he does ; 
 Love. 
 
 Harp. Love? 
 
 yal. Yes, Love. 
 
 Harp. Fine love ! fine love, i' faith ! 
 
 Love of my louis d'ors. 
 
 Vnl. 'Tis not your wealth 
 
 Has tempted me,— that has not dazzled me ; 
 And I protest, that I will never make 
 The least pretence to any of your fortune. 
 Provided you will let me keep possession 
 Only of what I have. . 
 
 Harp. I will not do it. 
 
 By all the fiends I will not let you have it. — 
 Behold: what insolence, to wish to keep 
 What he has robb'd me of! 
 
 Vul. A robbery 
 
 D'ye call it, sir? 
 
 Harp. A robbery do I call it ? 
 
 A treasure such as this ! 
 
 yal. True, 'tis a treasure. 
 
 And doubtless the most precious that you have: 
 But 'twill not be to lose it, to permit me 
 To have and hold. Upon my knees I ask it. 
 This treasure full of charms ; and, to do justice, 
 You ought to grant it me. 
 
 Harp. I will not do it. — 
 
 What can this mean? 
 
 yal. We've promis'd one another 
 
 A mutual faith, and we have ta'en an oath 
 Not to forsake each other. 
 
 Harp. Faith, the oath 
 
 Is admirable, and the promise droll! 
 
 yal. We are ensa-i'd for ever to each other. 
 
 Harp. But I shall break the contract, I assure you. 
 
 yal. Nothing but death can part us. 
 
 Harp. Yes indeed. 
 
 He's devilishly smitten with my money. 
 
 yal. I've told you, sir, already, 'twas not interest. 
 That push'd me on to do what I have do^e. 
 My heart was never wrousht on by such springs 
 As you imagine, and a nobler motive • 
 Inspir'd the resolution. 
 
 Harp. So, — you'll see 
 
 'Tis out of Christian charity forsooth. 
 He'd have my money. — But I'll find redress; 
 And justice, you audacious villain, justice 
 Shall see mc righted. 
 
 yal. TIse me as you will, 
 
 I'll suffer ev'ry outrage that you please : 
 43 
 
 Where can he be? — 111 wait a while here; then 
 
 I'll after the old fellow, in the interim 
 
 I will allow liirn time to make inquiry 
 
 Of the old maid, his daughters nurse ; she 
 
 knows 
 The whole affair. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Enter STiionitus. 
 
 Stroh. O ye immortal irods! 
 
 What joys, what transports have you heap'd upon 
 
 me! 
 To have a pot of gold in my possession. 
 Of four pounds weight! — Who is .so rich as I ? 
 Was ever man so favour'd of the gods? 
 Lye. Surely I hear a voice. 
 
 But let me beg, you will at least believe. 
 If any harm is done, 'tis I alone 
 You should accuse ; your daughter in all this 
 Is no way culpable. 
 
 Harp. I do believe it. 
 
 It had been stranse, if my own child had been 
 Accomplice in the crime. — But I desire 
 To have my own acain : prithee confess, 
 Where you have lodg'd — 
 
 yal. Lodg'd? Nowhere hut within. 
 
 Harp. O my dear casket!— Not remov'd, you say, 
 Out of the house? 
 
 yal. No, sir. 
 
 Harp. But tell ine now, 
 
 Ila'n't you been dabbling? 
 
 yal. I, sir, dniihlini? Ah! 
 
 You wrons us both : the flame, with wliich I burn. 
 Is pure, full of respect. 
 
 Harp. Burn for my c.isket ! 
 
 yal. I woul'' have perish'd sooner than have shown 
 A single thought, that could offend such prudence. 
 Such honour. 
 
 Harp. Iley! the honour of my casket ! 
 
 yal. All my desires were stinted to the joys 
 Of sight alone, and nothing criminal 
 The passion has profan'd, which those fair eyes 
 Inspir'd me with. 
 
 Harp. The fair eyes of my casket ! 
 
 He talks on't like a lover of his mistress. 
 
 yal. Dame Claude, sir, knows the truth of this adven- 
 ture. 
 And she can testify, — 
 
 Harp. How! is my maid 
 
 Accomplice in th' affair? 
 
 yal. Yes, she was witness 
 
 Of our eniaiement ; when she understood 
 The honourable purpose of my fl:iine. 
 She was confederate with me to [lersunde 
 Your daujhter to exchange her trnih with mine. 
 
 Harp. Hey! does the fear of justice make liim rave? 
 What mean you by this stuff about my daughter? 
 
 yal. Believe me, sir, 'twas with the utmost pains 
 I won her modesty to give consent 
 To what my love requested. 
 
 Harp. Modesty! 
 
 Of whom? 
 
 yal. Your daiiffhter. 'Twas but veslcrdny 
 
 She brought her mind lo't, that we lioili should sign 
 A marr »ge-coniract. 
 
 Harp Has my daughter sign'd 
 
 A niarriagc-contracl with you? 
 
 yal. Yes. and I 
 
 If ve on my part =ign'd one with h'-r. 
 
 ffarp. O heaven! 
 
 Af ' he. vile discrace! increase of ill! 
 Accumulation of despair! &c. 
 2D 
 
338 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Sirob. (^discovering Lyconides.') Ha ! don't I see 
 Lyeouides my master ? 
 
 Lye. Don't I see 
 
 My servant Strobilus? 
 
 Sirob. 'Tis he. 
 
 Lye. No other. 
 
 Sirob. I will accost him. 
 
 Lye. Best to mend my pace, 
 
 I fancy lie lias been with the old woman, 
 J\Iy Pha'dria's nurse, as I commanded him. 
 
 Strob. "What if I tell him I have found this booty. 
 And ask my liberty. — 111 up, and speak to him. 
 (^advancing.^ bh ! — I have found — 
 
 Lye. What have you found ? 
 
 Strob. Not that 
 
 Which boys in play hunt after in a bean,* 
 And if they chance to find, cry out for joy. 
 
 Lye. What, at your trick of joking, sirrah ? 
 
 Strob. Hold, 
 
 111 tell you, do but hear me. 
 
 Lye. Well then, speak. 
 
 Strob. I have found riches in abundance. 
 
 Lye. Where 1 
 
 Strob. A pot brimfull of gold, of four pounds 
 weight. 
 
 Lye. f^with emotion.) What's that you sayl 
 
 Strob. I stole it from old Euclio. 
 
 Lye. Where is the gold ? 
 
 Strob. At home, sir, in a chest. — 
 
 I should be glad you'd give me now my freedom. 
 
 Lye. Give you your freedom"? worst of rogues ! 
 
 Strob. Go, go, 
 
 I know your meaning; — I was only trying you. — 
 How you snapt at it! what would you have done. 
 If I indeed had found it ? 
 
 Lye. This evasion 
 
 Shall not avail you. — Give me up the gold. 
 
 Strob. Give up the gold ? 
 
 Lye. Come, give it me, I say. 
 
 That I may render it to the right owner. 
 
 Strob. Where should I have it? 
 
 Lye. You coiifess'd just now. 
 
 You had it in a chest. 
 
 Strob. Oh, I am used 
 
 To talk thus jokingly. 
 
 Lye. (threatening.) But know you what? 
 
 Sirob. Nay, kill me, if you please, you'll never 
 get it. 
 
 (^The rest of this play is lost. What follows is 
 added by the translator.) 
 
 Lye. How, rascal! — I shall find a way. 
 
 Strob. You cannot. — 
 
 Tie me up neck and heels; break every limb; 
 Loatl me with chains, and ram me in a dungeon; 
 Let thongs and elm-rods be my only food ; 
 You will not get the gold. — There is a way, — 
 
 Lye. Speak, what way? 
 
 Strob. Set me free : one stroke will do it. 
 
 Lye. Though you deserve a thousand, I consent 
 For my dear Plufdria's sake. Go, bring the pot here, 
 And 111 reward you with your liberty. 
 
 [Exit Sthobilus. 
 
 * The commentators explain this to mean a little worm 
 or weevil which is often found in vegetables. Strobilus 
 intends by this passage, that it is no trifling matter he had 
 found. 
 
 ScEXE VI. 
 Lyconides cdone. 
 What shall I do now ? With the loss of this 
 Already he's distracted, and I fear me. 
 Now that he knows his daughter was dishonour'd, 
 He will suspect me partner in the plot 
 To rob him of his gold, and think I meant 
 To dig out for myself, against his will, 
 A portion with his daughter. — Here comes Stro- 
 bilus. 
 
 ScEXE VII. 
 
 Enter Strobilus. 
 
 Strob. Come, come along, thou muckworm. 
 
 Lye. Whom d'ye speak to? 
 
 Strob. Euclio. 
 
 Lye. He's nowhere here, nor any other. 
 
 Strob. Nay, but he is. 
 
 Lye. (looking about. ^ I see him not. — Where 
 is he ? 
 
 Strob. He's here. 
 
 Lye. Here? where? 
 
 Strob. I've hold of him ; he's here, (^pointing to 
 the pot.) 
 All that he has of life and soul, is here, — 
 Lodg'd in this pot; — the rest is but his shadow. 
 This is his substance ; his heart's blood, his vitals ; 
 'Tis Euclio all, altogether. 
 
 Lye. Peace, you rascal ; 
 
 Give me tlie pot. 
 
 Strob. Suppose you sacrifice him 
 
 Upon his daughter's wedding-day. — 
 
 Lye. No trifling. — 
 
 Strob. You will at least invite me to a share. 
 
 Lye. Give it me, this very instant, or I'll make 
 A sacrifice of you. 
 
 Strob. You'll give me then 
 
 My freedom, as you promis'd ? 
 
 Lye. Never doubt me. 
 
 Strob. Here — take it. (giving the pot.) 
 
 Lye. I'll restore it to old Euclio, 
 
 Who will adore me as his Joy, his Pleasiu-e, 
 His Jove Protector, his supreme Salvation. — 
 I'll call him. — Euclio! — Hoa! — Come forth 
 here. — Euclio ! 
 
 Euel. (ivithin.) Who calls a wretch like me? 
 
 Strob. Your Joy, your Pleasure, 
 
 Your Jove Protector, your supreme Salvation. 
 
 L^ye. I bring you tidings of your treasure, Euclio. 
 
 Scene VIIL 
 Enter Euclid. 
 
 Euel. Where is he ? — have you found him ? — 
 Where's the thief? 
 Where is my gold ? — Speak, is it safe ? 
 
 Lye. How is she ? 
 
 Tell me, how fares my Phiedria? 
 
 Euel. Is it whole ? 
 
 Is it in nought diminished? 
 
 Lye. Has she bath'd? 
 
 Is she refresh'd ? 
 
 Euel. I'm talking of my gold. 
 
 Lye. I'm talking of your daughter. 
 
 Euel. I've no daughter, 
 
 No child, no family, except my gold, — 
 I've no relationshiji. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 339 
 
 Strob. Before he lost them, 
 
 He had a numerous oflspriiijf. 
 
 Lye. How d'ye mean? 
 
 Sirob. Of yellow boys. 
 
 Lye. (?o Eucl.') Lend me your serious ear. 
 
 What if I find the thief, who stole your treasure, 
 And force liim to make restitution '? 
 
 Strob. Hold, sir ; 
 
 Let me impose conditions. 
 
 Lyr. Speak, what are they? 
 
 End. I will consent to any thing, to have 
 My gold again. 
 
 Strob. First you shall give — 
 
 Eucl. Give! what? 
 
 [aside.') I smell him, I perceive what he's about: 
 He means to share it with me. 
 
 Strob. You shall give 
 
 Your daughter to Lyconides in marriage. 
 
 Eucl. With all my heart. 
 
 Strob. And with her — 
 
 Eucl. The old jade, 
 
 Her nurse : let him take her too. 
 
 Strob. You shall give 
 
 A portion. 
 
 Eufl. How ! a portion ? 
 
 Strob. From the pot. 
 
 Eucl. I'm dead! I'm slain! — 
 
 Strob. And then, since Megadorus 
 
 At his own cost has furnish'd the repast 
 Li honour of the wedding, in your turn 
 You shall provide a sumptuous entertainment. 
 Lamb, pork, veal, pullets, hams, — 
 
 Eucl. Have mercy on us ! 
 
 The very sound's enough to breed a famine. 
 
 Slrob. All kinds of fish, cod, salmon, turbot, 
 mackarel — 
 
 Eucl. Would you were chok'd, I say ! 
 
 Sti'ob. A ton at least 
 
 Of nardine.* 
 
 End. Peace, you rascal ! 
 
 Strob. You must hire 
 
 A dozen cooks, as many music-girls.^ 
 
 Eucl. A dozen hangmen. 
 
 Strob. Your relations, friends. 
 
 Must be invited ; the whole city ask'd ; — 
 You shall keep open house, sir, for a month. 
 
 Eucl. You shall provide my feral supper first.t 
 
 Strob. One more condition, and I've done: I'm 
 sure 
 'Twill please you. 
 
 Eucl. Speak, what is it ? 
 
 Strob. You shall marry. 
 
 Eucl. I'll hang first. 
 
 Lyr. Prithee now what kind of step-mother 
 Would you provide me ? 
 
 Strob. A staid, prudent dame, 
 
 No inettlesome young flirt, but past the age 
 Of having children; no cost to be dreaded 
 On that account; — one that will live on little, 
 And be a frugal house-wife; — with a portion, — 
 
 Eucl. A portion? 
 
 Strob. Yes, an ample one. 
 
 Eiui. How much? 
 
 * A kind of scented wine in higli estiniiition among the 
 ancients. 
 t A funeral entertainment. 
 
 Strob. As much as all the gold that's in the pot. 
 
 Eucl. («s(fA', ) That's something. — 
 [to Strob. j Old, you say? 
 
 Strob. Just ripe for Acheron. 
 
 Eucl. (asirfe.) That's well. — 
 (to Strob.) Will live on little? 
 
 Sli-ob. Oh, on nothing 
 
 But whey and butter-milk. 
 
 Eucl. Her portion — 
 
 Strob. Paid 
 
 Upon the nail. 
 
 Eucl. [aside.) That's good. 
 
 Lye. [aside.) I marvel much 
 
 What he can mean. 
 
 Eucl. Agreed : — I'll take her. — Speak, 
 
 Who is she? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Strob. 
 
 Eucl. 
 A portion? 
 
 Strob. 
 
 Eucl. 
 
 Strob. 
 
 Eucl. 
 
 Strob. Yes, I. 
 
 Eucl. 
 
 Strob. 
 Peculiar stock.* 
 
 Eucl. 
 
 Strob. 
 
 Staphila. 
 
 Confound you ! — She 
 
 Who'll give it? 
 
 I. 
 
 What! you? 
 
 Whence can you have it? 
 
 From my own 
 
 What mean you? 
 
 From the pot. 
 Eucl. Away, — begone. — They fool me to dis- 
 traction ! — 
 I'll to the Praetor ; — if there's any law, 
 Or right, I'll have him hang'd,— I'll hang you all, — 
 Hang all the world, — and then — ril hang myself. 
 
 [Running off. 
 Lye. [showing the pot.) Turn, Euclio, turn, and 
 
 see your treasure here. 
 Euc. [turning.) give it me! let me once more 
 embrace it ! 
 "Villain, wilt hold it from me ? 
 
 Lye. No, 'tis yours ; 
 
 And in return you'll give your daughter to me. 
 Eucl. Ay, any thing. — 111 give an arm, a leg. 
 Rather than lose my gold. 
 
 Lye. You do betroth 
 
 Your daughter then ? 
 
 Eiicl. I do. Heaven prosper it ! 
 
 Lye. I say, heaven prosper it ! 
 Strob. Suppose you took 
 
 The kernel, and gave him the shell : 'tis all 
 He has occasion for. 
 
 Lye. (^giving Eucl. the pot.) Here is your treasure 
 Whole, undiuiini.sh'd. 
 
 Eucl. (^embracing it.) O my life ! my soul ! 
 My joy! my all! — Nothing shall part us more. 
 iS/;o6. He talks of it, as though it were his 
 mistress ! 
 Yet he's afraid to touch her. 
 
 End. my gold ! 
 
 Where shall I carry thee? where hide thee? — 
 
 Never 
 Will I lose sight of thee again : — day, night, 
 I'll have thee near me . — I'll not eat, nor drink, 
 
 ♦ This alludes to the property which slaves were al- 
 lowed to have in their own right, and waa icimed peculium. 
 
340 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Nor take my rest without thee : — while one eye 
 Is closed in sleep, the other shall keep watch. 
 Rather than lose thee, I will dig a pit. 
 And bury in"t thee and myself together. 
 
 [Exit EucLio. 
 Scene IX. 
 Strobilus and Ltcoitides. 
 Strob. The wretch! — I wish I could devise some 
 means 
 To plague him more and more. 
 
 Lye. Impossible. — 
 
 Not Tantalus, amidst the refluent flood, 
 Suflers such keen and cruel punishment : 
 No tortures of the damn'd can equal what 
 The miser feels: himself is his own hell. 
 
 Sti-ob. Now, sir, my freedom, as you promis'd 
 
 me. 
 Lye. {striking him.) There, — take it. — Go, and 
 call Eunomia hither. 
 And Megadorus, to the sacrifice. — 
 111 in. — Spectators, do not imitate 
 The old man's nature : grudge not your applause : 
 Be liberal, and freely clap your hands. 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK.* 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Arcturus. 
 
 D^MONES. 
 
 Lab RAX, a Girl-mer- 
 
 ehant. 
 Charmides. 
 
 ScEfARNIO,"! „ 
 
 Servants 
 >to Dcemo 
 
 Gripcs 
 
 TuRBALIO 
 
 o nes. 
 
 OPARAX. J 
 
 Plecsidippus, a yoimg 
 
 Athenian. 
 Trachaho, Servant to 
 
 Pleusidippus. 
 Ptolemoc ratia. 
 
 PaL/ESTRA. 
 
 Ampelisca. 
 
 Fishermen of Cyrene. 
 Slaves. 
 Scene. — near Cyrene. 
 
 proioguk. 
 
 Ahcturus. 
 With him, who sways all nations, sea and earth, 
 I dwell in fellowship, a denizen 
 Of heaven's high city, the abode of gods. 
 
 ♦ Tbe title to this play in the original is Rudens, which 
 signilies Tlie Cable, and it is so called from the rope, by 
 which a fisherman drags his net to shore, in which is 
 contained the icallet,ot vidiilus, which contributes to the 
 catastrophe. But as this would sound rather uncouth to 
 the English ear, I have taken the liberty of following the 
 example of Madam Dacier. who has translated this play 
 into French, and called it L' Heiireux J^aufrage. 
 
 'i'his play is remarkable for its scenical decorations, 
 which, as it was thought necessary by the ancients to 
 preserve the unity of time inviolably, are presented to 
 the special.. r's eye all at once in a most agreeable pros- 
 peel, and disposed in a very picturesque manner. Madam 
 Dacier has observed, that a want of attention to this par- 
 ticular has induced some to find fault with the conduct 
 of the piece ; and as it is necessary to have a perfect idea 
 of the scenery, in order to understand the business of llie 
 fable, it will be proper to give a description of it, partly 
 taken from that lady. 
 
 At the further end of the stage is a prospect of the sea, 
 intersected by many rocks and clifTs, which project con- 
 
 I'm, as you see, a fair and splendid star, 
 
 Keeping my regular and fixed course 
 
 On earth here, and in heaven : my name Arcturus. 
 
 By night I shine in heaven among the gods, 
 
 And in the day-time mix with mortal men, 
 
 Passing, with other stars, from heaven to earth. 
 
 Jove, supreme sovereign of gods and men. 
 
 Spreads us throughout all nations several ways, 
 
 To mark the peoples actions, learn their manners, 
 
 Their piety and faith, that so each man 
 
 May find reward according to his virtues. 
 
 Those, who suborn false witnesses to gain 
 
 A villainous suit in law, who shuffle off" 
 
 Due payments by false swearing, w^e return 
 
 Their names in writing to high Jove : each day 
 
 He is inform'd of those that call for vengeance, 
 
 And seek their own perdition by their crimes. 
 
 Whoe'er by perjury obtain their cause, 
 
 Or bribe the judge to an unfair decision, 
 
 The case adjudg'd he judges oer again. 
 
 And does amerce them in a larger fine 
 
 Than they were 'vantag'd by the foul decree. 
 
 In other registers are noted down 
 
 The upright and the good. — Yet wicked inen 
 
 Fondly imagine they can Jove appease 
 
 With gifts and sacrifice; and thus they lose 
 
 Their labour and their cost: for no petition 
 
 Is acceptable to him from bad men. 
 
 He that is good and just, will sooner find 
 
 Grace from above, in praying to the gods. 
 
 Than will the wicked. Therefore I advise you, 
 
 You that are just and good, who pass your days 
 
 In piety and virtue, persevere, 
 
 That so you may rejoice from all your doings. 
 
 Now will I tell the subject of our play. 
 Which is my errand hither. — First of all 
 Know, Diphilus has nam'd this place Cyrene; 
 There in a neighbouring villa, on that spot 
 
 (pointing.') 
 Adjoining to the sea, dwells Drpmones, 
 A good old gentleman, who hither fled 
 From Athens; not that any inisdemeanor 
 Forc'd him to leave his country, but himself 
 By saving others was involve! in ruin; 
 By gentle courtesy his ineans were wasted. 
 He had a daughter when a little child 
 Kidnapp'd away, whoin a girl-merchaiit bought, 
 A villanous knave, and brought her to Cyrene. 
 A young Athenian spark, now of this city, 
 Saw her returning from the music-school, 
 And grew enatiiour'd of her: straight he cotnes 
 To the girl-merchant, bargains for the wench 
 At thirty minw, gives hiin earnest, binds him 
 Moreover with an oath. The merchant, like 
 A villain as he is, car'd not a rush 
 For honour, honesty, or all he swore. 
 He had a certain guest, like to himself, 
 A villanous old rascal, — a Sicilian, 
 From Agrigentum, — of so vile a stamp, 
 
 siderably forward upon the stage. On one side of the 
 stage is represented the city of Cyrene at a distance ; on 
 the other, the temple of Venus, with a sort of court be- 
 fore it, surrounded by a wall breast-high, and in the middle 
 of this court is an altar. Adjoining to the temple, on the 
 same side, is Daemones' house, with some scattered cot- 
 tages at a distance. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 341 
 
 That he was even traitor to his country. 
 This rogue extols the beauty of the girl, 
 And of tlie other damsels, wliich our merchant 
 Held in possession, and, in short, persuades him, 
 To go with him to Sicily: "There," says he, 
 "The men are dehaucliees; there you may soon 
 Grow rich ; there damsels boar the best of prices." 
 Well, — he prevails. A ship is hired by stealth; 
 All that he had our merchant puts on board 
 By night; and tells the youth that bought the girl. 
 He's going to perform a vow to Venus. — 
 [pointing.) This is her temple, where he has invited 
 The spark to dinner. — Presently he gets 
 On board, and carries all his damsels with him. 
 The young man was inform 'd from other liands. 
 How matters were transacted, how the merchant 
 Was fairly gone : he hastens to the port; 
 But now the vessel was far off at sea. 
 I, seeing that the girl was borne away. 
 Brought her relief, and ruin to her owner. 
 I rais'd a hurricane, and stirr'd the billows: 
 For I, Arcturus, am, of all the signs. 
 Most turbulent; outrageous, w^hen I rise, 
 And at my setting more outrageous. — Now 
 The merchant and his comrade are both cast 
 Upon a rock, their ship dash'd all in pieces. 
 The maid, affrighted, and a damsel with her, 
 Have leap'd into the boat, and now the surge 
 Drives them aloof off from the rock to land. 
 Close to the old man's villa, which the storm 
 Has strijop'd of all its tiles, and quite uncover"d it. 
 This is the servant, that is coming forth. 
 The spark, that bought the damsel of the mer- 
 chant, 
 Will presently arrive, and you shall see him. 
 Now fare ye well, and heartless be your foes! 
 
 Act I. ScKNE I. 
 Enter Scepahsio, with a spade, as going to work. 
 Have mercy on us ! what a dreadful storm 
 Has Neptune sent us over-night! — The wind 
 Our whole house has uneover'd. — In a word, 
 It was no wind; — but 'twas the rattling peal 
 In the Alcmena of Euripides.* 
 Troth, it has stripp'd the roof, tore all the tiles 
 
 off,— 
 Made our house lighter, — giv'n it store of win- 
 dows. 
 
 SCEXE II. 
 
 Enter Pleusidippus, talking to three friends at a 
 
 distance. 
 I have witlulrawn you from your own concerns; — 
 Nor has the purpose speeded, for which cause 
 I brought you out with me. — I could not find 
 This villainous procurer at the port. — 
 Yet I'm unwilling to forego all hope 
 Through my remissness: — Wherefore I have still, 
 My friends, detain'd you for some longer space. — 
 To Venus' temple am I now come hither, 
 Where, he inform'd vne, he design'd to sacrifice. 
 
 * This is suppo.sed to allude to a tragedy of Euripides, 
 called .Alcmena, in which a storm was represented in so 
 lively a manner, that it became afterwards ptoverbial to 
 signify tempestuous weather. 
 
 Srep. (at a distance, falling to work.') 
 'Twere best to set about this plaguy clay here. 
 Though I am work'd to death by't. 
 
 Pleus. Sure I hear 
 
 Some voice or other near me. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter D.emones fro7n his house. 
 Deem. Ho ! Sceparnio ! 
 
 Srep. Who calls me by my name? 
 Deem. Why, he that bought you. 
 
 Seep. That is to say, you are my master. — 
 
 {pluming.) Da'mones! 
 Dam. Come, dig away; much stuff will be 
 required ; 
 For, as I find, the whole house must be covered : 
 It has as many holes in"t as a sieve. 
 
 Pleus. (advancing.) Save you good father ! — 
 
 Save you both together ! 
 Deem. Save you ! 
 
 Seep, (^digging.) But are you man or woman, you 
 Who call him father ? 
 
 Pleus. Sure, I am a man. 
 
 Deem. Then seek elsewhere a father. — I had 
 once 
 An only daughter, and I lost that one : — 
 I never had a son. 
 
 Pleus. Pray heaven may send — 
 
 Seep, {still digging.) Send you a mischief, who- 
 soe er you are. 
 That seeing us employ'd would give us more 
 Employment with your chattering. 
 
 Pleus. Dwell ye here ? 
 
 Seep. Why do you ask ? — What ! you survey 
 the premises. 
 That you may come and plunder by-and-ljy. 
 Pleus. That slave should be a trusty and a rich 
 one. 
 Who lets his tongue run in his master's presence, 
 And dares in scurvy terms address a free-man. 
 Seep. And he should be a filthy knave, a foul 
 one, 
 An impudent base fellow, who will come 
 Of his own motion to another's house, 
 That owes him nothing. 
 
 Dtem. Peace, Sceparnio. {to Pleus.) Prithee, 
 Good youth, what would you ? 
 
 Pkus. I would ill to him 
 
 For his unmannor'd haste to speak the first. 
 When that his master's by. — But, sir, an't please 
 
 you, 
 I'd ask, in brief, one question. 
 
 Da:m. Ill attend you, 
 
 Though I am busied. 
 
 Srep. {to Pleus.) Go into the marsh, 
 
 Wilt thou? and cut some reeds to thatch our 
 
 hoitse with. 
 While it is fair. 
 
 Dam. '[to Srep.) Peace, {to Pleus.) Tell me 
 
 what's your pleasure ? 
 Pleus. Inform me what I ask you. — Have you 
 seen 
 E'er a grey-headed, frizzle-pated fellow, 
 A scurvy, perjur'd knave, a fawning cogger? 
 
 Dam. Full many aone: — by reason of such men 
 I now alas ! live miserable. 
 2d2 
 
342 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Pints. He, 
 
 I speak of, brought two damsels with him here, — 
 To-day or yesterday, — to Venus' temple, 
 In order to jjrepare a sacrifice. 
 
 Dam. I have seen no one sacrificing there 
 These many days. — Nor can they sacrifice 
 Without my knowledge: Here they always come 
 For water, fire, or vessels, or a knife, 
 Spit, seething-pot, or something; in a word. 
 My well, my vessels are for Venus' use 
 More than my own : — But now, for many days 
 There has been intermission. 
 
 Pleus. What you say 
 
 Tells me I'm ruin"d. 
 
 Deem. 'Tis no fault of mine. 
 
 Seep. Harkye me, — you, sir, — you that roam 
 about 
 To temples for your belly's sake, — "twere best 
 Order your dinner to be got at home : 
 Belike you were invited there to dinner, 
 And he, who ask'd you, never came. 
 
 Pleus. [angrily.') Most excellent ! 
 
 Seep. Een take thee home then with an empty 
 belly; 
 There's nothing hinders. — Thou should'st rather 
 
 be 
 A follower of Ceres than of Venus : 
 Love's her concern, but food is Ceres' care. 
 
 Pleus. How scurvily this fellow dares to treat 
 me ! 
 
 Deem, {looking tmcards the sea.) ye good gods! 
 Who are those people yonder 
 Nigh to the shore, Screpanio? — Look. 
 
 Seep. Methinks 
 
 They've been invited to a parting dinner. 
 
 DcBm. Why so? 
 
 Seep. Because they've bathed them after supper. 
 Their vessel's gone to pieces. 
 
 DcBm. So it is. 
 
 Seep. And so indeed our house too and its tiles 
 Are shatterd upon land. 
 
 D(zm. Alas! alas! 
 
 What nothings are poor mortal men! — See! see! 
 They are dash'd overboard ! Look, how they 
 swim ! 
 
 Pleus. I pray, where are they ? 
 
 D(em. (^pointing.) This way, to the right, — 
 D'ye see them "? — near the shore. 
 
 Pletis. I see them. — 
 
 (fo his companions.) Follow me. 
 Would it were he I seek, that worst of villains ! 
 Fare ye well. 
 
 Seep. Of ourselves we should have look'd 
 
 To that without your bidding. 
 
 [^Exit Pleusibippus and friends. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 ScEPARNio and D^mones. 
 
 Seep, {looking towards the sea.) Palsemon,* 
 Neptune s associate, (nay, thou'rt call'd his part- 
 ner,) 
 What do I see ? 
 
 * Otherwise called Melicertes, the son of Athamas and 
 Inc. It is fabled, that his mother, seeing Athamas in his 
 frenzy about to kill them both, threw herself and son into 
 the sea, whereupon they became sea-deities. 
 
 Deem. What do you see ? 
 
 Seep. I see 
 
 Two women sitting in a boat alone. — 
 Poor creatures, how they're toss'd!~That's good, — 
 
 that's good, — 
 Well done ! — See ! the surge drives the boat away 
 
 there 
 Off from the rock towards the shore ! — a pilot 
 Could not have done it. — In my life, I think, 
 I never saw such billows. — They are safe. 
 If they can 'scape those waves. — Now, now's the 
 
 danger ! 
 One is wash'd overboard, — but she is lighted 
 Upon a flat; — ?lie'll easily wade through it. — 
 O bravo! bravo! — See, the surge has thrown her 
 Upon the land ! — She's risen, — makes this way :— 
 Ail's safe. — The other too has leap'd on shore! 
 Ha! through her fright she's fall'n upon her 
 
 knees 
 Into the sea! — Oh, — she is safe, — has got 
 Out of the water, — and is now on land. — 
 But she has taken to the right; — poor creature! 
 She'll wander there all day. 
 
 DcBm. What's that to you ? 
 
 Seep. If she should topple from yon cliff, which 
 now 
 She's making to, she'll briefly put an end 
 At once to all her rambling. 
 
 DtsTii. If you mean 
 
 To sup with them this evening, it behoves you 
 To be concern'd about them ; but if me 
 You think to eat with, you must mind my busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Seep. to be sure. 
 
 Deem. Then follow me. 
 
 Seep. I follow. 
 
 \E.vew)it. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Enter Palsistra, from among the eliffs, at a 
 
 distance. 
 
 The storied miseries of men's mishaps 
 (How sad soe'er relation sets them forth) 
 Are far less sharp than those we know and feel 
 Ourselves from sore experience. — Has it then 
 Pleas'd heaven to cast me on this stranger shore. 
 With these drench'd garments, frighted and Ibr- 
 
 lorn 1 — 
 Were I but conscious that in anything 
 My jjarents or myself had done amiss. 
 It less had griev'd me. — But my owner's crimes 
 Have wrought this woe ; for his impiety 
 I'm punish'd. — He has lost his ship and all, 
 Wreck'd in the sea ; — And I, the sad remains 
 Of all that he possess'd : — the damsel, too, — 
 She that came with me in the boat, — is perish'd. — 
 At least had she been sav'd, her gentle aid 
 Had sooth'd and lighten'd my affliction. — Now 
 What hope, what help, what comfort can I find ? 
 Here am I in this lonely desert; here 
 Stand rocks ; — here roars the sea ; — no living 
 
 wight 
 Comes 'cross my way; — the clothes that I have on 
 Are all my riches; and I'm mainly ignorant 
 How to get food, or where to find a shelter. — 
 Have I a hope, that I should wish to live ?— 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 343 
 
 I am a stranger, a new comer liitlier :— 
 Would I could meet with some one, that might 
 
 show me 
 A path or road : — my mind is all uncertain 
 Whither to make, to this way or to that. — 
 No cultivated land I see before me. — 
 Ah, my poor parents ! little do you know, 
 I'm now the wretch I am. — By birth I'm free: — 
 But what avails this freedom ? Am I now 
 Less wretched, than if born a slave? — Ah me! 
 I never was a comfort or a help 
 To those who gave me birth and education. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Enter Ampelisca, coming forward from among 
 the cliffs, at the other end of the stage. 
 
 Can I do better 1 were't not for my good 
 To put an end at once to my existence f 
 I am so wretched, and so many cares 
 Distract my breast, that weary out my soul ! — 
 I'm prodigal of life ; for I have lost 
 That hope, which was my comfort. — All around 
 In quest I've rambled, crawl'd with patient step 
 Through every covert place, with voice, eyes, ears 
 Trying to trace her out, my fellow-slave. 
 Yet nowhere can I find her! — I am puzzled 
 Which yny to take, or where to seek her further. 
 I cannot meet a soul, that I might question : — 
 Never was place so desert and forlorn 
 As these dread wilds! — yet will I not desist 
 From searching, till at length I've found her out, 
 If haply she's alive. 
 
 Pal. (at a distance.) What voice is that 
 Sounds near me 1 
 
 jli7ip. (overhearing.') I am mightily afraid. — 
 Who speaks there ? 
 
 Pal. I beseech you, gentle Hope, 
 
 come to my assistance — 
 
 Amp. 'Tis a woinan ; — 
 
 A woman's voice. — 
 
 Pal. And free me from my dread. 
 
 Jimp, {listening.) Sure "tis a woman's voice, that 
 strikes my ear. 
 
 Pal. Is it Ampelisca? 
 
 Amp. Is it you, PalEPStra ? 
 
 Pal. Why don't I call her by her iiame aloud. 
 That she may know me 1 (calling.') Ampelisca ! 
 
 Amp. Ha ! 
 
 Who's that? 
 
 Pal. 'Tis I,— Palrpstra. 
 
 Amp. Say, where are you ?* 
 
 Pal. Environ'd with misfortunes. 
 
 Amp. I'm your partner ; 
 
 Nor is my share of sorrow less than yours. — 
 
 1 long to see you. 
 
 Pal. In that wish we're rivals. 
 
 Amp. Our voices be our guides. — Where are 
 
 you? 
 Pal. Here.— 
 
 Come forward, — here, — come meet me. 
 
 Amp. I am coming. 
 
 (they meet.) 
 
 * They were separated by the clitTs, which hindered 
 them from seeing one another, though Ihey might both 
 be visible to the spectators. 
 
 Pal. Give me your hand. 
 
 Amp. Here, — take it. 
 
 Pal. Pritlice tell me. 
 
 Are you alive? 
 
 Amj). Aye, and would wish to live. 
 
 Since 'tis permitted me to feci and touch you: — 
 
 (ihey embrace.) 
 O how you ease me now of all my troubles! 
 
 Pal. You are beforehand, have prevented 
 me 
 In what I would have said. — But let us go. 
 
 Amp. Go? whither, sweet? 
 
 Pal. We'll keep along the shore. 
 
 Amp. I'll follow where you please. 
 
 Pal. And shall we roam 
 
 In these wet garments ? 
 
 Amp. That which is befall'n us 
 
 We must perforce endure. — But prithee now 
 What's that? (looking.) 
 
 Pal. What? 
 
 Amp. Don't you see a temple yonder ? 
 
 There, — don't you see it? 
 
 Pal. Where ? 
 
 Amp. Upon the right. 
 
 Pal. It seems, "tis deck'd imto some god. 
 
 Amp. Then men 
 
 Cannot be far off. — (they advance towards it.) 
 
 And the site so charming! — 
 111 pray unto this god, whoe'er he be, 
 That he would succour us poor, helpless wretches, 
 And free us from our sorrows. 
 
 [Tliey kneel before the temple. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 Enter Ptolemocratia, priestess of Venus, from 
 the temple. 
 
 Ptol. Who are these, 
 
 That lowly bending to my patroness 
 Solicit her protection? For the voice 
 Of some poor supplicants has drawn me hither. 
 Their suit is to a good and gracious goddess, 
 A patroness most gentle, and most kind. 
 
 Pal. Save you, good mother ! 
 
 Piol. Save you, my sweet girls ! 
 
 Whence do you come, so woefully array"d. 
 In these wet garments? 
 
 Pal. Lastly, from a place 
 
 Not far from hence, but 'tis a great way off 
 Whence we were borne at first. 
 
 Ptol. Ye came, forsooth, 
 
 By sea then. 
 
 Pal. You judge right. 
 
 Ptol. Ye should have come 
 
 Clothed in white, and bringing victims with 
 
 you. — 
 'Tis not the practice to approach our temple 
 In such habiliments. 
 
 Pal. All ! whence should we 
 
 We that were cast away, have got us victims? 
 In need of succour, destitute of hope, 
 In a strange land, we now embrace your knees : 
 let your roof receive and shelter us; 
 Have pity on two hapless wanderers, 
 Who have no place of refuge, no, nor hope, 
 Nor anything indeed but what you see. 
 
344 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 L. 
 
 Ptol. Give me your hands : rise both : no woman 
 ever 
 Was more inclin'd to pity; but alas! 
 My state is poor and mean : hardly indeed 
 I get support, and for a livelihood 
 I serve our Venus. 
 
 Pal. Is this Venus' temple. 
 
 Ftol. The same; and I'm her i:)riestess. — Such 
 as 'tis, 
 You shall find here a courteous entertainment, 
 As far as my scant means vi'ill give me povi^er. — 
 Come then with me. 
 
 Pal. You tender us, good mother, 
 
 With a most kind aflection. 
 
 Ptol. 'Tis my duty. 
 
 Act II. ScEXE I. 
 Enter Fishermen, tmlh their lines, nets, SfC. 
 A Fish. We poor folks lead a sorry life, espe- 
 cially 
 If we have learn'd no trade, no occupation, 
 So of necessity must be content 
 With what we have. — Guess ye, how rich we are 
 By this our tackle. These poor hooks and rods 
 Are all we have to live by. From the city 
 We come here to the sea in quest of forage. 
 Our sport and exercise is catching lobsters, 
 Crabs, oysters, cockles, every kind of fish ; 
 Some with our hooks, some get we from the rocks. 
 We draw all our provisions from tlie sea : 
 If we catch nothing, then well sous'd and pickled 
 We e'en saeak home, and sleep on empty bel- 
 lies. — 
 The sea is now so rough, we have no hope 
 Of sport here ; and except we get some shell-fish, 
 We must go supperless. — We will beseech 
 Good Venus here to favour and befriend us. 
 
 \_They advance towards the temple. 
 
 SCEKE II. 
 Enter Thachalio, at a little distance. 
 I've used my best endeavours not to slip 
 My master any where. When he went out. 
 He said that he was going to the port, 
 And bade me meet him here at Venus" temple. — 
 But see, some people stand there opportunely, 
 Of whom I may inquire. Ill up to thein. 
 Save you, ye sea-thieves, ye starv'd generation ! 
 How fares it with you ? 
 
 Fish. As with fishermen ; 
 
 Dying with hunger, thirst, and expectation. 
 Trach. Have you seen come this w-ay, since 
 you've been here. 
 E'er a fresh-colour'd, stout, well-looking youth. 
 And three companions with him, dress'd like 
 soldiers? 
 Fish. We have seen no one answering your 
 
 description. 
 Trach. Or have you met an old bald-pated 
 fellow. 
 Hook-nosed, pot-bellied, beetle-browed, squint- 
 eyed, 
 A sour-faced knave, the scorn of gods and men, 
 Full of iniquity and vile dishonour. 
 With two young likely damsels? 
 
 I^ish. Such a one 
 
 In mind and deed is fitter for the gallows 
 Than Venus' temple. 
 
 Trach. Tell me, have you seen him? 
 
 Fish. No, — no one has come hither. — Fare you 
 well. 
 
 Trach. Farewell. [Exetmt Fishermen. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Thachalio alone. 
 I thought so : 'tis as I suspected : — 
 My master is deceiv'd ; this curs'd procurer 
 Is run away, has got on board a ship, 
 And carried off the damsels. — I'm a conjurer. — 
 My master was invited by the knave 
 To dinner here: I had best stay his coming: 
 And if I see the priestess, I'll inquire 
 If she can give me further information : 
 She may perhaps know more. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Ampelisca from the temple. 
 
 jimp, (to the priestess irithin.^ I understand 
 Your orders are, to knock here at this house 
 Next to the temple, and ask for water. 
 
 Trach. Whose voice is that? 
 
 Amp. Bless me! who's that, that speaks there ? 
 Whom do I see? 
 
 Trach. Is not that Ampelisca 
 
 Comes from the temple? 
 
 Amp. Is not that Trachalio 
 
 I see there, Pleusidippus' rogue? 
 
 Trach. 'Tis she. 
 
 Amp. 'Tis he. — Trachalio ! save you. 
 
 Trach. Ampelisca ! 
 
 Save you. — How fares it? 
 
 Amp. Very ill. 
 
 Trach. Don't say so. 
 
 Amp. 'Tis right to speak the truth. — But prithee 
 now 
 Where is your master Pleusidippus ? 
 
 Trach. Pshaw ! 
 
 As though he weren't within there. 
 
 Amp. He is not. 
 
 Nor any other man. 
 
 Trach. He is not come ! 
 
 Amp. You say the truth. 
 
 Trach. That's not my custom. But 
 
 How near is dinner ready? 
 
 Amp. Pray, what dinner? 
 
 Trach. You're sacrificing here. 
 
 Amp. What are you dreaming? 
 
 Trach. Why sure your master Labrax did invite 
 My master Pleusidippvis here to dinner. 
 
 Amp. No wonder what you say. — If he de- 
 ceive 
 Both gods and men, he acts but like a pimp. 
 
 Trach. Are you not sacrificing? nor my master? 
 
 Atnp. You've guess'd it. 
 
 Trach. Prithee then what do you here? 
 
 Amp. From dire afllictions, from severest 
 frights, 
 From hazard of our lives, in want of succour. 
 The priestess took us in, me and Palaestra. 
 
 Trach. Ha ! is Palsestra here, my master's lov-e ? 
 
 Amp. Yes, verily. 
 
 Trach. There's pleasure in your news, 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 345 
 
 My Ampelisca. — ^But I long to know 
 The perils you, were in. 
 
 Amp. Our ship, Trachalio, 
 
 Last night was cast away. 
 
 Track. Ship ■? cast away ? 
 
 What story's tliis ? 
 
 Amp. Have you not heard, forsooth, 
 
 How that our master privately dcsign'd 
 To carry us away to Sicily, 
 
 And put on ship-board all that he was worth? 
 Now all is lost. 
 
 Truck. Thanks, gentle Neptune: verily 
 
 Thou art a cunning gamester; thou hast givn 
 
 him 
 A pleasant cast i'faith : the rogue is done for.* — 
 But Where's the villain now 1 
 
 Amp. Dead drunk, I fancy ; 
 
 For Neptune had invited him last night 
 To deep potations, and, as I suppose, 
 Gave him a finishing cup. 
 
 Track. how I love thee. 
 
 My Ampelisca! What a dear sweet creature! 
 There's honey in thy words too! — But inform me, 
 How 'scap'd you and Paltcstra? 
 
 Amp. You shall hear. 
 
 Seeing the ship borne full upon a rock, 
 We, sore alfrighted, leap'd into the boat: 
 I hasten'd to untie the rope that held her ; 
 And while the rest were wrapp'd in wild dismay. 
 Our boat was sever'd from them by the storm, 
 Which drove us to the right; and in this wise. 
 Poor helpless souls, toss'd by the winds and 
 
 waves. 
 We pass'd the livelong night, till on the morn 
 The wind scarce bore us to the shore quite 
 spent. — 
 
 Track. I understand; — 'tis ever Neptune's 
 way: — 
 He's a most dainty ..^dile,t and whenever 
 He finds commodities stark naught, the word 
 At once is "over with them." 
 
 Amp. A plague on you ! 
 
 Track. On you, my Ampelisca. — But I knew 
 The scurvy pimp would tlo what he has done ; — 
 And I have often said it : — I had best 
 Let my hair grow, and set \ip for a conjurer. :t 
 
 Antp. A pretty care you took, with all your 
 foresight. 
 You and your master, to prevent his going! 
 
 Track. What could he do ■? 
 
 Amp. A lover he, and ask you 
 
 What could he do ? Day, night, he should have kept 
 
 ♦ This is a joke in tile original, depending on the douhle 
 sense of the phrase jacere bolum, as also of the word 
 perdtre. 
 
 O Neptune lepide, salve ! 
 Nee te aleator ullus est sapientior : profect6 
 Niuiis lepide _;ec/*(j bolum ; perjurum perdidisli. 
 Jacere buluin signiiies the casting a net, as well as casting 
 of dice; and by perdere is utulerstood, to cause to perisli, 
 or to ruin any one in the gamester's sense. 
 
 t It was the business of the J-'.dile, among the Romans, 
 to inspect and resfulate the market. Among the Greeks 
 there was an officer, whose province was the same, who 
 was called Agoranomus, which appellation our author 
 himself introduces in his Captives. 
 
 X It was the custom, it seems, for those who were em- 
 ployed in divining to wear their hair very long. 
 44 
 
 A constant watch, been always upon guard. 
 Yes truly, — 'tis so like them, — his concern 
 And care about her tallied with his love. 
 
 Track. Do you not know, when a man goes to 
 bathe. 
 Lot him be e'er so mindful of his clothes, 
 They yet are stolen : for he can't ilevise 
 Whotn he should have an eye to; but the thief, 
 Holds eaj'ily his mark of observation 
 Point blank before him: all the while our spark 
 Kens not the lurking knave. — But bring me to her. 
 Where is she, pray'! 
 
 Amp. Go straight into the temple : 
 
 You'll fiird her sitting there, all drown'd in tears. 
 
 Track. I'm sorry for't! — but wherefore doth 
 she weep ? 
 
 Amp. ril tell you. She is vexed to the soul, 
 That the procurer should have ta'en her casket, 
 Where she had lodg'd some trinkets, which, she 
 
 hop'd, 
 Might lead to a discovery of her parents ; 
 And now she fears 'tis lost. 
 
 Track. Where was the casket? 
 
 Amp. He lock'd it in his wallet, to prevent 
 Discovery of her parents. 
 
 Track. What a shame, 
 
 To make a slave of one that should be free ! 
 
 Amp. She thinks it with the ship gone to the 
 bottom. 
 All the old fellow's treasure too was with it : 
 Some one, I hope, has dived, and brought it up : 
 She is sore grieved for the loss of it. 
 
 Track. 'Tis tit that I should go and comfort her. 
 But let her not despond ; for true it is. 
 Good oft befalls us, when we least expect it. 
 
 Antp. And true it is, that when we trust in hope, 
 We're often disa])pointed. 
 
 Track. Patience then 
 
 Is the best remedy against altliction. — 
 I'll in, except you want me further. 
 
 Amp. Go. 
 
 \_Exit Tkachalio. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Ampelisca alone. 
 
 I'll now do what the priestess order'd me: 
 I'll beg some water here at the next house. 
 She tokl me if I ask'd it in her name. 
 They'd give it me forthwith. I never saw 
 A worthier old woman, more deserving 
 Favour from gods aiul men. How courteously, 
 And with what gentle breeding she receiv'd us 
 Trembling, in want, wet, ca.-;t away, half-dead, — 
 .Viid treated us as though we were her children! 
 How readily herself did warm us water 
 For us to wash ! — But I luust mind her orders, 
 That I mayn't make her wait. 
 {knocking at Dcemoiies door.) Ho! who's within 
 
 here ? 
 Open the door. — Will nobody come forth? 
 
 SCEXE VI. 
 
 Enter ScKPAUNio. 
 Seep. Who's at the door there banging so un- 
 mercifully ? 
 Atnp. 'Tis I. 
 
346 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Srep. What good d'ye bring us ? — By my troth, 
 A likely wench. 
 
 ^7np. Good day to you, young man. 
 
 Seep. The same to you, young woman. 
 
 ^mp. I am come to you, — 
 
 Seep. Ill entertain you, if you come anon, 
 As you could wish : at present I have nothing 
 To satisfy your wants. — Ah ha, my pretty one ! 
 My smirking, smiling rogue ! {^offering to embrace 
 her.') 
 
 Amp. Let me alone : — 
 
 Fye, — now you are too rude. 
 
 Seep. By heavens, the very 
 
 Image of Venus! What a sparkling eye 
 The jade has ! — what a shape ! — what a com- 
 
 ple.xion ! — 
 A walnut, — a nut brown I meant to say ! — 
 What breasts ! — what pretty pouting lips ! — 
 
 {lays hold of her.) 
 
 Amp. {stnigs.ling.') Be quiet ! — 
 
 I am not for your turn: — d'ye think me com- 
 mon ? 
 What! — can't you keep your hands off? — 
 
 Seep. Prithee, sweet, 
 
 May I not toy a little 1 
 
 Amp. By-and-by, — 
 
 When I'm at leisure, I'll then trifle with you : — 
 Now let me have your answer, aye or no, 
 To that which I was sent to ask. 
 
 Seep. What would you? 
 
 Amp. Can you not guess by this? 
 
 (pointing to the pitcher.) 
 
 Seep. And can't you guess 
 
 What I would have of you ? 
 
 Amp. The priestess sent me 
 
 To beg some water. 
 
 Seep. I am proud and lordly: 
 
 Unless you sue to me with low petition. 
 You will not get a drop. — Our well we dug. 
 At our own hazard, with our proper tools. — 
 Unless you woo me with much blandishment. 
 You will not get a drop. 
 
 Amp. Why should you grudge 
 
 To give me water, which an enemy 
 Will give an enemy? 
 
 Seep. Why should you grudge 
 
 To grant me that same favour, which a friend 
 Will give a friend ? 
 
 At7ip. Well, well, my sweet, I'll do 
 
 All you desire. 
 
 Seep, {aside.) charming! — I am blest! — 
 She calls me sweet. — 
 
 {to Amp.) You shall have water ; — No, 
 
 "i'ou shall not love in vain. — Give me the pitcher. 
 
 Amp. Here, — take it. — Prithee, love, make 
 haste, and bring it me. 
 
 Seep. Stay: — I'll be here this instant, my sweet 
 charmer! [iTxif Scepaksio. 
 
 SCEXE VII. 
 Ampelisca alone. 
 What shall I tell the priestess in excuse 
 For tarrying here so long? — Oh, how I dread 
 Even now to look upon the deep ! — 
 {looking towards the sea.) Ah me! 
 
 What do I see there on the shore? — my master 
 
 And his Sicilian guest, whom I believed 
 
 Both drown'd ! — More evil still sujvives to plague 
 
 us 
 Than we imagin'd. — Why do I not run 
 Into the temple to inform Palaestra, 
 That we may fly to the altar ere he come 
 And seize us? — I'll be gone: — the occasion 
 
 presses. 
 And suddenly inspires the thought. 
 
 [Runs into the temple. 
 
 SCEXE VIII. 
 
 Enter Scepahitio. 
 
 Good heavens! 
 I ne'er believ'd such pleasure was in water; 
 I drew it with such heartiness! — The well 
 Methought too was less deep than heretofore ; 
 With so much ease I drew it ! — Verily 
 I am an oaf, that I should fall in love now 
 For the first time. — Here, take your water, pre- 
 cious ! 
 I would that you might carry it with that pleasure 
 Which I myself do; so shall I adore you. 
 Where are you, dainty dear? — Here, take your 
 
 water. — 
 Where are you? — Verily I think she loves me : 
 The wanton plays at bo-peep. — Ho! where are 
 
 you? — 
 A pleasant joke iTaith : — but come, be serious. 
 Why won't you take it? — Where in the world 
 
 are yon? — 
 I see her nowhere : — she's upon the fun. — 
 I'll leave it on the ground. — But softly — what 
 If some one take the pitcher ? — It belongs 
 To Venus ; and 'twould bring me into trouble. 
 "Gad I'm afraid, the jilt has some design 
 To trap me by its being found upon me : 
 The magistrate would have a fair pretence 
 To clap me into chains, if any one 
 Should chance to see me with it: for 'tis letter'd, — 
 Tells of itself whose property it is. 
 I'll call the priestess out, that she may take it. 
 Ill to the door then of the temple, {calling.) Ho 
 
 there, 
 Ptolemocratia! — Come, and take your pitcher. — 
 I'll carry it in. — Troth I've enough to do, 
 If I'm to fetch them water, all that ask for't. 
 
 [Goes into the temple. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 Enter Labhax, followed by Charmides, from 
 among the cliffs at the further end of the stage. 
 Labr. He that would be a beggar and a wretch. 
 Let him trust Neptune with his life and fortune: 
 Whoe'er has any ilealings with that god, 
 He'll send him home again in this sweet trim. — 
 Ah, Liberty, 'twas wisely done of you. 
 That thou would'st ne'er set foot on board a ship 
 With Hercules. — But where's this friend of mine. 
 Who has undone me? {looking back.) Oh, see 
 where he crawls. 
 Charm. What a plague, Labrax, whither in 
 such hurry ? 
 I can't keep up with you, you walk so fast. 
 Labr. Would thou hadst died in Sicily on a 
 gallows, 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 347 
 
 E'er I set eyes on thee, on whose account, 
 Ah me! this vile disaster has befallen us. 
 
 Charm. Would thou liadst lain in prison, on 
 the day 
 Thou first admitted me within thy doors! 
 And I beseech the gods, that all thy life 
 Tliou may'st for ever have such guests as I. 
 
 Labr. When I let thee in, I let in Misfortune. — 
 Why did I hearken to thee, thou vile rogue? 
 Why did I thence depart? why go on ship- 
 board ? 
 Where I have lost e'en more than I was worth.* 
 
 Charm. I marvel not our ship was cast away, 
 When it had such a rogue as thee on board. 
 And thy ill-gotten pelf. 
 
 Lnbr. Thou hast undone me 
 
 With thy cajoling speeches. 
 
 Charm. Thou hast given me 
 
 A more atrocious supper, than which erst 
 Was set before or Tereus or Thyestes.t 
 
 Labr. I die ! Tm sick at heart ! pray, hold my 
 head. 
 
 Charm. Would thou couldst bring thy lungs 
 up, for my part. 
 
 Labr. Alas! poor Ampelisca, and Palcestra, 
 Where are you? 
 
 Charm. Food for fishes, I suppose ; 
 
 Gotie to the bottom. 
 
 Labr. Thou hast brought upon me 
 
 Beggary and want, because I gave an ear 
 To thy romancings. 
 
 Charm. Nay, thou ow'st me thanks : 
 
 Before, thou wast a dull insipid fellow ; 
 I've given thee salt and seasoning to thy wit. 
 
 Labr. Go, get thee hence, and hang thyself. 
 
 Charm. Go thou. — 
 
 I did as bad, when I embark'd with thee. 
 
 Labr. Can there exist a wretch like me ? 
 
 Charm. Yes, I, 
 
 I am more wretched. 
 
 LMbr. How ? 
 
 Charm. Because I don't 
 
 Deserve it, but thou dost. 
 
 Labr. Ye bulrushes! 
 
 I envy your condition, who preserve 
 For evermore your dryness. 
 
 Charm. By my troth 
 
 My words come from me broken, and as 'twere 
 By fits, like lightning, flash succeeding fiash, 
 I tremble so. 
 
 Labr. Neptune, thy bath's a cold one : 
 
 Since I've come out out in my clothes, I freeze. 
 Ho deals in nothing warm to cheer onr hearts, 
 BiU gives up only salt and cold potations. 
 
 Charm. How happy are the blacksmiths, who 
 are ever 
 Employed about a fire, are always warm! 
 
 Labr. for the nature of a duck, that now 
 I might be dry, though come from out the 
 water. 
 
 Charm. What if I hire me for a bug-bear? 
 
 Labr. Why? 
 
 * Meaning, the advantagp he should have made by the 
 sale of the airls, who, he supposed, had perished. 
 
 t Both these, as the story goes, had their own children 
 served up to them at supper. 
 
 Charm. Because I chatter with my teeth so 
 terribly. 
 Yes, yes, I own I have deserved this ducking. 
 
 Labj: Why so? 
 
 Charm. Because I dared embark with thee, 
 Whose crimes have stirr'd up ocean from its 
 bottom. 
 
 Labr. Fool ! to have listenVl to thy vain i)re- 
 tences. 
 That ill thy country I from girls shoidd draw 
 Huge profit, and amass a world of riches ! 
 
 Charm. Why, thou unclean, unhallow"d beast, 
 didst think 
 To gobble up all Sicily at a mouthful? 
 
 Labr. I wonder what sea-beast has gobbled up 
 My wallet, with the treasure packM within it. 
 
 Charm. The same, I fancy, that has got my 
 pouch. 
 With all its silver, which was in the wallet. 
 
 Labr. Alas! I am reduced to this one waistcoat, 
 And this poor shabby cloak. — Undone for ever! 
 
 Charm. We may set up in partnership together ; 
 Our means are equal. 
 
 Labr. Were the damsels saved, 
 
 Some hope were left me. — Now, if Pleusidippus, 
 Who gave me earnest for Pala-stra, see me, 
 'Twill cause me much vexation, (^he mcs.) 
 
 Charm. Prithee, oaf, 
 
 Why dost thou blubber thus? — Thou'lt never 
 
 want. 
 While thou canst wag a tongue; thy perjury 
 Will quit all payments. 
 
 Scene X. 
 
 Enter ScEPARNio, from the temple. 
 
 What can be the matter. 
 
 That these two damsels here in Venus' temple 
 
 Should so bewail them, and embrace her image ? 
 
 They have I know not what strange fears: — they 
 
 talk 
 Of having been last night toss'd on the sea, 
 Atid cast on shore this morning. 
 
 Labr. (overhearing.) Prithee, youth, 
 
 Where are the damsels, whom you mention? 
 
 Seep. Here 
 
 In Venus' temple. 
 
 Labr. And how many arc they? 
 
 Seep. As many as you aiul I make, put together. 
 
 Labr. Undoubtedly they're mine. 
 
 Seep. Undoubtedly 
 
 I know not that. 
 
 Labr. Of what appearance are they? 
 
 Seep. Good likely wenches. — Were I in my 
 cups, 
 I could make shift to toy with either of them. 
 
 Labr. And young, forsooth. 
 
 Seep. Forsooth you're plaguy troublesome. 
 
 Go, if you will, and see. 
 
 Labr. Dear Cliarmidcs, 
 
 Sure they must be my wenches. 
 
 Charm. Jove confound thee, 
 
 Whether they are or not. 
 
 Labr. I'll go directly 
 
 Into the temple. 
 
 Charm. Go into a dungeon, 
 
 I care not. [Exit Lab rax. 
 
348 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Scene XI. 
 Chahmides and Sceparnio. 
 
 Charm. Priihee now show me some place, 
 Where I may sleep, good friend. 
 
 Seep. Sleep where you will; 
 
 There's no one hinders; the highway is common. 
 
 Charm. Dye seel my clothes heie are wet 
 through : then take me 
 Into thy house, lend me some fresh apparel, 
 While mine is drying: thou shalt have my thanks. 
 
 Seep. Here, you may take this coarse frock, if 
 yon will, 
 It"s all that I have dry : it serves to shelter me 
 In rainy weather. Come, give me your clothes ; 
 111 get them dried. 
 
 Charm. So ! is it not enough 
 
 The sea has made a broken merchant of me. 
 But thou wouldst take me in, too, on the land? 
 
 Seep. Broken or whole, I value not a straw : 
 I shall not trust a rag without a pawn. 
 Whether you sweat or freeze, are sick or well, 
 I will not let a stranger in the house : 
 No, no, I ve had enough of rogues already. 
 
 [Exit Sceparnio. 
 
 Scene XII. 
 Charmides alone. 
 What! is he gone? — Why sure this fellow deals, 
 Whoe'er he is, in girl's flesh, he's so merciless. 
 Wet as I am, why stand I here? 'twere best 
 To go into the temple, and sleep off 
 Last night's debauch, which went against my 
 
 stomach. 
 Old Neptune drench'd us with his damn'd sea- 
 water 
 As though 't had been Greek wine, and so he 
 
 hoped 
 To burst our bellies with his briny draughts. 
 Troth, had he plied us but a little longer. 
 We had been fast asleep, and now indeed 
 He has sent us home half dead. — Well, I'll go in. 
 And see what's doing by my pot companion. 
 
 [Goes into the temple. 
 
 Act III. Scene I. 
 Enter D^mones. 
 How many ways the gods make sport of men ! 
 How strangely do they fool us in our dreams! 
 Even in sleep they will not let us rest. 
 As for example, I myself last night 
 Dreamt a most strange, and an unheavd-of dream. 
 Methought an ape made an attempt to climb 
 Up to a swallow's nest, nor could he take 
 The young ones out; on which he came to me. 
 And asked me for a ladder : I replied. 
 That swallows sprang fiom Philomel and Progne, 
 And charged him not to hurt my country folks. 
 At this the ape grew much enraged, and seem'd 
 To threaten me with vengeance, summon'd me 
 Before a judge : at last, I know not how, 
 Hi-hly provok'd, I cau2;ht him by the middle, 
 And clapp'd the mischievous vile beast in chains. 
 I have in vain endeavour'd to find out 
 The meaning of this dream. — But hark! what 
 noise 
 
 Is that I hear in the adjoining temple? 
 I am amazed, and marvel what it means. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Trachalio from the temple, hastily. 
 Track. Help, help, Cyrenians, I implore your 
 help. 
 Good countrymen, friends, neighbours; lend your 
 
 aid 
 To impotent distress, and crush at once 
 This worst of villainies : let not the power 
 Of wicked men oppress the innocent. 
 Who glory not in crimes : let punishment 
 Wait on bold vice, reward on modest virtue : 
 
 let us live by law, and not oppression I 
 Run, run into the temple : I again 
 Implore your help, all that are near me, all 
 That hear my cry 1 O haste to bring them succour, 
 Who (as allow'd by custom) have here fled 
 
 To Venus and her priestess for protection. — 
 Break, break the neck of this vile injury, 
 Ere it may reach yourselves. 
 
 Deem. Now what's the matter ? 
 
 Track. good old gentleman, whoe'er you are, 
 
 1 do beseech you by these knees, — 
 
 DcBm. Nay, prithee 
 
 Let go my knees, and tell me, what's the matter? 
 What mean you by this uproar? 
 
 Track. I beseech you, 
 
 As you would hope a fair and prosperous vintage, 
 As you would make your exportations safe 
 To Capua, as you would wish to keep your eye- 
 sight 
 Clear and exempt from running, — 
 
 Deem. Are you mad? 
 
 Track. As you expect, I say, a plenteous crop. 
 Be not averse to hear what I request. 
 
 Deem. And I beseech you by your legs and 
 back. 
 As you would hope a fair and prosperous whip- 
 ping. 
 As you expect a plenteous crop of lashes, 
 Inform me, what's the matter ? whence this up- 
 roar ? 
 
 Track. Why do you speak me ill? I wish'd 
 you good. 
 
 Deem. I do not speak you ill in wishing you 
 What you deserve. 
 
 Track. Pray mind me. 
 
 Deem. What's the matter ? 
 
 Track. Two innocent young damsels in the 
 temple 
 Need your assistance . they are basely used 
 Gainst law and justice ; the poor priestess too 
 Is treated most unworthily. 
 
 Deem. Who dares 
 
 Do violence to the priestess? — But these girls, 
 Who are they? how are they abused? 
 
 Track. I'll tell you. 
 
 If you'll attend. — They now embrace the statue. 
 Which a vile rogue would drag them from by 
 
 force, 
 Though they are both born free. 
 
 Deem. What is the fellow, 
 
 That pays so little reverence to the gods? 
 
 Track. A cheat, a profligate, a parricide, 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 349 
 
 A perjur'd, lawless villain : in one word, 
 He's a procurer : I need say no more. 
 
 Diem. Yoii've said enough to prove he deserves 
 hanging. 
 
 Trarh. A rascal ! — ho had the insolence to take 
 The i)ricstess by the throat. 
 
 D(Pm. And lie shall pay for't. 
 
 Turbalio! Sparax ! ho, come forth! where are 
 you? 
 
 Trarh. Pray, sir, go in, and take their part. 
 
 Dam. I warrant you 
 
 I need not call twice : they'll be here directly. 
 
 jE;i/tT.TuRBAi.io and Sparax. 
 Deem. Come, follow me. {goes with his servants 
 
 into tht temple.^ 
 Trnrh. , Bid them to tear his eyes out. 
 
 Dam. (^u-ithin.') Seize him, drag him along with 
 his feet foremost, 
 Like a stuck pig.* 
 
 Trach. {listening.') I hear a rout within. 
 They're currying him, I fancy, with their fists: 
 I wish they'd knock his teeth out, a vile rascal! 
 But see, here come the damsels sadly frighten'd. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Pal;estra and Ampelisca appear in the temple 
 court. 
 
 Pal. Now are we destitute of every power. 
 Of every succour and defence, no hope 
 Of safety left us, neither do we know 
 Which way to turn, or whither to betake us. 
 Dire apprehensions compass us around. 
 Such outrage have we suffer'd here within 
 From the base rogue our master, who most rudely 
 Push'd down the good old priestess, treated her 
 With the most vile indignities, and dragg'd us 
 With violence from the statue. — Seeing then 
 Our state is desperate, it were best to die. 
 Death is the only refuge in affliction. 
 
 Trach. What do I hear? what sad complaints 
 are these ? 
 Why don't I go and comfort them? — Pala-stra! 
 
 Pal. Who calls there? 
 
 Trach. Ampelisca! 
 
 Jmp. Ha! who's that? 
 
 Pal. Who is it calls us? 
 
 Trarh. Turn, and you will know. 
 
 Pal. {turning.) O my best hopes of safety ! 
 
 Trach. No more wailings : 
 
 Be of good heart: have faith in me. 
 
 Pal. If possible, 
 
 save and shelter us from impious violence. 
 Lest it should force me to do violence 
 
 To my own self. 
 
 Trach. No more : — you are a fool. 
 
 ^mp. Seek not to comfort us with words alone. 
 
 Pal. Except you find a real safeguard for us, 
 We are undone; and I'm resolv'd to die 
 Sooner than fall into this villain's power 
 Yet have I but a woman's heart; for when 
 
 1 think on death, I tremble. 
 
 Trarh. Though your case 
 
 Is hard, have a good heart. 
 
 * Quasi oeeiaam suem. 
 
 Pal. Where shall I find it? 
 
 Trach. Don't be dismay'd, sit down here by 
 this altar. 
 
 Pal. What can this altar now avail us more 
 Than did the statue, which we late enibrac'd, 
 'Till dragg'd from it by force? 
 
 Trarh. Do but sit down, 
 
 I'll guard you: let this altar be your i'ortress, 
 I will defend the work: with Venus' help 
 I'll stand against the attacks of this procurer. 
 
 Pal. Wtvll follow your instructions. — 
 ( The tvomen advance towards the altar, and kneel.) 
 
 Gentle Venus ! 
 
 Thus lowly on our knees, and bathed in tears, 
 Embracing this your altar, we beseech you. 
 Guard anil receive us into your protection : 
 Avenge you on those miscreants, who dare slight 
 Your temple, and permit us to approach 
 Your altar, who last night by Neptune's power 
 Were cast away: hold us not in scorn, 
 Nor think it done amiss, that tliBs we come 
 Less seemingly accoutred than we ought. 
 
 Trach. They ask but what is right, and you 
 should grant it: 
 You must forgive them : their sad apprehensions 
 Force them to what they do. Yourself, they say, 
 Sprung from the ocean, slight not then these out- 
 casts. 
 But the old gentleman, our common friend. 
 Comes opportunely here from out the temple. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Djemones, dragging Labrat. 
 Deem. Come forth, thou worst of sacrilegious 
 villains. 
 {to the women.) You, seat you by the altar there. — 
 
 Where are they? 
 Where are my slaves? 
 
 Trach. Look, here they are. 
 
 Dam. That's well. 
 
 A Servant. We'd fain be at him : bid him but 
 
 come near. 
 Dam. {to Lab., tvho is going towards the altar.) 
 How, rascal! would you sacrifice with us? 
 
 {to the servants.) 
 Lay your fists on him. (they beat him.) 
 
 Labr. I must bear your wrongs, 
 
 But you shall pay for't. 
 
 Dam. Does he dare to threaten ? 
 
 Labr. You rob me of my right; you take away 
 My girls in spite of me. 
 
 Dam. Malce your appeal 
 
 To any of the great ones of the senate ; 
 And let hiin try the cause, whether they are 
 
 yours. 
 Or else born free ; and whether too your knave- 
 ship 
 Should not be clapji'd in prison, there to lie 
 Till you have worn it out. 
 
 Labr. I have no business 
 
 To talk with this hang-gallows slave. — 
 {speaking to Dam.) 'Tis you, 
 
 That 1 must try the cause with. 
 
 Dam. First of all 
 
 Try it with him, who is no stranger to you. 
 Labr. My suit's with you. 
 2E 
 
3:o 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Track. Your suit must be with me. 
 
 Are these your property ? 
 
 Lultr. They are. 
 
 Track. Come on then, 
 
 Do but touch either witli your little finger. 
 
 Labr. What if I do '> 
 
 Track. I'll make a football of you, 
 
 Swing you about in air, and with my fists 
 Bandy you to and fro, you perjur"d villain! 
 
 Labr. May I not take my own girls from the 
 altar? 
 
 Dam. You may not ; that's our law. 
 
 Labr. Ive no concern, 
 
 Nothing to do, no business with your laws : 
 111 take them both aM'ay. — Lookye, old gentleman, 
 If you've a liking to them, you must down 
 With the hard money. 
 
 Dam. Venus does approve them. 
 
 Labr. And she may have them, if she'll pay 
 the money. 
 
 Deem. I'll pay the money! Now then know 
 my mind : 
 If you dare ofier them the smallest violence, 
 Though but in jest, 111 give you such a dressing. 
 You will not know yourself — 
 (to his servants.) And you, ye rascals, 
 
 If, when I give the signal, you don't tear 
 His eyes out of his head, I'll have you bound 
 With rods lash'd round you, like those sprigs of 
 myrtle. 
 
 Labr. Nay, this is violence. 
 
 Track. You burning shame ! 
 
 What, do you talk of violence ? 
 
 Labr. You knave, 
 
 You gallows rogue, how dare you to abuse me? 
 
 Truck. Well, let me be a rogue, and you, for- 
 sooth, 
 A man of strictest honesty, — these girls, 
 Are they a whit less free ? 
 
 Labr. Free, say you ? 
 
 Track. Yes, 
 
 And are your mistresses; both born in Greece; 
 One an Athenian, sprung from gentle parents. 
 
 Dam. What do I hear you say ? 
 
 Track. That she is free ; 
 
 Was born at Athens. 
 
 Dam. How! my countrywoman? 
 
 Track. What ! are not you, sir, a Cyrenian ? 
 
 Dam. No : 
 
 In Greece, at Athens, I was born and bred. 
 
 Track. I pray you then, defend your country- 
 women. 
 
 Dam. (aside.) O my dear daughter ! — when I 
 look on her. 
 The want of you reminds me of my troubles. — 
 I lost her when but three years old, and now. 
 If she yet live, her size must be the same. 
 
 Labr. I bought them both, paid down the 
 money for them 
 To him, that own'd them. — What is it to me, 
 If they were born at Athens or at Thebes, 
 So they are properly my slaves ? 
 
 Track. Thou impudence. 
 
 Thou cat o'monntain, thou vile girl-catcher,* 
 
 ♦ The original is Felis Virginalis. 
 
 Wouldst kidnap free-born children from their 
 
 parents, 
 And then employ them in thy filthy trade? — 
 This other here, what country she is of 
 I know not, but I know she's wortliier 
 Than you, you filthy knave. 
 
 Labr. Do you say true ? 
 
 Track. Nay, let our backs be vouchers for our 
 truth, 
 And if you have not off'erings on your back 
 More than a first-rate ship has nails, I'm then 
 The veriest liar upon earth. When yours 
 I have inspected, look at mine ; you'll find it 
 Tight and without a crack in't, that there's 
 
 never 
 A leathern-bottle-maker but will say. 
 My hide is whole, and fitting for his purpose. 
 Why don't I give the rogue his belly-full 
 Of stripes ? — Why stare so at them ? — If you touch 
 
 them, 
 I'll tear your eyes out. 
 
 Labr. Now, because you'd hinder me, 
 
 I'll take them both av/ay. 
 
 Dam. What will you do? 
 
 Labr. Fetch Vulcan ; he's an enemy to Venus. 
 [goes towards Damones^ door.) 
 Dam. Where is he going? 
 Labr. (calling at Damones' door.) 
 
 Hola ! who's within here ? 
 Dam. If you but touch the threshold of that 
 door, 
 A plenteous croj) of blows shall be your por- 
 tion. 
 A Servant. We have no fire ; we liv^e upon 
 
 dried figs. 
 Dam. I'll give you fire, provided I may kindle it 
 Upon your head. 
 
 Labr. Faith, I'll procure it somewhere. 
 
 Dam. What will you do then ? 
 Labr. Kindle a large fire. 
 
 Dam. To burn yourself. 
 
 Labr. To burn them both alive 
 
 Here at the altar. 
 
 Dam. I would fain see that. — 
 
 By heavens I'll catch you by the beard, and throw 
 
 you 
 Into the fire, then hang you up half-roasted 
 For birds to peck at. — (aside.) Now I think on't, 
 
 this 
 Must be the ape I dreamt of, who would needs 
 Have taken these young swallows from their 
 
 nests 
 Spite of my teeth. 
 
 Track. I do beseech you, sir. 
 
 Defend these maidens, while I fetch my master. 
 Dam. Go then. 
 
 Track. And let him not — 
 
 Dam. 'Tis at his peril, 
 
 If he dare touch them once, or e'en attempt it. 
 Track. You will take care. 
 Dam. I will take care. — Begone. 
 
 Track. And guard him too ; see that he don't 
 get oft": 
 For we have promis'd to deliver him 
 Up to the hangman's hands, or pay a talent. 
 
 [E.cit Tkachalio. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 351 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 DjKMOJTES, Labhax, PaljEstua, Ampelisca, atid 
 Servants. 
 
 Dam. {Jo Lalir.^ Which do you choose? to stay- 
 here quietly 
 Without a cliubljing, or be forcVl to"t with one? 
 
 Labr. Your words I value not a lig, old gen- 
 tleman. 
 I'll drag them from the altar by the hair 
 In spite of you, of Venus, or of Jove. 
 
 Dcpin. Do, touch them. 
 
 Labr. {going towards them.') That I will, by 
 heavens. 
 
 Dmti. Come on then. 
 
 Do but step hither. 
 
 Labr. Bid those fellows then 
 
 Move off. 
 
 Dam. Nay, nay, they shall move up towards 
 you. 
 
 Labr. I would not have them. 
 
 Deem. Why? What will you do. 
 
 If they advance still nearer? 
 
 Labr. I'll retire. 
 
 But harkye me, old grey-beard; if I ever 
 Should chance to light upon you in the city. 
 Let me forswear the name of pimp for aye, 
 But I will make most precious sport with you. 
 
 Deem. Do what you menace when you please : 
 meantime 
 If now you touch them, you shall pay for"t hugely. 
 
 Labr. How! hugely? 
 
 D(Pm. Aye, as such a pimp deserves. 
 
 Labr. I value not your threats, but I will seize 
 them 
 Spite of your teeth. 
 
 Dam. Do, touch them, if you dare. 
 
 Labr. Faith, that I will. 
 
 Deem. Do then, you know the consequence. 
 Turbalio, run with all your speed, and bring 
 Two cudgels. 
 
 Labr. Cudgels? 
 
 Deem. Stout ones let them be : 
 
 Make haste. [Turbalio goes in. 
 
 (to Labr.) I'll give you a reception, such 
 As you deserve, you rascal ! 
 
 Labr. {aside.) Woe is me! 
 
 That I have left my head-piece in the ship ! 
 Now, if I had it, it would be of service. — 
 {to Dmn.) May I not speak to them at least? 
 
 Deem. You may not. 
 
 (Turbalio enters, bearing two cudgels.) 
 
 Oh, here he comes, the fellow with his cudgels. 
 
 Labr. These are desigu'd for music, and they 
 cause 
 A most melodious tinkling in tlie ears. 
 
 Dam. Here, Spara.\, do you take that other 
 cudgel : 
 One of you stand on this side, and tlie other 
 On that side of the altar. — Mind me now. — 
 If he but lay a finger on these girls. 
 Against their inclination, woe be to you. 
 If you don't briskly ply him with your cu<lgels, 
 "Till, like a drunkard, he shall scarce be able 
 To find his way home. — If he speaks to any one, 
 You answer in their stead : and if he olfers 
 
 To run away, straight hamper him, by making 
 Your cudgels serve as fetters for his legs. 
 
 Labr. What! won't they let me go about my 
 
 business? 
 Dam. I've said enough. — When that the ser- 
 vant comes. 
 Who went to fetch his master, then go home. — 
 See that you carefully observe my orders. 
 
 [Exit D.SMON'ES. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Labrax and Servants. The two Wotnen, as 
 before. 
 
 Labr. {walking on one side.) Heyday! the tem- 
 ple's on a sudden cliang'd 
 From Venus' to that of Hercules : 
 For the old gentleman has planted here 
 Two figures with their clubs. — Now for my life 
 I know not where to take me ; — sea and land 
 Are both conspir'd against me. — Palasstra! 
 
 Serv. What would you? 
 
 Labr. Hold ! we're at cross purposes: 
 
 This is not my Paliestra, that has answer'd. 
 Ho Ampelisca! 
 
 Serv. 'Ware thee of mishap. 
 
 Labr. These fellows give me good advice, 
 however. 
 But tell me, ho ! will there be any harm, 
 If I come nearer them ? 
 
 Serv. No harm to us. 
 
 Labr. Will there be any harm to me? 
 
 Serv. No, none, 
 
 If you beware. 
 
 Labr. Of what must I beware? 
 
 Serv. A hearty drubbing. 
 
 Labr. I beseech you now, 
 
 Permit me to depart. 
 
 Serv. Go, if you will. 
 
 Labr. Very obliging this : I give you thanks : 
 No, I II draw nearer rather to my girls. 
 
 Serv. Stay where you are. 
 
 Labr. 'Fore heaven my aff"airs 
 
 Are in a piteous plight. — But I'm resolv'd 
 To lay close siege, and force them to surrender. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 Enter Pleusidippus and Trachalio, talking, at 
 
 a distance. 
 
 Picas. What! would the rascal drag her ofl' 
 ]ierforce. 
 By violence from the altar? 
 
 Track. Even so. 
 
 rivus. Did you not kill the villain on the spot? 
 
 Track. There was no sword at hand. 
 
 Picas. You shoukl have taken 
 
 A club or stone. 
 
 Track. Should I have ston'd the lellow, 
 
 Have ston'd him like a dog? 
 
 Plctts. Yes, such a villain. 
 
 Labr. {seeing tkem.) Now I'm undone indeed. — 
 Here's Pleusidippus: 
 He'll brush my jacket for me; aye, he'll give me 
 A thorough dusliug. 
 
 Pleus. Were the damsels silting 
 
 Then by the altar, when you went for me ? 
 
 Track. Yes, and are sitting now there. 
 
352 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Who protects them ? 
 gentleman, I know not 
 
 Flcus. 
 
 Truck. A <2;oo(l oUl 
 whuiii, 
 Who lives close by the temple : he has been 
 Of special use, and of most rare assistance. 
 He and his servants now protect and guard them : 
 I gave them to their charge. 
 
 Pleiis. Conduct me straight 
 
 To the procurer: show me, where's the villain? 
 
 [they advance.) 
 
 Lubr. [to Plcus.) Good morrow. 
 
 Pleus. Hang good morrow ; take your choice 
 This instant, whether you'd be carried gently 
 Before a judge, or dragg'd there by the throat. 
 Choose which you will, while 'tis allow'd you. 
 
 Labr. Neither. 
 
 Pleus. Traclmlio, run with speed to the seaside, 
 And bid the friends I brought along with me 
 To meet me forthwith at the city gate. 
 That they may help to drag this knave to prison: 
 That done, come back again, and guard these 
 damsels. [Exit Trachalio. 
 
 Scene VHI. 
 
 Pleusidippus, Labhax, Sehtants, and the 
 Women as before. 
 
 Pleus. Yes, T will bear this rascal runaway 
 Before the jiulge. — Come, come before the judge. 
 
 Labr. What is my crime ? 
 
 Plcus. Crime, ask you? — Did you not 
 
 Take earnest of me for this damsel here, 
 Then bore her ofl'? 
 
 Labr. I did not bear her off. 
 
 Pleus. Will you deny it? 
 
 Labr. Yes, because I only 
 
 Bore her on board ; I could not bear her off, 
 The more is my mishap. — Did I not say, 
 That you should find me here at Venus" temple ? 
 Wherein then have I falsified my word ? 
 Am I not here ? 
 
 Pleus. Nay, you shall plead your cause 
 
 Before the magistrate : 111 hear no more. — 
 Come, come along, [lays hold of him.) 
 
 Labr. [calling.^ Help! help! — Dear Charmides! 
 I'm laid hold of, dragg'd here by the throat. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 Enter CHAiiJiinES from the teiftple. 
 
 Charm. Who calls me by my name? 
 
 Labr. 
 How I am dragg'd ? 
 
 Charm. 
 With pleasure. 
 
 Lubr. Wilt not come to my assistance? 
 
 Charm. Who has got hold of thee ? 
 
 Labr. Young Pleusidippus. 
 
 Charm. Bear thy mishap with patience ; thou 
 hadst better 
 Slink quietly to jail : why thou hast got 
 What most men wish for. 
 
 Lalir. What is that ? 
 
 Charm. To find 
 
 What they are seeking. 
 
 Labr. Prithee bear me company. 
 
 Charm. Troth, thy request is like thee : tho\i 
 art drag" d 
 
 Dost thou not see 
 I see it, and look on 
 
 To jail, and thou wouldst have me bear thee 
 
 company. 
 What! hanging back? 
 
 Lubr. I'm undone for ever. 
 
 Pleus. Would it were true ! — Do you, my dear 
 Paltestra, 
 And Ampelisca, tarry here the while, 
 Till my return. 
 
 Scrv. I would advise them rather 
 
 To go to our house, and there wait your coming. 
 
 Pleus. I like it : you oblige me. 
 
 Lubr. Ye are thieves. 
 
 Se7~v. How ! thieves ? 
 
 Pleus. Drag him along • 
 
 Labr. Help! help! Palcestra! 
 
 Pleus. On, rascal! 
 
 Labr. Guest! 
 
 Charm. No guest of thine : I scorn 
 
 To be thy messmate. 
 
 Labr. Wilt thou slight me thus? 
 
 Charm. I do: I've tasted of thy cheer already. 
 
 Labr. Plague light upon thy head ! 
 
 Charm. On thine, say rather. 
 
 [Pleusidippus drags Labhax off. The Women 
 
 and Servants go into D.emones" house. 
 
 Scene X. 
 Charmides alone. 
 I do believe, that men are metamorphos'd, 
 Some into one brute, some into another. 
 This rascal pimp here on my faith I think 
 Is chaug'd into a stock-dove, for ere long 
 They'll have him in the stocks, and in the cage 
 For jail-birds like himself, he'll (uake his nest. 
 However I will go and be his advocate. 
 If by my help he may be sooner cast. [Exit. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 Enter D.ejiones. 
 'Twas a right deed, and 'tis a pleasure to me, 
 That I could serve these damsels. — I am now 
 Their patron and protector. They are both 
 Of a rave age and beauty; but the jade. 
 My wife, still watches me on every side, 
 Lest I should show a liking to the damsels. — 
 I marvel what my slave Gripus is doing. 
 Who went last riight a fishing on the sea : 
 He had been wiser, had he slept at home. 
 Such weather, such a night: what he has caught, 
 I'll dress within the hollow of my hand, 
 The sea was so tempestuous, [he is called.) But 
 
 my wife 
 Calls me to dinner; I must home again ; 
 Though she will stun my ears with her vile 
 
 prattle. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Gripus. 
 Thanks to my patron Neptune, whose abode 
 Is in the briny regions stor'd with fishes. 
 Since he has sent me fronr his wat'ry realms 
 Full fraught, and laden with the choicest booty; 
 My boat too safe, which in the stonuy sea 
 Has blest me witli El new and plenteous fishing. 
 'Twas a rare chance this kind of fishery, 
 How very wondrous and incredible ! 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 353 
 
 I have not caught me an ounce weight of fish, 
 
 Save what I liave here in my net. I rose 
 
 At midnight all alert, preferring gain 
 
 To rest and sleep; and though the tempest roar'd, 
 
 I lalx)ur'd to relieve my master's wants, 
 
 And help me in my state of servitude. 
 
 I never have been sparing of my pains. 
 
 Tl;e sluggard's good for nothing: I detest 
 
 Sufh kind of fellows. He, who in good time 
 
 Would do his duty, should be vigilant, 
 
 Not wait, till he is rous'd tot by his master. 
 
 Those who love sleep, indulge it to their cost; 
 
 They get no profit, and are sure to suffer. 
 
 I, who was ever diligent, have found 
 
 That which will keep me lazy, if I will. 
 
 I found it in the sea, whatever's in it. 
 
 Whatever's in it, by my faith 'tis heavy. 
 
 I think there's gold in't. Not a soul besides 
 
 Is privy to the chance. Now, Gripus, now 
 
 Thou hast a fair occasion to procure 
 
 Thy freedom of the pra'tor. This I'll do, 
 
 This I'm detennin'd. 111 address my master 
 
 With art and cunning, proffer him a sum 
 
 By little and by little for my freedom : 
 
 When I am free, I'll purchase house and lands, 
 
 And slaves, and fit out vessels, and engage 
 
 In ti-aflic ; among kings I'll be a king. 
 
 And then for my amusement I will build 
 
 A pleasure-barge, and copy Stratonicus : 
 
 111 sail about from place to place: and when 
 
 My greatness is notorious, I will found 
 
 A mighty city, and will call it Gripus 
 
 After my own name, as a monument 
 
 Of my exploits and fame : there I'll erect 
 
 A potent monarchy. — My mind's resolv'd 
 
 On high and mighty matters. — But 'twere best 
 
 To hide this wallet ; and this king must dine 
 
 On salt and vinegar, no better cheer, (g^oing.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Trachalio. 
 
 Track. Ho! stay there — 
 
 Grip. Stay! for what? 
 
 Track. Till I roll up 
 
 This rope* here, which you're dragging after you. 
 
 Grip. Let it alone, pray. 
 
 Truck. But I must assist you. 
 
 Kindness on good men is not thrown away. 
 
 Grip. The weather yesterday was very bois- 
 terous : 
 I have no fish, young man ; don't think I have. 
 And don't yon see, 1 bring my net home wet 
 With nothing in't ! 
 
 Track. It is not fish I want. 
 
 But only to discourse with you. 
 
 Grip. You kill me (^going.^ 
 
 With your impertinence, whoe'er you are. 
 
 Track, (^holding him.) I will not let you go. — 
 Stay. 
 
 Grip. See that you 
 Repent not. — What a plague d'ye pull me back 
 for? 
 
 Track. Hear me. 
 
 Grip. I will not hear. 
 
 * Hence the name of the play in the original. 
 45 
 
 Track. Nay but you shall. 
 
 Grip. Another time say what you will. 
 
 Track. But good now, 
 
 What I've to tell you is of moment. 
 
 Grip. Speak, 
 
 What is it? 
 
 Track. See, if no one is behind us. 
 
 Grip. And how am I concern'd in't? 
 
 Track. Very much. 
 
 But can you give me good advice? 
 
 Grip. What is it? 
 
 Tell me. 
 
 Track. I'll tell you, — hist, — if you will promise 
 Not to betray me. 
 
 Grip. Well then, I do promise 
 
 Not to betray you, whosoe'er you are. 
 
 Track. List then. I saw a man commit a theft. 
 And knew the owner, whom the goods belong'd to. 
 Straight comes I to the thief, and otfeis him 
 This fair proposal. Of your theft, quodi I, 
 I'm witness, and I know the owner : now 
 If you will give me half, I'll not discover it. 
 The fellow makes me no reply. What think you 
 It were but just that he should give me? Half, 
 I hope you'll say. 
 
 Grip. Ay truly that, and more : 
 
 If he don't give it, you should tell the owner. 
 
 Track. I'll do as you advise nie. — 3Iind me 
 now : 
 For this is your concern. 
 
 Grip. How my concern ? 
 
 Track. That wallet; I have known the owner 
 long. 
 
 Grip. What's that? 
 
 IVach. And how 'twas lost. 
 
 Grip. And how 'twas found 
 
 I know, and who 'twas found it, and I know 
 Who is the owner now : but what is that 
 To you or me? I know whose it is now, 
 You whose it was. No one shall have it from me : 
 Think not to get it. 
 
 Track. If the owner comes. 
 
 Shall he not have it? 
 
 Gi-ip. No one is the owner,— 
 
 Don't be mistaken, — no one but myself. 
 Who caught it when a fishing. 
 
 Track. Dill you so ? 
 
 Grip. What fish is in the sea, that is not mine ? 
 As soon as I have caught them, they are mine; 
 I hold them for my own, at my disposal ; 
 And no one claims a part: I sell them all 
 As my own property in open market. 
 The sea is common unto all. 
 
 Track. Agreed : 
 
 This wallet then, why should it not be common 
 'Twixt you and me? you found it in the sea; 
 'Tis common then. 
 
 Grip. Was ever such assurance? 
 
 If this were law you talk of, we poor fishermen 
 Would be undone ; for soon as e'er our fish 
 Were brought to market, and exposed to sale. 
 No one would buy, but every one would claim 
 A portion of the fish, crying, forsooth. 
 That we had caught them in the sea that's common. 
 
 'Track. How say you, sauce-box ? Will you dare 
 to place 
 
 2e2 
 
354 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 A wallet in comparison with fish? 
 Think you, they are the same? 
 
 Grijj. When I have thrown 
 
 My net in, 'tis no longer in my power: 
 Whatever sticks to it, I haul it up, 
 And what my net has got, is mine alone. 
 
 Track. Nay but it is not, if you catch a wallet. 
 
 Grip. O rare philosopher I 
 
 Track. Good conjurer, 
 
 Did you e'er know a fisherman, that caught 
 A wallet-fish, or carried one to market? 
 Would you be jack of all trades as you like? 
 Would you, you rascal, deal in wallets too 
 As well as be a fisherman ? But now 
 Sliow^ me what kind of fish a wallet is, 
 Or you shall carry nothing off, that was not 
 Bred in the sea, and has not scales. 
 
 Grip. What, never 
 
 Heard of a wallet-fish before? 
 
 Track. You villain ! 
 
 There's no such fish. 
 
 Grip. Nay verily there is; 
 
 And I, who am a fisherman, must know: 
 But it is rarely caught : no fish so seldom 
 Comes to our coast. 
 
 Track. That will avail you nought, 
 
 You gallows knave ; d'ye think you can deceive 
 me^ 
 
 What colour is it of? 
 
 Grip. There are but few 
 
 Caught of this colour: some are red, some black, 
 And some are very large. 
 
 Track. I understand you. 
 
 You will be chang'd into a wallet-fish. 
 Unless you have a care : first you'll be red, 
 Then black. 
 
 Grip. What rascal have I stumbled on? 
 
 Track. Tliis is mere talking, and we waste 
 the day. 
 Whose arbitration, say, shall we abide by ? 
 
 Grip. The wallet's. 
 
 Track. Ay indeed! — You are a fool. 
 
 Grip. Fare you well, Thales ! {^going.^ 
 
 Track, (holding kirn.) Nay you shall not have it, 
 Unless you place it in some person's hands, 
 And choose an umpire to decide betwixt us. 
 
 Grip. What, are you mad ? 
 
 Track. I'm drunk with hellebore. 
 
 Grip. I'm Ceres-struck, but 111 not part with 
 this. 
 
 Track. Speak but another word, I'll knock 
 your brains out; 
 If you don't let it go, like a new spunge, 
 I'll suck up every drop of moisture in you. 
 
 GnjB. Touch me, and I will dash you to the 
 ground 
 Flat as a flounder. — Will you fight? 
 
 Track. What need 
 
 Of fighting? rather let us share the booty. 
 
 Gi-ip. You will get nothing but your own mis- 
 hap, 
 So don't expect it. I'll be gone, (g-oing.) 
 
 Track. But I 
 
 Will make your vessel tack about to stop you. 
 
 Grip. If you are at the poop, I'll keep at stern. 
 Let go the rope, you rascal. 
 
 Track. Let it go? 
 
 Do you let go the wallet. 
 
 Grip. You'll not be 
 
 A fig the better now for all that's in it. 
 
 Track. Your bare denial is no proof to me, 
 But you must either let me have a share on't, 
 Or you must place it in some person's hands, 
 And choose an umpire to decide betwixt us. 
 
 Grip. How! what I caught at sea? — 
 
 Track. I saw from shore. 
 
 Grip. With ray own pains, my own net, iny 
 own boat? 
 
 Track. What if the owner come, whose pro- 
 perty 
 It is, shall I, who saw you from afar 
 Take it, be counted less a thief than you? 
 
 Grip. No, certainly, (^offers to go.) 
 
 Track. Stay, rascal. By what argument 
 
 Am I to be a thief, and not a sharer ? 
 Give me to know. 
 
 Gi'ip. I can't, nor do I know 
 
 Your city laws; but this is mine, I'll stand to it. 
 
 Track. I say 'tis mine too. 
 
 Grip. Hold — I've found a method, 
 
 How you may neither be the thief nor sharer. 
 
 Track. Ah! how is that? 
 
 Crrip. Let me depart in peace, 
 
 Do you go your own way, and hold your tongue : 
 You shall tell no one, and I'll give you nothing: 
 You shall be silent, I'll be silent too. 
 This is the best, the fairest thing that can be. 
 
 Track. What! will you make me no proposal? 
 
 Grip. Yes ; 
 
 I have already. — ''That you should be gone, 
 Let go tlie rope, and trouble me no longer." 
 
 Track. Stay ; will you take my ofler ? 
 
 Grip. Prithee take 
 
 Yourself away. 
 
 Track. Do you know any one 
 
 Lives hereabouts? 
 
 Grip. Sure I must know my neighbours. 
 
 Track. Where do you live? 
 
 Grip. Far off in yonder fields. 
 
 Truck. Say, will you leave it to his arbitration. 
 Who lives here in this house? 
 
 (^poiuting to Damones' koiise.) 
 
 Grip. Let go the rope 
 
 A little, while I step apart, and think on't. — 
 (aside.) Bravo! all's safe: the jirize is all my own. 
 The fellow smnmons me on ray own dunghill. 
 Chooses my master for an arbitrator ! 
 I dare be sworn, he will not give a doit 
 Au-ay from his o^vn servant. Sure the fool 
 Is not aware of what he has proposed. — 
 (to Track.) Well, III attend you to the arbitrator. 
 
 Track. What should you do else? 
 
 G 
 
 rip. 
 
 Though I know for certain 
 
 This is my lawfid right, I'll do so rather 
 Than go to boxing with you. 
 
 Track. Now you please me. 
 
 Grip. Though I'm call'd before an arbitrator, 
 Who is a stranger, and unknown to me, 
 If he but do me justice, though unknown, 
 It is the same as though we were acquainted. 
 If not, though known, he's as an utter stranger. 
 (^tkey advance towards Dcemcmes' house.) 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 355 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Enter D^mones, with Paljestra and Ampelisca ; 
 the two servants behind. 
 
 Defvi. Faith seriously, my girls, I wish to do 
 What you yourselves wish, but I fear, my wife 
 On your account would thrust me out of doors, 
 Pretending that I brought my misses home 
 Under her nose, before her eyes. — Do you then. 
 Rather than I, take refuge at the altar.* 
 
 Pal. and jlmp. We are undone ! 
 
 Dam. Fear nothing: I'll protect you. 
 (^o the se7-va7its.) What brought you out of doors? 
 
 Why do you follow me? 
 While I am present, no one shall molest them. 
 So, get ye in, I say, and there stand sentinel. 
 
 Grip. Save you, good master. 
 
 Derm. How now, Gripus? Save you. 
 
 Trach. Is this your servant? 
 
 Grip. Yes, and no disgrace to him. 
 
 Trach. I've nothing to do with you. 
 
 Grip. Get you gone then. 
 
 Trach. I pray you, tell me, sir ; is tliis your 
 servant? 
 
 Deem. He is. 
 
 Trach. So, — best of all then, if he is. 
 
 Dtem. What is the matter ? 
 
 Trach. He's an arrant rascal. 
 
 Dam. What has this arrant rascal done to 
 you? 
 
 Track. I would his legs were broke. 
 
 Deem. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 What is your contest now about? 
 
 Trach. I'll tell you. 
 
 Grip. Nay, / will tell you. 
 
 Trach. I will ; 'tis my business 
 
 To move the court. 
 
 Ch^ip. If you had any shame, 
 
 You would mcrve off. 
 
 Dtrm. Peace, Gripus, and attend. 
 
 Grip. What! shall he speak the first? 
 
 D(Fm. Attend, I say. 
 
 (to Trach.) Speak you. 
 
 Grip. And will you let a stranger speak 
 
 'Fore your own servant? 
 
 Trach. How impossible 
 
 To curb his tongue! — As I was telling you. 
 That curs'd procurer's wallet, whom you drove 
 Just now fi'oin Venus" temple, — lo ! he has it. 
 
 Grip. I have it not. 
 
 Trach. And will you dare deny 
 
 What I beheld myself, wiUi my own eyes? 
 
 Grip. Would you were blind, I say ! — S\ippose 
 I have it, 
 Or have it not, why d'ye concern yourself 
 With my aH'airs ? 
 
 Trach. It does concern me, whether 
 
 You have possession justly or unjustly. 
 
 Grip. I caught it, or I'd give you leave to hang 
 me. 
 Since in the sea I caught it with my net, 
 How is't more your's than mine ? 
 
 * Dxraones means, that if tho damsels did not quit liis 
 house, and retreat to the altar, he himself should be 
 obliged lo do it on account of his wife's resentment. 
 
 Trach. He would deceive you : 
 
 He has it, as I told you. 
 
 Grip. What d'ye say? 
 
 Israeli. If he's your servant, prithee keep him 
 under. 
 That I, whose right it is, may speak the first. 
 
 Grip. How ! would you have my master deal 
 with me, 
 As your's with you? though he may keep you 
 
 under, 
 Our master is not us'd to serve us so. 
 
 Diem. Faith he has match'd you there. — What 
 woidd you ? tell me. 
 
 Trach. I ask no share, no portion of the 
 wallet, 
 Nor did I say 'twas mine : but there is in it 
 A little casket of that damsel's, who 
 I told you was free-born. 
 
 D(Pm. What her you mean, 
 
 My countrywoman, as you said ? 
 
 Trach. The same. 
 
 And in that casket, which is in the wallet, 
 There are some toys of her's, which when a 
 
 child 
 She had : to him they're of no use or service, 
 But if he give them her, may be the means 
 For her to find her parents. 
 
 D(Pm. Say no more, 
 
 I'll make him give them. 
 
 Grip. Troth, I'll give her nothing. 
 
 Trach. I ask but for the casket and those toys. 
 
 Grip. But what if they be gold ? 
 
 Trach. Suppose they are, 
 
 You shall have gold for gold, of equal value. 
 Silver for silver. 
 
 Grip. Let me see your gold. 
 
 And you shall see the casket. 
 
 D(T-m. Hold your tongue ; 
 
 Beware thee of a drubbing: — (to Track.") You go 
 on. 
 
 Trach. I pray you have compassion of this 
 damsel. 
 If it indeed be the procurer's wallet. 
 As I suppose it is; I do not say 
 'Tis his for certain, but 'tis my opinion. 
 
 Grip, (aside.) See how die rascal tries to catch 
 his favour ! 
 
 Trach. Let me proceed. — If 'tis the rascal's 
 wallet. 
 These girls will surely know it: — order him 
 To show it them. 
 
 Grip. How ! show it them ? 
 
 Dtrm. He asks 
 
 Nothing but what is reasonable, Gripus. 
 
 Grip. 'Tis most unreasonable. 
 
 Deem. Why ? 
 
 Grip. Because, 
 
 If I produce it, they will cry out at once 
 They know it truly. 
 
 Trach. Rascal ! do you think 
 
 That every body's like yourself? — false varlet! 
 
 Grip. I bear all this with patience, while my 
 master 
 Is on my side. 
 
 Trach. But now he is against you. 
 
 And that the casket will bear testimony. 
 
356 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Deem. Gripus, be silent and attend ! (Jo 
 Track.') Do you 
 Tell me in few, what is it you would have? 
 
 Track. I've told yon, and I'll tell it you again, 
 If yet sufficiently you understand not. 
 These damsels, I infonn'd you, are free-born ; 
 And one was stolen from Athens when a child. 
 
 Grip. But what is this pray to the wallet, 
 whether 
 They're slaves or free? 
 
 Track. You'd have me spend the day 
 
 In telling the whole o'er again, you villain! 
 
 Dam. Spare your abuses, and inform me 
 clearly 
 In what I ask. 
 
 Track. There should be in the wallet 
 
 A wicker casket, that contains some tokens 
 Which the poor girl may find her parents by, 
 And which she had, when stol'n a little child 
 From Athens, as I told you. 
 
 Grip. Jupiter, 
 
 And all the gods confound you ! Don't you see 
 The damsels are both dumb ? why cannot they 
 Speak for themselves? 
 
 Track. Because it more becomes 
 
 A woman to be silent than to talk. 
 
 Grip. Then by your talk you're neither man 
 nor woman. 
 
 Track. "Why? 
 
 Grip. Talk or not talk, you are good for 
 nothing. 
 (to Dam.) Pray, may I never be allow'd to 
 speak ? 
 
 Dam. Speak but another word, I'll break your 
 head. 
 
 Track. Pray, sir, command him to deliver up 
 That casket to the girls, and what reward 
 He asks for finding it, it shall be given : 
 What else is in the wallet, let him have. 
 
 Grip. Ah, so you say at last, now you're con- 
 vinc'd 
 I have a right to't, though e'en now you wanted 
 To go snacks with me. 
 
 Track. And I want it still. 
 
 Grip. So have I seen a kite stoop at his prey. 
 And yet get nothing. 
 
 Dam. Can't I stop your mouth 
 
 Without a drubbing? 
 
 Grip. If he's silent, I'll 
 
 Be silent too; but if he speak, let me too 
 Speak in my turn. 
 
 Dam. Give me the wallet, Gripus. 
 
 Grip. I'll trust it to you on condition you'll 
 Return it, if there's nothing in't of their's. 
 
 Dam. I will. 
 
 Grip. There — take it. (giving kim the wallet.) 
 
 Dam. Harkye me, Palsestra, 
 
 And Ampelisca, attend to what I say. — 
 Is this the wallet, that contains your casket? 
 
 Pal. The same. 
 
 Grip. So, — I'm undone, I find. — Before 
 
 She could well see it, she cries out, "The 
 same." 
 
 Pal. I'll make this matter plain, and clear up 
 all. 
 There is a wicker casket in that wallet; 
 
 And each particular that it contains 
 I'll reckon one by one : you shall not show me : 
 If wrong, my word will serve me in no stead, 
 Antl ail that's in the casket shall be your's ; 
 If right, I pray you let me have my own. 
 
 Deem. Agreed : she only asks for common jus- 
 tice. 
 In my opinion. 
 
 Track. And in mine. 
 
 Grip. But what 
 
 If she's a witch, and by that means should tell 
 What's in the casket? shall a witch then carry 
 it? 
 
 Dam. No, not unless she give a just account; 
 Her witchcraft shall not serve her, — Open then 
 The wallet; I would know the truth directly. 
 
 Grip, (opening it.) The deed is done ! — 'tis 
 open'd. — Ah ! I'm ruin'd ! 
 I see a casket. 
 
 Dam. Is this it ? 
 
 Pal. The same. 
 
 In this, my parents, are you lock'd ; in this 
 My hopes of finding you, and means are lodg'd. 
 
 Grip. Verily you deserve the gods' displea- 
 sure. 
 To cram your parents in so close a compass. 
 
 Dam. Come hither, Gripus ; — 'tis your cause is 
 trying. 
 (to Pal.) Harkye me, girl ; at distance where you 
 
 are 
 Tell the contents, and give a just description 
 Of each particular within the casket. 
 If in the smallest tittle you mistake. 
 Though afterwards you'd wish to speak the 
 
 truth, 
 I'd hold it nothing but egregious trifling. 
 
 Grip. You talk what's fair, and justice. 
 
 Track. Then of you 
 
 He talks not : you and justice are quite oppo- 
 site. 
 
 Dam. Speak, girl. — Gripus, give ear, and hold 
 your tongue. 
 
 Pal. There are some toys. 
 
 Dam. I see them. 
 
 Grip. I'm slain 
 
 At the first onset. — Hold, sir, — don't produce 
 them. 
 
 Deem. Describe them, — and recount them all 
 in order. 
 
 Pal. First, there's a little sword with an in- 
 scription. 
 
 Dam. What's the inscription ? 
 
 Pal. 'Tis my father's name. 
 
 Then, there's a little two-edg'd axe, of gold too. 
 Bearing the inscription of my mother's name. 
 
 Dam. Hold, — what's your father's name upon 
 the sword 1 
 
 Pal. "Tis Dffiinones. 
 
 Dam. ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Where are my hopes ? 
 
 Grip. Nay truly, where are mine ? 
 
 Dam. Proceed, I do beseech you, quickly. 
 
 Grip. Gently, 
 
 (asirfe.) Would you were hang'd ! 
 
 Dam. Tell me your mother's name 
 
 Upon the axe. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 357 
 
 Pal. 'Tis — Da'dalis. 
 
 Deem. The gods 
 
 Are anxious for my welfare. 
 
 Grip. And my ruin. 
 
 Dam. Why, Gripus, she must surely be my 
 
 daughter. 
 Grip. She may be so for me. {to Track.) May 
 all the gods 
 Confound you, that you chanc'd to spy me out; 
 And me too, that I did not look about me 
 A Imndred times to watch if no one saw me, 
 Before I drew the net out of the water. 
 
 Pal. Then there's a small two-handed silver 
 knife. 
 A little sow too.* 
 
 Grip. Would that you were hang'd, 
 
 You and your sow too, pigs and all together ! 
 Pal. There is besides a little heart of gold, 
 Given me by my father on my birth-day. 
 
 Deem. 'Tis she, 'tis she ! — I can refrain no 
 longer, 
 I must embrace her. {they embrace.) 
 
 Save you, my dear daughter ! 
 I, I am Dipmones, and Dsedalis 
 Your mother is within here. 
 
 Pal. Blessings on you, 
 
 My unexpected, my unhop'd-for father ! 
 
 Da.m. Heavens bless you ! — With what joy do 
 
 I embrace you ! 
 Track. To me too 'tis a pleasure, since your 
 piety 
 Has wrought this happy chance. 
 
 Deem. Come, take the wallet, 
 
 And bear it in, Trachalio, if you can. 
 
 Track, {taking the wallet.) Behold the roguery 
 of Gripus ! — Gripus, 
 I give you joy upon your ill success. 
 
 Deem. Come, daughter, let us in now to your 
 mother, 
 For she can question you of further proofs. 
 Who has been more accustom'd to you, more 
 Acquainted with your tokens. 
 
 Track. We'll all in, 
 
 Since we are all coneern'd in this event. 
 Pal. Follow me, Ampelisca. 
 ^mp. I'm rejoic'd 
 
 To find the gods so favourable to you. 
 
 [Exetmt all but Gripus. 
 
 SCEXE V. 
 
 GniPDS alone. 
 Well — what an ass am I, t' have found this wallet, 
 And not have hid it in some secret place ! 
 I thought that I should have a plaguy job on't, 
 Because I found it in such plaguy weather. 
 Troth, I believe there is a deal of gold 
 And silver in it. I had best go home, 
 And hang myself in private, — for a 'while 
 At least, till I am rid of this vexation. [Exit. 
 
 * Whether or no this sicnifies some part of a child's 
 clothing, acfordins to some cnmrnentators, or any kind 
 of trinket, which we are not at present acquainted with, 
 it is plain that in Gripug' answer a joke is intended- on 
 account of the double meaning of the word, sucula like- 
 wise sisnifyins; a little sow. It is not much In be regretted 
 perhaps, that this pun could not be preserved in our lan- 
 guage. 
 
 ScEXE YI. 
 
 Enter Djemones. 
 Good heavens! was ever man more blest than I, 
 So une.xpectedly to find my daughter! 
 Is it not plain, that when the |;o<ls would show 
 Favour to men, they show it to the virtuous'? 
 Thus I, beyond my hope, beyond belief. 
 Most unexpectedly have found my daughter; 
 And I'll bestow her on a noble youth, 
 My kinsman, an Athenian. I would have liim 
 Fetch'd here directly; and I bade his servant 
 Come forth, that I might send hiin to the Forum. 
 I marvel why he is not come. — 'Twere best 
 Go to the door. — {ke looks im.) What do I see 1 — 
 
 My wife 
 Hugging and hanging on her daughter's neck. — 
 {calling at the door.) 
 Nay, prithee, wife, a truce with your caresses; 
 See all things ready for the sacrifice. 
 Which we must ofi'er to our household gods, 
 Who have increas'd our family. — We have lambs 
 And hogs nurtur'd for sacred use. — But why 
 Do ye detain Trachalio? — Oh, he comes. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 Enter Trachalio. 
 
 Track. Trust me, I'll find him out, where'er 
 he is, 
 And bring hiin with me. 
 
 Deem. Tell him what has happen'd 
 
 Concerning of my daughter, and beseech him 
 To leave all other matters, and come hither. 
 
 Track. Well. 
 
 Deem. Tell him he shall have my daughter. 
 
 Track. Well.* 
 
 Deem. And that I knew his father, and that he 
 Is my relation. 
 
 Track. Well. 
 
 Deem. But make haste. 
 
 Track. Well. 
 
 Deem. Be sure you bring him here to supper. 
 
 Track. Well. 
 
 Deem. How ! Well to every thing 1 
 
 Track. Well. — But d'ye know 
 
 I've a request to make ? — that yon'd remember 
 What you have promis'd, — to procure iny freedom. 
 
 Deem. Well. 
 
 Track. Then persuade my master Pleusidippus 
 To give it me. 
 
 Deem. Well. 
 
 Track. Let your daughter join 
 
 In the request: she'll easily prevail. 
 
 Deem. Well. 
 
 Triuh. Further, let mp marry Ampelisca, 
 
 When I've my freedom. • 
 
 Deem. Well. 
 
 Track. And let me find 
 
 My services indeed rewarded. 
 
 DtBm. Well. 
 
 Track. How! Well to every thing? 
 
 ♦ The original is Licet. Trachalio jocularly makes use 
 of this word in reply to every thing that Dieniones says; 
 after which Diemoiies takes it up, and answers Trachalio 
 in the same inaniier. Moliere, who was a close imitator 
 of our author, has the same kind of humour in many of 
 his comic scenes. 
 
358 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 D(rm. Well. — So, methinks 
 
 I'm even with you. — Prithee now run quickly 
 Into the city, and come back with speed. [interim 
 
 Tracli. Well. — I'll be here this instant. — In the 
 Get all thinj^s ready for the sacrifice. 
 
 Dam. Well. [Exit Thachalio. 
 
 — /// betide him with his Wells, says 1 1 
 He has so stulFd my ears with nothing else, 
 Let nie say what I would, but Well, Well, Weil. 
 
 *^* The remaining scenes are of little interest, 
 being chiefly taken up with the restoration of the 
 wallet to Labrax, and the rewarding of Gripus with 
 his freedom for having found it. 
 
 THE TWIN BROTHERS.* 
 
 DKAMATIS PERSONJE. 
 
 Mex^chmus, of Epidamnum. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Peniculus, a Parasite. 
 
 Servant of Meruechmus. 
 
 Phtsician. 
 
 Ctlindrxjs, a Cook. 
 
 Men^echmus Sosicles. 
 
 Messen ID, Servant of Mencechmus Sosicles. 
 
 Wife of Mencechmus of Epidamnum. 
 
 Maid-Sehvant of MencBchmus of Epidamnum. 
 
 Ekotium, a Courtezan, Mistress of MencBchmus of 
 
 Epidamnum. 
 Servants of Menachrnus of Epidamnum. 
 
 Scene, in Epidamnum, a city of Macedonia. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Spectators ; — first and foremost ; — may all 
 
 health 
 And happiness attend both you and me ! 
 I bring you Plautus, with my tongue, not hand ; 
 Give him, I pray, a fair and gentle hearing. 
 Now learn the argument, and lend attention : 
 I'll be as brief as may be. — "Tis the way 
 With poets in their comedies to feign 
 The business pass'd at Athens, so that you 
 May think it the more Grecian. — For our play, 
 I'll not pretend the incidents to happen 
 Where they do not ; the argument is Grecian, 
 And yet it is not Attic, but Sicilian. — 
 So much by way of preface to our tale. 
 Which now I deal out to you in full measure, 
 Not as it were by bushels or by pecks. 
 But pour before you the whole granary; 
 So much am I inclined to tell the plot. 
 There was a certain merchant, an old man, 
 ' Of Syracuse. He had two sons were twins. 
 So like in form and feature, that the nurse 
 Could not distinguish them, who gave them 
 
 suck, 
 Nor e'en the mother that had brought them forth. 
 As one inform'd me, who had seen the children ; 
 Myself ne'er saw them, don't imagine it. 
 
 * Plautus calls this comedy Men«chmi, from the Twins 
 being, each of theui, called by that name ; the one Me- 
 Diechmus of Epidamnum, the other, Mensechmus Sosi- 
 cles. 
 
 When that the boys were seven years old, the 
 
 father 
 Freighted a vessel with much store of merchan- 
 dise ; 
 Put one of them on board, and took the child 
 Along with him to traffic at Tarentum, 
 The other with his mother left at home. 
 When they arrived there at this same Taren- 
 tum, 
 It happen'd there were sports ; and multitudes, 
 As they are wont at shows, were got together. 
 The child stray'd from his father in the crowd. 
 There chanc'd to be a certain merchant there, 
 An Epidamnian, who pick'd up the boy. 
 And bore him home with him to Epidamnum. 
 The father, on the sad loss of his boy. 
 Took it to heart most heavily, and died 
 For grief oft, some days after, at Tarentum. 
 When the news of this affair was brought to Sy- 
 racuse 
 Unto the grandfather, how that the child 
 Was stolen, and the father dead with grief. 
 The good old man changes the other's name. 
 So much he lov'd the one that had been stolen : 
 Him that was left at home, he calls Mensech- 
 
 mus. 
 Which was the other's name ; and by the same 
 The grandsire too was call'd ; I do remember it 
 More readily, for that I saw him cried. 
 I now forewarn you, lest you err hereafter. 
 Both the twin brothers bear the self-same name. 
 Now must I foot it back to Epidamnum, 
 That I may clear this matter up exactly. 
 If any of you here have any business 
 At Epidamnum you want done, speak out. 
 You may command me ; — but on this condition, 
 Give me the money to defray the charges. 
 He tliat don't give it, will be much mistaken; 
 Much more mistaken will he be that does. 
 
 But now I am return'd whence I set forth. 
 Though yet I stand here in the self-same place. 
 This Epidamnian, whom I spoke of, he 
 Who stole that other boy, no children had 
 Except his riches, therefore he adopts 
 This stranger-boy, gave him a wife well-por- 
 tioned. 
 And makes him his sole heir, before he died. 
 As he was haply going to the country, 
 After a heavy rain, trying to ford 
 A rapid river near unto the city, 
 The rapid river rapp'd him otf his legs. 
 And snatch'd him to destruction: a large for- 
 tune 
 Fell to the youth, who now lives here : the 
 
 other, 
 Who dwells at Syracuse, is come to-day 
 To Epidamnum with a slave of his, 
 In quest of his twin brother. Now this city 
 
 (^pointing to the scenes.^ 
 Is Epidamnum, while this play is acting; 
 And when another shall be represented, 
 'Twill be another place ; like as our company 
 Are also wont to shift their characters. 
 While the same player at one time is a pimp. 
 And then a young gallant, and old curmudgeon, 
 A poor man, rich man, parasite, or priest. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 359 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Pf.nicclus, the Parasite. 
 
 Our young men call me dishclotd, for this reason, 
 Whene'er I eat, I wipe the tables clean. 
 Now in my judgment they act foolishly, 
 Who bind in chains their captives, and clap fet- 
 ters 
 Upon their runaway slaves: for if you heap 
 Evil on evil to torment the wretch. 
 The stronger his desire is to escape. — 
 They'll free them from their chains by any 
 
 means : 
 Load them with gyves, they file away the door, 
 Or knock the bolt out with a stone. — "Tis vain 
 
 this : 
 But would you keep a man from 'scaping from 
 
 you, 
 Be sure you chain him fast with meat and drink 
 And tie him by the beak to a full table. 
 Give him his fill, allow him meat and drink 
 At pleasure, in abundance, every day; 
 And III be sworn, although his crime be capital, 
 He will not run away : you'll easily 
 Secure him, while you bind him with these 
 
 bonds. 
 They're wondrous supple these same belly-bonds. 
 The more you stretch them, they will bind the 
 
 harder. 
 For instance, Tm now going to Mencechmus, 
 Most willingly Fm going to be bound, 
 According to his sentence past upon me. 
 Good soul! he's not content with giving us 
 A bare support and meagre sustenance, 
 But crams us even to satiety; 
 Gives us, as 'twere, new life, when dead with 
 
 hunger. 
 he's a rare physician : he's a youth 
 Of lordly appetite; he treats most daintily, 
 His table's bravely served ; such heaps of dishes, 
 You must stand on your couch to reach the top. 
 Yet I've some days been absent from his house ; 
 Homely I've liv'd at home* with my rfear friends, 
 For all I eat or buy is dear to me. 
 Yet they desert the very friends that rais'd 
 
 them. 
 Now will I visit him : but the door opens: 
 And see ! Mencechmus' self is coming forth. 
 
 SCEXE II. 
 
 Enter MEWiECHMUS of Epidamnnm, with a robe, 
 
 speaking to his wife within. 
 Were you not good for notliing, were you not 
 An ass, a stubborn idiot, what you see 
 Dispieas'd your husband, would displease you 
 
 too. 
 From this day forward, if you use me thus, 
 I'll turn you out of doors, and send you back 
 A widow to your father : for whenever 
 
 * The oricinal is Domi domitatus fui; in which there 
 seems to he a dnuble entendre, as well as a jinrrle of 
 words. And Milton has something not very ditTerent 
 from it in his Comiis, 
 
 It is for homely features to keep home. 
 
 They have their name thence . 
 
 I would go forth, you hold me, call me back, 
 Ask where I'm going, what 'tis I'm about. 
 And what's my business, what I want abroad. 
 I've married sure some oflicer o' th' customs, 
 I'm so exaniin'd — what I've done — what do — 
 Too kindly you've been treated hitherto; 
 I'll tell you how you shall be — Since I allow you 
 Maids, jewels, clothes, wool — Since you want for 
 
 nothing. 
 If you were wise, you'd dread the consequence, 
 And cease to watch your husband. So, that you 
 May watch me to some purpose, for your pains, 
 I'll dine abroad now with some trull or other. 
 Pen. [aside.") He means to gall his wife by 
 what he says : 
 But me he spites; for if he dine abroad. 
 On me he recks his vengeance, not on her. 
 
 Men. Epi. 'Victoria! by my tauntings, I at 
 length 
 Have driven her from the door. — Where, where 
 
 are all 
 The intriguing husbands? why do they delay 
 To bring me gifts, and thank me for my prow- 
 ess : — 
 I've stol'n this robe here of my wife's, and mean 
 To carry it to my mistress. — So we ought 
 To trick these crafty husband-watching dames :— 
 'Tis a fair action, this of mine, 'tis right, 
 'Tis pleasant faith, and admirably carried. 
 With plague enough, I've ta'en it from one 
 
 plague 
 To give it to another. — Thus I've gain'd 
 A booty from the foe, without our loss. 
 
 Pen. (aloud.) What portion of the booty's mine, 
 
 young sir? 
 3Ien. Epi. Undone! I'm fall'n into an ambus- 
 cade. 
 Pen. You've lighted on a safeguard : never 
 
 fear. 
 Men. Epi. Who's that? 
 Pen. 'Tis I. 
 
 Men. Epi. my most welcome friend, 
 Save you. 
 
 Pen. And you. 
 Men. Epi. How fares it? 
 
 Pe7i. Let me take 
 
 My genius by the hand. 
 
 Men Epi. You could not come 
 
 More opportune than now. 
 
 Pen. It is my way: 
 
 I know to hit each point and nick of time. 
 
 Men. Epi. Shall I acquaint you with a saucy 
 
 prank ? 
 Pen. Saucy? what cook has drest it? I shall 
 know 
 If he has marr'd it Mhen I see the relics. 
 
 Men. Epi. Now prithee tell me, have you never 
 seen 
 The picture of an eagle bearing off 
 Jove's Ganymede, or 'Venus with Adonis? 
 
 Pen. Aye, many a time. But what are they 
 
 to me ? 
 Men. Epi. Look at me. — Do I bear resemblance 
 
 to them? 
 Pen. What means that robe? 
 Men. Epi. Say I'm a pleasant fellow. 
 
360 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Pen. Where sliall we dine 1 
 
 Men. Epi. Poh, say what T command you. 
 
 Pen. Well then, — thou art a pleasant fellow. 
 
 Men. Epi. What, 
 
 Canst add nought of thy own? 
 
 Pen. Yes, joyous fellow. 
 
 Men. Epi. Proceed. 
 
 Pen. Not I, iTaith, unless I know 
 
 Why there's a falling out "twixt you and madam. 
 I take great care to have this from yourself 
 
 Men. Epi. Tell me without the knowledge of 
 my wife, 
 Where shall we kill, where bury, time? 
 
 Pen. Come, come; 
 
 You say right; I will dig its grave: the day's 
 Already half expired. 
 
 Men. Epi. 'Tis mere delay, 
 
 Your chattering thus. 
 
 Pen. Knock out my only eye, 
 
 MenEechmus, if I speak one other word. 
 But what you bid. 
 
 Men. Epi. Draw hither from the door. 
 
 Pen. I will. 
 
 Men. Epi. Draw hither. 
 
 Pen. Well. 
 
 Men. Epi. Come quickly hither. 
 
 Come from the lioness's den. Im now going 
 To carry it to my mistress, my Erotium : 
 I'll bid her to provide a dinner for us, — 
 For me, for you, and for herself: well there 
 Carouse it till the morrow's morning star. 
 
 Pen. bravely spoken ! — shall I knock ? 
 
 Men. Epi. You may. — 
 
 Yet hold a while. 
 
 Pen. The cup was just at hand ; 
 
 'Tis now a thousand paces oif. 
 
 Men. Epi. Knock softly. 
 
 Pen. Are you afraid the door is made of 
 crockery? 
 
 Men. Epi. Hold, prithee hold : — herself is com- 
 ing forth. 
 
 Pen. Oh, sir, you look upon the sun : your 
 eyes 
 Are blinded with her brightness. — 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Enter Ehotium. 
 
 Erot. My Mensechmus ! 
 
 My love ! good morrow ! 
 
 Pen. Won't you welcome me too ? 
 
 Erot. You rank not in the number of my 
 
 friends. 
 Pen. Yet treat me as a supernumerary. 
 Men. Epi. We mean to pitch a field with you 
 
 to-day. 
 Pen. Aye, that we will. 
 
 Men. Epi. And prove, with pitcher fiU'd, 
 
 Which is the mightier warrior at the bowl : 
 Yourself shall be commander; you shall choose. 
 Which you will pass the night with. — O my 
 
 sweet. 
 When I look on you, how I loath my wife ! 
 Erot. And yet you cannot choose, but you must 
 wrap you 
 In some part of her gear. — Pray what is this ? 
 
 Men. Epi. A cast skin of my wife's to be 
 sliiJt; on 
 By thee, my rose-bud. 
 
 Erot. You've the readiest way 
 
 To win preeminence in my affection, 
 From all that pay me suit. 
 
 Pen. Right harlot this! 
 
 An harlot's sure to coax, whene'er she finds 
 There's anything to get. — If you had loved him, 
 You would have bit his nose ofl' by this time 
 With slobbering.^ 
 
 Men. Epi. Take my cloak, Peniculus; 
 
 For I must dedicate the spoils I've vow'd. 
 
 Pen. Let's see't. 
 
 31en. Epi. (^putting on the robe.) But prithee 
 now, you'll afterwards 
 Dance in your robe. 
 
 Pen. I dance in't? — 
 
 Men. Epi. You are mad. 
 
 Pen. Are you or I most mad ? 
 
 Men Epi. Well, if you won't, 
 
 Then pull it off. I ran a mighty risk 
 In stealing of this robe : in my mind truly 
 Young Hercules ran not an equal hazard, when 
 He spoil'd the bold Hippolita of her girdle. 
 
 [giving the robe to Erotiitm.) 
 Take it, since you alone of women living 
 Suit your affection gently unto mine. 
 True lovers should be thus disposed. 
 
 Pen. Provided 
 
 They would run headlong into beggary. 
 
 Men. Epi. 'Tis not a year past, since it stood 
 me in 
 Four minas for my wife. 
 
 Pen. Four minse then, 
 
 By your account, are plainly gone for ever. 
 
 Men. Epi. Know you what I would have you 
 do? 
 
 Erot. I know ; 
 
 And will take care according to your wish. 
 
 Men. Epi. Let dinner be provided for us three ; 
 Send to the market for some dainty morsel, 
 A gammon, some sow's kernels, a hog's cheek. 
 Or sausages, or something of that kind. 
 Which, when they're brought to table, may suggest 
 A kite-like appetite : — about it straight. 
 
 Erot. 'I faith I will. 
 
 Men Epi. We're going to the Forum, 
 
 We shall be here directly : while 'tis dressing. 
 We will amuse us with a whet i'th' interim. 
 
 Erot. Come when you will, dear, all things 
 shall be ready. 
 
 Men. Epi. Quick, follow me. 
 
 Pen. Yes, yes, I'll have an eye to you. 
 
 Close at your heels, I warrant; I'll not lose you, 
 Not for the wealth of all the gods. 
 
 [Exeunt MzsMcaisivs and Pentcultjs. 
 
 Erot. Call forth 
 
 The cook Cylindus, bid him come this instant. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Cxlindrus. 
 
 Erot. Take the hand-basket ; and, d'ye mind ? 
 here are 
 Three pieces for you, — ^you have hold of them. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 361 
 
 Cyl. I have. 
 
 E)-ot. Go to the market and provide 
 
 Enough for three ; now let there be suflicient, 
 And nought to spare. 
 
 Cyl. What kind of guests, pray, are they ? 
 
 Erot. I, and Meniechmus, and his parasite. 
 
 Cyl. Nay, there are ten then ; — for the parasite 
 Will lay about him equal to eight men. 
 
 Erot. I've told you what's the number of our 
 guests : 
 You will provide accordingly. 
 
 Cyl. I warrant. 
 
 'Tis drest already: you've but to sit down. 
 
 Erot. You'll come back quickly. 
 
 Cyl. I'll be here this instant. 
 
 Act II. ScKNE I. 
 
 Enter Mejtjechmus Socicles and Messenio, his 
 
 servant. 
 
 Men. Sos. No greater joys have voyagers, Mes- 
 senio. 
 Than, from the deep far off, to spy out land. 
 
 Mess. To speak the truth, 'tis still a greater joy 
 To find that land, when you arrive, your country. 
 But wherefore come we now to Epidamnum 1 
 Must we go round each island like the sea? 
 
 Men. Sos. I am in quest of my twin brother. 
 
 Mess. Good now. 
 
 When will there be an end of searching for him? 
 This is the sixth year since we set about it ;* 
 The Istrians, the lUyrians, the Massilians, 
 The Spaniards, the whole Adriatic gulf. 
 With farthest Greece, and each Italian coast. 
 That the sea washes, have we travers'd round. 
 Had we been looking for a needle, sure 
 We should have found it long ago, if visible. 
 So search we for a dead man 'mong the quick ; 
 For we had found him long ago, if living. 
 
 Men. Sos. Would I could find out one, that 
 might assure me 
 Of his own knowledge, that my brother's dead! 
 Then I'd forego my quest, not otherwise: 
 But, while I live, I'll never spare my pains. 
 Nor ever will desist from searching for him. 
 How dear he's to my heart, too well I feel — 
 
 Mess. You in a bulrush seek a knot — 'tis 
 vain : 
 Come, let's return ; unless you mean to write 
 A book of voyages. 
 
 Men. Sos. No fine, subtle speeches, 
 
 Or you shall pay for't. Don't be impertinent. 
 None of your freedoms. 
 
 Mess. By that single word 
 
 I know I am a slave : 'tis briefly said, 
 Plainly, and fully: — yet I can't refrain 
 From speaking. — Mind me, sir! — Our purse, 
 
 look here, — 
 'Tis light enough, 'twon't make us sweat : now 
 verily, — 
 
 ♦ Shakspeare, who mnst undoiibte()ly took his Comedy 
 of Errors from this play, or, at least, the translation of it, 
 printed in 1595, makes his A'^geon say, 
 
 Five summers have I spent in farthest fJreece, 
 Roaniin<; clean throiisth the houmls of Asia, 
 And coasting homeward came to Ephesiis. 
 
 ^ct /. Scene I. 
 46 
 
 If you return not Iiome; when nothing's left, 
 You'll chal'c! fur this wild chase of your twin 
 
 brother. 
 As for the jjeuple here, these Epidamnians, 
 They're arrant debauchees, most potent drink- 
 ers ; 
 Cheats, parasites abound here;* and they say 
 Such wheedling harlotries are no where met 
 
 with ; 
 And tlicrelcjre is this ])hu-e call'd Epidauunnn, 
 Because there's no one come here, but says, 
 (luiuH 'eui.1i 
 Men. Sos. Ill look to that: give me the purse. 
 Mess. The purse? 
 
 What would you do with it? 
 
 Men. Sos. I've apprehensions 
 
 'Bout you, from what you said. 
 
 Mess. What apprehensions? 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Lest you should cry in Epidamnum, 
 damn 'em. 
 You are a mighty lover of the wenches : 
 I'm choleric, quite a madman when provok'd : 
 Now when I have the cash in my own hands, 
 'Twill guard against two harms; you'll not of- 
 fend ; 
 Nor I be angry with you. 
 
 Mdss. Take and keep it. — 
 
 With all my soul. — 
 
 Scene II. 
 CxLUfDHus entering. 
 
 I've marketed most rarely. 
 And to my mind : I warrant, I serve up 
 A dainty dinner to the guests. — But hold — 
 I see Mena'chmus. Woe then to my back ! 
 The guests are walking here before the door, 
 Ere I return from market. — I'll accost them. 
 Save you, Meu'dechmus ! 
 
 * Shakspeare in his Comedy of Errors, makes Anlipho- 
 lis of Syracuse give much the same account of Ephe- 
 sus : — 
 
 They sny, this town is full of cozenage; 
 As nimhle jugJi'ers, that deceive the eye. 
 Dark-working sorcerers, that rhanse the mind ; 
 Soul-killing witches, that deform the liody. 
 Disguised cheaters, pratling mountebanks, 
 And many such like liberties for sin. 
 
 jJct /. Srcne III. 
 t The oriL'inal is, 
 Propterea huic urbi nomen F.pidamno inditnm est. 
 Quai nemo fermS hue sine danuio divortitur — 
 — Ne mihi damninn in Kpidamno duis. 
 Epidamnus. or Epidamnum, (for it was called some- 
 times one, and sometimes the other) was a town in Ma- 
 cedonia, on the Adriatic sea; well known for its conve- 
 nient passage from thence into Italy. Il was so called 
 from Epidamnus, a king of that name ; but afterwards 
 became a colony of the Romans, who changed its name 
 to that of Dyrrhachium ; and for the reason alluded to in 
 this passage. 
 
 It is remarkahle for being the place to which Cicero 
 was banished ; it is now called Durazzo. 
 
 The literal iraiitMalion would be. Therefore is this place 
 called Epidamnum, because scaice any one comes to it but 
 to his loss. — .\nd. 
 
 Lest you should meet with Epidamnum something to 
 your loss. 
 
 This indeed would give the sense, but not preserve the 
 author's punning between Epidamnum and Damnum. 
 2F 
 
362 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 3Ten. Sos. Save you ! Do you know me ? 
 
 Cyl. No, to be sure ! (^ironically. ^ Where are 
 the otiier guests ? 
 
 Men. Sos. What guests do you mean? 
 
 Cyl. Your parasite. 
 
 Men. Sos. My parasite 1 
 
 Surely the man is mad. 
 
 Bless. Now say, my master, 
 
 Did I not tell you there were many cheats heie? 
 
 Men. Sos. Whom mean you by my parasite 1 
 
 Cyl. Why, Dishclout. 
 
 3Iess. See, see, — I have him safe here in the 
 wallet. 
 
 Cyl. Meneechmus, you are come too soon to- 
 dinner : 
 I am but now return'd from marketing. 
 
 Men. Sos. What is the price, pray, of a hog for 
 sacrifice ? * 
 
 Cyl. A piece. 
 
 Men. Sos. Til give it: make a sacrifice 
 
 At my expense; for sure you must be mad 
 To cross a stranger thus, whoe'er you are. 
 
 Cyl. I arn Cylindrus : know you not my name? 
 
 Men. Sos. Or Cylinder, or Cullender; — be- 
 gone : 
 I know you not, nor do I want to know you. 
 
 Cly. Your name's Mensechmus, that I know. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. You talk 
 
 As one that's in his senses, calling me 
 Thus by my name. But where, pray, have you 
 known me? 
 
 Cyl. Where have I knoM^n you? — you, who 
 have a wench here, 
 Erotium, my mistress. 
 
 Men. Sos. I have not, 
 
 Nor know I who you are. 
 
 Cyl. Not who I am ? 
 
 I, who so oft have handed you the cup. 
 When you carous"d here. 
 
 Mess. tliat I have nothing 
 
 To break his head with ! 
 
 Meyi. Sos. How? you've handed me 
 
 The cup ? when till this day I never ca'me 
 To Epidamnum, never set my eyes on"t. 
 
 Cyl. Will you deny it ? 
 
 Men. Sos. Yes, I must deny it. 
 
 Cyl. Don't you live yonder ? 
 
 Men. Sos. Plague upon their heads 
 
 That live there! 
 
 Cyl. Sure he's mad, to curse himself. 
 
 Harkye, Menffichnms? 
 
 Men. Sos. What say you ? 
 
 Cyl. If you would 
 
 Take my advice, that piece you promised me, 
 Buy a hog with it for yourself to sacrifice: 
 For sure you are not in your perfect mind, 
 To curse yourself 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Thou'rt mad, — vexatious follow ! 
 
 Cyl. In this wise will he often jest with me; 
 He's such a M'ag, he, — when his wife's not by. 
 
 Men. Sos. Prithee now — 
 
 Cyl. Prithee now, is this provision 
 
 Sufficient, what you see here, for you three ? 
 
 * The ancients, when they had any mad person in 
 their family, were used to sacrifice a hog to their house- 
 hold gods. 
 
 Or would you have me to provide yet more. 
 For you, your parasite and wench ? 
 
 Men. Sos. What wench, 
 
 What parasite d'ye speak of? 
 
 Mess. Rascal ! \\ hat 
 
 Provokes thee to molest him thus? 
 
 Cyl. What business 
 
 Hast thou with me ? I know thee not: I'm talking 
 To him I know. 
 
 Mess. You are not in your senses. 
 
 Cyl. I'll get these ready out of hand : (^pointing 
 to the provision.) then go not 
 Far from the door. Would you aught further 
 with me? 
 
 Men. Sos. Go hang yourself 
 
 Cyl. Go you and seat yourself. 
 
 While to the violence of Vulcan's rage 
 I these oppose — 111 in, and let Erotium 
 Know you are here, that she may fetch you in. 
 Rather than you should saunter here without 
 doors. [CrLiNDHUS goes in. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Menkchmus Sosicles and Messexio. 
 
 Men. Sos. So, — is he gone? — I find there is 
 some truth 
 In what you told me. 
 
 Mess. Do but mind. — I fancy. 
 
 Some harlot dwells here ; so this crack-brain said 
 Who went hence even now. 
 
 Men. Sos. But I do marvel, 
 
 How he should know my name. 
 
 Mess. I'faith no wonder : 
 
 This is the way of courtezans : they send 
 Their lacqueys and their wenches to the port: 
 If any foreign ship arrive, to ask 
 Whose is it, what's its name? Then instantly 
 They set themselves to work, they stick like glue. 
 If they can lure some gull to their embraces, 
 They turn him out anon, undone and ruin'd. 
 A pirate vessel lurks within this port, 
 Which we in my opinion should beware of. 
 
 Men. Sos. You counsel right. 
 
 Mess. It will be known at last 
 
 How right it is, if you as rightly follow it. 
 
 Men. Sos. Softly awhile : the door creaks : let 
 us see 
 Who's coming forth. 
 
 3Iess. Meanwhile I'll lay this down ; 
 
 (^litys down his wallet on some oars.) 
 Pray keep it safe, ye water-treading oars. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter EnoTiUM, speaking to her servants within. 
 Leave the door thus . I would not have it shut : 
 Begone : make ready : see that every thing 
 Be done that's wanting: lay the couches smooth, 
 Let the perfumes be set on fire. 'Tis neatness 
 Lures the fond lover's heart. A spruce appear- 
 ance 
 Is damage to the lover, gain to us. 
 But where, where is he, whom the cook inform'd 
 
 me 
 Was at the door ? I see him ; he's a gentleman. 
 From whom I draw much service and much 
 profit; 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 363 
 
 And therefore I'm eonteiit, that he should liokl, 
 As he deserves, with me, the highest place. 
 I 11 go and speak to him. My life! my soul! 
 I marvel you should stand here at the door, 
 That's open to you more than is your own ; 
 Your own it is. — Sweet, every thing is ready 
 A\'liic!h you desir'd : nothing to stay you, love: 
 The dinner, which you oriler'd, we have got: 
 Then, whensoe'er you please, you may sit down. 
 
 Men Sos. Whom does the woman speak to? 
 
 Erot. Why, to you. 
 
 Men. Sos. What business have I ever had with 
 you? 
 What business have I now ? 
 
 Erot. 'Tis Venus' will, 
 
 I should prefer you before all my lovers ; 
 Nor on your part unmerited, for you, 
 You only with your gifts enrich me. 
 
 Men. Sos. Sure 
 
 This woman's either mad or drunk, Messenio, 
 Thus to accost a stranger so familiarly. 
 
 Mess. Such practices are common as I told you. 
 Tlie courtezans here are all money-traps. — 
 But sutfer me to speak to her. — Harkye, woman ! 
 A word with you. 
 
 Erot. What is't ? 
 
 Mess. Where did you know 
 
 This gentleman? 
 
 Erot. Where he has long known me : 
 
 In Epidamnum here. 
 
 3Icss. In Epidamnum? 
 
 He never set his foot in"t till to-day. 
 
 Erot. Ah ! you are pleas'd to joke, my dear 
 Mannechmus. 
 But prithee, sweet, come in ; 'twere better for you. 
 
 Men. Sos. 'Fore heaven the woman calls me 
 by my name. 
 I marvel what this means. 
 
 3Icss. She smells the purse 
 
 Which you have there — 
 
 Men. Sos. That's rightly put in mind. 
 
 Here, take it. I shall know now if her love's 
 To me, or to the purse. 
 
 E7-ot. Let's in to dinner. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. 'Tis a kind invitation, and I thank 
 you. 
 
 Erot. Why did you bid me then to get a din- 
 ner ? 
 
 Men. Sos. I bid you get a dinner ! 
 
 Erot. Yes, most certainly. 
 
 For you and for your parasite. 
 
 Men. Sos. A plague ! 
 
 What parasite ? — Why sure the woman's crazy. 
 
 Erot. Peniculus. 
 
 Men. Sos. Wljos that Peniculus? 
 
 Erot. The parasite ; in other words, the Dish- 
 clout. 
 
 Men. Sos. 0, what they wipe their shoes with? 
 
 Erot. He, 1 say. 
 
 Who came with you this morning, when you 
 
 brought me 
 The robe that you had stolen from your wife. 
 
 3Ien.Sos. How say you? I present you with 
 a robe. 
 That I had stolen from my wife? art mad? 
 The woman sure, walks like a gelding, sleeping. 
 
 Erot. Why are you pleas'd to hold me for 
 your sport? 
 And why do you deny what you have done? 
 
 Men. Sos. Wiiat is iti deny .' What have I done? 
 
 Erol. Given me a robe belonging to your wife. 
 
 Men. Sos. I still deny it: I never had a wife, 
 Nor liave I : neither have I set my f(jot 
 Within your doors, since I was born. I din'd 
 On ship-board, thence came hither, and here met 
 you. 
 
 Erot. Ah ! woe is me ! — what ship is't you are 
 talking of? 
 
 Men. Sos. A wooden one, oft weather-beaten, oft 
 Bethump'd with mallets, like a tailor's pin- 
 cushion 
 Peg close to peg. 
 
 Erot. V prithee, now have done 
 
 With jesting thus, and come along with me. 
 
 Men. Sos. Some other man you mean, I know 
 not v/hom. 
 Not me. 
 
 Erot. What! don't I know thee? not MenfEch- 
 mus, 
 The son of Moschus, who wert born, thou say'st, 
 At Syracuse, in Sicily, where erst 
 Reign'd King Agathooles, and after Pinthia, 
 And next him Liparo, who by his death 
 The kingiloin left to Hiero, now king. 
 
 Men. Sos. 'Faith wliat you say is true. 
 
 Mess. O Jupiter! 
 
 Is she not come from thence, so well she knows 
 you ? 
 
 Men. Sos. I can hold out no longer. 
 
 Mess. Stay, sir, stay ; 
 
 For if you cross her threshold, you're undone. 
 
 Men. Sos. Be quiet: all is well: I will assent 
 To whatsoe'er she says, so I but get 
 Good entertainment, and a fair reception. 
 Qo Erot.') For some time wittingly I have oppos'd 
 
 yon, 
 Fearing this fellow here, lest he should tell 
 My wife concerning all — the robe and dinner : 
 Now when you please, we'll enter. 
 
 Erot. Then you do not 
 
 Stay for the parasite? 
 
 Men. Sos. I neither stay. 
 
 Nor care a rush for him ; nor would I have him 
 Be let in when he comes. 
 
 Erot. With all my heart. — 
 
 But do you know, sweet, what I'd have you do? 
 
 Men. Sos. Command me what you will. 
 
 Erot. That robe you gave me 
 
 I'd have you carry it to the embroiderer's, 
 To be made up anew; with such additions, 
 As I shall order. 
 
 Men. Sos. What you say is right : 
 
 So will it not be known ; nor will my wife, 
 If she should see you with it in the street, 
 Know you have got it. 
 
 Erot. So then by and by, 
 
 Sweet, you shall take it with you, when you go. 
 
 Men. Sos. I will. 
 
 Erot. Let's in now. 
 
 Men. Sos. I'll attend you presently, 
 
 I would just speak a word with him. 
 
 [Ehotium goes in. 
 
364 
 
 =t1 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 ScKNE V. 
 
 Men.echmus Sosicles, Messenio. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Messeiiiol 
 
 Come hither. 
 
 Mess. What's the matter ? 
 
 ^len. Sos. 'St !— shall I 
 
 Impart it to you? 
 
 Mess. What ? 
 
 Men. Sos. 'Tis such a chance. 
 
 Mess. What chance ? 
 
 Men. Sos. I know what you will say. 
 
 Mess. I say 
 
 So much the worse for you. 
 
 Men. Sos. I have got it, boy : 
 
 I have already made a rare beginning. 
 Quick as you can, go carry these my ship-mates 
 Directly to some place of entertainment. 
 Then come to me e"er sunset. 
 
 Mess. Master! master! 
 
 You"re unacquainted with these harlotries. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Peace, prithee. If I play the fool, 
 'tis I, 
 Not you, shall suffer. Why, this woman here 
 Is a mere simpleton, an arrant ignorant, 
 As far as I have prov'd her hitherto. — 
 She is our game, my boy. 
 
 3Tess. 'Tis over with us. 
 
 Men. Sos. Will you be gone? 
 
 Mess. He is undone, that's certain. 
 
 This pirate vessel has the boat in tow. 
 But I'm a ibol, that I should seek to rule 
 My master : for he bought me to obey, 
 Not govern him. Come, follow me, that I 
 May wait upon him at the time he order'd. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Act III. Scexe I. 
 Enter Peniculus, the Parasite. 
 I have seen thirty years and more, yet never 
 Play'd I so foolish or so vile a trick 
 As I have done this day, in mixing with 
 The crowd in the assembly of the people. 
 Where while I stood staring about, MeuEechnius 
 Gave me the slip, I fancy to his mistress; 
 Nor took me widi him. — Gods confound the man ! 
 First took it in his head, to institute 
 These meetings to engage the most engag'd. 
 'Twere better only to elect the idle 
 Who should be lined in case of non-attendance. 
 There are enough who eat their meals alone ; 
 Who've nought to do, who nor invited are 
 Nor e'er invite. — These were the men to hold 
 Assemblies, and attend at the Comitia. — 
 Had this been so, I had not lost my dinner. 
 Which he'd as sure have given me, as I live. 
 I'll go however — hope of the very scraps 
 Comforts my mind. — But see, Men.-echmus comes 
 From dinner, with a wreath. — All's taen away. 
 And I am come at a fine time indeed ! 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter MExa^cHMUs Sosicles, tvith a robe. 
 Men. Sos. If I return it neatly fitted up, 
 
 {speaking to Erotium within.) 
 So that you scarce shall know it is the same, 
 
 And that this very day, shall you not then 
 Be satisfied ? 
 
 Pen. [apart.) He's carrying the robe 
 To the embroiderer's — and dinner's done — 
 The wine drank ofl", and the poor parasite bilk'd. 
 By Hercules! if I put up with this. 
 And not revenge, I'm not the man I am. 
 Let's first see what he'll do, and then accost 
 him. — 
 Men. Sos. Immortal gods! is there a man on 
 whom 
 You've in one day bestov/'d more good, or one 
 Who less could hope for it? I've dined, I've drank, 
 I've feasted with my mistress, have borne off 
 This robe, which she no more shall call her own. 
 Pen. {apart.) He speaks so softly, I can scarce 
 distinguish 
 What 'tis he says: sure, now his belly's full, 
 He talks of me, and of my share at dinner. 
 
 Men. Sos. She told me, I had given her the 
 robe. 
 And that I'd stolen it from my wife : though I 
 Knew she was wrong, I seemingly assented 
 To all her story, as if both of us 
 Had been joint parties in the whole transaction. 
 Said as she said — what need of many words? 
 I never in my life have fared so well, 
 And at so small expense. 
 
 Pen. I will accost him. 
 
 I'm out of patience till I quarrel with him. 
 
 Men. Sos. Who is it that is coming to accost me ? 
 
 Pen. Tell me, inconstant, lighter than a feather. 
 Thou worst of men, most wicked of mankind, 
 Base man, deceiver, void of faith and honour! 
 Have I deserv'd this of thee? For what cause 
 Hast thou undone me? Say, have I deserv'd. 
 That thou shouldst steal thyself away from me. 
 Now at the Forum ? Thou hast buried too 
 The dinner in my absence, to the wliich 
 I was joint heir. — How dare you serve me thus? 
 
 Men. Sos. Prithee, young man, what hast to do 
 with me ? 
 Abusing thus a man thou dost not know — 
 You'd have me wreak this insult then hereafter? 
 
 Pen. You have done that already. 
 
 Men. Sos. Answer me. 
 
 Tell me your name, young man. 
 
 Pen. Still mocking me ? 
 
 As if you did not know my name ? 
 
 Men. Sos. In troth, 
 
 I know not till this day I ever saw thee. 
 Nor art thou known to me; whoe'er thou art, 
 It ill-becomes thee to be troublesome. 
 
 Pen. Not know me ? 
 
 Men. Sos. If I did, I'd not deny it. 
 
 Pen. Awake, Mencechnius. 
 
 Men. Sos. Troth, I do not know, 
 
 That I'm asleep. 
 
 Pen. Not know your parasite ? 
 
 Men. Sos. Thy head is turn'd, young man, in 
 my opinion. 
 
 Pen. Answer me, did you not this very day. 
 Steal from your wife that robe, and give't Erotium? 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Neither have I a wife, nor robe have 
 stolen. 
 Nor given to Erotium. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 365 
 
 Pen. Are yon mad? 
 
 Have you your senses? Why the thiiifi's apparent! 
 Did I not see you coming from the house, 
 Tlie robe upon you ? 
 
 Men. Sns. Woe upon thy head ! 
 
 'Cause you're a rogue, think you we're all such? 
 Say you, you saw me with this robe upon me? 
 
 Pen. I (lid, by Hercules! 
 
 3Ien Sos. Go, and be hang"d 
 
 As you deserve, or else go purge your brain ; 
 For thoirrt the veriest madman I e"er met with. 
 
 Pen. By Pollux' temple, nothing shall prevent 
 mc. 
 From telling to your wife, the whole that's pass'd. 
 And then shall all this scurril wit retort 
 Back on yourself Nor shall you, unreveng"d. 
 Have swallow'd down my dinner. 
 
 Men. Sos. What is this? 
 
 Shall every one I see, aflVont me thus? 
 But see, the door is opening. — 
 
 Scem: ni. 
 
 Enter a Maid Servant of Erotium, with a clasp. 
 
 Scrv. Erotium 
 
 ^NTo^t earnestly entreat.= of her Mena^climus, 
 (Twill make it but one trouble,) to bear this 
 To the goldsmith, with her orders, that he add 
 An ounce more gold, and have it clean'd and 
 mended. 
 3Ien. Sos. This, and aught else that she would 
 have me do. 
 Tell her I will take care to exectite. 
 
 Serv. But, do you know the clasp I'm speaking 
 
 of? 
 Men. Sos. I know it not; but see, 'tis made of 
 
 gold. 
 Scrv. 'Tis that, which sometime since, you 
 said you stole 
 And privately, from your wife's chest of drawers. 
 Men. Sos. That's what I never did, by Her- 
 cules ! 
 Serv. What, don't you recollect it? then, re- 
 turn it. 
 3Ten. Sos. Stay: I besnn to recollect: it was 
 The same I gave your mistress. 
 
 Srrv. Yes, the same. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Wliere are the bracelets which I 
 
 gave with it? 
 Serv. You never gave them. 
 Men. Sos. But I did, by Pollux ! 
 
 And gave them both together. 
 
 Sirv. Shall I say. 
 
 You will take care — 
 
 3Ten. Sos. Yes ; and the robe and clasp 
 
 Shall be return'd together — 
 
 Serv. Let me, sir, 
 
 Beg you'd present me with a pair of ear-rings 
 Of gold, and of two pieces value; tliat 1 may 
 Look well upo'i you, when )'ou pay your visits. 
 Men. Sos. It shall be done : give me the gold ; 
 I'll pay 
 Myself the fashion. 
 
 Scrv. No, I pray you, sir, 
 
 Give it yourself, I'll be accountable. 
 
 Men. Sos. I say, give me the gold — 
 
 Serv. Another time. 
 
 I'll pay it back twofold. 
 
 3Ien. So.'i. I have no money. 
 
 Serv. But when you have, you'll pay the jew- 
 eller. 
 Any commands with me? 
 
 3Ten. Sos. Yes, tell your mistress 
 
 I'll take great care of what she has order'd me. — 
 
 \Erit Skuvant. 
 Yes, soon as may be. 111 take care to sell them 
 
 (^aside.) 
 To the best bidder. — Is she now gone in ? 
 She is, and shut the door. Sure all the gods 
 Bt»friend me, and heap favour upon favour. 
 Why do I stay when time and opportunity 
 Thus favours me in quitting this vile place. 
 This place of bawds and panders? 
 Haste thee, Menneehmiis, then ; use well thy feet, 
 And mend thy pace. Let me take off iny wreath, 
 And throw it to the left: that, if I'm foUow'd, 
 They may suppose I'm gone that way. I'll now 
 Find, if I can, my servant, and acquaint him 
 With what the gods are doing in iny favour. 
 
 [E.Tit. 
 
 Act IV. ScENK I. 
 
 Enter the Wipe of Mcncerhmus of Epidamnum and 
 Peniculus, the Parasite. 
 
 Wife. And shall I tamely then submit to live 
 In marriage with a man, who filches from me 
 Whatever's in the house, and bears it off 
 A present to his mistress? 
 
 Pen. Hold your peace : 
 
 I will so order matters: that you shall 
 Surprise him in the fact. So follow me. 
 Crown'd with a wreath, and drunk, he bore 
 
 away 
 The robe that he filch'd from you yesterday, 
 To the eml)roiJerer's. But see, the wreath. 
 The very wreath he wore — Is it not true? 
 
 (^seeing the wreath on the ground.^ 
 He's gone away ; and you may trace his steps. 
 And see, by Pollux's temple, he returns, 
 And opportunely; but without the robe. 
 
 Wife. How shall I treat him now? 
 
 Pen. How? Why as usual, 
 
 Most heartily abuse him. 
 
 Wife. Yes, I think so — 
 
 Pen. Let's stand aside, and watch him from 
 our anibnsh. {<hey retire.') 
 
 PrENK II. 
 
 Enter Mex-tvciimi's of Epidamnxim. 
 How troublesome it is, thus to indulge 
 Ourselves in foolish eustoius! yet the great, 
 These petty gods, too much come into it. 
 All wish to have a nuiuher of depemlants. 
 But little care whether they're good or bad. 
 Their riches, not their qualities, they mind. 
 Honest and poor is bad. — Wicked and rich, 
 An honest man. — Clients, that have regard 
 To neither law, nor common honesty, 
 Weary their patrons — Leave them a deposit, 
 They will deny the trust — Litiuious, 
 2f2 
 
366 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Covetous, fraiiduletit, \v)io"ve got their wealth 
 By usury or perjury — Their soul's 
 Still in their suits — A summons for defence 
 Once issued, 'tis tlieir patrons' summons too ; 
 Wlio "fore the people, pr;ptor, commissary, 
 Must speak in their belialf, liowever wrong. 
 Thus was I plagued to-day by a dependant, 
 One of this sort, who would not let me do 
 Aught which I wanted in my own affairs; 
 Holding me close to his, he so detain'd me— 
 When I had battled for him 'fore the ^diles, 
 With craft had pleaded his bad cause, had 
 
 brought 
 To hard conditions his opponent, nay, 
 Had more or less perplex'd the controversy. 
 And brought it e"en to making their deposits: 
 What does he do? — Why gives in bail — I never 
 Saw in all my life a villain more barefac'd 
 In all respects — Three witnesses swore plumb, 
 And prov'd against him every accusation. 
 The gods confound him ! for thus making me 
 Lose all my time : ay. and confound myself, 
 For having seen the Forum with these eyes ! 
 The noblest day is lost: a dinners order'd ; 
 My mistress waits. — T know it, and as soon 
 As e'er I could, I've hasten'd from the Forum. 
 Doubtless she"s angry with me; but the robe 
 Filch'd from my wife to-day, and sent to her, 
 Shall make all up. 
 
 Pen. What say you now ? 
 
 Wife. Unhappy! 
 
 In having such a husband. — 
 
 Pen. Did you hear 
 
 Distinctly what he said? 
 
 Wife. Very distinctly. 
 
 3Ien. Epi. I shall do right, if I go directly 
 
 And here refresh myself 
 
 Wife. Wait but a little. 
 
 And I'll refresh you better, (to him.) You shall 
 
 pay; 
 Yes, that you shall, by Castor! and with interest. 
 For that you lilchd from me, you've thus your 
 
 due. 
 What, did you fancy you could play such tricks 
 In secret? 
 
 Men. Epi. What's the business, wife? 
 
 Wife. Ask that 
 
 Of me ? 
 
 Men. Epi. Why, would you that I ask of him? 
 
 Pen. No soothing now. Go on. 
 
 3fen. Epi. Say, why so pensive ? 
 
 Wife. You can't but know the reason — 
 
 Pen. Yes, he knows, 
 
 But cunningly dissembles. 
 
 Men. Epi. What's the matter ? 
 
 Wife. The robe. — 
 
 Men. Epi. The robe ? What — 
 
 Wife. Ay, the robe. — 
 
 Pen. Why pale? 
 
 Men. Epi. I pale ! unless the paleness of the 
 robe 
 Has made me so. 
 
 Pen. I too am pale, because 
 
 You eat the supper, and ne'er thought of me. 
 To him again, [to the Wife.) 
 
 Men. Epi. Won't you be silent? 
 
 Pen. No. 
 
 He nods to me to hold my tongue, [to Ihe Wi/e ) 
 
 Men. Epi. Not I, 
 
 By Hercules ! I neither wink'd nor nodded. 
 Wife. I am an unhapjiy woman ! 
 Men. Epi. Why unhappy ? 
 
 Explain. — 
 
 Pen. A rare assurance, that denies 
 
 What yourself sees. — 
 
 Men. Epi. By Jove, and all the gods ! 
 
 I nodded not — Are you now satisfied ? 
 
 Pen. And to be sure, she now will give you 
 credit. 
 Go back again — 
 
 Men. Epi. And whither? 
 
 Pen. Whither else 
 
 But to the embroiderer — Beyond all doubt 
 I think you ought — Go, and bring back the robe — 
 Men. Epi. What robe do you speak of? 
 Wife. Since he don't remember 
 
 What he has done, I have no more to say. 
 
 3fen. Epi. Has any of the servants been at 
 faidt ? 
 Has any of the men or women slaves 
 Given you a saucy answer? — Say, speak out, 
 He shall not go unpunish'd. 
 
 Wife. Sure, 3'ou trifle. 
 
 3![en. Epi. You're out of humour : that I'm not 
 
 quite pleas'd with. 
 Wife. You trifle still. 
 
 Men. Epi. Has any of th'e family 
 
 Done aught to make you angry? 
 
 Wife. Trifling still. 
 
 Men. Epi. Angry with me then. — 
 Wife. Now you trifle not. 
 
 Men. Epi. 'Troth I've done nothing to deserve 
 
 it of you. 
 Wife. Trifling again. 
 
 Men. Epi. What is it gives you pain ? 
 
 Tell me, my dear. 
 
 Pen. He soothes you : civil creature ! 
 
 Men. Epi. Can't you be quiet? I don't speak 
 
 to you. (to Peniculus.) 
 Wife. Off with your hand. 
 Pen. Ay, thus you're rightly serv'd — [aside.) 
 Dine then again in haste when I am absent! 
 And rally me before the house when drunk! 
 A wreath too, on your head ! 
 
 Men. Epi. By Pollux' temple ! 
 
 I have not din'd to-day, nor have I once 
 Set foot within the house. 
 
 Pen. You dare deny it? 
 
 Men. Epi. I do, by Hercules ! 
 Pen. Consummate impudence? 
 
 Did I not see you with a wreath of flowers. 
 Standing before the house here; when you said 
 My head was turn'd : when you denied you 
 
 knew^ me. 
 And when you'd pass upon me for a stranger? 
 
 Men. Epi. I do assure you, since I slipj)'d away 
 This morning from you, I've not been till now 
 At home. 
 
 Pen. I know you, sir : but you knew not 
 I'd wherewithal to take revenge upon you. 
 I've told your wife the whole, by Hercules! 
 Men. Epi. What have you told ? 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 367 
 
 Pen. I know not. Ask of lier. 
 
 Men. Epi. What's tliis, my dear 1 What is it he 
 has told yon '? 
 Yon answer not. — Why don't you say what 'tis? 
 
 Wife. As if you knew not. Why, a robe has 
 been 
 Stolen from me in my house. 
 
 3fen. Epi. A robe stolen from you ? 
 
 Wife. Do you ask me ? 
 
 Men. Epi. In troth, I scarce should ask it. 
 
 Was I assur'd it was so. — 
 
 Pen. Wicked man ! 
 
 How he dissembles! but you can"t conceal it, 
 I know the whole affair; and I have told it 
 All to your wife. 
 
 Men. Epi. What is all this about? 
 
 Wife. Since you have lost all shame, and won't 
 confess 
 The thing yourself, hearken to me, and hear it ; 
 I'll tell you what has made me out of humour. 
 And every thing he has discover d to me. 
 They've done well for me, they've stolon my robe. 
 
 Men. Epi. Done well for you by stealing of 
 your robe ! 
 
 Pen. Observe his subterfuge : 'twas stolen for 
 her, {^meaning Erotium.) 
 And not for you: Had it been stolen for you, 
 It had been safe. 
 
 Men. Epi. I've naught to do with you. 
 
 But what say you? (/o his Wife.) 
 
 Wife. I say, I've lost from home 
 
 A robe. 
 
 Me)i. Epi. Who took it ? 
 
 Wife. He who stole it, knows. 
 
 Men.. Epi. And who is he ? 
 
 Wife. One who is call'd Men-cPchmus. 
 
 Men. Epi. Spitefully done ! And who is this 
 Mena'chmus ? 
 
 Wife. Yourself, I say. 
 
 Men. Epi. What ! I ? 
 
 Wife. Yes, you. 
 
 Men. Epi. Who said so ? 
 
 Wife. Myself. 
 
 Pen. And I; and that you had carried it 
 
 Off to your mistress, to Erotium. 
 
 31cn. Epi. I? 
 
 I give it her? 
 
 Pen. You, yon, I say. Shall I 
 
 Go fetch an owl, to hoot in at your ears. 
 You, you? for we are both quite tired. 
 
 Men. Epi. By Jove, and all the gods, I swear 
 my dear, 
 I never gave it her : Will that content you? 
 
 Pen. And I, I swear by Hercules! that we 
 Say nau'jht but truth. 
 
 Men. Epi. I did not give it her, 
 
 I only lent it. 
 
 Wife. "Troth, I never lend 
 
 Your coat, nor cloak abroad. 'Tis rit^dit for woman 
 To lend out woman's garments; men, their own. 
 Won't you return my robe ? 
 
 3Ien. Epi. The robe, I'll see 
 
 Shall be return'd — 
 
 Wife. 'Tis the best way. — For you 
 
 Shall never set a foot within your doors, 
 Unless you bring my robe. 
 
 Men. Epi. Not set a foot 
 
 Within my doors? 
 
 Pen. {to the Wife.) What recompense for me. 
 Who have assisted you? 
 
 Wife. When yon have had 
 
 A loss like mine, I'll do the same for yon. 
 
 Pm. By Pollux's temple! that will never be; 
 For I have nought at home to lose. The gods 
 Confound yon both, both of you, wife and hus- 
 band ! 
 I'll hie me to the Forum : for I find 
 'Tis now quite over with me in this family. 
 
 [^Exeunt Peniculus and the Wife, severally. 
 
 Men. Epi. My wife then thought she'd done a 
 mighty matter, 
 In threat'ning thus, to shut me out of doors ; 
 As if I had not a far better place. 
 Where I shall be admitted. Well, if I 
 Displease you, my dear wife, I must e'en bear it: 
 But I shall please Erotium ; and she ne'er 
 Will shut me out, but rather shut me in. 
 Well, I'll go in, and pray her to return 
 The robe I just now gave her, and instead 
 Of that, I'll purchase her a better. Ho ! 
 Who's porter here ? Open the door, and call 
 Erotium hither. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Erotium. 
 Erot. Who inquires for me ' 
 
 Men. Epi. 'Tis one, who to himself is more an 
 enemy. 
 Than sitch to you. 
 
 Erot. My dear Men^chmus, why 
 
 Do'st stand before the door ? Follow me in. 
 Men. Epi. Stay here a little. Do you know the 
 reason 
 I now come to you. 
 
 Erot. I know it very well : 
 
 'Tis to amuse yourself along with me. 
 
 Men. Epi. That robe I lately gave you, prithee, 
 love. 
 Restore it. — For my wife hath been appris'd. 
 And knows the whole affair from first to last. 
 I'll buy one for you twice as rich, you'll like — 
 
 Erot. I gave it you but now, to carry it 
 To the embroiderer's ; with it, a bracelet 
 To give the jeweller to set anew. 
 
 Men. Epi. You gave to me a bracelet, and the 
 robe ? 
 Never — For when I'd giv'n the robe to you, 
 I went directly to the market-place : 
 Now first return I ; nor have seen you since. 
 Erot. I see through your design: because I 
 trusted yon. 
 You would deceive me ; that "tis you would do. 
 3Ien. Epi. I do not ask you for it to defraud 
 you. 
 But tell you, that my wife knows all the affair. 
 Erot. Nor did I ask you for it: you yourself 
 Gave it me freely; as a gift, you gave it; 
 And now demand it back. Well, be it so: 
 Let it be yours, take it ; make use of it. 
 You or your wife, preserve it as your eyes. 
 But don't deceive yourself; after this day 
 You never shall set foot within my doors, 
 
368 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Since you have treated with contempt a woman, 
 Who has not merited sncli usage from you. 
 Next time you come, be sure bring money with 
 
 you. 
 You shall not have to visit me for nothing. 
 Henceforth find some one else to disappoint. 
 Men. Epi. You are too hasty — Hark you ! — 
 
 Stay — Come back. 
 Erot. Still are you there? and dare on my 
 account 
 Still to return? \_Exit Erotium. 
 
 Men. Epi. She's gone — has shut the door. 
 Now I'm turn"d out indeed : nor can I gain 
 Credit, or from my mistress or my wife, 
 ril go, consult my friends in the alFair. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCEXE IV. 
 
 Enter Men^chmus Sosicles, with the robe. 
 'Twas foolish in me when but now I trusted 
 My purse with all that's in it, to Messenio. 
 He has got, I doubt, into some brothel with it. 
 
 Enter the Wife of Menachmus of Epidamnum. 
 
 Wife. Ill now see if my husband is come home. 
 But see, he's here! All's well, he brings my robe. 
 
 Men. Sos. I wonder where Messenio can be got. 
 
 Wife. I'll go, and talk to him as he deserves. — 
 Art not ashamed, vile man, to appear before me, 
 And with this robe? 
 
 Men. Sos. Why, what's the matter, woman? 
 What is't disturbs you ? 
 
 Wife. Dare you, impudence ! 
 
 Mutter a single word, or speak to me ? 
 
 Men. Sos. What have I done, I should not dare 
 to speak ? 
 
 Wife. What ! do you ask me ? consummate 
 impudence ! 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Did you ne'er hear, good woman, 
 why the Grecians 
 Call'd Hecuba a bitch ? 
 
 Wife. Not that I know of 
 
 Men. Sos. Because she did the same that you 
 do now ; 
 Threw out abuse on every one she saw : 
 And therefore, rightly did they call her bitch. 
 
 Wife. I cannot bear these scandalous reproaches : 
 I'd rather be a widow all my life, 
 Than bear these vile reflections you throw on 
 me. 
 
 Men. Sos. W^hat is't to me, whether you live as 
 married. 
 Or parted from your husband ? Is it thus 
 The custom to sing out such idle stories 
 To strangers on their first arrival here? 
 
 Wife. What idle stories? No, I will not bear it, 
 I'd rather live a widow, than endure 
 Your humours any longer. 
 
 Men. Sos. Troth, for me 
 
 Long as you please, you've leave to live a widow : 
 As long as Jupiter shall keep his kingdom. 
 
 W ife. You would not own but now, you stole 
 that robe, 
 And now )-ou hold it out before my eyes ? 
 W^hat! are you not ashamed? 
 
 Men. Sos. By Hercules ! 
 
 You are an impudent and wicked woman. 
 To dare to say this robe was stolen from you ; 
 When it was given me by another woman, 
 To get it alter'd for her. 
 
 Wife. Yes, by Castor ! 
 
 Ill call my father hither, and lay open 
 All your base actions to him. Decius, go, 
 
 (fo a servant.^ 
 Seek for my father, bring him with you ; say, 
 'Tis proper he should come. — 111 tell him all 
 Your horrid usage. — 
 
 Men. Sos. Are you in your senses ? 
 
 What horrid usage ? 
 
 Wife. How you have filch'd from me 
 
 My robe, my gold, from me who are your wife, 
 And given them to your mistress. — Say I not 
 The very truth ? — 
 
 3Ien. Sos. I prithee, woman, say 
 
 Where I may sup, to charm me from your tongue. 
 I know not whom you take me for. — For you, 
 I know as much of Parthaon. 
 
 Wife. Though you mock me. 
 
 You can't, by Pollux ! serve my father so. 
 Who's just now coming hither. — Look behind. 
 Say, do you know him? 
 
 Men. Sos. Just as I know Chalcas. 
 
 The very day that I saw you, before 
 This day did I see him — 
 
 Wife. Dar'st thou deny 
 
 That thou know'st me, deny thou know'st my 
 father ? 
 
 Men. Sos. I'd say the same thing, did'st thou 
 bring thy grandfather. 
 
 Wife. By Castor ! you are like yourself in all 
 things. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Old Man. 
 Old M. Fast as my age permits, and as the 
 
 occasion 
 Calls, will I push my steps, and hasten forward. 
 How easily, I easily may guess. 
 My speed forsakes me ; I'm beset with age ; 
 I bear a weak, yet heavy laden body. 
 Old age is a sad pedlar; on his back 
 Carrying along a pack of grievances. 
 It would be tedious to recount them all; 
 But this affair I cannot well digest. 
 What should this matter be, which makes my 
 
 daughter 
 Want me to come to her in such a hurry? 
 She does not tell me what the business is, 
 Wliat 'tis she wants, nor why she sends for me ; 
 Yet I can give a shrewd guess, what it is : 
 I'm apt to think, some quarrel with her husband. 
 Such is their way, who of their portions proud, 
 Would keep their husbands vmder government. 
 Nor are the husbands often without fault. 
 But there are bounds how far a wife should go. 
 Nor does my daughter send to see her father, 
 But when tome fault's committed, or perhaps 
 Some quarrel has arisen. What it is, 
 I soon shall know. — For, look, I see her then. 
 Before the door ; and with her too, her husband. 
 Whose looks are pensive. — 'Tis as I suspected — 
 I'll call her. — 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 369 
 
 Wife. ril go meet him. — Happiness 
 
 Attend you, father! 
 
 Old M. That good will to you ! 
 
 Am I come here to see things go on \\'ell'? 
 Wherefore your order, that I should be sent 
 
 for? 
 Why are you pensive, say? and what's the reason 
 Your husband keeps aloof in anger from you? 
 The reason I know not, but there has been 
 Some bickering between you. — Who's in fault? 
 Tell in few words — no long discourse about it. — 
 
 Wife. I am in nought to blame; be easy then 
 As to that point, my father. But 1 cannot 
 Live longer witli him, nor stay longer here. 
 Therefore, I beg you take me hence away. 
 
 Old M. Say, what's the matter ? 
 
 Wife. Matter ? I am made 
 
 A laughing-stock. 
 
 Old M. By whom ? 
 
 Wife. By him you've made 
 
 My husband. 
 
 Old M. So! a quarrel! say, how often 
 
 I've warned you both, not to complain to me. 
 
 Wife. How can I help it, sir? 
 
 Old M. What ! ask you me ? 
 
 Wife. Yes, if you'll give me leave. 
 
 Old M. How many times 
 
 Have I advis'd you to conform to your husband? 
 Never to watch his actions; where he goes, 
 Or what he is about. 
 
 Wife. But he's in love. 
 
 Here in the neighbourhood, with a courtezan. 
 
 Old 31. He's wise in that: and by that care of 
 yours. 
 In thus observing him, I would advise liim 
 To love still more. 
 
 Wife. He drinks there, too. 
 
 Old M. For you. 
 
 Think you he'll ever drink the less, or there. 
 Or elsewhere, as he likes? What impudence! 
 Do you insist, he never sup abroad, 
 Nor entertain a stranger at your house ? 
 Would you, your husband should obey your plea- 
 sure ? 
 You may as well require him to partake 
 Y'our work with you, and sit among the maids. 
 And card the wool. 
 
 Wife. I find, sir, I have brought you 
 
 No advocate for me, but for my husband. 
 Here stand you as a patron in my cause, 
 Y'et plead for his. — 
 
 Old M. Was he in au<;ht to blame, 
 
 I should condemn him more than I do you. 
 But when I see he keeps you richly clothed, 
 Allows you servants, and a plenteous table, 
 A wife thus treated, should in my opinion 
 Bear towards him a more equal mind. 
 
 Wife. But he 
 
 Pilfers my gold, my robe from out my chest; 
 Robs me, and carries to his courtezans 
 My ricViest ornaments. 
 
 Old M. If ho acts tlius, 
 
 He acts amiss: if not, you act but ill. 
 When you accuse one that is innocent. 
 
 Wife. Why, even at this vtry instant, sir, 
 He has a bracelet, and a robe of mine, 
 47 
 
 Wliich he bore off here to this ef)nrtezan; 
 
 And now he finds I know it, brings them back. 
 
 Old M. Tis right to know these matters from 
 himself: 
 I will accost, and speak to liim. Say, Men;fchmus, 
 Wliat's your dispute ? Give me at once to know it. 
 Why are yon pensive? And why is your wife 
 In wrath against you ? 
 
 Men. Sos. Whosoe'er you are, 
 
 Whate'er's your name, I call great Jupiter, 
 And all the gods to witness — 
 
 Old M. Why, and wherefore? 
 
 Men. Sos. That I this woman ne'er have injur'd 
 her. 
 Who raves about my stealing from her house 
 This robe, and bearing of it olf. If ever 
 I've once set foot within her doors, I wish 
 I may become the veriest wretch alive. 
 
 Old M. Have you your senses when you make 
 that wish ? 
 Or, when deny that ever you set foot 
 Within that house, where you reside yourself? 
 O, of all madmen the most mad ! 
 
 Men. Sos. Old man, 
 
 And do you say, that I inhabit here? 
 
 Old 31. Do you deny it ? 
 
 31cn. Sos. By Hercides, I do! 
 
 Wife. 'Tis impudence to do so. But you mean. 
 Because you went this night elsewhere. 
 
 Old M. Come hither. 
 
 Daughter — and you (to At'nj.) what say you now ? 
 This night went you from hence ? 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Whither? for what, I pray you? 
 
 Old 31. I know not. 
 
 Wife. 'Tis plain he banters you. 
 
 Old M. [to her.) What, canst not hold thy 
 tongue? Truly, Mentechmus, 
 You've jested long enough : now to the purpose. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Pray, what have you to do with me? 
 what business? 
 Say whence you come ; and who you are ; and 
 
 what 
 I've done to you, or to this woman here, 
 That ye thus teaze me? — 
 
 Wife. How his eyes shine! see! 
 
 A greenish colour spreads o'er all his temples, 
 O'er all his forehead. See his eyes! they sparkle! 
 
 3Icn. Sos. (aside.) Since they will have me mad, 
 what can I do? 
 Better then feign a madness, I may tluis 
 Fright tbem away. — 
 
 Wife. Look how he yawns and stretches! 
 
 What shall I do, my father! 
 
 Old 31. Come this way, 
 
 As far ort" from him as you can, my child. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Evo'i, Evoi! Bacchus, son of Jove, 
 Why (lost thou call me to the wood to hunt? 
 I hear you, but I cannot stir from lience. 
 This woman, on the left side, watches me 
 Like a mad dog; on t'other, this old goat, 
 Who often in his life has by false witness 
 Destroyd the guiltless man. — 
 
 Old 31. Woeonthyhfe! 
 
 31en. Sos. See where Apollo from his oracle 
 Commands me to burn out that woman's eyes, 
 With lighted torches. 
 
370 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Wife. Im undone, my father ! 
 
 He tliicatens me, to burn out both my eyes. 
 Men. Sos. (^asule.) Alas! tliey say I'm mad, yet 
 they themselves 
 Are much more mad than I. 
 
 Old M. Hark, you ! my daughter ! 
 
 Wife. Your pleasure, sir"? What shall we do"? 
 
 Old M. Suppose 
 
 I call my servants quickly — IMl bring them, those 
 
 Shall carry him into the house, there bind him, 
 
 Ere he make more disturbance. — 
 
 Men. Sos. On my word, (asic/f.) 
 
 Unless I take great care, they'll bear me ofl" 
 By force into their house. Yes, thou hast order'd 
 
 me. 
 Not to forbear the thrusting of my fists 
 Into her face, unless she marches off 
 Far from my sight, and goes and hangs herself. 
 Yes, yes, Apollo, I obey thy orders. 
 
 Old M. Run home, my daughter, run into the 
 house 
 Fast as you can, lest he belabour you. 
 
 Wife. I fly. I pray you take good heed, my 
 father. 
 That he escape not. An unhappy wife 
 Am I, to hear all this. [Exit. 
 
 Men. Sos. I've sent her off, (^aside.^ 
 
 Not ill. And now must I send after her 
 This more than filthy fellow, this old grey 
 
 beard, 
 This totterer, this old Tithon, son of Cygnus — 
 'Tis thy command that I should break his 
 
 limbs, (aZowrf.) 
 His bones, his joints, with that same staff he 
 carries. 
 Old M. Touch, or come nearer me, and you'll 
 
 repent it. 
 3Ien. Sos. Yes, I will do as you have order'd 
 me. 
 Take up this two-edg'd axe, bone this old fellow. 
 And cut his bowels piece-meal. 
 
 Old M. Troth, I must 
 
 Take care though of myself — I am afraid. 
 Hell do a mischief to me, as he threatens. 
 
 Meti. Sos. Apollo! fast thou pour"st thy great 
 behests — 
 Now thou command'st me, harness my wild 
 
 steeds. 
 Fierce and untam'd ; and now to mount my car 
 And crush in pieces this Getulian lion, 
 This stinking, toothless beast. — rNow do I mount, 
 And now I shake the reins — I take the lash ; 
 Now fly, my steeds, and let your sounding hoofs 
 Tell your sw ift course — show in the turn your 
 speed. 
 Old M. And dost thou threaten me with har- 
 
 nessd steeds ? 
 Men. Sos. Again, Apollo! thou again com- 
 mandst me 
 To rush upon yon fellow that stands there. 
 And murder him. But who is tliis, that by 
 My fluttering tresses plucks me from my car, 
 The dire commands revoking of Apollo? 
 
 Old M. A sharp and obstinate distemper this! 
 Ye gods! is't possible, a man who seeni'd 
 So well but now, should fall so suddenly 
 47 
 
 Into so strange a malady? Away, 
 
 I must m^ke haste, and send for a physician. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Men. Sos. What! are they gone? Are they both 
 
 fled my sight? 
 Who forc'd me in my wits to feign the madman. 
 What hinders now, to embark me, while I'm 
 
 well ? 
 I beg you, sirs, (/o the spectators.^ if the old man 
 
 return. 
 Not to discover, down what street I took. [Exit. 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 Enter Old Man. 
 My limbs with sitting ache, my eyes with water- 
 ing. 
 While this same doctor from his patients comes. 
 Scarcely arriv'd at home, he's telling me, 
 He was obliged to set a broken leg 
 Of .iEsculapius, and Apollo's arm. 
 I'm thinking whether I am bringing with me. 
 Or a physician, or a carpenter — 
 But see ! he comes, though with an emmet's pace. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Phtsician. 
 Phys. What did you say was his disorder, sir, 
 Inform me, is he mad, or is he frantic? 
 Is it a lethargy, or is he dropsical? 
 
 Old M. I brought you hither to know that of 
 you. 
 And that your art should cure him. 
 
 Phys. Nought more easy. 
 
 From this time, I engage he shall be well. 
 
 Old M. I'd have great care ta'en of him in his 
 
 cure. 
 Phys. My frequent visits oft will make me 
 puff. 
 Such great care I shall take in curing him. 
 Old M. But see the man ! 
 Phys. Let us observe his actions. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Men^chmus of Epidamnwm. 
 Men. Epi. This day has been unlucky, and to 
 me 
 Quite adverse — what I thought to have done in 
 
 secret. 
 Has been discovered by this parasite, 
 t And brought both fear and infamy upon me. 
 He my Ulysses was, and my adviser; 
 Yet nought but evil heaps on me his king. 
 His thread of life, if I but live myself, 
 W^ll I cut off. How like a fool I talk ! 
 His thread of life ! His thread of life is mine; 
 He eats my victuals, lives at my expense. 
 Yes, I will be the death of him. Be.<ides, 
 This wench has acted but in character. 
 The manner of them all. When I request her 
 To give me back the robe to give my wife, 
 She tells me, she already had returned it 
 Troth, I'm imhappy ! 
 
 Old M. Hear you what he says ? 
 
 Phys. He says he is unhappy. 
 
 Old M. Pray go nearer. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 371 
 
 Phys. Save you, Menscchmus. Why do you 
 bare your arms? 
 Yon know not how it helps on your disordpr. 
 
 Moi. Epi. Go hang yourself, (/o the Old Man.') 
 
 Phys. What think you now ■? 
 
 Men. Epi. What think ? 
 
 What can I think? 
 
 Phys. To work a cure requires 
 
 More than an acre of sjood hellebore. 
 Hark ye! Mcntcclimns? 
 
 Men. Epi. What would'st thou with me? 
 
 Phys. Answer to what I ask: Say, do you 
 drink 
 White wine or red? 
 
 Men. Epi. Go hang yourself. 
 
 Phys. I find 
 
 The mad fit just now coming on. 
 
 Men. Epi. Why not 
 
 Ask me as well the colour of my bread, 
 Whetlier I eat it purple, red, or yellow? 
 Whether eat scaly birds, or feather'd fish. 
 
 Old M. Hark ! how deliriously he talks ! or e"er 
 He grows stark staling mad, give him some po- 
 tion. 
 
 Phys. Hold, stay a little, I shall farther ques- 
 tion him. 
 
 Old M. More idle talk will quite demolish him. 
 
 Phys. Tell me but this; do you ever tind your 
 eyes 
 Grow hard ? 
 
 Men. Epi. Do you take me for a locust, fool ? 
 
 Phys. Do you find your bowels make a noise 
 sometimes ? 
 
 Men. Epi. When I am full, my bowels make 
 no noise : 
 They do, when I am hiuigry. — 
 
 Phys. B}^ my troth, 
 
 Tri this he does not answer like a nia<linaii. 
 D'you sleep till daylight? When you go to bed, 
 D'you get to sleep with ease ? 
 
 Men. Epi. My debts discharg'd, 
 
 I sleep with ease. May Jove and all the gods 
 Coiifciund this questioner! 
 
 \ Phys. He 'gins to rave, (osirfe.) 
 
 Take heed of what you say. 
 
 Old M. In what he says, 
 
 He's much more moderate than he was but now. 
 'Tis but a while ago, he said, his wife 
 Was a mad bitch. 
 
 Men. Epi. What did I say? 
 
 Old M. You're mad, 
 
 I say. 
 
 Jilcn. Epi. What, I ? 
 
 Old M. Yon there, v, ho threaten'd me. 
 
 You it trample me beneath your horse's feet. 
 1 saw yon do it, and I will riiaintaii) it. 
 
 Men. Epi. And I well know, you've stol'n 
 Jove's sacred crown. 
 And for the fact liavc been confin'd in prison. 
 And when releas'd you've been severr-ly whipp'd 
 Under a gibbet. And T know besides, 
 You've kiird your father, and have sold your 
 
 mother. 
 Think you I am so mad, I can't devise 
 The same abusive language against you, 
 As you can do gainst me. 
 
 Old M. Doctor, I beg you, 
 
 What you intend to do to him, do quickly. 
 Do you not see he's mad? 
 
 Phys. 'Twere the best thing, 
 
 You know, to have him carried to my house. 
 
 Old M. Do you think so? 
 
 Phys. Why not? I there can treat him 
 
 As I think proper. 
 
 Old M. Do just as you please. 
 
 Phys. About some twenty days, you shall drink 
 hellebo're. 
 
 Men Epi. And you, some tliirty days, shall be 
 tied up. 
 And flogg'd severely. 
 
 Phys. Go, and call your men, 
 
 To bring liim to my house. 
 
 Old M. How many men 
 
 D'ye think will be sufRcieiit ? 
 
 Phys. As I see him 
 
 So mad, not less than four. 
 
 Old M. Thoy shall bo here 
 
 Immediately. Take care of him, good doctor. 
 
 Phys. I'll home to get things ready that are 
 wanting. 
 Go, bid your servants bring him to my house. 
 
 Old M. I will take care that he shall soon be 
 there. 
 
 Phys. I'm gone. 
 
 Old M. Farewell. 
 
 [E.ceunt Physician and Old Man separately. 
 
 Men. Epi. The father-in-law is gone, 
 And so's the doctor. Now I am alone. 
 How is it, Jove, these men will have me mad. 
 Since I was born, I've ne'er been sick one day. 
 Nor am I mad, nor do I seek for quarrels. 
 Nor stir up strifes. I'm vi'-ell in health, and see 
 Others the same : I know men, and I speak to 
 
 them. 
 Is't not, that those who say that I am mad, 
 Are mad themselves? What shall I do? I would 
 Go home; but then my wife will not permit 
 
 it. — 
 My mistress too will not admit me. This, 
 All of it's ill. I'll e'en stay here till night. 
 And I may get admittance in the dark. 
 
 (^stands apart.) 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Messenio. 
 Mess. 'Tis on all hands allow'd to be tlie proof 
 Of a good servant, when he takes good care of, 
 Looks after, thinks of, and (lis])oses rightly 
 His master's business. That, when he is absent. 
 Things may go on as well, or even better 
 Than when lie's present. He whose lieart is 
 
 ri lit, 
 Will think his back of greater consequence 
 Than is his gullet: Ay, and to his belly 
 Prefer his legs. Ho ou-.ht to bear in mind 
 The wages, servants good-for-nothing, idle, 
 Or wicked, from their master's hands receive; 
 And these are, striix'.s and chains, the stocks, the 
 
 mill, 
 Hard labour, cold and hunger. Such as these 
 Are the rewards of idleness. This evil 
 
372 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 I'm terribly afraid of; therefore choose 
 Rather to do my duty, than neglect it. 
 Words I can bear, but stripes I hate. I rather 
 Like to cat that which has been ground by 
 
 others, 
 Than grind myself what others are to eat. 
 I therefore execute my master's orders 
 Well; and with sober diligence I serve him: 
 This turns to my account — Let others act then 
 As best they think it for their interest, 
 111 ever be that which I ought to be : 
 This fear I'll still retain, to keep me free 
 From fault; that wheresoe'er my master is, 
 I may be ready there to wait on him. 
 Those servants who have nothing done amiss. 
 Yet keep this fear, still make themselves of use 
 To their respective masters. But the servants 
 Who never live in fear of doing wrong, — 
 Fear, when they've something done to merit 
 
 pui'ishment. 
 As for myself, I shan't live long in fear — 
 The time draws nigh, when master will reward 
 
 me 
 For all the pains I have been at to serve him. 
 I've serv'd him so, as to consult my back. 
 Now that Tve plac'd the servants, as he order'd, 
 And what they'd want i'th' inn, Im come to 
 
 meet him. 
 I'll now knock at the door, that he may know 
 I'm here, though doubtful whether I can bring him 
 Safe off from this vile house — I fear me much. 
 Lest I should come after the battle's fout;lit. 
 
 ?CE?fE V. 
 
 Enter Old Man with Servants. 
 Old M. (^to the servants.) By gods and men, I 
 here conjure you all 
 To take good care to execute the orders 
 Given you already ; and I now repeat them. 
 See tliat man carried to the doctor's house ; 
 On pain of both your sides and legs, obey me. 
 Be sure, each of you, not to heed his threats 
 
 there. 
 Why stand you thus? why hesitate? e'en now 
 He ought to've been borne off. I'll go myself 
 Straight to the doctor : when you are got thither. 
 You'll find me there before you — 
 
 [Exit Old Man. 
 
 ilfen. Epi. I'm undone. 
 
 What is the matter? What do these men want. 
 
 That they run here so fast? What is't you M^ant ? 
 
 Why do you thus surround me ? Why thus hale 
 
 me? 
 Where would you carry me? Undone! help! 
 
 he'p ! help ! 
 Aid me, ye Epidamnians ! Let me go. 
 
 (^fo the servants.) 
 Mess. Ye srods, what do I see ! What men are 
 these 
 Who thus unworthily are bearing off 
 My master? 
 
 Men Epi. What, will no one dare to help me? 
 Mess. Master, I will, and boldly too. — What 
 villainy ! 
 Ye Epidamnians, thus to seize my master. 
 In the open street, by daylight, undisturb'd 
 
 By tumults in your city — A free man 
 He enter'd it — Then let him go, I say — 
 
 Meti. Epi. Whoe'er you are, assist me, I be- 
 seech you. 
 Nor let them do such signal outrage on me. 
 
 Mess. Yes, I'll assist, defend, and succour you. 
 'Tis far more just, that I myself should perish, 
 Than suffer you to be thus treated, master: 
 Pluck out that fellow's eye, I beg of you, 
 Who holds you by the shoulder. I'll myself 
 Plant in these rascals' chaps a crop of blows. 
 If you persist in bearing him away. 
 You'll find you'll have the worst of it. Let 
 him go. 
 
 3fen. Epi. I've got hold of the rascal's eye. 
 
 Mess. Why then 
 
 Let in his head the socket straight appear. 
 Rogues! Rascals! 
 
 Servs. You'll murder us. Have mercy! 
 
 Mess. Let him go then. 
 
 3Ien. Epi. What is't ye mean, you rascals ! 
 By laying hands on me thus violently? 
 Curry the scoundrels with your blows. 
 
 Mess. Away, 
 
 Begone, tro and be hang'd, ye rascals! 
 You there, that are the last to quit your hold, 
 Take this along with you as a reward — 
 
 {strikes him.) 
 So, so: I think I've on this scoundrel's chaps 
 Written in red letters. — 'Troth, I came in time 
 To your assistance, master. 
 
 Men. Epi. May the gods! 
 
 Whoe'er you are, be ever kind to you. 
 Young man. For without you, I ne'er had seen 
 The setting sun this day. 
 
 Mess. By Pollux ! therefore, 
 
 If you do right, you'll give me, sir, my freedom. 
 
 Men. Epi. Give you your freedom ! 
 
 Mess. Out of doubt, my master, 
 
 Since I have sav'd your life. 
 
 3[en. Epi. How's this ! young man. 
 
 You are mistaken. 
 
 Mess. I mistaken ! how ? 
 
 Men. Epi. I sM'ear by Father Jupiter, I'm not 
 Your master. 
 
 Mess. Can you say so ? 
 
 Men. Epi. I don't lie. 
 
 I never had a servant yet ; I say. 
 Who ever did for me, what you have done? 
 
 Mess. If then you will not own me for your 
 servant. 
 E'en let me go, and have my liberty. 
 
 Men. Epi. As far as in my power, take your 
 liberty. 
 And go where'er you please. 
 
 Mess. Then you command me? 
 
 3Ien Epi. Yes sure, as far as I've a right to 
 do so. 
 
 Mess. My patron, thanks ! 
 
 j1 Serv. I joy to see you free, 
 
 Messenio. 
 
 Mess. In troth I well believe you. 
 By Hercules! I do. And, now, my patron, 
 I beg, you'd lay on me the same commands 
 As when I was your servant. I'll live with you: 
 And, when you home return, go with you, sir. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 373 
 
 Men.Epi. No, by no means. 
 
 Mess. I'll go now to the inn, 
 
 And bring your goods and money to you straight: 
 The purse which lias your money, is fast seal'd 
 Within the cloak-bag. I'll go bring it straight. 
 
 Men. Epi. Do so, and quickly. 
 
 Mess. Sir, I'll bring them back 
 
 In the same state as when you gave tliem me. 
 Wait for me here. [Exit Mess. 
 
 Men. Epi. What I've to-day experienc'd 
 In many instances is most extraordinary. 
 Some of tliem say, that I am not the man 
 I am, and shut me out of doors. And here 
 A man insists upon't, he is my servant — 
 And I just now have given him his freedom. 
 He talks of bringing money to me straight ; 
 Which if he does, Fll tell him he has liberty 
 To go from me whene'er it suits him best. 
 My father-in-law and the physician say 
 That I'm mad. 'Tis strange what this should be : 
 It seems to me no other than a dream. 
 I'll now go to this courtezan, and see. 
 Though she is angry with me, if I can't 
 Prevail on her, to let me have the robe. 
 To carry home, and give it to my wife. 
 
 [Exit Men. Epi. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Enter Menechmus Sosicles and Messenio. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. And do you dare affirm, audacious 
 fellow. 
 That you have met me anywhere to-day, 
 When I had order'd you to meet me here? 
 
 Mes. It is so true, that I not only met you ; 
 But that e'en now, I freed you from four men. 
 Before this very house, who seiz'd on you, 
 And would have borne you olT. You call'd on 
 
 gods 
 And men for .their assistance. I ran up. 
 And snatch'd you from them, notwithstanding all 
 Their etforts to the contrary, and fought them. 
 OVr^which account, as I had done you service, 
 You gave my freedom to me. After that. 
 You bade me go, and fetch your goods and money. 
 You've hasten'd on, fast as you could, before, 
 To frustrate your own deeds — 
 
 Men. Sos. And did I bid you 
 
 Depart a freeman ? 
 
 3Iess. Certainly. 
 
 Men. Sos. And 'tis 
 
 Most certain, I'm as much a slave myself 
 As e'er I gave to you your liberty. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 Enter Men^chmcs of Epidnmnum, from Ero- 
 tium's Itouse. 
 Men. Epi. Vile woman as you are, though you 
 should swear 
 By all that's dear to you, that I this day 
 Bore off that robe and bracelet, yet you never, 
 No. never should convince me. 
 
 Mess. Gods immortal ! 
 
 What is that I see ? 
 
 Men. Sos. Why, what do you see ? 
 
 3Icss. Why, your resemblance, sir, as in a mirror. 
 3Ien. Sos. What is't you mean] 
 
 Mess. Your image, and as like 
 
 As possible. 
 
 Men. Sos. Troth, if I know myself, 
 Tis not unlike. 
 
 Men. Epi. Young man, whoe'er you are. 
 
 The gods preserve you! you have sav'd my life. 
 
 Mess. Young man, if 'tis not disagreeable, 
 Tell me your name. 
 
 Men. Epi. You have so much oblig'd me, 
 
 You cannot ask what I'd be slow to grant you. 
 My name's Mentechmus. 
 
 3IeH. Sos. Mine's Mensechmus too. 
 
 Men. Epi. Im a Sicilian, and of Syracuse. 
 
 31en. Sos. I am the same : it is my native 
 country — 
 
 Men. Epi. What's that I hear? 
 
 31en. Sos. You hear the very truth. 
 
 Mess. I know this gentleman; he is my master, 
 I am his servant. But I thought myself 
 The other's servant. Sir, (?o Men. Sos.) I thought 
 
 him, you ; 
 And by so doing, gave you some uneasiness. 
 If I have said aught foolish or imprudent, 
 I jiray you pardon me. 
 
 Men. Sos. You're mad, I think. 
 
 Don't you remember, that this very day 
 You disembark'd with me? 
 
 Mess. Nothing more just. 
 
 You are my master. Seek (/o 3Ien. Epi.) another 
 
 servant. 
 (fo Men. Sos.) God save you, sir! and you, [to 
 
 Men. Epi.) good sir, adieu! 
 This is, I say, Menajchmus. 
 
 Men. Epi. I say, I am. 
 
 Men. Sos. What comedy is this? What! you 
 Mentfchmus ! 
 
 Men. Epi. I am, sir, atid my father's name was 
 Moschus. 
 
 Men. Sos. And are you then my father's son ? 
 
 Men. Epi. I'm son 
 
 Of my own father, youth. I do not want 
 To claim your father, nor to take him from you. 
 
 Mess. Ye gods ! confirm the unexpected hope 
 Which I'm conceiving. These, if I mistake not, 
 Are the twin brothers; for they both agree. 
 In owning the same father, the same country. 
 I'll call aside my master. Sir! Menicchmus! 
 
 Bolh Men. Whom is't you want ? 
 
 Mess. I want but one of you. 
 
 But which of you came with me in the ship ? 
 
 Mm. Epi. Not I. 
 
 Men. Sos. 'Twas I. 
 
 Mess. Why then, 'tis you I want. 
 
 Come this way. 
 
 3Ien. Sos. Well, I'm here, what do you want? 
 
 Mess. That man is an impostor, sir, or else 
 He's your twin brother. For I never saw 
 Two men, one like the other so exactly. 
 Water is, I assure you, not more like 
 To water, nor is milk more like to milk, 
 Than he is like to you, and you to him. 
 Besides, he owns himself of the same country. 
 And claims too the same father. Best accost him, 
 And ask him some few questions. 
 
 Men. Sos. Your advice 
 
 Is right, by Hercules ! — I thank you for it. 
 20 
 
374 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Beseecli you, give me farther your assistance; 
 And, if you find us brothers, you shall have 
 Your freedom. 
 
 Mess. Sir, I hope I shall. 
 
 Men. Sos. I hope 
 
 The same. 
 
 Mess, (fo Men. Epi.) What was't you said ? I 
 think it was 
 That you are call'd MenEechmus ? 
 
 Men. Epi. Yes. 
 
 Mess. -^ But he 
 
 Is caird Mensechmus too. — In Sicily 
 You said that you was born, a citizen 
 Of Syracuse. — Why there was he born too. 
 You've likewise said that Moschus was your 
 
 father 1 
 Why, Moschus was his father too. And now 
 It's in the power of botli of you to assist me; 
 And, in assisting me, to assist yourselves. 
 
 Me7t. Epi. You have deserv'd so much of me, 
 that what 
 You ask, you may command. Free as I am 
 I'll serve you, just as if I was your slave. 
 
 Mess. I hope you're just upon the point of 
 finding 
 That you're twin brothers, born at the same 
 
 time, 
 Sons of one father, and one mother too. 
 
 Men. Epi. You mention wonders. Would you 
 could eifect 
 That which you've given assurance of — 
 
 Mess. I can. 
 
 Come now. To that which I shall ask of you, 
 Both answer me. 
 
 Men. Epi. Ask when you please, I'll answer, 
 And not conceal one jot of what I know. 
 
 Mess. Is then your name Mencechmus? 
 
 Men. Epi. Yes, I own it. 
 
 Mess. And yours the same? J 
 
 Men. Sos. It is. 
 
 Mess. You also say 
 
 Your father's name was Moschus. 
 
 Men. Epi. Yes, I do. 
 
 Men. Sos. And mine the same. 
 
 Mess. Are you of Syracuse? 
 
 Men. Epi. Most certainly. 
 
 Mess. And you? 
 
 Men. Sos. No doubt of it. 
 
 Mess. Hitherto all the marks agree right well. 
 But let's go on. What's the most distant thing. 
 Yon recollect to have happened in your country? 
 
 Men. Epi. The going with my father to Ta- 
 rentum 
 I'th' way of merchandising : in the crowd 
 My straying from my father; after that, 
 My being hither brought. 
 
 Men. Sos. Preserve me, Jupiter ! 
 
 Mess. Why is that exclamation? Hold your 
 peace. 
 (<o Men. Epi.) Say, when your father from your 
 
 country took you, 
 What was your age? 
 
 Men. Epi. Seven years : for I remember 
 
 Just at that time my teeth began to shed — 
 Nor from that time have I e'er seen my father. 
 
 3fess. How many children had your father? 
 
 Men. Epi. Two, 
 
 If I remember right. 
 
 Mess. Was you or he 
 
 The elder? 
 
 Men. Epi. We were both of the same age. 
 
 Mess. How can that be ?^ 
 
 Men. Epi. We were both twins. — 
 
 Men. Sos. The gods 
 
 Are pleas'd to bless me — 
 
 Mess. If you interrupt me, 
 
 I'll say no more. 
 
 Men. Sos. Rather than so, I'm silent. 
 
 Mess. Say, had you both one name ? 
 
 Men. Epi. Not so — my name 
 
 Was, as 'tis now, Mensechmus. But my brother 
 They named Sosicles. 
 
 Men. Sos. I own the proofs. 
 
 I cannot hold out longer. I'll embrace him. — 
 My brother, my twin brother, hail ! 'Tis I 
 Am Sosicles. 
 
 Men. Epi. If so, why was you afterwards 
 MenEPchmus call'd? 
 
 Men. Sos. When afterwards we heard 
 
 You and your father both were dead, my grand- 
 father 
 Changing my name, gave me the same as yours. 
 
 Men. Epi. Well, I believe 'tis all just as you say. 
 But in your turn now answer me. 
 
 Men. Sos. Your pleasure. 
 
 Men. Eyi. What was our mother's name? 
 
 Men. Sos. 'Twas Theusimarche. 
 
 Men. Epi. All this agrees. Hail, my unlook'd- 
 for brother ! 
 Whom after years of absence, I now see. 
 
 Men. Sos. The same all hail ! to you, my dearest 
 brother ! 
 For whom I've search'd tilt now with so much 
 
 pains. 
 And whom I now rejoice to have found at last. 
 
 Mess. It was on this account, the courtezan 
 Then call'd you by his name, and taking you 
 For him, she ask'd you to her house to dinner. 
 
 Men. Epi. Troth, I this day had order'd at her 
 house 
 A dinner, to my wife unknown, from whom 
 I filch'd a robe, and gave her as a present. 
 
 Men. Sos. Is this the robe you see me have, my 
 brother? 
 
 3Ien. Epi. How came it in your hands? 
 
 Men. Sos. A common woman 
 
 Invited me to dine, and said 'twas I 
 That gave it her. — I eat a hearty dinner. 
 Drank freely, entertain'd myself with her, 
 And got this robe, this bracelet — 
 
 Men. Epi. I'm glad, brother. 
 
 That you have fared so well on my account: 
 For when she ask'd you home to dinner with her, 
 'Twas me she took you for. 
 
 Mess. What hinders then, 
 
 But, as you promis'd me, I should be free ? 
 
 Men. Epi. He asks but what is right and just, 
 my brother. 
 Do it on my account. 
 
 Men. Sos. Be free. 
 
 Men. Epi. I joy, 
 
 Messenio, that you have obtain'd your freedom. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 375 
 
 Mess. You see a better hand than yours was 
 wanting 
 To make me free for life. 
 
 Men. Sos. Since things are thus 
 
 As we couhl wish, let's both return together 
 To our native country. 
 
 Men. Epi. As you please, my brother. 
 
 I'll make an auction, and sell all I have. 
 In the meantime, niy brother, let's go in. 
 
 Men. Sos. With all my lieart. 
 
 Mess. Can you guess what I'd ask ? 
 
 Men. Epi. What is it? 
 
 Mess. That you'd make me auctioneer. 
 
 Men. Epi. 'Tis granted — 
 
 Mess. Well, sir, shall I then proclaim 
 
 The auction straight? and for what day? 
 
 Men. Epi. The seventh. 
 
 Mess. yes ! — O yes ! — This, sirs, is to give 
 notice. — 
 The auction of Mennechmus will begin 
 The seventh of this month : when will be sold 
 Slaves, household goods, farms, houses, and — et 
 
 cetera. 
 All may attend that will ; and we sell all 
 For ready money. Sell his wife besides, 
 If any purchaser should offer. I scarce think 
 Our auction will amount to fifty times 
 A thousand sesterces, 
 (to the spcclators.) Spectators, now 
 Adieu! and favour us with a loud applause.* 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 THE TREASURE. 
 
 DRAMATIS PEnSON.E. 
 
 Prologue by Luxury and Poverty. 
 Charmides, an Athenian Merchant. 
 Callicles, his Friend. 
 MET?*j«oifiDEs, Friend to Callicles. 
 Philto, an Old Gentleman. 
 Lesbonicus, Son to Charmides. 
 Lysiteles, Son to Philto. 
 Stasimus, Servant to Lesbonicus. 
 HiRELiNO, employed to counterfeit Charmides. 
 Scene Athens. 
 
 prologue. 
 Enter Luxury and Poverty. 
 Ltix. Follow me, daughter, that you may per- 
 form 
 Your office. 
 
 Pcm. I do follow ; but am ignorant, 
 
 Where will our journey end. 
 
 * Among the fragments of Menander are a feW lines 
 from a play called AIATMAl. The Ticins ; from which 
 some commentators have been of opinion Plautus took 
 this comedy. 
 
 There are two imitations of this comedy on the French 
 stage ; one near a century ago by M. de Kotrou, which is 
 said to have succeeded; and the other l)y M. Regnard ; 
 which was performed with great applause in the year 
 1706. 
 
 There is also an old translation of this comedy, printed 
 1595, by W. W., and called Menieclimi. 
 
 Lux. 'Tis here : — behold, 
 
 This is the house: go in. [Exit Poverty. 
 
 Lux. (^to the spectators.) Lest any of you 
 Be lost in error, I'll in brief conduct you 
 In the right road, provided you will hear. 
 First then, and who I am, and v\ ho she is. 
 That enter'd here, I'll tell, if you'll attend. 
 Plautus has given me the name of Luxury ; 
 The other is my daughter. Poverty. 
 Now, at my impulse why she enter'd here, 
 Learn, and be all attention, while I tell. 
 There is a certain youth dwells in this house. 
 Who by my aid has squander'd his estate. 
 Since then for my support, there's nothing left, 
 I've given him my daughter, whom to live with. 
 As for our play, expect not I shoidd tell 
 The plot. The old men, who are coming hither. 
 Will ope the matter to you. In the Greek 
 'Tis na)7i'd The Treasure, which Philemon wrote.* 
 Our poet this translated, calling it 
 Trinummus ; and this name, he begs, may stand. 
 No more. — Farewell. — Be silent, and attend. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 Enter Megaronides. 
 Tis but an irksome act to task a friend. 
 And rate him for his failings; yet in life 
 It is a wholesome and a wise correction.— 
 Now must I chide this neighboiir-fricnd of mine, 
 Howe'er unwilling : justice bids me do it. — 
 Our morals are so tainted with corruption, 
 That our souls sicken with it e'en to death: 
 And evil manners, like well-water'd plants, 
 Have shot up in abundance ; we may gather 
 A plenteous harvest of them. Most prefer 
 A private interest to the public good, 
 Which yields to partial favour. This is hurtful 
 In many points, is sliocking, and a bar 
 As well to private as to general welfare. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Callicles, in entering. 
 Cat See that you deck our god Lar with a 
 crown ;.t 
 
 * No reason can possibly be given, why our author 
 should choose to reject the original Greek title to this 
 play, and to substitute so uncouth an one as Trinummus, 
 which signifies three pieces of money, the sum given to a 
 person who is hired to carry on a deception in one of the 
 scenes. 
 
 One cannot but wish, that this elesant introduction of 
 the characters of Luxury and roVKitTY, by way of pro- 
 logue, had not been so slightly touched upon by our au- 
 thor, as they certainly might have offered scope for much 
 entertainment as well as instruction. Claudian has the 
 same thought in his poem on Rufinus. 
 
 Et I.uxus populator opuin, cut semper adbxrens 
 lufelix huinili gressu coiiiitatur Egestas. 
 And Luxury, 
 The waster of men's property. 
 On whom, a close concnnntant. 
 With humble step waits hapless Want, 
 f The ancients had in every house a tutelary deity, 
 who was supposed to protect it. See the Prologue to the 
 Aalularm, or jUi.ser, p. 324. 
 
376 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 And, wife, do reverence, — that our habitation 
 With all trood fortune may be blest, — and you — 
 (fjs?V/f.) Tliat I may shortly see you in your grave. 
 
 Meg. Oh, here he is, — a boy in his own old 
 age, — 
 Had done a fault, for which he should be chid. — 
 ril up to him. 
 
 Cal. Whose voice is't sounds so near me? 
 
 3Icg. A friend, — if you are such, as I would 
 wish you, — 
 If otherwise, — a foe, enragVl against you. 
 
 Cal. Oh, Megaronides, my friend, and years- 
 mate. 
 Save you, — how fare you? 
 
 Meg. Save you, Callicles : 
 
 How do you do ? how have you done ? 
 
 Cnl. So, so. 
 
 Meg. Your wife, how fares she ? 
 
 Cal. Better than I wish. 
 
 Meg. Troth I am glad to hear she's pure and 
 hearty. 
 
 Cal. You're glad to hear what sorrows me. 
 
 Meg. I wish 
 
 The sane to all my friends as to myself 
 
 Cal. But harkye — how is your good dame ? 
 
 Meg. Immortal ; 
 
 Lives, and is like to live. 
 
 Cal. A happy hearing! 
 
 Pray heaven, that she may last to outlive you ! 
 
 Meg. If she were your's, faith I should wish 
 the same. 
 
 Cal. Say, shall we make a swop ? I take your 
 wife. 
 You mine? I warrant you, you would not get 
 The better in the bargain. 
 
 Meg. Nor would you 
 
 Surprise me unawares. 
 
 Cal. Nay, but in troth 
 
 You would not even know what you're about. 
 
 Meg. Keep what you've got. — The evil that 
 we know 
 Is best To venture on an untried ill, 
 Would puzzle all my knowledge how to act. — 
 Well, give me a good life, and that's a long one. — 
 But mind me now, all joking set apart, 
 I came to you on purpose. — 
 
 Cal. For what purpose ? 
 
 Meg. To rate you soundly. 
 
 Cal. Me ? 
 
 Meg. Pray who is here 
 
 Besides us two? 
 
 Cal. There's nobody. 
 
 Meg. Then why 
 
 D'ye ask me, if 'tis you I mean to cliide ? 
 Except you think myself would school myself. — 
 But to the point. — If that the ancient sense 
 Of truth and honesty is dead within you, 
 If evil manners in your disposition 
 Have wrouglit a change, and that your disposition 
 Is chang'd unto those manners, if the old 
 You keep not, but shake off, and catch the new. 
 You'll such a surfeit give to all your friends, 
 They'll sicken at your sight, and loathe to hear 
 you. 
 
 Cal. How came it in your mind to hold this 
 language ? 
 
 3Ieg. For that it doth behove all honest men 
 To keep them both from blame and from suspicion. 
 
 Cal. Both cannot be. 
 
 Meg. For why? 
 
 Cal. Is that a question ? 
 
 Myself of my own bosom keep the key. 
 To shut out misdemeanour; but suspicion 
 Is harbotir'd in another's. Thus if I 
 Suspect you to have stolen the crown of Jove, 
 From where he stand in the high capitol, 
 What though you have not done it, I am free 
 However to suspect you, nor can you 
 Prevent me. — But I long to know your business 
 Whate'er it be. 
 
 Meg. Have you a friend, or any one, 
 
 Whose judgment you can trust? 
 
 Cal. I tell you fairly ; 
 
 There are, I know, are friends ; there are, I think 
 
 so ; 
 There are, whose dispositions and whose minds 
 I cannot know, or whether to enrol them 
 Among my friends or foes. But you I hold 
 Of all my fast friends the most fast. Then tell 
 
 me. 
 If you do know of any thing by me 
 Unwittingly, or wrongfully committed: 
 If you accuse me not, then you yourself 
 Will be to blame. 
 
 Meg. I know it; and 'twere just, 
 
 If I for any other cause came hither. 
 
 Cal. I wait for what you'll say. 
 
 Meg. Then, first of all, 
 
 The general report speaks ill of you: 
 Our townsmen call you Gripe-all;* and with 
 
 some 
 You go by the name of Vulture ; friends or foes. 
 They say you little reck, whom you devour. 
 
 Cal. As to this matter, Megaronides, 
 I have it in my power, and have it not. 
 Report is none of mine ; but that report 
 May be unmerited, is in my power. 
 
 Meg. How say you ? Was not Charmides your 
 friend. 
 The owner of this house here? 
 
 Cal. Was, and is. — 
 
 To win belief let this transaction speak. — 
 When by liis son's extravagance and waste 
 He saw his fortune shatter'd, and himself, 
 Drawn nigh on poverty, his only girl 
 Grown up, his wife, (her mother,) dead besides, 
 Departing for Selucia, to my charge 
 He left his whole estate, and with it too 
 The maid his daughter, and that rake his son. 
 Had he not been my friend, he scarce, I trust. 
 Had trusted me. 
 
 Meg. That youth, you knew a rake, 
 
 Committed to your trust and confidence, — 
 Do you reform him ? force him to be frugal ? 
 That, that indeed it had been fitter far 
 For you to work, — to make him, if you can. 
 Of fairer reputation, — not that you 
 Should to the self-same infamy with him 
 Be accessory, with his vile dishonour 
 Mixing your own. 
 
 The original is Turpilucricupidus. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 377 
 
 Cul. How have I acted ? 
 
 Mes;. Like 
 
 A villain. 
 
 Cal. Sir, that name is none of mine. 
 
 Meg. Did you not buy this house — What, no 
 reply? 
 Where now you dwell ? 
 
 Cal. I bought it, gave the money, 
 
 'Twas forty minne, gave it to the youth. 
 
 Meg. You gave the money 7 
 
 Cal. Yes, nor do repent me. 
 
 Meg. ward committed to untrusty guard! 
 Have you not given him by this act a sword 
 To stab himself withal? — Can it be other ?^ 
 A fond intriguing spark, younir, weak in mind, 
 To give him money, v/herewith to build up 
 His folly to the height, already ibnnded. 
 
 Cal. Should I not then have paid him ? 
 
 Meg. No, you should not; 
 
 Nor bought of him, nor sold him any thing. 
 To put it in his power to be worse. — 
 Have you not gulfd one to your trust confided. 
 And ousted from his house, who gave the trust? 
 Brave care indeed ! a pretty guardianship ! 
 Be you the young man's ward : he'd manage 
 better. 
 
 Cal. I am so overcome with your reproaches, 
 That what was trusted to my faith and silence. 
 Not to impart to any, or divulge, 
 I'm now of force compell'd t' entrust you with. 
 
 Meg. Trust me, and you shall have it on de- 
 mand. — 
 
 Cal. Look all about you, — see if no one's by ; 
 Look round. 
 
 Meg. There's no one near, — I harken to you. 
 
 Cal. Peace then, and I will speak. When 
 -Charmides 
 Went hence^broad, he show'd me in this house 
 A treasure, in a certain closet lodgd — 
 But look, look all around. 
 
 Meg. Here's no one near. 
 
 Cal. Three thousand Philippeans. He and I, 
 Being alone, with tears he did beseech me 
 By friendship and by faith, that I'd not trust 
 His son, or any other, who might let 
 The secret out. Now, if he safe return, 
 His own will I restore him ; should he die, 
 Why then I've wherewithal to portion out 
 My charge his daughter, and to see her plac'd 
 In such a station as is worthy of her. 
 
 Meg. Good heavens ! how soon, and little said, 
 you've made 
 Another man of me ! I came to you 
 Quite other. — But proceed, as you begun. 
 
 Cal. What shall I tell you more ? the father's 
 caution. 
 My faithfulness, this secret, the sad son 
 Had near o'erthrown from the foundation. 
 
 Mecr. How ? 
 
 Cal. Being six days in the country, in my ab- 
 sence, 
 Without my knowledge, not consulting me. 
 He sot the house to sale. 
 
 Meg. The wolf! his stomach 
 
 Was sharper set: he watch'd the dog asleep. 
 To ravage the whole flock. 
 48 
 
 Cal. And he had done it, 
 
 But that the dog first smelt him out. — And now 
 I fain would ask you in my turn, what was it 
 My duty then to do? give me lo know. 
 Had it been fitter I had shown the son 
 This treasure, against which the father pray'd 
 
 me? 
 Or should I have ])erinitted. tliat this house 
 Should own another master, and the gold 
 Devolve to him that bought it? I myself 
 Chose rather to become the piirchaser; 
 Paid down the cash, this treasure to preserve 
 Untouch'd, and render back unto my friend. 
 I bought not for myself, or for my use ; 
 BtU for my friend this bouse I pnrchas'd, paid 
 For him my money. Was this right, or wrong? 
 Say, Megaronides, — I confess the fact. 
 These, these are my misdoings, this my avarice! 
 For these are slanders on me spread abroad! 
 
 Meg. No more, — the chider's chid. — You've 
 tied my tongue. 
 And nothing can I answer. 
 
 Cal. Aid me now, 
 
 I pray you, with your counsels ; — let this be 
 One common care to both of us. 
 
 Meg. Agreed. 
 
 Cal. Where shall I find you a while hence? 
 
 Meg. At home. 
 
 Cal. Any commands? 
 
 3Ieg. Be trusty. 
 
 Cal. Do not doubt me. 
 
 Meg. But hark ye. — 
 
 Cal. What is it you want? 
 
 Me^. The spark. 
 
 Where lives he now ? — 
 
 Cal. Oh, — when he sold the house, 
 
 The back part he reserv'd unto himself 
 
 Meg. That's what I wish'd to know. — Now, 
 sir, your servant. — 
 But harkye. 
 
 Cal. Well, what now ? 
 
 Meg. The maiden, she's 
 
 With you ? 
 
 Cal. She is, and I do tender her 
 
 Evn as my own. 
 
 Meg. 'Tis well done in you. 
 
 Cal. Would you 
 
 Command me farther, ere I go? 
 
 Meg. Your servant. 
 
 \_E.vil Callicles. 
 
 SCF.XF. HI. 
 
 Megakoxides alone. 
 In troth there cannot be more errant dolts. 
 More barefac'd fibbers, and more prating pup- 
 pies. 
 Than these ofRoious fools, the busy-bodies. 
 And I too should rank with them, thus to credit 
 Their groundless suppositions. Every thing 
 They will pretend to know, yet nothing know. 
 They'll dive into your breast, and learu your 
 
 thoughts 
 Present and future: nay they can discover 
 What the king w hisper'd in her highness' ear, 
 And tell what past in Juno's chat with Jove. 
 They know what never was, nor ever will be : 
 2o2 
 
378 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Whetlier they praise or dispraise right or wrong, 
 They care not, but invent whate'er they please. 
 Tliis Callicles, for iii'^tance — Men's report 
 Prorioiinc'd him for socnety unfit, 
 For that he spoil'd a young man of his fortunes. 
 T, prompted by their scandal, sallied forth. 
 To chide my friend, though blameless. Ill re- 
 ports, 
 Trac'd to their root, unless it well appear 
 What ground and what authority they have. 
 Should turn ou those that spread them. — Public 
 
 good 
 Requires it should be so. — These idle chatterers, 
 That know what they don't know, I fain would 
 
 lessen. 
 And shut up their fools-tongues within their 
 teeth. [Exit MEOAUoifiDES. 
 
 Act II. Scene I. 
 Enter Ltsiteles. 
 What misery to myself do I create, 
 On many things thus inward ruminating! 
 I teaze me, fret me, weary out my mind. 
 Which schools me, as it were, like a strict mas- 
 ter. 
 It is not plain, nor have I weigh'd sufficiently. 
 What life 'twere best to follow, whether rather 
 Attend to thrift, or yield me up to Love. 
 I cannot tell, which is most pleasurable, 
 Nor am I rightly satisfied. — Suppose 
 We try both fairly. — in the cause I'll be 
 Both judge and culprit. — Good ! it likes me well, 
 I'll do so. — First then we'll discourse of Love. — 
 Love only seeks to draw into his toils 
 The easy, willing natures; these he courts, 
 Subtly cajoles, and seeks occasions apt 
 To win them to him. Love's a gentle flatterer, 
 A hook that grapples hearts, an errant fibber, 
 A dainty-mouth'd, a nice, a greedy niggard, 
 A filcher of affections, pimp to those 
 That play at bo-peep, skulk in liiding holes ; 
 A pryer into secrets, — last, a beggar. 
 He that is stricken with sharp-pointed kisses, 
 Will find his substance in a trice decay. 
 "My sweet, my honey, if you love me, if 
 You have the spirit, won't you give me? do 
 
 now." 
 Then instantly the gudgeon — "Eh! I will, 
 My eyes, my own dear eyes, — aye, that and 
 
 more, 
 If you require it." — Thus she strikes the fool. 
 For more and more still asking. Nor is this 
 Sufficient; something more must still be added. 
 For entertainments, feastings and carousings. 
 Grants she the favour of a night? She brings 
 Her whole retinue with her, such a train 
 Of waiting-women, such a tribe of dressers. 
 Minstrels, and lacqueys, all such huge devour- 
 
 ers. 
 Such wasters of Ids substance, that the lover 
 From his extreme complacence is undone. 
 When I reflect within me, and consider, 
 How cheap they hold one who is little worth, 
 Love, get thee gone — I like thee not — Away — 
 I liold no converse with thee. — Although sweet 
 His feastings and carousings. Love has yet 
 
 A smatch of bitter to create disgust.* 
 Love shuns the noisy Ijustle of the bar, 
 Drives off relations, and oft banishes 
 Himself from his own sight. There's no one, 
 
 who 
 Would woo him for companion. Thousand ways 
 Love should be held a stranger, kept at distance, 
 Wholly abstaiu'd from. Hapless, into Love 
 Who plunges headlong; greater his destruction. 
 Than to have leapt down toppling from a rock.— 
 Love, get thee gone then. — I divorce thee from 
 
 me. 
 Nor ever be thou friend of mine. — Go, torture 
 Those that are bound unto thee. — I am bent 
 Henceforward to apply my mind to thrift. 
 Although' the toil be great. Hence good men 
 
 gather 
 Gain, esteem, credit, reputation : This 
 The price of virtue. — "Tis my choice to herd 
 With good men rather than the vain and disso- 
 lute. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Philto. 
 
 Phil. Where has he ta'en himself? 
 
 Lys. I'm here, my father. 
 
 Command me what you will, nor shall there be 
 In me reluctance. Think not that I skulk, 
 Or hide me from your sight. 
 
 Phil. You will do well, 
 
 And like your other actions, to observe 
 Due reverence to your father. O my son! 
 I would not have you ■with the profligate 
 Hold any conversation, in the forum, 
 Or in the street. The manners of this age 
 I know : Bad men would fain corrupt the good, 
 And make them like themselves: Our evil man- 
 ners 
 Confound, disorder every thing: The greedy, 
 The envious, turn what's sacred to profane, 
 The public good to private interest. — 
 They gape for gain, like the parch'd earth for 
 
 showers. — 
 This grieves me; this torments me; night and day 
 I ring the same peal, bidding you beware. 
 These plunderers only can refrain their hands 
 From what they cannot touch. The word else 
 
 with them 
 Is, touch and take. O but to see these villainies, 
 
 * The same sentiment with this and the foregoing lines 
 is finely expressed by Lucretius in his fourth book. 
 Adde, qu6d absumunt vires pereuntque labore ; 
 Adde, qn6d alteriiis sub nutu degitur stas. 
 Labitur interei res, et vadimonia fiunt, 
 Languent offitia atque segrotat fama vacillans. 
 
 — — — medio de fonte leporum 
 
 Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat. 
 They waste their strength in the venereal strife, 
 And to a woman's will enslave Iheir life; 
 The e.state runs out. and mortgages are made, 
 All offices of friendship are decay'd, 
 Their fortune ruin'd, and their fame betray'd. 
 
 For in the fountain, where their sweets are sought, 
 Some bitter bubbles up, and poisons all the draught. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
PLATJTUS. 
 
 37a 
 
 Draws tears from mo; to think my life prolong'd 
 To such a race ! — O that I had Ijiit follow'd 
 Those t'lat are srone before me! — Our vile moderns 
 Commend the ancient manners, but withal 
 Defile what they commend. O tlien, my son, 
 Be not enamonr'd of their arts, nor taint 
 Yotir disposition with them. Live like me. 
 Following our ancient manners. Do what I 
 Advise yon. For these vile and filthy manners, 
 Which stood men mnst dishonour, I disdain them. 
 Lys. Sir, from my youth np to my present age 
 I've hound me to your precepts and commands. 
 Thouiih free from birth and breeding, to your 
 
 biddina; 
 I hold me still a slave, and deem it just 
 My will should bend to yours. 
 
 Phil. Suppose a youth 
 
 To eond)at with liis will, whether "twere best 
 To be, as best his will should think, or rather 
 Such as his parents and relations ^\'ish him: 
 If the will masters him, all's over with him. 
 By it he'll be enslav'd: but if his will 
 lie masters, while he lives he shall be styled 
 A conqueror of conquerors.* If your will 
 You've vanquish'd, you not vanquish'd by your 
 
 will, 
 You've reason to rejoice. 'Tis better far 
 You should be as you should be, than be stich as 
 Your will would have you. Fairer their repute. 
 The will who conquer, than those conquer'd by it. 
 
 Lys. This prudence, as a buckler to my youth, 
 I ever had : I studiously forbore I 
 
 To go, where vice ■was plotted as in council, 
 To roam the streets at midnight, to defraud 
 Another of his right, or to beget 
 Vexation, ^nvto you, who are my father. 
 I've ever kept your precepts as a rule 
 To regulate my conduct. 
 
 Phil. "Wherefore this? 
 
 "What's right you've acted for yourself, not me: 
 My days are almost past : 'Tis your concern then. 
 That man's an upright man, who don't repent 
 
 him, 
 That he is upright; he, who seeks alone 
 Self-satisfaction, merits not that title : 
 The man, that thinks but meanly of himself, 
 Shows there's a just and honest nature in him. 
 Still follow up good actions with good actions, 
 Heap'd on each other. 
 
 Lya. For this purpose, father, 
 
 I would entreat a certain favour of you. 
 
 Phil. What is it? tell me, for I Ion'.' to grant it. 
 
 Lys. There is a youth here of a noble family. 
 My friend, and of my years, who his affairs 
 Too heedlessly has manag'd, too unthinkingly. 
 I'd fain do him a kindness, if that you 
 Refuse not. 
 
 Phil. What, from your own purse ? 
 
 Lys. From mine. 
 
 For what is your's is mine, and mine is your's. 
 
 Phil. Is he in want? 
 
 Lys. In want. 
 
 * Victor vktnrnm. We find the same sentiment in 
 Plato's first hook. Of Laws. — To conquer one's .self is the 
 first and beat of all victories: but to be conquered by 
 one's self is the greatest disgrace and calamity. 
 
 Phil. Had he a fortune? 
 
 Zy.t. He had. 
 
 Phil. How lost he it? nt sea? by commerce? 
 In the slave trade? by trallic? 
 
 Lys. None of these. 
 
 Phil How then? 
 
 I^tjs. \n sooth by gentle living, sir: 
 
 Something too much in pleasure has lie squan- 
 der'd. 
 Phil. In troth you speak of him as of an* inti- 
 mate : 
 A man f irsooth whose, fortunes were not sliat- 
 
 ter'd 
 By any good demeanour; — he's a friend, 
 A fine one for you, with such qualities! 
 
 Lys. I would relieve the wants of one distrest, 
 One that is free from fault. 
 
 Phil. The beggar's thanks 
 
 He scarce deserves, who gives him wherewithal 
 To buy him meat aiid drink ; for what is given 
 Is lost, and only serves to lengthen out 
 A life of misery. — I say not this, 
 For that I would not do most willingly 
 What you desire, but in tlie way of caution, 
 That I might show you, not to pity others, 
 So as yourself to others may become 
 An object too of pity. 
 
 Lys. 'Twere a shame 
 
 To leave, not help him in adversity. 
 
 Phil. I can deny you nothing you woulil have. 
 Whose wants woidd you relieve? — Come, tell 
 
 your fiither : 
 Speak boldly to me. 
 
 X//.S. 'Tis young Lesbonicus, 
 
 Charmides' son, who lives here at this house. 
 Phil. He, who has eat up all he had, and 
 
 more ! 
 Lys. Do not reproach him, sir: since many 
 things 
 Befall a man, both wish'd for, and unwish'd. 
 
 Phil. You are mistaken, son, nor judge aright 
 In what you say. A wise man is the maker 
 Of his own fortune, and except he prove 
 A bungling workman, little can befall him, 
 Which he would wish to change. 
 
 Lys. Sure, in this kind 
 
 Of workmanship much labour there doth need 
 One's life to frame and fashion with repute. 
 But Lesbonicus, sir, is young. — consider. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis not by years that wisdom is ac- 
 quired. 
 But waits on disposition. Wisdom is 
 The food of age, which lends to wisdom relish. 
 But say, what would you give him? 
 
 Lys. Nothing, sir, 
 
 So you permit me from his hands to accept 
 A ii\{\ most rare. 
 
 Phil. What, thus relieve his wants? 
 
 Lys. This very way. 
 
 Phil. I fain would learn the manner. 
 
 I^ys. I'll tell you. — Know you not, what family 
 He's of? 
 
 Phil. I know: of good and reputable. 
 Lys. He has a grown-tip sister: her, my father, 
 I would fain take to wife. 
 
 Phil. Without a portion ? 
 
380 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Lys. Without a portion. 
 
 Phil. Marry her ? 
 
 Lys. 'Tis so; — 
 
 And you no loser. Thus you will bestow 
 A special favour on him, neither can you 
 By any other means assist him more. 
 
 Phil. And sliall I suffer you to take a wife 
 Without a portion? 
 
 Lys. You must suffer me ; 
 
 And by it to our family you"ll add 
 Infrease of honour. 
 
 Phil. I could here pour forth 
 
 A bitdget full of sayings, learned saws, 
 And antique stories, which my age would war- 
 rant ; 
 But since I see your purpose is to add 
 New friendships, new connections to our house, 
 E'en though I were averse to the alliance, 
 I'd give you my permission, — ask her, marry her. 
 
 Lys. The gods preserve you to me ! — Do but 
 add 
 To this one favour more. 
 
 Phil. That one, what is it ? 
 
 Lys. I'll tell you : go to him yourself, yourself 
 Procure her for me. 
 
 Phil. Hey-day ! I a pimp? 
 
 Lys. "Twill sooner be transacted, and by you 
 Done firm : one word in this affair from you 
 Will weigh more than an hundred words from 
 me. 
 
 Phil. I'm willing to oblige you. — I'll about it. 
 
 Lys. My most sweet father ! — here he lives — 
 this house — 
 His name is Lesbonious — do this thing 
 Effectually. — 111 wait for you at home. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Philto alone. 
 This is not for the best, nor do I think 
 'Tis right, but yet 'tis better than if worse. 
 I have this consolation to my mind : — 
 Who thwarts the inclinations of his son 
 In every point, save those in which himself 
 Alone has satisfaction, is a fool, 
 Pla2;ues his own soul, nor is the better for it; 
 And stirring up a storm that's out of season, 
 Makes the hoar winter of old age more sharp. 
 But the door opens, whither I was going; 
 And Lesbonicus, he himself comes forth 
 Most aptly with his servant. Ill aloof 
 
 [Retires at a distance.* 
 
 * 1 have taken the liberty to add this to the text for the 
 sake of perspicuity with respect to the modern reader, 
 who cannot be too often reminded, that the extent of the 
 ancient stnse allowed of circumstances, which in the 
 present times could not be admitted as in any deiree 
 probable. Among the other inconveniences, which the 
 ancients laboured under on account of their strict atten- 
 tion to the preservation of the Unitij of Place, may be 
 fairly reckoned the absurdity of keepin? some of the cha- 
 racters of the dr.ima at a distance, while others were 
 engaged in a conversation, perhaps foreisn to the busi- 
 ness; when at the same time these very characters oucht 
 rather to have made immediate advances. This is appa- 
 rently the case in the beginning of the IV. Scene, that 
 follows. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Lesbonicus and Stasimcs. 
 
 Les. 'Tis under fifteen days, since fourscore 
 minsB 
 You did receive from Callicles for this house. 
 Is it not, Stasimus, as I say ? 
 
 Stas. Methinks 
 
 On due consideration I remember, 
 That so it is. 
 
 Les. What has been done with them ? 
 
 Stas. Eat, drank, anointed, washed away in 
 bagnios. 
 Cooks, butchers, poulterers, fishmongers, confec- 
 tioners. 
 Perfumers, have devour'd them ; — gone as soon, 
 As is a grain of corn thrown to an ant. 
 
 Les. Why, all these must have cost less than 
 six minas. 
 
 Stas. But what you gave your mistresses ? 
 
 Les. I count 
 
 Six more for that. 
 
 Stas. What — I have cheated ? 
 
 Les. Oh, 
 
 In that indeed my reckoning is most heavy. 
 
 Stas. You cannot eat your cake and have it 
 too ; — 
 Unless you think your money is immortal. 
 The fool too late, his substance eaten up, 
 Reckons the cost. 
 
 Les. Th' accoimt is not apparent. 
 
 Stas. Th' account's apparent, but the money's 
 gone. 
 You did receive of Callicles forty minse ; 
 He by assigment had your house. 
 
 Les. 'Tis true. 
 
 Phil, (^overhearing.) Our neighbour then, it 
 seems, has sold his house : 
 And when his father from abroad returns, 
 He must e'en lodge him in the street, except 
 He creep into the belly of his son. 
 
 Stas. Count to the banker due Olympic drachms 
 A thousand. 
 
 Les. I engag'd for. 
 
 Stas. Threw away. 
 
 Say rather. — You stood bound for a wild spark, 
 Who, you declared, was rich. 
 
 Les. 'Tis true, I did so. 
 
 Stas. 'Tis true, the money's gone. 
 
 Les. It is indeed. — 
 
 I saw him in distress, and pitied hitn. 
 
 Stas. For others you've compassion, for yourself 
 You've neither shame nor pity. 
 
 Phil. (at a distance.'^ It is time 
 
 I should make up to him. 
 
 Les. Is not that Philto, 
 
 Who's coming hither? Sure, 'tis he himself. 
 
 Stas. I wish he were my slave with all his 
 property. 
 
 Phil. To Lesbonicus and to Stasimus, 
 The master and the servant, Philto wishes 
 All happiness and health. 
 
 Les. Heaven grant you. Philto, 
 
 All that you wish and want! How does your 
 son ? 
 
 Phil. You've his best wishes. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 381 
 
 Les. He lias mine, — 'tis mutual. 
 
 Stas. Best wishes! what avails that phrase, 
 unless 
 Best services attend them ? — I may wish 
 To have my liberty, but wish in vain ; 
 My master, to bo frusjal, — all in vain. 
 
 Phil. My son has sent me to yon, to propose 
 A honil of friendshi]) 'twixt yon, and alliance. 
 Your sister he would marry, and I hold 
 The same opinion, wish it. 
 
 Les. Oh, I know yoti ; — 
 
 Yoiir ernel mockery I perceive: — because 
 You have an ample and rif^ht good estate, 
 You come to flout and jest at my misfortunes. 
 
 Phil. As I'm a man, — as you are, — the great 
 God 
 So love me, — as I came not to deride: — 
 Nor do I think you worthy. — What I said. 
 Is true : — My son begg'd me to ask for him 
 Your sister, sir, in marriage. 
 
 Les. My affairs 
 
 How they are circumstanc'd, I can't be igno- 
 rant : — 
 My fortunes are not to be match'd with yours. — 
 Then seek another, and more fair alliance. 
 
 Stas. Art mad? art in your senses? to reject 
 This proffor'd match ? — Why you have found a 
 
 friend. 
 Will help you at a pinch. 
 
 Les. Away, you rascal ! 
 
 Stas. Were I to budge a foot, you'd bid me stay. 
 
 Les. Qo Phil.) Would you aught else, sir? — 
 You have tiot my answer. 
 
 Phil. I +rnst that you will show to me more 
 favour 
 Than now I have experienc'd. Or in word 
 Or deed to play the trifler, would ill suit 
 One of my years. 
 
 Stas. Faith, what he says is true. 
 
 Les. Add hut another word, I'll tear your eyes 
 out. 
 
 Stas. Do — I will speak, though blind. 
 
 Phil. You tell me now. 
 
 We are not on a footing ; that your means 
 Don't equal ours. 
 
 Les. I say so. 
 
 Phil. What of that?— 
 
 If you were present at a public feast. 
 And haply some great man was p'ac'd beside yon, 
 Of t!ie choice cates serv'd up in heaps before him 
 Would you not taste, but at the table ratlier 
 Sit dinnerless, because he neighbour'd you? 
 
 Les. Sure I should eat, if he forbade me not. 
 
 Stas. And I, ev'n if he did ; — so cram myself, 
 I'd stuff out both my cheeks: — I'd seize upon 
 The daintiest bits before him, nor give way to 
 
 him 
 In matters that concern'd my very being. 
 At table no one should be shy or mannerly, 
 Where all thinirs are at stake, divine and human. 
 
 Phil. Faith, what you say is riglit. 
 
 Stas. I'll tell you fairly. 
 
 Your great man if I meet, I make way for him, 
 Give him the wall, show him respect, but where 
 The belly is concern'd, I will not yield 
 An inch, — unless he box me into breeding. 
 
 To me a feast is an inheritance 
 Without encumbrance. 
 
 Phil. Ever bear in mind 
 
 This maxim, Lesbonicus. The best policy 
 Is to be perfect in all good ; — if that 
 We can't attain to, to be next to perfect. 
 The match that I propose for your consent. 
 Why will you not agree to? — What are riches? — 
 The i-'ods alone are rich: to them alone 
 Is wealth and j)ower : — but we poor mortal inen, 
 When that the soul, which is the salt of life, 
 Keeping our bodies from corruption, leaves us, 
 At Acheron shall be counted all alike, 
 The beggar and the wealthiest. 
 
 Stas. (to Phil.) I believe, 
 
 Your wealth you'll carry with you, that, when 
 
 dead, 
 You may behave there as your name imports. 
 Phil. That you may know it is not wealth we 
 seek, 
 But value your alliance, I do ask 
 Your sister for my son wit'iout a portion. 
 Success attend it! — Is't agreed? — Why silent? 
 Stas. ye immortal gods, a rare proposal ! 
 Phil. Do but say, done. 
 
 Stas. Why how row? when he could 
 
 Get nothing by the bargain, he could say 
 Done first ; and now he's sure to win, he's silent. 
 Les. That you esteem me worthy your al- 
 liance, 
 I am most thankful; but although my folly 
 Has cast me down thus low, I've yet a farm 
 Near to the town here : this will I bestow 
 Upon my sister for her portion ; this 
 Is all, throusrh my imprudence and my folly 
 That I have left ine now besides my life 
 Phil. I want no portion. 
 
 Les. I'm resolv'd to give if. 
 
 Stas. Dear master, would you part then with 
 our nurse. 
 That feeds us? our support? think what you're 
 
 doing. 
 How shall we eat in future? 
 
 Les. Hold your tongue. 
 
 Am I accountalile to yon? 
 
 Stas. We're ruin'd 
 
 Past all redemption, if I don't invent 
 Some flam. — I have it. — Philto, a word with you. 
 Phil. What would you ? 
 
 Stas. Step aside this way a little. 
 
 Phil. I will, (they retire.) 
 Stas. The secret I shall now unfold 
 
 Let not my master know, nor any other. 
 Phil. Me you may safely trust. 
 Stas. By gods and men 
 
 I do copjnre you, let not this same farm 
 Come into your possession, or your son's. 
 The reason will I tell. 
 
 Phil. I fain woidd hear if. 
 
 Stas. First thei'., whene'er the land is plough'd, 
 the oxen 
 Ev'ry fifth furrow drop down dead. 
 
 Phil. Fye on it ! 
 
 Stas. A passage down to Acheron's in our field. 
 The grapes grow mouldy as they hang, before 
 They can be gather'd. 
 
38a 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Les. He is, I suppose, 
 
 Persuading him: — though he"s an errant rogue. 
 To me he's not unfaithful. 
 
 Stas. Hear what follows. 
 
 When that the harvest promises most fair. 
 They gatlier in thrice less than what was sown. 
 
 Phil. Nay ! — tlien methiiiks it were a proper 
 place 
 For men to sow their wild oats, where they 
 
 would not 
 Spring up. 
 
 Stas. There never was a person yet. 
 
 That ever own'd tliis farm, but his atiairs 
 Dili turn out bad : — some ran away, some died. 
 Some hang'd themselves. — Why, there's my mas- 
 ter now, 
 To what sad straits is he reduc'd ! 
 
 Phil. keep me 
 
 Far from this farm ! 
 
 SUis. You'd have more cause to say so, 
 
 Were you to hear the whole. — There's not a tree. 
 But has been blasted with the lightning: more — 
 The hogs are eat up with the mange; the slieep 
 Pine with the rot, all scabby as this hand : 
 And no man can live there six months together, 
 No, not a Syrian, t'lougli they are most hardy, 
 The influenza is to all so fatal. 
 
 Phil. I do believe it true: but tlie Campanians 
 The Syrians far outgo in hardiness. — 
 Tliis farm is a fit spot, as you've described it. 
 Wherein to place bad men : And as they tell us, 
 That in those islands styl'd The Fortunate 
 Assemble the upright, and the virtuous livers, 
 So should the wicked here be thrust together, 
 Since 'tis of such a nature. 
 
 Stas. 'Tis the abode 
 
 Of misery. But, without more words, — wiiatever 
 Evil you'd search for, you might find it here. 
 
 Phil. You may go seek it there, or where you 
 will. 
 
 Stas. Be cautious how you tell what I have 
 told you. 
 
 Phil. You've told it to no blabber. 
 
 Stas. Now my master 
 
 Would gladly part witli it, could he but find 
 A gudgeon to his purpose. 
 
 Phil. I'll have none of it. 
 
 Slas. If you are wise indeetl, you will not 
 have it. 
 (^asidc.) So — I have frighten'd this old hunks most 
 
 rarely 
 From taking of this farm : if that were gone 
 We've nothing to subsist on. 
 
 Phil. Lesbonicus, 
 
 I now return to you. 
 
 Lcs. I prithee tell me. 
 
 What has he said ? 
 
 Phtl. Think you? — The fellow wants 
 
 His liberty, but has not wherewithal 
 To purchase it. 
 
 Les. And I too would be rich, 
 
 But cannot. 
 
 SiUs. (aside.) Oiice you might have been, if 
 then 
 \\n\ ha.l clio-ie it; now you cannot, since you've 
 nothing. 
 
 Les. What was it you were muttering to your- 
 self? 
 
 Stas. Concerning what you said. — You had 
 been rich, 
 If it had been your pleasure heretofore; 
 'Tis now too late to wish it. 
 
 Phil. For this portion, 
 
 I can determine nothing; with my son 
 You'll settle it, and to your liking. — Well then, — 
 Your sister I request for him in marriage. 
 Success attend it! What? still scrupulous! 
 
 Les. Well, since you'll have it so, heaven's 
 blessing on it ! 
 I here betroth her to him. 
 
 Phil. Never did 
 
 A father joy more in a new-born son, 
 Than I, when you brought forth that word, be- 
 troth, 
 
 Stas. Heavens prosper this agreement! 
 
 Phil. "Tis my prayer. 
 
 Les. Go, Stasimus, to my sister, and relate 
 To Callicles this transaction. 
 
 Stas. I'll be gone. 
 
 Les. Congratulate my sister. 
 
 Stas. To be sure ! 
 
 Phil. Go with me in, sir, where this compact 
 well 
 Confirm, and for the nuptials fix a day. 
 
 Les. [to Stas.) Do as I bade you. — I'll be here 
 this instant. — 
 Tell Callicles to meet me. — 
 
 Stas. Prithee go ! 
 
 Lcs. To fix the portion. — 
 
 Slas. Go. — 
 
 Les. For I'm resolv'd 
 
 A portion she shall have. 
 
 Stas. Nay, pray be gone ! 
 
 Ia:s. Nor will I suffer her to lose — 
 
 Stas. Go, go! — 
 
 Lcs. By my neglect. — 
 
 Slas. Be gone now. — 
 
 Lcs. 'Tis but just 
 
 For my offences. — 
 
 Stas. Will yon not be gone? 
 
 Lcs. That I alone should sufier. — 
 
 Stas. Go — be gone. 
 
 Lcs. My father ! shall I never see you more ? 
 
 Slas. Go, get thee gone ! be gone ! be gone ! be 
 gone ! 
 
 [E.veunt Lksbosicus and Philto. 
 
 SCKXE V. 
 
 Stasimcs alone. 
 At length I have prevail'd on him to go. 
 Ye gods! from wrong'y we shall manage right. 
 If we but keep this farm: and yet I have 
 Some doul)t concerning what will be the issue. 
 If it be once made over to another, 
 'Tis over then with me: I must al;road. 
 Carry a knapsack, helmet, sword, and target: 
 He'll fly the city when the wedding's o'er 
 And will enlist him somewhere for a soldier, 
 In Asia or Cilicia. — But III go, 
 Wjiere master bade me; though I hate tliis 
 
 house. 
 Ever since he. who bought it, turn'd us out. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 383 
 
 Act III. Scene I. 
 Enter Calltclks and Stasimus. 
 
 Cal. How said you, Stiisimus'? that your mas- 
 ter's son, 
 Young Lesbonious, had bf troth "d his sister? 
 
 Slas. '1 he same. 
 
 Cal. To whom ? 
 
 St as. To Philto's son, Lysiteles, 
 
 Wiitiout a portion. 
 
 Cal. How ? without a portion 
 
 Married in fo rich a family. What you say 
 Is not to be believed. 
 
 Stas. I cannot help 
 
 Your incredulity: if this you don't 
 Believe, I shall believe that — 
 
 Cal. What ? 
 
 Slas. You hold me 
 
 Of no account. 
 
 Cal. Tell me, how long ago. 
 
 And where was this transacted? 
 
 Slas. Here, — before 
 
 This very door, — now, at this very instant. 
 
 Cal. Has Lesbonicus prov'd a better manager. 
 Now that his fortune's shatter'd, than when 
 whole ? 
 
 Slas. Nay, what is more, sir, Philto came him- 
 self 
 A suitor for his son. 
 
 Cal. It were a shame 
 
 To send the maiden dowerless : this concerns me : 
 111 straight to my corrector,* and will ask 
 His counsel. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 .-^'^ Stasimus aloiie. 
 
 Aye, I smell it out, I guess. 
 Why he does speed him thither : his intent is 
 To get the farm too, as he got the house. 
 From Lesbonicus. O my master Charmides! 
 How has your absence your affairs distracted ! 
 Would I could see you safe return'd, to reck 
 Due vengeance on your foes, and so reward me, 
 As I have been, and am, your faithful slave. 
 'Tis very difficult to find a friend 
 More than in name, to whom your near concerns 
 Having entrusted, you may sleep at ease. 
 But see — our son-in-law, Lysiteles, 
 Comes this way with his neighbour Lesbonicus: 
 Some difference, what I kiiow not, is between 
 
 them. 
 They walk with hasty steps: one holds the other 
 Fast by the cloak : and now they stop abruptly. 
 I'll step aside here; for I long to listen 
 The conversation of these neighbour-youths. 
 
 (^retires to a distance.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Lisitelks and Lksboniccs. 
 Lys. Stay prithee, don't oppose me, do not 
 seek 
 To hide thee from lue. 
 
 Les. Can't you let mc go, 
 
 Where I intend ? 
 
 * rili'^iiiin; MKgiirniiiJes, who li;id taken him to task in 
 the First Act. 
 
 Lys. I would, if it appear'd 
 
 It were for your advantage, fame, or honour. 
 Les. Indeed, you do it with such ease, 
 it/s. l)o what? 
 
 Les. You give your friend offence. 
 Lys. That's far from me ; 
 
 And such behaviour I am yet to learn, 
 
 Les. How learn'd without a master! What 
 M'ould you 
 Have done, had you been school'd, to plague me 
 
 more? 
 While kindness you pretend, you do me wrong. 
 Lys. I? 
 Les. You. 
 
 Lys. How do you wrong? 
 
 Les. In doing that 
 
 Displeases me. 
 
 Lys. I mean it for your good. 
 
 Les. Are you then friendlier to me, tlian my- 
 self 
 Am to myself? I understand sufficiently, 
 And for myself can spy out my advantage. 
 
 Lys. Is this a proof of understanding in you, 
 To slight a profi'er'd benefit from one. 
 Who's your well-wisher? 
 
 Les. Nothing can I deem 
 
 A benefit, if it displeases liiin 
 On whom it is bestow'd. I know my duty: 
 Yet all that you can utter will not shield me 
 From mens reports. 
 
 Lys. How say you ? (for I can 
 
 No longer be wit^'l'cld from talking to you, 
 As you deserve,) the reputation, which 
 Your forefathers to you deliver'd down, 
 Was it for this, that what their virtue got, 
 You by excess should lose? Your l^ither, grand- 
 
 fatlier, 
 Had oped for you a plain and easy road. 
 To lead you to renown : you've made it hard 
 Through vice, and indolence, and shameless 
 
 manners. 
 Love you have chose, your love you have pre- 
 
 fer'd 
 Before your honour: and can this, believe you. 
 Cover your faults? Ah ! no, it is not so. 
 Take virtue to your mind, be indolence 
 E.xpell'd thence: in the Forum dedicate 
 Your service to your friends, and not in bed 
 To a .slie-friend, a mistress, as you're wont. 
 Moreover, I most earnestly entreat you 
 Not to relinquish this same farm, but keep it 
 For your support, that those who are your ene- 
 mies 
 May not reproach you with extremcst want. 
 'Les. All you have said I know, could sign and 
 seal to, — 
 That I have wasted my inlieritance, 
 Tarnish'd the glory of iny ancestors; — 
 Knew how I should have acted, but alas! 
 I could not do it; by the povv'r of Love 
 Sulxlued, by idleness held captive, readily 
 I fell into tlie snare. And now to you, 
 As you deserve, I owe my utmost thanks. 
 
 Lys. I cannot bear to lose my labour thus; — 
 That you should slight my counsels! and it 
 grieves me, 
 
384 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 You have so little shame. — In fine, except 
 You list to me, and act as I advise, 
 Screend as it were by folly you'll lie hid. 
 That honour cannot find you : base obscurity 
 Will shroud your brightness, which should blaze 
 
 abroad. 
 The fashion of your mind full well I know, 
 How uninform'd : — I know that you have err'd 
 Not of yourself, nor of your own accord, 
 But Love has blinded you ; — and all his ways 
 To me are manifest. — It is with Love, 
 As with a stone whirl'd from a sling; — it flies, 
 Nothing so quick. — Love makes a man a fool, 
 Hard to be pleas'd. — What you'd persuade him to. 
 He likes not, and embraces that, from which 
 You would dissuade him. — What there is a lack 
 
 of, 
 That will he covet ; — when 'tis in his power, 
 He'll none on't. — Whoso bids him to avoid 
 A thing, invites him to it; interdicts. 
 Who recommends it. — 'Tis the height of mad- 
 ness, 
 Ever to take up your abode with Love. — 
 But I advise you, — think and think again. 
 How you should act: for if you still go on 
 So as you seem to promise, you'll at once 
 Destroy the reputation of your house: 
 You'll set it, as it were, on fire ; and then 
 Will you want water, to extinguish it ; 
 Which when you've got, (as is the way of lovers. 
 They are so wondrous cunning,) you'll not leave 
 A single spark to light it up again. 
 
 Les. That's easy to be found ; and if you ask it, 
 Your very enemy will give you fire. — 
 But, while you rate me for my misdemeanours. 
 Yourself would urge vne to a viler course. — 
 My sister you would have, and would persuade 
 
 me 
 Without a portion to bestow her : but 
 It is not fit, that I, who have run out 
 So large a patrimony, should be rich. 
 And own a farm, while want is all her portion ; 
 So should I justly be her scorn and hatred. 
 Who bears him gently to his own relations. 
 Will ne'er show hard to others. — As I've said, 
 I'll do, — no longer then oppose me in it. 
 
 Lys. And is it better you should suffer want 
 By reason of your sister, and that I 
 Should have the farm rather than you, where- 
 with 
 You might repair your sliatter'd fortune ? 
 
 Les. No, 
 
 My poverty ne'er think on ; let me be 
 Distrest, not infamous; nor let them say. 
 That in bestowing her without a portion, 
 I gave her into keeping, not in marriage. 
 I should be held a rascal, no one greater ; 
 And such report would give a grace to you. 
 But sully me, if portionless you took her: — 
 You would gain honour, I should meet reproach. 
 
 Lys. By giving me the farm, you'd fain be 
 sty I'd 
 A man of honour ! 
 
 Les. 'Tis not in my thoughts : 
 
 This, this is honour to an honest man, 
 For ever to be mindful of his duty. 
 
 Lys. In sooth I know the purposeof your heart; 
 I see it all, I scent it, I peiceive it. 
 Soon as the bond of near athijity 
 Is knit betwixt us, — when you've given the farm, 
 And nothing left you here for your support, — 
 The marriage ended, — straight you'll fiy the city 
 A needy wanderer, desert your country. 
 Relations, friends; and they will say, my avarice 
 Had frighted you away : then think not, I 
 Shall suffer it. 
 
 Stas. (^advancing.) I can't help crying out. 
 Bravo ! bravo ! Lysiteles, encore ! 
 You've won the i^rize with ease; your play's the 
 
 best; 
 The subject better manag'd, and the lines 
 Are better. — How then 1 (<o Les.) Are you such 
 
 an oaf 
 Still to dispute it ? — Think you of the fine. 
 
 Les. Who bid you meddle, and what brought 
 you hither. 
 To join our councils ? 
 
 Stas. That which brought me hither 
 
 Shall carry me away, (jehres.) 
 
 Les. C3me with me home, 
 
 Lysiteles, where we will talk together 
 More of these matters. 
 
 Lys. Nothing am I wont 
 
 To do in private, I'll now speak my mind. — 
 If, as I think you ought, you'll give your sister 
 In marriage to me, and without a portion. 
 Nor you yourself will after go abroad. 
 What's mine is yours. — But if you're other 
 
 minded. 
 All good betide you ! — On no other terms 
 I'll hold you for a friend. — So I'm resolv'd. 
 
 [Exit Ltsitel?;s ; and Lesbonicus goes 
 off directly after. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Stasimus alone. 
 He's gone. — D'ye hear, Lysiteles ? — I want you. — 
 My master, he is gone too. — Stasimus, thou 
 Art left alone then. — What now shall I do? — 
 Why, strap my knapsack tight together, fit 
 My buckler to my back, order my shoes 
 To be new soled : — we cannot stay. — I see, 
 That I must shortly be a soldier's skip : 
 My master for support will throw himself 
 Into the service of some prince or other. 
 Faith he will prove himself the best of warriors. — 
 In a retreat; — he'll fall an easy prey. 
 To any one who chances to oppose him. 
 For me, — when with a bow I'm strongly arm'd, 
 A quiver stuck with arrows, on my head 
 A helmet, — in the tent I'll sleep at ease. 
 Now will I to the Forum, and demand 
 The talent, which I lent six days ago; 
 That with me I may have something withal 
 To bear my travelling charges on the way. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCEJTE V. 
 
 Enter MEGAROifiBES atid Callicles. 
 Meg. As you relate the affair, it cannot be 
 By any means, but that a portion must 
 Be given with the maid. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 385 
 
 Cal. It cannot be 
 
 Right lionest in me sure to let lier wed 
 Without a ptirtion, when I've wherewithal 
 At home in my possession for that purpose. 
 
 Meg. You have a portion, true; — unless you 
 choose 
 To wait, 'till she's disposM of by her brother 
 In marriage without dower : then yourself 
 May go to Philto, tell him that you'll give 
 A portion, that you do't by reason of 
 Your friendship with her father. Y^et I fear 
 This very proffer might perhaps involve you 
 In foul report and scandal with the people : 
 That you were friendly to the girl, they'd say, 
 "Was not without a reason, and the dower. 
 They will pretend, was given you by her father. 
 To give to her ; with that you were so generous. 
 Nor even that, would they believe, that you 
 Had given her whole, and nothing had subtracted. 
 Now, if the coming you would wait of Charmides, 
 The time is very long, and all the while 
 No portion to the man that marries her. 
 
 Cul. In troth all this has come into my mind. 
 
 3Ieg. Think you 'twould be more useful to our 
 purpose. 
 For me to go to Lesbonicus, and 
 Inform him of the matter ? 
 
 Cal. How ? discover 
 
 The treasure to a wild young spark, brimfull 
 Of love and wantonness'? No, by no means: 
 For I do know for certain, he could eat up 
 That, and the very place too, where 'tis hid ; 
 Where I'm afraid to dig, lest he should hear 
 The sound, and at a word spoke of the portion, 
 Smell out thp very thing. 
 
 Meg. / What's to be done then ? 
 
 Cal. The treasure may be dug up privately, 
 When opportunity is found : mean while 
 I'll borrow somewhere of some friend or other, 
 What money's needful. 
 
 Meg. Can you anywhere 
 
 Prevail upon a friend to lend it? 
 
 Cal. Surely. 
 
 3Icg. No, no, — you'll find they have an answer 
 ready : 
 "Indeed I have it not, I cannot lend it." 
 
 Cal. Were they sincere in this, I'd rather hear it. 
 Than have their money. 
 
 Meg. Hold — I have a thought; — 
 
 See, if it likes you. 
 
 Cal. What's your thought? 
 
 Meg. A brave one. 
 
 At least in my opinion. 
 
 Cal. Say, what is it? 
 
 Meg. Let there be forthwith hired, as soon as 
 can be. 
 Some man to personate a stranger. 
 
 Cal. What 
 
 Is he to do then? 
 
 Meg. Let his dress be shaped 
 
 Exactly to the foreign mode ; his face 
 Unknown, an impudent and lying knave. 
 
 Cal. What after ? 
 
 Meg. To our spark then let him come 
 
 As from liis father, from Selucia ; 
 Salute him in the old man's name, acquaint him, 
 49 
 
 That he is well, and purpos'd to return 
 Forthwith: two letters he must likewise bring. 
 Which we will forge, as coming from the father; 
 One for the son, the other, he must say, 
 To you he would deliver. 
 
 Cal. Well, — go on. 
 
 Meg. Moreover, from the father let him say 
 He has brought money for the maiden's portion, 
 Which he has orders to deliver you.^ 
 Do you conceive me now ? 
 
 Cal. Most thoroughly, 
 
 And hear with pleasure. 
 
 Meg. You will give the youth 
 
 This money, when the maid shall be dispos'd 
 In marriage. 
 
 Cal. A most admirable thought! 
 
 3Ieg. By this, when you have dug the treasure 
 up. 
 You will remove suspicion from the youth, 
 Who'll think the money brought you from his 
 
 father : 
 You'll take it from the treasure. 
 
 Cal. Very good : — 
 
 Though at these years I am asham'd to play 
 A double part. — But hold — when he shall bring 
 The letters seal'd, for seald they must be brought, 
 Do you not think, the sparks acquainted with 
 The impression of his father's ring? 
 
 Meg. No more : 
 
 You'll find an hundred reasons: — he has lost 
 That which he used to have, and got a new one :— 
 What if indeed they were not seal'd at all. 
 This might be said, that they were open'd, and 
 Inspected at the customs. — But in troth 
 To wear the day in prating of this business, 
 Is merely idleness, and waste of time : — 
 Though we could spin our talk out ere so long. 
 Go to the treasure privily, — remove 
 Your servants, men and maids, — and harkye— 
 
 Cal. What? 
 
 Meg. See, you conceal it even from your wife : — 
 For there is nothing she can keep a secret. 
 Why do you stand ? why do you loiter now ? 
 Why don't you hence? Dig, open, and draw 
 
 forth 
 What sum's sufficient for the purpose, then 
 Close up again ; — but do it privily. 
 As I directed: — turn out all your people. 
 
 Cal. I'll do so. 
 
 Meg. But we talk too long: the day 
 
 Is wasting, while there's need of haste. Believe 
 
 me. 
 You've nought to fear about the seal : the excuse 
 I mention'd is a rare one, — that they were 
 Inspected at the customs. And besides 
 Do you not see the time of day? What think 
 
 you 
 One of his nature, of his disjiosition. 
 Can be about? he has been drunk long since. 
 He will agree to what you please : and then. 
 What makes most for us, he that we shall hire 
 Will bring, not ask for money. 
 
 Cal. I am satisfied. 
 
 Meg. I'll to the Forum, hire a counterfeit. 
 And send him with two letters to the youth, 
 Fully instructed. 
 
 2H 
 
386 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Cal. I then will go in, 
 
 And straight about the business. You'll take care 
 Of yours. 
 
 Meg. It shall be done, or I'm a fool else. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Charmides. 
 
 To the high ruler of the sea, Jove's brother, 
 And to his Thetis, I give praise and thanks 
 With joy and gratitude ; to the salt floods. 
 That having in their power my life, my all. 
 From their dread realms restor'd me to my 
 
 country. 
 To you, great Neptune, above other gods, 
 I pay my utmost thanks. — Men call you cruel, 
 Rude, and severe, of greeily disposition. 
 Blood-thirsty, fierce, imsufierable, outrageous : 
 But I have proved you other ; in the deep 
 I found you of an easy clement nature, 
 And mild as I could wish. — I've heard before 
 This commendation of you, and from great ones, 
 That you were wont to spare the indigent. 
 And crush the wealthy. — I applaud your justice 
 In treating men according to their merits. — 
 'Tis worthy of the gods to have respect 
 Unto the poor. — I know you may be trusted, 
 Though they proclaim you treacherous: for with- 
 out 
 Your aid your wild attendants in the deep 
 Had mauld me sorely, scatter'd all I have. 
 All mine, and me too, through the azure plains. 
 Fierce hurricanes beset the ship, like dogs : 
 Rain, winds, and waves had broke the masts and 
 
 yards. 
 And split the sails, if with propitious peace 
 You had not been at hand. — Away then, I'm 
 Resolv'd henceforth to give me up to ease. — 
 I've got enough. — with what troubles have I 
 Struggled, in seeking riches for my son? 
 But who is this, that's entering now our street? — 
 A stranger in appearance, and in dress. — 
 Well, — though I needs must long to be at home, 
 I'll wait awhile, and see what he's about. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter the Counterfeit at a distance. 
 
 Count, ril name this day the festival of three 
 pieces,* 
 On which I've let my art out for that sum. 
 Here I am, from Seleucia just arriv'd, 
 Arabia, Asia, Macedon, — which I never 
 Saw with my eyes, nor ever once set foot on. — 
 Behold, what troubles will not poverty 
 Bring on a needy wretch! — For those three 
 
 pieces 
 Am I compell'd to say, that I received 
 These letters from a man, of whom I'm ignorant. 
 Who he may be ; nor do I know indeed. 
 If such a one was ever born. 
 
 Charm. In troth 
 
 This fellow's like a mushroom : he's all head. — 
 His countenance bespeaks him an Illyrian, 
 His garb too of that country. 
 
 * See the note on the prologue to this play, p. 374. 
 
 Count. He, who hired me, 
 
 Gave me instructions how and what to do : 
 If my disgiiise succeed, I'll prove myself 
 No common cheat. 
 
 Charm. The more I see his looks. 
 
 The less I like them. — He's some night-adven- 
 turer. 
 Or cut-purse surely. — How he looks about him, 
 How he surveys the place, and of my house 
 Takes special note ! — Why sure he marks the 
 
 place. 
 To come and rob it by and by. — 'Twere best 
 To watch him close what he's about; — III do so. 
 
 Coimt. This is the spot my hirer pointed out, 
 And this the house, where I'm to play my part. 
 I'll knock then at the door. 
 
 Charm. The fellow makes 
 
 Directly to my house. — Egad, I fancy 
 I must keep watch to-night, though just arriv'd. 
 
 Count. Open the door there— open. — Where's 
 the porter 1 
 
 Charm. What do you want, young man? — Why 
 knock you here? 
 
 Coimt. Prithee, old grey-beard, I have given 
 account 
 Already, when examined at the customs. — 
 I want a young man, — somewhere hereabout 
 He dwells, — one Lesbonicus, — and another 
 With a white pate as yours is; — he, from whom 
 I had these letters, said his name was Callicles. 
 
 Charm, {^aside.) 'Tis Lesbonicus, my own son, 
 he seeks. 
 And Callicles my friend too, in whose charge 
 I left my means and children. — 
 
 Cownt. If you know, 
 
 Most rev'rend sire, inform me where they dwell. 
 
 Charm. Why do you want to find them out? — 
 Who are you ? 
 Whence are you? where d'you come from? 
 
 Count. Hey! — you ask 
 
 So many questions in a breath, I know not 
 Which to resolve you first: but if you'll put them 
 Gently and singly, one by one, my name 
 I'll tell, and wherefore I have journey'd hither. 
 
 Charm. Well, — as you please. Come, — tell me 
 first your name. 
 
 Count. You ask an arduous task. 
 
 Charm. Why so? 
 
 Cmmt. Because 
 
 Should you set out, before the day began, 
 With the first part and foremost of my name. 
 The night would go to bed ere you had reach'd 
 The hindmost of it. 
 
 Charm. He had need of torches 
 
 And of provisions, whoso undertakes 
 To journey through it. 
 
 Count. I've another name though; 
 
 A tiny one, — no bigger than a hogshead. 
 
 Charm. This is a rogue in grain ! — But hark- 
 ye— 
 
 Count. What? 
 
 Charm. What want you with those persons 
 you inquire for? 
 
 Count. The father of the young man Lesbo- 
 nicus 
 Gave me these letters. He's my friend. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 387 
 
 Charm. (a«V/f.) I have him, — 
 
 He"s taken in the manner. — He pretends 
 Myself did give him letters. — I will have 
 Rare fun with him. 
 
 Count. Attend, and I'll proceed. 
 
 Charm. I am attentive. 
 
 Count. He commissioned me 
 
 To give one letter to young Lesbonicus, 
 His son, the other to his friend, to Callicles. 
 
 Charm. A pretty joke, i'faith ! — FU keep it up. — 
 Where was he 1 
 
 Count. He has manag'd matters well. 
 
 Charm. Where? 
 
 Count. In Seleiicia. 
 
 Charm. Yon had letters of him ? 
 
 Count. With his own hands he gave them into 
 mine. 
 
 Charm. What sort of man ? 
 
 Count. He's taller than yourself 
 
 By half a foot. 
 
 Charm, (aside.^ Faith he has gravel'd me. 
 To find that I was taller when away. 
 Than now I'm here. — You knew him, did you 
 not"? 
 
 Count. Knew him ? — A foolish question ? — We 
 were us'd 
 To mess together. 
 
 Charm. Say then, what name bore he? 
 
 Count. A fair one verily. 
 
 Charm. I'd hear his name. 
 
 Count, (^hcsitating.^ It's — it's — ah nie ! — his 
 name is — 
 
 Charm. What's the matter? 
 
 Count. I've swallow'd it tliis instant unawares. 
 
 Charm. How? swallow'd, say you? troth, I 
 like him not. 
 Who holds his friends enclos'd within his teeth. 
 
 Count. I had it at my tongue's end but just 
 now. 
 
 Charm, (^aside.) 'Twas opportune my coming 
 here to-day 
 Before this rascal. 
 
 Count, (asirfe.) I am cau'j:ht most plainly. 
 
 Charm. Have you yet found the name? 
 
 Count. 'Fore gods and "men 
 
 I own myself abash'd. 
 
 Charm. Behold, how much 
 
 You knew him ! 
 
 Count. As myself — Tt happens oft. 
 
 That what we hold in hand, and have in sight, 
 We look for as if lost. — I'll recollect it 
 Letter by letter. — It begins with C. 
 
 Charm. Is it Callicius? 
 
 Count. No. 
 
 Charm. Callippus ? 
 
 Count. No. 
 
 Charm. Is't Callidemides ? 
 
 Count. No. 
 
 Chartn. Callinicus? 
 
 Count. No. 
 
 Charm. Is't Callimarclms ? 
 
 Count. 'Tis in vain to seek it, 
 
 Nnr do I heed it much, so my own name 
 I don't forget. 
 
 Charm. But there a'e many here 
 
 Call'd Lesbonicus; and, unless yon tell 
 
 The father's name, I cannot show them to you 
 Whom you inquire for, — What is't like? — Welltry 
 If we can hit upon it by conjecture. 
 
 Count. 'Tis like Char. 
 
 Chartn. Is't Chares? Charidemus? 
 
 Or Charmides ? 
 
 Count. Oh, that. — The gods confound him! 
 
 Charm. 'Tis fitter you should bless a friend 
 than curse him. 
 
 Count. A worthless fellow, to have lain perdue 
 thus 
 Within my lips and teeth. 
 
 Charm. You should not speak • 
 
 111 of an absent friend. 
 
 Count. Why did the knave 
 
 Then hide him from me? 
 
 Charm. Ho had answer'd, had you 
 
 But call'd him by his name. — Where is he now? 
 
 Count. Truly I left him last at Rhadamanth* 
 In the Cecropian island. 
 
 Charm. Can there be 
 
 A greater simpleton than I, to ask 
 Where I myself am ? But no matter. — Tell me, — 
 
 Count. What? 
 
 Charm. Let me ask, what places have you 
 been at ? 
 
 Count. Most wondrous ones. 
 
 Charm. I should be glad to hear, 
 
 If 'tis not too much trouble. 
 
 Count. I'm impatient 
 
 To give you an account. — Then first of all, 
 We came to Araby in Pontus. 
 
 Charm. How ? 
 
 Is Araby in Pontus? 
 
 Count. Yes, it is ; 
 
 But not that Araby, where frankincense 
 Is grown, but where sweet-marjoram, and worm- 
 wood. 
 
 Charm, (aside.) 'Tis the completest knave! — 
 More fool am I though, 
 To ask him whence I came, (which I must know, 
 He cannot,) but that I've a miud to try. 
 How he'll get off at last. — What is your name, 
 Young man ? 
 
 Count. 'Tis Touchit; — that, sir, is my name, 
 A common one.f 
 
 Charm. A very knavish name ; 
 
 As though yon meant to say, if any thing 
 Was trusted to yon, tourh it, and 'tis gone. — 
 But liarkye, — whither ilid you further travel? 
 
 Count. Attend, and I'll relate. We journey'd on 
 To the river's head that ri.ses out of heaven 
 Beneatli the throne of Jove? 
 
 Charm. The throne of Jove? 
 
 Count. I say it. 
 
 Charm. Out of heaven ? 
 
 Count. Aye, from the midst on't. 
 
 Charm. How! you ascended ni> to heaven? 
 
 Count. We did ; 
 
 In a small rofd<-l)oat were we carried thither 
 Against the stream. 
 
 Charm. Oh lio ! — A nd saw you Jove ? 
 
 * This is 1 ficliliniis name, nml ulliirlcs lo Klindnman- 
 thiis. nti« of lliB llirep jml^'RS of tliR iiiri-rnal rcL'iims. 
 
 t Till- original is, Tiir. from lan>rere. lo lunch, or to 
 steal, to wliicli Cliannides' answer alludes. 
 
388 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 Count. The other gods inform'd us he was gone 
 Unto his villa to dispense provisions 
 Among his slaves. — Moreover — 
 
 Charm. Pshaw ! moreover 
 
 I want to hear no more. 
 
 Count. Nay, I have done, 
 
 If you are tired. 
 
 Charm. How shameless! who pretends. 
 
 That he has mounted up from earth to heaven. — 
 
 Count. I'll let you go then, since I see you 
 choose it : — 
 But show me where they live whom Linquire for. 
 Where I may bear these letters. 
 
 Charm. Harkye now. 
 
 If haply you should see this Charmides, 
 The same that you pretend gave you those 
 
 letters. 
 Say, should you know him ? 
 
 Count. Think you I'm a beast, 
 
 As not to know a man I've past my life withi 
 Or, can you think, would he be such an oaf. 
 To trust me with a thousand Philippeans, 
 Enjoining me to bear them to his son 
 And Callicles his friend, to whom, he told me, 
 He had consign'd the charge of his affairs? 
 Would he, I say, have trusted me, except 
 We had been well acquainted with each other? 
 
 Charm, (^aside.) Now would I trick this trick- 
 ster, — if I could 
 But cozen him of those thousand Philippeans, 
 He said I gave him ! though I know him not, 
 Nor ever saw him till this day. — What, I 
 Trust him with gold? who would not even give 
 A lump of lead to save him from a lianging. — 
 I must go cunningly to work. — Hoa, Touchit, 
 Three words with you. 
 
 Coimit. Three hundred, if you please. 
 
 Charm. Have you the money you receiv'd of 
 Charmides ? 
 
 Count. In Philippeans, told upon the nail, 
 A thousand pieces. 
 
 Charm. Yovj received them, did you, 
 
 Of Charmides himself? 
 
 Cotmt. It had been wondrous. 
 
 Had I receiv'd them of his grandsire truly. 
 Or his great-grandsire, — who are dead. 
 
 Charm. Young man, 
 
 Prithee give me the gold. 
 
 Cmmt. Give you what gold ? 
 
 Charm. That which you own'd you did receive 
 of me. 
 
 Cmmt. Receiv'd of you ? 
 
 Charm. I say it. 
 
 Count. Who are you ? 
 
 Charm. Who gave to you the thousand pieces : — I 
 Am Charmides. 
 
 Count. You're not, nor ever shall be, 
 
 I mean the master of this gold. — Away, — 
 Yon are a knowing one ! — you"d take me in! — 
 But I too am a knowing one. 
 
 Charm. I'm Charmides. 
 
 Count. You may be, but in vain. — 1 bring no 
 money. 
 You've crept upon me in the very nick 
 Most slily. When I said I had brought gold, 
 You then was Charmides; before you was not, 
 
 Till I made mention of the gold. — 'Twon't do. — 
 So prithee, as you've taken up the name 
 Of Charmides, e'en lay it down again. 
 
 Charm. Who am I, if I am not what I am ? 
 
 Count. What's that to me? Be whom you 
 please, you're welcome, 
 So you are not the person Pd not have you. 
 Before, you was not who you was ; and now, 
 You are who then you was not. 
 
 Charm. Come, despatch. 
 
 Cmmt. How ? what despatch ? 
 
 Charm. Give me the money. 
 
 Count. Sure, 
 
 You dream, old gentleman. 
 
 Charm. Did you not own. 
 
 That Charmides had giv'n it you ? 
 
 Count. I did, — 
 
 In writing, — not in specie. 
 
 Charm. Prithee hence. 
 
 And leave the place this instant, ere I order you 
 A hearty drubbing. 
 
 Cmint. Why ? 
 
 Charm. Because myself 
 
 Am that same Charmides that you've invented ; — 
 Who you pretend has given you letters. 
 
 Count. How ! 
 
 I pray you, are you he ? 
 
 Charm. Yes, I am he. 
 
 Count. What say you ? are you he ? 
 
 Charm. I am, I say. 
 
 Count. Himself? 
 
 Charm. I say, I'm Charmides, — himself 
 
 Coimt. And are you he himself? 
 
 Charm. His very self — 
 
 Out of my sight; — Be gone then. 
 
 Count. Now, because 
 
 Your coming was so late, I'll have you beaten 
 At the new .^Ediles' and my own award. 
 
 Charm. What! you abuse me? 
 
 Count. All the gods confound you 
 
 For your arrival ! I had little car'd, 
 If you had perish'd first. — I've got at least, 
 The money for my trouble. — III betide you! 
 And now, or who you are, or who you are not, 
 I value not a straw. — To him I'll go. 
 Who hir'd me for three pieces, and acquaint him, 
 How thathis money's thrown away. — I'm gone. — 
 Farewell ? — Fare ill ! — May all the gods con- 
 found you, 
 For coming from abroad, — you. Master Char- 
 mides?* [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Charmides alone. 
 Now he is gone, I've opportunity 
 And time more freely to debate this matter. — 
 
 * The situation in this scene is highly comic. Mr. Col- 
 man, in the Preface to his translation of Terence, takes 
 notice, that he does not recollect ever to have seen it ob- 
 served, that the disguise of the Pedant in Shakspeare's 
 Tamino- of the Shrew, his assuming the name and charac- 
 ter of Vincentio, together with his encountering the real 
 Vincentio, seem to he evidently taken from this scene in 
 our author. — An incident of the same kind we meet with 
 in the old play of Jilbumazer, Act iv. Scene vii., which 
 appears likewise to be palpably borrowed from this place. 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 389 
 
 I am perplex'cl, I'm stung at heart, to think 
 What business he could have now at my door. — 
 Those letters that he talk'd of fill my mind 
 With ap))rehensions; — and those thousand ])ieces, 
 What could he mean by them ? — The bell doth 
 
 never 
 Clink of itself: unliandled, and unmovVl, 
 "Tis dumb. — But who is this, that down the 
 
 street 
 Comes running hither? — I've a mind to watch 
 What he's about, — I'll step aside. (j-etires.) 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Stasimus, running, at a distance. 
 Stas. (to himself.) Run, Stasimus, 
 
 Be quick, and hie thee with what speed thou 
 
 canst 
 Home to thy master, or thy sluggard folly 
 Will make thy shoulders shrug for fear. — Then 
 
 haste thee. 
 Quicken thy pace ; — thou hast been gone from 
 
 home 
 A long while. — Have a care then, that the lash 
 Smack not upon thee, if thou should'st be ab- 
 sent, 
 When that thy master make for thee inquiry. — 
 Run, run then without ceasing. — (^stopjiing.) — 
 
 Hold thee, — Stasimus, 
 What a sad fellow art thou, to forget 
 Thy ring, and leave it at the tippling-house. 
 Where thou hadst warm'd thy gullet? — Back 
 
 again. 
 And ask for't ere too late. 
 
 Charm. Whoe'er he be. 
 
 He skips and frisks about, as if a horse-fly 
 Hail him to break, and taught him the menage. 
 
 Stas. Art not asham'd, to lose thy memory 
 In drinking but three pottles 1 — or didst think 
 The men thou drank'st with were such honest 
 
 souls. 
 They'd keep their hands from picking. There 
 
 was Theruchus, 
 Cerconicus, Crinnus, Cereobulus, Collabus, 
 A race of broken-shinn'd and black-eyed bruisers, 
 Knights of the chain, and squires o' th' whipping- 
 post. 
 And canst thou hope then from among such 
 
 fellows 
 To get thy ring, when one of them did steal 
 A racer"s shoe off in his utmost speed ? 
 Charm. 'Fore heaven, a finish'd thief! 
 Stas. What's best to do? 
 
 Shall I, in seeking what is gone for ever. 
 Add loss of labour too ? — What's gone, is gone. — 
 Then tack about, and hie thee to tliy master. 
 Charm. This is no runaway rogue, that having 
 stray'd 
 Forgets to find his way home. 
 
 Stas. Would to heaven. 
 
 That the old manners, and the ancient thrift, 
 Were held in greater honour now-a-days 
 Than the base fashion of our times. 
 
 Charm. Good heavens ! 
 
 How gravely and how solemnly he talks ! 
 nie old, the old he praises, he is all 
 For the old manners. 
 
 Stas. Modern uses teach us 
 
 To do what best we like, not what is best. 
 Ambition is by custom sanctified, 
 Freed from the law's restraint : — To throw away 
 One's shield, and turn one's back upon the foe, 
 Is licens'd by our manners : to make vice 
 The ready road to honour, is the practice. 
 
 Charm. O villainous manner.s! 
 
 Stas. To neglect the brave. 
 
 And pass them by unheeded, is the custom. 
 
 Charm. 'Tis infamous! 
 
 Stas. These manners have e'erpower'd 
 
 The laws themselves, and hold them in submis- 
 sion 
 With more authority tlian children no\v 
 Are used to sway their parents. The poor statutes 
 With iron nails are iix'd against the walls:* 
 But it were fitter our degenerate manners 
 Were stuck up in their stead. 
 
 Charm. I have a mind 
 
 To join, and enter into talk with him, 
 I hear him with such pleasure : but I fear, 
 If I address him, the discourse he'll turn 
 To other matters. 
 
 Stas. Nothing now requires 
 
 The sanction of tlie laws; for these are bent 
 In pliable subjection to our manners. 
 Which in their wild career destroy, confound 
 All sacred and all public rights. 
 
 Charm. A mischief 
 
 Light on these manners ! 
 
 Stas. Does not this require 
 
 The reprehension of the public state? 
 For men of such a stamp, such evil habits, 
 Are universal enemies to all ; 
 They injure the whole people, while they break 
 Throtigh faith and honesty; nay, they destroy 
 All confidence in those, who nothing merit it. 
 By rend'ring them suspected like themselves: 
 For 'twill be tliought that other's dispositions 
 Resemble tlieir's. — Now, as for these reflections. 
 How they have chanc'd to come into my mind, 
 A certain matter that of late concern'd me, 
 Prompted me with them. — What you lend, is 
 
 lost; 
 And when you ask it of your friend again. 
 You make that friend your enemy by your kind- 
 ness. 
 Still woidd you press him further, of two things 
 You have the choice, either to lose your loan, 
 Or lose your friend. f 
 
 Charm. Why surely this is Stasimus, 
 
 My fellow. 
 
 Stas. For example, — with the talent 
 
 I lent a friend, what did I ? why, I bought 
 Myself an enemy, and sold a friend. — 
 But I'm a fool to busy thus my brain 
 
 * It was the custom formerly to hane up the laws cut 
 in wood or l)rass f<ir the public inspection, which Stasi- 
 mus supposes to be done by way oT punishment to them, 
 t This same sentiment is more briefly expreseed by 
 Shakspeare in his Ilanilel ; but it resembles this passage 
 so nearly, that one could almost be tempted to suppose it 
 taken from our author. 
 
 Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
 For loan oft loseth both itself and friend. 
 2h3 
 
390 
 
 PLAUTUS. 
 
 About the public, rather than take heed 
 
 To that wliich most concerns myself, contrive 
 
 How to secure my back. — I'll go ine home. (goingA 
 
 Charm. Hola, you, — stop, — hola,^-d"ye hear 
 mc ? — stop. 
 
 Stas. Stop ? — I'll not stop. 
 
 Charm. But prithee — 
 
 Stas. What if I 
 
 Dislike your prithee? 
 
 Charm. How now ? — Stasimus, 
 
 You are too saucy. 
 
 Stas. You had better buy 
 
 One that will mind your bidding. 
 
 Charm. I have bought, 
 
 And paid for one ; but if he heed me not, 
 What should I do? 
 
 Stas. Belabour him most heartily. 
 
 Charm. Your counsel's right, and I'm resolv'd 
 to do so. 
 
 Stas. Except, indeed, that you are bounden to 
 him 
 For his good services. 
 
 Charm. If you are good then, 
 
 I'll hold me bounden to you ; biit if otherwise, 
 I'll do as you direct. 
 
 Stas. What is't to me. 
 
 Whether your slaves are good or bad ? 
 
 Charm. Because 
 
 You have a share in't, — in the good or bad. 
 
 Stas. As to the one, I give it to you all : 
 The other (that's the good) place all to me. 
 
 Charm. I shall, if you deserve it. — Turn your 
 head. 
 And look upon me : I am Charmides. 
 
 Stas. Ha ! who makes mention of that best of 
 mortals? 
 
 Charm. That best of mortals, he himself, — 
 'tis I. 
 
 Stas. [turning.) sea! earth! heaven! 
 O all ye gods! 
 Have I my eyesight clear ? and is it he ? 
 Or is it not ? — "Tis he ! — 'tis he, for certain ! — 
 'Tis he indeed ! — my most wish'd-for master. 
 Save you — 
 
 Charm. And you too, Stasimus. 
 
 Stas. That you're safe — 
 
 Charm, [interrupting.') I know what you would 
 say, and do believe you. 
 Wave other points : resolve me but in this : 
 How do my children do, whom here I left. 
 My son and daughter ? 
 
 Stas. They're alive, and well. 
 
 Charm. Both, say you ? 
 
 Stas. Both. 
 
 Charm. Gods ! 'twas your gracious will 
 
 To save me for them. What I more would 
 
 know, 
 I at my leisure will inquire within. — 
 Let's enter. — Follow. [advancing to his house.^ 
 
 Stas. Whither are you going? 
 
 Charm. Whither but home? 
 
 Stas. You think then we live here ? 
 
 Charm. Where else can I imagine? 
 
 Stas. Now — 
 
 Charm. What now ? 
 
 Stas. This house — is none of your's. 
 
 Charm. What's that you say ? 
 
 Stas. Your son has sold it, — 
 
 Charm. Ruin'd ! 
 
 Stas. For the ready. 
 
 Paid on the spot. 
 
 Charm. For how much ? 
 
 Stas. Forty minae. 
 
 Charm. Undone ! — Who bought it ? 
 
 Stas. Callicles, to whom. 
 
 While absent, your affairs you trusted : hither 
 Has he remov'd, and now abides here ; us 
 He has turn'd out of doors. 
 
 Charm. Where lives my son ? 
 
 Stas. Here in this back part. 
 
 Charm. Utterly undone ! 
 
 Stas. I thought 'twould grieve you, when you 
 came to hear it. 
 
 Charm. What dangers have I pass'd ! borne, 
 hapless wretch. 
 Through oceans vast, to pirates numberless 
 Expos'd, with hazard of my life ! — At length 
 Preserv'd, return'd in safety, I am lost. 
 Here perish, and through those, for whom alone, 
 Old as I am, I struggled with misfortunes. — 
 I'm sick at heart with grief. — Support me, Sta- 
 simus ! 
 
 SCEWE "V. 
 Enter Callici.es. 
 
 Cal. What noise is that I hear before the door? 
 
 Charm. O Callicles! O Callicles! to whom 
 Have I intrusted my affairs? all me ! 
 To what a friend ? 
 
 Cal. An honest and a faithful, 
 
 A trusty one, of strict fidelity. — 
 I am rejoic'd to see you here return'd 
 In safety. 
 
 Charm. I believe it all, if so 
 You prove yourself as you pretend you are.^ 
 But wherefore thus accoutred ? 
 
 Cal. I'll inform you. 
 
 I have been digging up your treasure here. 
 To portion out your daughter. — But within 
 More fully I'll unfold to you both this, 
 And other matters. Come along. 
 
 Charm. Here, — Stasimus! 
 
 Stas. Sir! 
 
 Charm. Run with speed unto the haven ; — 
 make 
 One running of it ; — there you'll find the ship. 
 That brought me hither : bid Sangario see 
 The goods unladen, which I order'd; — go then, — 
 The impost I have paid. 
 
 Stas. Ill make despatch. 
 
 Charm. Go, get you gone; — be back with speed. 
 
 Stas. I'm there. 
 
 And here too, in a twinkling. 
 
 Cal. Will you please 
 
 To enter with me ? — Come now. 
 
 Charm. I attend you. 
 
 [Exeu7it Callicles atid Charmides. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Stasimus alone. 
 This is my master's friend, the only one 
 That has stuck firmly to him ! he, good man, 
 
PLAUTUS. 
 
 391 
 
 Has lov'd him with unchangeable affection! 
 Oil, he's the only one, 1 dare be sworn, 
 That's faithCul to him! — Aye, — he has a view 
 To serve himself in serving of my master. [Exit. 
 
 Act V. ScENt I. 
 Enter Ltsiteles. 
 I am the first of men, surpassing all 
 In pleasure and in joy, so happily 
 Does every thing befall me, that I wish: 
 Still one success is followed by another 
 In all I do, and transport seconds transport. 
 Young Lesbonicus" servant, Stasimus, 
 Met me just now, and told me, Charmides 
 His master was return'd here from abroad. 
 'Tis proper I should meet him with all speed, 
 That so the corni)act "twixt his son and me 
 May by the father's sanction be confirm'd. 
 Ill go. — But hark, the door I hear is opening: — 
 This hindrance now is most unseasonable. 
 
 (^rclwes to a distance.^ 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Charmides and Callicles. 
 
 Charm. I cannot think there is a man on earth, 
 Or ever was a man, or ever will be. 
 Whose faith and honest firmness to his friend 
 Can equal thine: had it not been for thee, 
 He had unhons'd me of my house and home. 
 
 Cul. If I have serv'd my^viend in any thing, 
 Or acted towards him with fidelity, 
 I scarce can seem to merit any praise, 
 But think, I only have avoided blame. 
 Whatever we confer upon a friend 
 To have and hold for ever, is his own; 
 But what is only lent him for a time. 
 May be demanded back again at pleasure. 
 
 Charm. 'Tis as you say. — But now, my honest 
 friend, 
 I cannot enough wonder, that my son 
 Should have betroth'd his sister in a family 
 So wealthy as Lysiteles", Philto's heir. 
 
 Lys. (behind.) My name he mentions. 
 
 Charm. By my troth, the girl 
 
 Has got into the best of families. 
 
 Lys. Why not address me to them? — Yet 'tis 
 better 
 To wait awhile ; for the discourse concerns me. 
 
 Charm. Ah! 
 
 Cal. What's the matter ? 
 
 Charm. I forgot indeed 
 
 To tell you, while we were within. — Just now. 
 On my arrival here, a certain knave 
 Accosted me, a very knave in grain. 
 He told me, he had brought a thousand pieces 
 For you and Lesbonicus, of my giving; — 
 Though who he is, I know not, nor did ever 
 See him before. — But wherefore do you laugh? 
 
 Cal. He came by my direction, as from you 
 Bringing me sums of gold, for me to give 
 In dowry with your daughter; so your son 
 On the receipt might think it came from you ; 
 Lest knowing of the truth, and that the treasure 
 Was lodg'd in my possession, l)y our laws 
 He might demand it as liis patrimony. 
 
 Charm. A rare conceit! 
 
 Cal. Good Megaronides, 
 
 Our common friend, devis'd it. 
 
 Charm. I approve, 
 
 Ap])luud his counsel. 
 
 Lys. Wherefore do I stand. 
 
 Fool that I am, alone here, and airaid 
 To interrupt them in their conversation? 
 Why not about the business I purposed ? — 
 I will accost them. (^advances.) 
 
 Charm. Look you, — who is this 
 
 Coming towards us here? 
 
 Lys. [going up.) Lysiteles 
 
 Salutes his father-in-law, good Charmides. 
 
 Charm. Heaven grant you all you wish ! 
 
 Cal. And am not I 
 
 Worth a salute ? 
 
 Lys. Yes, save you, Callicles! — 
 
 But I must give him preference. — My coat, 
 Dear sir, is nearer to me than my cloak.* 
 
 Cal. Heaven prosper you in all that you design ! 
 
 Charm. My daughter is, I hear, betroth'd to you. 
 
 Lys. If you object not. 
 
 Charm. No, by no means I. 
 
 Lys. Your daughter you betroth to me for wife 
 then ? 
 
 Charm. I do betroth her, and will give withal 
 A thousand Philippeans for her portion. 
 
 Lys. The portion I regard not. 
 
 Charm. If you like 
 
 The maiden, you must like the portion too : 
 In short, you will not have the wife you want. 
 Except you take the portion which you want not. 
 
 Cal. He asks but justice. 
 
 Lys. And he shall prevail, 
 
 Since you're his advocate, and judge betwixt us. 
 On this condition then you do engage 
 To give your daughter to me for a wife ? 
 
 Charm. I do engage. 
 
 Cal. I'll answer for it too. 
 
 Lys. Dear kinsmen, health and happiness at- 
 tend you ! 
 
 Charm. Callicles! and yet there is a point 
 In which I've reason to be angry with you. 
 
 Cal. What have I done ? 
 
 Charm. My son ! — you've suffer'd him 
 
 To bo debauch'd. 
 
 Cal. If wilfully 'twere done. 
 
 With my consent, you would have cause indeed 
 To be most angry with me. — But I pray you, 
 Lot me obtain from you this one request, 
 Whic;li I entreat. 
 
 Charm. What is it? 
 
 Cal. You shall know. 
 
 Whatever he has done imprudently. 
 Forget it all. — Why do you shake your head? 
 
 Charm. I'm sorely vex'd at heart; and oh! I 
 fear — 
 
 Cal. What do you mean? 
 
 Charm. I'm vex'd that he should prove 
 
 Such as I would not have him, — and I fear. 
 Should I deny you your request, you'd think 
 I bore me slightingly towards you. — Come, 
 I'll not stand out, but do as you desire. 
 
 ♦ The original is, Tunica propior pallio est. This is a 
 proverbial expression, the meaning of which is obvious. 
 
392 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 Cat. Now thou'rt a right good fellow : — I will go, 
 And call liiin forth. 
 
 Charm. 'Tis hard yon will not let me 
 
 Take vengeance on hiin, sucli as he deserves. 
 
 Cal. Open the door there,— open quick, — call 
 forth 
 Young Lesbonicus, if he be at home.^ 
 The cause is sudden, wherefore I require 
 His presence here this instant. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Lesbonicus. 
 
 Les. Who is it, 
 
 With boisterous voice calls on me to come forth 
 With speed here 1 
 
 Cal. A well-wisher, and a friend. 
 
 Les. Tell me, is any thing amiss 7 
 
 Cal. All's right. — 
 
 I am rejoic'd, your father is return'd 
 In safety from abroad. 
 
 Les. Who says so? 
 
 Cal. I. 
 
 Les. How ! have you seen him ? 
 
 Cal. Yes, — and you yourself 
 
 May see him too. (pointing to Charm.') 
 
 Les. (going up.) My father! my father! 
 Heaven's blessings on you. 
 
 Charm. And on you, my son ! 
 
 Les. Any mischance, good father ? 
 
 Charm. Never fear : 
 
 Nothing has happen'd : I am safe arriv'd ; 
 And well have manag'd my affairs. — son ! 
 If you would but be prudent, Callicles 
 Has promis'd you his daughter. 
 
 Les. Sir, I'll take her, 
 
 And whomsoever else you shall command. 
 
 Charm. I could, I am so angry — 
 
 Cal. Come, — one misery 
 
 For one man's full enough. — 
 
 Charm. Nay, but for him 
 
 It is too little ; were he for his sins 
 To wed a hundred wives, 'twere all too little. 
 
 Les. But now henceforward I'll refrain myself 
 From wild and evil courses. 
 
 Charm. So you say : 
 
 Would you but do't! 
 
 Les. What hinders, but my wife 
 
 To-morrow I may bring home. 
 
 Charm. It were best: 
 
 Then be it so. (to Lys.) And you, sir, be prepar'd 
 For marriage the day after. — Clap your hands. 
 
 FROM THE MERCHANT. 
 
 WIVES AND HUSBANDS. 
 
 Now, by my troth, the poor unhappy women 
 Are much more hardly dealt with than the men. 
 For if a husband brings a mistress home. 
 Though the wife finds her under her own roof, 
 There is no law that punishes the man : 
 But catch her rambling with sallants abroad, 
 The husband truly sues for a divorce. 
 Would the same law held good for man and 
 
 wife! 
 For since the wife, if she's an honest woman 
 Will be contented with her husband ; why 
 Should not the husband also with the wife 1 
 I would fain have fair play between them both. 
 
 '^^ TERENCE. 
 
 [Bom 195,— Died 159, B. C] 
 
 PuBLius Terentius Afer, better known to 
 the English reader by the name of Terence, was 
 a native of Carthage, and the slave of Terentius 
 Lucanus, a Roman senator. His master, per- 
 ceiving the youth's talents, not only bestowed on 
 him a liberal education, but crowned the good 
 deed byaddins; to it his freedom. At Rome our 
 poet seems to have been generally respected and 
 beloved, living on terms of friendly intercourse 
 with Caius Ltelius and the most distinguished 
 nobles of the commonwealth, but, above all, with 
 that practiser and patron of all that was good 
 and great, the younger Africanus.— After writing 
 six comedies, all of which were received with 
 more or less admiration and applause by the Ro- 
 mans, he embarked for Greece and was never 
 heard of more, having probably perished at sea. 
 
 Most of the plots ill Terence's plays w^ere 
 taken from the Greek, but he has shown the 
 greatest taste and judgment in the additions and 
 
 alterations made on them, and in his manner of 
 accommodating them to the Roman stage ; nor 
 can I help thinking, with Mr. Dunlop, that, "had 
 he lived an age later, when all the arts were in 
 full glory at Ronrie, and the empire at its height 
 of power and splendour, he would have found 
 domestic subjects sufficient to supply liis scene 
 with interest and variety, and no longer accounted 
 it a greater merit — ' Grsecas transferre quam pro- 
 prias scribere.' " For the beauties of style and 
 lansTiage Terence may be placed at the head of 
 all the comic writers. His diction is uniformly 
 terse, elegant, and unaffected, — unsurpassed in 
 purity and grace by the writers of the Augustan 
 age itself. He is characterized by Caesar as 
 " puri sermonis amator," and by Cicero as — 
 " quicquid come loquens, ac omnia dulcia di- 
 cens." The elegant conversations of Africanus, 
 and the "Mitis sapientia Lseli,"' were not lost 
 upon their humble friend and admirer. 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 393 
 
 THE ANDRIAN.* 
 
 DHAMATIS PEKSOXjTJ. 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 SiMO. 
 
 Pathpiiilius. 
 
 Chhkmes. 
 
 Charixus. 
 
 CniTO. 
 
 SosiA. 
 
 Davus. 
 Byuuhia. 
 
 DllO.MO. 
 
 Gltceuium. 
 
 Mysis. 
 
 Leshia. 
 
 AnCHTLLtS. 
 
 Scene, at Athens. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The hnrd, when first he gave his mind to write, 
 Thought it his only business, that his plays 
 Should please the people: But it now falls out. 
 He finds, much otherwise, and wastes, perforce. 
 His time in writing prologues ; not to tell 
 The argument, but to refute the slanders\ 
 Broach 'd by the malice of an older bard. 
 
 And mark what vices he is charg'd withal! 
 Menander wrote the Andrian and Perinthian: 
 Know one, and you know both; in argument 
 Less dilT'rent than in sentiment and style. 
 What suited with the Andrian he confesses 
 From the Perinthian he transferred, and us'd 
 For his : and this it is these sland'rers blame, 
 Proving by deep and learned disputation, 
 That fables should not be contaminated. 
 Troth ! all thoir knowledge is they nothing know : 
 Who, blaming him, blame Naevius, Plautus, 
 
 Emiius, 
 Whose great example is his precedent; 
 Whose negligence he"d wish to emulate 
 Rather than their dark diligence. Henceforth, 
 Let them, I give them warning, Vje at peace. 
 And cease to rail, lest they be made to know 
 Their own misdeeds. Be favourable ! sit 
 With equal mind, and hear our play ; that hence 
 Ye may conclude, what hope to entertain, 
 The comedies he may hereafter write 
 Shall merit approbation or contempt. 
 
 Act I. Scene L 
 SiMO, SosiA, and Servants with provmotis. 
 
 Sim. Carry these things in: go! [Exit servants. 
 Sosia, come here ; 
 A word with you ! 
 
 Sos. I understand : that these 
 
 Be ta'en due care of 
 
 Sim. Quite another thing. 
 
 Sos. What can my art do more for you ? 
 
 Sim. This business 
 
 Needs not that art; but tliose good qualities, 
 Which I have ever known abide in you, 
 Fidelity and secrecy. 
 
 Sos. I wait 
 
 Your pleasure. 
 
 Sim. Since I bought you from a boy 
 
 How just and mild a servitude you've pass'd 
 
 * The plot of this play is takiMi from the Jlmlrian and 
 Periiilhiiin of Menander, and has been imitated, in modern 
 times, by Baron in his Jlndrienne, by Steele in his Con- 
 scious Lovers, and by Moore in his Foundling. 
 50 
 
 With me, you're conscious : from a purchas'd 
 
 slave 
 I made you free, because you scrv'd me freely: 
 The greatest recompense I could besujw. 
 
 Sos. I do remember. 
 
 Sim. Nor do I repent. 
 
 Sos. If I have ever done, or now do aught 
 That's j)leasing to you, Simo, I am glad. 
 And thaidcfid that you hold my service good. 
 And yet this troubles me: for this detail. 
 Forcing your kindness on my memory, 
 Seeins to reproach me of ingratitude. 
 
 tell me then at once, what would you? sir! 
 Sim. I will; and this I must advise you first: 
 
 The nuptial you suppose preparing now, 
 Is all unreal. 
 
 Sos. Why pretend it then ? 
 
 Sim. You shall hear all from first to last: and 
 thus 
 The conduct of my son, my own intent. 
 And what part you're to act, you'll know at 
 
 once. 
 For my son, Sosia, now to manhood grown. 
 Had freer scope of living: for before 
 How might you know, or how indeed divine 
 His disposition, good or ill, while youth. 
 Fear, and a master, all constrain'd him? 
 
 Sos. True. 
 
 Sim. Though most, as is the bent of youth, 
 apply 
 Their mind to some one object, horses, hounds, 
 Or to the study of philosophy ; 
 Yet none of these, beyond the rest, did he 
 Pursue; and j'et, in moderation, all. 
 
 1 was o'erjoy'd. 
 
 Sos. And not without good cause. 
 
 For this I hold to be the golden rule 
 Of life, too much of one thing's good for notliing. 
 
 Sim. So did he shape his life to bear himself 
 With ease and frank good-humour unto all ; 
 Mixt in what company soe'er, to them 
 He wholly did resign himself; and joiu'd 
 In their pursuits, opposing nobody. 
 Nor e'er assuming to himself: and thus 
 With ease, and free from en^•y, may you gain 
 Praise, and conciliate friends. 
 
 Sos. He rul'd his life 
 
 By prudent maxims : for as times go now. 
 Compliance raises friends, and truth breeds 
 hate, 
 
 Sim. Meanwhile, 'tis now about three years 
 ago, 
 A certain woman from the isle of Andtos, 
 Came o'er to settle in this neighbourhood, 
 By poverty and cruel kindVed driv'n: 
 Handsome and young. 
 
 Sos. Ah ! I begin to fear 
 
 Some mischief from this Andrian. 
 
 Sim. At first 
 
 Modest and thriftily, though poor, she liv'd, 
 With her own hands a homely livelihood 
 Scarce earning from the ilistatfand the loom. 
 But when a lover came, with promis'd gold. 
 Another, anil another, as the mind 
 Fads easily from labour to delight. 
 She took their oilers, and set up the trade. 
 
394 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 Tliey, who were then her chief gallants, by 
 
 cliance 
 Drew tliither, as oft happens with young men, 
 My son to, join their company. So, so! 
 Said I within myself, he's smit! he has it! 
 And in the morning as I saw their servants 
 Run to and fro, I'd often call, Here, boy! 
 Prithee, now, who had Chrysis yesterday? 
 Tiie name of this same Andrian. 
 
 Sos. I take you. 
 
 Sim. Phfedrus, they said, Clinia, or Niceratas, 
 For all these three then followed her. — Well, 
 
 well. 
 But what of Pamphilus? — Of Pamphihis ! 
 He supt, and paid his reck'ning. — I vvas glad. 
 Another day I made the lilie inquiry, 
 But still found nothing touching Pamphilus. 
 Thus I believ'd his virtue prov'd, and hence 
 Thought him a miracle of continence : 
 For he who struggles with such spirits, yet 
 Holds in that commerce an unshaken mind, 
 May well be trusted with the governance 
 Of his own conduct. Nor was I alone 
 Delighted with his life, but all the world 
 With one accord said all good things, and prais'd 
 My happy fortunes, who possest a son 
 So good, so lib"rally dispos'd — In short, 
 Chremes, seduc'd by this fine character, 
 Came of his own accord, to offer me 
 His only daughter with a handsome portion 
 In marriage with my son. I lik'd the match ; 
 Betroth'd my son ; and this was pitch"d upon, 
 By joint agreement, for tlie wedding-day. 
 
 Sos. And what prevents its being so? 
 
 Sim. ni tell you. 
 
 In a few days, the treaty still on foot, 
 This neighbour Chrysis dies. 
 
 Sos. In happy hour : 
 
 Happy for you ! I was afraid of Chrysis. 
 
 Sim. My son, on this event, was often there 
 Witli those who were the late gallants of Chrysis ; 
 Assisted to prepare the funeral, 
 Ever condol'd, and sometimes -wept with them. 
 This pleased me then: for in myself I thought, 
 Since merely for a small acquaintance-sake 
 He takes this woman's death so nearly, what 
 If he himself had lov'd ? What would he feel 
 For me, his father? All these things, I thought, 
 Were but the tokens and the offices 
 Of a humane and tender disposition. 
 In short, on his account, e'en I myself 
 Attend the funeral, suspecting yet 
 No harm. 
 
 Sos. And what — 
 *Tp**^iOT. You .shall hear all. The corpse 
 
 Borne forth, we follow; when among the women 
 Attending there, I chanc'd to cast my eyes 
 Upon one girl, in form — 
 
 Sos. Not bad, perhaps — 
 
 Sim. And look, so modest, and so beauteous, 
 Sosia ! 
 That nothini: could exceed it. As she seem'd 
 To grieve beyond the rest, and as her air 
 Appear'd more liberal and ingenuous, 
 I went, and ask'd her woman who she was. 
 Sister, they said, to Chrysis : when at once 
 
 It struck my mind; So! so! the secret's out; 
 Hence were those tears, and hence all that com- 
 passion ! 
 
 Sos. Alas ! I fear how this affair will end! 
 
 Sim. Meanwhile the funeral proceeds : we 
 follow ; 
 Come to the sepulchre ; the body's plac'd 
 Upon the pile ; lamented : whereupon 
 This sister, I was speaking of, all wild, 
 Ran to the flames with peril of her life. 
 Then! there! the frighted Pamphilus betrays 
 His well-dissembled and lo'ig-hidden love ; 
 Runs up, and takes her round the waist, and cries, 
 Oh my Glycerium ! what is it you do? 
 Why, why endeavour to destroy yourself? 
 Then she in such a manner, that you thence 
 Might easily perceive their long, long love. 
 Threw herself back into his arms, and wept, 
 
 how familiarly! 
 
 Sos. How say you ! 
 
 Sim. I 
 
 Return in anger thence, and hurt at heart, 
 Yet had not cause sufficient for reproof. 
 What have I done? he'd say; or how deserv'd 
 Reproach ? or how offended, father ? — Her, 
 Who meant to cast herself into the flames, 
 
 1 stopt. A fair excuse ! 
 
 Sos. You're in the right: 
 
 For him, who sav'd a life, if you reprove, 
 What will you do to him that offers wrong? 
 
 Sim. Chremes next day came open-mouth'd to 
 me ; 
 Oh monstrous ! he had found that Pamphilus 
 Was married to this stranger-woman. I 
 Deny the fact most steadily, and he 
 As steadily insists. In short we part 
 On such bad terms, as let me understand 
 He would refuse his daughter. 
 
 Sos. Did not you 
 
 The7i take your son to task ? 
 
 Sim. Not even this 
 
 Appear'd sufficient for reproof. 
 
 Sos. How so? 
 
 Sim. Father, (he might have said,) you have, 
 you know, 
 Prescrib'd a term to all these things yourself. 
 The time is near at hand, when I must live 
 According to the humour of another. 
 Meanwhile, permit me now to please my o%vn ! 
 
 Sos. What cause remains to chide him then ? 
 
 Sim. If he 
 
 Refuses, on account of this amour, 
 To take a wife, such obstinate denial 
 Must be considered as his first offence. 
 Wherefore I now, from this mock-nuptial. 
 Endeavour to draw real cause to chide : 
 And that same rascal Davus, if he's plotting, 
 That he may let his counsel run to waste. 
 Now, when his knaveries can do no harm : 
 Who, I believe, with all his might and main 
 Will strive to cross my purposes; and that 
 More to plague me, than to oblige my son. 
 
 Sos. Why so ? 
 
 Sitn. Why so! Bad mind, bad heart. But if 
 I catch him at his tricks ! — But what need words? 
 — If, as I wish it may, it should appear 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 395 
 
 That Pamphiliis objects not to the match, 
 
 Chremes remains to be prevail'd upon, 
 
 And will, I liope, consent. 'Tis now your place 
 
 To counterfeit these nuptials cunninf^ly ; 
 
 To frighten Daviis; and observe my son, 
 
 What he's about, what plots they hatch together. 
 
 Sos. Enough; I'll take due care. Let's now 
 go in. 
 
 Sim. Go fust; 111 follow you. [Exit Sosia. 
 Beyond all doubt 
 My son's averse to take a wife; I saw 
 How frighten'd Davus was, but even now, 
 When he was told a nuptial was preparing — 
 But here he comes. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Davus. 
 
 Dav. (^to himself.) I thought t'were wonderful 
 If this affair went off so easily; 
 And dreaded where my master's great good hu- 
 mour 
 Would end at last : who, after he perceiv'd 
 The lady was refus'd, ne'er said a word 
 To any of us, nor e'er took it ill. 
 
 Sim. (^bekind.^ But now he will ; to your cost, 
 too, I warrant you! 
 
 Dav. This was his scheme ; to lead us by the 
 nose 
 In a false dream of joy; then all agape 
 With hope, even then that we were most secure, 
 To have o'erwhelm'd us, nor have given us time 
 To cast about which way to break the match. 
 Cunning old gentleman ! 
 
 Sim. What says the rogite ? 
 
 Dav. My master, and I did not see hiin ! 
 
 Sim. Davus ! 
 
 Dav. (^pretending not to see him.) Well ! what 
 now ■? 
 
 Sim. Here ! this way ! 
 
 Dav. (Jo himself.) What can he want ? 
 
 Sim. (overhearing.) What say you ? 
 
 Dav. Ujjonwhat? sir! 
 
 Sim. Upon what ! 
 
 The world reports that my son keeps a mistress. 
 
 Dav. Oh, to be sure, the world cares much for 
 that. 
 
 Sim. D'ye mind what I say, sirrah 1 
 
 Dav. Nothing more, sir. 
 
 Sim. But for me now to dive into these matters 
 May seem perhaps like too severe a father : 
 For all his youthful pranks concern not me. 
 While 'twas in season, he had my free leave 
 To take his swing of pleasure. But to-day 
 IL^Brings on another stage of life, and asks 
 Ir^or other manners : wherefore I desire, 
 Or, if you please, I do beseech you, Davus, 
 To set him right again. 
 
 Dav. What means all this ? 
 
 Sim. All, who are fond of mistresses, dislike 
 The thoughts of matrimony. 
 
 Dav. So they say. 
 
 Sim. And then, if such a person entertains 
 An evil counsellor in those affairs, 
 He tampers with the mind, and makes bad worse. 
 
 Dav. Troth, I don't comprehend one word of 
 this. 
 
 Sim. No? 
 
 Dav. No, I'm Davus, and not ffidipus. 
 
 Sim. Then for the rest I have to say to you, 
 You choose I should speak plainly. 
 
 Dav. By all means. 
 
 Sim. If I discover then, that in this match 
 You get to your dog's tricks and break it off, 
 Or try to show how shrewd a rogue you are, 
 I'll have yon beat to mummy, and then thrown 
 In prison, sirrah ! upon this condition, 
 That wlien I take yon out again, I swear 
 To grind there in your stead. D'ye take me now? 
 Or don't you understand this neither ? 
 
 Dav. Clearly. 
 
 You've spoken out at last : the very thing! 
 Quite plain and home; and nothing round about. 
 
 Sim. I could e.xcuse your tricks in any thing. 
 Rather than this.' 
 
 Dav. Goods words ! I beg of yon. 
 
 Sim. You laugh at me : well, well ! — I give 
 you warning. 
 That you do nothing rashly, nor pretend 
 You was nut adveni>'d of this — Take heed ! 
 
 ' [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Davus alone. 
 Troth, Davus, 'tis liinh time to look about you ; 
 No room for sloth, as far as I can sound 
 The sentiments of our old gentleman 
 About this marriage ; which, if not fought off, 
 And cunningly, spoils me, or my poor master. 
 I know not what to do; nor can resolve 
 To help the son, or to obey the father. 
 If I desert poor Pamphilus, alas! 
 I tremble for his life ; if I assist him, 
 I dread his father's threats: a shrewd old cuff, 
 Not easily deceiv'd. For first of all, 
 He knows of this amour ; and watches me 
 With jealous eyes, lest I devise some trick 
 To break the match. If he discovers it. 
 Woe to poor Davus! nay, if he's inclin'd 
 To punish me, he'll seize on some pretence 
 To throw me into prison, right or wrong. 
 Another mischief is, this Andrian, 
 Mistress or wife, 's with child by Pamphilns. 
 And do but mark their confidence ! 'tis sure 
 The dotage of mad people, not of lovers. 
 Whate'er she shall bring forth, they have resolv'd 
 To educate:* and have among themselves 
 Devis'd the strangest story! that Glycerium 
 Is an Athenian citizen. "There was 
 Once on a time a certain merchant, shipwreck'd 
 Upon the isle of Andros; there he died: 
 And Chrysis' father took this orphan-wreck, 
 Then but an infant, under his protection." 
 Ridiculous! 'tis all romance to me: 
 And yet the story pleases them. And see! 
 Mysis comes forth. But I nmst to the Forum 
 To look for Pamphilus, for fear his father 
 Should find him first, and take him unawares. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ♦ To educate. Decreverunt tollere. The word lollerc 
 strictly signifies to take up, and alludes to the custom of 
 those times. — Daeier. 
 
 See note on thi.i custom, p. 296. 
 
396 
 
 TEliCENCE. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Mtsis, (^speaking to a So-vant within.) 
 I hear, Arcliillis; I hear what you say: 
 Yo\i beg me to bring Lesbia. By my troth 
 That Lesbia is a drunken wretch, hot-headed, 
 Nor worthy to be trusted with a -woman 
 In her first labour. — Well, well! she shall come.' 
 — Observe how earnest the old gossip is, (^coming 
 
 forward.") 
 Because this Lesbia is her pot companion. 
 — grant my mistress, Heaven, a safe delivery, 
 And let the midwife trespass any where 
 Rather than here! — But what is it I see? 
 Pamphilus all disorder'd-: How I fear 
 The cause ! Ill wait awhile, that I may know 
 If this commotion means us any ill. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Pamphilus, Mtsis behind. 
 
 Pani. Is this well done? or like a man? — Is this 
 The action of a father ? 
 
 Mys. What's the matter? 
 
 Pam. Oh all ye Pow'rs of heaven and earth, 
 what's wrong 
 If this is not so ? — If he was determin'd 
 That I to-day should marry, should I not 
 Have had some previous notice? — ought not he 
 To liave informd me of it long ago? 
 
 3Iys. Alas I what's this I hear ? 
 
 Pam. And Chremes too, 
 
 Who had refus'd to trust me with his daughter, 
 Changes his mind, because I change not mine. 
 Can he then be so obstinately bent 
 To tear me from Glycerium ? To lose her 
 Is losing life — Was ever man so crost, 
 So curst as I? — Oh Pow'rs of heaven and earth! 
 Can I by no means fly from this alliance 
 With Chremes' family? — so oft contemn'd 
 And held in scorn! — all done, concluded all! — 
 Rejected, then recall'd: — and why? — unless. 
 For so I must suspect, they breed some monster : 
 Whom as tjiey can obtrude on no one else. 
 They bring to me. 
 
 Mys. Alas, alas! this speech 
 
 Has struck me almost dead with fear. 
 
 Pam. And then 
 
 My father! what to say of him? — Oh shame ! 
 A thing of so much consequence to treat 
 So negligently ! — For but even now 
 Passing me in the Forum, Pamphilus! 
 To-day's your wedding-day, said he: Prepare; 
 Go, get you home ! — This sounded in my ears 
 As if he said. Go, hang yourself! — I stood 
 Confounded. Think you I could speak one word? 
 Or ofl'er an excuse, how weak soe'er? 
 No, I was dumb: — and had I been aware, 
 Should any ask what I'd have done, I would. 
 Rather than this, do any thing. — But now 
 What to resolve upon? — So many cares 
 Entangle me at once, and rend my mind, 
 Pulling it diff'rent ways. My love, compassion. 
 This urgent match, my rev'rence for my father, 
 Who yet has ever been so gentle to me. 
 And held so slack a rein upon my pleasures. 
 — And I oppose him? — Racking thought! — Ali me! 
 I know not what to do. 
 
 Mys. Alas, I fear 
 
 Where this uncertainty will end. 'Twere best 
 He should confer with her; or I at least 
 Speak touching her to him. For while the mind 
 Hangs in suspense, a trifle turns the scale. 
 
 Pam. Who's there? what, Mysis! save you! 
 
 Mys. {^coming forward.) Save you! sir, 
 
 Pam. How does she? 
 
 Mys. How ! oppress'd with wretchedness 
 
 To-day supremely wretched, as to-day 
 Was formerly appointed for your wedding. 
 And then she fears lest you desert her. 
 
 Pam. I! 
 
 Desert her? Can I think on't? or deceive 
 A wretched maid, who trusted to my care 
 Her life and honour ! Her, whom I have held 
 Near to my heart, and cherish'd as my wife? 
 Or leave her modest and well-nurtur'd mind 
 Through want to be corrupted ? Never, never. 
 
 Mys. No doubt, did it depend on you alone 
 But if constrain'd — 
 
 Pam. Do you think me so vile ? 
 
 Or so ungrateful, so inhuman, savage. 
 That nor long intercourse, nor love, nor shame. 
 Can make me keep my faith? 
 
 Mys. I only know 
 
 That she deserves you should remember her. 
 
 Pam. I should remember her 1 Oh, Mysis, 
 ^ Mysis ! 
 
 The words of Chrysis touching my Glycerium 
 Are written in my heart. On her death-bed 
 She caird me. I approach'd her. You retir'd. 
 We were alone; and Chrysis thus began. 
 '• My Pamphilus, you see the youth and beauty 
 Of this unhappy maid : and well you know. 
 These are but feeble guardians to preserve 
 Her fortune or her fame. By this right hand 
 I do beseech you, by your better angel. 
 By your tried faith, by her forlorn condition, 
 I do conjure you, put her not away. 
 Nor leave her to distress. If I have ever, 
 As my own brother, lov'd you ; or if she 
 Has ever held you dear 'bove all the world, 
 And ever shown obedience to your will — 
 I do bequeath you to her as a husband, 
 Friend, guardian, father : All our little wealth 
 To you I leave, and trust it to your care." — 
 She join'd our hands, and dietl. — I did receive 
 
 her, 
 And once receiv'd will keep her.* 
 
 Act II. Scene I. 
 Enter Chabinus and Btrrhia. 
 
 Char. How, Byrrhia? Is she to be married, say 
 you, 
 To Pamphilus to-day ? 
 
 Byr. 'Tis even so. 
 
 Char. How do you know ? 
 
 Byr. I had it even now 
 
 From Davus at the Forum. 
 
 ♦ Cicero has bestowed great praise on this act. "The 
 picture," he observes, "of the manners of Pamphilus, — 
 the death and funeral of Chrysis,^and the grief of her 
 supposed sister, — are all represented in the most delight- 
 ful colours." 
 
TERENCE 
 
 397 
 
 Char. Woe is me ! 
 
 Then I'm a wretch indeed: till now my mind 
 Floated 'twixt liope and fear: now, hope re- 
 moval, 
 Stimn'd, and overwhelm'd, it sinks beneath its 
 cares. 
 Byr. Nay, prithee master, since the thing you 
 wish 
 Cannot be had, e'en wish for that which may! 
 Char. I wish for notliing but Philumena. 
 Byr. Ah, how much wiser were it, that you 
 strove, 
 To quench this passion, than, with words like 
 
 these, 
 To fan the fire, and blow it to a flame? 
 
 Char. How readily do men at ease prescribe 
 To those who're sick at heart! Distrest like me, 
 You would not talk thus. 
 
 Byr. Well, well, as you please. 
 
 Char. Ha! I see Pamphilus. I can resolve 
 On any thing, e'er give up all for lost. 
 Byr. What now ■? 
 
 Char. I will entreat him, beg, beseech him, 
 Tell him our course of love, and thus perhaps, 
 At least prevail upon him to defer 
 His marriage some fe\v days : meanwhile, I hope. 
 Something may happen. 
 
 Byr. Ay, that something's nothing. 
 
 Char. Byrrhia, what think you? Shall I speak 
 
 to him 1 
 Byr. Why not? for though you don't obtain 
 your suit. 
 He will at least imagine you're prepar'd 
 To cuckold him, in case he marries her. 
 
 Char. Away, you hang-dog, with your base 
 suspicions ! , 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Pamphilus. 
 
 Prtw. Charinus, save you ! 
 
 Char. Save yon, Pamphilus ! 
 
 Imploring comfort, safety, help, and counsel, 
 You see me now before you. 
 
 Parii. I do lack 
 
 Myself both help and counsel — But v\ hat mean 
 you ? 
 
 Char. Is this your wedding-day? 
 
 Pam. Ay, so they say. 
 
 Char. Ah, Pamphilus, if so, this very day 
 You see the last of me. 
 
 Pam. ' How so? 
 
 Char. Ah me ! 
 
 I dare not speak it: prithee tell him, Byrrhia. 
 
 Byr. Ay, that I will. 
 
 Pam. Whatis't? 
 
 Byr. He is in love 
 
 With your bride, sir. 
 
 Pam. r faith so am not I. 
 
 Tell me, Charinus, has aught further past 
 'Twixt you and her? 
 
 Char: Ah, no, no. 
 
 Pam. Would there had ! 
 
 Cliar. Now by our friendship, by my love, I 
 beg 
 You would not marry her. — 
 
 Pam. I will endeavour. 
 
 Char. If that's impossible, or if this match 
 Be grateful to your heart — 
 
 Pam. My heart! 
 
 Char. At least 
 
 Defer it .some few days; while I depart 
 That I may not behold it. 
 
 Pant. Hear, Charinus ; 
 
 It is, I think, scarce honesty in him 
 To look for thanks, who means no favour. I 
 Abhor this marriage more than you desire it. 
 
 Char. You have reviv'd me. 
 
 Patn. Now if you, or he, 
 
 Your Byrrhia here, can do or think of aught ; 
 Act, plot, devise, invent, strive all you can 
 To make her your's ; and 111 do all I can 
 That she may not be mine. 
 
 Char. Enough. 
 
 Pam. I see 
 
 Davus, and in good time: for he'll advise 
 What's best to do. 
 
 Char, i^to Bxjr.^ But you, you sorry rogue, 
 Can give me no advice, nor tell me aught, 
 But what it is impertinent to know. 
 Hence, sirrah, get you gone ! 
 
 Byr. With all my heart. [Exit. 
 
 SCEXE III. 
 Enter Patus hastily. 
 
 Dav. Good heaven's, what news I bring! 
 what joyful news ! 
 But where shall 1 find Pamphilus, to drive 
 His fears away, and make him full of joy? 
 
 Char. There's something pleases him. 
 
 Pam. No matter what. 
 
 He has not heard of our ill fortune yet. 
 
 Dav. And he, I warrant, if he has been told 
 Of his intended wedding 
 
 Char. Do you hear? 
 
 Dav. Poor soul, is running all about the town 
 In quest of rne. But whither shall 1 go ] 
 Or which way run ? 
 
 Char. Why don't you speak to him ? 
 
 Dav. Ill go. 
 
 Pam. Ho ! Davus ! stop, come here ! 
 
 Day. Who calls? 
 
 O, Pamphilus! the very man. — Heyday! 
 Charinus too! — Both gentlemen, well met! 
 I've news for both. 
 
 Pam. I'm ruin'd, Davus. 
 
 Dav. Hear me ! 
 
 Pam. Undone ! 
 
 Dav. I know your fears. 
 
 Char. My life's at stake. 
 
 Dav. Yonr's I know also. 
 
 Pam. Matrimony mine. 
 
 Dav. I know it. 
 
 Pam. But to-day. 
 
 Dav. You stun me ; plague ! 
 
 I tell you I know ev'ry thing: you fear 
 
 (/o Char.) 
 You should not marry her. — You fear yuu should. 
 
 {to Pam.) 
 
 Char. The very thing. 
 
 Paw. The same. 
 
 Dav. And yet that same 
 
 Is notliing. Mark ! 
 
 21 
 
398 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 Pam. Naj, rid me of my fear. 
 
 Dav. I will tlien. Chremes 
 Won't i:ive liis daughter to you. 
 
 Pnvi. How dye know? 
 
 Diir. I'm sure of it. Your father but just now 
 Takes me aside, and tells me 'twas his will, 
 That you should wed to-day; with much beside, 
 Wliich now I have not leisure to repeat. 
 I, on the instant, hastening to find you. 
 Run to the Forum to inform you of it: 
 There, failing, climb an eminence, look roimd: 
 No Pamphilus: I light by chance on Byrrhia; 
 Inquire; he hadn't seen you. Vex'd at heart. 
 What's to be done? thought I. Returning thence 
 A doubt arose within me. Ha! bad cheer, 
 The old man melancholy, and a wedding 
 Clapt up so suddenly! This don't agree. 
 
 Pam. Well, what then ? 
 
 Dnv. I betook me instantly 
 
 To Chremes' house; but thitlier when I came. 
 Before the door all hush. This tickled me. 
 
 Pam. You're in the right. Proceed. 
 
 Dav. I watch'd awhile: 
 
 Mean time no soul went in, no soul came out; 
 No matron; in the house no ornament; 
 No note of preparation. I approach'd, 
 Look'd in — 
 
 Pant. I understand : a potent sign! 
 
 Dav. Does this seem like a nuptial? 
 
 Pam. I think not, 
 
 Dav us. 
 
 Dav. Think not., d'ye say? you don't conceive : 
 The thing is evident. I met beside. 
 As I departed thence, with Chremes' boy. 
 Bearing some potherbs, and a pennyworth 
 Of little fishes for the old man's dinner. 
 
 Char. I am deliver'd, Davus, by your means, 
 From all my apprehensions of to-day. 
 
 Dm. And yet you are undone. 
 
 Char. How so? since Chremes 
 
 Will not consent to give Philumena 
 To Pamphilus. 
 
 Dav. Ridiculous! As if. 
 
 Because the daugliter is denied to him. 
 She must of course wed you. Look to it well; 
 Court the old gentleman through friends, apply. 
 Or else— 
 
 Char. You're right: I will about it straight, 
 Although that hope has often fail'd. Farewell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCEXE IV. 
 
 Pamphilus and Davits. 
 
 Pam. What means my father then? why coun- 
 terfeit? 
 
 Dav. That I'll explain. If he were angry now, 
 Merely that Chremes has rofus'd his dau<.;hter, 
 He' J think himself in fault ; and justly too, 
 Before the bias of your mind is known. 
 But granting; yon refuse her for a wife. 
 Then all the blame devolves on you, and then 
 Comes all the storm. 
 
 Pam. What course then sliall I take? 
 
 Shall I submit — 
 
 Dnv. He is your father, sir, 
 
 Whom to oppose were difficult; and then 
 
 Glycerium's a lone woman ; and he'll find 
 Some course, no matter what, do drive her hence. 
 
 Pam. To drive her hence ? 
 
 Dav. Directly. 
 
 Pam. Tell me then, 
 
 Oh tell me, Davus, what were best to do? 
 
 Dav. Say that you'll marry. 
 
 Pam. How ! 
 
 Dav. And where 's the harm? 
 
 Pam. Say that I'll marry! 
 
 Dav. Why not? 
 
 Pam. Never, never. 
 
 Dav. Do not refuse ! 
 
 Pam. Persuade not! 
 
 Dav. Do but mark y^ 
 
 The consequence. 
 
 Pam. Divorcement from Glycerium, 
 
 And marriage with the other. 
 
 Dav. No such thing. 
 
 Your father, I suppose, accosts you thus : 
 " I'd have you wed to-day ;" " I will," quoth you : 
 What reason has he to reproach you then? 
 Thus shall you baffle all his settled schemes, 
 And put him to confusion; all the while 
 Secure yourself: for 'tis beyond a doubt 
 Tliat Chremes will refuse his daughter to you; 
 So obstinately too. you need not pause. 
 Or change these measures, lest he change his 
 
 mind : 
 Say to your father then, that you will wed, 
 T hat, with the will, he may want cause to chide. 
 But if, deluded by fond hopes, you cry, 
 "No one will wed their daughter to a rake, 
 A libertine." — Alas, you're much deceiv'd: 
 For know, your father will redeem some wretch 
 From rags and beggary to be your wife. 
 Rather than see your ruin with Glycerium. 
 But if he thinks you bear an easy mind. 
 He too will grow indiff 'rent, and seek out 
 Another match at leisure: the mean while 
 Affairs may take a lucky turn. 
 
 Pam. D'ye think so? 
 
 Dav. Beyond all doubt. 
 
 Pam. See, what you lead me to. 
 
 Dav. Nay, peace ! 
 
 Pam. I'll say so then. But have a care 
 
 He knows not of the child, which I've agreed 
 To educate. 
 
 Dav. Oh confidence ! 
 
 Pam. She drew 
 
 This promise from me, as a firm assurance 
 That I would not forsake her. 
 
 Dav. • We'll take care. 
 
 But here's your father: let him not perceive 
 You're melancholy. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Simo at a distance. 
 Sim. I return to see 
 
 What they're about, or what they meditate. 
 
 Dav. Now is he sure that you'll refuse to wed. 
 From some dark corner brooding- o'er black 
 
 thoughts 
 He comes, and fancies he has fram'd a speech 
 To (lisconcert you. See, you keep your ground ! 
 Pam. If I can, Davus. 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 399 
 
 Dav Trust me, Pamphilus, 
 
 Your fiither will not cliange a single word 
 In anger with you, do but say you'll wed. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Enter Byrrhia behind. 
 
 Fyr. To-day my master bade nie leave all else 
 For Paiiipliilus, and watch liow he proceeds, 
 About his marriage ; wherefore I have now 
 Follow'd the old man hither: yonder too 
 Stands Pamphilus himself, and with him Davus. 
 To business then ! 
 
 /S'wi. I see them both together. 
 
 Dav. (^apai't to Pam.) Now mind. 
 
 Sim. Here, Pamphilus ! 
 
 Dav. (^apnrl.^ Now turn about. 
 
 As t;iken unawares. 
 
 Pdin. Who calls? my father ? 
 
 Dav. (^apart.) Well said ! 
 
 Sii7i. It is my pleasure that, that to-day, 
 
 As I have told you once before, you marry. 
 
 Dav. (asiV/e.) Now on our part, I fear what he'll 
 reply. 
 
 Pam. In that, and all the rest of your com- 
 mands, 
 I sliall be ready to obey you, sir! 
 
 Byr. (overhearing.') How's that! 
 
 Dav. (aside.) Struck dumb. 
 
 Pyr. (listening.) What said he ? 
 
 Sim. You perform 
 
 Your duty, when you cheerfully comply 
 With uiy desires. 
 
 Dav. (apart to Pam.) There! said I not the 
 truth? 
 
 Pyr. My master then, so far as I can find. 
 May whistle for a wife. 
 
 Sim. Now then go in, 
 
 That when you're wanted you be found. 
 
 Patn. I go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Byr. Is there no faith in the affairs of men ? 
 'Tis an old saying, and a true one too, 
 "Of all mankind each loves himself the best." 
 I've seen the lady; know her beautiful; 
 And therefore sooner pardon Pamphilus, 
 If he had ratlu'r win her to his arms. 
 Than yield her to the embraces of my master. 
 I will go bear these tidings, and receive 
 Jluch evil treatment for my evil news. [Exit. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 SiMO and Davus. 
 
 Dav. Now he supposes I've some trick in hand 
 And loiter here to practise it on him. 
 
 Sim. Well, what now, Davus? 
 
 Dav. Nothing. 
 
 Sim. Nothing, say you? 
 
 Dav. Nothing at all. 
 
 Sim. And yet I look'd for something. 
 
 Dav. So, I perceive, you did: — (^aside.) This 
 nettles liijn. 
 
 Sim. Can you sjjeak truth ? 
 
 Dav. Most easily. 
 
 Sim. Say then, 
 
 Ts not this wedding most irksome to my son, 
 From his atl venture with the Aiulriun? 
 
 Dav. No, faith: or if at all, "twill only be 
 Two or three days' anxiety, you know : 
 Then 'twill be over ; for he sees the thing 
 In its true light. 
 
 Sim. I praise him for't. 
 
 Dav. While you 
 
 Restrain'd him not; and while his youth allow'd, 
 'Tis true he lov'd ; and even then by stealth, 
 As wise men ought, and earefid of his fame. 
 Now his age calls for matrimony, now 
 To matrimony he inclines his mind. 
 
 Sim. Yet, in my eyes, lie seem'd a little sad. 
 
 Dav. Not upon that account. He has, he thinks. 
 Another reason to complain of you. 
 
 Sim. For what? 
 
 Dav. A trifle. 
 
 Siin. Well, what is't? 
 
 Dav. Nay, nothing. 
 
 Sim. Tell me, what is't? 
 
 Dav. You are then, he complains. 
 Somewhat too sparing of expense. 
 
 Sim. I ? 
 
 Dav. You. 
 
 A feast of scarce ten drachms! Does this, says he, 
 Look like a wedding-supper for his son? 
 What friends can I invite? — especially 
 At such a time as this? — and, truly, sir. 
 You have been very frugal ; much too sparing. 
 I cant commend you for it. 
 
 Sim. Hold your peace. 
 
 Dav. (^aside.) I've ruffled him. 
 
 Sim. Ill look to that. Away! 
 
 [Exit Davus. 
 What now? what means the varlet? Precious 
 
 rogue, 
 For if there's any knavery on foot, 
 He, I am sure, is the contriver on't. [Exit. 
 
 Act III. ScEWE I. 
 
 SiMO, Davus, coming out of Simo's house — Mysis, 
 
 Lesbia, going toivards the house of Glyrerium. 
 
 Mys. Ay, marry, 'tis as you say, Lesbia ; 
 Women scarce ever find a constant man. 
 
 Sim. The Andrians maid-servant! Is't not? 
 
 Dav. Ay. 
 
 Mys. But Pamphilus — 
 
 Sim. (overhearing.) What says she? 
 
 Mys. Has been true. 
 
 Sim. (overhearing.^ How's that? 
 
 Dav. (aside.) Would he were deaf, or she were 
 dumb. 
 
 Mys. For the child, boy or girl, he lias resolv'd 
 To educate. 
 
 Sim. O Jupiter! what's this 
 
 I hear? If this be true, I'm lost indeed. 
 
 Les. A good young gentleman ! 
 
 Mys. Oh, very good. 
 
 But in, in, lest you make her wait. 
 
 Les. I follow. 
 
 [Exeunt Mysis atid Lesdia. 
 
 Scene II. 
 SiMo and Davus. 
 Dav. (aside.) Unfortunate! Wliat remedy! 
 Sim. (to hivifelf.) How's this? 
 
 And can lie be so mad? What! educate 
 
400 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 A harlot's child! — Ah, now I know their drift; 
 Fool that I was, scarce smelt it out at last. 
 
 Dav. (lislenin<r.) What"s this he says he has 
 smelt out? 
 
 Sim. [to himself.) Imprimis, 
 
 'Tis this roofiie's trick upon me. All a sham : 
 A counterfeit deliv'ry. and mock labour, 
 Devis'd to frighten Chremes from the match. 
 
 Glyc. («•;.'/)!;?.) Juno Lucina, save me! help, I 
 pray tliee. 
 
 Sim. Hey day! already? Oh ridiculous! 
 Soon as she heard that I was at the door 
 She hastens to cry out. Your incidents 
 Are ill-tim"d, Davus. 
 
 Dav. Mine, sir? 
 
 Sim. Are you players 
 
 Unmindful of their cues, and want a prompter? 
 
 Dav. I do not comprehend you. 
 
 Sim. (^apart.) If this knave 
 
 Had, in the real nuptial of my son, 
 Come thus upon me unprepar'd, what sport, 
 What scorn he'd have expos'd me to ! But now 
 At his own peril be it. I'm secure. 
 
 SCEXE III. 
 
 Re-enter Lesbta. — Ahchtllis appears at the door. 
 Les. to Arch, [ivithin.) As yet, Archyllis, all the 
 symptoms seem 
 As good as might be wish'd in her condition ; 
 First, let her make ablution : after that, 
 Drink what I've order'd her, and just so much : 
 And presently I will be here again. 
 
 {^coming forward. ) 
 Now, by this good day, blaster Pamphilus 
 Has got a chopping boy: Heaven grant it live! 
 For he's a worthy gentleman, and scorn'd 
 To do a wrong to tliis young innocent. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 SiMO and Davus. 
 
 Sim. This too, where's he that knows you 
 would not swear, 
 Was your contrivance ? 
 
 Dav. My contrivance ! what, sir ? 
 
 Sim. While in the house, forsooth, the midwife 
 gave 
 No orders for the lady in the straw : 
 But having issued forth into the street, 
 Bawls out most lustily to those within. 
 — Oh Davus, am I then so much your scorn ? 
 Seem I so proper to be play'd upon. 
 With such a shallow, barefaced, imposition? 
 You might at least, in reverence, have used 
 Some spice of art, wer't only to pretend 
 You fear'd my anger, should I find you out. 
 
 Dav. (juside.) V faith now he deceives himself, 
 not I. 
 
 Sim. Did not I give you warning? threaten too, 
 In case you play'd me false ? But all in vain : 
 For what car'd you? — What! think you I believe 
 This story of a child by Pamphilus ? 
 
 Dav. (^aside.) I see l.is error : Now I know my 
 game. 
 
 Sim. Why don't you answer ? 
 
 Dav. (archly.) What! you don't believe it? 
 As if you had not been inform'd of this ? 
 
 Sim. I been inform'd? 
 
 Dav. (^archly.) What then you found it out? 
 
 Sim. D'ye laugh at me? 
 
 Dav. You must have been inform'd : 
 
 Or wlience this shrewd suspicion 1 
 
 Sim. Whence ! from you : 
 
 Because I know you. 
 
 Dav. Meaning, this was done 
 
 By my advice. 
 
 Sim. Beyond all doubt: I know it. 
 
 Dav. You do not know me, Simo. — 
 
 Sim. I not know you? 
 
 Dav. For if I do but speak, immediately 
 Yon think yourself impos'd on — 
 
 Sim. Falsely, hey? 
 
 Dav. So that I dare not ope my lips before you. 
 
 Sitn. All that I know is this; that nobody 
 Has been delivered here. 
 
 Dav. You've found it out? 
 
 Yet by and by they'll bring the bantling here, 
 And lay it at our door. Remember, sir, 
 I give you warning that will be the case; 
 That you may stand prepar'd, nor after say, 
 'Twas done by Davus' advice, his tricks ! 
 I would fain cure your ill opinion of me. 
 
 Sim. But how d'j'e know ? 
 
 Dav, I've heard so, and believe so. 
 
 Besides, a thousand things concur to lead 
 To this conjecture. In the first place, she 
 Profess'd herself with child by Pamphilus: 
 That proves a falsehood. Now that she perceives 
 A nuptial preparation at our house, 
 A maid's despatch'd immediately to bring 
 A midwife to her, and withal a child ; 
 You too they will contrive shall see the child, 
 Or else the wedding must proceed. 
 
 Sim. How's this ? 
 
 Having discovered such a plot on foot. 
 Why did you not directly tell my son? 
 
 Dav. Who then has drawn him from her but 
 myself? 
 For we all know how much he doated on her : 
 But now he wishes for a wife. In fine. 
 Leave that aff"air to me ; and you meanwhile 
 Pursue, as you've begun, the nuptials; which 
 The gods, I hope, will prosper ! 
 
 Sim. Get you in. 
 
 Wait for me there, and see that j^ou prepare 
 What's requisite. [Exit Davtjs. 
 
 He has not wrought upon me 
 To yield implicit credit to his tale, 
 Nor do I know if all he said be true. 
 But, true or false it matters not : to me 
 My son's own promise is the main concern. 
 Now to meet Chremes, and to beg his daughter 
 In marriage with my son : If I succeed, 
 What can I rather wish than to behold 
 Their marriage rites to-day ? For since my son 
 Has given me his word, I've not a doubt. 
 Should he refuse, but I may force him to it: 
 And to my wishes see where Chremes comes. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Chhemes. 
 Sim. Chremes, good day ! 
 Chrem. The very man I look'd for. 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 401 
 
 Sim. And I for you. 
 
 Chrem. Well met. — Some persons onme 
 
 To tell me yon inform'd them, tliat my daughter 
 Was to i)e married to your son to-day: 
 And therefore came I here, and fain would know 
 Whether "tis you or they have lost their wits. 
 
 Sim. A moment's hearing; you shall be in- 
 form'd, 
 What I request, and what you wish to know. 
 
 Chrem. I hear ; what would you ? speak. 
 
 Sim. Now by the gods; 
 
 Now by our friendship, Chremes, which, begun 
 In infancy, has still iiicreas'd with age; 
 Now by your only daughter, and my son, 
 Whose preservation wholly rests on yon ; 
 Let me entreat this boon : and let the match 
 Which s'.iould have been, still be. 
 
 Chrem. Why, why entreat ? 
 
 Knowing you ought not to beseech this of me. 
 Think you, that I am other than I was, 
 When first I gave my promise ? If the match 
 Be good for both, e'en call them forth to wed, 
 But if their union promises more harm 
 Than good to both, yon also, I beseech you. 
 Consult our common interest, as if 
 You were her father, Pamphilus my son. 
 
 Sim. E'en in that spirit, I desire it, Chremes, 
 Entreat it ma}' be done ; nor would entreat. 
 But that occasion urges. 
 
 Chrem. What occasion 1 
 
 Sim. A difference 'twixt -Glyceriuni and my 
 son. 
 
 Chrem. (^ironically.) I hear. 
 
 Sim. A breach so wide as gives me hopes 
 
 To sep'rate them for ever. 
 
 Chrem. Idle tales ! 
 
 Sim. Indeed 'tis thus. 
 
 Chrem. Ay marry, thus it is. 
 
 Quarrels of lovers but renew their love. 
 
 Sim. Prevent we then, I pray, this mischief 
 now ; 
 While time permits, while yet his passion's sore 
 From contumelies ; ere these women's wiles, 
 Their wicked arts, and tears made up of fraud 
 Shake his weak mind, and melt it to compassion, 
 Give him a wife: by intercourse with her, 
 Knit by the bonds of wedlock, soon, I hope, 
 He'll rise above the guilt that sinks him now. 
 
 Chrem. So you believe : for me, I cannot think 
 That he'll be constant, or that I can bear it. 
 
 Sim. How can you know, unless you make 
 the trial ? 
 
 Chrem. Ay, but to make that trial on a daughter 
 Is hard indeed. 
 
 Sirh. The mischief, should he fail. 
 
 Is only this: divorce, which heaven forbid! 
 But mark what benefits if he amend ! 
 First, to your friend you will restore a son ; 
 Gain to yourself a son-in-law, and match 
 Your daughter to an honest luisband. 
 
 Chrem. Well ! 
 
 Since you're so thoroughly convinc'd 'tis right, 
 I can deny you naught that lies in me. 
 
 Sim. I see I ever lov'd you justly, Chremes. 
 
 Chrem. But then — 
 
 Sim. But what ? 
 
 51 
 
 Chrem. Whence is't you know 
 
 That there's a difference between thcin ? 
 
 Sim. Davus, 
 
 Davus, in all their secrets, told me so; 
 Advis'd me too, to hasten on the match 
 As fast as possible. WoiUd he, d'ye think, 
 Do that, unless he were fidl well assur'd 
 My son desir'd it too ? — Hear what he says. 
 Ho there! call Davus forth. — But here he comes. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Enter Davus. 
 Dav. I was about to seek you. 
 
 Sim. What's the matter ? 
 
 Dav. Why is not the bride .sent f<3r 1 it grows 
 late. 
 
 Sitn. Dye hear him? — Davus, I for some time 
 past 
 Was fearful of you ; lest, like other slaves. 
 As slaves go now, you should put tricks upon me. 
 And baffle me, to favour my son's love. 
 
 Dav. I, sir? 
 
 Sim. I thought so: and in fear of that 
 
 Conceal'd a secret which I'll now disclose. 
 
 Dav. What secret, sir ? 
 
 Sim. I'll tell you : for I now 
 
 Almost begin to think you may be trusted?* 
 
 Dav. You've found what sort of man I am at 
 last. 
 
 Sim. No marriage was intended. 
 
 Dav. How ! none ! 
 
 Sim. None. 
 
 All counterfeit, to sound my son and you. 
 
 Dav. How say you ? 
 
 Si7n. Even so. 
 
 Dav. Alack, alack ! 
 
 I never could have thought it. — (archly.') Ah, what 
 art! 
 
 Sim. Hear me. No sooner had I sent you in, 
 But opportunely I encounter'd Chremes. 
 
 Dav. (aside.') How! are we ruiii'd then? 
 
 Sim. I told him all, 
 
 That you had just told me, — 
 
 Dav. (aside.) Confusion! how? 
 
 Sim. Begg'd him to grant his daughter, and at 
 length. 
 With much ado prevail'd. 
 
 Dav. (aside.) Undone ! 
 
 Sim. (overhearing.) Hows that? 
 
 Dav. Well done! I said. 
 
 Sitn. My good friend Chremes then 
 
 Is now no obstacle. 
 
 Chrem. I'll home awhile, 
 
 Order due preparations, and return. [Erit. 
 
 Sim. Pritliee, now, Davus, seeing you alone 
 Have brought about this match — 
 
 Dav. Yes, I alone. 
 
 Sim. Endeavour farther to amend my son. 
 
 Dav. Most diligently. 
 
 Sim. It were easy now, 
 
 While his mind's irritated. 
 
 Dav. Be at peace. 
 
 Sim. Do then: where is he? 
 
 Dav. Probably at home. 
 
 Sim. I'll in, and tell him, what I've now told 
 you. [^Exit. 
 
 2i2 
 
402 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 Davus alone. 
 Lost and undone! To prison with me .straight! 
 No prayer, no play: for I have riiin'd all: 
 Deceivcl the old man, hamper'd Pamphilus 
 With marriage ; marriage, brought about to-day 
 By my sole means; beyond tlie hopes of one; • 
 Against the other's will — Oh cunning fool! 
 Had I been quiet, all had yet been well. 
 But see, he's coming. Would my neck were 
 broken! (^retires.) 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Enter Pamphilus ; Dayus behind. 
 
 Pam. Where is this villain that has ruin'd me ? 
 
 Dav. I'm a lost man. 
 
 Pam. And yet I must confess. 
 
 That I deserv'd this, being such a dolt, 
 A very idiot, to commit my fortunes 
 To a vile slave. I sufl'er for my folly. 
 But will at least take vengeance upon him. 
 
 Dav. If I can but escape this mischief now, 
 I'll answer for hereafter. 
 
 Pam. To my father 
 
 What shall I say? — And can I then refuse, 
 Who have but now consented ? with what face ? 
 I know not what to do. 
 
 Dav. V faith nor I ; 
 
 And yet it takes up all my thoughts. I'll tell him 
 I've hit on something to delay the match. 
 
 Pam. (^seeing Dav.') Oh! 
 
 Dav. I am seen. 
 
 Pam. So, good sir ! what say you ? 
 See, how I'm hamper'd with your fine advice. 
 
 Dav. (cojning forward.) But I 11 deliver you. 
 
 Pam. Deliver me? 
 
 Dav. Certainly, sir. 
 
 Patn. What, as you did just now ? 
 
 Dav. Better, I hope. 
 
 Pam. And can you then believe 
 That I would trust you, rascal? You amend 
 My broken fortunes, or redeem them lost? 
 You, who to-day, from the most happy state. 
 Have thrown me upon marriage. — Did not I 
 Foretell it would be thus ? 
 
 Dav. You did indeed. 
 
 Pam. And what do you deserve for this ? 
 
 Dav. The gallows. — 
 
 Yet suffer me to take a little breath, 
 I'll devise something presently. 
 
 Pam. Alas, 
 
 I have not leisure for your punishment. 
 The time demands attention to myself. 
 Nor will be wasted in revenge on you. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 Enter Charisus. 
 Is this to be believ'd, or to be told ? 
 Can then such inbred malice live in man. 
 To joy in ill, and from another's woes 
 To draw his own delight? — Ah, is't then so? — 
 Yes, such there are, the meanest of mankind, 
 Who, from a sneaking bashfulne.«s, at first 
 Dare not refuse; but when the time comes on 
 To make the promise good, then force perforce 
 
 Open themselves and fear : yet must deny. 
 Then too, oh shameless impudence, they cry, 
 "Who then are you? and what are you to me? 
 Why should I render up my love to you? 
 Faith, neighbour, charity begins at home."' — 
 Speak of their broken faith, they blush not, they. 
 Now throwing off that shame they ought to wear. 
 Which they before assum'd without a cause. — 
 What shall I do? go to him? on my wrongs 
 Expostulate, and throw reproaches on him ? 
 What will that profit, say you? — very much. 
 I shall at least embitter his delight, 
 And gratify my anger. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Pamphilus and Davus. 
 
 Pam. Oh, Charinus, 
 
 By my imprudence, unless heaven forefend, 
 I've ruin'd both myself and you. 
 
 Char. Imprudence ! 
 
 Paltry evasion! You have broke your faith. 
 
 Pam. What now ? 
 
 Char. And do you think that words like these 
 Can baflie me again? 
 
 Pam. What means all this? 
 
 Char. Soon as I told you of my passion for her. 
 Then she had charms for you. — Ah, senseless 
 
 fool. 
 To judge your disposition by my own. 
 
 Pam. You are mistaken. 
 
 Char. Was your joy no joy, 
 
 Without abusing a fond lover's mind, 
 Fool'd on with idle hopes? — Well, take her. 
 
 Pam. , Take her ? 
 
 Alas, you know not what a wretch I am : 
 How many cares this slave has brought upon me. 
 My rascal here. 
 
 Char. No wonder, if he takes 
 
 Example from his master. 
 
 Pam. Ah, you know not 
 
 Me, or my love, or else you would not talk thus. 
 
 Char, (^ironically.) Oh yes, I know it all. .You 
 had but now 
 A dreadful altercation with your father: 
 And therefore he's enraged, nor could prevail 
 On you, forsooth, to wed. 
 
 Pam. To show you then 
 
 How little you conceive of my distress, 
 These nuptials were mere semblance, mockery 
 
 all. 
 Nor was a wife intended me. 
 
 Char. I know it : 
 
 You are constrained, poor man, by inclination. 
 
 Pam. Nay, but have patience ! you don't 
 know — 
 
 Char. I know 
 
 That you're to marry her. 
 
 Pam. Why rack me thus? 
 
 Nay hear! He never ceas'd to importune 
 That I would tell my father I woiUd wed; 
 So press'd, and urg'd, that he at length prevall'd. 
 
 Char. Who did this ? 
 
 Pam. Davus. 
 
 Char. Davus! 
 
 Pam. Davus all. 
 
 Char. Wherefore ? 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 403 
 
 Pain. I know not: but I know the gods 
 
 Meant in their an^er I shonUl listen to hiin. 
 
 Char. Is it so, Davus ? 
 
 Ddv. Even so. 
 
 Char. How, villain'? 
 
 The gods confound yon for it! — Tell me, wretch, 
 Had all his most inveterate foes desir'd 
 To throw hitn on this marria;4e, what adyice 
 Could they have given else? 
 
 Dav. I am deceiv'd, 
 
 Init not (lishearten'd. 
 
 Chnr. (^ironicaUy.^ True. 
 
 DniK This way has fail'd ; 
 
 Well try another way: unless you think. 
 Because the business has gone ill at first. 
 We cannot graft advanta'je on misfortune. 
 
 Pam. Oh ay, I warrant you, if you look to't, 
 Out of one wedding you can work me two. 
 
 Dav. Pamphilus, 'tis my duty, as your slave, 
 To strive with might and main, byday and night, 
 With hazard of my life, to do you service: 
 'Tis yours, if I am "cross'd, to pardon me. 
 My undertakings fail indeed, but then 
 I spare no pains. Do better if you can. 
 And send me packing. 
 
 Pam. Ay, with all my heart: 
 
 Place me but where you found me first. 
 
 Dai}. I will. 
 
 Pam. But do it instantly. 
 
 Dav. Hist! hold awhile: 
 
 I lioar the creaking of Glyceri(un's door. 
 
 Pam. Nothing to you. 
 
 Dnv. I'm thinking. 
 
 Pam. What, at last? 
 
 Dav. Your business shall be done, and pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Mtsis. 
 
 Mys. to Gly. (within.) Be where he will, I'll find 
 your Pamphilus, 
 And bring him with me. Meanwliile, you, my 
 
 soul. 
 Forbear to vex yourself. 
 
 Pam. Mysis ! 
 
 7I///.S. Who's there? 
 
 Oh Pamphilus, well met, sir! 
 
 Pam. What's the matter? 
 
 Myf. My mistress, by the love you bear her, l>egs 
 Your presence instantly. She longs to see you. 
 
 Pam. Ah, I'm undone : — (/o Dav.) This sore 
 breaks out afresli. 
 Unhappy that we are, through j'oiir curst means, 
 'J'o be tormented thus! — Sh(3 has been told 
 A nu[)tial is prepar'd, and tliereforc sends. 
 
 Char. (^poinliti<^ to Dav.) From wliich how safe 
 you were, had he been quiet! 
 
 Dav. (/f) Char.) Aye, if he raves not of him- 
 self, enough. 
 T)o, irritate him. 
 
 Miju. Truly that's the cause ; 
 
 And therefore 'tis, poor soul, she sorrows thus. 
 
 Pam. My.sis, I swear to thee by all the gods, 
 T never will desert her; though assur'd 
 That I for her make all mankind my foes. 
 1 sought her, carried her : our hearts are one, 
 
 And farewell they that wish us put asunder! 
 Death, nought but death shall part us. 
 
 Mys. I revive. 
 
 Pam. Apollo's oracles are not more true. 
 If that my father may be wrought upon, 
 To think I hinder'd not the match, 'tis well : 
 But if that cannot be, come what come may, 
 Why let him know, 'twas I . . . (/o Char.) What 
 think you. now '' 
 Char. That we are wretches both. 
 Dav. My brain's at work. 
 
 Char. O brave ! 
 
 Patn. I know what you'd attempt. 
 
 Dav. Well, well : 
 
 I will effect it fpr you. 
 
 Pam. Ay, but now. 
 
 Dav. E'en now. 
 
 Char. What is't I 
 
 Dav. For him, sir, not for you. 
 
 Be not mistaken. 
 
 Char. lam satisfied. 
 
 Pam. Say, what do you propose ? 
 Dav. This day, I fear, 
 
 Is scarce sufficient for the execution, 
 So think not I have leisure to relate. 
 Hence then ! You hinder me : hence, hence, I 
 say ! 
 Pam. m to Glycerinm. [Exit. 
 
 Dav. Well, and what mean you? 
 
 Whither will you, sir? 
 
 Char. Shall I speak the truth? 
 
 Dav. Oh to be sure : now for a tedious tale ! 
 Char. What will become of me? 
 Dav. How ! not content ! 
 
 Is it not then sufficient, if I give you 
 The respite of a day, a little day. 
 By putting off his wedding? 
 
 Char. Ay, but Davus, — 
 
 Dav. But what? 
 
 Char. That I may wed — 
 
 Dnv. Ridiculous ! 
 
 Char. If you succeed, come to me. 
 Dav. Wherefore come? 
 
 I can't assist you. 
 
 Char. Should it so fall out — 
 
 Dav. Well, well, I'll come. 
 Char. If aught I am at home. 
 
 [Erit. 
 
 Scene I'Y. 
 Davus arjrf Mrsis. 
 Dav. Mysis, wait here till I come forth. 
 Mys. For what? 
 
 Dav. It must be so. 
 
 Mys. Make haste, then. 
 
 Dav. In a moment. [Ext^ /o Glickrium's. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Mysis uhne. 
 Can we securely then count nothing our's? 
 Oh all ye gods! I thought this Painjihilus 
 The greatest good my mistress could obtain, 
 Friend, lover, husband, ev'ry way a blessing: 
 And yet what woe, poor wretcli, endures she not 
 On his accotmt? Alas, more ill than good. 
 But here comes Davus. 
 
404 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Re-enter Datus with the child. 
 Mys. Prithee, man, what now ? 
 
 Where are you carrying the child 1 
 
 Dav. Oh, Mysis, 
 
 Now have I need of all your ready wit, 
 And all your cunning. 
 
 Mys. What are you about ? 
 
 Dav. Quick, take the boy, and lay him at our 
 
 door. 
 Mys. What, on the bare ground 1 
 Dav. From the altar then* 
 
 Take herbs and strew them underneath. 
 
 Mys. And why 
 
 Can't you do that yourself? 
 
 Dav. Because, that if 
 
 My master chance to put me to my oath 
 That 'twas not I who laid it there, I may 
 With a safe conscience swear, {^gives her the child.^ 
 
 Mys. I understand. 
 
 But pray how came this sudden qualm upon 
 you? 
 Dav. Nay, but be quick, that you maycompre- ^^ 
 hend ^ ^' 
 
 What I propose. — [Mysis lays the child at SimFs T^ 
 door.^ O Jupiter ! (looking out. ^ 
 Mys. What now ? 
 
 Dav. Here comes the father of the bride! — I 
 change 
 My first intended purpose. 
 
 Mys. What you mean 
 
 I can't imagine. 
 
 Dav. This way from the right, 
 
 I'll counterfeit to come: — And be't your care 
 To throw in aptly now and then a word. 
 To help out the discourse as need requires. 
 Mys. Still what you're at, I cannot compre- 
 hend. 
 But if I can assist, as you know best. 
 Not to obstruct your purposes, I'll stay. 
 
 (^Davus retires.) 
 
 Scene Yll. 
 Enter Chremes, going toivards Simo's. 
 Chrem. Having provided all things necessary, 
 I now return to bid them call the bride. 
 What's here? (seeing; the child.) by Hercules, a 
 
 child ! Ha, ■woman, 
 Was't you that laid it here ? 
 
 Mys. (looking after Dav.) Where is he gone? 
 Chrem. What, won't you answer me ? 
 Mys. (looking about.) Not here: Ah me! 
 
 The fellow's gone, and left me in the lurch. 
 
 (Dav. coming forward and pretending not 
 to see them.) 
 Dav. Good heavens, what confusion at the Fo 
 rum ! 
 The people all disputing with each other! 
 [loud.) The market price is so confounded high. 
 (aside.) What to say else I know not. 
 
 * At Athens every house had an altar at the street 
 door; (which street-altars are also often mentioned in 
 Plautus.) These altars were covered with fresh herbs 
 every day, and it is one of these altars, to which Terence 
 here alludes. 
 
 Mys. (to Dav.) What d'ye mean 
 
 (Chrem. retires, and listens to their conversation.) 
 By leaving me alone? 
 
 Dav. What farce is this? 
 
 Ha, Mysis, whence this child ? Who brought it here? 
 Mys. HaA-e you your wits, to ask me such a 
 
 question? 
 Dav. Whom should I ask, when no one else is 
 
 here ? 
 Chirm, (behind, to himself.) I wonder whence 
 
 it comes. 
 Dav. (loud.) Wilt answer me? 
 Mys. (confused.) Ah ! 
 
 Dav. (apart to Mysis.) This way, to the right ! 
 Mys. You're raving mad. 
 
 Was t not yourself? 
 
 Dav. (apart to Mysis.) I charge you not a word, 
 But what I ask you. 
 
 Mys. Do you threaten me? 
 
 Dai', (lotid.) Whence comes this child ? 
 Mys. From our house. 
 Dav. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 No wonder that a harlot has assurance. 
 
 hrem. This is the Andrians servant-maid, I 
 take it. 
 Dav. (loud to 3Ty.sis.) Do we then seem to you 
 such proper folks 
 To play these tricks upon ? 
 
 Chrem. (to himself) I came in time. 
 
 Dav. (loud.) Make haste, and take your bant- 
 ling from our door. 
 (softly.) Hold ! do not stir from where you are, 
 be sure. 
 Mys. A plague upon you : you so terrify me ! 
 Dav. (loud.) Wench, did I speak to you or no? 
 Mys. What would you ? 
 
 Dav. (loud.) What would I ? Say, whose child 
 have you laid here? 
 Tell me. 
 
 Mys. Yott don't know? 
 Dav. (softly.) Plague of what I know : 
 
 Tell what I ask. 
 
 Mys. Your's. 
 
 Dav. (Icrud.) Our's? Whose? 
 
 Mys. Parnphilus'. 
 
 Dav. (loud.) How say you? Pamphilus'! 
 Mys. Why, is't not ? 
 
 Chrem. (to himself.) I had good cause to be 
 
 against this match. 
 Dav. (baivling.) monstrous impudence ! 
 Mys. Why all this noise? 
 
 Dav. Did not I see this child convey'd by 
 stealth 
 Into your house last night? 
 
 3Iys. Oh rogue ! 
 
 Dav. 'Tis true. 
 
 - I saw old Canthara stuff'd out? 
 • Mys. Thank heaven, 
 
 Some free women* were present at her labour. 
 Dav. (to himself.) Troth, she don't know the 
 gentleman, for whom 
 She plays this game. She thinks, should Chremes 
 
 see 
 The child lie here, he would not grant his daughter. 
 
 » Free women : For in Greece as well as in Italy, slaves 
 were not admitted to give evidence. 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 405 
 
 Faith, he would g;iant lier the more willingly. 
 
 CItrem. Not he indeed. 
 
 Dav. But now one word for all, 
 
 Take up the child ; or I shall trundle him 
 Into the middle of die street, and roll 
 You, madam, in the mire. 
 
 Mys. The fellow's drunk. 
 
 Diiv. One piece of knavery begets another : — 
 (loud.) Now I am told, "tis whisper'd all about, 
 That she's a citizen of Athens — 
 
 Chrein. How ! 
 
 Dav. And that by law* he will be forc'd to 
 wed her. 
 
 Mys. Why prithee is she not a citizen? 
 
 Chrem. (to himself.) What a fine scrape was I 
 within a hair 
 Of being drawn into ! 
 
 Dav. (turning about.) What voice is that ? — 
 Oh Chremes! you are come in time. Attend! 
 
 Chrem. I have heard all already. 
 
 Dav. You've heard all 1 
 
 Chrem. Yes, all, I say, from first to last. 
 
 Dav. Indeed! 
 
 Good lack, what knaveries ! This lying jade 
 Should be dragg'd hence to torture — (to Mysis.) 
 
 This is he ! 
 Think not "twas Davus you imposed upon. 
 
 Mys. Ah me ! — Good sir, I spoke the truth in- 
 deed. 
 
 Chrem. I know the whole. — Is Simo in the 
 house? 
 
 Dav. Yes sir. ' [Exit Chremes. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Davus and Mysis, (Davus runs up to her.) 
 
 Mys. Don't ofler to touch me, you villain! 
 If I don't tell my mistress every word — 
 
 Dav. Why you dont know, you fool, what good 
 we've done ! 
 
 Mys. How should I? 
 
 Dav. This is father to the bride : 
 
 Nor could it otherwise have been contrived 
 That he should know what we would have him. 
 
 Mys. Well, 
 
 You should have given me notice. 
 
 Dav. Is there then 
 
 No dilfrence, think yon, whether all you say 
 Falls naturally from the heart, or comes 
 From dull premeditation t 
 
 SCEXE IX. 
 
 Enter CaiTO. 
 Cri. In this street 
 
 They say that Chrysis liv'd : who rather chose 
 To heap up riches hcri! by wanton ways, 
 Than to live poor and honestly at homo : 
 She dead, her fortune comes by law to me. 
 But I see persons to inquire of. (goes tip.) Save 
 you! 
 Mys. Good now, who's that I see ! is it not 
 Crito, 
 Chrysis' kiusman? Ay, the very same. 
 
 * Aiiioim the laws of Alliens was that e(|iiital)le one, 
 which coinpelled Che man to marry her whom he had 
 debauched, if she was a free woman. 
 
 Cri. Mysis, save you ! 
 
 Mys. Save you, Crito ! 
 
 Cri. Chrysis 
 
 Is then — ha? 
 
 Mys. Ay, .she has left us, poor soul ! 
 
 Cri. And ye ; liow go ye on here ? — pretty 
 well? 
 
 Mys. We ? as we can, as the old saying goes. 
 When as we would we cannot. 
 
 Cri. And Glycerium, 
 
 Has she found out her parents? 
 
 Mys. Would she had ! 
 
 Cri. Not yet ! an ill wind blew me hither then. 
 For truly, had I been appris'd of that, 
 I'd ne'er have set foot here : for this Glycerium 
 Was always call'd and thought to be her sister. 
 Wliat Chrysis left, she takes possession of: 
 And now for me, a stranger, to commence 
 A law-suit here, how good and wise it were, 
 Other examples teach me. She, I warrant, 
 Has got her some gallant too, some defender: 
 For she was growing up a jolly girl 
 When first she journeyed hither. They will cry 
 That I'm a pettifogger, fortune-hunter, 
 A beggar. — And besides it were not well 
 To leave her in distress. 
 
 Mys. Good soul ! troth, Crito, 
 
 You have the good old-fashion'd honesty. 
 
 Cri. Well, since I am arriv'd here, bring me 
 to her, 
 That I may see her. 
 
 Mys. Ay, with all my heart. 
 
 Dav. I will in with them: fori would not choose 
 That our old gentleman should see me now. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Chremes and Simo. 
 
 Chrem. Enough already, Simo, and enough 
 I've shown my friendship ibr you ; hazarded 
 Enough of peril : urge me then no more ! 
 Wishing to please you, I had near destroy 'd 
 My daughter's peace and happiness for ever. 
 
 Sim. Ah, Chremes, I nuist now entreat the 
 more. 
 More urge you to confirm the promis'd boon. 
 
 Chrem. Mark how unjust you are through wil- 
 fulness! 
 So you obtain what you demand, you set 
 No bounds to my compliance, nor consider 
 What you request; for if you did consider 
 You'd cease to load me with these injuries. 
 
 Sim. What injuries? 
 
 Chrem. Is that a question now ? 
 
 Have you not driven me to plight my child 
 To one possest with odier love, averse 
 To marriage ; to expose her to divorce. 
 And crazy nuptials; by her woe and bane 
 To work a cure for your distcmper'd son? 
 You had prevail'd ; I travel I'd in the match, 
 While circumstances would admit; but now 
 The cnse is chang'd, content you: — It is said, 
 That she's a citizen ; a child is born: 
 Prifheg^xcuse us! 
 
 Sim. Now, for lieaven's sake. 
 Believe not them, whose interest it is 
 
406 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 To make liim vile and abject as themselves. 
 These stories are all feigaM, concerted all, 
 To break the match: when the occasions past, 
 That urges them to this, they will desist. 
 
 Chrem. Oh, you mistake : E'en now I saw the 
 maid 
 Wrangling with Davus. 
 
 Sim. Artifice ! mere trick. 
 
 Chrem, Ay, but in earnest ; and when neither 
 knew 
 That I was there. 
 
 Sim. It may be so : and Davus 
 Told me before-hand they'd attempt all this ; 
 Though I, I know not how, forgot to tell you. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Datus from Glyceriurn' s hoitse. 
 
 Dav. (to himself.) He may be easy now I war- 
 rant him — 
 
 Chrem. See yonder's Davus. 
 
 Sim. Ha! whence comes the rogue? 
 
 Dav. (to himself.) By my assistance, and this 
 stranger's safe. 
 
 Sim. (Usiening.) What mischief's this? 
 
 Dav. (to himself.) A more commodious man. 
 Arriving just in season, at a time 
 So critical, I never knew. 
 
 Sim. (listening.) A knave! 
 
 Who's that he praises ? 
 
 Dav. (to himself.) All is now secure. 
 
 Sim. Why don't I speak to him ? 
 
 Dav. (turning about.) My master here ! 
 
 (to himself.) What shall I do ? 
 
 Sim. (sneering.) Good sir, your humble servant ! 
 
 Dav. Oh Simo ! and our Chremes ! — All is now 
 Prepar'd within. 
 
 Sim. (ironically.) You've taken special care. 
 
 Dav. E'en call them when you please. 
 
 Sim. Oh, mighty fine ! 
 
 That to be sure is all that's wanting now. 
 — But tell me, sir! what business had you there? 
 (pointing to Glyceriurn' s.) 
 
 Dav. (confmed.) I? 
 
 Sim. You. 
 
 Dav. (stammering.) I ? 
 
 Sim. You, sir. 
 
 Dav. (disordered.) I went in but now. 
 
 Sim. As if I ask'd, how long it was ago. 
 
 Dav. With Pamphilus. 
 
 Sim. Is Pamphilus within? 
 
 — Oh torture ! — ^Did not you assure me, sirrah, 
 They were at variance ? 
 
 Dav. So they are. 
 
 Sim. Why then 
 
 Is Pamphilus within? 
 
 Chrem. (sneering.) Oh why dye think? 
 He's gone to quarrel with her. 
 
 Dav. Nay but. Chremes, 
 
 There's more in this, and you shall hear strange 
 
 news. 
 There's an old countryman, I know not who, 
 Is just arriv'd here ; confident and shrewd ; 
 His look bespeaks him of some consequence. 
 A grave severity is in his face, 
 And credit in his words. 
 
 Sim. What story now ? 
 
 Dav. Nay, nothing, sir, but what I heard him say 
 Sim. And what says he, then? 
 Dav. That he's well assur'd 
 
 Glycerium's an Athenian citizen. 
 
 Sim. (calling.) Ho, Dromo ! Dromo ! 
 
 Dav. What now ? 
 
 Sim. Dromo ! 
 
 Dav. Hear me. 
 
 Sim. Speak but a word more — ^Dromo! 
 
 Dav. Pray, sir, hear ! 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Dromo. 
 
 Drom. Your pleasure, sir? 
 
 Sim. Here drag him headlong in. 
 
 And truss the rascal up immediately. 
 
 Drom. Whom ? 
 
 Sim. Davus. 
 
 Dav. Why? 
 
 Sim. Because I'll have it so. 
 
 Take him, I say. 
 
 Dav. For what offence ? 
 
 Sim. Off with him ! 
 
 Dav. If it appear that I've said aught but truth. 
 Put rae to death. 
 
 Sim. I will not hear. I'll trounce you. 
 
 Dav. But though it should prove true, sir ! 
 
 Sim. True or false. 
 
 See that you keep him bound: and do you hear? 
 Bind the slave hand and foot. Away! 
 
 [Exeunt Dromo and Datus. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 SiMo a7id Chremes. 
 Sim. By heaven, 
 
 As I do live, I'll make you know this day 
 What peril lies in trifling with a master. 
 And make him know what 'tis to plague a father. 
 Chrem. Ah, be not in such rage. 
 Sim. Oh Chremes, Chremes, 
 
 Filial unkindness ! — Don't you pity mo ? 
 To feel all this for such a thankless son! — 
 (calling at Glycerium's door.) Here, Pamphilus, 
 
 come forth ! ho, Pamphilus ! 
 Have you no shame ! 
 
 SCEITE V. 
 
 Enter Pamphiltj-s. 
 
 Pam. Who calls? — Undone! my father' 
 
 Sim. What say you 1 Most — 
 
 Chrem. Ah, rather speak at once 
 
 Your purpose. Simo, and forbear reproach. 
 
 iSi'»». As if 'twere possible to utter aught 
 Severer than he merits! — (to Pam.) Tell me then, 
 Glyceriurn is a citizen ? 
 
 Pam. They say so. 
 
 Sim. They say so! — Oh amazing impudence! — 
 Does he consider what he says? does he 
 Repent the deed ? or does his colour take 
 The hue of shame? — To be so weak of soul, 
 Against the custom of our citizens. 
 Against the law, against his father's will. 
 To wed himself to shame and this vile woman. 
 
 Pam. Wretch that I am ! 
 
 Sim. Ah, Pamphilus! d'ye feel 
 
 Your wretchedness at last? Then, then, when 
 first 
 
TERENCE 
 
 407 
 
 You wrought upon your mind at any rate 
 To gratify your passion ; from that hour 
 Well might you feel your state of wretched- 
 ness. — 
 But why give in to this? Wliy torture thus, 
 Why vex my spirit? Why atiiict my age 
 For his distemp'rature? Why rue his sins? — 
 No; let him have her, joy in her, live with her. 
 
 Pat7i. My father ! 
 
 Sim. How, my father! — can I think 
 
 You want this father? You that for yourself 
 A home, a wife, and children have acquir'd 
 Against your father's will? And witnesses 
 Suborn'd, to prove that she's a citizen ? — 
 You've gain'd your point. 
 
 Pam. My father, but one word ! 
 
 Sim. What would you say ? 
 
 Chrem. Nay, hear him, Sinio. 
 
 Sim. Hear him ? 
 What must I hear then, Chremes? 
 
 Chrem. Let him speak. 
 
 Sim. Well, let him speak : I hear him. 
 
 P«»j. I confess 
 
 I love Glycerium : if it be a fault. 
 That too I do confess. To you, my father, 
 I yield myself; dispose me as you please ! 
 Command me ! say, that I shall take a wife ; 
 Leave her ; — I will endure it, as I may. — 
 This only I beseech you, think not 1 
 Suborn'd this old man hither. — Suffer me 
 To clear myself, and bring him here before you. 
 
 Sim. Bring him here ! 
 
 Pa7n. Let me, father! 
 
 Chrem. "Tis but just: 
 
 Permit him ! 
 
 Pam. Grant me this ! 
 
 Sim. Well, be it so. 
 
 [Exit Pamphilus. 
 I could bear all this bravely, Chremes; more, 
 Much more, to know that he deceiv'd me not. 
 
 Chrem. For a great fault a little punishment 
 Suffices to a father. 
 
 Scene VL 
 Re-enter Pamphilus with Crito. 
 
 Cri. Say no more ! 
 
 Any of these inducements would prevail : 
 Or your entreaty, or that it is truth, 
 Or that I wish it for Glycerium's sake. 
 
 Chrem. Whom do I see? Crito, the Andrian ? 
 Nay certainly 'tis Crito. 
 
 Cri. Save you, Chremes! 
 
 Chrem. What has brought you to Athens? 
 
 Cri. Accident. 
 
 But is this Simo? 
 
 Chrem. Ay. 
 
 Sim. Asks he for me ? 
 
 So, sir, you say that this Glycerium 
 Is an Athenian citizen ? 
 
 Cri. Do you 
 
 Deny it. 
 
 Sim. What then, are you come prepar'd ? 
 
 Cri. Prepar'd! for what? 
 
 Sim. And dare you ask for what? 
 
 Shall you go on thus with impunity? 
 Lay snares for inexperienc'd, lib'ral, youth, 
 
 With fraud, temptation, and fair promises, 
 Soothing their minds ? — 
 
 Cri. Have you your wits? 
 
 Sim. — And then 
 
 Willi marriage solder u|» their harlot loves? 
 
 Pam. {^asitle.) Alas, I fear the stranger will not 
 bear this. 
 
 Chrem. Knew you this person, Simo, you'd not 
 think thus ; 
 He's a good man. 
 
 Sim. A good man he ■* — To come, 
 
 Although at Athens never seen till now, 
 So opportunely on the wedding-day! — 
 Is such a fellow to he trusted, Chremes? 
 
 Pum. (osic/c.) But that I fear my father, I could 
 make 
 That matter clear to him. 
 
 Sim. A sharper. 
 
 Cri. How ? 
 
 Chrem. It is his humour, Crito; do not heed 
 him. 
 
 Cri. Let him look to't. If he persists in saying 
 Whatever he pleases, I shall make him hear 
 Something that may displease him. — Do I stir 
 In these affairs, or make them my concern ? 
 Bear your misfortunes patiently! For me. 
 If I speak true or false, shall now be known. 
 — -'A man of Athens once upon a time 
 Was shipwreck'd on the coast of Andros : with 
 
 him 
 This very woman then an infant. He 
 In this distress applied, it so fell out. 
 For help to Chrysis' father" — 
 
 Sim. AH romance. 
 
 Chrem. Let him alone. 
 
 Cri. And will he interrupt me? 
 
 Chrem. Go on. 
 
 r?-i. "Now Chrysis' father, who receiv'd him, 
 Was my relation. There I've often heard 
 The man himself declare, he was of Athens. 
 There too he died." 
 
 Chrem. His name ? 
 
 Cri. His name, so quickly? — Phania. 
 
 Chrem. ■ Amazement ! 
 
 Cri. By my troth, I think 'twas Phania; 
 But this I'm sure, be said he was of Rhamnus. 
 
 Chrem. Oh Jupiter ! 
 
 Cri. These circumstances, Chremes, 
 
 Were known to many others, then in Andros. 
 
 Chrem. Heaven grant it may be as I wish ! — 
 Inform me. 
 Whose daughter, said he, was the child ? his own ? 
 
 Cri. No, not his own. 
 
 Chretn. Whose then? 
 
 Cri. His brother's daughter. 
 
 Chrem. Mine, mine undoubtedly. 
 
 Cri. What say you ? 
 
 Sim. How ! 
 
 Patn. Hark, Pamphilus I 
 
 Sim. But why believe you this? 
 
 Chrem. That Phania was my brother. 
 
 Sim. True. I knew him. 
 
 Chrem. He, to avoid the war, departed hence ; 
 And fearing 'twere unsafe to leave the child, 
 Embark'd with her in quest of me for Asia; 
 Since when I've heard no news of him till now. 
 
408 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 Pam. I'm scarce myself, my mind is so enrapt 
 Willi fear, hope, joy, and wonder of so great, 
 So sudden happiness. • 
 
 Sim. Indeed, my Chremes, 
 
 I heartily rejoice she's found your daughter. 
 
 Pam. I do believe you, father. 
 
 Chrem. But one doubt 
 
 There still remains, which gives me pain. 
 
 Pam. [aside.) Away 
 
 With all your doubts! You puzzle a plain cause. 
 
 Cri. What is that doubt? 
 
 Chrem. The name does not agree. 
 
 Cri. She had another, when a child. 
 
 Chrem. What, Crito t 
 
 Can you remember ? 
 
 Cri. ■ I am hunting for it. 
 
 Pam. Shall then his memory oppose my 
 bliss, 
 When I can minister the cure myself? 
 No, I will not permit it. — Hark you, Chremes, 
 The name is Pasibula. 
 
 Cri. True. 
 
 Chrem. The same. 
 
 Pam. I've heard it from herself a thousand 
 times. 
 
 Sim. Chremes, I trust you will believe, we all 
 Rejoice at this. 
 
 Chrem. 'Fore heaven I believe so. 
 
 Pam. And now, my father — 
 
 Sim. j Peace, son ! the event 
 
 Has reconcil'd me. 
 
 Pam. thou best of fathers ! 
 
 Does Chremes too confirm Glycerium mine ? 
 
 Chrem. And with good cause if Simo hinder 
 not. 
 
 Pam. {to Sim.) Sir! 
 
 Sim. Be it so. 
 
 Chrem. My daughter's portion is 
 
 Ten talents, Pamphilus. 
 
 Pam. I am content. 
 
 Chrem. I'll to her instantly: and prithee, Crito, 
 Along with me! for sure she knows me not. 
 
 [Exeunt Chuemes and Crito. 
 
 Sim. Why do you not give orders instantly 
 To bring her to our house ? 
 
 Pam. The advice is good, 
 
 I'll give that charge to Davus. 
 
 Sim. It can"t be. 
 
 Pam. Why? 
 
 Swi. He has other business of his own. 
 Of nearer import to himself. 
 
 Pam. What business ? 
 
 Sim. He's bound. 
 
 Pam. Bound ! how, sir ! 
 
 Sim. How sir ? — neck and heels. 
 
 Pam. Ah, let him be enlarg'd ! 
 
 Sim. It shall be done. 
 
 Pa7n. But instantly. 
 
 Sim. I'll in, and order it. [Exit. 
 
 Pam. what a happy, happy day is this ! 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 Enter Cuarinus behind. 
 Char. I come to see what Pamphilus is doing: 
 And there he is. 
 
 Pam. And is this true ? — Yes, yes, 
 
 I know "tis true, because I wish it so. 
 Therefore I think the life of gods eternal, 
 For that their joys are permanent; and now, 
 
 My soul hath her content so absolute, 
 
 That I too am immortal, if no ill ^^^ 
 
 Step in betwixt me and this happiness. ^_. 
 
 Oh, for a bosom-friend now to pour out 
 My ecstacies before him ! 
 
 Char^ (listening.) What's this rapture? 
 
 Pam. Oh, yonder's Davus: nobody more wel- 
 come : 
 For ho, I know, will join in transport with me. 
 
 Scene the last. 
 Enter Davus. 
 Dav. {entering.) Where's Pamphilus? 
 Pa7n. O Davus! 
 
 Dav. Who's there? 
 
 Pam. I. 
 
 Dav. Oh Pamphilus ! 
 
 Pam. You know not my good fortune. 
 
 Dav. Do you know my ill fortune ? 
 Pam. To a tittle. 
 
 Dav. 'Tis after the old fashion, that my ills 
 Should reach your ears, before your jojfa. reach 
 mine. 
 Pam. Glycerium has discover'd her relation 
 Dav. Oh excellent ! 
 
 How's that ? 
 
 Her father is 
 
 Char. {Listening.) 
 Pam. 
 
 Our most dear friend 
 Dav. 
 Pam. 
 Dav. 
 
 Who? 
 
 Chremes. 
 Charming news. 
 
 Pam. And I'm to marry her immediately. 
 
 Char, (listening.) Is this man talking in his 
 sleep, and dreams 
 On what he wishes waking ? 
 
 Pam. And moreover, 
 
 For the child Davus— 
 
 Dav. Ah, sir, say no more. 
 
 You're the only fav'rite of the gods. 
 
 Char. I'm made, 
 
 If this be true. I'll speak to them, (comes forward.) 
 
 Pam. Who's there? 
 
 Charinus! oh, well met. 
 
 Char. I give you joy. 
 
 Pam. You've heard then — 
 
 Char. Ev'ry word : and prithee now, 
 
 In your good fortune, think upon your friend. 
 Chremes is now your own; and will perform 
 Whatever you shall ask. 
 
 Pam. I shall remember. 
 
 'Twere tedious to expect his coming forth : 
 Along with me then to Glycerium! 
 Davus, do you go home, and hasten them 
 To fetch her hence. Away, away ! 
 
 Dav. I go. 
 
 [Exeunt Pamphilus and Charinus. 
 
 Davus addressing the audience. 
 Wait not till they come forth: Within 
 She'll be betroth'd ; within, if aught remains 
 Undone, 'twill be concluded — Clap your hands ! 
 
TERENCE. 
 
 409 
 
 FROM THE PHORMIO. 
 
 DOCTOHS DIFFER, Oil THF, GLORIOUS UXCERTAIN- 
 TT OF LAW. 
 
 Demipho in consultation with his laivyers, Crati- 
 jfus, Hebio, and Cuito. 
 
 Dcm. You see, sirs, how this matter stands. 
 What shall I do ; Say, Hegio ! 
 
 Hcg. Meaning me? 
 
 Cratinns, please you, should speak first. 
 
 Dem. Say then, 
 
 Cratinus! 
 
 Cm. Me d'ye question? 
 
 Dcm. You. 
 
 Cra. Then I, 
 
 Whatever steps are best I'd have you take. 
 Thus it appears to me. Whate'er your son 
 Has in your absence done, is null and void 
 111 law and equity. — And so you'll find. 
 That's my opinion. 
 
 Dcwi. Say now, Hegio ! 
 
 Beg. He has, T think, pronouuc'd most learnedly. 
 But so 'tis : many men, and many minds ! 
 Each has his fancy: Now, in my opinion, 
 Whate'er is done by law, can't be undone. 
 'Tis shameful to attempt it. 
 
 Dem. Say you, Crito! 
 
 Cri. The case, I think, asks more deliberation. 
 'Tis a nice point. 
 
 Heg. Would you ought else with us? 
 
 Dem. You've utter'd oracles. (^Exeunt lawyers.) 
 I'm more uncertain 
 Now than I was before. 
 
 NEVER HOPE, AND TOU WILL NEVER. BE DISAP- 
 POINTED. 
 
 Demipho, Geta, and Ph-edria. 
 
 Dem. I know not what to do: 
 
 This stroke has come so unawares upon me, 
 Beyond all expectation, past belief 
 — I'm so enrag'd, I can't compose my mind 
 To think upon it. — WVierefore every man. 
 When his atfairs go on most swimmingly, 
 Ev'n then it most behoves to arm hiin.self 
 Against the coming storm : loss, danger, exile, 
 Returning ever let him look to meet; 
 His son in fault, wife dead, or daughter sick — 
 All common accidents, and may have happen'd ; 
 That nothing- should seem new or strange. But if 
 Aught has fall'n out beyond his hopes, all that 
 Let him account clear gain. 
 
 Get. Oh, Ph;edria, 
 
 'Tis wonderful how much a wiser man 
 I am than my old master. My misfortunes 
 I have consider'd well. — At his return 
 Doom'd to grind ever in the mill, beat, chain'd. 
 Or set to labour in the fields; of these 
 Nothing will happen new. If aught falls out 
 Beyond my hopes, all that I'll count clear gain. 
 
 Things thus uncertain, if by reason's rules 
 You'd certain make, it were as wise a task 
 To try wiih reason to run inad.* 
 
 A LOVER TAKIXf) LEAVE OF HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 Thitis. Would you aught else with me? 
 
 Phcsdria. Aught else, my Thais? 
 
 All night and day still love me; long for me; 
 Dream, ponder still of me; wish, hope for me; 
 Delight in me; be all in all with me; 
 Give your whole heart, for mine's all your's, to 
 me. 
 
 THE parasite. 
 
 There is 
 A kind of men, who wish to be the head 
 Of every thing, but are not. These I follow; 
 Not for their sport and laughter, but for gain. 
 To laugh vitli them and wonder at their parts: 
 Whate'er they say, I praise it; if again 
 They contradict, I praise that too : Does any 
 Deny ? I too deny : affirm ? I too 
 Affirm : and, in a word, I've brought myself 
 To say, unsay, swear, and unswear at pleasure. 
 
 FROM THE EUNUCH. 
 
 the ILLS OF LOVE. 
 
 In love are all these ills; suspic^ions, quarrels. 
 Wrongs, reconcilements, war, and peace again ! 
 5d 
 
 FROM THE SELF-TORMENTOR. 
 
 kind FEELING FOR OTHERS. 
 
 Menedevms. Have you such leisure from your 
 own affairs 
 To think of those that don't concern you, 
 Chremes? 
 Chremes. I am a man, and feel for all man- 
 kind.! 
 
 THE MIND IS ITS OWN PLACE. 
 
 Clitipho. They say that he is miserable. 
 
 Chremes. Miserable ! 
 
 Who needs be less so? For what earthly good 
 Can man possess which he may not enjoy ? 
 Parents, a prosperous country, friends, birth, 
 
 riches, — 
 Yet these all take their value from the mind 
 Of the possessor: He, tliat knows their use. 
 To him they're blessings; he that knows it not, 
 To him misuse converts thoin into curses. 
 
 PBOFITTING BY THE FAULTS OF OTHERS. 
 
 Remember then this maxim, Clitipho, 
 
 A wise one 'tis, to draw from others' faults 
 
 A profitable lesson for yourself 
 
 WIVES AND MISTRESSES. 
 
 Bacchis. Well, I commend )'ou, my Antiphila; 
 Hapjiy in having made it still your care 
 That virtue should seem fair as beauty in you! 
 Nor, gracious heaven so help me, do I wonder 
 If every man should wish you for his own; 
 
 — To lit" wise and love 
 
 E.\ceed3 man's might and dwells with srods above. 
 
 Triiibus and Cressida. 
 t Homo sum ; hiimani nihil a me ielienum piito. — It is 
 said that at the di^livery of this sentiment, the whole 
 theatre, thuMi-h lull of foolish and ignorant people, re- 
 sounded with applause. — St. Augustine. 
 2K 
 
410 
 
 TERENCE. 
 
 For your (Hsconrse bespeaks a worthy mind, 
 And when I ponder with myself and weigh 
 Your course of life and all the rest of those 
 Who live not on the common, 'tis not strange 
 Your morals sliould be different from ours. 
 Virtue's your interest ; those, with whom we deal, 
 Forbid it to be ours; for our gallants, 
 Charni'd by our beauty, court us but for that, 
 Which fading, they transfer their love to others. 
 If then meanwhile we look not to ourselves, 
 We live forlorn, deserted, and distrest. 
 You, when you've once agreed to pass your life 
 Bound to one man, whose temper suits with 
 
 yours. 
 He, too, attaches liis whole heart to you : 
 Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each; 
 Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love. 
 AntipkUa. I know not others ; for myself I 
 know. 
 From his content I ever drew mine own. 
 
 SUMMUM JUS SUMMA ISTJURIA. 
 
 It is a common saying and a true, 
 
 That strictest Law is oft the highest Wrong.* 
 
 CUSTOM. 
 
 How oft unjust and absolute is custom! 
 
 LIKE PARENT, LIKE CHILD. 
 
 His manners are so very like your own, 
 They are convincing proof, that he's your son. 
 He is quite like you ; not a vice, whereof 
 He's the inheritor, but dwells in you, 
 And such a son no mother but yourself 
 Could have engendered. 
 
 FROM THE STEP-MOTHER. 
 
 WOMEtf. 
 
 Oh heaven and earth, what animals are women! 
 What a conspiracy between them all 
 To do or not, to hate or love alike ! 
 Not one but has the sex so strong within her. 
 She differs nothing from the rest. Step-mothers 
 All hate their step-daughters: and every wife 
 Studies alike to contradict her husband. 
 The same perverseness running through them all. 
 Each seems train'd up in the same school of mis- 
 chief ; 
 , And of that scliool, if any such there be, 
 My wife, I think, is schoolmistress. 
 
 IGNORANCE OF APPROACHING EVIL. 
 
 Fon even though 
 Mischance befall us, still the interval 
 Between its happening and our knowledge of it 
 May be esteemed clear gain.l 
 
 ♦ So too Menander : — 
 
 "The law, 'tis true, is good and excellent; 
 But he, who takes the letter of the law 
 Too strictly, is a i)ettifogging knave." 
 
 + Be not over exquisite 
 
 To cast the fashion of uncertain evils. 
 What need a man forestall his date of grief? 
 
 Comus. 
 
 aUAHRELLING ABOUT TRIFLES. 
 
 The greatest qiiarrels do not always rise 
 From deepest injuries. We often see 
 That, what would never move another's spleen, 
 Renders the choleric your worst of foes. 
 Oljserve how lightly children squabble — Why? 
 Because they're govern'd by a feeble mind. 
 
 FROM THE BROTHERS. 
 
 CHARACTERS OF THE BROTHERS, AS GIVEN BY 
 MICIO. 
 
 I. FROiff youtli upward even to this day, 
 
 Have led a quiet and serene town-life ; 
 
 And, as some reckon fortunate, ne'er married. 
 
 He, in all points the opposite of this. 
 
 Has past his days entirely in the country 
 
 With thrift and labour ; married ; had two sons. 
 
 The elder boy is by adoption mine; 
 
 I've brought him up; kept; lov'd him as my 
 
 own ; 
 Made him my joy, and all my soul holds dear, 
 Striving to make myself as dear to him. 
 I LHve. o'erlook, nor think it requisite 
 That all his deeds should be controll'd by me. 
 Giving him scope to act as of himself; 
 So that the pranks of youth, which other children 
 Hide from their fathers, I have us'd my son 
 Not to conceal from me. For v/hosoe'er 
 Hath won upon himself to play the false one, 
 And practise impositions on a father. 
 Will do the same with less remorse to others; 
 And 'tis, in my opinion, better far 
 To bind your children to you by the ties 
 Of gentleness and modesty, than fear. 
 And yet my brother don't accord in this. 
 Nor do these notions, nor this conduct please him. 
 Oft he comes open-mouth'd — Why how now, 
 
 Micio ? 
 Why do you ruin this young lad of our's 1 
 Why does he wench'' why drink? and why do 
 
 you 
 Allow him money to afford all this? 
 You let him dress too fine. 'Tis idle in you. 
 — 'Tis hard in him, unjust, and out of reason. 
 And he, I think, deceives himself indeed, 
 Who fancies that authority more firm 
 Founded pn force, than what is built on friend- 
 
 sliip ; 
 For thus I reason, thus persuade myself: 
 He who performs his duty, driven to't 
 By fear of punislnnent, while he believes 
 His actions are observ'd, so long he's wary; 
 But if he hopes for secrecy, returns 
 To his own ways again : But he whom kindness, 
 Him also inclination makes your own: 
 He burns to make a due return, and acts, 
 Present or absent, evermore the same. 
 'Tis this then is the duty of a father. 
 To make a son embrace a life of virtue. 
 Rather from choice, than terror or constraint. 
 Here lies the mighty difference between 
 A father and a master. He who knows not 
 How to do this, let him confess he knows not 
 How to rule children. 
 
LUCRETIUS. 
 
 411 
 
 The Same as given by Demea. 
 
 NevEn <lii] man lay down so fair a plan, 
 
 So wise a rule of life, but fortune, age. 
 
 Or long experience made some change in it; 
 
 And taught him, that those things he thought he 
 
 knew, 
 He did not know, and what he held as best, 
 In practice he throw by. The very thing 
 That happens to myself. For tliat hard life 
 Which I have ever led, my race near run, 
 Now in the last stage, I renounce: and why? 
 But that by dear experience Tve been told, 
 There's nothing so advantages a man. 
 As mildness and complacency. Of this 
 My brother and myself are living proofs: — 
 He always led an easy, cheerful life : 
 Good-humour"d, mild, offending nobody, 
 Smiling on all ; a jovial bachelor. 
 His whole expenses centred in himself. 
 I, on the contrary, rough, rigid, cross. 
 Saving, morose, and thrifty, took a wife: 
 — What miseries did marriage bring! — had chil- 
 dren ; 
 — A new uneasiness ! — and then besides. 
 Striving all ways to make a fortune for them, 
 I have worn out my prime of life and health : 
 And now, my course near finish"d, what return 
 Do I receive for all my toil ? Their hate. 
 Meanwhile my brother, without any care. 
 Reaps all a father's comforts. Him they love, 
 Me they avoid : to him they open all 
 
 Their secret counsels ; doat on him ; au'l both 
 Repair to him; while I am quite I'orsuken. 
 His life they pray for, but expect my death. 
 Thus those, brought up by my exceeding labour, 
 He, at a small expense, has made his own: 
 The care all mine, and all the pleasure his. — 
 — Well then, let me endeavour in my turn 
 To teach my tongue civility, to give 
 With openhanded generosity. 
 Since I am cljalleng'd tot! — and let me too 
 Obtain the love and reverence Of my children! 
 And if 'tis bought by bounty and indulgence, 
 I will not be behind-hand. — Cash will fail : 
 What's that to me, who am the eldest born? 
 
 OLD MKK >V01lLT)LT-MI!f DED. 
 
 It is the common failing of old men 
 
 To be too much intent on worldly interests. 
 
 O my dear Demea, in all matters else 
 
 Increase of years increases wisdom in us : 
 
 This only vice age brings along with it; 
 
 " We're all more worlrJly-mindcd than there's need!''' 
 
 Which passion age, that kills all jiassions else, 
 
 Will ripen in your sons. 
 
 THE CXFORTUNATE TOO APT TO THIXK THEM- 
 SELVES NEGLECTED. 
 
 For they, whose fortunes are less prosperous, 
 Are all, I know not how, the more suspicious; 
 And think themselves neglected and contemn'd, \ 
 Because of their distress and poverty. 
 
 TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS. 
 
 [Bom 95,— Died 52, B. C] 
 
 Of this poet nothing more is known than that 
 he was born in Rome and studied at Athens; — 
 that he lived a retired life, and died, at the age 
 of forty-four, by his own band, in a paroxysm of 
 insanity, occasioned, as some have supposed by 
 grief for the banishment of his friend, Meminius, 
 or, as others assert, by the operation of a love- 
 philtre administered to him by his mistress. 
 
 Lucretius was a man of high genius, but his 
 Work (for it is only by his one great work, that 
 he is known to us), is, from the very nature of 
 its subject, extremely and necessarily unequal, — 
 being, in many places, as tedious and revolting, 
 as it is, in others, tender, fanciful, and sublime. 
 His diction is almost uniformly pure, elegant, and 
 impressive, with a certain mixture of the an- 
 tique, which, far from diminishing, adds strength 
 to, the grace and beauty of its accompaniments. 
 Whoever doubts the powers and genius of Lu- 
 cretius, has only to follow the advice of Dr. War- 
 ton and cast his eye on some of the great pic- 
 tures which the poet has left us. — on that of 
 Venus with her lover Mars, beautiful to the last 
 
 degree, and glowing as any picture of Titian's; 
 — on that of the Daemon of Superstition, terrible, 
 gigantic, and worthy the energetic pencil of Mi- 
 chael Angelo; — on that of the Sacrifice of Iphi- 
 geneia, not excelled by that famous jiicture of 
 Timanthes,-of wliich Pliny speaks so highly, in 
 the Thirty-fifth Book of his Natural History: — or 
 on the following allegorical group, which no 
 piece by the hand of Guido has exceeded, and to 
 •which translation must despair of being ever 
 able to render justice : — 
 
 " It Ver, et Venus ; et, Veris pra-niinriiis, ante 
 Pennatiis craditur Zcpliynis, vesli^'iu propter, 
 Flora quibus iMater, piajsparceris ante viili, 
 Cuncta coloribus efiregiis el odoribii.« opplet."* 
 
 I might refer to various other passages (did the 
 nature and limits of the present work allow it) 
 in proof of Lucretius' powers, as a poet, and of his 
 
 • I scarcely know of more than two descriptions in the 
 whole ran?e of poetry that exceed the above, viz. in 
 Book IV. 1. 2ti.'>— 69,— and in Book VII. 1. 370—75, of the 
 Paradise Lost. 
 
412 
 
 LUCRETIUS 
 
 merits, (as Dr. Warton observes,) having never 
 been sufficiently acUnowleds;ed.* 
 
 As for tlie philosophy of Lucretius, there can 
 exist, amongst Cliristians, but one sentiment re- 
 garding it. Nay, Cicero, a brotlier heathen, in 
 speaking of its doctrines, cannot forbear from in- 
 dignantly protesting against the foolish arrogance 
 of tlie man, who, while presuming on his own 
 uniierstanding, could contend that there was no 
 such thing in tlie whole universe beside, or, that 
 those things, which, by the utmost stretch of 
 his own reason, he could scarcely comprehend, 
 should be moved and managed without any rea- 
 son at all ! — Sad however as the philosophy of 
 Lucretius might be, one apology, or extenuation, 
 may be found for it, which cannot be pleaded by 
 modern infidelity, namely, the superstitions of 
 the age, the partial, vmjust, sensual, and godless 
 characters of the deities then worshipped in the 
 pagan world. " If I am not mistaken" says Dry- 
 den, " the distinguishing character of Lucretius is 
 a certain kind of noble pride and positive asser- 
 tion of his opinions. He is everywhere confi- 
 dent of his own reason, and assumes an absolute 
 command not only over his vulgar reader, but 
 even his patron Memmius. For he is always bid- 
 ding him attend, as if he had the rod over him, 
 and using a magisterial authority, while he in- 
 structs him. From his time to ours, I know 
 none so like him as our poet and philosopher of 
 
 * One passage more I must cite, — namely, that exqui- 
 site one which lias given rise to such a variety of imita- 
 tions in our language : — 
 
 Non donius adcipiet te Ista, neque uxor 
 Optuiiia, nee dulces obcurrent oscula natei 
 Praripere, et taciti pectus dulcedine tangent. 
 
 Malmsbury. This is that perpetual dictatorship, 
 which is exercised by Lucretius; who, though so 
 often in the wrong, yet seems to deal bond fide 
 with his reader and tells him nothing but what 
 he thinks, disdaining all manner of replies, urg- 
 ing beforehand for his antagonists whatever he 
 imagined they could say, and leaving them, as he 
 supposes, without an objection for the future ; all 
 this too with so much scorn and indignation, as 
 if he were assured of the triumph, before he 
 entered into the lists. From the same fiery tem- 
 per proceeds the loftiness of his expressions, and 
 the perpetual torrent of his verse, where the 
 barrenness of the subject does not too much con- 
 strain the quickness of his fancy. For there is no 
 doubt to be made, but that he could have been 
 everywhere as poetical, as he is in his descrip- 
 tions and in the moral part of his philosophy, if 
 he had not aimed more to instruct, in his system 
 of Nature, than to delight. But he was bent on 
 making Memmius a materialist, and teaching 
 him to defy an invisible power. In short, he was 
 so much an atheist, that he forgot sometimes to 
 be a poet!" 
 
 The doctrines of Lucretius, particularly those 
 impugning the superintendentcare of Providence, 
 were first formally opposed by the stoic Mani- 
 lius, in his Astronomic Poem. In modern tiines, 
 his whole philosophical system has been refuted 
 in the long and elaborate, but occasionally beau- 
 ful poem of the Cardinal Polignac, entitled " Anti- 
 Lucretius, sive de Deo et Natura."* 
 
 * For a clear and accurate summary of the Atomical 
 Philosophy as taught by Epic\irus and followed by Lu- 
 cretius, see the Appendix to Oood's Lucretius, Vol. I. p. 
 cviii — cxi. 
 
 FROM "THE NATURE OF THINGS." 
 Book I. 
 
 ADDHESS to VENUS. 
 
 Df.iight of human kind, and gods above. 
 Parent of Rome, propitious Queen of Love, 
 Whose vital power, air. earth, and sea supplies. 
 And breeds whatever is born beneath the skies : 
 For every kind, by thy prolific might. 
 Springs, and beholds the regions of tlie light. 
 Thee, Goddess, thee the clouds and tempests fear, 
 And at thy pleasing presence disappear: 
 For thee the earth in fragrant flowers is dress'd; 
 For thee the ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy 
 
 breast ; 
 The heaven itself with more serene and purer 
 
 light is blest. 
 For vihen the rising spring adorns the mead. 
 And a uew scene of nature stands display'd. 
 When teeming buds, and cheerful greens appear. 
 And western gales unlock the lazy year; 
 The joyous birds thy welcome first express. 
 Whose native songs thy genial fire confess; 
 Then savage beasts bound o'er their slighted food. 
 Struck with thy darts, and tempt the raging flood. 
 All nature is thy gift; earth, air, and sea: 
 Of all that breathes, the various progeny, 
 Strong with deliglit, is goaded on by thee. 
 
 O'er barren mountains, o'er the flowery plain, 
 The leafy forest, and the liquid main. 
 Extends thy nncontroU'd and boundless reign. 
 Through all the living regions dost thou move. 
 And scatter'st where thon goest, the kindly seeds 
 
 of love. 
 Since, then, the race of every living thing 
 Obeys thy power ; since nothing new can spring 
 Without thy warmth, without thy influence bear, 
 Or beautiful, or lovesome can appear; 
 Be thou my aid, my tuneful song inspire. 
 And kindle with thy own productive fire; 
 While all thy province. Nature, I survey. 
 And sing to Memmius an immortal lay 
 Of heaven and earth, and everywhere thy won- 
 drous power display: 
 To Memmius, under thy sw^eet influence born, 
 W^hom thou with all thy gifts and graces dost 
 
 adorn. 
 The rather, then, assist my Muse and me. 
 Infusing verses worthy him and thee. 
 Meantime oti land and sea let discord cease. 
 And lull the listening world in universal peace. 
 To thee mankind their soft repose must owe; 
 For thou alone that blessing canst bestow ; 
 Because the bnual business of the war 
 Is manag'd by thy dreadful servant's care ; 
 
LUCRETIUS. 
 
 413 
 
 Wlio oft retires from fighting-fields, to prove 
 The pleasing pains of thy eternal love; 
 And, panting on thy breast supinely lies, 
 While with thy heavenly form he feeds his 
 
 famish'd eyes ; 
 Sucks in with open lips thy balmy breath, 
 By turns restor'd to life, and plung'd in pleasing 
 
 death. 
 Thou, while thy curling limbs about him move, 
 Iiivolv'd and fotter'd in the links of love. 
 When, wishing all, he nothing can deny, 
 Thy charms in that auspicious moment try ; 
 With winning eloquence our peace implore, 
 And quiet to the weary world restore. 
 
 EVILS OF SUPEnsTITIOX, AND THE SACRIFICE OF 
 Il'HIGENEIA. 
 
 On earth in bondage base existence lay, 
 
 Bent down by Superstition's iror; sway. 
 
 She from the heavens disclosed her monstrous 
 
 head. 
 And dark with grisly aspect, scowling dread. 
 Hung o'er the sons of men: but towards the skies 
 A man of Greece dared lift his mortal eyes. 
 And first resisting stood: not him the fame 
 Of deities, the lightning's forky flame. 
 Or muttering murmurs of the threat'ning sky 
 Repress'd ; but roused his soul's great energy 
 To break the bars that interposing lay. 
 And through the gates of nature burst his way. 
 That vivid force of soul a passage found ; 
 The flaming walls that close the world around 
 He far o'erleap'd ; his spirit soar'd on high 
 Through the vast whole, the one infinity; 
 Victor, he brought the tidings from the skies, 
 What things in nature may, or may not, rise ; 
 Wliat stated laws a power finite assign. 
 And still with bounds impassable confine. 
 Thus trod beneath our feet the phantom lies ; 
 We mount o'er Superstition to the skies. 
 
 But fear restrains me, lest perchance thou deem 
 My jirecepts school thee in an impious scheme, 
 And lead thee into sin : yet rumour old 
 Of thy Religion's impious deeds has told. 
 The flower of Grecian chiefs in Aulis stains 
 With Iphigeneia's blood Diana's fanes; 
 She, when her virgin locks the fillet tied. 
 That on her cheeks hung loose on either side, 
 When near she saw her father pensive stand, 
 Arul priests conceal the knife with stealthy hand, 
 And her surrounding countrymen in tears. 
 On earth she knelt with mute beseeching fears: 
 Yet could it not, alas! avail to save. 
 That to the king a father's name she. gave. 
 Snatch'd to the altar, trembling and forlorn, 
 Not as a bride in pomps of marriage borne. 
 But in her blooming marriageable jirime 
 To bleed the victim of a father's crime. 
 Pollution foul ! his wintl-bonnd fleet to speed; 
 And yet Religion could persuade the deed. 
 
 VERNAL SHOWERS. 
 
 When, on the bosom of iriaternal earth, 
 His showers redundant genial .^^ther pours, 
 The dulcet drops seem lost: but harvests rise, 
 Jocund and lovely; and, with foliage fresh, 
 
 Smiles every tree, and bends beneath its fruit. 
 Hence man and beast are nourish'd ; hence o'er- 
 
 llow 
 Our joyous streets with crowds of frolic youth ; 
 And with fresh songs the umbrageous groves 
 
 resound. 
 Hence the herds fatten, and repose at ease 
 er the gay meadows their unwieldy forms; 
 While from each full-distended udder drops 
 The canditl milk, spontaneous; and hence, too, 
 With tottering footsteps, o'er the tender grass, 
 Gambol their wanton young, each little heart 
 Quivering beneath the genuine nectar qiuifl'd. 
 
 Book. II. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 'Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore 
 
 The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar : 
 
 Not that another's pain is our delight : 
 
 But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight. 
 
 "Tis pleasant also to behold from far 
 
 The moving legions mingled in the war: 
 
 But much more sweet thy labouring steps to guide 
 
 To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied. 
 
 And all the magazines of learning fortified : 
 
 From thence to look below on humankind, 
 
 Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind : 
 
 To see vain fools ambitiously contend 
 
 For wit and power ; their last endeavours lend 
 
 To outshine each other, waste their time and 
 
 health 
 In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth. 
 O wretched man ! in what a mist of life, 
 Enclos'd with dangers and with noisy strife. 
 He spends his little span; and overfeeds 
 His cramm'd desires with more than nature needs! 
 For nature wisely stints our appetite. 
 And craves no more than undistiirb'd delight, 
 Which minds vmmix'd with cares and fears 
 
 obtain ; 
 A soul serene, a body void of pain. 
 So little tliis corporeal frame requires. 
 So Ijounded are our natural desires. 
 That, wanting all, and setting pain aside, 
 With bare privation sense is satisfieil. 
 If golden sconces hang not on the walls. 
 To light the courtly suppers and the balls; 
 If the protul palace shines not with the state 
 Of burnish'd bowls, and of reflected i)late; 
 If well-tun'd harps, nor the more pleasing sound 
 Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound; 
 Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade, 
 By the cool stream our careless limbs are laid; 
 With cheaper pleasures innocently bless'd. 
 When the warm spring in gaudy flowers is dress'd. 
 Nor will the raging fever's fire abate 
 With golden canoi)ies and beds of state ; 
 But the poor patient will as soon be sound 
 On the hard mattrass, or the mother ground. 
 Then, since our bodies are not eas'd the more 
 By birth, or power, or fortune's wealthy store, 
 'Tis plain, these useless toys of every kind 
 As little can relieve the labouring mind: 
 Unless we could supi)Ose the dreadful sight 
 Of marshall'd legions moving to the fight 
 2 K 2 
 
414 
 
 LUCRETIUS, 
 
 Could, with their sound, and terrible array, 
 Expel our fears, and drive the thought of death 
 
 away. 
 But since the supposition vain appears. 
 Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears, 
 Are not witli sounds to be atfrighted thence, 
 But iu the midst of pomp pursues the prince; 
 Not a\v"d by arms, but in the presence bold, 
 Without respect to purple or to gold ; 
 Why should not we those pageantries despise, 
 Whose worth but in our want of reason lies'? 
 For life is all in wandering errors led; 
 And just as children are surpris'd with dread. 
 And tremble in the dark, so riper years, 
 E'en in broad daylight, are possess'd with fears, 
 And shake at shatlows fanciful and vain. 
 As those that in the breasts of children reign. 
 These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell, 
 No rays of outward sunshine can dispel ; 
 But nature and right reason must display 
 Their beams abroad, and bring the gladsome soul 
 
 to day. 
 
 ANIMALS AND THEIR YOUNG. 
 
 The race of man, the beasts that graze, or prey, 
 The speechless natives of the watery way, 
 Birds of all wing, or those that joy to rove 
 In still recesses of th' embowering grove. 
 Or on the grassy bank their pastime take ; 
 That sip the fountain, or that skim the lake ; 
 Not one of all the myriad broods you find, 
 But some distinction marks him from his kind. 
 Else, could the young with conscious rapture go 
 To greet its dam? or she her nursling know ? 
 But they no less the lines distinctive scan, 
 Than reasoning optics man discern from man. 
 
 When, in the fane, the victim-calf expires. 
 While clouds of fragrance roll from hallow'd 
 
 fires ; 
 When purple currents, warm with floating life. 
 Pours by the shrine the sacrificial knife. 
 Through the green lawns the pensive mother 
 
 strays ; 
 Her anxious search the frequent step bewrays : 
 Each plain she traverses, each haunt she tries. 
 And turns, and wistful turns, her straining eyes: 
 Now stops, and tells in moans her ravish'd love 
 To listening echoes of the umbrageous grove : 
 Oft at the stall, in anguish and despair, 
 Her darling seeks; but finds no darling there. 
 The tender shridjs no more with joy she views: 
 No herbs, sweet glistering with refreshing dews. 
 Can soothe the ranklings of Affliction's dart, 
 Phmg'd to the last recesses of her heart. 
 Of other young no semblance gives relief; 
 No love transferr'd can mitigate her grief. 
 iSee through gay meads the wretched wanderer go, 
 A pensive form of unavailing woe I 
 
 Booh III. 
 
 AGAINST THE FEAB. OF DEATH. 
 
 What has this bugliear Death to frighten man, 
 If houls can die, as well as bodies can? 
 Vnv. as before our birth we felt no pain. 
 When Punic arms infested land and main, 
 
 When heaven and earth were in confusion hurl'd 
 For the debated empire of the world. 
 Which awed with dreadful expectation lay, 
 S'oon to be slaves, uncertain Vv'lio should sway; 
 So, when our mortal frame shall be tlisjoin'd. 
 The lifeless lump imcoupled from the mind. 
 From sense of grief and pain we shall be free; 
 We shall not feel, because we shall not be. 
 Though earth in seas, and seas in heaven were 
 
 lost. 
 We should not move, we only should be toss'd. 
 Nay, e'en suppose when we have sufiered fate 
 The soul should feel in her divided state, 
 What's that to us? for we are only we. 
 While souls and bodies in our frame agree. 
 Nay, though our atoms should revolve by chance. 
 And matter leap into the former dance; 
 Though time our life and motion could restore, 
 And make our bodies what they were before. 
 What gain to us would all this bustle bring? 
 The ne\\ -made man would be another thing. 
 When once an interrupting pause is made, 
 Tliat individual being is decay'd. 
 We, who are dead and gone, shall bear no part 
 In all the pleasures, nor shall feel the smart, 
 Which to that other mortal shall accrue, 
 Whom to our matter time shall mould anew. 
 For backward if you look on that long space 
 Of a^es past, and view the changing face 
 Of matter, toss'd and variously conibin'd 
 In sundry shapes, 'tis easy for the mind 
 From thence to infer, that seeds of things have 
 
 been 
 In the same order as they now are seen : 
 Which yet our dark remembrance cannot trace, 
 Because a pause of life, a gaping space, 
 Has come betwixt, where memory lies dead. 
 And all the wandering motions from the sense 
 
 are fled. 
 For whosoe'er shall in misfortunes live. 
 Must be, when those misfortunes shall arrive; 
 And since the man who is not, feels not woe, 
 (For rleath exempts him, and wards ofl" the blow. 
 Which we, the living, only feel and bear,) 
 What is there left for us in death to fear? 
 When once that pause of life has come between, 
 ''lis just the same as we had never been. 
 And, therefore, if a man bemoan his lot, 
 That, after death, his mouldering limbs shall rot, 
 Or flames, or jaws of beasts devour his mass, 
 Know, he's an insincere, unthinking ass. 
 A secret sting remains within his mind; 
 The fool is to his own cast oflals kind. 
 He boasts no sense can after death remain. 
 Yet makes himself a part of life again; 
 As if some other He could feel the pain. 
 If, while we live,' this thought molest his head. 
 What wolf or vulture shall devour me dead? 
 He wastes his days in idle grief, nor can 
 Distinguish 'twixt the body and the man; 
 But thinks himself can still himself survive, 
 And what when dead he feels not, feels alive. 
 Then he repines that he was born to die, 
 Nor knows in death there is no other He, 
 No living He remains his grief to vent, 
 And o'er his senseless carcase to lament. 
 
LUCRETIUS. 
 
 415 
 
 If after death 'tis painful to be torn 
 
 By birds, and beasts, tlien why not so to burn, 
 
 Or drench"d in floods of honey to be soak'd, 
 
 Ernbalm'd to be at once preserved and choak'd ; 
 
 Or 01) an airy nioiintain"s top to lie, 
 
 Expos'd to cold and heaven's inclemency. 
 
 Or, crowded in a tomb, to be oppress'd 
 
 With monumental marble on tliy breast? 
 
 But to be siiatc-h'd froiri all tin; liousehold joys. 
 
 From thy chaste wife, and thy dear prattling 
 
 boys. 
 Whose little arms about thy lesis are cast. 
 And climbing for a kiss prevent their mother's 
 
 haste. 
 Inspiring secret pleasure through thy breast; 
 All! these shall be no more: thy friends op- 
 
 press'd 
 Thy care and courage now no more shall free ; 
 Ah ! wretch, thou criest, ah ! miserable me ! 
 One woful day sweeps children, friends, and 
 
 wife. 
 And all the brittle blessings of my life! 
 Add one thing more, and all thou say"st is true ; 
 Tliy want and wish of them is vanish 'd too: 
 Which, well considered, were a quick relief 
 To all thy vain imaginary grief 
 For thou shalt sleep, and never wake again, 
 And, quitting life, shall quit thy living pain. 
 But me, thy friend, shall all thy sorrows find. 
 Which in forgetful death thou leav'st behind ; 
 No time shall dry our tears, or drive thee from 
 
 our mind. 
 The worst that can befall thee, measur'd right, 
 Is a sound slumber and a long good night. 
 Yet thus the fools, that would be thought the 
 
 wits. 
 Disturb their mirth with melancholy fits: 
 When healths go round, and kindly brimmers 
 
 flow, 
 Till the fresh garlands on their foreheads glow, 
 They whine, and cry, Let us make haste to live, 
 Short are the joys that human bliss can give, 
 Eternal preachers that corrupt the draught, 
 And pall the God, that never thinks, with thought; 
 Idiots with all that thoui^ht, to whom the worst 
 Of death is want of drink, and endless thirst, 
 Or any fond desire as vain as these. 
 For, e'en in sleep, the body, wrapt in ease, 
 Supinely lies, as in the peaceful grave; 
 And, nothing wanting, nothing can it crave. 
 Were that sound sleep eternal, it were death; 
 Yet the first atoms then, the seeds of breath. 
 Are moving near to sense; we do but sliake 
 And rouse that sense, and straight we are awake. 
 Then death to us, and death's anxiety, 
 Is less than nothing, if a less(rould be. 
 For then our atoms, v hicli in order lay, 
 Are scatter'd from their heap, and puff'd away. 
 And never can return into their place. 
 Which once the pause of life has left an empty 
 
 space. 
 A nd last, suppose great Nature's voice shonhl call 
 To thee, or me, or any of us all ; 
 " What dost thou mean, ungrateful wretch, thou 
 
 vain. 
 Thou mortal tl,iiig, thus idly to complain, 
 
 And sigh and sob, that thou shalt be no more? 
 For if thy life were pleasant heretofore; 
 If all the bounteous blessings I could give 
 Thou hast enjoy'd, if thou hast known to live, 
 And pleasure not leak'd through thee like a 
 
 sieve ; 
 Why not give thanks as at a plenteous feast, 
 Cramm'd to the throat with life, and rise and 
 
 take thy rest? 
 But if my blessings thou hast thrown away. 
 If indigested joys pass'd through, and would not 
 
 stay. 
 Why dost thou wish for more to squander still? 
 If life be grown a load, a real ill. 
 And I would all my cares and labours end, 
 Lay down thy burden, fool, and know thy 
 
 friend. 
 To please thee, I have emptied all my store, 
 I can invent, and can supply no more ; 
 But run the round again, the round I ran before. 
 Suppose thou art not broken yet with years. 
 Yet still the self-same scene of things appears, 
 And would be ever, couldst thou ever live; 
 For life is still but life, there's nothing new to 
 
 give."' 
 What can we plead against so just a bill ? 
 We stand convicted, and our cause goes ill. 
 But if a wretch, a man oppress'd by fate, 
 Should beg of Nature to prolong his date. 
 She speaks aloud to him, with more disdain ; 
 "Be still, thou martyr fool, thou covetous of 
 
 pain." 
 But if an old decripit sot lament; 
 " What thou,'' she cries, " who hast outlived con- 
 tent! 
 Dost thou complain, who hast enjoy'd my store? 
 But this is still the efiect of wishing more. 
 Unsatisfied with all that Nature brings; 
 Loathing the present, liking absent things; 
 From hence it comes, thy vain desires, at strife 
 Within themselves, have tantaliz'd thy life; 
 And ghastly Death appear'd before thy sight, 
 Ere thou hadst gorg'd thy soul and senses with 
 
 delight. 
 Now, leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age, 
 To a fresli comer, and resign the stage." 
 
 Is Nature to be blam'd if thus she chide? 
 No sure ; for 'tis her business to provide 
 Against this ever-changing frame's decay 
 New things to come, and old to pass away. 
 Our being, soon, another being makes; 
 Cliangd, but not lost; for Nature gives and takes: 
 New matter must be found for things to come. 
 And these must waste like those, and follow 
 
 Nature's doom. 
 All things, like thee, have time to rise and rot, 
 And from each other's ruin are begot: 
 For life is not confin'd to liiin or thee; 
 'Tis given to all for use, to tione for property. 
 Consider former ages past and pone. 
 Whose circles ended long ere thine begun, 
 Then tell me, fool, what part in theiu thou 
 
 Iwst? 
 Thus may'st thou judge the future by the past. 
 Wliat horror seest thou in that quiet state. 
 What bugbear ilreains to fright thee after fate? 
 
416 
 
 LUCRETIUS. 
 
 No ghost, no goblins, that still presage keep, 
 
 But all is there serene in that eternal sleep. 
 
 For all the dismal tales that poets tell, 
 
 Are verified on earth, and not in hell. 
 
 No Tantalus looks up with fearful eye. 
 
 Or dreads the impending rock to crush him from 
 
 on high : 
 But fear of chance disturbs our easy hours, 
 Or vain imagin'd wrath of vain imagin'd pow- 
 ers. 
 No Tityus torn by vultures lies in hell ; 
 Nor could the lobes of his rank liver swell 
 To that prodigious mass, for their eternal meal; 
 Not though his monstrous bulk had covered o'er 
 Nine spreading acres, or nine thousand more; 
 Not though the globe of earth had been the giant's 
 
 floor. 
 Nor in eternal torments could he lie ; 
 Nor could his corpse sufficient food supply. 
 But he"s the Tityus, who by love opprest, 
 Or tyrant passion preying on his breast, 
 And ever-anxious thoughts, is robb'd of rest. 
 The Sisyphus is he, whom noise and strife 
 Seduce from all the soft retreats of life, 
 To vex the government, disturb the laws : 
 Drunk with the fumes of popular applause, 
 He courts the giddy crowd to make him great. 
 And sweats and toils in vain, to mount the so- 
 vereign seat. 
 For still to aim at power, and still to fail, 
 Ever to strive, and never to prevail, 
 What is it, but, in reason's true account. 
 To heave the stone against the rising mount ? 
 Which urg'd, and labour'd, and forc'd up with 
 
 pain, 
 Recoils, and rolls impetuous down, and smokes 
 along the plain. 
 Then, still to treat thy ever-craving mind 
 With every blessing, and of every kind, 
 Yet never fill thy ravening appetite ; 
 Though years and seasons vary thy delight, 
 Yet nothing to be seen of all the store, 
 But still the wolf within thee barks for inore ; 
 This is the fable's moral, which they tell 
 Of fifty foolish virgins damn'd, in hell. 
 To leaky vessels, which the liquor spill, 
 And which their cheated labour ne'er could fill. 
 As for the dog, the furies, and the snakes. 
 The gloomy caverns, and the burning lakes, 
 And all the vain infernal trumpery, 
 They neither are, nor were, nor e'er can be. 
 But here on earth the guilty have in view 
 The mighty pains to mighty mischiefs due ; 
 Racks, prisons, poisons, the Tarpeian rock. 
 Stripes, hangmen, pitch, and suffocating smoke ; 
 And last, and most, if these w^ere cast behind, 
 The avenging horror of a conscious mind. 
 Whose deadly fear anticipates the blow, 
 And sees no end of punishment and woe ; 
 But looks for more, at the last grasp of breath : 
 This makes a hell on earth, and life a death. 
 Meantime, when thoughts of death disturb thy 
 head, 
 Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead ; 
 Ancus, thy better far, was born to die ; 
 And thou, dost thou bewail mortality ? 
 
 So many monarchs with their mighty state, 
 Who rul'd the world, were overrul'd by fate. 
 That mighty king, who lorded o'er the main, 
 And whose stupendous bridge did the wild 
 
 waves restrain. 
 Him death, a greater monarch overcame ; 
 Nor spar'd his guards the more, for their immor- 
 tal name. 
 The Roman chief, the Carthagenian dread, 
 Scipio, the thunderbolt of war, is dead, 
 And, like a common slave, by fate in triumph 
 
 led. 
 The founders of invented arts are lost; 
 And wits who made eternity their boast. 
 Where now is Homer, who possessed the throne'? 
 The immortal work remains, the immortal au- 
 thor's gone. 
 Democritus, perceiving age invade, 
 His body weaken'd, and his mind decay'd, 
 Obey'd the summons with a cheerful face ; 
 Made haste to welcome death, and met him half 
 
 the race. 
 That stroke e'en Epicurus could not bar, 
 Though he in wit surpass'd mankind, as far 
 As does the midday sun the midnight star. 
 And thou, dost thou disdain to yield thy breath, 
 Whose very life is little more than death ? 
 More than one-half by lazy sleep possess'd, 
 And when awake thy soul but nods at best. 
 Day-dreams and sickly thoughts revolving in thy 
 
 breast. 
 Eternal troubles haunt thy anxious mind. 
 Whose cause and cure thou never hop'st to find; 
 But still uncertain, with thyself at strife, 
 Thou wanderest in the labyrinth of life. 
 0, if the foolish race of man, who find 
 A weight of care still pressing on their mind, 
 Could find as well the cause of this unrest. 
 And all this burden lodg'd within the breast; 
 Sure they would change their course, nor live, as 
 
 now, 
 Uncertain what to wish, or what to vow ! 
 Uneasy both in country and in town. 
 They search a place to lay their burden down. 
 One, restless in his palace, walks abroad, 
 And vainly thinks to leave behind the load : 
 But straight returns ; for he's as restless there, 
 And finds there's no relief in open air. 
 Another to his villa would retire, 
 And spurs as hard as if it were on fire ; 
 No sooner enter'd at his covmtry door, 
 Than he begins to stretch, and yawn, and snore ; 
 Or seeks the city which he left before. 
 Thus every man overworks his weary will, 
 To shun himself, and to shake off his ill ; 
 The shaking fit returns, and liangs upon him still. 
 No prospect of repose, or hope of ease ; 
 The wretch is ignorant of his disease ; 
 Which known would all his fruitless trouble 
 
 spare ; 
 For he would know the world not worth his 
 
 care. 
 Then would he search more deeply for the cause, 
 And study Nature's will, and Nature's laws : 
 For in this moment lies not the debate, 
 But on our future, fixd, eternal state ; 
 
LUCRETIUS. 
 
 417 
 
 That never-changing state, which all must keep, 
 Whom death has doom'd to everlasting sleep. 
 Wliy are we, then, so foud of mortal life, 
 Beset with dangers and maintained with strife? 
 A life, which all our care can never save : 
 One fate attends us,. and cue common grave. 
 Besides, we tread but a perpetual round 
 We ne'er strike out, but beat the former ground, 
 And the same mawkish joys in the same track 
 
 are found. 
 For still we think our absent blessing best, 
 Which clogs, and is no blessing when possest; 
 A new arising wish e.xpels it from the breast. 
 The feverish thirst of life increases still ; 
 We call for more and more, and never have our 
 
 fill; 
 Yet know not what to-morrow we shall try. 
 What dregs of life in the last draught may lie : 
 Nor by the longest life we can attain, 
 One moment from the length of death we gain; 
 For all behind belongs to his eternal reign. 
 When once the Fates have cut the mortal thread, 
 The man as much to all intents is dead, 
 Who dies to-day, and will as long be so, 
 As he who died a thousand years ago. 
 
 Book IV. 
 
 RUSTIC DEITIES AND SUPERSTITIONS. 
 
 Here haunt the goat-foot Satyrs, and the Nymphs, 
 As rustics tell, and Fauns, whose frolic dance 
 And midnight revels oft, they say, are heard 
 Breaking the noiseless silence; while soft strains 
 Melodious issue, and the vocal band 
 Strike to their madrigals the plaintive lyre. 
 Such, feign they, sees the sheplierd, obvious oft, 
 Led on by Pan, with pine-leav'd garland crown'd, 
 And seven-mouth'd reed, his labouring lip be- 
 neath, 
 Waking the woodland Musk with ceaseless song. 
 These, and a thousand legends wilder still, 
 Recount they; haply lest their desert homes 
 Seem of the gods abandon'd, boastful hence 
 Of sights prodigious; or by cause, perchance, 
 More trivial urg'd, for ne'er was tale so wild, 
 Feign'd, but the crowd would drink with greedy 
 ears. 
 
 FRUITS OF ILLICIT LOVE. 
 
 Then, too, his form consumes, the cares of love 
 Waste all his vigour, and his days roll on 
 \n vilest bondage. Amply though endow'd, 
 His wealth decays, his debts with speed augment, 
 The post of duty never fills he more, 
 And all his sick'ning reputation dies. 
 Meanwhile rich unguents from his mistress laugh ; 
 Laugh from her feet soft Sicyon's shoes superb : 
 The green-ray'd emerald o"er her, dropp'd in gold, 
 Gleams large and numerous; and the sea-blue 
 
 silk, 
 Deep-worn, enclasps her, with the moisture drunk 
 Of constant revels. All his sires amass"d 
 Now flaunts in ribands, in tiaras flames 
 Full o'er her front, and now to robes converts 
 Of Chian loose, or Alidonian mould : 
 While feasts, and festivals of boundless pomp, 
 53 
 
 And costliest viands, garlands, odours, wines, 
 And scatter'd roses ceaseless are renew'd. 
 But fruitless every act: some bitter still 
 Wells fortli perpetual from his fount of bliss, 
 And poisons every flowret. Keen remorse 
 Goads him, perchance, for dissipated time. 
 And months on months destroyYl ; or from the fair 
 Haply some phrase of doubtful import darts, 
 That, like a living coal, his heart corrodes: 
 Or oft her eyes wide wander, as he deems. 
 And seek some happier rival, while the smile 
 Of smother'd love half dimples o'er her cheeks. 
 
 Book V. 
 
 THE NEW-BORN BABE. 
 
 Thus, like a sailor by a tempest hurl'd 
 Ashore, the babe is shipwreck'd on the world : 
 Naked he lies, and ready to expire ; 
 Helpless of all that human wants require; 
 Exposd upon inhospitable earth, 
 From the first moment of his hapless birth. 
 Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room; 
 Too true a presage of his future doom. 
 But flocks and herds, and every savage beast, 
 By more indulgent Nature are increas'd : 
 They want no rattles for their froward mood, 
 Nor nurse to reconcile them to their food 
 With broken words; nor winter blasts they fear, 
 Nor change their habits with the changing year; 
 Nor, for their safety, citadels prepare, 
 Nor forge the wicked instruments of war: 
 Unlabour"d Earth her boimteous treasure grants, 
 And Nature's lavish hand supplies their common 
 wants. 
 
 PRIMEVAL LIFE AND MANNERS. 
 
 Yet man's first sons, as o'er the fields they trod, 
 Reard from the hardy earth, were hardier far ; 
 Strong built, with ampler bones, with muscles 
 
 nerv'd 
 Broad and substantial ; to the power of heat, 
 Of cold, of varying viands, and disease. 
 Each hour superior; the wild lives of beasts 
 Leading, while many a lustre o'er them roU'd. 
 Nor crooked ploughshare knew they, nor to drive, 
 Deep through the soil, the rich-returning spade ; 
 Nor how the tender seedling to replant. 
 Nor from the fruit-tree prune the wither'd branch. 
 What showers bestow'd, what earth spontaneous 
 
 bore, 
 And suns matur'd, their craving breasts appeas'd. 
 But acorn-meals chief cuUd they from the shade 
 Of forest-oaks ; and, in their wintry months, 
 The wild wood-whortle with its purple fruit 
 Fed them, then larger and more amply pour'd. 
 And many a boon besides, now long extinct. 
 The fresh-fbrmd earth her hapless otispring dealt 
 Then floods, and fountains, too, tlieir tliirst to 
 slake, 
 Call'd them, as now the cataract abrupt 
 Calls, when athirst, the desert's savage tribes 
 And, through the night still wand'ring, they the 
 
 caves 
 Throng'd of the wood-nymphs, whence the bab- 
 bling well 
 
418 
 
 LUCRETIUS. 
 
 Gush'd oft profuse, and down its pebbly sides, 
 Its pebbly sides with verdant moss o'erspread. 
 Oozed slow, or sought, redundant sought, ilie 
 
 plains. 
 • •»»»»* 
 
 And in their keen rapidity of hand 
 And foot confiding, oft the savage train 
 With missile stones they hunted, or the force 
 Of clubs enormous; many a tribe they fell'd, 
 Yet some in caves shunn'd, cautious ; where, at 
 
 night, 
 Throng'd they, like bristly swine ; their naked 
 
 limbs 
 With herbs and leaves entwining. Nought of fear 
 Urg'd them to quit the darkness, and recall. 
 With clam'rous cries, the sunshine and the day : 
 But sound they sunk in deep, oblivious sleep. 
 Till o'er the mountains blush'd the roseate dawn. 
 Yet then scarce more of mortal race than now 
 Left the sweet lustre of the liquid day. 
 Some, doubtless, oft the prowling monsters gainit 
 Grasp'd in their jaws, abrupt ; whence, through 
 
 the groves. 
 The woods, the mountains, they vociferous 
 
 groanVl, 
 Destined thus living to a living tomb. 
 And some, by flight though sav'd from present 
 
 fate, 
 Cov'ring their fetid ulcers with their hands. 
 Prone o'er the ground death still, with horrid 
 
 voice, 
 Call'd, till vile worms devour'd them, void of aid. 
 And all-unskiUd their deadly pangs t" appease. 
 But thousands, then, the pomps of war beneath, 
 Fell not at once ; nor ocean's boisterous waves 
 Wreck'd, o'er rough rocks, whole fleets and 
 
 countless crews. 
 Nor ocean then, though oft to frenzy wrought, 
 Could aught indulge but inefiiectual ire : 
 Nor, lull'd to calms, could e'er his traitor face 
 Lead, o'er the laughing waves, mistrustful man, 
 Untaught the dangerous science of the seas. 
 Then want consuni'd their languid members, now 
 FuU-gorg'd excess devours us : they themselves 
 Fed, heedless, oft witli poi.<ons ; ofter still 
 Men now for others mix the fatal cup. 
 Yet when, at length, rude huts they first devis'd, 
 And fires and garments, and, in union sweet, 
 Man wedded ^voman, the pure joys indulg'd 
 Of chaste connubial love, and children rose, 
 The rough barbarians soften'd. — 
 
 FALSE AND TRUE PIETY. 
 
 No : — it can ne'er be piety to turn 
 
 To stocks and stones M-ith deep-veil'd visage ; light 
 
 O'er every altar incense ; o'er the dust 
 
 Fall prostrate, and, with outstretch'd arms, invoke, 
 
 Through every temple, every god that reigns, 
 
 Soothe them with blood, and lavish vows on vows. 
 
 This rather thou term piety, to mark 
 
 With calm, untrembling soul, each scene ordain"d. 
 
 For when we, doubtful, heaven's high arch survey. 
 
 The firm, fix'd ether, star-emboss'd, and pause 
 
 O'er the sun's path, and pale, meand'ring moon, 
 
 Then superstitious cares, erewhile repress'd 
 
 By cares more potent, lift their hydra-head. 
 
 ORIGIN OF MUSIC. 
 
 And from the liquid warblings of the birds 
 Learn'd they their first rude notes, ere music yet 
 To the rapt ear had tun'd the measur'd verse; 
 And Zephyr, whisp'ring through the hollow reeds. 
 Taught the first swains the hollow reeds to sound : 
 Whence woke they soon those tender-trembling 
 
 tones 
 Which the sweet pipe, when by the fingers 
 
 press'd. 
 Pours o'er the hills, the vales, and woodlands 
 
 wild. 
 Haunts of lone shepherds, and the rural gods. 
 So growing time points, ceaseless, something new, 
 And human skill evolves it into day. 
 
 Thus sooth'd they every care, with music, thus 
 Clos'd every meal, for rests the bosom then. 
 And oft they threw them on the velvet grass. 
 Near gliding streams, by shadowy trees o'er- 
 
 arclid. 
 And void of costly wealth found still the means 
 To gladden life. But chief when genial Spring 
 Led forth her laughing train, and the young Year 
 Painted the meads with roseate flowers profuse — 
 Then mirth, and wit, and wiles, and frolic, chief, 
 Flow'd from the heart; for then the rustic Muse 
 Warmest inspir'd them : then lascivious sport 
 Taught round their heads, their shoulders, taught 
 
 to twine 
 Foliage, and flowers, and garlands richly dight; 
 To loose, innum'rous time their limbs to move, 
 And beat, with sturdy foot, maternal earth; 
 While many a smile, and many a laughter loud, 
 Told all was new, and wond'rous much esteem'd. 
 Thus wakeful liv'd they, cheating of its rest 
 The drowsy midnight; with the jocund dance 
 Mixing gay converse, madrigals, and strains 
 Run o'er the reeds with broad recumbent lip: 
 As, wakeful still, our revellers through night 
 Lead on their defter dance to time precise ; 
 Yet cull not costlier sweets, with all their art. 
 Than the rude oflspring earth in woodlands bore. 
 
 GUILTY CONSCIENCE. 
 
 And oh ! how deep our shuddering spirits feel 
 A dread of heaven through every member steal, 
 When the strong lightning strikes the blasted 
 
 grounil. 
 And thunder rolls the murmuring clouds around. 
 Shake not the nations ? And the monarch's nod, 
 Bows it not low before the present God, 
 Lest for foul deeds, or haughty words, be sent 
 His hurried hour of awful punishment ? 
 
 Book VI. 
 
 THE PLAGUE AT ATHENS.* 
 
 A PLAGUE like this, a tempest big with fate 
 Once ravaged Athens, and her sad domains : 
 Unpeopled all her city, and her paths 
 Swept with destruction. For amid the realms 
 
 * This plague occurred in the first year of the Pclopon- 
 nesian war. It had taken its rise, according to Thucy- 
 dides, in that part of Ethiopia which borders on Egypt, 
 and, spreading from thence over Egypt and Lybia, at 
 length invaded Athens. 
 
LUCRETIUS. 
 
 419 
 
 Begot of Egypt, many a mighty tract 
 Of ether travers'd, many a flood o'erpass'd, 
 At length, here fix'd it : o'er the hapless realm 
 Of Cecrops hovering, and the astonish'd race 
 Dooining by thousands to disease and death. 
 The head first Uam'd with inward heat; the eyes 
 Redden'd with fire .sulfns'd : the purple jaws 
 Sweated with bloody ichor: ulcers foul 
 Crept o'er the vocal path, obstructing close ; 
 And the prompt tongue, expounder of the mind, 
 O'erllowed with gore, enfeebled in its post, 
 Hoarse in its accent, harsh beneath its touch. 
 And when the morbid etlluence through the 
 
 throat 
 Had reach'd the lungs, and filled the faltering 
 
 heart, 
 Then all the powers of life were loosen'd ; forth 
 Crept the spent breath most fetid from the mouth. 
 As steams the putrid carcass : every power 
 FaiTd through the soul — the body — and alike 
 Lay they liquescent at the gates of death. 
 While with these dread, insutTevable ills 
 A restless anguish join'd, companion close. 
 And sighs commix'd with groans; and hiccough 
 
 deep, 
 And keen, convulsive twitchings ceaseless urged. 
 Day after day, oer every tortur'd limb, 
 The wearied wretch still wearying with assault. 
 Yet ne'er too hot the system could'st thou mark 
 Outwards, but rather tepid to the touch : 
 Ting'd still with purple-dye, and brandish'd o'er 
 With trails of caustic ulcers, like the blaze 
 Of erysipelas. But all within 
 Burnd to the bone ; the bosom heav'd with 
 
 flames 
 Fierce as a furnace, nor would once endure 
 The light'ist vest thrown loosely o'er the limbs. 
 All to the winds, and many to the waves. 
 Careless, resign'd them ; in the gelid stream 
 Plunging their fiery bodies, to be cool'd : 
 While some, wide-grasping, into wells profound 
 Rush'd all abrupt ; and such the red-hot thirst 
 Unquenchable that parch'd them, amplest show- 
 ers 
 Seem'd but as dewdrops to the unsated tongue. 
 Nor e'er relax'd the sickness ; the rack'd frame 
 Lay all-exhunste.l, and, in silence dread, 
 Appall'd and doubtful, mused the Healing Art. 
 For the broad eyubnll.-;, burning with disease, 
 Roll'd in full stare, for ever void of sleep, 
 And told the pressing davi<;or; noi alone 
 Told it, for many a kindred symptom throng'd. 
 The niind'b pure spirit, all-ili-spondent, raved; 
 The brow severe; the visage fierce and wild ; 
 The ears distracted, fill'd with ceaseless sounds; 
 Frequent the breath ; or ponderous, oft, and rare; 
 The neck with pearls bedevvd of glistening 
 
 sweat ; 
 Scanty the spittle, thin, of salfron dye. 
 Sail, with hoarse cough scarce laboin'd from the 
 
 throat. 
 The limbs each trembled ; every tendon twitch'd, 
 Si)rcad o'er the hands: and from the fool extreme 
 O'er all the frame a gradual coldness crept. 
 Then, towards the hist, the nostrils close col- 
 
 laps'd ; 
 
 The nose acute; eyes hollow ; temples scoop'd ; 
 Frigid the skin, retracted ; o'er the month 
 A ghastly grin; the shrivell'd forehead tense; 
 The limbs outstretch'd, for instant death pre- 
 
 par'd ; 
 'Till, with the eighth descending sun, for few 
 Reach'd his ninth lustre, life for ever ceas'd. 
 And though, at times, the infected death e.s- 
 
 cap'd 
 From sanious organs, or the lapse profuse 
 Of black-ting'd feces, fatt; pursued them still. 
 Hectic and void of strength, consumjition pale 
 Prey'd on their vitals ; or, with headache keen, 
 Oft i'rora the nostrils tides of blood corrupt 
 Ponr'd imrestrain'd, and wasted them to shades. 
 And, e'en o'er these tritunphant, frequent still 
 Fix'd the morbific matter on the limbs. 
 Or seiz'd the genial organs ; and to some 
 The grave so hideous, they consented life. 
 E'en with the excision of their sexual powers, 
 Dearly to ransom ; some their being bought 
 By loss of feet or hands; and some escap'd 
 Void of all vision ; such their, dread of death. 
 And in oblivion some so deep were drown'd 
 Themselves they knew not, nor their lives 
 
 elaps'd. 
 And though, unburied, corse o'er corse the 
 
 streets 
 Oft throng'd promiscuons, still the plumy tribes, 
 The forest-monsters, either far aloof 
 Kept, the foul stench repulsing, or, if once 
 Dared they the plunder, instant fate pursued. 
 Nor feathery flocks at noon, nor beasts at night 
 Their native woods deserted; with the pest 
 Remote they languish'd, and full frequent died. 
 But chief the dog his generous strength resign'd. 
 Tainting the highways, while the ruthless bane 
 Through every limb his sickening spirit drove. 
 With eager strife the enormous grave was 
 
 snatch'd. 
 By friends untended : nor was aught of cure 
 Discern'd specific: for, what here recall'd 
 To day's bright regions the vanescent soul, 
 Prov'il poison there, and tenfold stamp'd their fate. 
 But this the direst horror, t!iat when once 
 Man felt the infection, as thouu'h full forewarn'd 
 Of sure destruction, melancholy deep 
 Preyed o'er his heart, his total courage fail'd, 
 Death sole he look'd for, and his doom was 
 
 death. 
 Thus seiz'd the dread, unmitigated pest 
 Man after man, and day succeeding day, 
 With taint voracious : like the herds they fell 
 Of bellowing beeves, or flocks of timorous sheep: 
 On funeral, funeral hence for ever piled. 
 E'en he, who fled the afllicted, urged by love 
 Of life too fond, and trembling for his fate, 
 Repented soon severely, and himself 
 Sunk in his guilty solitude, devoid 
 Of friends, of succour, hopeless, and forlorn. 
 While those, who nnrs'd them, to the pious task 
 Rous'd by their prayers, with piteous moans 
 
 coinmixt. 
 Fell irretrievable : the best by far. 
 The worthiest, thus most frequent met their 
 
 doom. 
 
420 
 
 CATULLUS. 
 
 From ceaseless sepultures, where each with 
 each 
 Vied in the duteous labour, they return'd 
 Faint, sad, and weeping: and from grief alone 
 Oft to their beds resistless were they driven. 
 Nor liv'd the mortal then, who ne'er was tried 
 With death, with sickness, or severest woe. 
 Then the rude herdsman, shepherd, and the man 
 Of sturdiest strength, who drove the plough 
 
 a-field, 
 Languish'd remote ; and in their wretched cots 
 Sunk, the sad victims of disease and want: 
 O'er breathless sires their breathless offspring lay, 
 Or sires and mothers o'er the race they bore. 
 
 Nor small the misery through the city oft 
 That pour'd from distant hamlets ; for in throngs 
 Full flock'd the sickening peasants for relief 
 From every point diseased ; and every space, 
 And every building, crowded ; heightening here 
 The rage of death, the hillocks of the dead. 
 
 Some, parch'd with thirst, beneath the eternal 
 spout 
 Dropp'd of the public conduits ; in the stream 
 Wallowing unwearied, and its dulcet draught 
 Deep-drinking 'till they bursted. Staggering, 
 
 some 
 Threw o'er the highways, and the streets they trod, 
 
 Their languid limbs ; already half-extinct. 
 Horrid with fetor, stiff with blotches foul. 
 With rags obscene scarce cover'd ; o'er the bones 
 Skin only, nought but skin ; and drown'd alike 
 Within and outwards, with putrescent grume. 
 
 At length the temples of the gods themselves 
 Chang'd into charnels, and their sacred shrines 
 Throng'd with the dead : for Superstition now. 
 And power of altars, half their sway had lost, 
 Whelm'd in the pressure of the present woe. 
 
 Nor longer now the costly rites prevail'd 
 Of ancient burial, erst punctilious kept; 
 For all roved restless, with distracted mind, 
 From scene to scene ; and, worn with grief and 
 
 toil. 
 Gave to their friends the interment chance al- 
 
 low'd. 
 And direst exigence impell'd them, oft. 
 Headlong, to deeds most impious; for the pyres 
 Funereal seiz'd they, rear'd not by themselves, 
 And with loud diige, and wailing wild, o'er 
 
 these 
 Plac'd their own dead ; amid the unhallowed 
 
 blaze 
 With blood contending, rather than resign 
 The tomb thus gain'd, or quit the enkindling 
 
 corse. 
 
 CAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS. 
 
 [Born 87,— Died — , B. C] 
 
 This elegant poet was born, of a respectable 
 family, in or near Verona; but went early to 
 Rome, on the invitation and, probably, under the 
 patronage, of Manlius Torquatns. He afterwards 
 visited Bithynia in company with Caius Mem- 
 mius, the Praetor of that province, and the friend 
 to whom Lucretius had inscribed his poem on 
 The Nature of Things ; but having quarrelled 
 with his new patron, and feeling dejected at the 
 loss of a beloved brother, who had died on the 
 expedition, he returned to Italy, and, from that 
 period until his decease, continued to divide his 
 time between the dissipations of the capital and 
 the solitudes of his beloved Sirmio.* In the 
 
 ♦ Sirmio, the site of Catullus' favourite villa, is a pe- 
 ninsular promontory, projecting into llie Benacus, (now 
 Lago de Garda) — a lake celebrated by Virgil, as well as 
 by subsequent poets, one of whom, Fracastoro, who 
 dwelt in the vicinity, while lamenting the untimely death 
 of the poet Flaminius, represents the shade of Catullus 
 as still nightly wandering amidst the scenes he loved. — 
 "Te rips flevfere Athesis; te voce vocare 
 AuditjE per noctem unibrfe manesque Catulli, 
 Et patrios mulcere nova dulcedine lucos." 
 ■Vestiges of the house, supposed to have belonzed to 
 Catullus, are yet shown on this peninsula, and were 
 visited by Buonaparte in 1797. Two years afterwards, 
 General St. Michel gave a brilliant fdte there, which 
 
 latter a vault is still pointed out to the traveller, 
 as having been the grotto of Catullus. 
 
 Catullus was a man of pleasure, or, in plainer 
 English, an idler and debauchee. By his genius 
 and accomplishments he had early won his way 
 into the great world, and lived on terms of inti- 
 macy not only witli many of the most dissipated, 
 but with some also of the most distinsuished 
 literary and political, characters of the day. 
 Amongst the latter may be emmierated Corne- 
 lius Nepos. Cicero, Asinius PoUio, and even Julius 
 
 was attended by the officers of the French army and 
 many of the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, — particu- 
 larly the dramatic poet Anelli, who joined with his host 
 in singing and reciting verses in honour of the place and 
 of its ancient owner. Amongst the toasts, on the occa- 
 sion, were — "The memory of Catullus, the most elegant 
 of Latin poets." — "Buonaparte, who honours great men 
 amidst the tumult of arms — who celebrated Virgil at 
 Mantua, and paid homage to Catullus, by visitins the 
 peninsula of Sirmio." — "General Miollis, the protector 
 of the sciences, and the fine arts, in Italy." — The enthu- 
 siasm of the party was so great, that, some inhabitants 
 of the neighbourhood, happening luckily for themselves 
 to arrive at that moment, with a petition for the removal 
 of the troops then quartered on them, at once obtained 
 their request. — See Henin.Jonr. Historiqne des Opernt. 
 du Siege de Peschiera, and Dunlop's Roman Literature, &c. 
 
CATULLUS. 
 
 421 
 
 CtBsar, notwithstanding his satires on that illus- 
 trious general, whose only revenge, according to 
 Suetonius, was to invite his satirist to supper. 
 His favourite mistress, whom he immortalises, 
 in such exquisite verses, under the name of Los- 
 bia, is supposed to have been Clodia, the daugh- 
 ter or wife of Q. Metellus Celer, a beautiful but 
 
 shameless woman, — who could weep for a spar- 
 row, but poison her husband ! 
 
 The period of his death has not been posi- 
 tively ascertained, but occurred most probably 
 somewhere between the years 58 and 48 B. C, 
 and at the early age of thirty or forty. — See Clinr 
 ton's Fasti Hellcnici, Vol. II. p. 185. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROW. 
 
 Mourn, all ye Loves and Graces ! mourn, 
 Ye wits, ye gallants, and ye gay ! 
 
 Death from my fair her bird has torn. 
 
 Her much-lov'd sparrow's snatch'd away. 
 
 Her very eyes she priz'd not so. 
 
 For he was fond and knew my fair 
 
 Well as young girls their mothers know. 
 And sought her breast and nestled there. 
 
 Once fluttering round, from place to place, 
 
 He gaily chirp'd to her alone; 
 But now that gloomy path must trace. 
 
 Whence Fate permits return to none. 
 
 Accursed Shades, o'er hell that lower, 
 Oh, be my curses on you heard ! 
 
 Ye, that all pretty things devour. 
 Have torn from me my pretty bird. 
 
 Oh evil deed ! Oh sparrow dead ! 
 
 Oh what a wretch, if thou canst see 
 My fair-one's eyes with weeping red. 
 
 And know how much she grieves for thee ! 
 
 UPON MAMURRA.* 
 
 ADDRESSED TO CiESAR. 
 
 Who can beliold, or who endure, 
 
 Save rakes devoid of truth and shame. 
 Or gambling cheats, or gluttons tame. 
 That base Mamurra should procure 
 And squander free the spoil and products all 
 Of farthest Britain's isle, and rich Transalpine 
 Gaul. 
 
 Miscreant Romulus ! canst thou see 
 
 And suffer tins'? — Then thine the shame. 
 The rake's, the cheat's, the glutton's name. 
 Some proud and all-abounding he 
 Through all our marriage beds shall rove 
 Gay as Adonis, soft as Venus' dove. 
 
 Canst thou still see and bear this thing. 
 Miscreant Romulvis? — Thine the shame, 
 The rake's, the cheat's, the glutton's name. 
 And for this name, unrivall'd king. 
 Proud didst thou bear afar thy conquering crest 
 E'en to the farthest isle that gems the distant 
 west.t 
 
 * A profligate Roniiin kniglit, who, by the favour of 
 C^sar, amassed an immense fortune in the Gallic wars. 
 This probably is the poem which (according to Sueto- 
 nius) was read to Ccpsar, while on a visit at Cicero's 
 villa, and "at which," says the latter in a letter to Atti- 
 cus, "he never changed countenance." 
 
 t Britain. 
 
 That he, thy lustful friend, should prey 
 On all the sjioil, thy valour's prize! 
 " What matters it?' thy bounty cries, 
 "A little wealth he throws away." 
 And has he then but little wealth devour'd ? 
 First he his father's hoards on low companions 
 shower'd ; 
 
 Then by the spoil of Pontus fed. 
 And then by all Iberia gave. 
 And Tagils from its golden wave. 
 Him justly Gaul and Britain dread ; 
 Justly his grasping sway may cause alarms. 
 More than his emperor's name and all-victorious 
 arms. 
 Oh ! why so base a favourite choose, 
 Who has not wit, nor use, nor power, 
 Save all thy riches to devour 1 
 Didst thou. Oh son-in-law I* then lose. 
 Didst thou. Oh conquering father! then obtain. 
 The empire of the world to be this minion's 
 gain. 
 
 TO LESBIA. 
 Let us, my Leshia, live and love, 
 And, though sour Cynics disapprove, 
 
 Let's heed them not a doit ; 
 Suns set, and suns again will rise, 
 But we, when once our daylight dies, 
 
 Must sleep in endless night. — 
 Give me then a thousand kisses, 
 Then a hundred of like blisses, 
 Hundreds then to thousands add, 
 And, when thousands more we've had, 
 We'll blend, confuse thetn all, that so 
 Nor you nor I their sum may know, — 
 No; nor even Envy's self e'er guess 
 Our half amount of happiness. 
 
 A MESSAGE TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er 
 
 The Fates had wilTd, through life I rov'd, 
 Now speed ye home, and with you bear 
 
 These bitter words to her Tve lov'd. 
 Tell her from fool to fool to run. 
 
 Where'er her vain caprice may call; 
 Of ail her dupes not loving one, 
 
 But ruining and maddening all. 
 Bid her forget — what now is pa.st — 
 
 Our once dear love, whose ruin lies 
 Like a fair flower, the meadow's last, 
 
 Which feels the plougshare's edge and dies. 
 
 ♦ Pompey, who married Caesar's daughter, Julia. 
 2L 
 
422 
 
 CATULLUS. 
 
 TO THE PENINSULA OF SIRMIO. 
 
 SwKET Sirmio ! Thou, the very eye 
 
 Of all peninsulas and isles, 
 Tlmt in our lakes of silver lie, 
 
 Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles. 
 How gladly back to thee I fly ! 
 
 Still doubting, asking, — Can it be 
 That I have left Bithynia's sky. 
 
 And gaze in safety upon thee ? 
 
 Oh ! what is happier than to find 
 
 Our hearts at ease, our perils past; 
 When anxious long, the lighten"d mind 
 
 Lays down its load of care at last ; 
 When tired with toil, o'er land and deep. 
 
 Again we tread the welcome floor 
 Of our own home, and sink to sleep 
 
 On the long wished-for bed once more. 
 
 This, this it is, that pays alone 
 The ills of all life's former tr^ck ; 
 
 Shine out, my beautiful, mine own 
 Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back. 
 
 And thou fair lake, whose water quaffs 
 The light of heaven, like Lydia's sea, 
 
 Rejoice, rejoice — let all that laughs 
 Abroad, at home, laugh out with me ! 
 
 HYMENEAL, 
 
 ON THE NUPTIALS OF JULIA AND MANLIUS. 
 A TOUTH. 
 
 Vesper ascends: Ye youths! together rise: 
 Eve's long-expected star has gilt the skies : 
 Rise, leave the feast; the bride ^vill soon appear; 
 The bridal song be sung : Oh Hymen, Hymen, 
 hear! 
 
 A TIKGIN. 
 
 Mark ye the youths ? to face them, maidens, rise ; 
 Night-shedding Hesper lights the spangled skies: 
 Look up : 'tis so ; and saw ye how their throng 
 Sprang forth? nor idly; soon to raise the song: 
 Let us in rival strains surpass the lay: 
 Oh Hymen, Hymen, bless the wedding-day. 
 
 A TOUTH. 
 
 Arduous the palm of strife : Oh ! friends be 
 
 strong: 
 For see, yon maidens muse some mutter'd song; 
 Nor idly muse : some memorable lay ; 
 While we our ears and thoughts have turn'd 
 
 away : 
 We merit shame, since victory favours care : 
 Yet now your parts with emulation bear : 
 'Tis theirs to speak: let us responses frame: 
 Oh Hymen, Hymen, bless the marriage flame! 
 
 VIHGINS. 
 
 Hesper! knows heaven a star like thee severe, 
 That tear'st the maiden from her mother dear? 
 The lingering maiden from her mother's arms. 
 And yield'st some fervid youth her spotless 
 
 charms ; 
 What wrongs more fierce can cities storm'd dis- 
 play? 
 Come, Hymen, hither! Hymen, grace the day! 
 
 YOUTHS. 
 
 Hesper ! what star more joyous shines above ? 
 Thy flames confirm the plighted troth of love : 
 By covenants of men, of parents, seal'd. 
 Thy dawn alone the wish'd embrace can yield : 
 What hour can gods bestow more wish'd than 
 
 this? 
 Come, Hymen, come ; and crown the hour of 
 
 bliss! 
 
 VIRGINS. 
 
 As in fenc'd gardens blows some floweret rare, 
 Safe from the nibbling flock or griding share : 
 Which gales refresh, suns strengthen, rain-drops 
 
 rear. 
 To many a youth and many a maiden dear : 
 Clipt by tlie nail it bends the stem and fades. 
 No more by youths admir'd,or wish'd by maids; 
 So loved the unpolluted virgin blooms; 
 But when the blighting touch her flower con- 
 sumes. 
 No more she charms the youth, or charms the 
 
 maid : 
 Come, Hymen, Hymen, give the nuptials aid. 
 
 YOUTHS. 
 
 As on the naked field the lonely vine 
 
 Yields no sweet grape, nor lifts its tendril twine: 
 
 Droops with its weight and winds its tender 
 
 shoots 
 With earthward bend around their twisted roots: 
 Nor herds nor peasants, in tlie noon-day heat. 
 Beneath its chequer'd, bo^very shade retreat : 
 But, if it clasp some elm with married leaves, 
 Its shade the peasant and the herd receives: 
 Such is the virgin, who untouch'd remains. 
 While still imwooed her useless beauty -wanes, 
 But wedded in her bloom, those charms delight 
 Her husband's eyes, nor shame her parent's 
 
 sight. 
 
 YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. 
 
 Resist not fiercely, virgin ; — but obey 
 Thy mother, father; thy betrothers they: 
 Not thine tlie virgin flower : a part is theirs : 
 Thy sire a third, a third thy mother, shares : 
 A third thine own: then struggle not, coy maid! 
 For in thy bridegroom both are disobey'd : 
 They, with thy dower, have yielded every right: 
 Come, Hymen, Hymen, bless the marriage-night! 
 
 TO M. T. CICERO, 
 
 WHO HAD PLEADED SUCCESSFULLY FOR CATULLUS. 
 
 TuLLY, most eloquent, most sage, 
 
 Of all the Roman race. 
 That deck the past or present age, 
 
 Or future days may grace. 
 
 Oh! may Catullus thus declare 
 
 An overflowing heart; 
 And, though the worst of poets, dare 
 
 A grateful lay impart? 
 
 'Twill teach thee how thou hast surpast 
 
 All others in thy line ; 
 Far, far as he in his is last, 
 
 Art thou the first in thine. 
 
CATULLUS. 
 
 423 
 
 TO LESBIA. 
 
 No nymph, amid the much-lov'd few, 
 
 Is lov'cl as thou art lov"d by me : 
 No love was e'er so fond, so true, 
 
 As my fond love, sweet maid, for thee! 
 Yes. e"en thy faults, bewitching dear ! 
 
 With such delights my soul possess ; 
 That whether faitldess, or sincere, 
 
 I cannot love thee more, nor less! 
 
 TO HIMSELF, 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPUING. 
 
 Now Spring renews her gentle charms, 
 And, liiird in Zephyr's balmy arms, 
 
 Soft grows the angry sky ; 
 Haste then, and, leaving Phrygia's plains, 
 Leaving Nicrpa's rich domains. 
 
 To Asia's cities fly. 
 My soul, all-trembling, pants to stray, 
 My bounding feet the call obey. 
 
 Friends of my youth, farewell! 
 Lov'd friends, with whom I left my home. 
 Now doom'd through various ways to roam, 
 
 In distant lands to dwell. 
 
 THE COMPARISON. 
 
 QuiNTiA is beauteous in the million's eye ; 
 
 Yes, — beauteous in particulars, I own; 
 Fair-skinn'd, straight-shap'd, tali-siz'd ; yet I deny 
 
 A beauteous whole ; of charmingness there's 
 none : 
 In all her height of figure there is not 
 A seasoning spice of that — I know not what — 
 That piquant something, grace without a name. 
 But Lesbia's air is charming as her frame. 
 Yes, — Lesbia, beauteous in one graceful whole. 
 From all her sex their single graces stole. 
 
 TO CALVUS, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HIS aUI^TILIA. 
 
 CaIiVUs, if any joy from mortal tears 
 
 Can touch the feelings of the silent dead ; 
 
 When dwells regret on loves of former years. 
 Or weeps o'er friendships that have long been 
 fled: 
 
 Oh, then far less will be Quintilia's woe 
 At early death and fate's severe decree. 
 
 Than the pure i)leasure she must feel to know 
 How well, how truly, she was loved by thee. 
 
 Another translation of the Same. 
 If ere in human grief there breathe a spell 
 To charm the silent tomb, and soothe the 
 dead ; 
 When soft regrets on past aflections dwell. 
 And o'er fond friendships lost, our tears are 
 shed ; 
 Sure, a less pang must touch Quintilia's shade, 
 While hovering o'er her sad, untimely bier, 
 Than keen-felt joy that spirit pure pervade. 
 To witness that her Calvus held her dear. 
 
 THE RITES AT HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE. 
 O'f.h many a distant land, o'er many a wave. 
 Brother! I come a pilgrim, to thy grave 
 To pay the rites which pious love ordains. 
 And, though in vain, invoke thy mute remains. 
 For thou art gone! Yes, thee I must resign, 
 My more than brother — ah ! no longer mine. 
 Meanwhile these rites of ancestry be paid, 
 A sacred debt to thy lamented shade ; 
 Take them — these tears their heartfelt homage 
 
 tell— 
 And now — for ever bless thee, and farewell! 
 
 A PICTURE, 
 
 FBOSr THE NUPTIALS OF JULIA AND MANHU8. 
 
 And soon, to make thee truly blest, 
 Soon may a young Torquatus rise. 
 
 Who, hanging on his mother's breast 
 To his known sire shall turn his eyes. 
 
 Outstretch his infant arms awhile, 
 
 Half ope his little arms and smile. 
 
 PERFIDY OF MAN. 
 
 FROM THE NUPTIALS OF PELEUS AND THETIS. 
 
 Let never woman trust 
 The oath of man : let never woman hope 
 Faith in his tender speeches. He, while aught 
 Inflames his ardour to possess, will fear 
 No oath, will sjjare no promise. But when once 
 His lust is sated, fears not what he spoke, 
 Heeds not his perjur'd promise.* 
 
 ATYS. 
 Borne swiftly o'er the seas 
 
 to Phrygia's woody strand, 
 Atys with rapid haste 
 
 infuriate leap'd to land; 
 Where high-inwoven groves 
 
 in solemn darkness meet, 
 Rushed to the mighty Deity's 
 
 remote and awful seat ; 
 And wildered in his brain, 
 
 fierce inspiration's prey, 
 There with a broken flint 
 
 he struck his sex away. 
 Soon as he then beheld 
 
 his comely form unmann'd, 
 While yet the purple biooil 
 
 flowed reeking on the land ; 
 Seized in his snowy grasp 
 
 the drum, the timbrel light, 
 That still is heard, dread Cybele, 
 
 at thine initiate rite, 
 
 ♦ A passage in Otway's Orphan is in the same strain : 
 "Trust not a man ; we are by nature false, 
 Dissemlilinir, subtle, crui'l, and inconstant: 
 When a man talks of love, with caution hear him; 
 But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive you." 
 Dryden also, in Palamon and Jlrcite, alluding to Lo- 
 ver's vows, calls them 
 
 "A train of lies 
 That, made in lust, conclude in perjuries." 
 
424 
 
 CATULLUS. 
 
 And struck the quivering skin, 
 whence hollow echoes flew, 
 
 And raised this panting song 
 to his infuriate crew. 
 
 " Ye priests of Cybele, 
 
 or rather let me say. 
 For ye are men no longer, 
 
 ye priestesses, away ! 
 Together pierce the forest, 
 
 great Cybele's domains, 
 Ye vagrant flocks of her 
 
 on Diiidymus who reigns. 
 Ye, like devoted exiles, 
 
 who, seeking foreign lands. 
 Have follow'd me your leader, 
 
 have bow'd to my commands; 
 Have cross'd the salt-sea wave, 
 
 have dar'd the raging storms, 
 And, loatliing woman's love, 
 
 unmann'd your lusty forms ; 
 The sense of error past 
 
 let laughing frenzy blind ; 
 Let doubt, let thought itself, 
 
 be driven from the mind. 
 Haste, haste, together haste 
 
 to Cybele divine ! 
 Seek we her Phrygian grove 
 
 and dark sequestcr'd shrine. 
 Where cymbals clash, where drums 
 
 resound their deepening tone, 
 Where Phrygia's crooked pipe 
 
 breathes out its solemn drone, 
 Where votaresses toss 
 
 their ivy-circled brows. 
 And urge with piercing yells 
 
 their consecrated vows, 
 Where the delirious train 
 
 disport as chance may lead : 
 Thither our vows command 
 
 in mystic dance to speed." 
 
 Thus Atys, female, now, 
 
 to female comrades sung. 
 The frantic chorus rose 
 
 from many a panting tongue; 
 Re-echoed the deep timbrel, 
 
 the hollow cymbals rang, 
 And all to verdant Ida 
 
 run madly at the clang. 
 Though breathless, still impetuous 
 
 with inspiration's force 
 Raving and bewilder'd, 
 
 scarce conscious of her course. 
 As the unbroken heifer 
 
 will fly the threaten'd yoke, 
 Atys through gloomy woods, 
 
 where never sunbeam broke, 
 Loud striking the light timbrel, 
 
 rush'd on with bounding stride, 
 And all the frantic priestesses 
 
 pursue their rapid guide. 
 The fearful fane at length 
 
 their panting ardour stops, 
 Each, faint and unrefresh'd, 
 
 in leaden slumber drops. 
 
 In languor most profound 
 
 their eyelids are deprest, 
 
 And all extatic rage 
 
 is lull'd in torpid rest. 
 
 But when again the sun 
 
 returning to the skies 
 Put forth his golden brow ; 
 
 when now his radiant eyes 
 Throughout wide heaven, and earth, 
 
 and ocean pour'd their light; 
 And with thunder-pacing steeds, 
 
 he chas'd the shades of night; 
 When slumber's reign serene 
 
 had frenzy's flame subdued. 
 When Atys her fell deed 
 
 in clearer reason view'd, 
 Beheld in what abode 
 
 her future lot was placed, 
 And, ah ! how low she stood, 
 
 in Natures rank disgraced ; 
 Then, hurried to despair 
 
 by passion's rising tide. 
 Again she wildly souglit 
 
 the country's sea-girt side ; 
 And, casting her full eyes 
 
 o'er boundless ocean's flow, 
 Address'd her native land 
 
 in these plaintive strains of woe. 
 
 " My country, oh my country, 
 
 creatress, parent earth ! 
 My country, my dear country, 
 
 that sustain"d me from my birth ! 
 Must I for dreary woods 
 
 forsake thy smiling shore. 
 And see my friends, my home, 
 
 my parents never more ? 
 No more the Forum seek, 
 
 or the gay Palnestra's court, 
 Or urge, as wont of old, 
 
 each fam'd gymnastic sport? 
 Oh wretched, wretched man ! 
 
 while years shall slowly roll, 
 For ever, o'er and o'er again, 
 
 for ever grieve, my soul ! 
 What grace, what beauty 's there, 
 
 that I did not enjoy ? 
 I, when in manhood's prime, 
 
 a youth, or yet a boy. 
 The flower of all who trod 
 
 the firm gymnastic floor. 
 The victor mid the crowd, 
 
 who the wrestler's prizes bore. 
 My gates were ever throng'd, 
 
 and full my threshold swarm'd ; 
 With blooming garlands hung, 
 
 that love-sick maidens form'd, 
 My mansion gaily glitter'd, 
 
 each morning, as I sped 
 At earliest blush of sunrise, 
 
 with lightness, from my bed. 
 
 And must I ever now 
 
 a maniac votaress rave. 
 
 Heaven's devoted handmaid, 
 to Cybele a slave ? 
 
CATULLUS. 
 
 425 
 
 Her frantic orsiies ply, 
 
 dissrracM in Nature's plan, 
 A part of what T was, 
 
 a maim'd, fi barren man ; 
 And dwell in Iila's caves, 
 
 which snow for ever chills; 
 And pass my savage life 
 
 on Phrypia"s rugged hills, 
 Placed with the sylvan stag, 
 
 the forest-ranging boar ? 
 Oh ! now how soon I rue the deed, 
 
 how bitterly deplore !" 
 As from her rosy lips 
 
 these wandering murmurs broke. 
 They rose to heaven, and bore 
 
 the imwonted words she spoke : 
 Indignantly unyoking 
 
 her lions on the plain, 
 And rousing the grim beast 
 
 that bore the left hand rein. 
 Great Cybele, enrag'd, 
 
 her dread injimction told, 
 And thus to fury waked 
 
 the tyrant of the fold. 
 "Haste, fierce one, haste away! 
 
 rush on with glaring ire. 
 With inspiration's rage, 
 
 with frenzy's goad of fire. 
 Drive the too daring youth, 
 
 who would my service fly. 
 Again to seek the gloom 
 
 of yonder forest high. 
 Haste: lash thyself to rage 
 
 till all thy flank be sore: 
 Let all around re-echo 
 
 to thine appalling roar : 
 Toss with thy sinewy neck 
 
 on high thy glossy mane." 
 So spake terrific Cybele 
 
 and loosed her lion's rein. 
 Gladly the beast awakes 
 
 his ruthlessness of mind, 
 Bounds, rages, reckless leaves 
 
 the thicket crush'd behind, 
 Then sv^iftly gained the beacli, 
 wash'd by the foamy flood 
 Where Atys, in despair, 
 
 amid the breakers stood, 
 And springing fiercely forth — 
 
 the wretch, no longer brave, 
 Into the forest plung'd, 
 
 and in a living grave 
 There pass'd her long devoted life, 
 
 a priestess and a slave. 
 Oil great, oh fearful goddess! 
 oh Cybele divine I 
 
 Oh goddess, who has placed 
 on Dindymus a shrine ! 
 
 Far be from my abode 
 
 thy sacred frenzy's fire. 
 
 Madden more willing voiaries, 
 more daring minds inspire.* 
 
 LESBIA'S DISGRACE. 
 
 AT)I1RESSED TO CiELITJS. 
 
 Oh Crclius! think-, our Lesbia, once thy pride; 
 
 Lesbia, that Lesbia, vi'liom Catullus priz'd 
 More than himself and all the world beside. 
 
 Now gives, for hire, to profligates despis'd. 
 In the dark alley, or the common lane, 
 The charms he lov'd, the love he sigh'd to gain. 
 
 TO LESBIA. 
 
 Thou told'st me, in our days of love. 
 That I had all that heart of thine; 
 
 That, e'en to share the couch of Jove, 
 
 Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from mine. 
 
 How purely wert thou worsliipp'd then! 
 
 Not with the vague and vulgar fires 
 Which beauty wakes in soulless men. 
 
 But loved, as children by their sires. 
 
 That flattering dream, alas, is o'er; — 
 
 I know thee now — and, though these eyes 
 
 Doat on thee wildly as before, 
 Yet, e'en in doating, I despise. 
 
 Yes. sorceress, — mad as it may seem, — 
 With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee. 
 
 That passion e'en outlives esteem. 
 
 And I, at once, adore — and scorn thee. 
 
 * There are many contradictory stories about Atys. 
 According to Catullus, he was a beautiful youth, who 
 having landed with a few companions in Phryaia, hur- 
 ried to the grove of the goddess (Cybele, and there, struck 
 with a sviperslitious frenzy, qualified himself for the ser- 
 vice of that divinity. Then, snatching up the musical 
 instruments used in her worship, and exhorting his com- 
 panions to follow, he traverses the woods and mountains, 
 till having, at length, reached the temple of Cybele, he 
 drops down exhausted by fatigue and mental distraction. 
 Ri'iiig tranquillized, however, by a night's repose, he be- 
 comes sensible of his folly and wretchedness, returns to 
 the sea-shore, and, casting his eyes over the ocean home- 
 ward, compares his former happiness with his present 
 degraded condition. — It is lamentable that a poem of such 
 energy and pathos (as this undoubtedly is,) should have 
 so puerile a conclusion. ♦Cybelc, dreadine the defection 
 of her new votary, lelj loose a lioAfrom her car, wl^ich 
 drives Atys back to her groves — 
 
 "There to find a living grave. 
 And pass her long-dcvoted life, a priestess and a slave." 
 
 54 
 
 21.2 
 
LABERIUS. 
 
 [Died 43 B. C] 
 
 A Roman knight of respectable family and 
 character, and a composer of Mimes; but chiefly 
 known to posterity by a prologue which he wrote 
 and spoke, on being compelled by Julius Csesar 
 to appear upon the stage. Though acquitting 
 liimself with grace and spirit as an actor, he 
 could not refrain from expressing his detestation 
 of the tyranny which had made him such. In 
 one of the scenes he personated a Syrian slave, 
 and, whilst escaping from the lash of his master, 
 exclaimed — "Porro, Quirites, libertatem perdidi- 
 mus ;"' and shortly after added — "Necesse est 
 multos timeat, quem multi timent;" at which the 
 eyes of the whole audience were instantly turned 
 towards Caesar, who was present in the theatre. 
 
 It was not merely to entertain the people, who, 
 (as it has been justly observed,) would have been 
 as well amused with the representation of any 
 other actor, nor to wound the private feelings of 
 Laberius, that Caesar forced him on the stage. 
 
 His sole object was to degrade the Roman knight- 
 hood, to su')due their spirit of independence and 
 honour, and to strike the people with a sense of 
 his unlimited sway. It was the same policy 
 which afterwards led him, and his successors in 
 the empire, to convert their senators into gladi- 
 ators and buffoons, and to encourage men of the 
 noblest families, their Fabii and Mamerci, to ca- 
 per about the stage, barefooted and smeared with 
 soot, for the amusement of the rabble. 
 
 Laberivis did not long survive his mortification. 
 Retiring from Rome, he died at Puteoli, about 
 ten months after the assassination of Caesar. 
 
 The titles, and a few fragments, of his Mimes 
 are still extant; but, excepting the prologue, these 
 remains are too inconsiderable and detached 
 for us to judge either of their subject or their 
 merits.* 
 
 * See Dunlop's History of Rovian Literature., vol. i., 
 p. 554. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Necessity — the current of whose sway 
 Many would stem, but few can find the way — 
 To what abasement has she made me bend. 
 Now when life's pulse is ebbing to its end ! 
 Whom no ambitious aim, no sordid bait. 
 Fear, force, nor influence of the grave and 
 
 great, 
 Nor meed of praise, nor any lure beside, 
 Could move, when youthful, from my place of 
 
 pride ; 
 Lo, in mine age how easily I fall ! 
 One honied speech from Caesar's tongue was all ; 
 For how might I resist his sovereign will. 
 Whose every wish the gods themselves fulfil ? 
 Twice thirty years without a blemish spent, 
 F«rth from my h*me this m»rn a knight I went, 
 
 And thither I return — as what? a mime! 
 O, I have lived one day beyond my time ! 
 Fortune — still wayward both in bad and good, 
 If 'twas thy pleasure in thy changeful mood. 
 To tear the wreath of honour from my brow, 
 Why was I not far earlier taught to bow, 
 When with such aid as youth and strength afford, 
 I might have won the crowd, and pleased their 
 
 lord •? 
 Now, why thus humbled in the frost of age ? 
 What scenic virtues bring I to the stage 1 
 What fire of soul, what dignity of mien. 
 What powers of voice to grace the mimic scene? 
 As creeping ivy kills the strangled tree. 
 So the long clasp of years has dealt with me. 
 Nought left, alas ! of all my former fame. 
 Save the poor legend of a tomb — my name ! 
 
 426 
 
PUBLIUS VIRGILIUS MARO. 
 
 [Bum 70,— Died 19, B. G] 
 
 This great poet was born at the village of 
 Amies near Mantua, during the first consulship 
 of Pompey and Crassus, and in the year of Rome 
 6S3. Of his father little more is known than 
 that he was possessed of sense to feel, and of 
 means to confer on his son, the advantages of a 
 liheral education. He sent him, at seven years 
 of age, to Cremona, and from thence, at sixteen, 
 to Milan; at both whicli places he is said to 
 have prosecuted his studies with ardour and 
 diligence, and to have thus laid the foundation 
 of that varied learning, for which he was no less 
 distinguished than for his lofty and elegant 
 genius. In particular, he acquired that taste for 
 the literature and philosophy of Greece, which 
 is so discernible in all his writings. His in- 
 structor in philosophy was Syro, the Epicurean, 
 whose doctrines, however, he afterwards aban- 
 doned for the loftier ones of the academic school. 
 
 Having lost his little patrimony, which, M'ith 
 other lands in the neighbourhood of Cremona 
 and Mantua, had been allotted to the disbanded 
 soldiery of the civil wars, he repaired to Rome, 
 where, through the eflbrts of Varus, Poliio, and 
 others, he not only obtained restitution of his 
 farm, but even acquired the future favour and 
 friendship of the conqueror himself. Tliis event 
 he has celebrated in his first Eclogue. 
 
 At the request of his new patron, he is said to 
 have undertaken the Georgics, and, seven years 
 afterwards, the .^neid ; but so dissatisfied was 
 he with the latter, that he left it, with a dying 
 injunction on his friends to destroy it. 
 
 Virgil died at Brundusium,on his way back from 
 Athens to Rome, whither he was proceeding with 
 Augustus. His ashes were conveyed to Naples, 
 in the neighbourhood of which a tomb, believed 
 by the inhabitants to be his, is still pointed out 
 to the inquiring traveller. From the little which 
 we are able to glean of his life and character, he 
 seems to have been a man of modesty and worth, 
 admired and beloved by his brother-poets, as 
 well as by all the other great and eminent men 
 of his age. He is frequently mentioned by Ho- 
 
 race, and always in terms of the sincerest affec- 
 tion and esteem. 
 
 Of his works it would require a pen like liis 
 own to describe them in the language they de- 
 serve. "I look on Virgil," says Mr. Dryden, "as 
 a succinct, grave, and majestic writer ; one who 
 weighed not only every thought, but every word 
 and syllable; who was still aiming to crowd liis 
 sense into as narrow a compass as he possibly 
 could. His verse is everywhere sounding the very 
 thing in your ears, whose sense it bears ; yet the 
 numbers are perpetually varied, to increase the 
 delight of the reader; so that the same sounds 
 are never repeated twice together. — Though he 
 is smooth, where smoothness is required, yet is 
 he so far from affecting it, that he seems rather 
 to disdain it; frequently makes use of Synalae- 
 phas, and concludes his sense in the miildle of 
 his verse. He is everywhere above conceits of 
 epigrammatic wit and gross hyperboles ; he main- 
 tains majesty in the midst of plainness ; he shines, 
 but glares not; and is stately without ambition, 
 (which is the vice of Lucan.) I drew my defi- 
 nition of poetical vvit from my particular consi- 
 deration of him; for propriety of thoughts and 
 words are only to be found in him. This exact 
 propriety of Virgil I particularly regarded as a 
 part of his character, but must confess, to my 
 shame, that I have not been able to translate any 
 part of him so well as to make him appear 
 wholly like himself. For where the original is 
 close, no version can reach it in the same com- 
 pass. — Tasso tells us, in his letters, that Sperone 
 Speroni, a great Italian wit who was his contem- 
 porary, observed of Virgil and Tully, that the 
 Latin orator endeavoured to imitate the copious- 
 ness of Homer, the Greek poet; and that the 
 Latin poet made it his business to reach the 
 conciseness of Demosthenes, the Greek orator. 
 Virgil, therefore, being so very sparing of his 
 words, can never be translated, as he ought, in 
 any modern tongue. To make him copious is to 
 alter his character ; and to translate him, line for 
 line, is impossible." 
 
 FROM THE PASTORALS. 
 
 TITTRUS AND MELIB(EUS. 
 
 Augustus, having settled himself in the Ro- 
 man empire, and wishing to reward his veteran 
 troops for their services, distributed among them 
 all the lands that lay about Cremona and Man- 
 tua, turning out the right owners for having sided 
 with his enemies. Virgil, who was a sufferer 
 among the rest, having, through the intercession 
 
 of his friends, recovered his estate, as an instance 
 of his gratitude, composed the following Pastoral, 
 where he sets out liis own good fortune in the 
 IJerson of Tityrus, and the calamities of his Man- 
 tuan neighbours in the character of MelibcEus. 
 
 MKLIBfEUS. 
 
 Beneath the shades which beechen boughs dif- 
 fuse. 
 You, Tityrus, entertain your silvan muse. 
 
 427 
 
428 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Round the wide world in banishment we roam, 
 Fovc'd from our pleasing fields and native home; 
 While, stretcli'd at ease, you sing your happy 
 
 loves, 
 And Amaryllis fills the shady groves. 
 
 TITTHUS. 
 
 These blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd; 
 For never can I deem him less than God. 
 The tender firstlings of my woolly breed 
 Shall on his holy altar often bleed. 
 He gave my kine to graze the flow'ry plain, 
 And to my pipe renew'd the rural strain. 
 
 MELIBtEUS. 
 
 I envy not your fortune but admire. 
 That, while the raging sword and wasteful fire 
 Destroy the wretched neighbourhood around. 
 No hostile arms approach your happy ground. 
 Far difl^'rent is my fate: my feeble goats 
 With pains I drive from their forsaken cotes. 
 And this, you see, I scarcely drag along, 
 Who, yeaning, on the rooks has left her young; 
 The hope and promise of my falling fold. 
 My loss, by dire portents the gods foretold ; 
 For, had I not been blind, I might have seen : — 
 Yon riven oak, the fairest of the green, 
 And the hoarse raven, on the blasted bough. 
 By croaking from the left, presaged the coming 
 
 blow. 
 But tell me. Tityrus, what heavenly power 
 Preserv'd your fortune in that fatal hour? 
 
 TITTHUS. 
 
 Fool that I was, I thought imperial Rome 
 Like Mantua, where on market days we come, 
 And thither drive our tender lambs from home. 
 So kids and whelps their sires and dams express ; 
 And so the great I measured by the less. 
 But country towns, compar'd with her, appear 
 Like shrubs, when lofty cypresses are near. 
 
 MELIBOJUS. 
 
 What great occasion call'd you hence to Rome? 
 
 TITTHUS. 
 
 Freedom, which came at length, though slow to 
 
 come. 
 Nor did my search of liberty begin. 
 Till my black hairs were changd upon my chin; 
 Nor Amaryllis would vouchsafe a look. 
 Till Galatea's meaner bonds I broke. 
 Till then a hapless, hopeless, homely swain, 
 I sought not freedom, nor aspired to gain : 
 Though many a victim from nay folds was 
 
 bought. 
 And many a cheese to country markets brought. 
 Yet all the little that I got, I spent, 
 And still returned as empty as I went. 
 
 MELIBCEUS. 
 
 We stood amaz'd to see your mistress mourn. 
 Unknowing that she pin'd for your return : 
 We wonder"d why she kept her fruit so long. 
 For whom so late th' ungather'd apples hung. 
 But now the wonder ceases, since I see 
 She kept them only, Tityrus, for thee. 
 For thee the bubbling springs afpear'd to mourn. 
 And whisp'ring pines made vows for thy return. 
 
 TITTHUS. 
 
 What should I do ? — While here I was enchain'd 
 No glimpse of godlike liberty remain'd ; 
 Nor could I hope, in any place but there, 
 To find a god so present to my prayer. 
 There first the youth of heavenly birth I view'd, 
 For whom our monthly victims are renew'd. 
 He heard my vows, and graciously decreed 
 My grounds to be restor'd, my former flocks to 
 feed. 
 
 MELIBCEUS. 
 
 fortunate old man ! whose farm remains — 
 For yovt sufficient — and requites your pains ; 
 Though rushes overspread the neighb'ring plains. 
 Though here the marshy grounds approach your 
 
 fields. 
 And there the soil a stony harvest yields. 
 Your teeming ewes shall no strange meadows 
 
 try. 
 Nor fear a rot from tainted company. 
 Behold! yon bord'ring fence of sallow trees 
 Is fraught with flow'rs,' the flow'rs are fraught 
 
 with bees 
 The busy bees, with a soft murmuring strain, 
 Invite to gentle sleep the lab'ring swain. 
 While, from the neighb'ring rock, with rural 
 
 songs. 
 The pruners voice the pleasing dream prolongs, 
 Stock-doves and turtles tell their ara'rous pain, 
 And from the lofty elms, of love complain. 
 
 TITTRUS. 
 
 Th' inhabitants of seas and skies shall change, 
 And fish on shore, and stags in air, shall range, 
 The banishd Parthian dwell on Arar's brink. 
 And the blue German shall the Tigris drink, 
 Ere I, forsaking gratitude and truth. 
 Forget the figure of that godlike youth. 
 
 MELIBIEUS. 
 
 But we must beg our bread in climes unknown. 
 Beneath the scorching or the freezing zone : 
 And some to far Oaxis shall be sold. 
 Or try the Libyan heat, or Scythian cold ; 
 The rest among the Britons be confin'd ; 
 A race of men from all the world tlisjoin'd. 
 0! must the wretched exiles ever mourn, 
 Nor, after length of rolling years, return? 
 Are we condenm"d by fate's unjust decree, 
 No more our houses and our homes to see? 
 Or shall we movmt again the rural throne, 
 And rule the country kingdoms once our own; 
 Did we for these barbarians plant and sow ? 
 On these, on these, our happy fields bestow ? 
 Good heaven! what dire efi'ects from civil discord 
 
 flow! 
 Now let me graft my pears, and prune the vine ; 
 The fruit is theirs, the labour only mine. 
 Farewell, my pastures, my paternal stock. 
 My fruitful fields, and my more fruitful flock! 
 No more, my goats, shall I behold you climb 
 The steepy cliffs, or crop the flow'ry thyme ! 
 No more extended in the grot below. 
 Shall see you browsing on the mountain's brow 
 The prickly shrubs; and after on the bare, 
 Leap down the deep abyss, and hang in air. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 429 
 
 No more my sheep shall sip the morning dew ; 
 No more my sonj^ shall plesise the rural crew : 
 Adieu my timelul i)ipc ! and all the world, adieu! 
 
 TITTRUS. 
 
 This night, at least, with me forget your care, 
 Chestnuts, and curds and cream shall be your 
 
 fare : 
 The carpet-ground shall be with leaves o'er- 
 
 spread ; 
 And boughs shall weave a cov'ring for your head. 
 For see, yon sunny hill the shade extends; 
 And curling smoke from cottages ascends. 
 
 The poet celebrates the birth-day of Saloni- 
 nus, the son of Pollio, born in the consulship of 
 his father, after the taking of Salonce, a city in 
 Dalmatia. 
 
 SiciLTAX Muse, begin a loftier strain! 
 
 Though lowly shrubs, and trees, that shade the 
 
 plain, 
 Delight not all ; Sicilian Muse, prepare 
 To make the vocal woods deserve a consul's care. 
 The last great age, foretold by sacred rhymes, 
 Renews its finished course: Saturnian times 
 Roll round again ; and mighty years, begun 
 From their first orb, in radiant circles run. 
 The T)ase degenerate iron offspring ends; 
 A golden progeny from heaven descends. 
 chaste Lucina ! speed the mother's pains. 
 And haste the glorious birth ! thine own Apollo 
 
 reigns ! 
 The lovely boy, with his auspicious face. 
 Shall Pollio's consulship and triumph grace: 
 Majestic months set out with him to their ap- 
 pointed race. 
 The father banished virtue shall restore; 
 And crimes shall threat the guilty world no more. 
 The son shall lead the life of gods, and be 
 By gods and heroes seen, and gods and heroes 
 
 see. 
 The jarring nations he in peace shall bind, 
 And with paternal virtues rule mankind. 
 Unbidden, earth shall wreathing ivy bring. 
 And fragrant herbs, the promises of spring. 
 As her first offerings to her infant king. 
 The goats with strutting dugs shall homeward 
 
 speed, 
 And lowing herds secure from lions feed. 
 His cradle shall with rising flowers be crown'd ; 
 The serpent's brood shall die; the sacred groimd 
 Shall weeds and poisonous plants refuse to bear; 
 Each common bush shall Syrian roses wear. 
 But when heroic verse hig youth shall raise, 
 And form it to hereditary praise. 
 Unlaboured harvests shall the fields adorn, 
 And clustered grapes shall blush on every thorn; 
 The knotted oaks shall showers of honey weep. 
 And through the matted grass the liquid gold 
 
 shall creep. 
 Yef, of old fraud some footsteps shall remain : 
 The merchant still sh.all plough the deep for 
 
 gain; 
 
 Great cities shall with walls be compassed round; 
 And sharpened shares shall vex the fruitful 
 
 ground ; 
 Another Tipliys shall new seas explore; 
 Another Argo land her chiefs upon th' Iberian 
 
 shore ; 
 Another Helen other wars create, 
 And great Achilles urge the Trojan frtte. 
 And when to ripened manhood he shall grow, 
 The greedy sailor shall the seas forego: 
 No keel shall cut the waves for foreign ware; 
 For every soil shall every product bear. 
 The labouring hind his oxen shall disjoin: 
 No plough shall hurt the glebe, no pruning-hook 
 
 the vine ; 
 Nor wool shall in dissembled colours shine; 
 But the luxurious father of the fold. 
 With native purple, and unborrowed gold. 
 Beneath his pompous fleece shall proudly sM'eat; 
 And under Tyrian robes the lamb shall bleat. 
 The Fates, when they this happy web have 
 
 spun. 
 Shall bless the sacred clue, and bid it smoothly 
 
 rim. 
 Mature in years, to ready hononrs move, 
 of celestial seed ! O foster-son of Jove ! 
 See, labouring Nature calls thee to sustain 
 The nodding frame of heaven, and earth, and 
 
 main ! 
 See, to their base restored, earth, seas, and air; 
 And joyful ages, from behind, in c'rowding ranks 
 
 appear. 
 To sing thy praise, would heaven my breath pro- 
 long, 
 Infusins: spirits worthy such a song, 
 Not Thracian Orpheus should transcend my lays, 
 Nor Linus, crowned with never-fading bays; 
 Though each his heavenly parent should inspire, 
 The Muse instruct the voice, and Phoebus tune 
 
 the lyre. 
 Should Pan contend in verse, and thou my theme 
 Arcadian judges should their god condemn. 
 Begin, auspicious boy! to cast a'lout 
 Thy infant eye, and, with a smile, thy mother 
 
 single out. 
 Thy mother well deserves that short deliuht, 
 The nauseous qualms of ten long months and 
 
 travail to requite. 
 Then smile! the frowning infant's doom is read: 
 No god shall crown the board, nor goddess bless 
 
 the bed. 
 
 PlI.\H.MACEUTni.4. 
 
 This Pastoral contains the songs of Damon and 
 AlphesibcEus. The first of them bewails the loss 
 of his mistress, and repines at the success of his 
 rival Mopsus. The other repeats the charms of 
 some enchantress, who endeavoured by her spells 
 and magic to make Daplmis in love with her. 
 
 The mournful Muse of two despairing swains. 
 The love rejected, and the lovers' pains; 
 To which the savage lynxes listening stood; 
 The rivers stood in heaps, and stopp'd the run- 
 ning flood ; 
 
430 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 The hungry herd their needful food refuse — 
 Of two des:pairing svaiiis, I sing the mournful 
 Muse. 
 Great Pollio! thou, for whom thy Rome pre- 
 pares 
 The ready triumph of thy finish"d wars, 
 AVhether Timavus or th' Illyrian coast, 
 Whatever land or sea, thy presence boast ; 
 Is there an hour in fate reserv'd for me. 
 To sing thy deeds in numbers worthy thee; 
 In numl)ers like to thine, could I rehearse 
 Thy lofty tragic scenes, thy labour'd verse; 
 The ■world another Sophocles in thee. 
 Another Homer should behold in me. 
 Amidst thy laurels let this ivy twine: 
 Thine was my earliest muse ; my latest shall he 
 thine. 
 Scarce from the world the shades of night 
 withdrew ; 
 Scarce were the flocks refresh'd with morning 
 
 dew, 
 When Damon, stretch"d beneath an olive shade, 
 And wildly staring upwards, thus inveigh'd 
 Against the conscious gods, and curs'd the cruel 
 
 maid : 
 "Star of the morning, why dost thou delay? 
 Come, Lucifer, drive on the lagging day. 
 While I my Nisa"s perjur'd faith deplore — 
 Witness, ye povv"rs, by whom she falsely swore! 
 The gods, alas ! are witnesses in vain : 
 Yet shall my dying breath to heaven complain. 
 Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian 
 strain. 
 "The pines of Mccnalus, the vocal grove. 
 Are ever full of verse, and full of love : 
 They hear tlie hinds, they hear their god com- 
 plain. 
 Who stifler'd not the reeds to rise in vain. 
 Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mumalian 
 strain. 
 •' Mopsus triumplis ; he weds the willing fair. 
 When such is Nisa's choice, what lover can 
 
 despair ? 
 Now griffons join with mares ; another age 
 Shall see the hound and hind their thirst as- 
 suage, 
 Promiscuous at the spring. Prepare the lights, 
 O Mopsus! and perform the bridal rites. 
 Scatter thy nuts among the scrambling boys: 
 Thine is the night, and thine the nuptial joys. 
 Fg thee the sun ileclines: O happy swain! 
 Bc^in with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian 
 strain. 
 "0 Nisa! jnstly to thy choice condemned! 
 Whom hast thou taken, whom hast thou con- 
 
 temn'd ? 
 For him, thou hast refus'd my browsing herd, 
 Scorii'd my thick eyebrows and my shaggy beard. 
 Unhapjiy Damon sighs and sings in vain. 
 While Nisa thinks no god regards a lover's pain. 
 Begin witVi me, my flute, the sweet Manalian 
 strain. 
 '• I view'd thee first (how fatal was the view !) 
 And le'. thee where the rudily M'ildings grew, 
 High on the planted hedge, and wet \\ itii morn- 
 ing dew. 
 
 Then scarce the bending branches I could win ; 
 The callow down began to clothe my chin. 
 I saw ; I perish'd ; yet indulg'd my pain. 
 Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Msenalian 
 
 strain. 
 '• I know thee. Love ! In deserts thou wert bred, 
 And at the dugs of savage tigers fed ; 
 Alien of birth, usurper of the plains! 
 Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mjenalian 
 
 strains : 
 " Relentless Love the cruel mother led, 
 The blood of lier unhappy babes to shed : 
 Love lent the sword; the mother struck the blow; 
 Inhuman she; but more inhuman thou: 
 Alien of birth, usurper of the plains! 
 Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Msenalian 
 
 strains. 
 " Old doting Nature, change thy course anew ; 
 And let the trembling lamb the wolf pursue: 
 Let oaks now glitter with Hesperian fruit, 
 And purple daffodils from alder shoot; 
 Fat amber let the tamarisk distil. 
 And hooting owls contend with swans in skill; 
 Hoarse Tityrus strive widi Orpheus in the woods, 
 And challenge fam'd Arion on the floods. 
 Or, oh ! let Nature cease, and Chaos reign ! 
 Begin with me, my flute, the sweet JNIanalian 
 
 strain. 
 " Let earth be sea ; and let the \vlielming tide 
 The lifeless limbs of luckless Damon hide: 
 Farewell, ye secret woods, and shady groves, 
 Haunts of my youth, and conscious of my loves ! 
 From yon high cliff I plunge into the main : 
 Take the last present of thy dying swain: 
 And cease, my silent flute, the sweet Msenalian 
 
 strain."' 
 Now take your turns, ye Muses, to rehearse 
 His friends complaints, and mighty magic verse. 
 " Bring running water : bind those altars round 
 With fillets, and with vervain strew the ground: 
 Make fat with frankincense the sacred fires 
 To re-infla]ne my Daphnis with desires. 
 "Tis done: we want but verse. — Restore, my 
 
 charms. 
 My ling'riiig Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 
 '•Pale Phcebe, drawn by verse, from heaven 
 
 descends ; 
 And Circe changd with charms Ulysses' friends. 
 Verse breaks the ground, and jienetrates the 
 
 brake, 
 And in the winding cavern splits the snake. 
 Verse fires the frozen veins. — Restore, my charms, 
 My ling'ring Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 "Around his waxen image first I wind 
 Three woollen fillets, of three colours join'd ; 
 Thrice bind about his thrice-devoted head. 
 Which round the sacred altar thrice is led. 
 Unequal numbers please the gods. — My charms, 
 Restore my Daphnis to my lonuing arms. 
 
 ••Knit with three knots the fillets: knit them 
 
 straight ; 
 Then sav, 'These knots to love I consecrate.' 
 Haste, Amaryllis, haste! — Restore, my charms. 
 My lovely Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 
 '■As fire this figure hardens, made of clay, 
 And this of wax with fire consumes away, 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 431 
 
 Snoh let tlie soul of cruel Daphnis be — 
 Hani to the rest of women, soft to me. 
 Crumble the sacred mole of salt and corn ; 
 Next in the fire the bays with brimstone burn ; 
 And, while it cracdcles in the sulphur, say, 
 'This I for Daphnis burn; thus Daphnis burn 
 
 away ! 
 This laurel is his fate." — Restore, my charms, 
 My lovely Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 
 "As when the raging heifer, through the grove, 
 Stung with desire, pursues her wand'ring love; 
 Faint, at the last, she seeks the weedy pools. 
 To quench her thirst, and on the rushes rolls ; 
 Careless of night, unmindful to return ; 
 Such fruitless fires perfidious Daphnis burn, 
 While I so scorn his love! — Restore, my charms. 
 My ling'ring Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 
 " These garments once were his, and left to me, 
 The pledges of his promis'd loyalty, 
 Which underneath my threshold 1 bestow. 
 These pawns, O sacred earth ! to me my Daphnis 
 
 owe. 
 As tliese were his, so mine is he. — My charms. 
 Restore their ling'ring lord to my deluded arms. 
 '• These pols'nous plants, for magic use design'd, 
 (The noblest and the best of all the baneful kind,) 
 Old Maris brought me from the Pontic straiid. 
 And cuU'd the mischief of a bounteous land. 
 Smear'd with these pow'rful juices, on the plain. 
 He howls a wolf among the hungry train ; 
 And oft the mighty necromancer boasts. 
 With these to call from tombs the stalking ghosts, 
 And from the roots to tear the standing corn, 
 Which, whirFd aloft, to distant fields is borne : 
 Such is the strength of spells. — Restore, my 
 
 charms. 
 My ling'ring Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 
 " Bear out these ashes; cast them in the brook ; 
 Cast backwards o'er your head ; nor turn your 
 
 look : 
 Since neither gods nor godlike verse can move, 
 Break out, ye smother'd fires, and kindle smo- 
 
 ther'd love. 
 Exert your utmost pow'r, my ling'ring charms, 
 And force my Daphnis to my longing arms. 
 
 ••See while my last endeavours I delay, 
 The waking -ashes rise, and round our altars 
 
 play I 
 Run to the threshold, Amaryllis — hark! 
 Our Hylax opens, and begins to bark. 
 Good heaven! may lovers what they wish believe? 
 Or dream their wishes, and those dreams deceive ? 
 No more ! my Daphnis comes ! no more my 
 
 charms ! 
 He conies, he runs, he leaps, to my desiring 
 
 arms.'' 
 
 GALLFs.agreat patron of Virgil, antl an excellent 
 poet, was very deeply in love with one Cytheris, 
 whom he calls Lycoris, and who had forsaken 
 liim for the com])any of a soldier. The ])oet 
 therefore supposes his friend Gallus retired, in 
 his height of melancholy, into the solitudes of 
 Arcadia, where he represents him in a very lan- 
 guishing condition, with all the rural deities 
 
 about him, pitying his hard usage, and condoling 
 his misfortunes. 
 
 Thy sacred succour, Arethusa, bring. 
 To crown my labour, ('tis the last I sing,) 
 Which proud Lycoris may with pity view : — 
 The muse is mournful, though the numbers few. 
 Refuse me not a verse, to grief and Gallus due. 
 So may thy silver streams beneath the tide, 
 Unmix'd with briny seas securely glide. 
 Sing then my Gallus, and his hopeless vow.s ; 
 Sing, while my cattle crop the tender browse. 
 The vocal grove shall answer to the sound. 
 And Echo, from the vales the tuneful voice re- 
 bound. 
 What lawns or woods withheld you from his aid, 
 Ye nymphs, when Gallus was to love betray'd, 
 To love, unpitied by the cruel maid? 
 Not steepy Pindus could retard your course, 
 Nor cleft Parnassus, nor the Aonian source : 
 Nothing that owns the Muses could suspend 
 Your aid to Gallus: — Gallus is their friend. 
 For him the lofty laurel stands in tears. 
 And hung with humid pearls the lowly shrub 
 
 appears. 
 MfT-nalian pines the godlike swain bemoan. 
 When, spread beneath a rock, he sigh'd alone ; 
 And cold Lycpeus wept from every dropping stone; 
 The sheep surround their sheplierd, as he lies: 
 Blush not, sweet poet, nor the name despise : 
 Along the streams, his flock Adonis fed ; 
 And yet the queen of beauty blest his bed. 
 The swains and tardy neat-herds came, and last, 
 Menalcas, wet with beating winter mast. 
 Wond'ring, they ask'd from whence arose thy 
 
 flame ; 
 Yet more amaz'd, thy own Apollo came. 
 Flush'd were his cheeks, and glowing were his 
 
 eyes : 
 •'Is she thy care? Is she thy care?'' he cries. 
 " Thy false Lycoris flies thy love and thee. 
 And, for thy rival, tempts the raging sea. 
 The forms of horrid war, and heaven's incle- 
 mency." 
 Silvanus came : his brows a country crown 
 Of fennel, and of nodding lilies, drown. 
 Great Pan arriv'd ; and we beheld hiin too, 
 His cheeks and temples of vermilion hue. 
 •'Why, Gallus, this immod'rate grief?'' he cried: 
 '• Think'st thou that love with tears is satisfied 1 
 The meads are sooner drunk with morning dews, 
 The bees with flow'ry shrubs, the goats with 
 
 browse." 
 Unmov'd, and with dejected eyes, he mourn'd : 
 He paus'd, and then these broken words return'd : 
 "'Tis past; and pity gives me no relief: 
 But ytiu, Arcadian swains, shall sing my grief 
 And on your hills my last complaints renew : 
 So sad a song is only worthy you. 
 How light would lie the turf upon my Ijreast, 
 If you my sufi"rii)gs in your songs exprest! 
 Ah ! that your birth and bus'ness had been 
 
 mine — 
 To pen the sheep, and press the swelling vine! 
 Had Phyllis or Amynta caus'd my pain, 
 Or any nymphs or shepherd on the plain, 
 
432 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 (Though Phyllis brown, though black Amynta 
 
 were, 
 Are violet.s not sweet, because not fair?) 
 Beneath the sallows and the shady vine, 
 My loves had mix'd their pliant limbs with mine : 
 Phyllis with myrtle wreaths had crown"d my hair. 
 And soft Amynta sung away my care. 
 Come see what pleasures in our plains abound ; 
 The woods, the fountains, and the flow'ry ground. 
 As you are beauteous, were you half so true, 
 Here could I live, and love, and die with only 
 
 you. 
 Now I to fighting fields am sent afar. 
 And strive in winter camps with toils of war. 
 While you, (alas, that I should find it so!) 
 To slum my sight, your native soil forego, 
 And climb the frozen Alps, and tread th' eternal 
 
 snow. 
 Ye frosts and snows, her tender body spare ! 
 Those are not limbs for icicles to tear. 
 For me, the wilds and deserts are my choice ; 
 The Muses, once my care; my once harmonious 
 
 voice. 
 There will I sing, forsaken and alone : 
 The rocks and hollow caves shall echo to my 
 
 moan. 
 The rind of ev'ry plant her name shall know ; 
 And, as the rind extends, the love shall grow. 
 Then on Arcadian mountains will I chase 
 (Mix'd with the woodland nymphs) the savage 
 
 race ; 
 Nor cold shall hinder me, with horns and hounds 
 To thread the thickets, or to leap the mounds, 
 And now metliinks o"er steepy rocks I go, 
 And rush through sounding woods, and bend the 
 
 Parthian bow ; 
 As if with sports my sufi'iings I coitld ease, 
 Or by my pains the God of Love appease. 
 My frenzy changes : I delight no more 
 On mountain tops to chase the tusky boar : 
 No game but hopeless love my thoughts pursue : 
 Once more, ye nymphs, and songs, and sounding 
 
 woods, adieu ! 
 Love alters not for its his hard decrees. 
 Not though beneath the Thracian clime we 
 
 freeze. 
 Or Italy's indulgent heaven forego, 
 And in mid-winter tread Sithonian snow ; 
 Or, when the barks of elms are scorch'd, we keep 
 On Meroe's burning plains the Libyan sheep, 
 In hell, and earth, and seas, and heaven above, 
 Love conquers all ; and we must yield to Love. 
 
 FROM GEORGIC I. 
 
 INVOCATION OF THE RURAL DEITIES ADDRESS TO 
 
 AUGUSTUS CESAR ADVICE TO FARMERS, ETC. 
 
 Whence joyful harvests spring, what heavenly 
 
 sign 
 Invites the plough, and weds to elms the vine ; 
 How flocks and herds by kindly nurture thrive, 
 And sage experience stores the frugal hive ; 
 I sing. — Ye lights of heaven! whose sov'reign 
 
 sway 
 Leads on the year around th' ethereal way : 
 
 Bacchus and Ceres ! if beneath your reign 
 Earth chang'd Chaonian mast for golden grain 
 And the new grape's uncultur'd vintage gave 
 To mix its sweets with Acheloiis' wave ; 
 Ye, too, whose gifts my votive numbers guide. 
 Fauns and fair Dryads that o'er swain's preside; 
 Thou ! whose dread trident shook the womb of 
 
 earth, 
 And loos'd the steed, that, neighing, sprang to 
 
 birth ; 
 Guardian of woods! whose herds, a snowy train 
 Browse the rich shrubs that shade the Csean 
 
 plain ; 
 God of the fleece, whom grateful shepherds love, 
 Oh ! leave thy native haunt, Lycseus" grove ; 
 And if thy Msenalus yet claim thy care. 
 Hear, Tegetean Pan ! th' invoking pray'r. 
 Pallas ! whose voice the olive rais'd ; and thou, 
 Fam'd youth, inventor of the crooked plough! 
 Sylvanus! waving high, in triumph borne, 
 A sapling cypress with its roots uptorn ; 
 Oh come, protectors of the land ! descend ; 
 Each god and goddess, at my call attend. 
 Who rear new fruits that earth spontaneous 
 
 yields, 
 Or feed with prosperous show'rs the cultiir'd 
 
 fields. 
 Thou, Csesar, chief; where'er thy voice ordain 
 To fix mid gods thy yet unchosen reign — 
 Wilt thou o'er cities stretch thy guardian sway, 
 While earth and all her realms thy nod obey? 
 The world's vast orb shall own thy genial pow'r, 
 Giver of fruits, fair sun, and fav'ring show'r ; 
 Before thy altar grateful nations bow, 
 And with maternal mj^rtle wreathe thy brow; 
 O'er boundless ocean shall thy pow'r prevail, 
 Thee her sole lord, the world of waters hail ! 
 Rule, where the sea remotest Thide laves, 
 While Tethys' dow'rs thy bride with all her 
 
 waves. 
 Wilt thou 'mid Scorpius and the Virgin rise, 
 And, a nev/ star, illume thy native skies'? 
 Scorpius, e'en now, each shrinking claw confines, 
 And more than half his heaven to thee resigns. 
 Where'er thy reign (for not, if hell invite 
 To wield the sceptre of eternal night, 
 Let not such lust of dire dominion move 
 Thee, Ca?sar, to resign the realm of Jove; 
 Though vaunting Greece extol th' Elysian plain. 
 Whence weeping Ceres wooes her child in vain.) 
 Breathe fav'ring gales, my course propitious 
 
 guide. 
 O'er the rude swain's uncertain path preside, 
 Now, now invok'd assert thy heav'nly birth, 
 And learn to hear our prayers, a god on earth. 
 When first young Zephyr melts the mountain 
 
 snow. 
 And Spring unbinds the mellow'd mould below, 
 Press the deep plough, and urge the groaning 
 
 team. 
 Where the worn shares "mid opening furrows 
 
 gleam. 
 Lands, o'er whose soil maturing time has roll'd 
 Twice summer's heat, and twice the wintry cold, 
 Profuse of wealth th' insatiate swain repay. 
 And crown with bursting barns his long delay. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 433 
 
 Ere virgin earth first feel tli' invading share, 
 The genius of the place demands thy care ; 
 The culture, clime, the winds, and changeful 
 
 skies, 
 And what each region bears, and what denies. 
 Here golden harvests wave, there vineyards 
 
 glow, 
 Fruit bends the bough, or herbs unbidden grow. 
 Her saffron Tmolus, lud her ivory, boasts. 
 Spice wings the gale round Saba's balmy coasts, 
 The naked Clialybes their iron yield. 
 The pow'rful Castor scents the Pontic field 
 While famd Epirus rears th' equestrian breed. 
 Born for tlie palm that crowns. th' Olympic steed. 
 In stated regions, from th' eternal Cause, 
 Such Nature's compact, and unbroken laws; 
 Such from the time when first Deucalion hurl'd 
 The stones that peopled the deserted world ; 
 Whence a new race arose upon the earth, 
 Hard as the stubborn flint that gave them birth. 
 
 Not to dull Indolence and transient Toil 
 
 Great Jove resign'd the conquest of the soil ; 
 
 He sent forth Care to rouse the human heart, 
 
 And sharpen genius by inventive art; 
 
 Nor tamely sutfer'd earth beneath his sway 
 
 In unproductive sloth to waste away. 
 
 Ere Jove bore rule, no labour tam'd the ground. 
 
 None dar'd to raise the fence, or mark the bound ; 
 
 Nature to all, her fruits profusely bore. 
 
 And the free earth, unask'd, but gave the more. 
 
 Jove to the serpent fang new venom gave, 
 
 Commanded wolves to prowl, and swell'd the 
 
 wave. 
 From leaves their honey shook, conceal'd the 
 
 fire. 
 And bad free streams, that flow'd with wine, 
 
 retire. 
 Jove will'd, that use, by long experience taught. 
 Should force out various arts by gradual thought, 
 Strike from the flint's cold womb the latent 
 
 flame, 
 And from the answering furrow nurture claim. 
 Then first the hollow'd alder prest the stream. 
 And sailors watch'd each star's directing beam. 
 Numberd the host of heaven, and nam'd the train 
 Pleiads, and Hyads, and the northern Wain ; 
 Then snares, and slime, the bird and beast be- 
 
 tray'd. 
 And deep mouth'd hounds enclos'd the forest 
 
 glade. 
 Light meshes lash'd the stream with circling 
 
 sweep. 
 And weighted nets descending dragg'd the deep. 
 Then iron, and the saw's shrill grating edge, 
 Eas'd the rude eftbrts of the forceful wedge. 
 Thus rous'd by varied wants new arts arose. 
 And strenuous Labour triumphed at its close. 
 
 Five zones the heaven surround, the centre 
 
 glows 
 With fire unquench'd, and suns without repose, 
 At each extreme the poles in tempest tost, 
 Dark with thick show'rs, and unremitting frost. 
 Between the poles and blazing zone confin'd 
 Lie climes to feeble man by heaven assign'd. 
 5."; 
 
 'Mid these the signs their course obliquely run, 
 And star the figur'd belt that binds the sun. 
 High as at Scythian cliffs the world ascends. 
 Thus low at Libyan plains its circle bends. 
 Here heaven's bright lustre gilds our glowing 
 
 pole. 
 There gloomy Styx, and hell's deep shadows roll ; 
 Here the huge Snake in many a volume glides, 
 Winds like a stream, and either Bear divides, 
 The Bears that dread thoir flaming lii;l)ts to lave, 
 And slowly roll above the ocean wave. 
 There night, eternal night, and silence sleep. 
 And gathering darkness broods upon the deep. 
 Or from our clime, when fades the orient ray. 
 Then bright Aurora beams returning day. 
 And when above Sol's fiery coursers glow. 
 Late Vesper lights his evening star below. 
 
 A STORM irr AUTUMX. 
 
 Why should I mark each storm, and starry sign, 
 When milder suns in autumn suift decline? 
 Or what new cares await the vernal hour. 
 When spring descends in many a driving show'r, 
 While bristle into ear the bearded plains. 
 And the green stalk distends its milky grains'? 
 E'en in mid autumn, while the jocund hind 
 Bade the gay field the gather'd harvest bind, 
 Oft have I seen the war of winds contend. 
 And prone on earth th' infuriate storm descend, 
 Waste far and wide, and, by the roots uptorn. 
 The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne, 
 While in dark eddies, as the whirlwind past, 
 The straw and stubble flew before the blast. 
 Column on colinnn prest in close array. 
 Dark tempests thicken o'er the watery way, 
 Heaven pour'd in torrents rushes on the plain. 
 And with wide deluge sweeps the floating grain; 
 The dikes o'erflow, the flooded channels roar, 
 Vext ocean's foaming billows rock the shore: 
 The Thunderer, thron'd in clouds, with darkness 
 
 crown'd. 
 Bares his red arm, and flashes lightnings round. 
 The beasts are fled : earth rocks frotn pole to pole. 
 Fear walks the world, and bows th' astouish'd 
 
 soul : 
 Jove rives with fiery bolt Cerannia's brow. 
 Or Athos blazing 'mid eternal snow. 
 The tempest darkens, blasts redoubled rave, 
 Smite the hoarse wood, and lash the howling 
 
 wave. 
 
 PROGNOSTICS OF THE WEATHER, WITH A PIGRES- 
 SION OX THE PHOIIIGIES WHICH FOLLOWED THE 
 DEATH OF JULIUS CiRSAR AND PREDICTED THE 
 HORRORS OF THE CIVIL WARS. 
 
 Alike, with orient beams, or western rays. 
 The sun, that ne'er deceives, each change dis- 
 plays : 
 Sure signs, that cannot err, the sun attend. 
 At day's first dawn, or when the stars ascend. 
 Where many a spot his rising lustre shrouds, 
 Half-hid the disk beneath a veil of clouds. 
 Thick from the south the gathering deluge sprung, 
 Foams the strown corn, and herds, and woods 
 among, 
 
 2M 
 
434 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 If dull at morn with many a scatter'd beam 
 Through vaporous haze the light obscurely 
 
 gleam, 
 Or if Aurora lift her mournful head, 
 And with pale asjject leave Tiihonus' bed, 
 In vain the leaf sliall curl ripe clusters round. 
 While rattling hailstones from the roof rebound. 
 But chief observe along his western way 
 Each hue that varies at the close of day. 
 The rains descend, when dusky tints prevail; 
 When red discolour, dread th" infuriate gale: 
 If spots immingle streak'd with gleams of fire. 
 Rain and fierce wind to vex tlie W'orld conspire : 
 That night my anclior'd bark shall sleep on shore, 
 W^hile loud and long the storms o'er ocean roar. 
 But if the orb, at dawn that brightly rose, 
 With radiant beam its course of glory close, 
 Dread not the threat'ning clouds, their transient 
 
 gloom 
 Shall fly before the north's dispersing plume. 
 Last, what late eve shall bring, what ^vinds pre- 
 vail ; 
 And all that Auster plans with humid gale. 
 View, where the sun's prophetic signs display, 
 Nor dare mistrust the God that gives the day. 
 He, too, with frequent portent deigns presage 
 Blind tumult, treasons, and intestine rage. 
 He too, when Rome deplor'd dead Ccesar's fate, 
 Felt her deep woe, and mourn'd her hapless 
 
 state ; 
 What time in iron clouds he veil'd his light, 
 And impious mortals fear'd eternal night. 
 Nor less dread signals shook the earth and wave, 
 Birds of ill note, and dogs dire omens gave; 
 How oft we view'd, along th' expanse below. 
 Wide seas of fire down shatter'd ..Etna flow. 
 While globes of flame the red volcano threw. 
 And fervid rocks that lighten'd as they flew ! 
 O'er all the sky, Germania heard afar 
 The bray of arms that clang'd th" aerial war; 
 The Alpine regions of eternal snow 
 Reel'd with unusual earthquakes to and fro: 
 Shapes wondtous pale by night were seen to 
 
 rove. 
 And a loud voice oft shook the silent grove. 
 Fix'd are the floods ; earth widely yawns below, 
 And beasts, in human accents, murmured woe. 
 The ivory weeps 'mid consecrated walls. 
 Sweat in big drops from brazen statues falls; 
 Monarch of rivers, raging far and wide, 
 Eridanus pours forth his torrent tide, 
 Down the wide deluge whirls uprooted woods. 
 And wastes the earth with desohuing floods. 
 That time nor ceas'd the wells with blood to 
 
 flow, 
 Nor spotted entrails ceas'd foreboding woe, 
 Nor ceas'd loud echoes nightly to repeat 
 The wolf's fierce howl along th' unpeopled 
 
 street. 
 Such lightnings never fir'd th' tmclonded air, 
 Nor comets trail'd so oft their blazing hair. 
 For this in equal arms Philippi view'd 
 Rome's kindred bands again in gore embru'd. 
 The gods twice fed broad Haemus with our host, 
 And bath'd with Roman blood th' Emathian 
 
 coast. 
 
 There, after length of time, the peaceful swain 
 Who ploughs the turf that swells o'er armies 
 
 slain, 
 Shall cast, half-gnaw'd with rust, huge pikes in 
 
 air. 
 And hollow helms that clash beneath the share. 
 And 'mid their yawning graves amaz'd behold 
 Large bones of warriors of gigantic mould. 
 
 Ye native gods! ye tutelary pow'rs 
 Of Tuscan Tiber, and the Roman tow'rs ; 
 Thou Vesta ! and thou founder of our name. 
 Guide of our arms and guardian of our fame, 
 Oh ! let this youth a prostrate world restore. 
 Save a wreck'd age, and soothe to peace once 
 
 more. 
 Enough, enough of blood already spilt 
 Sates vengeful gods for Troy's perfidious giult; 
 Already envious heavens, thee, Ctrsar, claim, 
 And deem the earth subdu'd below thy fame ; 
 Where, right and wrong in mad confusion hurl'd, 
 New crimes alarm, new battles thin the world. 
 None venerate the plough : waste earth deplores 
 Her swains to slaughter dragg'd on distant 
 
 shores ; 
 Far, far they fall from their uncultur'd lands. 
 And scythes transform'd to falchions arm their 
 
 hands ; 
 Here mail'd Euphrates, there Germania bleeds. 
 Death neighb'ring towns to kindred slaughter 
 
 leads ; 
 Mars arms the globe. 
 
 FROM GEORGIC II. 
 
 PRAISES OF ITALY. 
 
 Yet nor the Median groves, nor rivers roU'd, 
 Ganges, and Hermus, o'er their beds of gold. 
 Nor Ind, nor Bactra, nor the blissful land 
 Where incense spreads o'er rich Panchaia's sand, 
 Nor all that fancy paints in fabled lays, 
 Oh native Italy! transcend thy praise. 
 Though here no bulls beneath th' enchanted 
 
 yoke 
 With fiery nostrils o'er the furrow smoke. 
 No hydra teeth embattled harvest yield, 
 Spear and bright hemlet bristling o'er the field ; 
 Yet golden corn each laughing valley fills, 
 The vintage reddens on a thousand hills, 
 Luxuriant olives spread from shore to shore. 
 And flocks unnumber'd range the j)astures o'er. 
 Hence the proud war-horse rushes on the foe, 
 Clitumiius ! hence thy herds, more white than 
 
 snow. 
 And stately bull, that, of gigantic size, 
 Supreme of victims on the altar lies, 
 
 i Bath'd in thy .sacred stream oft led the train, 
 
 : When Rome in pomp of triumph deck'd the 
 
 I fane. 
 
 ! Here spring perpetual leads the laughing hours, 
 
 ! And winter wears a wreath of summer liow'rs; 
 
 i Th' o'erloaded branch twice fills with fruits the 
 
 year. 
 And twice the teeming flocks their offspring rear. 
 Yet here no lion breeds, no tiger strays, 
 
 I No tempting aconite the touch betrays, 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 435 
 
 No monstrous snake the uncoiling volume trailSj 
 Or gathers, orb on orb, his iron scales. 
 But many a peopled city towers around, 
 And many a rocky clitl" with castle crown'd. 
 And many an antique wall, wliose hoary brow 
 0"er shades the flood, that guards its base below. 
 Say, shall I add, enclosed on every side 
 What seas defend thee, and what lakes divide? 
 Thine, mighty Larius ? or, with surging waves. 
 Where, fierce as ocean, vex'd Bcnacus raves? 
 Havens and ports, the Lucrine's added mole, 
 Seas, that enraged along their bulwark roll, 
 Where Julian waves reject th' indignant tide, 
 And Tuscan billows down Averniis glide? 
 Here brass and silver ores rich veins expose. 
 And pregnant mines exliaustless gold enclose. 
 Blest in thy race, in battle unsubdued 
 The Marsian youth, and Sabine's hardy brood. 
 By generous toil the bold Ligurian's steeFd, 
 And spear-armed Volsoi tliat disdain to yield: 
 Camilli, Marii, Decii, swell thy line. 
 And, thunderbolts of war, each Scipio, thine ! 
 Thou Ca'sar ! chief, whose sword the East o'er- 
 
 powers, 
 And the tamed Indian drives from Roman towers. 
 All hail, Saturnian earth! hail, loved of fame. 
 Land rich in fruits, and men of mighty name ! 
 For thee I dare the sacred founts explore, 
 For thee the rules of ancient art restore. 
 Themes, once to glory raised, ai^ain rehearse. 
 And pour through Roman towns th' Ascrsean 
 
 verse. 
 
 Spiiixg comes; new bud the field, the flower, 
 
 the grove ; 
 Earth swells, arul claims tVie genial seeds of love: 
 iEther, great lord of life, his wings extends, 
 And on the bosom of his bride descenils 
 With showers prolific feeds the vast embrace 
 That fills all Nature, and renews her race. 
 Birds on their branches hymeneals sing. 
 The pastur'd meads with bridal echoes ring; 
 Bath"d in soft dew, and farm"d by western winds. 
 Each field its bosom to the gale unbinds: 
 The blade dares boldly rise new suns beneath, 
 The tender vine puts forth her flexile wreath. 
 And, freed from south era blast and northern 
 
 shower. 
 Spreads without fear each blossom, leaf, and 
 
 flower. 
 Yes! lovely Spring! wiien rose the world to 
 
 birth,» 
 Thy genial radiance dawn'd upon the earth. 
 Beneath thy balmy air creation grew, 
 And no black gale on infant Nature blew. 
 When herds first drank the light, from Earth's 
 
 rude bed 
 When first man's iron race uprear'd its head, 
 When firsttobeaststhe wild and wood were given. 
 And stars unnumber'd i)av"d th' e,\.panae of 
 
 heaven : 
 
 * All the poets favour the opinion of the worlil's crea- 
 tion in the spring. — See Ovid. Met. 1. 107 ; Bvckanan's 
 Calenthr Mtice ; and above all, Milton'.'? exquisite lines 
 in his Paradise Lost, IV. 264, and VII. 370. 
 
 Then, as through all the vital spirit came, 
 
 And the globe leem'd throughout its mighty 
 
 frame. 
 Each tender being, struggling into life. 
 Had droop'd beneath the elemental strife, 
 But thy mild season, each extreme between, 
 Soft nurse of Nature, gave the golden mean. 
 
 ON THE ADVANTAGES OF rnil.OSOIMIIC AL STUDIES, 
 AND ON THE INNOCENCE, SECUKITT, AND USE- 
 FULNESS OF A COUNTIIT-LIFE. 
 
 Ah! happy swain! ah! race belov'd of heaven! 
 If known tliy bliss, how gseat the blessing given ! 
 For thee just Earth from her prolific btds 
 Far from wild war spontaneous nurture sheds. 
 Though nor high doiTies through all their portals 
 
 wide 
 Each morn disgorge the flatterer's refluent tide; 
 Though nor thy gaze on gem-wrought columns 
 
 rest ; 
 The brazen bust, and gold-embroider'd vest; 
 Nor poisonirig Tyre thy snowy fleeces soil, 
 Nor casia taint thy uncorrupted oil ; 
 Yet peace is thine, and life that knows no 
 
 change. 
 And various wealth in Nature's boundless range, 
 The grot, the living fount, the umbrageous glade. 
 And sleep on banks of moss beneath the shade ; 
 Thine, all of tame and wild, in lawn and field, 
 That pastur'd plains or savage woodlands yield: 
 Content and patience youth's long toils assuage, 
 Repose and reverence tend declining age: 
 There gods yet dv/ell, and, as she fled mankind. 
 There Justice left her last lone trace behind. 
 
 Me first, ye Muses! at whoso hallow'd fane 
 Led by pure love I consecrate my strain, 
 Me deign accept! and to my search unfold 
 Heaven and her host in beauteous or<ler roll'd, 
 Th' eclipse that dims the golden orb of day, 
 And changeful labours of the lunar ray; 
 Whence rocks the earth, by what vast force the 
 
 main 
 Now bursts its barriers, now subsides again ; 
 Why wintry suns in 0(;ean swiftly fade. 
 Or what delay retards night's ling'riiig sliade. 
 But, if chill blood r(>strain th' audjitious flight, 
 .And Nature veil her wonders from my sight, 
 Oh may I yet, by fame forgotten, dwell 
 By gushing fount, wild wood, and shadowy 
 
 dell! 
 Oh lov'd Sperchean plains, Taygetian heights. 
 That ring to virgin choirs in Bacchic riles! 
 Hide me some god, where Ha>mi:s' vales extend. 
 And lioun<lless shade and solitude defend! 
 How blest tiic sage ! whose soul can pierce 
 
 eaid) cause 
 Of changeful Nature, and her wondrous laws; 
 Who tramples far ben<>ath his foot, and braves 
 Fate, and stern death, and hell's rcsouudiug 
 
 waves. 
 Blest too, who knows each god, that guards the 
 
 swain 
 Pan, old Sylvanus. and the Dryad train. 
 Not the proud fasces, nor the pomp of kings. 
 Discord, that bathes in kindred blood her wings; 
 
436 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Not arming Istrians that on Dacia call ; 
 Triumphant Rome, and kingdoms doom'd to fall, 
 Envy's wan gaze, or Pity's bleeding tear, 
 Disturb the tenor of his cahn career. 
 From fruitful orchards, and spontaneous fields 
 He culls the wealth that willing Nature yields. 
 Far from tlie tumult of the madd"ning bar. 
 And iron jiistioe, and forensic war. 
 
 Some vex with restless oar \\ ild seas unknown. 
 Some rush on death, or cringe around the throne; 
 Stern warriors here beneath their footstep tread, 
 The realm that rear'd them, and the hearth that 
 
 fed, 
 To quaff from gems, apd lull to transient rest. 
 The wound that bleeds beneath the Tyrian vest. 
 These brood with sleepless gaze o"er buried gold, 
 The rostrum these with raptur'd trance behold. 
 Or wonder when repeated plaudits raise, 
 'Mid peopled theatres, the shout of praise; 
 These with grim joy, by civil discord led, 
 And stain'd in battles where a brother bled, 
 From their sweet household hearth in exile roam, 
 And seek, beneath new suns, a foreign home. 
 The peasant yearly ploughs his native soil ; 
 The lands, that blest his fathers, bound his toil, 
 Sustain his lierd, his country's wealth increase. 
 And see his children's children sport in peace. 
 Each change of season leads new plenty round ; 
 Now lambs, and kids along the meadow bound, 
 Now every furrow loads with corn the plain, 
 Fruits bend the bough, and garners burst with 
 
 grain ; 
 Or where with purple hues the upland glows. 
 Autumnal suns on mellowing grapes repose. 
 His swine return at winter's evening hours, 
 Gorg'd with the mast that every forest showers ; 
 For him the arbute reddens on the Wood, 
 And mills press forth the olive's gushing flood ; 
 Chaste love his household guards, and round his 
 
 knees 
 Fond infants climb the foremost kiss to seize ; 
 Kine from their gushing udders nectar shed, 
 And wanton kids high toss their butting head. 
 He too, at times, when flames the rustic shrine. 
 And, rang'd around, his gay compeers recline, 
 In grateful leisure, on some festive day, 
 Stretch'd on the turf delights his limbs to lay. 
 To loose from care his disencumber'd soul. 
 And hail thee, Bacchus ! o'er the circling bowl ; 
 Or on the elm the javelin's mark suspend. 
 When for the prize his hardy hinds contend. 
 Bare their huge bodies, and, untaught to yield. 
 To wrestling toils provoke tlie challeng'd field. 
 Such was the life that ancient Sabines chose ; 
 Thus Rome's twin founders, thus Etruria rose : 
 Thus Rome herself, o'er all on earth renown'd, 
 Rome, whose sev'n hills her towery walls sur- 
 round ; 
 Such, ere DictEean Jove's new sceptre reign'd. 
 And slaughter'd bulls, the unhallow'd banquet 
 
 stain'd ; 
 Such was the life on earth that Saturn knew, 
 Ere mortals trembled as the trumpet blew. 
 Or started as the anvil rung afar, 
 ■When clattering hammers shap'd the sword of 
 war. 
 
 FROM GEORGIC III. 
 
 APOTHEOSIS OF ATTGUSTtrs HORSES CHAHIOT- 
 
 RACE BREED AND CARE OF CATTLE, SHEEP, ETC. 
 
 I FIRST, from Pindus' brow, if life remain, 
 "Will lead the Muses to the Latian plain. 
 For thee my native Mantua! twine the wreath, 
 And bid the palm of Idumcea breathe. 
 Near the pure stream, amid the green cham- 
 paign, 
 I first will rear on high the marble fane. 
 Where, with slow bend, broad Mincio's waters 
 
 stray. 
 And tall reeds tremble o'er his shadowy way. 
 High in the midst great Caesar's form divine, 
 A present god, shall consecrate the shrine. 
 For him my robes shall flame with Tyrian dye, 
 Wing'd by lour steeds my hundred chariots fly. 
 All Greece shall scorn her fam'd Olympian field; 
 Here lash the courser and the CEestus wield. 
 I, I myself will round my temple twine 
 The olive wreath, and deck with gifts the shrine, 
 E'en now the solemn pomp I joy to lead. 
 E'en now I see the sacred heifers bleed, 
 Now view the turning scenes, and now behold 
 Th' inwoven Britons lift the purple fold. 
 There, on the ivory gates with gold embost 
 My skill shall sculpture the Gargarian host, 
 And o'er the foe, in radiant mail array'd, 
 Quirinus poising his victorious blade. 
 Here the vast Nile shall wave with war, and 
 
 there 
 Columns of naval brass ascend in air. 
 Niphates here, there Asia's captive tow'rs, 
 And Parthia's flight conceal'd in arrowy show'rs : 
 From different nations double trophies torn. 
 And from each shore Rome twice in triumph 
 
 borne. 
 There busts shall breathe, and Parian statues trace 
 From sire to son Jove's long-descending race : 
 Assaraous and Tros shall lead the line. 
 And Cyntliius, architect of Troy divine. 
 Envy shall there th' avenging Furies dread. 
 The Stygian lake with flaming sulphur fed, 
 The racking wheel, Ixion's snaky coil. 
 And the rebounding rock's eternal toil. 
 
 Meanwhile, Maecenas! by thy genius fir'd, 
 I dare the arduous task by thee inspir'd ; 
 Through woods, and lawTis, untrodden urge my 
 
 way. 
 While murmuring Dryads chide the long delay. 
 Oh come ! Cithteron shouts her mountains o'er, 
 Rous'd by Taygetian hounds deep echoes roar, 
 The neighing steeds o'er Epidaurus, bound 
 Rock rings to rock, and woods to woods resound. 
 Erelong, my voice, attun'd to loftier lays. 
 Shall swell th' adventurous song to Caesar's 
 
 praise. 
 His glowing battles consecrate to fame. 
 And spread from age to age the Julian name. 
 Does Fame for Pisa's palm the courser rear. 
 Or Labour yoke for wealth the vigorous steer. 
 With prescient care the destin'd mother trace, 
 And form'd like her expect the promis'd race. 
 If curling horns the crescent backward bend. 
 And bristly hairs beneath the ear defend, 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 437 
 
 If on her knees the pendulous dew-lap float, 
 Large front, and brawny nock vast strength de- 
 note : 
 If length'ning flanks to boundless measure spread, 
 Fierce her rough look, and bold her bull-like 
 
 head. 
 If snowy spots her mottled body stain, 
 And her indignant brow the yoke disdain. 
 With tail wide sweeping, as she stalks the dews; 
 Thus, lofty, large, and long, the mother choose. 
 
 Crown the fourth year with hymeneal flow'rs: 
 Age, ere the tenth, laments its languid pow'rs. 
 Inglorious cares the dregs of life infest, 
 Unfit for labour, and by love unblest. 
 In youth's full force, by glowing pleasure led. 
 Loose the fierce savage to the genial bed ; 
 There let him leave, ere yet to dcatli resign'd, 
 Some bold memorial of his strength behind. 
 Swift fades our joyful prime: 'tis fled away; 
 Close on its wings, pant sickness, sore decay, 
 Relentless pains that lingering life consume, 
 And age, tliat calls on death to close the tomb. 
 Haste, as t!iy herds thus sickens, droop, and 
 
 die, 
 Still with new tides the stream of life supply, 
 Prevent their loss, a race successive rear. 
 Nor mourn with vain regret time's fleet career. 
 Choose with like care the courser's generous 
 
 breed. 
 And from his birth prepare the parent steed. 
 As yet a colt he stalks with lofty pace, 
 And balances his limbs with flexile grace : 
 First leads the way, the threatening torrent 
 
 braves ; 
 And dares the unknown arch that spans the 
 
 waves. 
 Light on his airy crest his slender head, 
 His belly short, his loins luxuriant spread : 
 Muscle on muscle knots his brawny breast. 
 No fear alarms him, nor vain sliouts molest. 
 But at the clash of arms, his ear afar 
 Drinks the deep sound, and vibrates to the war: 
 Flames from each nostril roll in gather'd stream. 
 His quivering limbs with restless motion gleam. 
 O'er his right shoulder, floating full and fair, 
 Sweeps his thick mane, and spreads its pomp of 
 
 hair : 
 Swift works his double spine, and eartli around 
 Rings to his solid hoof that wears the ground. 
 Such ardent Cyllarus, whose rage restrain'd 
 Foam'd on the bit by Spartan Pollux rein'd : 
 Such the fam'd steeds that whirl'd Pelides' car. 
 And o'er the battle wing'd the God of war: 
 And such the shape, that erst the God dissuis'd, 
 When Saturn fled, by jealous rage surpris'd : 
 Loose in the gale his mane luxuriant play'd, 
 And Pclion echoed as the courser neigh'd. 
 But when with age, or lonir disease opprest, 
 Hide him at home in not inglorious rest : 
 Release the veteran, from the toil remove, 
 Nor urge reluctant to laborious love ; 
 Vain rage, that flashes with delusive fires, 
 And, like the stubble, blazes and expires. 
 Then, chief, their years, and dauntless spirit 
 
 trace, 
 What breed ennobles, and what honours grace, 
 
 If victory's glorious prize their speed inflame. 
 Or how, when conquer'd sinks their crest with 
 
 shame. 
 Swift at the signal, lo ! the chariots bound. 
 And bursting through the barriers seize the 
 
 ground. 
 Now with high hope erect the drivers dart, 
 Now fear exhausts their jialpitating heart. 
 Prone o'er loose reins they lash th' extended 
 
 steed, 
 And the wing'd axle flames beneath their speed. 
 Now, low they vanish from the aching eye, 
 Now soar in air, and seem to gain the sky. 
 Where'er they rusli along the hidden ground, 
 Dust in thick whirlwinds darkens all around. 
 Each presses each ; in clouds from all behind. 
 Horse, horseman, chariots thundering in the wind, 
 Breath, flakes of foam, and sweat from every 
 
 pore 
 Smoke in the gale, and stream the victor o'er. 
 Thus glorious thirst of praise their spirit fires, 
 And shouting victory boundless strength inspires. 
 
 Bold Erichthonius first four coursers yok'd, 
 And urged the chariot as the axle smok'd. 
 The skilful Lapitlioe first taught to guide 
 The mounted steeds, and rein their temper'd 
 
 pride, 
 Taught under arms to prance, and wheel around. 
 Press their proud steps, and paw th' insulted 
 
 ground. 
 Alike their labours, and alike they claim 
 Youth's boundless force and luiabated flame. 
 Ah ! vain in age that Argos' vaunted breed, 
 Bore in triumphant palms th' exulting steed. 
 That oft he chas'd the foe, or claim'd his birth 
 From Neptune's race, that burst the womb of 
 
 earth. 
 
 But if Bellona claim impetuous steeds. 
 And press to victory where the battle bleeds. 
 Or Fame, where Alpheus laves the field of Jove, 
 Urge the wing'd car amid th' Olympian grove ; 
 Flash on his infant eye the blazing shield. 
 Pour on his ear the thunder of the field, 
 Sound the shrill trumpet, roll the iron car. 
 And rattle o'er his stall the reins of war; 
 Teach him to love thy praise, and proudly stand, 
 And arch his crest beneath thy flattering hand. 
 Wean'd from his dam, yet weak in youthful year, 
 Thus train'd to martial sounds the courser rear; 
 Soothe with soft reins, nor dare his lip to wound, 
 Till summer rolls her fourth revolving round. 
 Then wheel in graceful orbs his pac'd career, 
 Let step by step in cadence strike the car, 
 His flexile limbs in curves alternate prance, 
 And seem to labour as they slow advance: 
 Then give, imcheck'd, to fly with loosen'd rein. 
 Challenge the winds, and wing th' unpriuted 
 
 plain. 
 Thus Boreas, rushing fierce from Scythia's coast, 
 Bears on his wings dark winter's gather'd host: 
 The undulating fields and billowy grain 
 Float in the breeze that bristles all the plain ; 
 The high woods roar, long surges swell the deep. 
 While his fleet wings at once the earth and ocean 
 sweep. 
 
 2m2 
 
438 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Round Elis" course, thus rear"d, the victor steed 
 Shall foam with blood, and triumph in his speed, 
 Or, fearless rushing 'mid ranks of war, 
 O'er routed armies wheel the Belgic car. 
 Now, train'd to will, and pliant to command, 
 Let generous grain his growing strength expand : 
 The pamper'd steed, ere tam'd, each blow dis- 
 dains. 
 Scorns the harsh curb, and grinds the galling 
 reins. 
 But, to confirm their force, in youth remove 
 Thy steeds, and bullocks from destructive love. 
 Banish the bull in distant dells unseen. 
 Where rivers spread their torrent tide between, 
 Where intervening rocks prone clitfs oppose. 
 Or lonely stalls his sullen strength enclose. 
 He views the bride, each look new passion fires. 
 Slow wastes his strength, and melts his vain 
 
 desires. 
 When noontide flames, forgetful of the shade. 
 His restless footsteps bruise th' untasted blade ; 
 And oft her wanton look and wily charm 
 The rival challengers to battle arm. 
 The beauteous heifer indolently roves. 
 And feeds at leisure 'mid luxuriant groves: 
 Onward they rush, and from alternate blows 
 Dark blood through gushing wounds the earth 
 
 o'erflows. 
 Front clashd on front their battering horns re- 
 bound, 
 Olympus bellows, and the woods resound. 
 The combat o'er, insatiate rage remains. 
 The vanquish'd exile roams o'er distant plains ; 
 Mourns o'er his shame, and each ignoble scar. 
 That marks th" insulting victor's might in war. 
 And much he mourns, sad wanderer, forc'd to 
 
 rove. 
 In battle unaveng'd, and lost to love. 
 And leave, oft turning ere he quits the plain, 
 The native honours of his proud domain. 
 Hence by long toils collecting all his might, 
 He disciplines his strength to wage the fight: 
 Wears through each sleepless night his rocky 
 
 bed. 
 And strays all day on prickly rushes fed : 
 Now tries, contending 'gainst th' invaded oak, 
 His iron horns, and batters stroke by stroke ; 
 Butts at the wind, and with impatient hoof. 
 Prelude of battle, whirls the earth aloof; 
 Then, gathering all his vigour, seeks his foe. 
 Drives unexpected on, and levels at a blow. 
 Thus faintly seen along the distant deep, 
 Gleams the white wave, and heaves its surgy 
 
 sweep, 
 Swells as it rolls, 'mid bellowing caverns roars. 
 And bursts a mountain on the deUig'd shores : 
 Vex'd ocean boils, and, high in columns driven. 
 Whirls the dark sand, and clouds the face of 
 heaven. 
 Thus all that wings the air and cleaves the flood, 
 Herds that or graze tVie plain or haunt the wood. 
 Rush to like flames, when kindred passions 
 
 move, 
 And man and brute obey the pow'r of love. 
 The headlong lioness, by frenzy stung. 
 Then fiercer roams, regardless of her young: 
 
 Then hideous bears with slaughter strow the 
 
 wood ; 
 Then the grim tigress rages, gorg'd with blood ; 
 And where 'mid Libyan sands the wanderers 
 
 stray, 
 Woe! to the traveller on his lonely vi^ay. 
 Lo! where the steeds, all wild with joy, inhale 
 The well-known scent, and quiver in the gale; 
 Them nor fierce blows, rude bit, or galling rein. 
 Nor interposing crags or clifls restrain, 
 Nor floods that wear the rock's o'erhanging sides. 
 And whirl the mountains down their torrent 
 
 tides. 
 Prone darts the boar from deep Sabellian shades. 
 Whets his fierce tusks, the batter'd earth invades, 
 Wears the gnarl'd oak, and, rubbing to and fro, 
 Steels his tough shoulders, and invites the blow. 
 What dares not ardent youth, when love in- 
 spires. 
 Boils in his blood, and pours unsated fires? 
 Lonely at midnight, when the tempest raves, 
 Fearless he flings his bosom to the waves: 
 Above dire thunder rolls, seas boil below. 
 Round his pale head portentous lightnings glow ; 
 Nor heaven, nor seas, nor roaring winds appal, 
 Nor billows breaking on the rocks recall. 
 Nor his deserted parents' boding cry. 
 Nor on his corse the virgin doom'd to die. 
 Why should I sing how furious dogs engage. 
 Wars that fierce wolves and spotted lynxes wage. 
 Or how, each native fear by love subdued, 
 Stags clash their antler'd brows, and bathe with 
 
 blood? 
 But chief unbounded rage the mare inspires, 
 Venus herself there centres all her fires; 
 Such, as erst rag'd, when Potnian coursers tore 
 Sad Glaucus' limbs, and dyed their jaws in gore. 
 Love o'er Gargarian heights, Ascanian waves. 
 Climbs the steep mountain, and the torrent 
 
 braves ; 
 In spring-tide most, when kindling Nature reigns, 
 And warmth reviving throbs in fuller veins, 
 Lo ! on the mountain brow the mares inhale 
 With fiery lip soft Zephyr's amorous gale ; 
 And oft, unwedded, pregnant with the wind. 
 Scour o'er the cliffs, and leave the vales behind : 
 Not where bright Eurus blows, they shape their 
 
 flight. 
 Not where the sun first pours the golden light, 
 But where keen Boreas dwells, or Auster shrouds 
 Heaven's gloomy cope, and chills with weeping 
 
 clouds ; 
 There, while the genial warmth their bosom fills. 
 The sov'reign filter, drop by drop, distils. 
 That, mixt with herbs, and crown'd with baleful 
 
 spell, 
 Pluck'd by vile stepdames, drugs the bowl of hell. 
 
 But time irreparable flies away. 
 While in the maze of love we fondly stray. 
 Cease we of herds — new themes new cares 
 
 require ; 
 Rough goats and fleecy flocks the song inspire : 
 Rough goats and flocks, ye swain, due notice claim; 
 Here fix your labours, here aspire to fame. 
 I, conscious of the toil, will strive to raise 
 The lowly theme, a-nd grace with labour'd lays : 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 439 
 
 Tranc'd by sweet love, o'er unfrequented heights, 
 Where no smooth trace to Cast;ily invites, 
 I pierce the wild by mortal loot iintrod, 
 And lonely commune with th' Aonian god. 
 
 Now, venerable Pales! raise the song: 
 Goddess! to thee the pastoral lays belong. 
 First I ordain the fodder'd sheep to feed 
 In slielt'ring cotes till summer shades the mead; 
 Oft o"er the rugged earth fresh stubble spread, 
 And litter frequent fern beneath their tread, 
 Lost piercing ice the tender cattle wound, 
 Cramp their chill limbs, and spread contagion 
 
 round. 
 Next to the goats I turn : the arbute bring. 
 And draw fresh water from the fountain spring. 
 And, fenc'd from bitter blasts, their stalls oppose 
 Where full the noontide sun in winter glows. 
 When cold Aquarius, as he quits the sphere. 
 Turns his prone urn, and floods the parting year. 
 Swains ! tend the lowly goat : though scorn'd 
 
 of fame. 
 Their useful breed no slight protection claim. 
 Let rich Miletus vaunt her fleecy pride. 
 And weigh with gold her robes in purple dy'd, 
 Thou tell thy goats, what countless swarms 
 
 abound ! 
 Lo! milk in gushing tides o'erflows the ground! 
 The more th" insatiate pails new loads demand. 
 New floods exhaustless froth beneath thy hand. 
 Clothed in their shaven beards, and hoary hair, 
 Fence of the ocean spray and nightly air. 
 The miserable seaman breasts the main, 
 And camps uninjur'd press the marshy plain. 
 By day, unwatch'd, they crop their distant food. 
 Thorns of the rock, and biakes that shag the wood. 
 Mindful at night return without a guide. 
 And lead their kids that bound on either side, 
 While their swohi dugs, distended with their 
 
 store. 
 Scarce pass the threshold of thy shelt'ring door. 
 The less their wants, the more each want supply. 
 Nor with harsh scorn their little claims deny ! 
 Oh! shield them from the ice and drifting snows, 
 Beneath thy roof their tender limbs repose, 
 Scatter their sylvan food, nor day by day 
 Refuse, all winter long, their dole of hay. 
 When Spring invites, and Zephyr fans the mead, 
 Alike both flocks to glades and pastures lead. 
 While the bright star, fair harbinger of day. 
 Gems the gray rime that silvers o'er the -way. 
 Fresh the fair prime, and sweet a vernal dawn 
 To sip the dewdrops that impearl the lawn. 
 But when the sun's bright beams fierce radiance 
 
 fling, 
 And the loud woods with shrill cicadas ring. 
 Haste, to deep wells and spreading waters guide, 
 Or oaken troughs by living rills supplied. 
 When noontide flames, down cool sequester'd 
 
 glades. 
 Lead, where some giant oak the dell o'ershades. 
 Or where the gloom of many an ilex throws 
 The sacred darkness that invites repose. 
 When sinks the sun beneath the purple main, 
 Rills and refreshing meads delight again; 
 Then Vesper stilly breathes the temperate gale, 
 Cool dewy moonbeams gleam along the vale, 
 
 Responsive shores the halcyon's note prolong. 
 And woodland echoes swell the linnet's song. 
 Why should my verso recount the Libyan 
 
 swains, 
 And huts thin strewn along the widecdiamj)aii.ms1 
 Morn after morn, and night succeeding night. 
 Through all tlie changes of the lunar light. 
 Where'er their flocks 'mid houseless deserts stray, 
 And wander o'er th' illimitable way. 
 The Libyan shepherds bear, as on they roam. 
 Their arms, their dog, their bow, their god, their 
 
 home. 
 Not otherwise, in arms, untaught to yield, 
 Rome's burden'd soldiers seek the iron field. 
 And fix, ere Fame's swift voice prevents their 
 
 way, 
 'Mid vinsuspccting hosts their war array. 
 
 But where Maotis Scythia's waste divides, 
 And turbid Ister rolls his yellow tides. 
 And Rhodope, o'er many a realm outspread. 
 Turns to the pole, and bends her craggy bed ; 
 There stalls enclose the herds that never stray, 
 No grass the field, no leaves the wood array. 
 But earth lies hid by ridgy drifts opprest, 
 And snow, seven ells in height, deforms her 
 
 breast. 
 There blasts that freeze, and winter, ever dwell ; 
 Mist and eternal fog the sun repel ; 
 Whether his fiery steeds high heaven ascend, 
 Or westering to the wave, his chariot bend. 
 Prone floods suspended in mid course congeal, 
 Fix'd ocean rattles to the iron wheel. 
 Where tossing vessels cross'd the billowy main. 
 O'er the smooth ice swift glides the loaded wain ; 
 Brass snaps in sunder, and th' infolding vest 
 Hardens like mail, and stitlens on the breast. 
 There crystal chains at once whole pools confine, 
 And hatchets cleave the congelated \vine; 
 Breath palpable to touch at once descends. 
 And rigid ice from matted beards depends. 
 Meanwhile o'er all the air snows press on snows, 
 And the huge limbs of stateliest bulls enclose ; 
 Numb'd with new weight, and press'd in droves, 
 
 the deer 
 Scarce o'er the mass their topmost antlers rear; 
 Nor toils their flight impede, nor hounds o'ertake, 
 Nor plumes of purple dye their fears awake ; 
 But while in vain, beneath the load opprest. 
 They heave the mount thai gathers on their breast. 
 Them, front to front, at will the murderers slay, 
 Shout to their groan, and bear the spoil away. 
 There, while delv'd caves their shelter'd limbs 
 
 enclose. 
 The hordes in careless indolence repose, 
 O'er fires undying oaks gigantic raise, 
 And scorn the distant sun's forgotten blaze, 
 Mock with harsh fruit the grape's nectareous 
 
 bowls. 
 While half the year one long carousal rolls. 
 Beneath the polar sky's keen fury cast, 
 Cut by the snow and ruile Rhipaan blast, 
 Shagg'd with yellow skins that crown'd their 
 
 chase. 
 Thus live the wild barbarian's lawless race. 
 
 Is wool thy care ? from thorns the flock restrain, 
 The wood too rough, and too luxuriant plain ; 
 
440 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Soft let the fleece in silver tresses flow, 
 And fair the sire as flakes of falling snow: 
 But if dark hues his ton<jue and palate stain, 
 Drive the lone exile from thy spotless train, 
 Lest the dim blemish that the sire defil'd 
 Infect the fleece, and stain the motley child. 
 Thus once, if rightly bards the song attune. 
 Pan wav'd the snowy wool that lur'd the moon ; 
 Nor, when the wanton woo"d thee to the grove. 
 Didst thou, fair Cynthia! scorn the bribe of love. 
 Nor slight thy dogs: on whey the mastiifs feed, 
 Molossian race, and hounds of Spartan breed ; 
 Beneath their sleepless eye repose in peace, 
 No wolf, the shepherd gone, shall thin thy fleece ; 
 No thief by night invade thy lonely home. 
 Nor round thy haunts the wild Iberian roam. 
 Go, the fleet hare and flying hind pursue, 
 Rous'd from deep fens the bristly boar subdue. 
 Urge the tall stag alojig th' aerial height. 
 And, shouting, press within thy toils his flight. 
 
 FROM GEORGIC IV. 
 
 THE MASAGEMElfT OF BEES THEIH ACTIONS, 
 
 INSTINCTS, BATTLES, &C. THE CORTCIAN OLD 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Now, while th' aerial honey's nectar dews, 
 Gift of a god, once more, invite the muse, 
 Mnecenas ! yet again, with fond regard 
 Crown the long labours of thy votive bard. 
 Worthy of wonder, here at large I trace 
 Th' unfolded genius of the insect race. 
 Their chiefs illustrious, and th' embattled field, 
 Manners and arts, that peaceful studies yield. 
 The lowly theme shall claim no vulgar praise, 
 If Phoebus deign to hear th' invoking lays. 
 First, seek a station where no ruthless gale 
 Dares the still hive and shelter'd bees assail : 
 Lest, as they homeward droop, o'erdone with 
 
 toil, 
 Inclement blasts their loaded flight despoil ; 
 Far from the sheep that wasted earth devour. 
 The wanton kids that bound from flower to 
 
 flower, 
 Heifers whose roving steps the meadow bruise. 
 And dash from springing herbs nectareous dews. 
 There let no lizard arm'd with burnish'd scale, 
 Merops, or bird of prey, their walls assail. 
 Nor Procne haunt, whose conscious plumes attest 
 The blood-stain'd hand imprinted on her breast. 
 These widely waste, and, seiz'd upon the wing, 
 To feed their nest the bee in triumph bring. 
 But there let pools invite with inoss array'd. 
 Clear fount and rill that purls along the glade. 
 Palms o'er their porch a grateful gloom extend. 
 And the wild olive's shelt'ring boughs defend. 
 There when new kings the swarms at springtide 
 
 lead, 
 And bursting myriads gladden all the mead. 
 Dim banks at noon may lure to cool repose, 
 And trees with hospitable arms enclose. 
 If sleep the stagnant pools, or currents flow. 
 Huge stones, and willows 'mid the water throw; 
 That if a breeze across their passage sweep, 
 And headlong drive the loiterer to the deep, 
 
 On many a bridge the bee may safely stand. 
 And his wet plumes to summer suns expand. 
 There all her sweets let savoury exhale. 
 Thyme breathe her soul of fragrance on the gale. 
 In dulcet streams her roots green casia lave. 
 And beds of violets drink at will the wave. 
 Alike, if hollow cork their fabric form. 
 Or flexile twigs enclose the settled swarm. 
 With narrow entrance guard the shelter'd cell, 
 And summer suns and wintry blasts repel. 
 Dire each extreme : or winter cakes with cold. 
 Or summer melts the comb to fluid gold. 
 Hence not in vain the bees their domes prepare, 
 And smear the chinks that open to the air, 
 With flowers and fucus close each pervious p>ore, 
 With wax cement, and thicken o'er and o'er. 
 Stor'd for this use they hive the clammy dew, 
 And load their garners with tenacious glue. 
 As birdlime thick, or pitch that slow distils 
 In loitering drops on Ida's pine-crown'd hills, 
 And oft ('tis said) they delve beneath the earth. 
 And nurse in gloomy caves their hidden birth. 
 Amid the crumbling stone's dark concave dwell. 
 Or hang in hollow trees their airy cell. 
 Thou aid their toil ! with mud their walls o'erlay. 
 And lightly shade the roof with leafy spray. 
 There let no yew its baleful shadow cast. 
 Nor crabs on glowing embers taint the blast ; 
 Far from their roof deep fens that poison breathe. 
 Thick fogs that float from beds of mud beneath. 
 Caves from whose depth redoubled echoes rise. 
 And rock to rock in circling shout replies. 
 Now when the sun beneath the realms of night 
 Dark winter drives, and robes the heavens with 
 
 light, 
 The bees o'er hill and dale, from flow'r to flow'r. 
 In grove and lawn the purple spring devour, 
 Sip on the wing, and lightly brushing lave 
 Their airy plumage in th' undimpled wave. 
 Hence with imusual joy in fondling mood 
 Cling to their nests, and rear their cherish'd 
 
 brood, 
 With wondrous art their waxen toil renew, 
 And thicken as they hive the honied dew, 
 Lo ! from their cells when swarms through oether 
 
 streain. 
 And float at noon along the liquid beam. 
 And on the breeze that rings beneath their flight 
 Draw out in darkling clouds their airy height, 
 Observe thein as they wind aloft their way. 
 Where groves o'ershade, and crystal fountains 
 
 play; 
 There strew each rifled herb, that breathes of 
 
 spring. 
 There the bruis'd balm and honeysuckle fling ; 
 And tinkling raise, while echo rings around. 
 And Cybele's tost cymbals shrilly sound. 
 Soon shall they haunt the medicated seat. 
 And to their inmost cells unseen retreat. 
 
 But if impending feuds the hive alarm. 
 When doubtful kings the frantic nation arm. 
 Tumultuous crowds the dread event prepare, 
 And palpitating hearts that beat to war ; 
 Deep brazen peals the lingering crowds excite. 
 And harsh the voice like trumpets hoarse in 
 
 fight. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 441 
 
 Onward they troop, and, brandishing their wings, 
 Fit their fierce claws, and point tlieir poison'd 
 
 stinjrs ; 
 Throng to th' imperial tent, their king surround. 
 Provoke the foe, and loud defiance sound. 
 At length when spring expands th" unclouded 
 
 day, 
 Through opening portals bursts their wing'd 
 
 array ; 
 Fierce clash the clu.st'ring orbs, air rings around. 
 Prone from the conflict myriads strow the ground. 
 Thick as tempestuous hail from summer show'rs, 
 Or streaming acorns dasVi'd from oaken bow'rs. 
 Amid the press of war, th' encount'ring kings, 
 Mark'd by the pomp and spreading of their 
 
 wings, 
 While boundless souls their little bosom swell, 
 To deeds of glory either host impel ; 
 Fiercely they fight, unknowing how to yield, 
 Till force resistless drive them from the field. 
 Yet at thy will these dreadful conflicts cease, 
 Throw but a little dust, and all is peace. 
 
 But when the leaders at thy voice recede, 
 Slay the weak rebel ! bid th' usurper bleed ! 
 Slay, ere he waste the hive. Defend the throne. 
 And let the rightful monarch reign alone. 
 Doubt you the sov"reign ? lo 1 his golden mail, 
 His stately port, and brightly burnish'd scale ; 
 The vile usurper 'mid a kindred throng 
 Scarce trails his loathsome breadth of paunch 
 
 along. 
 Such as their kings, the two-fold nation view, 
 These base of aspect rough, and squalid hue. 
 Like the tir'd wretch in summer's sultry day 
 That spits with fiery lip the dust away ; 
 These gaily shine, all-glorious to behold. 
 Spangled with equal spots, and dropt with gold; 
 Be these thy care ; for thee their grateful toil 
 Pours at due times the tributary spoil. 
 Drains the pure comb, whose liquid sweets 
 
 refine 
 The grape austere, and tame the temper'd wine. 
 
 If wavering swarms in jether wildly roam, 
 Scorn their cold cells, and quit the unfinish'd 
 
 comb. 
 Check their vain sport, to peace the state restore. 
 Pluck off" their monarch's wings, the flight is o"er ; 
 No rebel dares beyond the limits stray. 
 Or pluck the standard from his tent away. 
 Let gardens, breathing sweets, the bee invite 
 To fix on satTron beds his bounded flight; 
 Priapus there with willow sickle drive 
 The birds and plunderers from th' entrusted 
 
 hive ; 
 Then bring the pine from rocky cliffs sublime. 
 There plant with toil-worn hand the mountain 
 
 thyme, 
 Fruits, odiferous shrubs, and fragrant flow'rs. 
 And freshen, as they bloom, with frequent 
 
 show'rs. 
 Ah favrite scenes ! but now with gather'd sail 
 I seek the shore, nor trust th' inviting gale ; 
 Else had my song your charms at leisure trac'd. 
 And all the garden's varied arts embrac'd ; 
 Simg, twice each year, how Pa-stan roses blow, 
 How endive drinks the rill that purls below, 
 56 
 
 How twisting gourds pursue their mazy way. 
 
 Swell as they creep, and widen into day; 
 
 How verdant celery decks its humid bed. 
 
 How late-blown flowrets round narcissus spread ; 
 
 The lithe acanthus and the ivy hoar. 
 
 And myrtle blooming on the sea-beat shore. 
 
 Yes, I remember, where Gala-sus leads 
 His flood dark-winding through the golden meads, 
 Where proud Qibalia's tow'rs o'erlook the plain, 
 Once I beheld an old Corycian swain; 
 Lord of a little spot, by all disdain'd, 
 Where never labring yoke subsistence gain'd, 
 Where never shepherd gave his flock to feed. 
 Nor Bacchus dar'd to trust th' ungrateful mead. 
 He there with scanty herb.s the bushes crown'd, 
 And planted lilies, vervain, poppies round ; 
 Nor envied kings, v\hen late, at twilight close, 
 Beneath his peaceful shed he sought repose, 
 And cuU'd from earth, with changeful plenty 
 
 stor'd, 
 Th' unpurchas'd feasts that pil'd his varied board. 
 At spring-tide first he pluck'd the full-blown rose, 
 From autumn first the ripen'd apple chose ; 
 And e'en when winter split the rocks with cold. 
 And chain'd th' o'erhanging torrent as it roH'd, 
 His blooming hyacinths, ne'er known to fail. 
 Shed sweets unborrow'd of the vernal gale, 
 As 'mid their rifled beds he wound his way. 
 Chid the slow sun and Zephyrs long delay. 
 Hence first his bees new swarms unniunber'd 
 
 gave, 
 And press'd from richest combs the golden wave; 
 Limes round his haunts difl'us'd a grateful shade, 
 And verdant pines with many a cone array'd ; 
 And every bud, that gem'd the vernal spray 
 Swell'd into fruit beneath th' autumnal ray. 
 He lofty elms, transpos'd in order, plac'd. 
 Luxuriant pears at will his alleys grac'd. 
 And grafted thorns that blushing plums dis- 
 
 play'd. 
 And planes that stretch'd o'er summer feasts 
 
 their shade. 
 Ah! fav'rite scenes! to other bards resign'd, 
 I leave your charms, and trace my task assign'd. 
 Now learn what added arts the race improve, 
 The meed of old conferr'd by grateful Jove ; 
 What time the bees, by clanging cymbals led, 
 In Cretan caves the nursling Thtmderer fed. 
 They, they alone a common race supply, 
 And dwell in towns beneath the jnihlic eye, 
 Love their known household, aid their country's 
 
 cause. 
 Securely live beneath establish'd laws ; 
 Prescient of winter, hoard the rifled spring. 
 And summer's tribute to the treasury bring. 
 Some, bound by compact, leave their native home, 
 And far and wide for daily n\irture roam ; 
 Form'd of thick gum and pale narcissus' tear, 
 Some, in the hive, their new foundations rear; 
 These, train'd to work, the clinging wax suspend, 
 These to the race, the nation's hope, attend, 
 Condense pure honey, and insatiate swell 
 With liquid nectar each o'crflowing cell. 
 These, at the gale, their station'd vigils keep, 
 Mark where the clouds collect, the tempests 
 
 sweep, 
 
442 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Unload the labourer, or, embattled, drive 
 The drone, dull sluggard, from the busy hive: 
 A nation toils, the work unwearied glows, 
 And, redolent of thyme, the honey flows. 
 As when the Cyclops, for the almiuhty Sire, 
 Force from the stubborn mass the bolt of fire. 
 These slumb'ring flames with gather'd winds 
 
 awake, 
 Those plunge the hissing bars beneath the lake ; 
 Heav'd with vast strength their arms in order 
 
 rise. 
 And blow to blow in measur'd chime replies; 
 While with firm tongs they turn the sparkling ore, 
 And Etna's caves with laVjouring anvils roar. 
 Not less (if unreprov"d, I rightly dare. 
 Things of low note with wondrous works com- 
 pare,) 
 The love of gain th' Hymettian swarm inspires, 
 Wakes every wish, and all their ardour fires. 
 To each his part; age claims th' entrusted care 
 To rear the palace, and the dome repair ; 
 The young, returning home at dead of night, 
 Faint droop beneath the thyme that loads their 
 
 flight. 
 Where'er a willow waves, or arbute grows, 
 Or casia scents the gale, or crocus glows, 
 Or hyacinth unfolds its purple hue, 
 Flow'r, shrub, and grove, for them their sweets 
 
 renew. 
 Alike they labour, and alike repose ; 
 Forth from their gates each morn the nation flows, 
 And when pale twilight, from the wasted mead, 
 Bids the tir'd race, o'ercharg'd with spoil, recede, 
 They seek their roof, their drooping frame revive, 
 And shake with ceaseless hum the crowded hive. 
 Deep calm succeeds, each laid within his cell, 
 Where sleep and peace without a murmur dwell. 
 If tempests low'r, or blust'ring Eurus sound. 
 Prescient they creep their city walls around. 
 Sip the pure rill that near their portal springs. 
 And bound their wary flight in narrower rings; 
 And with light pebbles, like a balanc'd boat, 
 Pois'd through the air on even pinions float. 
 
 Nor shall the bees the less thy wonder move, 
 That none indulge the joys of mutual love : 
 None waste their strength by amorous toils sub- 
 
 du'd. 
 No pangs of labour renovate the brood. 
 By instinct led, at springtide's genial hour. 
 They gather all the race from herb and flower : 
 Hence springs the people, hence th' imperial lord, 
 Their domes and waxen kingdoins rise restored. 
 And oft they roam where crags their feathers 
 
 bruise. 
 And oft their lives beneath the burden lose ; 
 Such their fond zeal that every flower explores. 
 And glorious strife to swell their golden stores. 
 Hence, though harsh fate, when seven fleet 
 
 summers end. 
 At once their labours and their lives suspend, 
 The race and realm from age to age remain, 
 And time but lengthens with new links the chain. 
 Not Lydia's sons nor Parthia's peopled shore, 
 Mede or jEgyptian thus their king adore. 
 He lives, and pours through all th' accordant soul ; 
 He dies, and by his death dissolves the whole : 
 
 Rage and fierce war their wondrous fabric tear, 
 Scatter their combs, and waste in wild despair. 
 He guards their works, his look deep rev'rence 
 
 draws ; 
 Crowds swarm on crowds, and hum their loud 
 
 applause, 
 Bear 'mid the press of battle on their wing, 
 And, proud to perish, die around their king. 
 Hence, to the bee some sages have assign'd 
 A portion of the God, and heavenly mind ; 
 For God goes forth, and spreads throughout the 
 
 whole, — 
 Heaven, earth, and sea, the universal soul ; 
 Each at its birth from him all beings share, 
 Both man and brute, the breath of vital air ; 
 There all return, and, loos'd from earthly chain. 
 Fly whence they sprung, and rest in God again. 
 Spurn at tlie grave, and, fearless of decay. 
 Live 'mid the host of heaven, and star th' ethe- 
 real way. 
 But if thy search their sacred realm explore. 
 And from their treasures draw the honied store, 
 With spirted water damp their ready wing. 
 And, veil'd in clouds of smoke, elude the sting. 
 The golden harvest twice each year o'erflows, 
 Tliou twice each year the plenteous cells unclose, 
 Soon as fair Pleias, bright'ning into day, 
 Scorns with indignant foot the watery way. 
 Or, when descending down the aerial steep, 
 She pours her pale ray on the wintry deep. 
 The injur'd swarms with rage insatiate glow, 
 Barb every shaft and poison every blow. 
 Deem life itself to vengeance well resign'd. 
 Die on the woimd, and leave their stings behind. 
 
 If wintry dearth thy prescient fears create, 
 Or rouse thy pily for their ruin'd state. 
 With thymy odours scent their smoking halls. 
 And pare th' unpeopled cells that load their walls. 
 There oft, imseen, dark newts insidious prey, 
 The beetle there that flies the light of day. 
 There feasts th' unbidden drone, there ring the 
 
 alarms 
 Of hornets battling with unequal arms, 
 Dire gnaws the moth, and o'er their portals 
 
 spread 
 The spider watches her aerial thread. 
 Yet still, when most oppress'd, they mostly strive, 
 And tax their strength to renovate the hive ; 
 Contending myriads urge exbaustless powers. 
 Fill every cell, and crowd the comb with flowers. 
 But (since dread ills both bees and man molest) 
 If e'er disease the languid hive infest. 
 Pale haggard looks th' undoubted sign display. 
 Their vigour wastes, and all their hues decay. 
 The dead are carried forth, and sad and slow 
 The long procession swells the pomp of woe ; 
 Then lurk the sick within their dark retreat, 
 Or cling around the doors with pensive feet. 
 Their drooping pinions, weak with famine, close, 
 Or, shrunk with cold, their torpid limbs repose. 
 Then long-drawn hums wind on from cell to cell. 
 Like gales that murmur down the woodland dell, 
 Or ebbing waves that roll along the shore, 
 Or flames that in the furnace inly roar, 
 Then round the hive in many a smoky wreath, 
 Let burning galbanum rich incense breathe, 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 443 
 
 Through ready channels pour tlie golden flood, 
 Lure their coy taste, and court witli tempting 
 
 food . 
 There tlie dried rose and pounded galls combine, 
 And centaury strong-breath'd, and sodden wine. 
 Grapes that long rii)e on Psythian vineyards 
 
 hung, 
 And tliyme that on the breeze rich fragrance 
 
 iluiig. 
 In fields there grows a flou''r of pastoral fame, 
 Amellus, so the shepherds call its name ; 
 Sprung from one root its stalks profusely spread, 
 A golden circle glitters on its head. 
 But many a leaf with purple violet crown'd 
 Throws a soft shade the yellow disk around. 
 Though rough the taste, yet wrealh'd round many 
 
 a shrine. 
 In rich festoons its golden blossoms shine, 
 And by meand'ring Mella's pastured plain 
 With radiant lustre tempt the shepherd swain. 
 Seethe in rich wine its roots, and, oft renew'd. 
 High pile before their gates th" alluring food. 
 
 OnPHKUS AND EURYHICE. 
 
 "Great is thy gnilt; on thy devoted head 
 Indignant gods no common vengeance shed ; 
 Sad Orjjheus, doom'd, without a crime, to mourn 
 His ravish'd bride that never sliall return ; 
 Wild for her loss, calls down th' inflicted woes. 
 And deadlier threatens, if no fate oppose. 
 Wlien urg'd by thee along the marshy bed, 
 Th" unhappy nymph in frantic terror fled ; 
 She saw not, doom'd to die, across her way, 
 Where, couch'd beneath the grass, the serpent 
 
 lay. 
 But every Dryad, their companion dead. 
 O'er the high rocks their echo'd clamour spread. 
 The Rhodopeian mounts with sorrow runu. 
 Deep waiiings burst Pangsea's clifl's among 
 Sad Orithyia, and the Getce wept. 
 And loud lament down plaintive Hebrns swept. 
 He, lonely, on his harp, 'mid \\ihls unknown, 
 Sooth'd his sad love with melancholy tone : 
 On thee, sweet bride! still dwelt th" undying lay. 
 Thee first at dawn deplor'd, thee last at close of 
 
 day. 
 For thee he dar'd to pass the jaws of hell. 
 And gates where death and darkness ever dwell, 
 Trod with firm foot in horror's gloomy grove, 
 Ajiproach'd the throne of subterraneous Jove, 
 Nor foar'd the manes and stern host below. 
 And hearts that never felt for human woe. 
 Drawn by his song from Erebiis profoun<l 
 Shades and unbodied phantoms flock around, 
 Countless as birds that fill the leafy bow'r 
 Beneath pale eve, or winter's driving show'r. 
 ]Matrons and sires, and unaffianc'd maids. 
 Forms of bold warriors and heroic shades. 
 Youths and pale infants laid upon the pyre. 
 While their fond parents saw th' ascending fire: 
 All whom the squalid reeds and sable mud 
 Of slow Cocytus' nnrejoicing Hood, 
 All whom the Stygian lake's dark confine bounds, 
 And with nine circles, maze in maze, surrounds. 
 On him, astonish'd Death and Tartarus gaz'd, 
 Their viper hair the wond'ring Furies rais'd : 
 
 Grim Cerberus .stood, his triple ja\vs half clos'd, 
 And fix'd in air Ixion's wheel repos'd. 
 
 "Now ev'ry peril o'er, wlien Orpheus led 
 His rescu'd ])rize in trinm))h from the dead. 
 And the fair bride, so Proserpine enjoin'd, 
 Press'd on his path, and foUow'd close behind, 
 In sweet oblivious trance of amorous thought 
 The lover err'd, to su<hlen frenzy wrought : 
 Ah! venial faidt! if hell had ever known 
 Mercy, or sense of sufl^ering not its own. 
 He stopp'd, and, ah! forgetful, weak of mind, 
 Cast, as she reach'd the light, one look behind. 
 There die his hopes, by love alone betray'd, 
 He broke the law that. hell's stern tyrant made; 
 Thrice o'er the Stygian lake a hollow sound 
 Portentous murmu'r'd from its depth profound. 
 'Alas! what fates our hapless love divide. 
 What frenzy, Orpheus, tears thee from tliy bride! 
 Again I sink;' a voice resistless calls, 
 ' Lo ! on my swimming eye cold slumber falls. 
 Now, now farewell ! involv'd in thickest night. 
 Borne far away, I vanish from thy sight. 
 And stretch towards thee, all hope for ever o'er, 
 These unavailing arms, ah! thine no more." — 
 She spoke, and from his gaze for ever fled. 
 Swift as dissolving smoke through rpther spread, 
 Nor more beheld him, while he fondly strove 
 To catch her shade, and pour the plaints of 
 
 love. 
 Deaf to his pray'r no more stern Charon gave 
 To cross the Stygian lake's forbidden wave. 
 What shall he do? where, dead to hope, reside? 
 'Reft of all joy, and doubly lost his bride ; 
 What tears shall soothe th' inexorable god? 
 Pale swam her spirit to its last abode. 
 
 " Ah ! many a month he wept in lofty caves 
 By frozen Strymon's solitary waves; 
 With melting melodies the beasts subdu'd, 
 And drew around his harp the list'ning wood. 
 Thus Philomel, beneath the poplar spray. 
 Mourns her lost brood untimely snatch'd away. 
 Whom some rough hind, that watch'd her fostring 
 
 nest. 
 Tore yet unfleg'd from the maternal breast: 
 She on the bough, all night her p'aint pursues. 
 Fills the far woods with woe, and each sad note 
 
 renews. 
 No earthly charms had pow'er his soul to move, 
 No second hymeneal lur'd to love. 
 'Mid climes where Tanais freezes as it flows, 
 'Mid deserts hoary with Rhii)rvan snows. 
 Lone roam'd the bard, his ravish'd bride de- 
 plor'd. 
 And the vain gift of hell's relenting lord. 
 Scorn'd of the youth, when grief alone could 
 
 charm. 
 Rage and revenge the Thracian matrons arm ; 
 'Mid the dark orgies of their god, they tore 
 His mansrlcd limbs, and to.-st along the shore. 
 Ah ! at that time while roll'd the floating head 
 Torn from his neck, down Hebrus' craggy bed. 
 His last, last voice, his tongue now cold in 
 
 death. 
 Still nam'd Enrydice with parting breath ; 
 ' Ah ! poor Enrydice !' his spirit sigli'd, 
 And all the rock Eurydice replied."' — 
 
444 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 FROM THE ^NEIS. 
 Book. II. 
 hector's ghost. 
 'TwAS in the dead of night, when sleep repairs 
 Our bodies worn with toil:;, our minds with cares. 
 When Hector's ghost before my sight apj)ears : 
 A bloody shroud he seeni'd, and batli'd in tears; 
 Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain, 
 Thessalian coursers dragg'd him o'er the plain. 
 Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were 
 
 til rust 
 Through the bor'd holes : his body black with 
 
 dust : 
 Unlike that Hector, who returned, from toils 
 Of war, triumphant in ^acian spoils. 
 Or him, who made the fainting Greeks retire. 
 And launch'd against their navy Phrygian fire. 
 His hair and beard stood stiffen'd with his gore; 
 And all the wounds he for his country bore, 
 Now stream'd afresh, and with new purple ran. 
 I wept to see the visionary man. 
 And while my trance continued, thus began: 
 " O light of Trojans, and support of Troy, 
 Thy father's champion, and thy country's joy ! 
 O long exj^ected by thy friends! from whence 
 Art thou so late return'd for our defence? 
 Do we behold thee, wearied as we are, 
 With length of labours, and with toils of war ? 
 After so many fun'rals of thy own, 
 Art thou restor'd to our declhiing town,? 
 But say, what wounds are these ? what ne'w dis- 
 grace 
 Deforms the manly features of thy face?" 
 To this the spectre no reply did frame, 
 But answer'd to the cause for which he came ; 
 And, groaning from the bottom of his breast. 
 This warning, in these mournful words, ex- 
 press'd : 
 " O goddess-born ! escape^ by timely flight, 
 The flames and horrors of this fatal night. 
 The foes already have possessd the wall : 
 Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall. 
 Enough is paid to Priam's royal name, 
 More than enough to duty and to fame. 
 If by a mortal hand my father's throne 
 Could be defended, 'twas by mine alone. 
 Now Troy to thee commends her future state, 
 And gives her gods companions of thy fate : 
 From their assistance, happier walls expect. 
 Which, wand'ring long, at last thou shalt erect." 
 He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes, 
 The venerable statues of the gods. 
 With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir. 
 The wreaths and reliques of th' immortal fire. 
 ******* 
 
 THE DEATH OF PRIAM. 
 
 Perhaps you may of Priam's fate inquire? 
 He — when he saw his regal town on fire. 
 His ruin'd palace, and his ent'ring foes. 
 On every side inevitable woes — 
 In arms disus'd invests his limbs, decay'd. 
 Like them, with age ; a late and useless aid. 
 His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain : 
 Loaded, not arm'd, he creeps along with pain. 
 Despairing of success, ambitious to be slg.in. 
 
 Uncovered but by heaven, there stood in view 
 An altar : near the hearth a laurel grew, 
 Dodder'd with age, whose boughs encompass 
 
 round 
 The household gods, and shade the holy ground. 
 Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train 
 Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain, 
 Driv'n like a flock of doves along the sky. 
 Their images they hug, and to their altars fly. 
 The queen when she beheld her trembling lord, 
 And hanging by his side a heavy sword, 
 "What rage,'' she cried, "has seiz'd my hus- 
 band's mind ? 
 What arms are these, and to what use design'd? 
 These times want other aids ! Were Hector here? 
 E'en Hector now in vain, like Priam, would ap- 
 pear. 
 With us, one com.mon shelter thou shalt find. 
 Or in one common fate with us be join'd." 
 She said, and with a last salute embrac'd 
 The poor old man, and by the laurel plac'd. 
 Behold ! Polites, one of Priam's sons. 
 Pursued by Phyrrus, there for safety runs. 
 Through swords and foes, amaz'd and hurt, he flies 
 Through empty coitris, and open galleries. 
 Him Phyrrus, urging with his lance, pursues, 
 And often reaches, and his thrusts renews. 
 The youth transfii'd, with lamentable cries, 
 Expires before his wretched parents' eyes : 
 Whom gasping at his feet when Priam saw. 
 The fear of death gave place to nature's law ; 
 And, shaking more with anger than with age, 
 "The gods,'' said he, "requite thy brutal rage! 
 As sure they will, barbarian, sure they must. 
 If there be gods in heaven, and gods be just — 
 Who tak'st in wrongs an insolent delight; 
 With a son's death t' infect a father's sight. 
 Not he, whom thou and lying fame conspire 
 To call thee his — not he, thy vaunted sire. 
 Thus us'd my wretched age : the gods he fear'd, 
 The laws of nature and of nations heard. 
 He cheer'd my sorrows, and, for sums of gold, 
 The bloodless carcass of my Hector sold ; 
 Pitied the woes a parent underwent. 
 And sent me back in safety from his tent." 
 
 This said, his feeble hand a jav'lin threw. 
 Which, flutt'ring, seem'd to loiter as it flew: 
 Just, and but barely, to the mark it held. 
 And faintly tinkled on the brazen shield. 
 
 Then Pyrrhus thus: "Hence dotard! meet thy 
 fate. 
 And to my father my foul deeds relate. 
 Now die ! " — With that he dragg'd the trembling 
 
 sire, 
 Slidd'ring through clotter'd blood and holy mire, 
 (The mingled paste his murder'd son had made) 
 Haul'd from beneath the violated shade. 
 And on the sacred pile the royal victim laid. 
 His right hand held his bloody falchion bare ; 
 His left he twisted in his hoary hair : 
 Then, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found: 
 The lukewarm blood came rushing inrough the 
 
 wound. 
 And sanguine streams distain'd the sacred ground. 
 Thus Priam fell, and shard one common fat« 
 With Troy in ashes, and his ruin'd state — 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 445 
 
 He, who tlio sceptre of all Asia sway'd, 
 Whom inouarchs like domestic slaves obey'd. 
 Oil the bleak shores "now lies th' abandoned 
 
 king, 
 A headless carcass, and a nameless thing. 
 
 Book IV. 
 
 DIUo's PASSION FOR iKXEAS. 
 
 But anxious cares already seiz'd the queen : 
 She fed within lier veins a flame unseen ; 
 The hero's valour, acts, and birth, inspire 
 Her soul with love, and fan the secret lire. 
 His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart. 
 Improve the passion, and increase the smart. 
 Now, when the purple morn had chas'd away 
 The dewy shadows, and restor'd the day, 
 
 , Her sister first with early care she souglit. 
 And thus in mournful accents eas'd her thought: 
 "My dearest Anna! what new dreams atfright 
 My lab'ring soul ! what visions of the night 
 Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast 
 With strange ideas of our Trojan guest! 
 His worth, his actions, and majestic air, 
 A man descended from the gods declare. 
 Fear ever argues a degenrato kind; 
 His birth is v/ell asserted by his mind. 
 Then, wha.t he suffer'd when by Fate betray'd, 
 Wlia{ brave attempts for falling Troy he made! 
 Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, 
 
 .That, wer« Tnot resolvd against the yoke 
 Of hapless marriage — never^to be curs'd 
 With second love, so fatal was my first — 
 To this one error I might yield again: 
 For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain. 
 This only man is able to subvert 
 Tlie fixd foundations of my stubborn heart. 
 And, to confess my frailty — my shame, — 
 Somewhat I find within, if not the same, 
 Too like the sparkles of my former flame. 
 But first let yawning earth a passage rend. 
 And let me through the dark abyss descend — 
 First let avenging Jove, with flames from high, 
 Drive down this body to the nether sky, 
 Condemn'd with ghosts in endless night to lie — 
 Before I break the plighted faith I gave ! 
 No! he who had my vows shall ever have : 
 For, whom I lovd on earth, I worship in the 
 grave." 
 She said : the tears ran gushing from her eyes. 
 And stopp'd her speech. Her sister thus replies: 
 '•O, dearer than the vital air I breathe! 
 Will you to grief your blooming years bequeath, 
 Contlemn'd to waste in woes your lonely life. 
 Without the joys of mother, of of wife ! 
 Think you these tears, this pompous train of 
 
 • woe. 
 Are known or valued by the ghosts below ? 
 I grant that while your sorrows yet were green. 
 It well became a woman, anil a queen, 
 The vows of Tyrian i;riMces to neglect, 
 To scorn larbas, and his love reject. 
 With all the Libyan lords of mighty name: 
 But will you fight against a pleasing flame? 
 This little spot of land which heaven bestows. 
 On evry side is hemm'd with warlike foes : 
 
 Grptulian cities here are spread around. 
 
 And fierce Numidians there your IVoiitiers bound: 
 
 Here lies a barren waste of thirsty land. 
 
 And there the Syrtes raise the moving sand : 
 
 Barca'an troops besiege the narrow shore. 
 
 And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more. 
 
 Propitious heaven, and gracious Juno, lead 
 
 This wandring navy to your needful aid: 
 
 How will your empire spread, your city rise. 
 
 From such a union, and with such allies ! 
 
 Implore the favour of the pow'rs above; 
 
 And leave the conduct of tlie rest to love. 
 
 Continue still your hospitable way, 
 
 And still invent occasions of their stay, • 
 
 Till storms and winter winds shall cease to 
 
 threat, . 
 And planks and oars repair their shatter'd fleet." 
 
 These words, which from a friend and sister 
 came. 
 With ease resolv'd the scruples of her fame. 
 And added fury to the kin<lled flame. 
 
 » « * » « » 
 
 Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves, 
 From street to street the raving Dido roves. 
 So, when the watchful shepherd, from the blind, 
 Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind, 
 Distracted with her pain she flies the woods. 
 Bounds o'er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods — 
 With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart 
 Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart. 
 And now she leads the Trojan chief along 
 The lofty walls, amidst the busy throng; 
 Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town, 
 Which love, without his labour, makes his own. 
 This pomp she shows, to tempt her wand'ring 
 
 guest, 
 Her falt'ring tongue forbids to speak the rest. 
 When day declines, and feasts renew the night. 
 Still on his face she feeds her famish'd sight; 
 She longs again to hear the prince relate 
 His own adventures, and the Trojan fate. 
 He tells it o'er and o'er; but still in vain, 
 For still she begs to hear it once again. 
 The hearer on the speaker's mouth depends, 
 And thus the tragic story never ends. 
 
 Then, when they part, when Phcebe's paler 
 light 
 Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite. 
 She last remains, when ev'ry guest is gone, 
 Sits on the couch he press'd, and sighs alone ; 
 Absent, her absent hero sees and hears; 
 Or in lier bosom yoimg Ascanius bears, 
 And seeks the father's image in the child, 
 If love by likeness might be so beguil'd. 
 • ••••• 
 
 .i^ncas, being warned by Jupiter from settling 
 in Africa, prepares for his tleparture, endeavour- 
 ing, however, (though in vain,^ to conceal his 
 design from the uidiajipy queen. 
 
 Meantime 
 
 The loud rei)ort through Libyan cities goes, 
 Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows — 
 Swift from the first; and ev'ry moment brings 
 New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her 
 wings. 
 
 2N 
 
446 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Soon grows the pigniy to iii^an'tic size ; 
 Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. 
 Enrag"d araiiist the gods, revengeful Earth 
 Produc'd her, last of the Tiianian birth — 
 Swift is her wallc, more swift her winged haste — 
 A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast. 
 As many ])lumes as raise her lofty flight, 
 So many piercing eyes enlarge her sight: 
 Millions of op"ning mouths to Fame belong; 
 And ev'ry mouth is furnish'd with a tongue ; 
 And round with listening ears the flying plague 
 
 is lnuig. 
 She fills the peaceful universe with cries: 
 No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes: 
 By day, from lofty tow'rs her head she shews, 
 And s])reads through trembling crov^rds disastrous 
 
 news, 
 With court informers haunts, and royal spies ; 
 Things done relates ; not done she feigns ; and 
 
 mingles truth with lies. 
 Talk is her bus'ness; and her chief delight 
 To tell of prodigies, and cause atfright. 
 She fills the people's ears with Dido's name, 
 Who, -'lost to honour and the sense of shame, 
 Admits into her throne and nuptial bed 
 A wand'ring guest, who from his country fled : 
 Whole*days with him she passes in delights, 
 And wastes in luxury long winter nights, 
 Forgetful of her fame arid royal trust, 
 Dissolv'd in ease, abandon'd to her lust." 
 • *»*«» 
 
 But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise : 
 (What arts can blind a jealous woman's eyes?) 
 She was the first to find the secret fraud, 
 Before the fatal news was blaz'd abroad. 
 Love the first motions of the lover hears, 
 Quick to presage, and e en in safety fears. 
 Nor impious Fame was wanting to report 
 The ships repair'd, the Trojans quick resort, 
 And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court. 
 Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound. 
 And impotent of mind she roves the city round. 
 Less wild the Bacchanalian dames appear. 
 When, from afar, their nightly god they hear. 
 And howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy 
 
 spear. 
 At length she finds the dear perfidious man ; 
 Prevents his form'd excuse, and thus began : 
 "Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly, 
 And undi>cover"d, '.scape a lover's eye? 
 Nor could my kindness your compassion move, 
 Nor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love? 
 Or is the death of a despairing queen 
 Not worth preventing, though too well foreseen? 
 E'en when the wintry winds command your stay. 
 You dare the tempest, and defy the sea. 
 False as you are. suppose you were not bound 
 To lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound; 
 Were Troy restor'd, and Priam's happy reign, 
 Now durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main? 
 See, whom you fly ! am I the foe you shun ? 
 Now, by those holy vows, so late begun. 
 By this right hand (since I have nothing more 
 To challenge, but the faith you gave before) 
 I beg you by these tears too truly shed, 
 By tlie new pleasures of our nuptial bed; 
 
 If ever Dido, when you were most kind, 
 
 Was pleasitig in your eyes, or touch'd your mind : 
 
 By these my pray'rs, if prayrs may yet have 
 
 place, 
 Pity the fortune of a falling race! 
 For you I have provok'd a tyrant's hate, 
 Ineens'd the Libyan and the Tyrian state; 
 For you alone, I sufler in my fame, 
 Bereft of honour, and expos'd to shame! 
 Whom have I now to trust, ungrateful guest? 
 (That only name remains of all the rest!) 
 'W'hat have I left? or whither can I fly? 
 Must I attend Pygmalion's cruelty, 
 Or till larbas shall in triumph lead 
 A queen, that proudly scorn'd his profl^er'd bed ! 
 Had you deferr'd, at least, your hasty flight. 
 And left behind some pledge of our delight. 
 Some babe to bless the mother's mournful sight, 
 Some young ^neas to supply your place. 
 Whose features might express his father's face ; 
 I should not then complain to live bereft 
 Of all my Imsband, or be wholly left." 
 
 Here pnus'd tlip queen. Unmov'd he holds 
 
 his eyes. 
 By Jove's command; nor suff'er'd love to rise. 
 Though heaving in his heart; and thus at length 
 
 replies : 
 " Fair queen, you never can enough repeat 
 Your boundless favours, or I own my debt; 
 Nor can my mind forget Eliza's name. 
 While vital breath inspires this mortal frame. 
 This only let me speak in my defence — 
 I never hop'd a secret flight from hence, 
 Much less pretended to the lawful claim 
 Of sacved nuptials, or a husband's name. 
 For, if indidgent heaven wc)uld leave me free. 
 And not submit m)' life to Fate's decree, 
 My choice would lead me to the Trojan shore, 
 Those relics to review, their dust adore. 
 And Priam's ruin'd palace to restore. 
 And now the Delphian oracle commands, 
 And Fate invites me to the Latian lands. 
 That is the promis'd place to which I steer; 
 And all my vows are terminated there. 
 If you, a Tyrian and stranger born. 
 With walls and tow'rs, a Libyan town adorn. 
 Why may not we — like you, a foreign race — 
 Like you, seek shelter in a foreign place? 
 As often as the night obscures the skies 
 With humid shades, or twinkling stars arise, 
 Anchises' angry gliost in dreams appears. 
 Chides my delay, and fills my soul with fears: 
 And young Ascanius justly may complain. 
 Defrauded of his fate, and destin'd reign. 
 E'en now the herald of the gods appear'd — 
 Waking I saw him, and his message heard. 
 From Jove he came commission'd, heavenly 
 
 bright 
 With radiant beams, and manifest to sight : 
 (The sender and the sent I both attest) 
 These walls he enter'd, and these words ex- 
 
 press'd. — 
 Fair queen, oppose not what the gods command : 
 Fore'd by my fate, I leave your happy land.' 
 
 Thus while he spoke, already she began 
 With sparkling eyes to view the guilty man, 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 447 
 
 From head to foot, survey'd his person o'er, 
 Nor longer these outrageous threats forbore: 
 " False as thou, and inore tlian false, forsworn ! 
 Not sprung; from noble blood, nor goddess-born, 
 But hewn from liarden'd entrails of a rock! 
 Am\ rough Hyroanian tigers gave thee su(!k ! 
 Whysliould I fawn? wiiat have I worse to fear ? 
 Did he once look, or lend a list'ning ear, 
 Sigh when I sobb'd, or shed one kindly tear? 
 All symptoms of a base ungrateful mind, 
 So f(jul, that, which is worse, 'tis hard to find. 
 Of man's injustice w^liy should I complain ? 
 The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain 
 Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies; 
 Nor Juno views my wrongs, with equal eyes: 
 Faithl(!ss is earth, and faithless are the skies ! 
 Justice has fled, and truth is now no inore ! 
 I sav'd the shipwreck'd exile on my shore ; 
 With needful food his hungry Trojans fed ; 
 I took the traitor to my throne and bed : 
 Fool that I was — 'tis little to repeat 
 The rest — I stor'd and rigg'd liis ruin'd fleet. 
 I rave, I rave! a god's command he pleads, 
 And makes heaven accessory to his deeds. 
 Now Lycian lots, and now the Delian god. 
 Now Hermes is employ'd from Jove's abode. 
 To warn hirn hence ; as if the peaceful state 
 Of heavenly powers were touch'd with human 
 
 fate. 
 But go! thy flight no longer I detain — 
 Go! seek thy proinis'd kingdom through the 
 
 main ! 
 Yet, if the heavens will hear my pious vow. 
 The faithless waves, not half so false as thou, 
 Or secret sands, shall sepulchres afford 
 To the proud vessels, and their perjur'd lord. 
 Then slialt thou call on injur'd Dido's name: 
 Dido shall come in a black sulph'ry flame: 
 When death has once dissolv'd her mortal frame — 
 Shall smile to see tlie traitor vainly weep: 
 Her angry ghost arising from tlie deep. 
 Shall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep. 
 At least my shade thy jjutiishment shall know; 
 And Fame shall spread the pleasing news be- 
 low." 
 
 Abruptly here she stops — then turns away 
 Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day. 
 Ama/.'d lie stood, revolving in his mind 
 What speech to franu-, and what excuse to find. 
 Her fearful maids their fearful mistress led, 
 And softly laid her on her iv'ry bed. 
 
 But good jT'.neas, ihouuh he much desir'd 
 To give that pity whiidi her grief requir'd — 
 Though much f.c rnourn'd, and labour'il with his 
 
 love — 
 Resolv'd at length, obeys tlie will of Jove; 
 Reviews his forces: tht'.y with early care 
 Unmoor their vessi-ls, and for sea prepare. 
 The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride; 
 And well-caul k'd galleys in the harbour ride. 
 Then oaks for oars they feli'd ; or as tlicy stood. 
 Of its gieen arms despoil'd the growing wood, 
 Studiijus of flight. The beach is eover'd o'<'r 
 With Trojan bands that blacken all the shore: 
 On ev'ry si<le an? seen descending down, 
 Tliick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town. 
 
 Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants. 
 Fearful of winter, and of ftiture wants, 
 T' invade the corn, and to their cells convey 
 The plunder'd forage of their yellow prey. 
 The sable troops, along the narrow tracks. 
 Scarce bear the weighty burden on their backs: 
 Some set their shoulders to the pond'rous grain; 
 Some guard the spoil, some lash the lagging train ; 
 All ply their sev'ral tasks, and equal toil sustain. 
 What pangs tlie tender breast of Dido tore. 
 When from the tow'r she saw the eover'd shore, 
 And heard the sliouts of sailors, from afar, 
 Mix'd with the murmurs of the wat'ry war! 
 All-powerful Love! what changes canst thou 
 
 cause 
 In human hearts, subjected to thy laws! 
 Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends: 
 To pray'rs and mean submissions she descends. 
 No female arts or aids she left untried, 
 Nor counsels unexplor'd, before she died. 
 "Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea ; 
 They spread their canvas, and their anchors 
 
 weigh. 
 The shouting crew their sliips with garlands bind, 
 Invoke the sea gods, and invite the wind. 
 Could I liave thought his threat'ning blow so near, 
 My tender soul had been forewarn'd to bear. 
 But do not you my last request deny: 
 With yon perfidious man your int'rest try. 
 And bring me news, if I must live or die. 
 You are his fav'rite : you alone can find 
 The dark recesses of his inmost mind : 
 In all his trusted secrets you liave part, 
 And know the soft approaches of his heart. 
 Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe; 
 Tell him, I did not with the Grecians go. 
 Nor did ray fleet against his friends employ, 
 Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy, 
 Nor mov'd with hands profane his father's dust: 
 Why should he then reject a suit so just? 
 Whom does he shun? and whither would he fly? 
 Can he this last, this only pray'r deny? 
 Let him at least his dangerous flight delay, 
 Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea. 
 The niqjtials he disclaims, I urge no more: 
 Let him pursue the promis'd Latin shore. 
 A sliort delay is all I ask him now — 
 A pause of grief, an interval from wo. 
 Till my soft soul be temper'd to sustain 
 Aecustom'd sorrows, and inur'd to pain. 
 If you in pity grant this one request. 
 My death sliall glut the hatred of his breast." 
 This mournful message pious Anna bears, 
 And seconds, with her own, her sister's tears: 
 But all her arts are still employ'd in vain : 
 Again she comes, and is rel'us'd again. 
 His luirden'd heart nor pray'rs nor threatnings 
 
 move ; 
 Fate, and the uol, had stojip'd his ears to love. 
 
 As when the winds their airy quarrel try, 
 Jnstling from ev'ry quarter of the sky. 
 This way an<l tliat the mountain oak they bend; 
 His boughs they shattiT, and his branches rend; 
 With leaves and falling mast they spread the 
 
 grounil ; 
 The hollow valleys echo to the souikI : 
 
448 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Unmov'd, the royal plant their fury mocks, 
 Or, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks : 
 Far as he shoots his tow'ring head on high 
 So deep in earth his fix'd foundations lie. 
 No less a storm the Trojan hero bears ; 
 Thick messages and loud complaints he hears, 
 And bandied words, still beating on his ears. 
 Sighs, groans, and tears, proclaim his inward 
 
 pains ; 
 But the firm purpose of his heart remains. 
 
 The wretched queen, pursued by cruel Fate, 
 Begins at length the light of heaven to hate, 
 And loaths to live. Then dire portents she sees, 
 To hasten on the death her soul decrees — 
 Strange to relate ! for when before the shrine, 
 She pours in sacrifice the purple wine, 
 The purple wine is turn'd to putrid blood ; 
 And the white offerd milk converts to mud. 
 This dire presage, to her alone reveal'd, 
 From all, and e'en her sister, she conceal'd. 
 
 A marble temple stood within the grove, 
 Sacred to death, and to her murder'd love ; 
 That honour'd chapel she had hung arovmd 
 With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown'd : 
 Oft, when she visited this lonely dome, 
 Strange voices issued from her husband's tomb : 
 She thought she heard him summon her away, 
 Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay. 
 Hourly 'tis heard, when with a boding note 
 The solitary screech-owl strains her throat. 
 And, on a chimney's top or turret's height. 
 With songs obscene disturbs the silence of the 
 
 night. 
 Besides, old prophecies augment her fears ; 
 And stern iEneas in her dreams appears, 
 Disdainful as by day : she seems, alone, 
 To wander in her sleep, through w^ays unknown, 
 Guideless and dark ; or, in a desert plain, 
 To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain — 
 Like Pentheus, when distracted with his fear, 
 He saw two suns and double Thebes appear; 
 Or mad Orestes, when his mother's glrost 
 Full in his face infernal torches toss'd, 
 And shook her snaky locks : he shuns the sight, 
 Flies o'er the stage, surpris'd with mortal fright; 
 The Furies guard the door, and intercept his 
 flight. 
 
 Now, sinking underneath a load of grief. 
 From death alone she seeks her last relief 
 
 ******* 
 
 'Twas dead of night, when weary bodies close 
 Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft repose : 
 The winds no longer whisper through the woods, 
 Nor murm'ring tides disturb the gentle floods. 
 The stars in silent order moved around ; 
 And Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on 
 
 the ground. 
 The flocks and herds, and particolour'd fowl 
 Which haunt the woods or swim the weedy 
 
 pool, 
 Stretch'd on the quiet earth, securely lay, 
 Forgetting the past labours of the day. 
 All else of nature's common gift partake ; 
 Unhappy Dido was alone awake. 
 Nor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find : 
 Sleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind. 
 
 Despair, and rage, and love, divide her heart ; 
 Desjaair and rage had some, but love the greater 
 
 part. 
 Then thus she said within her secret mind : 
 "What shall I do? what succour can I find? 
 Become a suppliant to larbas' pride, 
 And take my turn to court and be denied? 
 Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go, 
 Forsake an empire, and attend a foe? 
 Himself I refuged, and his train reliev'd — 
 Tis true — but am I sure to be receiv'd ? 
 Can gratitude in Trojan souls have place? 
 Laomedon still lives in all his race ! 
 Then, shall I seek alone the churlish crew, 
 Or with my fleet, their flying sails pursue? 
 What force have I but those, who scarce before 
 I drew reluctant from their native shore? 
 Will they again embark at my desire, 
 Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second 
 
 Tyre? 
 Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade. 
 And take the fortune thou thyself hast made. 
 Your pity, sister, first seduc'd my mind. 
 Or seconded too well w^hat I design'd. 
 These dear-bought pleasures had I never known, 
 Had I continued free, and still my own^ 
 Avoiding love, I had not found despair, 
 But shard with savage beasts the common air. 
 Like them, a lonely life I might have led. 
 Not mourn'd the living, nor disturb'd the dead." 
 These thoughts she brooded in her anxious 
 
 breast. — 
 • ••••** 
 
 Aurora now had left her satfron bed, 
 And beams of early light the heavens o'erspread, 
 When from a tower, the queen, with wakeful 
 
 eyes, 
 Saw day point upward from the rosy skies. 
 She look'd to seaward : but the sea was void. 
 And scarce in ken the sailing ships descried. 
 Stung with despite, and furious with despair, 
 She struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair. 
 "And shall tli' ungrateful traitor go, (she said,) 
 My land forsaken, and my love betray'd ? 
 Shall we not arm? not rush from ev'ry street? 
 To follow, sink, and burn, his perjurd fleet ? 
 Haste! haul my galleys out! pursue the foe! 
 Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row! 
 What have I said! where am I? Fury turns 
 My brain ; and my distemper'd bosom burns ; 
 Then, when I gave my person and my throne, 
 This hate, this rage, had been more timely shown. 
 See now the promis'd faith, the vaunted name, 
 The pious man, who, rushing through the flame, 
 Preserv'd his gods, and to the Phrygian shore 
 The burden of his feeble father bore ! 
 I should have torn him piece-meal — strew'd in 
 
 floods 
 His scatter'd limbs, or left expos'd in woods — 
 Destroy'd his friends and son — anol from the 
 
 fire 
 Have set the reeking boy before the sire. 
 Events are doubtful, which on battle wait! 
 Yet Where's the doubt, to souls secure of fate? 
 My Tyrians, at their injur'd queen's command. 
 Had toss'd their fires amid the Trojan band ; 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 449 
 
 At once extinguished al! the faithless name ; 
 
 And I myself, in vengeance of my shame, 
 
 Had falTn npon the pile, to mend the fun'ral 
 
 flame. 
 Thou Sun, who view'st at once the world below ! 
 Thou JiiDO, aiiarilian of the nuptial vow! 
 Thou Hecat, hearken from thy dark abodes! 
 Ye Furies, Fiends, and violated Gods ! 
 All powers invok'd with Dido's dyinj; breath. 
 Attend her curses and avenge her death! 
 If so the Fates ordain, and Jove commands, 
 Th' ungrateful wretch should find the Latian 
 
 lands. 
 Yet let a race unfam'd, and haughty foes, 
 His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose: 
 Oppress'd with numbers in th' unequal field, 
 His men discourag'd, and himself expell'd. 
 Let him for succour sue from place to place, 
 Torn from his subjects, and his son's embrace. 
 First let him see his friends in battle slain, 
 And their untimely fate lament in vain: 
 And when at length the cruel war shall cease. 
 On hard conditions may he buy his peace : 
 Nor let him then enjoy supreme command ; 
 But fall, untimely, by some hostile hand. 
 And lie unburied on the barren sand ! 
 These are my pray'rs, and this my dying will : 
 And you, my Tyrians, ev'ry curse fulfil. 
 Perpetual hate and mortal wars proclaim 
 Against the prince, the people, and the name. 
 These grateful off "rings on my grave bestow; 
 Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know! 
 Now, and from hence, in ev'ry future age, 
 When rage excites your arms, and strength sup- 
 plies the rage, 
 Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood. 
 With fire and sword pursue the perjur'd brood — 
 Our arms, our seas, our shores oppos'd to theirs — 
 And the same hate descend on all our heirs. 
 
 Book VI. 
 At the request of .lEneas, the Sibyl attends 
 him to the shades below, describing to him the 
 various scenes of the place, and conducting him 
 to his father, who shows him the glorious race of 
 heroes which was to descend from him. 
 So pray'd the Trojan prince, and, while he pray'd. 
 His hand upon the holy altar laid. 
 Then thus replied the prophetess divine: 
 "O goddess-born, of great Anchises' line! 
 The gates of hell are open night and day; 
 Smooth the descent, and easy is the way; 
 But, to return, and view the cheerful skies— 
 In this the task and mighty labour lies. 
 To few great Jupiter imparts this grace, 
 And those of shining worth, and heavenly race. 
 Betwixt those regions and our upper light, 
 Deep forests and impenetrable night 
 Possess the middle space: th' infernal bounds 
 Cocytus, with his sable waves, surrounds. 
 But, if so dire a love your soul invades, 
 As twice below to view the trembling shades; 
 If you so hard a toil will undertake, 
 As twice to pass th' innavigable lake; 
 57 
 
 Receive my counsel. In the neighb'ring grove 
 There stands a tree : the queen of Stygian Jove 
 Claims it her own: thick woods and gloomy night 
 Conceal the happy plant from human sight. 
 One bough it bears; but (wondrous to behold) 
 The ductile rind and leaves of radiant gold: 
 This from the vulgar branches must be torn, 
 And to fair Proserpine the present borne. 
 Ere leave be giv'n, to tempt the netlier skies. 
 The first thus rent, a second will arise ; 
 And the same metal the same room supplies. 
 Look roimd the wood with lifted eyes, to see 
 The lurking gold upon the fatal tree: 
 Then rend it off, as holy rites command : 
 The willing metal will obey thy hand. 
 Following with ease, if, favoured by thy fate, 
 Thou art foredoom'd to view the Stygian state : 
 If not, no labour can the tree constrain ; 
 And strength of stubborn arms, and steel, are 
 
 vain. 
 Scarce had she said, when, full before his sight, 
 Two doves descending from their airy flight, 
 Secure upon the grassy plain alight. 
 He knew his mother's birds, and thus he pray'd: 
 "Be you my guides with your auspicio\is aid; 
 And lead my footsteps till the branch be found, 
 Whose glitt'ring shadow gilds the sacred ground. 
 And thou, great parent! with celestial care, 
 In this distress, be present to my pray'r." 
 Thus having said, he stopp'd, with watchful sight. 
 Observing still the motions of their fiight. 
 What course they took, what happy signs they 
 
 show. 
 They fed, and fluttering by degrees, withdrew 
 Still farther from the place, but still in view : 
 Hopping and flying thus they led him on 
 To the slow lake, whose baleful stench to shun, 
 They wing'd their flight aloft, then stooping low, 
 Perch'd on the double tree, that bears the golden 
 
 bough. 
 Through the green leaves the glitt'ring shadows' 
 
 glow 
 As, on the sacred oak, the wintry mistletoe. 
 Such was the glitt'ring; such the ruddy rind. 
 And dancing leaves that wanton'd in the wind. 
 He seiz'd the shining bough with griping hold, 
 And rent away, witli ease, the ling'ring gold. 
 
 Then to the Sibyl's palace bore the prize. 
 
 * * • • • » • 
 
 Due rites perform'd, the prince without delay, 
 Hastes, to the nether world, his destin'd way. 
 Deep was the cave : and, downward as it went 
 From the wide mouth, a rocky rough descent; 
 And here th' access a gloomy grove defends; 
 And here th' innavigable lake extends, 
 O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light. 
 No bird presumes to steer his airy flight: 
 And deadly stenches from the depth arise, 
 And streaming sulphur, that infects the skies. 
 From hence the Grecian bards their legends make, 
 And give the name Avernus to the lake. 
 Four sable bullocks, in the yoke untaught. 
 For sacrifice, the pious hero brought. 
 The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns; 
 Then cuts the curling hair ; that first oblation 
 burns, 
 
 2n2 
 
450 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Invoking Hecat hither to repair — 
 
 A powerful name in hell anil npper air. 
 
 The sacred priests, with ready knives, bereave 
 
 The beasts of Hie, and in full bowls receive 
 
 Tlie streaming blood : a lamb to Hell and Night 
 
 (The sable wool without a streak of white) 
 
 ^neas offers ; and by Fate's decree, 
 
 A barren heifer, Proserpine to thee. 
 
 With holocausts he Pluto's altar fills: 
 
 Seven brawny bulls with his own hand he 
 
 kills : 
 Tlien, on the broiling entrails, oil he pours: 
 Which, ointed thus, the raging flame devours. 
 Late the nocturnal sacrifice begun. 
 Nor ended, till the next returning sun. 
 Then earth began to bellow, trees to dance, 
 And howling dogs in glimmriiig light advance. 
 Ere Hecat came — "Far hence be souls profane!"' 
 The Sibyl cried — "and from the grove abstain! 
 Now, Trojan, take the way thy fates aflbrd : 
 Assume thy courage, and unsheath thy sword." 
 She said, and pass'd along the gloomy space : 
 The prince pursu'd her steps with equal pace. 
 
 Ye realms, yet unreveal'd to human sight! 
 Ye gods, who rule the regions of the night! 
 Ye gliding ghosts ! permit me to relate 
 The mystic wonders of your silent stale. 
 
 Obscure they went through dreary shades, that 
 . spread 
 Along the waste dominions of the dead. 
 Thus wander travellers in woods by night, 
 By the moon's doubtful and malignant light. 
 When Jove in dusky clouds involves the skies. 
 And the faint crescent shoots by fits before their 
 eyes. 
 Just in the gate, and in the jaws of hell, 
 Revengeful Cares and sullen Sorrows dwell, 
 And pale Diseases, and repining Age, 
 Want, Fear, and Famine's unresisted rage ; 
 Here, Toils, and Death, aiid Death's half-brother. 
 
 Sleep, 
 (Forms terrible to view) their sentry keep ; 
 With anxious Pleasures of a guilty mind. 
 Deep Frauds before, and open Force behind; 
 The Furies' iron beds ; and Strife, that shakes 
 Her hissing tresses, and unfolds her snakes: 
 Full in the midst of this infernal road, 
 An elm displays her dusky arms abroad : 
 The God of Sleep there hides his heavy head: 
 And empty dreams on ev'ry leaf are spread. 
 Of various forms, unnumber'd spectres more. 
 Centaurs, and double shapes, besiege the door. 
 Before the passage, horrid Hydra stands. 
 And Briareus w^ith all his hundred hands; 
 Gorgons, Geiyon with his triple frame; 
 And vain Chimrera vomits empty flame. 
 The chief unsheath'd his shining steel, pre- 
 pared. 
 Though seiz'd with sudden fear, to force the 
 
 guard, 
 Off'ring his brandish'd weapon, at their face; 
 Had not the Sibyl stopp'd his eager pace. 
 And told him what those empty phantoms were — 
 Forms without bodies, and impassive air. 
 Hence to deep Acheron they take their way. 
 Whose troubled eddies, thick with ooze and clay, 
 
 Are whirl'd aloft, and in Cocytus lost: 
 
 There Charon stands, who rules the dreary 
 
 coast — 
 A sordid god : down from liis hoary chin 
 A length of beard descends, uncombd, unclean: 
 His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire ; 
 A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire. 
 He spreads his canvas; 'with his pole he steers; 
 The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom 
 
 bears. 
 He look'd in years ; yet, in his years, were seen 
 A youthful vigour, and autumnal green. 
 An airy crowd came rushing where he stood, 
 Which fill'd the margin of the fatal floods 
 Husbands and wives, boys and unmarried maids. 
 And mighty heroes' more majestic shades. 
 And youths, entomb'd before their fathers' eyes. 
 With hollow groans, and shrieks, and feeble cries. 
 Thick as the leaves in autumn strow the woods, 
 Or fowls, by winter forc'd, forsake the floods, 
 And wing their hasty flight to happier lands — 
 Such, and so thick, the shiv'ring army stands, 
 And press for passage with extended hands. 
 Now these, now those, the surly boatmen 
 
 bore : 
 The rest he drove to distance from the shore. 
 The hero, who beheld, with wond'ring eyes. 
 The tumult mix'd with slirieks, laments, and 
 
 cries, 
 Ask'd of his guide, what the rude concourse 
 
 meant? 
 Why to the shore the thronging people bent? 
 What forms of law among the ghosts were us'd ? 
 Why some were ferried o'er, and some refus'd? 
 " Son of Anchises ! offspring of the gods ! 
 (The Sibyl said) you see the Stygian floods, 
 The sacred streams, which heaven's imperial 
 
 state 
 Attests in oaths, and fears to violate. 
 The ghosts rejected are th' unhappy crew 
 Depriv'd of sepulchres and fun'ral due: 
 The boatman, Charon : those, the buried host, 
 He ferries over to the farther coast ; 
 Nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves 
 With such whose bones are not compos'd in 
 
 graves. 
 A hundred years they wander on the shore; 
 
 At length, their penance done, are wafted o'er." 
 
 ******* 
 
 Now nearer to the Stygian lake they draw : 
 Whom, from the shore, the surly boatman saw ; 
 Observ'd their passage through the shady wood. 
 And mark'd their near approaches to the flood: 
 Tlien thus he call'd aloud, inflam'd with wrath: 
 " Mortal, whate'er, who this forbidden path 
 In arras presum'st to tread ! I charge thee, stand 
 And tell thy name, and bus'ness in the land. 
 Know, this the realm of night — the Stygian shore : 
 My boat conveys no living bodies o'er: 
 Nor was I pleas'd, great Theseus once to bear, 
 (Who forc'd a passage with his pointed spear. 
 Nor strong Alcides — men of mighty fame; 
 And from th" immortal gods their lineage came ; 
 In fetters one the barking porter tied, 
 And took him trembling from his sov'reign's side : 
 Two sought by force to seize his beauteous bride." 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 451 
 
 To whom tlie Sibyl thus: "Compose thy mind : 
 No frauds are here contriv'd, nor force design'd. 
 Still may the dog the wandring troops constrain 
 Of airy ghosts, and vex the guilty train; 
 And with her grisly lord his lovely queen re- 
 main. 
 The Trojan eliief, whose lineage is from Jove, 
 Much fam'd for arms, and more for filial love, 
 Is sent to seek his sire in your Elysian grove. 
 If neither piety, nor heaven's command, 
 Can gain his passage to the Stygian land. 
 This fatal present shall prevail, at least" — 
 Then sliow'd the shining bough, conccal'd within 
 
 her vest. 
 No more was needful: for the gloomy god 
 Stood mute with awe, to see the golden rod ; 
 Admir'd the destin'd oft'ring to his queen — 
 A venerable gift, so rarely seen. 
 His fury thus appeas'd, he puts to land : 
 The ghosts forsake their seats at his command : 
 He clears the deck, receives the mighty freight; 
 The leaky vessel groans beneath the weight. 
 Slowly she sails, and scarcely stems the tides: 
 The pressing water pours within her sides. 
 His passengers at length are wafted o'er, 
 Expos'd, in muddy weeds, upon the miry shore 
 No sooner landed, in this den they found 
 The triple porter of the Stygian bound. 
 Grim Cerberus, who soon began to rear 
 His crested snakes, and arm'd his bristling hair, 
 The prudent Sibyl had before prepar'd 
 A sop, in honey steep'd, to charm the guard ; 
 Which, mix'd with powerful drugs, she cast be- 
 fore 
 His greedy grinning jaws, just op'd to roar. 
 With three enormous mouths he gapes; and 
 
 straight, 
 With himger press'd, devours the pleasing bait. 
 Long draughts of sleep his monstrous limbs en- 
 slave ; 
 He reels, and falling, fills the spacious cave. 
 The keeper charm'd, the chief without delay 
 Pass'd on, and took th' irremeable way. 
 Before the gates, the cries of babes new-born. 
 Whom Fate had from their tender mothers torn, 
 Assault his ears : then those, whom form of laws 
 Condemn'd to die, when traitors judg'd their 
 
 cause. 
 Nor want they lots, nor judges to review 
 The wioniiful sentence, and award anew. 
 Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears; 
 And lives and crimes, wiiii bis assessors, hears. 
 Round in his urn, the blended balls he rolls, 
 Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls. 
 The next in place and punishment, are they 
 Wlio prodigally threw their souls away — 
 Fools, who, repining at tlieir wretched state, 
 And loathing anxious life, suborn'd their fate. 
 With late repentance, now they would retrieve 
 The bodies they forsook, and wish to live; 
 Their pains and poverty desire to bear. 
 To view the light of heaven, and breathe the 
 
 vital air : 
 Ent Fate forbids; the Stygian floods oppose, 
 And with nine circling streams, tlie ca])tive soids 
 enclose. 
 
 Not far from hence, the Mournful Fields ap- 
 pear, 
 So call'd from lovers that inhabit there. 
 The souls, whom that unhappy flame invades, 
 In secret solitude and myrtle shades 
 Make endless moans, and, pining with desire, 
 Lament too late their imoxtinguish'd fire. 
 Here Procris, here Eriphyle he found 
 Baring her breast, yet bleeding with the wound 
 Made by her son. He saw Pasipha; there. 
 With Phaclra's ghost, a foul incestuous pair. 
 There Laodameia, with Evadne, moves — 
 Unhappy both, but loyal in their loves : 
 Caeneus, a woman once, and once a man, 
 But ending in the sex she first began. 
 Not far from these PhcEtiician Dido stood. 
 Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath'd in blood; 
 Whom when the Trojan hero hardly knew, 
 Obscure in shades, and widi a doubtfid view, 
 (Doubtful as he who sees, through dusky night, 
 Or thinks he sees the moon's uncertain light) 
 With tears he first approacli'd the sullen shade; 
 And as his love inspir'd him, thus he said : 
 " L^nhappy queen ! then is the common breath 
 Of rumour true, in your reported death, 
 And I, alas ! the cause ? — By heaven, I vow. 
 And all the powers that rule the realms below, 
 Unwilling I forsook your friendly state. 
 Commanded by tlie Gods, and forc'd by Fate — 
 Those Gods, that Fate, whose unresisted might 
 Have sent me to these regions void of light, 
 Through the vast empire of eternal night. 
 Nor dar'd I to presume, that, press'd with grief. 
 My flight should urge you to this dire relief. 
 Stay, stay your steps, and listen to my vows ! 
 'Tis the last interview that Fate allows!" 
 In vain he thus attempts her mind to move 
 With tears and pray'rs, and late-repenting love. 
 Disdainfully she look'd ; then turning round, 
 She fix'd her eyes unmov'd upon the ground, 
 And, what he says and swears, regards no more, 
 Than the deaf rocks, when the loud billows roar; 
 But whirl'd away to shun his hateful sight. 
 Hid in the forest, and the shades of night; 
 Then sought Sichteus through the shady grove. 
 Who answer'd all her cares, and equall'd all her 
 love. 
 
 Now looking on the left the hero spied 
 A lofiy tower, and strong on ev'ry side 
 With treble walls, which Phlegethon surrounds, 
 Whose fiery flood the burning empire bounds: 
 And, pressd betwixt the rocks, the bellowing 
 
 noise resounds. 
 Wide is the fronting gate, and rais'd on high 
 With adamantine columns, threats the sky. 
 Vain is the force of man, and heaven's as vain, 
 To crush the pillars which the pile sustain. 
 Sublime on these, a tower of steel is rear'd ; 
 And dire Tisiphone there keeps the ward. 
 Girt in her sanguine gown, by night and day, 
 Observant of the souls that pass the downward 
 
 way. 
 From hence are beard the groans of ghosts, the 
 
 chains. 
 
 pains 
 Of sounding lashes and of dra; 
 
452 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 The Trojan stood astonishVl at their cries, 
 
 And ask"d Ins guide, from whence those yells 
 
 arise ; 
 And what the crimes, and what the tortures were, 
 And loiul laments tliat rent tlie liquid air. 
 She thus replied : " The chaste and holy race 
 Are all forbidden this polluted place. 
 But Hecat, when she uave to rule the woods. 
 Then led me trembling through these dire abodes. 
 And taught the tortures of th' avenging gods. 
 These are the realms of unrelenting Fate; 
 And awful Rhadamanthus rules the state. 
 He hears and judges each committed crime ; 
 Inquires into the manner, place, and time. 
 The conscious wretch must all his acts reveal, 
 (Loth to confess, unable to conceal) 
 From the first moment of his vital breath, 
 To his last hour of unrepenting death. 
 Straight o'er the guilty ghost, the Fury shakes 
 The sounding whip, and brandishes her snakes, 
 And the pale sinner, with her sisters, takes. 
 Then of itself, unfolds the eternal door : 
 With dreadful sounds, the brazen hinges roar. 
 You see, before the g^te, what stalking ghost 
 Cominands the guard, wliat sentries keep the post. 
 More formidable Hydra stands within. 
 Whose jaws with iron teeth severely grin. 
 The gaping gulf low to the centre lies. 
 And twice as deep as earth is distant from the 
 
 skies. 
 The rivals of the gods, the Titati race, 
 Here, sing'd with lightning, roll within th' un- 
 
 fathom"d space. 
 Here lie th' Alocan twins, (I saw them both) 
 Enormous bodies of gigantic growth, 
 Who dar'd in fight the Thumrrer to defy. 
 Affect his heaven, and force him from the sky. 
 Saimoneus, suffering cruel pains, I found, 
 For emulating Jove ; the rattling sound 
 Of mimic thunder, and the glitt'ring blaze 
 Of pointed lightnings, and their forky rays. 
 Through Elis, and the Grecian towns he flew: 
 The audacious wretch four fiery coursers drew : 
 He wav'd a torch aloft, and, madly vain. 
 Sought godlike worship from a servile train. 
 Ambitious fool ! with horny hoofs to pass 
 O'er hollow arches of resounding brass, 
 To rival thunder in its rapid course, 
 And imitate inimitable force ! 
 But he, the king of heaven, obscure on high, 
 Bar'd his red arm, and launching from the sky 
 His writhen bolt, not shaking empty smoke, 
 Down to the deep abyss the flaming felon struck. 
 Here Tityus was to see, who took Ids birth 
 From heaven, his nursing from the foodfid earth. 
 Here his gigantic limbs, with large embrace. 
 Infold nine acres of infernal space. 
 A rav'nous vulture, in his open'd sirle. 
 Her crooked beak and cruel talons tried ; 
 Still for the growing liver digg'd his breast: 
 The growing liver still supplied the feast; 
 Still are his entrails fruitfid to their pains: 
 Th' immortal hunger lasts, th' immortal food re- 
 mains. 
 Ixion and PiridioQs I could name, 
 And more Thessalian chiefs of mighty fame. 
 
 High o'er their heads a mould'ring rock is plac'd, 
 That promises a fall, and shakes at ev'ry blast 
 They lie below on golden beds display'd; 
 And genial feasts, with regal pomp are made. 
 The queen of Furies by their side is set. 
 And snatches from their mouths th" untasted meat, 
 Which if they touch, her hissing snakes she rears, 
 Tossing her torch and thund'ring in their ears. — 
 Then they, who brothers' better claim disown, 
 E.xpel their parents, and usurp the throne; 
 Defiaud their clients, and, to lucre sold, 
 Sit brooding on unprofitable gold — 
 Who dare not give, and e'en refuse to lend. 
 To their poor kindred, or a wanting friend — 
 Vast is the throng of these; nor less the train 
 Of lustfid youths, for foul adult'ry slain — 
 Hosts of deserters, who their honour sold. 
 And basely broke their faith for bribes of gold. 
 All these within the dungeon's depth remain, 
 Despairing pardon, and expecting pain. 
 Ask not what pains; nor further seek to know 
 Their process, or the forms of law below : 
 Some roll a mighty stone; some, laid along, 
 And bound with burning wires, on spokes of 
 
 wheels are hung. 
 Unhappy Theseus, doom'd for ever there, 
 Is fix'd by Fate on Ids eternal chair : 
 And wretched Phlegj'as warns the world with 
 
 cries, 
 (Could warning make the world more just or 
 
 wise) 
 ' Learn righteousness, and dread th' avenging 
 
 deities.' 
 To tyrants, others have their countries sold, 
 Imposing foreign lords, for foreign gold : 
 Some have old laws repeal'd, new statutes made, 
 Not as the people pleas'd, but as they paid. 
 With incest some their daughter's bed profan'd. 
 All dar'd the worst of ills, and, what they dar'd, 
 
 attain'd. 
 Had T a liundred mouths, a hundred tongues. 
 And throats of brass, inspir'd with iron limgs, 
 I could not half those horrid crimes repeat. 
 Nor half the punishment those crimes have met. 
 But let us haste, our voyage to pursue : 
 The walls of Pluto's palace are in view, 
 Tlie izate, an<l iron arch above : — it stands — 
 And anvils labour'd by the Cyclops' hands. 
 Before our farther way the Fates allow. 
 Here must we fix on high the golden bough." 
 She said: and through the gloomy shades they 
 
 past. 
 And chose the middle path. — \rriv'd at last. 
 The prince, with living water, sprinkled o'er 
 His limbs and body, then approach'd the door, 
 Possess'd the porcli, and on the front above 
 He fix'd the fatal bough, requir'd by Pluto's love. 
 These holy rites perform 'd, they took their way, 
 Where long extended jilains of pleasure lay. 
 The verdant fields with those of heaven may vie, 
 With ether vested, and a ])nrple sky — 
 The blissful seats of happy souls below: 
 Stars of their own, and their own suns, they 
 
 know.. 
 Their airy limbs in sports they exercise, 
 And, on the green, contend th' wrestler's prize. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 453 
 
 Some, in heroic verse, divinely sing: 
 
 Others in artful measures load the ring. 
 
 The Thracian bard, surrounded by the rest, 
 
 There stands conspicuous in his flowins^ vest. 
 
 His flyint; fingers, and harmonious quill, 
 
 Strilie seven distinguish'd notes, and seven at 
 
 once they fill. 
 Here found they Teucer's old heroic race, 
 Born, better times, and happier years to grace, 
 Assaracus and Illus here enjoy 
 Perpetual fame, with him who founded Troy. 
 The chief beheld their chariots from afar, 
 Their shining arms and coursers train'd to v^ar. 
 Their lances fi.x'd in eartli — their steeds around. 
 Free from their harness, "raze the flowery ground. 
 The love of horses which they had, alive, 
 And care of chariots after death, survive. 
 Some cheerful souls were feasting on the plain; 
 Some did the song, and some the choir maintain, 
 Beneath a laurel shade, where mighty Po 
 Mounts up to woods above, and hides his head 
 
 below. 
 Here patriots live, who, for their country's good, 
 In flighting fields, were prodigal of blood : 
 Priests of unblemish'd lives here make abode, 
 And poets worthy their inspiring god ; 
 And searching wits, of more mechanic parts. 
 Who grac'd their age with new-invented arts; 
 Those who to worth, their bounty did extend. 
 And those who knew that bounty to commend. 
 The heads of these, with holy fillets bound. 
 And al 1 their temples were with garlands crown'd. 
 To these the Sibyl thus her speech address'd. 
 And first to him surrounded by the rest — 
 (Tow'ring his height, and ample was his breast.) 
 " Say, happy souls ! divine Musseus ! say. 
 Where lives Anchises, and where lies our way 
 To find the hero, for whose only sake 
 We sought the dark abodes, and cross'd the bitter 
 
 lake."' 
 To this the sacred poet thus replied : 
 "In no fix'd place the happy souls reside, 
 In groves we live, and lie on mossy beds, 
 By crystal streams, that murmur through the 
 
 meads : 
 But pass yon easy hill, and thence descend ; 
 The path conducts you to your journey's end." 
 This said, he led them up the mountain's brow, 
 And shows them all the shining fields below. 
 They wind the hill, and through the blissful 
 
 meadows go. 
 But old Anchises, in a flow'ry vale, 
 Review'd his muster'd race, and took the tale — 
 Those happy spirits, which, ordain'd by Fate, 
 For future being and new bodies wait — 
 With studious thought, observ'd th' illustrious 
 
 throng 
 In Nature's ordier, as they pass'd along — 
 Their names, their fates, their conduct, and their 
 
 care. 
 In peaceful senates, and successful war. 
 He, when .lEneas on the plain appears. 
 Meets him with open arms, and falling tears. 
 "Welcome," he said, "the gods" tmdoubted race! 
 O long expected to my dear embrace ; 
 Once more, 'tis giv'n me to behold your face ! 
 
 The love and pious duty which you pay, 
 Have pass'd the perils of so hard a way. 
 'Tis true, computing times, I now believ'd 
 The happy day approach'd ; nor are my hopes 
 
 deceiv'd. 
 What length of lands, what oceans have you 
 
 pass'd, 
 What storms sustain'd, and on what sliores been 
 
 cast! 
 How have I fear'd your fate, but fear'd it most, 
 When Love assail'd you on the Libyan coast." 
 To thi.s, the filial duty thus replies: 
 " Your sacred ghost, before my sleeping eyes, 
 Appear'd, and often urg'd this p^iinful enter- 
 prise. 
 After long tossing on the Tyrrhene sea. 
 My navy rides at anchor in the bay. 
 But reach your hand, oh parent shade ! nor shun 
 The dear embraces of your longing sou!" 
 He said ; and falling tears his face bedew : 
 Then thrice, around his neck, his arms he threw; 
 And thrice the flitting shadows slipp'd away. 
 Like winds, or empty dreams that fly the day. 
 Now, in a secret vale, the Trojan sees 
 A Sep 'rate grove through which a gentle breeze 
 Plays with a passing breath, and whispers 
 
 through the trees: 
 And, just before the confines of the wood. 
 The gliding Lethe leads her silent flood. 
 About the boughs an airy nation flew. 
 Thick as the humming bees, that hunt the golden 
 
 dew, 
 In summer's heat ; on tops of lilies feed, 
 And creep within their bells, to suck the balmy 
 
 seed : 
 The winged army roams the field around; 
 The rivers and the rocks remurmur to the sound. 
 jErieas wond'ring stood, then ask'd the cause. 
 Which to the stream the crowding people draws. 
 Then thus the sire: "The souls that throng the 
 
 flood 
 Are those, to whom by Fate, are other bodies 
 
 ow'd : 
 In Lethe's lake, they long oblivion taste. 
 Of future life secure, forgetful of the past. 
 Long has my soul desir'd this time and place, 
 To set before your sight your glorious race. 
 That this presaging joy may fire your mind, 
 To seek the shores by destiny desiLrn'd."^ 
 '■0 father! can it be, that souls sublime 
 Return to visit our terrestrial clime. 
 And that the gen'rous mind, releas'd by death, 
 Can covet lazy limbs, and mortal breath ?" 
 Anchises then, in order, thus begim 
 To clear those wonders to his godlike son : 
 " Know, first, that heaven, and earth's compacted 
 
 frame. 
 And flowing waters, and the starry flame, 
 And both the radiant lights, one common soul 
 Inspires and feeds — and animates the whole. 
 This active mind, infiis'd through all the space, 
 Unites and mingles with the mighty mass. 
 Hence men and beasts the breath of life obtain, 
 And birds of air, and monsters of the main. 
 Th' ethereal vigour is in nil the same ; 
 And ev'ry soul is fiU'd with equal flame— 
 
454 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 As much as eartlily limbs and gross allay 
 Of mortal members, subject to decay, 
 Blunt not the beams of heaven and edge of day. 
 From this coarse mixture of terrestrial parts, 
 Desire and fear by turns possess their hearts, 
 And grief, and joy: nor can the grov'ling mind, 
 In the dark dungeon of the limbs confin'd, 
 Assert the native skies, or own its heavenly kind: 
 Nor death itself can wholly wash their stains; 
 But long-contracted filth e'en in the soul remains. 
 The relics of invet'rate vice they wear; 
 And spots of sin obscene in evry face appear. 
 For this are various penances enjoin'd ; 
 And some are hung to bleach upon the wind, 
 Some plung'd in waters, others purg'd in fires, 
 Till all the dregs are drain'd, and all the rust 
 
 expires. 
 All have their manes, and those manes bear : 
 The few, so cleans'd, to these abodes repair, 
 And breathe in ample fields, the soft Elysian air. 
 Then are they happy, when by length of time 
 The scurf is worn away of each committed crime; 
 No speck is left of their habitual stains; 
 But the pure ether of the soul remains. 
 But, when a thousand rolling years are past, 
 (So long their punishments and penance last) 
 Whole droves of minds are, by the driving god, 
 Compeird to drink the deep Lethean flood, 
 In large forgetful draughts, to steep the cares 
 Of their past labours and their irksome years, 
 That, unrememb'ring of its former pain. 
 The soul may sufiier mortal flesh again." 
 Thus having said, the father-spirit leads 
 The priestess and his son through swarms of 
 
 shades. 
 And takes a rising ground, from thence to see 
 The long procession of his progeny. 
 "Survey (pursued the sire) this airy throng, 
 As, offer'd to the view, they pass along. 
 These are th' Italian names, which Fate will join 
 With ours, and graff" upon the Trojan line. 
 Observe the youth who first appears in sight, 
 And holds the nearest station to the light, 
 Already seems to snuft'the vital air, 
 And leans just forward on a shining spear : 
 Silvius is he, thy last begotten race, 
 But first in order sent, to fill thy place — 
 An Alban name, but mix'd with Dardan blood: 
 Born in the covert of a shady wood. 
 Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife. 
 Shall breed in groves, to lead a solitary life. 
 In Alba he shall fix his royal seat. 
 And, born a king, a race of kings beget ; — 
 Then Procas, honour of the Trojan name, 
 Capys, and Numitor, of endless fame. 
 A second Silvius after these appears—- 
 Silvius .(Eneas, for thy name he bears— 
 For arms and justice equally renown"d ; 
 Who, late restored, in Alba shall be crown'd. 
 How great they look! how vigorously they wield 
 Their weighty lances, and sustain the shield! 
 But they, who crown'd with oaken wreaths ap- 
 pear. 
 Shall Gabian walls and strong Fidcene rear; 
 Nomentum, Bola, with Pometia, found ; 
 And raise Collatian towers on rocky ground. 
 
 And these shall then be towns of mighty fame, 
 Though now they lie obscure, and lands without 
 
 a name. 
 See Romulus the great, born to restore 
 The crown that once his injur'd grandsire wore. 
 This prince a priestess of our blood shall bear; 
 And like his sire in arms he shall appear. 
 Two rising crests his royal head adorn : 
 Born from a god, himself to godhead born: 
 His sire already signs him for the skies, 
 And marks his seat amid the deities. 
 Auspicious chief! thy race, in times to come. 
 Shall spread the conquests of imperial Rome — 
 Rome whose ascending towers shall heaven in- 
 vade. 
 Involving earth and heaven into her shade; 
 High as the mother of the gods in place, 
 And proud, like her, of an immortal race, 
 Then, when in pomp she makes the Phrygian 
 
 round. 
 With golden turrets on her temples crown'd : 
 A hundred gods her sweeping train supply. 
 Her oflspring all ; and all command the sky. 
 Now fix your sight, and stand intent, to see 
 Your Roman race, and Julian progeny. 
 There mighty Cresar waits his vital hour. 
 Impatient for the world, and grasps his promis'd 
 
 power. 
 But next behold the youth of form divine — 
 Ccesar himself, exalted in his line — 
 Augustus, promis'd oft, and long foretold, 
 Sent to the realm that Saturn rul'd of old ; 
 Born to restore a better age of gold. 
 Afric and India shall his power obey; 
 He shall extend his propagated sway 
 Beyond the solar year, without the starry way. 
 Where Atlas turns the rolling heavens around. 
 And his broad shoulders with their lights are 
 
 crown'd. 
 At his foreseen approach, already quake 
 The Caspian kingdoms and Ma'Otian lake. 
 Their seers behold the tempest from afar; 
 And threat'ning oracles denounce the war. 
 Nile hears him knocking at his sevenfold gates. 
 And seeks his hidden spring, and fears his ne- 
 phew's fates. 
 Nor Hercules more lands or labours knew, 
 Not though the brazen-footed hind he slew, 
 Freed Erymanthus from the foaming boar, 
 And dipp'd his arrows in Lernsean gore. 
 Nor Bacchus, turning from his Indian war, 
 By tigers drawn triumphant in his car, 
 From Nysa's top descending on the plains, 
 With curling vines around his purple reins. 
 And doubt we yet through dangers to pursue 
 The paths of honour, and a crown in view? — 
 But what's the man, who from afar appears. 
 His head with olive crown'd, his hand a censer 
 
 bears ? 
 His hoary beard and holy vestments bring 
 His lost idea back. I know the Roman king. 
 He shall to peaceful Rome new laws ordain, 
 Call'd from his mean abode, a sceptre to sus- 
 tain. 
 Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds, 
 An active prince, and prone to martial deeds. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 455 
 
 He sliall his troops for fighting fields prepare, 
 
 Disus'd to toils aiul triumphs of the war. 
 
 By (lint of" sword, his crown he shall increase. 
 
 And scour his armour from the rust of peace. 
 
 Wiiom Anciis follows with a lawning air, 
 
 But vain within, and proudly popular. 
 
 Next view the Tarquin kings, th' avenging sword 
 
 Of Brutus, justly drawn, and Rome restor'd. 
 
 He first renews the rods and axe severe. 
 
 And gives the consuls royal robes to wear. 
 
 His sons, who seek the tyrant to sustain, 
 
 And long for arbitrary lords again. 
 
 With ignominy scourg'd in open sight. 
 
 He dooms to death deserv'd, asserting public 
 
 right. 
 Urdiappy man ! to break the pious laws 
 Of nature, pleading in his children's cause ! 
 Howe'er the doubtful fact is understood, 
 Tis love of honour, and his country's good, 
 The consul, not the father, sheds the blood. 
 Behold Tarquatus the same track pursue ; 
 And next t/he two devoted Decii view— 
 The Drusian line. Camillus loaded hoine 
 With standards vi^ell redeem'd, and foreign foes 
 
 o'ercome. 
 The pair you see, in equal armour shine, 
 Now, friends below, in close embraces join : 
 But, when they leave the shady realms of night. 
 And, cloth'd in bodies, breathe your upper light. 
 With mortal hate each other shall pursue: 
 What wars, what wounds, what slaughter, shall 
 
 ensue ? 
 From Alpine heights the father first descends; 
 His daughter's husband in the plain attends : 
 His daughter's husband arms his eastern friends. 
 Embrace again my sons! be foes no more; 
 Nor stain your country with her children's gore! 
 And thou, the first, lay down thy lawless claim. 
 Thou, of my blood, who bear'st the Julian name ! 
 Another comes, who shall in triumph ride. 
 And to the Capitol his chariot guide. 
 From conquerd Corinth, rich with Grecian spoils. 
 And yet another, fam'd for warlike toils, 
 On Argos shall impose the Roman laws, 
 And on the Greeks, revenge the Trojan cause ; 
 Shall drag in chains their Achillean race; 
 Shall vindicate his ancestors' disgrace, 
 And Pallas, for her violated place. 
 Great Cato there, for gravity renown'd. 
 And conq'ring Cossus goes with laurels crown'd. 
 Who can omit the Gracchi? who declare 
 The Scipio's worth, those thunderl)olts of war. 
 The double bane of Carthage? Who can see, 
 Without esteem for virtuous poverty, 
 Severe Fabricius, or can cease t' admire 
 The ploughman consul in his coarse attire? 
 Tired as I am, my praise the Fabii claim ; 
 And thou, great hero, greatest of thy name, 
 Ordain'd in war to save the sinking state. 
 And, by delays, to put a stop to Fate ! 
 Let others better mould the running mass 
 Of metals, and inform the breathing brass, 
 And soften into flesh, a marble face; 
 Plead better at the bar; describe the skies. 
 And when the stars descend, and when they rise. 
 But Rome I 'tis thine alone, with awful sway, 
 
 To rule mankind, and make the world obey. 
 Disposing peace and war, thy own majestic way: 
 'I'o tame the proud, the fettcr'd slave to free : — 
 These are im])erial arts and worthy thee." 
 He paus'd — and, while with wond'ring eyes they 
 
 view'd 
 The passing spirits, tints his speech ronew'd: 
 "See great Marcelhis! how, untir'd in toils. 
 He moves with manly grace, how rich with regal 
 
 spoils! 
 He, when his country (threaten'd with alarms) 
 Requires his courage, and his conq'ring arms, 
 Shall more than once the Punic arms affright; 
 Shall kill the Gaulish king in single fight; 
 Then to the Capitol in triumph niove : 
 And the third spoils shall grace Feretrian Jove." 
 .^neas here beheld, of form divine, 
 A godlike youth, in gjitt'ring armour shine, 
 With great Marcelhis keeping equal pace : 
 But gloomy were his eyes, dejected was his face. 
 He saw, and wond'ring, ask'd his airy guide. 
 What and of whence was he, who press'd the 
 
 hero's side ? 
 "His son, or one of his illustrious name? 
 How like the former, and almost the same? 
 Observe the crowds, that compass him around: 
 All gaze, and all admire, and raise a shouting 
 
 soimd : 
 But hovering mists around his brows are spread ; 
 And night with sable shades involves his head." 
 "Seek not to know, (the ghost replied with tears) 
 The sorrows of thy sons in future years. 
 This youth (the blissful vision of a day) 
 Shall just be shown on earth, then snatch'd away. 
 The gods too high had rais'd the Roman state. 
 Were but their gifts as permanent as great. 
 What groans of men shall fill the Martian Field! 
 How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield! 
 What fun'ral pomp shall floating Tiber see. 
 When, rising from his bed, he views the sad 
 
 solemnity ! 
 No youth shall equal hopes of glory give, 
 No youth aflbrd so great a cause to grieve. 
 The Trojan honour, and the Roman boast, 
 Admir'd when living, and ador'd when lost! 
 Mirror of ancient faith in early youth ! 
 Undaunted worth, inviolable truth ! 
 No foe, unpunish'd, in the fighting field 
 Shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword and 
 
 shield ! 
 Much less in arms oppose thy matchless force, 
 When thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming 
 
 horse. 
 Ah! couldst thou break through Fate's severe 
 
 decree, 
 A new Marcelhis shall ari.se in thee!* 
 Full canisters of fragrant lilies bring, 
 Mix'd widi the purple roses of the spring: 
 Let me with fun'ral flowers his body strow, 
 This gift, which jjarents to their children owe, 
 This imavailing gift, at least I may bestow!" 
 Thus having said, he led the hero round 
 The confines of the blest Elysian ground; 
 
 ♦ Every one knows how liberally this afTecting tribute 
 to the virtues of the young Marcellus was rewarded by 
 his mother Octavia. 
 
456 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Which when Anchises to his son had shown, 
 And fir"d his mind to mount the promis"d throne, 
 He tells the future wars, ordain'd by Fate ; 
 The strength and customs of the Latian stare; 
 The prince, and people ; and forearms his care 
 With rules, to push his fortune, or to bear. 
 
 Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn ; 
 Of polisli'd iv'ry this, that of transparent horn : 
 True visions through transparent horn arise, 
 Through polishd iv'ry pass deluding lies. 
 Of various things discoursing as he passd, 
 Ancliises hither bends his steps at last. 
 Then, through the gate of iv'ry he disiniss'd 
 His valiant otfspring, and divining guest. 
 Straight to the ships .^neas took his way, 
 Embark'd his men, and skimm'd along the sea, 
 Still coasting, till he gain'd Caieta's bay. 
 At length on oozy ground his galleys moor : 
 Their lieads are turn'd to sea, tlieir sterns to shore. 
 
 Book VII. 
 Jusro, favouring Turnus, sends Alecto to stir up 
 a quarrel, and to break the treaty which had been 
 made, between the Trojans and Latians. 
 
 While Turnus urges thus his enterprise. 
 The Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies ; 
 New frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand. 
 Which overlooks the vale with wide command; 
 Where fair Ascanius and his youthful train. 
 With horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain. 
 And pitch their toils around the shady plain. 
 The Fury fires the pack ; they snuff, they vent. 
 And feed their hungry nostrils with the scent. 
 "Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers ri«e 
 High o'er his front, his beams invade the skies. 
 From this light cause, tli" infernal maid prepares 
 The country churls to mischief, hate, and wars. 
 
 The stately beast the two Tyrrhidte bred, 
 Snatch'd from his dam, and the tame youngling 
 
 fed. 
 Their father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring, 
 Tyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king. 
 Their sister Silvia cherish'd with her care 
 The little wanton, and did wreaths prepare 
 To hang his budding horns; with ribands tied 
 His tender neck, and comb'd his silken hide. 
 And bath'd his body. Patient of command 
 In time he grew, and growing, us'd to hand, 
 He waited at his master's board for food ; 
 Then sought his savage kindred in the wood. 
 Where grazing all the day, at night he came 
 To his known lodgings, and his country dame. 
 This household beast, that us'd the woodland 
 
 grounds. 
 Was view'd at first by the young hero's hounds. 
 As down the stream he swam, to seek retreat 
 In the cool waters, and to quench his heat. 
 Ascanius, young, and eager of his game, 
 Soon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim: 
 But the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides. 
 Which pierc'd his bowels through his panting 
 
 sides. 
 The bleeding creature issues from the floods, 
 Possess'd with fear, and seeks his known abodes. 
 His old familiar hearth, and household gods. 
 
 He falls ; he fills the bouse with heavy groans, 
 Implores their pity, and his pain bemoans. 
 Young Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud 
 For succour from the clo\vnish neighbourhood : 
 The churls assemble ; for the fiend who lay 
 In the close woody covert, urg'd their way. 
 One with a brand yet burning from the flame, 
 Arm'd with a knotty club another came ; 
 Whate'er they catch or find, without their care, 
 Their fury makes an instrument of war. 
 Tyrrheus, the foster-fatlier of the beast. 
 Then clench'd a hatchet in his horny fist. 
 But held his hand from the descending stroke. 
 And left his wedge within the cloven oak. 
 To whet their courage, and their rage invoke. 
 And now the Goddess, exercis'd in ill. 
 Who watch'd an hour to work her impious will, 
 Ascends the roof, and to her crooked horn. 
 Such as was then by Latian shepherds borne. 
 Adds all her breath. The rocks and woods 
 
 around. 
 And mountains tremble at th" infernai sound. 
 The sacred lake of Trivia from afar. 
 The Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar, 
 Shake at the baleful blast, the signal of the 
 
 war. 
 Young mothers wildly stare, with fear possess'd, 
 And strain tlieir helpless infants to their breast. 
 
 CAMILLA COMES TO THE AID OF TURJfUS. 
 
 Last from the Volscians fair Camilla came. 
 And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame : 
 Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill'd. 
 She chose the nobler Pallas of the field. 
 Mix'd with the first, the fierce Virago fought, 
 Sustain'd the toils of arms, the dangers sought; 
 Outstripp'd the winds in speed upon the plain. 
 Flew o'er the field, nor hurt the bearded grain: 
 She swept the seas, and, as she skimm'd along. 
 Her flying feet, unbath'd, on billows hung. 
 Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise. 
 Where'er she passes fix their wond'ring eyes : 
 Longing they look, and gaping at the sight. 
 Devour her o'er and o'er with vast delight; 
 Her purple habit sits with such a grace 
 On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face; 
 Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown'd ; 
 And in a golden caul the curls are bound. 
 She shakes her myrtle jav'lin; and, behind. 
 Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind. 
 
 Soon as the prince appears without the gate, 
 The Volscians, and their virgin leader, wait 
 His last commands. Then, with a graceful 
 
 mien. 
 Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen: 
 Her squadron imitates, and each descends; 
 Whose common suit Camilla thus commends: 
 "If sense of honour, if a soul secure 
 Of inborn worth that can all tests endure, 
 Can promise aught, or on itself rely. 
 Greatly to dare, to conquer, or to die ; 
 Then, I alone, sustain'd by these, will meet 
 The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat. 
 Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown: 
 You, genial, stay behind, and guard the town." 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 457 
 
 Booh VIII. 
 
 THE SUIELD OF JEXEAS. 
 
 Most he admires the shield's mysterious moidd, 
 And Ivjman triumphs rising on the gohl : 
 For there, einboss'd, the heavenly smith had 
 
 wrought 
 (Not in the rolls of future fate untaufrht) 
 The wars in order, and the race divine 
 Of warriors issuing from the Julian line. 
 The cave of Mars was dress'd with mossy greens : 
 There, by the wolf, were laid the martial twins. 
 Intrepid on her swelling dugs they hung: 
 The foster dam loU'd out her fawning tongue: 
 They suck'd secure, while bending bade her 
 
 head. 
 She lick'd their tender limbs, and form'd them as 
 
 they fed. 
 Not far from tlierice, new Rome appears, with 
 
 games 
 Projected for the rape of Sabine dames. 
 The pit resounds with shrieks: a war succeeds. 
 For breach of public faith, and unexampled 
 
 deeds, 
 Here for revenge the Sabine troops contend : 
 The Romans there with arms their prey defend. 
 Wearied with tedious war, at length they cease; 
 And both the kings and kingdoms plight the 
 
 peace. 
 The friendly chiefs before Jove's altar stand, 
 Both arm'd, with each a charger in his hand : 
 A fatted sow for sacrifice is led. 
 With imprecations on the perjur'd head. 
 Near this, the traitor Metius, stretch'd between 
 Four fiery steeds, is dragg'd along the green. 
 By Tullus' doom: the brambles drink his blood; 
 And his torn limbs are left, the vulture's food. 
 There, Porsena to Rome proud Tarquin brings. 
 And would by force restore the banish'd kings. 
 One tyrant for his fellow-tyrant fights : 
 The Roman youth assert their native rights. 
 Before the town the Tuscan army lies. 
 To win by famine, or by fraud surprise. 
 Their king, half threatening, half disdaining stood, 
 While Codes broke the bridge and stemm'd the 
 
 flood. 
 The captive maids there tempt the raging tide, 
 Scap'd from their chains, with Clcjelia for their 
 
 guide. 
 High on a rock heroic Manlius stood, 
 To guard the temple and the temple's god. 
 Then Rome was poor ; and there you might be- 
 hold 
 The palace, thatch'd with straw, now roof 'd with 
 
 gold; 
 The silver goose before the shining gate 
 There flew, and by her cackle, sav'd the state. 
 She told the Gauls' approach : th' approaching 
 
 Gauls, 
 Obscure in night, ascend, and seize the walls. 
 The gold dissembled well their yellow hair; 
 And golden chains on their white necks they 
 
 wear : 
 Gold are their vests : long Alpine spears they 
 
 wield 
 And their left arm sustains a length of shield. 
 58 
 
 Hard by, the leaping Salian priests advance: 
 And naked through tlie streets the mad Luperci 
 
 dance 
 In caps of wool ; the targets dropt from heaven. 
 Here modest matrons, in soft litters driv'n, 
 To pay tlioir vows in solemn pomp appear: 
 And od'rous gums in their chaste hands they bear. 
 Far hence remov'd, the Stygian seats are seen; 
 Pains of the damn'd; and punish'd Catiline, 
 Hung on a rock — the traitor; and around. 
 The Furies hissing from the nether ground. 
 Apart from these, the happy souls he draws, 
 And Cato's holy ^^liost dispensing laws. 
 Betwixt the (juarters flow a golden sea: 
 But foaming surges there in silver play. 
 The dancing dolphins with their tails <livide 
 The glitt'ring waves, and cut the precious tide 
 Amid the main, two mighty fleets engage — 
 Their brazen beaks oppos'd with equal rage. 
 Actium surveys the well-disputed prize : 
 Leucate's watry plain with foaming billows fries. 
 Young Crpsar, on the stern, in armour bright. 
 Here leads the Romans and their gods to fight: 
 His beamy temples shoot their flames afar; 
 And o'er his head is hung the Julian star. 
 Agrippa seconds him, with prosp'rous gales. 
 And, with propitious gods, his foes assails. 
 A naval crown, that binds his manly brows, 
 The happy fortune of the fight foresliows. 
 
 Rang'd on the line oppos'd, Antonius brings 
 Barbarian aids, and troops of eastern kings, 
 Th' Arabians near, and Bactrians from afar. 
 Of tongues discordant, and a mingled war; 
 And, rich in gaudy robes, amidst the strife, 
 His ill fate follows hiui — th' Egyptian wife. 
 Moving they fight: with oars and forky prows 
 The froth is gather'd, and the water glows. 
 It seems, as if the Cyclades again 
 Were rooted up, and justled in the main ; 
 Or floating mountains floating mountains meet; 
 Such is the fierce encounter of the fleet. 
 Fire-balls are thrown, and pointed javelins fly 
 The fields of Neptune take a purple dye. 
 The queen herself, amidst the loud alarms, 
 Widi cymbals toss'd, her fainting soldiers warms — 
 Fool as she was! who had not yet diviu'd 
 Her cruel fate; nor saw the snakes behind. 
 Her country gods, the monsters of the sky, 
 Great Neptune, Pallas, and Love's queen, defy. 
 The dog Anubis barks, but barks in vain. 
 Nor longer dares oppose th' ethereal train. 
 Mars in the middle of the shining shield. 
 Is grav'd, and strides along the liquid field. 
 The Dirse souse from heaven with swift descent: 
 And Discord, dy'd in blood, with garments rent, 
 Divides the crowd: her steps Bellona treads, 
 And shakes her iron rod above their heads. 
 This seen, Apollo, from his Actian height. 
 Pours down his arrows; at whose winged flight 
 The trembling Indians and F.gypiians yield, 
 And soft Saba>ans quit the watry field. 
 The fatal mistress hoists her silken sails. 
 And shrinking from the fight, invokes the gales. 
 Aghast she looks, and heaves her breast for 
 
 breath, 
 Panting, and jiale with fear of future death. 
 20 
 
458 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Tlie god Imd figur'd her, as driven along 
 
 By winds ami waves, and scudding through the 
 
 throng. 
 Just opposite, sad Nilus opens wide, 
 His arms and ample bosom to the tide, 
 And spreads his mantle o"er the winding coast, 
 In which he wraps his queen, and hides the 
 
 flying host. 
 The victor to the gods, his thardcs express'd, 
 And Rome triumphant with his presence bless'd. 
 Three hundred temples in the town he plac'd ; 
 With spoils and altars every temple grac'd. 
 Three shining nights, and three succeeding days. 
 The fields resound with shouts, the streets with 
 
 praise. 
 The domes with songs, the theatres with plays. 
 All altars flame : before each altar lies, 
 Drench'd in his gore, the destin'd sacrifice. 
 Great Ca-sar sits sublime upon his throne, 
 Before Apollo's porch of Parian stone ; 
 Accepts the presents vow'd for victory. 
 And hangs the monumental crowns on high. 
 Vast crowds of vanquish"d nations march along, 
 Various in arms, in habit, and in tongue. 
 Here, Mulciber assigns the proper place 
 For Carians, and th" ungirt Numidian race; 
 Then ranks the Thracians in the second row, 
 With Scythians, expert in dart and bow. 
 And here the tam'd Euphrates humbly glides; 
 And there the Rhine submits his swelling tides. 
 And proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind. 
 The Dane's unconquer"d offspring march behind; 
 And Morini, the last of human kind. 
 These figures on the shield divinely wrought. 
 By Vulcan labour'd, and by Venus brought. 
 With joy and wonder fill the hero's thought. 
 Unknown the names, he yet admires the grace. 
 And bears aloft the fame and fortune of his race. 
 
 Booh IX. 
 
 XISUS AND EURTALUS. 
 
 Nigh vi-here the foes their utmost guards ad- 
 vance. 
 To watch the gate, was warlike Nisus' chance. 
 His father Hyrtacus of noble blood ; 
 His mother was a huntress of the wood, 
 And sent him to the wars. Well could he bear 
 His lance in fight, and dart the flying spear, 
 But better skill'd unerring shafts to send, 
 Beside him stood Euryalus, his friend — 
 Euryalus, than whom the Trojan host 
 No fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast. 
 Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun. 
 One was their care, and their delight was one. 
 One common hazard in the war they sbar'd ; 
 And now were both by choice upon the guard. 
 
 Then Nisus thus: "Or do the gods inspire 
 This warmth, or make we gods of our desire? 
 A gen'rous ardour boils within my breast, 
 Eager of action, enemy to rest: 
 This urges me to fight, and fires my mind, 
 To leave a memorable name behind. 
 Thou seest the foe sectire ; how faintly shine 
 Their scatter'd fires ! the most, in sleep supine. 
 
 Along the ground, an easy conquest lie. 
 The wakeful few the fuming flaggon ply: 
 All hush'd around. Now hear what I revolve — 
 A thought unripe — and scarcely yet resolve. 
 Our absent prince both camp and council mourn ; 
 By message both would hatsen his return : 
 If tliey confer what I demand, on thee, 
 (For fame is recompense enough for me) 
 Methinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied 
 A way that safely will my passage guide." 
 Euryalus stood listening while he spoke ; 
 With love of praise, and noble envy struck ; 
 Then to his ardeiit friend expos'd his mind: 
 "All this alone, and leaving me behind! 
 Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join'dl 
 Think'st thou I can my share of glory yield, 
 Or send thee unassisted to the field ■? 
 Not so my father taught my childhood arms — 
 Born in a siege, and bred among alarms. 
 The thing call'd life, with ease I can disclaim, 
 And think it over-sold to purchase fame." 
 
 Then Nisus thus: "Alas! diy tender years 
 Would minister new matters to my fears. 
 So may the gods, who view this friendly strife, 
 Restore me to thy lov'd embrace with life. 
 Condemn"d to pay my vows (as sure I trust) 
 This thy request is cruel and unjust. 
 But if some chance — as many chances are. 
 And doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war — 
 If one should reach my head, there let it fall. 
 And spare thy life: I would not perish all. 
 Thy blooming youth deserves a longer date : 
 Live thou to mourn thy friend's unhappy fate, 
 To bear my mangled body from the foe. 
 Or buy it back, and fun'ral rites bestow. 
 Or if hard fortune shall those dues deny. 
 Thou canst at least an empty tomb supply. 
 ! let not me the widow's tears renew ; 
 Nor let a mother's curse my name purstie — 
 Thy pious parent, who, for love of thee, 
 Forsook the coasts of friendly Sicily, 
 Her age committing to the seas and wind, 
 When ev'ry weary matron staid behind." 
 To this, Euryalus: "You plead in vain, 
 And but protract the cause you cannot gain. 
 No more delays! but haste!" With that he 
 
 wakes 
 The nodding watch : each to his office takes. 
 The guard reliev'd, the gen'rous couple went 
 To find the council at the royal tent. 
 All creatures else forgot their daily care. 
 And sleep, the common gift of nature, share; 
 Except the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate 
 In nightly counsel for the endanger'd state. 
 They vote a message to their absent chief, 
 Shov/ their distress, and beg a swift relief. 
 Amid the camp a silent seat they chose. 
 Remote from clamour, and secure from foes. 
 On their left arms their ample shields they 
 
 bear, 
 Their right iuclin'd upon the bending spear. 
 Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard. 
 And beg admission, eager to be heard — 
 Th' aflair important, not to be deferr'd. 
 Ascanius bids them be conducted in, 
 Ord'ring the more experienc'd to begin. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 459 
 
 Then Nisus thus: "Ye fathers, lend your ears; 
 Nor jiiilge our bold attempt beyond our years. 
 The foe, securely drencli'd in sleep and wine, 
 Neglect thcnr watch ; the fires but thinly shine ; 
 And, where the smoke in cloudy vapours Hies, 
 Cov'ring the plain, and curling to the sUies, 
 Betwixt two paths which at the gate divide, 
 Close by the sea a passage we have spied, 
 Which will our way to great ^neas guide. 
 Expect each hour to see him safe .again, 
 Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain. 
 Snatch we the lucky minute while we may : 
 Nor can we be inistaken in the way ; 
 For, hunting in the vales, we both have seen 
 The rising turrets, and the stream between; 
 And know the winding course, with ev'ry ford." 
 He ceas'd: and old Aletbes took the word. 
 " Our country gods, in whom our trust we 
 
 place, 
 Will yet from ruin save the Trojan race, 
 While we behold such dauntless worth appear 
 In dawning youth, and souls so void of fear." 
 Then into tears of joy the father broke ; 
 Each in his longing arms by turns he took ; 
 Panted and paus'd ; and thus again he spoke : 
 " Ye brave young men, wdiat equal gifts can we, 
 In recomi^ense of such desert, decree? 
 The greatest sure, and best you can receive. 
 The gods and your own conscious worth will 
 
 give. 
 The rest our grateful gen'ral will bestow. 
 And young Ascanius, till his manhood, owe." 
 " And I, whose welfare in my father lies," 
 Ascanius adds, "by the great deities. 
 By my dear country, by my household gods. 
 By hoary Vesta"s rites and dark abodes, 
 Adjin-e you both — (on you my fortune stands; 
 That and my faith I plight into your hands) — 
 Make me but happy in his safe return, 
 Whose wanted presence I can only mourn; 
 Your common gift shall two large goblets be 
 Of silver, wrought with curious imag'ry. 
 And high emboss'd, which when old Priam 
 
 reign'd. 
 My conqu'ring sire at sack'd Arisba gain'd. 
 And, more, two tripods cast in antique mould, 
 With two great talents of the finest gold ; 
 Beside a costly bowl, engrav"d with art. 
 Which Dido gave, when first she gave her heart. 
 But, if in conquer'd Italy we reign. 
 When spoils by lot the victor shall obtain — 
 Thou saw'st the courser by proud Turnus pressed, 
 That, Nisus! and his arms, and nodding crest. 
 And shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy 
 
 share ; 
 Twelve lab'ring slaves, twelve handmaids young 
 
 and fair. 
 All clad in rich attire, and train"d with care ; 
 And, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains, 
 And a large portion of the king's domains : 
 But thou whose years are more to mine allied. 
 No fate my vow'd allection shall divi<le 
 From thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine: 
 Take full possession: all my soul is thine. 
 One faith, one fame, and fate, shall both attend: 
 My life's companion, and my bosom friend — 
 
 My peace shall be committed to thy care ; 
 And, to thy conduct, my concerns in war." 
 
 Then thus the young Euryalus replied: 
 "Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide, 
 The same shall be my age, as now my youdi : 
 No time shall find me wanting to my truth. 
 This only from your goodness let me gain — 
 (And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain) 
 Of Priam's royal race my mother came — 
 And sure the best that ever bore the name — 
 Whom neither Troy nor Sicily could hold 
 From me departing, but, o'erspent and old, 
 My fate she foUow'd. Ignorant of this 
 (Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss 
 Nor pious blessing taken, her I leave, 
 And in this only act of all my life deceive. 
 By this right hand, and conscious night I swear. 
 My soul so sad a farewell could not bear. 
 Be you her comfort ; fill my vacant place ; 
 (Permit me to presume so great a grace) 
 Support her age, forsaken and distress'd. 
 That hoj^e alone will fortify my breast 
 Against the worst of fortunes, and of fears." 
 He said. The mov'd assistants melt in tears. 
 Then thus Ascanius, wonder-struck to see 
 That image of his filial piety ; 
 "So great beginnings, in so gieen an age, 
 Exact the faith which I again engage. 
 Thy mother all the dues shall justly claim, 
 Creiisa had, and only want the name. 
 Whate'er event thy bold attempt shall have, 
 'Tis merit to have born a son so brave. 
 Now by my head, a sacred oath, I swear, 
 (My father us'd it) what, returning here 
 Crown'd with success, I for thyself prepare. 
 That, if thou fail, shall thy lov'd mother share." 
 He said, and weeping while he spoke the word, 
 From his broad belt he drew a shining sword. 
 Magnificent with gold. Lycaon made. 
 And in an iv'ry scabbard sheath'd the blade. 
 This was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his 
 
 friend 
 A lion's hide, his body to defend ; 
 And good Alethes furnish'd him beside. 
 With his own trusty helm, of temper tried. 
 Thus arm'd they went. The noble Trojans wait 
 Their issuing forth, and follow to the gate 
 With prayers and vows. Above the rest appears 
 Ascanius, manly far beyond his years. 
 And messages committed to their care. 
 Which all in winds were lost, and flitting air. 
 The trenches first they pass'd ; then took their 
 
 way 
 Where their proud foes in pitch'd pavilions lay; 
 To many fatal, ere themselves were slain. 
 They found the careless host dispcrs'd upon the 
 
 plain. 
 Who gorg'd and drunk with wine, stipinely 
 
 snore. 
 Unharness'd chariots stand along the shore : 
 Amidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by, 
 A medley of debauch and war, they lie. 
 Observing Nisus show'd his friend the sight, 
 "Behold a conquest gain'd without a tight. 
 Occasion oti'ers ; and I stand prepar'd : 
 There lies our way : be thou upon the guard, 
 
460 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 And look around, wliile I securely go, 
 And hew a passage throujrh the sleeping foe." 
 Softly he spoke ; then, striding, took his way. 
 With his drawn sword, where haughty Rhatnnes 
 
 lay; 
 His head rais'd high on tapestry beneath, 
 And heaving from his breast, he drew his 
 
 breath— 
 A king and prophet, by King Turnus lov'd ; 
 But fate by prescience cannot be remov'd. 
 Hiiti and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spies 
 Where Rhenius, witli his rich retinue, lies. 
 His armour-bearer first, and next he kills 
 His charioteer, intrench'd betwixt the wheels 
 And his lov'd horses; last invades their lord: 
 Full on his neck he drives the fatal sword : 
 The gasping head flies off; a purple flood 
 Flows from the trunk, that welters in the blood, 
 Which, by the spurning heels dispers"d around, 
 The bed besprinkles, and bedews the ground. 
 Lamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong. 
 He sle\v, and then Serranus fair and young. 
 From dice and wine the youth retir'd to rest, 
 And puff "d the fumy god from out his breast : 
 E'en then he dream'd of drink and lucky play — 
 More lucky, had it lasted till the day. 
 
 The famish 'd lion thus, with hunger bold, 
 O'erleaps the fences of the nightly fold, 
 And tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe 
 Trembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw. 
 
 Nor with less rage Euryalus employs 
 The wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys: 
 But on th' ignoble crowd his fury flew : 
 He Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhtptus slew. 
 Oppress'd with heavy sleep the former fall, 
 But Rhcetus wakeful, and observing all : 
 Behind a spacious jar he slunk for fear: 
 The fatal iron found and reach'd him there; 
 For, as he rose, it pierc'd his naked side, 
 And, reeking, thence retuin'd in crimson dy'd. 
 The wound pours out a stream of wine and 
 
 blood. 
 The purple soul comes floating in the flood. 
 
 Now, where Messapus quarter'd, they arrive. 
 The fires were fainting there, and just alive : 
 The warrior-horses, tied in order, fed. 
 Nisus observ'd the discipline, and said: 
 "Our eager thirst of blood may both betray; 
 And see the scatter'd streaks of dawning day. 
 Foe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend : 
 Here let our glutted execution end. 
 A lane through slaughter'd bodies we have made 
 The bold Euryalus, though loth obey'd. 
 Of arms and arras, and of plate they find 
 A precious load ; but these they leave behind. 
 Yet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay 
 To make the rich caparison his prey. 
 Which on the steed of conquer"d Rharanes lay. 
 Nor did his eyes less longingly behold 
 The girdle-belt, with nails and burnish'd gold. 
 This present C;edicus the rich bestow'd 
 On Remulus, when friendship first they vow'd, 
 And, absent, join'd in hospitable ties: 
 He, dying, to his heir bequeath"d the prize ; 
 Till by the conq'ring Ardean troops oppress"d, 
 He fell ; and they the glorious gift possessd. 
 
 These glittering spoils (now made the victor's 
 
 gain) 
 He to his body suits, but suits in vain. 
 Mesapus' helm he finds among the rest. 
 And laces on, and wears the waving crest. 
 Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey, 
 They leave the camp, and take the ready way. 
 
 But far they had not pass'd, before they spied 
 Three hundred horse, with Volscens for their 
 
 guide. 
 The queen a legion to King Turnus sent: 
 But the swift horse the slower foot prevent. 
 And now, advancing, sought the leader's tent. 
 They saw the pair; for, through the doubtful 
 
 shade. 
 His shining helm Euryalus betray'd, 
 On which the moon with full reflection play'd. 
 "Tis not for nought," cried Volscens from the 
 
 crowd, 
 " These men go there :" then rais'd his voice aloud : 
 "Stand! stand! why thus in arms? and whither 
 
 bent? 
 From whence, to whom, and on what errand 
 
 sent?" 
 Silent they scud away, and haste their flight 
 To neighb'ring woods, and trust themselves to 
 
 night. 
 The speedy horse all passages belay. 
 And spur their smoking steeds to cross their 
 
 way ; 
 And watch each entrance of the winding wood, 
 Black was the Ibrest ; thick with beech it stood. 
 Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn : 
 Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, 
 
 were worn. 
 The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey, 
 And fear, misled the younger from his way. 
 But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste. 
 And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass'd. 
 And, Alban plains (from Alba's name so call'dj 
 Where King Latinus then his oxen stall'd; 
 Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground. 
 And miss'd his friend, and cast his eyes around. 
 "Ah wretch !" he cried — "where have I left be- 
 hind 
 Th' unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find? 
 Or what way take?" Again he ventures back. 
 And treads the mazes of his former track. 
 He winds the wood, and, list'ning, hears the noise 
 Of trampling coursers, and the riders' voice. 
 The sound approach'd ; and suddenly he view'd 
 The foes enclosing, and his friend pursued, 
 Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain 
 The shelter of the friendly shades to gain. 
 What should he next attempt? what arms employ. 
 What fruitless force to free the captive boy? 
 Or desp'rate should he rush, and lose his life. 
 With odds oppress'd, in such unequal strife ! 
 Resolv'd at length, his pointed spear he shook ; 
 And casting on the moon a mournful look : 
 "Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night! 
 Fair queen!"' he said, "direct my dart aright. 
 If e'er my pious father for my sake, 
 Did grateful off "rings on thy altars make, 
 Or I increas'd them with my silvan toils. 
 And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils, 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 461 
 
 Give me to scatter these." Then from liis ear 
 He pois'd, and aiiii'd,and launcli'd the trembling 
 
 spoar. 
 The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove, 
 Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove; 
 Pierc'd his thin armour, drank his vital blood, 
 And in his bo<ly left the broken wood. 
 He stagsrers round : his eyeballs roll in death. 
 And, with short sobs, he gasps away his breath. 
 All stand ainaz"d: — a second jav"lin flies 
 With equal strength, and cjuivers through the 
 
 skies. 
 This through thy temples, Tagns, foro'd the way, 
 And in the brain-pan warmly buried lay. 
 Fierce Volscens foarns with rage, and, gazing 
 
 round. 
 Descried not him who gave the fatal wound, 
 Nor knew to fix revenge. "But thou," he cries, 
 "Shalt pay for both," and at the pris"ner flies 
 With his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep 
 
 despair. 
 That cruel sight his comrade could not bear; 
 But from the covert rush'd in open view, 
 And sent his voice before hiin as he flew : 
 " Me! me!" he cried — "turn all your swords alone 
 Oa me — the fact confess'd, the fault my own. 
 He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth — 
 Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth! 
 His only crime (if friendship can oflend) 
 Is too much love to his unhappy friend." 
 Too late he speaks: — the sworol with fury guides, 
 Driven with full force, had pierc'd his tender 
 
 sides. 
 Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning 
 
 wound 
 Gush"d out a purple stream, and stain'd the 
 
 ground. 
 His snowy neck reclines upon his breast. 
 Like a fair flow'r by the keen share oppress'd — 
 Like a white poppy sinking on the plain. 
 Whose heavy head is overcharg'd with rain. 
 Despair and rage, and vengeance justly vow'd, 
 Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd. 
 Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends; 
 Borne back andbor'd by his surrounding friends, 
 Onward he press'd, and kept him still in sight, 
 Then whirlM aloft his sword with all his might: 
 Th' unerring steel descended while he spoke, 
 Pierc'd his wide mouth, and through his weasand 
 
 broke. 
 Dying he slew ; and sfagg'ring on the plain, 
 With s\\ imming eyes he sought his comrade slain ; 
 Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell. 
 Content, in death, to be revcng'd so well. 
 
 happy frienils! for, if my verse can give 
 Immortal life, your fame shall ever live. 
 Fix'd as the capitoFs foundation lies, 
 And spread, where'er the Roman engle flies. 
 
 BooJ; X. 
 
 DEATH OF r.ALLAS. 
 
 YotTNG Pallas, when he saw the chief advance 
 Within due distance of his flying lance, 
 Prepares to charge him first — resolv'd to try 
 If fortune would his want of force supply ; 
 
 And thus to heaven and Hercules address'd : 
 "Alcides, once on earth F.vauder's guest! 
 His son adjures thee, by those lioly rites. 
 That hospitable board, those genial nights, 
 Assist my great attempt to gain thi.s ])rize, 
 And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes, 
 His ravish'd spoils." 'Twas lieard, the vain re- 
 quest ; 
 Alcides mourn'd, and stiflled sighs within his 
 
 breast. 
 Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began: 
 "Short hounds of life are set to mortal man. 
 Tis virtue's work alone to stretch the narrow 
 
 span. 
 So many sons of gods, in bloody fight 
 Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light: 
 My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe ; 
 Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow. 
 E'en Turnus shortly shall resign his breath. 
 And stands already on the verge of death." 
 This said, the god permits the fatal fight. 
 But from the Latian fields averts his sight. 
 
 Now with full force his spear young Pallas 
 threw ; 
 And, having thrown, his shining falchion drew, 
 The steel just graz'd along the shoulder-joint. 
 And mark'd it slightly with the glancing point. 
 Fierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew, 
 And pois'd his pointed spear, before he threw: 
 Then as the M'inged weapon whizz'd along, 
 "See now," said he, " whose arm is better strung. 
 The spear kept on the fatal course, unstay'd 
 By plates of iron, which o'er the shield were laid: 
 Through folded brass, and tough bull-hides, it 
 
 pass'd. 
 His corslet pierc'd, and reacli'd his heart at last, 
 In vain tlie youth tugs at the broken wood: 
 The soul comes issuing with the vital blood: 
 He falls: his arms upon his body sound : 
 And with his bloody teeth he bites the ground. 
 Turnus bestrode the corpse: "Arcadians, 
 hear," 
 Said he : " iny message to your master bear: 
 Such as the sire deserv'd, the son I send : 
 It cost hiin dear to be die Phrygian's friend. 
 The lifeless body, tell him, I bestow 
 Unask'd, to rest his wand'ring ghost below." 
 He said, and trampled down, with all the force 
 Of his left foot, and spurn'd the wretched corse; 
 Then snatch'd the shining belt, with gold inlaid — 
 The belt Euryiion's artful hands had made; 
 Where fifty fatal brides, express'il to sight. 
 All in the cotnpass of one mournful night, 
 De])riv'd tlicir bridegrooms of returning light. 
 
 lu ail ill hour insulting Turnus tore 
 Those golden spoils, and in a worse lie wore. 
 mortals! blind in (ate, who never know 
 To bear hiah fortune, or endure the low ! 
 The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain, 
 shall wish uiitouch'd the troiihies of the slain — 
 Shall wish the fatal belt were far a\\ay. 
 And curse the dire remembrance of the day. 
 
 TIIK DKATH OF LAUSUS. 
 
 His father's peril Lausus view'd with grief: 
 He sigird, he wept, he ran to his relief. 
 2 02 
 
462 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 And liore lioroic youth, 'tis hore I must 
 
 To thy immortal memory be just, 
 
 And sing an act so noble and so new, 
 
 Posterity will scarce believe 'tis true. 
 
 Pain"d with the wound, and useless for the 
 
 fight. 
 The father sought to save himself by flight: 
 Enoumber'd. slow he dragg'd tlie spear along. 
 Which pierc'd his thigh, and in his buckler hung. 
 The pious youth, resolv'd on death, below 
 The lifted sword, springs forth to face the foe ; 
 Protects his parent, and prevents the blow. 
 Shouts of applause ran ringing through the field. 
 To see the son the vanquish'd father shield. 
 All fir'd with gen'rous indignation, strive, 
 And, with a storm of darts, to distance drive 
 The Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far, 
 On his Vulcanian orb sustain'd the war. 
 
 As, when thick liail comes ratt'ling in the wind, 
 The ploughman, passenger, and lab'ring hind, 
 For shelter to the neighb'ring covert fly, 
 Or, hous'd. or safe in hollow caverns, lie; 
 But, that o'erblown, when heaven above them 
 
 smiles. 
 Return to travail, and renew their toils: 
 jT^neas, thus o'erwhelm'd on every side, 
 The storm of darts, undaTmted, did abide; 
 And thus to Lausus loud with friendly threatening 
 
 cried : 
 "Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage, 
 In such attempts, beyond thy tender age, 
 Betray'd by pious love?"' — Nor, thus forborn 
 The youth desists, but with insulting scorn 
 Provokes the ling'ring prince, whose patience 
 
 tir'd. 
 Gave place; and all his breast with fury fir'd. 
 For now the Fates prepar'd their sharpen'd 
 
 shears ; 
 And lifted high the flaming sword appears, 
 Which, full descending, with a frightful sway. 
 Through shield and corslet forc'd the impetuous 
 
 wa}^, 
 And buried deep in his fair bosom lay. 
 The purple streams through the thin armour 
 
 strove, 
 And drencird the embroider'd coat his mother 
 
 wove ; 
 And life at length forsook his heaving heart, 
 Loth from so sweet a mansion to depart. 
 
 But when, with blood and paleness all o"er- 
 
 spread. 
 The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead, 
 He griev'd, he wept; (the sight an image brought 
 Of b.is own filial love — a sadly pleasing thought) 
 Then stretch'd his hand to hold him up, and 
 
 said : 
 " Poor hapless yoTith ! M-hat praises can be paid 
 To love so great, to such transcendant store 
 Of early worth, and sure presage of more? 
 Accept whate'er .^Eneas can aflx)rd : 
 Untoucird thy arms, untaken be thy sword ; 
 And all that pleas'd the living, still remain 
 Invio'ate, and sacred to the slain. 
 Thy body on thy parents I bestow, 
 To rest t'ly soul, at least, if shadows know, 
 Or have a sense of human things below. 
 
 • Booh XL 
 
 THE HISTORY AXD DEATH OF CAMILLA. 
 
 Meantime, Latonian Phoebe, from the skies, 
 Beheld th' approaching war with hateful eyes, 
 And call'd the light-foot Opis to her aid, 
 Her most belov'd and ever-trusty maid ; 
 Then with a sigh beu:an : "Camilla goes 
 To meet her death amidst her fatal foes — 
 The nymph I lov'd of all my mortal train 
 Invested with Diana's arms in vain. 
 Nor is my kindness for the virgin new: 
 'Twas born with her; and ■with her years it grew. 
 Her father Metabus, when forc'd away 
 From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway, 
 Snatch'd up, and sav'd from his prevailing foes. 
 This tender babe, companion of his woes. 
 Casmilla v/as her mother: but he drown'd, 
 One hissing letter in a softer sound. 
 And call'd Camilla. Through the woods he flies; 
 Wrapp'd in his robe, the royal infant lies. 
 His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace ; 
 With shouts and clamours they pursue the chase. 
 The banks of Amasene at length he gains: 
 The raging flood his furtlier flight restrains, 
 Rais'd o'er the borders with unusual rains. 
 Prepar'd to plunge into the stream, he fears, 
 Not for himself but for the charge he bears. 
 Anxious, he stops a while, and thinks in haste, 
 Then, desp'rate in distress, resolves at last. 
 A knotty lance of well-boil'd oak he bore : 
 The middle part with cork he cover'd o'er: 
 He clos'd the child within the hollow space, 
 With twigs of bending osier bound the case. 
 Then pois'd the spear, heavy with human vi^eight, 
 And thus invok'd my favour for the freight: 
 'Accept, great goddess of the woo<ls,' he said, 
 ' Sent by her sire, this dedicated maid ! 
 Through air she flies, a suppliant to thy shrine; 
 And the first weapons that she knows, are thine.' 
 He said ; and with full force the spear he threw: 
 Above the sounding waves Camilla flew. 
 Then, press'd by foes, he stemm'd the stormy tide, 
 And gain'd, by stress of arms, the farther side. 
 His fasten'd spear he puU'd from out the ground. 
 And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph un- 
 bound : 
 Nor, after that, in towns which walls enclose, 
 Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes; 
 But, rough, in open air he chose to lie : 
 Earth was his couch ; his covering was the sky. 
 On hills unshorn, or in a desert den. 
 He shnnn'd the dire society of men. 
 A shepherd's solitary life he led : 
 His daughter with the milk of rnares he fed; 
 The dugs of bears, and ev'ry savage beast. 
 He drew, and through her lips the liquor press'd. 
 The little Amazon could scarcely go — 
 He loads her with a quiver and a bow ; 
 And, that she might her stagg'ring steps com- 
 mand. 
 He ^vith a slender jav'lin fills her hand. 
 Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound ; 
 Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground. 
 Instead of these, a tiger's liide o'erspread 
 Her back and shoulders, fasten'd to her head. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 463 
 
 The flying dart she first attempts to fling, 
 And round her tender temples toss'd the sling; 
 Then, as her strength with years increase!, began 
 To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan, 
 And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the 
 
 crane. 
 The Tuscan matrons with each other vied 
 To bless their rival sons with such a bride: 
 But she disdains their love, to share with me 
 The sylvan shatles, and vow'd virginity. 
 And, oh ! I wish, contented witli my cares 
 Of savage spoils, she had not sought the wars : 
 Then had she been of my celestial train. 
 And shunn'd the fate that dooms her to be slain. 
 But sincC) opposing heaven's decree, she goes 
 To find her death among forbidden foes, 
 Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight. 
 Where with the gods averse, the Latians fight. 
 This bow to thee, this quiver, I bequeath. 
 This chosen arrow to revenge her death : 
 By whate'er hand Camilla shall be slain. 
 Or of the Trojan or Italian train, 
 Let him not pass unpunishVl from the plain. 
 Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid 
 To bear the breathless body of my maid. 
 Unspoil'd shall be her arms, and unprofan'd 
 Her holy limbs with any human hand, 
 And in a marble tomb laid in her native land.'" 
 She said. The faithful nymph descends from 
 
 high 
 With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky: 
 Black clouds and stormy winds around her body 
 
 fly. 
 
 Resistless, through the war Camilla rode, 
 In danger unappall'd, and pleas'd with blood. 
 One side was bare for her exerted breast; 
 One shoulder with her painted quiver press'd. 
 Now from afar her fatal jav'lins play: 
 Now with her axe's edge she hews her way. 
 Diana's arms upon her shoulder sound ; 
 And when too closely press'd, she quits the 
 
 ground, 
 From her bent bow she sends a backward wound. 
 Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side, 
 Larina, TuUa, fierce Tarpeia, ride — 
 Italians all — in peace, their queen's delight, 
 In war, the bold companions of the fight. 
 
 So march'd the Thracian Amazons of old. 
 When Thermodon with bloody billows roH'd; 
 Such troops as these in shining arms were seen, 
 When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen : 
 Such to the field Penthesilea led, 
 From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled; 
 With such return'd triumphant from the war, 
 Her maids with cries attend the lofty car; 
 They clash with manly force their moony shields ; 
 With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields 
 • • • • • • » 
 
 Then Butes and Orsilochus she slew. 
 The bulkiest bodies of the Trujan crew — 
 But Butes breast to breast: the spear descends 
 Above the gorget, where his helmet ends, 
 And o'er the shield which his left side defends. 
 Orsilochus, and she, their coursers ply; 
 He seems to follow, and she seems to fly. 
 
 But in a narrower ring she makes the race ; 
 
 And then he flies, and she pursues the chase. 
 Gath'ring at length on her deluded foe, 
 She swings her axe, and rises to the blow : 
 Full on the lielin behind, with such a sway 
 The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way: 
 He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace ; 
 Brains, mingled with liis blood, besmear his face. 
 Astonish'd Annus just arrives by chance. 
 To see his fall, nor further iktrcs advance; 
 But, fixing on the horriii maid his eye, 
 He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly; 
 Yet, like a true Lignrian. born to cheat, 
 (At least while Fortune favonr'd his deceit) 
 Cries out aloud, " Wliat courage have you shown, 
 Who trust your courser's strength, and not your 
 
 own? 
 Forego the 'vantage of your horse, alight ; 
 And then on equal terms begin the fight: 
 It shall be seen, weak woinan, what you can. 
 When, foot to foot, you combat with a man." 
 He said. She glows with anger and disdain. 
 Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain. 
 And leaves her horse at large among her train ; 
 With her drawn swortl defies him to the field, 
 And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield. 
 The youth, who thought his cuijning did succeed, 
 Reins round his horse, an<l urges all his speed. 
 Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides 
 The goring rowels in his bleeding sides. 
 "Vain fool, and coward!'' said the lofty maid, 
 '•Caught in the train, which thou thyself hast laid! 
 On others practise thy Ligurian arts : 
 Thin stratagems, and tricks of little hearts, 
 Are lost on me: nor shalt thon safe retire, 
 With vaunting lies to thy fallacious sire." 
 
 At this, so fast her flying feet she sped. 
 That soon she strain'd beyond his horse's head: 
 Then turning short, at once she seiz'd the rein, 
 And laid the boaster grov'ling on the plain. 
 Not with more ease the falcon from above, 
 Trusses, in middle air, the trembling dove. 
 Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces 
 
 bound : 
 The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to 
 the groimd. 
 
 Then Arruns, doom'd to death, his arts essay'd, 
 To murder, unespied, the Volscian maid : 
 This way and that, his winding course he bends, 
 And, wheresoe'er she turns, her steps attends, 
 When she retires victorious from the chase. 
 He wheels about with care, and shifts his place: 
 When, rushing on, she seeks her foes in figlit, 
 He keeps aloof, and keeps her still in sight: 
 He threats and trendjle.«, trying evry way 
 Unseen to kill, and .safely to betray. 
 
 Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far, 
 Glittering in Phrygian arms amidst the war, 
 Was by the vir::in view'd. The steed he press'd 
 Was proud with trap])ings, and his brawny chest 
 With scales of gildeil brass was cover'd o'er: 
 A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore. 
 With deadly wounds he gall'd the distant foe; 
 Gnossian his shafts, arid Lycian was his bow: 
 A golden helm his front aiid head surrounds; 
 A gihled quiver from his shoulder souiuls. 
 
464 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Gold weav'il witli linen, on his thighs he wore, 
 With flowers of needle-work distinguish'd o'er, 
 With golden buckles bound, and gather'd up be- 
 fore. 
 Him the fierce maid beheld with ardent eyes, 
 Fond and ambitions of so rich a prize, 
 Or that the temple might his trophies hold, 
 Or else to shine herself in Trojan gold. 
 Blind in her haste, she chases him alone, 
 And seeks his life, tegardless of her own. 
 This lucky moment the sly traitor chose ; 
 Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose, 
 And threw, but first to heaven addressd his vows : 
 "O patron of Soractes high abodes! 
 Phoebus, the ruling power among the gods ! 
 Whom first we serve ! whole woods of unctuous 
 
 pine 
 Are feird for thee, and to thy glory shine ; 
 By thee protected, with our naked soles. 
 Through flames unsingd we march, and tread 
 
 the kindled coals. 
 Give me, propitious Power, to wash away 
 The stains of this dishonourable day: 
 Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim ; 
 But with my future actions trust my fame. 
 Let me, by stealth, this female plague oercome, 
 And from the field return inglorious home." 
 
 Apollo heard, and, granting half his pray'r, 
 Shuffled in winds the rest, and toss'd in empty air. 
 He gives the death desir'd : his safe return 
 By southern tempests to the seas is borne. 
 Now, when the jav'lin whizz'd along the skies, 
 Both armies on Camilla tnrn'd their eyes. 
 Directed by the sound. Of either host, 
 Th" unhappy virgin, though concern'd the most. 
 Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent 
 On golden spoils, and on her prey intent; 
 Till in her pap the winged weapon stood 
 Inflx'd, and deeply drunk the purple blood. 
 Her sad attendants hasten to sustain 
 Their dying lady drooping on the plain. 
 Far from their sight the trembling Arruns flies, 
 With beating heart, and fear confus'd with joys; 
 Nor dares he further to pursue his blow, 
 Or e'en to bear the sight of his expiring foe. 
 
 As, when the wolf has torn a bullock's hide 
 At unawares, or ranch'd a shepherd's side. 
 Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies. 
 And claps his quivering tail between his thighs : 
 So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends, 
 But, spurring forward, herds among his friends. 
 She wrench'd the jav'lin with her dying hands: 
 But wedg'd within her breast the weapon stands : 
 The wood she draws, the steely point remains; 
 She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains ; 
 (A gathering mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes; 
 And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies) 
 Then turns to her, whom, of her female train, 
 She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain : 
 "Acca, 'tis past! he swims before my sight, 
 Inexorable Death : and claims his right. 
 Bear my last words to Turnus : fly with speed. 
 And bid him timely to my charge succeed. 
 Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve: — 
 Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath 
 receive." 
 
 She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain : 
 Dying, her open'd hand forsakes the rein ; 
 Short and more short she pants : by slow degrees 
 Her mind the passage from her body frees, 
 She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest, 
 Her drooping head declining on her breast: 
 In the last sigh her struggling soul expires. 
 And, muim'ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds 
 retires. 
 
 Booh XII. 
 
 DEATH OF TURNUS. 
 
 Now stern yEneas waves his weighty spear 
 Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear : 
 "What further subterfuge can Turnus find? 
 What empty hopes are harbour'd in his mind? 
 'Tis not thy swiftness can secure thy flight: 
 Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight. 
 Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare 
 What skill and courage can attempt in war: 
 Wish for the wings of winds, to mount the sky; 
 Or hid within the hollow earth to lie !'' 
 The champion shook his head, and made this 
 
 short reply: 
 "No threats of thine my manly mind can move : 
 "Tis hostile heaven I dread, and partial Jove." 
 He said no more, but, with a sigh, repress'd 
 The mighty sorrow in his swelling breast. 
 Then, as he roU'd his troubled eyes around. 
 An antique stone he saw, the common bound 
 Of neighb'ring fields, and barrier of the ground — 
 So vast, that twelve strong men of modern days 
 Th" enormous weight from earth could hardly 
 
 raise. 
 He heav'd it at a lift, and, pois'd on high. 
 Ran stagg'ring on against his enemy. 
 But so disorder'd, that he scarcely knew 
 His way, or what unwieldy weight he threw. 
 His knocking knees are bent beneath the load; 
 And shiv'ring cold congeals his vital blood. 
 The stone drops from his arms, and, falling 
 
 short 
 For want of vigour, mocks his vain effort. 
 And as, when heavy sleep has closed the sight, 
 The sickly fancy labours in the night; 
 We seem to run ; and, destitute of force, 
 Our sinking limbs forsake us in the cotirse : 
 In vain we heave for breath ; in vain we cry : 
 The nerves, unbrac'd, their usual strength deny; 
 And on the tongue th' falt'ring accents die : 
 So Turnus far'd : w^hatever means he tried 
 All force of arms, and points of art employ'd, 
 The Fury flew athwart, and made th' endeavour 
 void. 
 A thousand various thoughts his soul confound : 
 He stard about ; nor aid, nor issue found : 
 His own men stop the pass ; and his own walls 
 
 surround. 
 Once more he pauses, and looks out again. 
 And seeks the goddess-charioteer in vain. 
 Trembling he views the thund'ring chief ad- 
 vance. 
 And brandishing aloft the deadly lance: 
 Amaz'd he cowers beneath his conq'ring foe, 
 Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow. 
 
VIRGIL. 
 
 465 
 
 Astonish'd while he stands, and fix'd with fear, 
 Aim'd at his shield, he sees th' impending spear. 
 
 The hero mcasur'd first, with narrow view, 
 The destin'd mark; and, rising as he threw, 
 With its full swing the fatal weajwn flew. 
 Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls. 
 Or stones from batt'ring-engines break the walls ; 
 Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong. 
 The lance drove on, and bore the death along: 
 Nought could his seven-fold shield the prince avail, 
 Nor aught beneath his arms, the coat of mail : 
 It pierc'd through all, and with a grisly wound 
 Transfix'd his thigh, and doubled him to ground. 
 With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky : 
 Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply. 
 
 Now, low on earth, the lofty chief is laid. 
 With eyes cast upwards, and with arms display'd. 
 And recreant, thus to the proud victor pruy'd. 
 " I know my death deserv'd, nor hofje to live : 
 Use what the gods and thy good fortune give. 
 Yet think, oh ! think, if mercy may be shown, 
 (Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son) — 
 Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave. 
 And for Anchises' sake, old Daunus save! 
 Or, if thy vow'd revenge pursue my death. 
 Give to my friends my body void of bre;ith ! 
 The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life: 
 Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife: 
 Against a yielded man, 'tis mean, ignoble strife." 
 
 In deep suspense, the Trojan seem'd to stand. 
 And, just prepar'd to strike, repress'd his hand. 
 He roll'd his eyes, and ev'ry moment felt 
 His manly soul with more compassion melt ; 
 When, casting down a casual glance, he spied 
 The golden belt that glitter'd on his side. 
 The fatal spoil which haughty Turnus tore 
 from dying Pallas, and in triumph wore. 
 Then rous'd anew to wrath, he loudly crie."?, 
 (Flames while he spoke, came flashing from his 
 
 eyes,) 
 .'Traitor! dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend, 
 Clad as thou art, in trophies of my friend 1 
 To his sad soul a grateful ofi''ring go ! 
 'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow." 
 He rais'd his arm aloft, and at the word, 
 Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword. 
 The streaming blood distain'd his arms around ; 
 And the disdainful soul came rushing through the 
 wound. 
 
 *^* It has been objected against Virgil, that he 
 is wanting in originality, — that he transcribes his 
 battles from Homer, and, in truth, " it was not 
 easy," (as Professor Wilson very justly observes,) 
 " with the fights of the Homeric age, to do other- 
 wise. However, Virgil has done otherwise if any 
 one will be at the pains to look, ^^)r instance, an 
 incident, not in the battles by the Xanthus, is the 
 following : — 
 
 " A powerful Tuscan warrior, infuriated by the 
 ill-fighting of his men, distinguishes himself by an 
 extraordinary feat. Clasping round the body, and 
 so unhorsing a lighter antagonist, he rides o(f with 
 him ; snaps the javeline, which his captive still 
 grasps, near the head, and with its point probes and 
 59 
 
 aims for a vulnerable place. The unfortunate Latin, 
 as he lies across the horse's neck, struggles and will 
 baflle the deathly blow. Landseer could suggest 
 no more vivid comparison, than one which leap8 
 into your own imagination — a snake soused upon 
 by an eagle. 
 
 'So stoops the yellow Engle from on high. 
 And hears a speckled Serpent through the sky, 
 I'astening his crooked talons on the prey : 
 The prisoner hisses through the liquid way; 
 Resists the royal hawk; and though opprest, 
 Still fights in volunics, and erects her crest: 
 Turn'd lo her foe, she stiflTens every scale. 
 And shoots her forky tongue, and whisks her threaten- 
 ing tail. 
 Against the victor all defence is weak ; 
 Th' imperial IJird still plies her with his heak, 
 He tears her bowels and her heart he gores; 
 'ITien claps his pinions, and securely soars.' 
 
 " This is an incident more like a knight of Ario- 
 sto's, the terrible ISarazin Rhodomorit, or Orlando 
 himself, than Homer's, who did not indeed combat 
 on horseback. 
 
 " But speaking of the moderns, we will venture to 
 say, that if Virgil has copied, he is also an original 
 who has been copied. For who is the prototype of 
 the Ladies turned Knights, that flourish in favour 
 with our poets of romance? With Ariosto, with 
 Tasso, with our own Spenser ] Who but the he- 
 roic virgin ally of the Rutulian Prince — Who but 
 Camilla? — ('amilla is as much Virgil's, as any 
 thing in the Iliad is Homer's. The painting, too, 
 thronghnut is to the life, and perfectly graceful. 
 
 "The destruction of 'J'roy," (continues Mr. Wil- 
 son,) " the love of Dido, the descent into hell, (entire 
 cantos of the [)ocm,) take deep and lasting impression 
 of the reader ; and like the first and second books 
 of Paradise Lost, too much seduce admiration from 
 the remainder of the work. You pick out from the 
 whole Italian war, Lausus, Pallas, Nisus and Eu- 
 ryalus, and think that you have done with Virgil. 
 Now we beg to propose a literary experiment. 
 Homer has left us tvo poems, — War, and a Wan- 
 dering-Virgil has bequeathed us our, representing 
 those two, and that proportionally ; although in the 
 Latin the Odyssey comes first, and the Iliad fol- 
 lows. For the first six ^neids relate the wander- 
 ing, while the latter six display the war. Let us, 
 therefore, fairly cut the great out-rolling, unfolding 
 picture in two; let us have two poems, distinct, 
 although closely allied, and we dare predict that the 
 poem of ".Eneas in Italy," now considered with 
 its own independent interests, and after its own art 
 and management, will duly compete with its rival, 
 '^neas Fugitive.' 
 
 " How the whole movement, and march, and 
 original conduct of t\\c Italian war will coine out! 
 The peaceful entcrtaitnnent of the 'I'rojans by 
 Latinus, moved with old and new j)rophecies, and 
 his ready olVer of his daughter, Lavinia, to .Eneas 
 in marriage — the adverse interposition of Juno — 
 her summoning of Alecto, from hell — the glad 
 Fury's fine discharge of her part — her maddening 
 of the Queen Amata, who loves Turnus, hates the 
 strangers, and catches in her own madness all the 
 Latin mothers — the infuriatinb of the young, 
 
466 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 gallant, ardent, defrautleil, princely lover himself — 
 a splendid scene, where the hot warrior's jeers of 
 the fiend in her beldam disguise, stiii:^ her Tartarean 
 heart as if it had been a womaji's, and for verv 
 wrath she reveals her terrihk- self — then that ex- 
 quisite incident, won from the new matter of the 
 poet, from the pastoral manners with which he 
 is historically obli-j^ed to deal in Italy — the Furv'.- 
 third and last feat — her drawin2;-on of Ascanius' 
 hounds to hunt the beautiful favourite stag, which 
 the daughter of the king's chief herdsman petted — 
 and, thence, a quarrel, a skirmish, a slaughter begun, 
 and the whole population of the plains aroused. 
 And so with bacchanal women, with Rutulians, 
 and with his own rude liegemen in tumult, the old 
 king overborne — shutting himself up in his palace; 
 and war inflamed in Hesperia, to the full heart' s- 
 wish of Jove's imperial wife, wiio has nothing left 
 her to do more than, descending again from the 
 sky, to push o[ien with her own hands the brazen- 
 gated temple of Janus. 
 
 " All this is very poetical — is very different from 
 the Iliad, and is perfectly measured to the scale of 
 a war, moved not by confederated Greece for the 
 overthrow of an Asiatic empire, but by the tribes of 
 the coast for beating back the crews of a few strag- 
 gling ships from planting a colony, who have no- 
 
 thing on their side but their valour, their fame, and 
 
 their fates. 
 
 "Analyze this war; make out for yourself, dis- 
 tinctly, the story, of which in a poem one always 
 too easily lones the sequence, delight and emotion 
 making one less observant ; then understand the 
 poetical workings out, in their places and after their 
 hearings; and you will satisfv yourself, that al- 
 though tlie cleaving of heads, and the hewing of 
 limbs, are processes that must ahvays keep up a cer- 
 tain general resemlilance to themselves, you have 
 not a campaign imitated from the Iliad; but an 
 original one — proper to person and filace." 
 
 The foregoing extract from the writings of Pro- 
 fessor Wilson has been here introduced, in conse- 
 quence of the assaults made on the .Eneid by certain 
 mc/dern critics, who venture to decry it, as poor in 
 invention, servile in maiuier, and almost destitute of 
 every thin? like epic genius or poetic povver ! — Now, 
 that the ^Eneid is an immature and unfinished pro- 
 duction, and was so cosisidered by its illustrious 
 Author, whose dying injunction to his Friends was 
 that they should destroy it, has never been dis- 
 puted ; but that it is of the inferior o»der described 
 by its censors, is an assertion which can only reflect 
 discredit on the judgment, candour, and good taste 
 of those who mike it. 
 
 HOKACE. 
 
 [Born 65,— Died 8, B. C] 
 
 QuiNTUS HoRATiTTs Flaccus was the son of 
 a freedman and taxgatherer, and was born at 
 Venusium on the frontiers of Apulia and Luca- 
 nia. His father, an excellent man of whom the 
 son was justly proud, spared neither pains nor 
 expense in his education, placing him under the 
 best masters in Rome, and sending hiin after- 
 wards to complete his studies at Athens. Quit- 
 ting Athens at twenty-three, he attached himself 
 to Brutus, received from him the rank of military 
 tribune, and was present at the battle of Phi- 
 lippi.* — On the fall of his noble leader, he lost 
 all his little patrimony which, like that of his 
 friend Virgil, was allotted to the soldiers of the 
 Triumvirate. Being thus thrown on his own re- 
 sources, he sought a subsistence from literature, 
 — [Paupertas impulit audax ut versus faceret] — 
 and acquired for himself a name, which soon 
 
 * At Philippi he lost his shield, which has given ocoa- 
 sion to many writers to brine against him the charge of 
 cowardice — a charge, in no way warranted l)y the cir- 
 cumstances of ttie case. Had Horace been really the 
 coward he is represented, he would have been the last 
 person to allude to the battle in the manner he has done. 
 See Book II. Ode VII. 
 
 introduced him into the best society of Rome. 
 Amongst the most intimate of his new friends 
 were Virgil and Varius, by whom he was re- 
 commended to MecEenas and, through him, to 
 Augustus himself. From this period Horace 
 seems to have led a life of uninterrupted enjoy- 
 ment and repose, mingling with the w^ise and 
 great on terms of the most perfect independence, 
 and living at the tables of his illustrious patrons, 
 Augustus and Mectenas, as if he were in his own 
 house. He died in his fifty-seventh year, only 
 three weeks after the decease of the latter, whom 
 he had loved with the most disinterested affec- 
 tion, and whose loss he had, on more than one 
 occasion, declared his inability to survive. 
 
 The works of Horace have been always num- 
 bered amongst the most valuable remains of an- 
 tiquity. In his Odes there is a "Curiosa Felici- 
 tas," a delicacy, an elegance of expression, almost 
 nnr^valled in Roman literature, while the good 
 sense, sound morality, and true philosophy, of his 
 satires and epistles have become quite prover- 
 ; bial. 
 
 j Horace was buried on the Esquiline hill, in 
 I a tomb next to that of his beloved Meccenas. 
 
HORACE. 
 
 467 
 
 FROM THE ODES. 
 Book I. 
 
 ODE III. TO THE SHIP IN WHICH VIIIGIL SAILED 
 
 TO ATHENS. 
 
 So may the auspicious Queen of Love, 
 
 And the twin Stars (the seed of Jove), 
 
 And lie who rules the rairipg wind, 
 
 To thee, O saered ship, be kinil. 
 
 And <;entle breezes fill thy sails, 
 
 Supplying soft Etesian gales. 
 
 As thou, to whom the Muse commends 
 
 The best of poets and of friends. 
 
 Dost thy committed pledge restore, 
 
 And land liim safely on the shore; 
 
 And save the better part of me 
 
 From perishing with him at sea. 
 
 Sure he, who first the passage tried, 
 
 In harden'd oak his heart did hide, 
 
 And ribs of iron arm'd his side! 
 
 Or his at least, in hollow wood 
 
 Who tempted first the briny flood ; 
 
 Nor fear'd the winds' contending roar, 
 
 Nor billows beating on the shore ; 
 
 Nor Hyades portending rain ; 
 
 Nor all the tyrants of the main. 
 
 What form of death could him affright 
 
 Wlio, unconcern'd, with steadfast sight, 
 
 Could view the surges mounting steep, 
 
 And monsters rolling in the deep? 
 
 Could through the ranks of ruin go, 
 
 With storms above, and rocks below ? 
 
 In vain did Nature's wise command 
 
 Divide the waters from the land, 
 
 If daring ships, and men profane, 
 
 Invade the inviolable main; 
 
 The eternal fences overleap. 
 
 And pass at will the boundless deep. 
 
 No toil, no hardship can restrain 
 
 Ambitious man inured to pain; 
 
 The more confin'd, the more he tries, 
 
 And at forbidden quarry flies. 
 
 Thus bold Prometheus did aspire, 
 
 And stole from heaven the reed of fire: 
 
 A train of ills, a ghastly crew. 
 
 The robber's blazing track pursue ; 
 
 Fierce Famine, with her meagre face. 
 
 And fevers of the fiery race. 
 
 In swarms the olfondin<r wretch surround, 
 
 All brooding on the blasted ground ; 
 
 And limping Death, lasli'd on by Fate, 
 
 Comes up to shorten half our date. 
 
 This made not Dedalus beware, 
 
 With borrow'd wings to sail in air: 
 
 To hell Alcides forced his waj% 
 
 Plimged through the lake, and snatch'd the prey. 
 
 Nay, scarce the gods, or heavenly climes, 
 
 Are safe from our audacious crimes : 
 
 We reach at Jove's imperial crown. 
 
 And pull the unwilling thunder down. 
 
 ODE V. TO PTnnHA. 
 
 What slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours, 
 Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, 
 
 Pyrrha ■? For whom bind'si thou 
 
 In wreaths thy golden hair. 
 
 Plain in thy neatness 1 O how oft shall he 
 Of faith and changed gods complain, and seas 
 
 Rougli with black winds, and storms 
 
 Unwonted shall admire! 
 Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold, 
 Who, always vacant, always amiable 
 
 Hopes thee, of flattering gales 
 
 Unmindful. Hapless they 
 To whom thou untried seem'st fair. Me, in my 
 
 vow'd 
 Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung 
 
 My daidi and dropping weeds 
 
 To the stern god of sea.* 
 
 ODE IX. TO THALIARCHUS. 
 
 Behold yon mountain's hoary height. 
 
 Made higher with new mounts of snow; 
 Again behold the winter's weight 
 
 Oppress the labouring woods below : 
 And streams with icy fetters bound, 
 Benumb'd and cramp'd to solid ground. 
 With well-heap'd logs dissolve the cold, 
 
 And feed the genial hearth with fires; 
 Produce the wine, that makes us bold, 
 
 And spri^ditly wit of love inspires. 
 For what hereafter shall betide, 
 God, if 'tis worth his care, provide. 
 Let him alone, with what he made. 
 
 To toss and turn the world below : 
 At his command the storms invade; 
 
 The winds by his commission blow ; 
 Till with a nod he bids them cease. 
 And then the calm returns, and all is peace. 
 To-morrow and her works defy. 
 
 Lay hold upon the present hour. 
 And snatch the pleasures passing by. 
 
 To put them out of Fortune's power. 
 Nor Love, nor Love's delights, disdain; 
 Whate'er thou gett'st to-day is gain. 
 
 Secure those golden, early joys. 
 
 That youth, unsour'd by sorrow, bears, 
 Ere withering Time the taste destroys 
 
 With sickness and iinwieldly years. 
 For active sports, for pleasing rest, 
 This is the time to be possest; 
 Tlie best is but in season best. 
 The appointed hovtr of promis'd bliss, 
 
 The pleasing whisper in the dark. 
 The half-unwilling, willing kiss. 
 
 The laugh that guides thee to the mark. 
 When the kind nympli would coyness feign, 
 And hides but to be found again : 
 These, these are joys, the gods for youth ordain. 
 
 ODE XXII. TO AniSTIUS FCSCCS. 
 
 That happy man, whose virtuous heart 
 Is free from guilt and conscious fear. 
 
 Needs not the poison'd Moorish dart. 
 Nor bow, nor sword, nor deadly spear. 
 
 ♦ This alludes to a custom among the Romans of offer- 
 ing some votive talilet or piciuro lo the pod by whose 
 power they had been preserved from sliipwreck. In 
 these pictures the storm and circumstances of the escape 
 were generally represented. 
 
468 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Whether on shores that Ganges laves, 
 
 Or Syrtes' quivering sands among; 
 Or where Hydaspes' fabled waves 
 
 In strange meanders wind along. 
 When free from care I dared to rove, 
 
 And Lalage inspired my lay; 
 A wolf within the Sabine grove 
 
 Fled wild from his defenceless prey. 
 Such prodigy the Dannian bands 
 
 In their drear haunts shall never trace; 
 Nor barren Libya's arid sands, 
 
 Rough parent of the lion race. 
 O place me where no verdure smiles, 
 
 No vernal zephyrs fan the ground. 
 No varied scene the eye beguiles, 
 
 Nor murmuring rivulets glide around! 
 Place me on Thracia's frozen lands, 
 
 Uncheer' by genial light of day ! 
 Place me on Afric's burning sands, 
 
 Scorch'd by the sun's inclement ray! 
 Love in my heart shall pain beguile. 
 
 Sweet Lalage shall be my song; 
 The gentle beauties of her smile, 
 
 The gentle music of her tongue. 
 
 ODE XXIV. TO VIHGII.. 
 
 Horace admonishps his friptid to bear with patience the 
 death of Quintiliiis. 
 
 Whehefohe restrain the tender tear? 
 Why blush to weep for one so dear? 
 Sweet Muse, of melting voice and lyre, 
 Do thou the mournful song inspire. 
 Quintilius — sunk to endless rest. 
 With Death's eternal sleep oppressed! 
 Oh ! when shall Faith, of soul sincere, 
 Of Justice pure the sister fair, 
 And Modesty, unspotted maid, 
 And Truth in artless guise array'd, 
 Among the race of humankind 
 An equal to Quintilius find? 
 
 How did the good, the virtuous mourn. 
 And pour their sorrows o'er his urn? 
 But, Virgil, thine tlie loudest strain; 
 Yet all thy pious grief is vain. 
 In vain dost thou the gods implore 
 Thy loved Quintilius to restore ; 
 Whom on far other terms they gave, 
 By nature fated to the grave. 
 
 What though thou canst the lyre command, 
 And sweep its tones with softer hand 
 Than Orpheus, whose harmonious song 
 Once drew the listening trees along. 
 Yet ne'er returns the vital heat 
 The shadowy form to animate ; 
 For when the ghost-compelling god 
 Forms his black troops with horrid rod. 
 He will not, lenient to the breath 
 Of prayer, unbar the gates of death. 
 'Tis hard ; but patience must endure, 
 And soothe the woes it cannot cure. 
 
 ODE XXXV. TO FORTUNE. 
 
 THoxT, whom Antium's power obeys, 
 Dread Goddess ! whose resistless breath 
 
 The wretch from lowest depths can raise, 
 Or triumphs turn to flight and death! 
 
 Thee with fond vows the labouring swain^ 
 Thee, mistress of the stormy main, 
 Bithynia's mariner implores, 
 As round his wave-rock'd bark the loud Carpa- 
 thian roars. 
 
 Thee Thrace, thee Scythia's wandering hordes, 
 
 Thee widowed matrons, lone and drear, 
 Realms, cities, Latium's warlike lords, 
 And purple tyrants watch with fear, 
 Lest thou this standing pile o'erthrow ; 
 Lest,rous'd by an aggressive foe. 
 War, war invade the slumbering world, 
 And Rome imperial sink, to shame and ruin 
 hurl'd. 
 
 Before thee, arm'd with tortures dread, 
 
 See stern Necessity appear I 
 With iron wedge, and liquid lead. 
 
 Impaling spikes, and hook severe. — 
 Thee Hope, thee white-rob'd Faith, (of friends 
 On earth the rarest found,) attends; 
 Chanue garb, change mansions, at thy will. 
 Exalt, oppress, destroy, — yet these are with thee 
 still. 
 
 Not so the rabble, false as vain. 
 
 The parasite, the painted whore,^ 
 Our wine-cask to its dregs they drain. 
 
 Then off, to richer boards, for more. — 
 O Goddess, on thy Csesar smile. 
 Now bound for Britain's farmost isle ; 
 Make, too, our new-rais'd hosts tliy care, 
 Who, wide o'er eastern fields, Rome's conquering 
 eagles bear. 
 
 Alas! for our dishonouring scars, 
 
 And brothers' blood by brothers spilt, — 
 
 Foul, fated curse of civil wars! 
 From what extremity of guilt 
 
 Have we shrunk back? what deeds not dar'd? 
 
 What gods rever'd? what altars spar'd? 
 
 Oh ! — if not destin'd to repose, — 
 
 Be our rewhetted swords now flesli'd on foreign 
 foes ! 
 
 Book II. 
 
 -TO DELLIU9. 
 
 When dangers press, a mind sustain 
 Unshaken by the storms of Fate ; 
 
 And when delight succeeds to pain, 
 With no glad insolence elate ; 
 
 For death will end the various toys 
 
 Of hopes, and fears, and cares, and joys. 
 
 Mortal alike, if sadly grave 
 
 You pass life's melancholy day, 
 
 Or, in some green retired cave 
 Wearing the idle hours away. 
 
 Give to the Muses all your soul. 
 
 And pledge them in the flowing bowl ; 
 
 Where the broad pine, and poplar white, 
 To join their hospitable shade 
 
 With intertwisted boughs delight; 
 And, o'er its pebbly bed convey'd, 
 
 Labours the winding stream to run. 
 
 Trembling, and glittering to the sun. 
 
HORACE. 
 
 469 
 
 Thy generous wine, and rich perfume, 
 And fragrant roses hitlier bring. 
 
 That with tlie early zephyrs bloom, 
 And wither with declining spring, 
 
 While joy and youth not yet have fled. 
 
 And Fate still holds the uncertain tliread. 
 
 You soon must leave your verdant bowers. 
 And groves yourself had taught to grow, 
 
 Your soft retreats from sultry hours 
 Where Tiber's gentle waters flow. 
 
 Soon leave; and all you call your own 
 
 Be squander'd by an heir vmkuown. 
 
 Whether of wealth and lineage proud, 
 A high patrician name you bear. 
 
 Or pass ignoble in the crowd, 
 
 Unshelter'd from the midnight air, 
 
 'Tis all alike ; no age or state 
 
 Is spared by unrelenting Fate. 
 
 To the same port our barks are bound ; 
 
 One final doom is fijc'd for all : 
 The universal wheel goes round. 
 
 And, soon or late, each lot must fall, 
 When all together shall be sent 
 To one eternal banishment. 
 
 ODE I. ^TO LICINItJS. 
 
 Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach ; 
 So shalt thou live beyond the reach 
 
 Of adverse Fortune's power; 
 Not always tempt the distant deep, 
 Nor always timorously creep 
 
 Along the treacherous shore. 
 
 He that holds fast the golden mean, 
 And lives contentedly between 
 
 The little and the great, 
 Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
 Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 
 
 Embittering all his state. 
 
 The tallest pines feel most the power 
 Of wintry blasts ; the loftiest tower 
 
 Comes heaviest to the ground ; 
 The bolts that spare the mountain's side, 
 His cloud-capt eminence divide, 
 
 And spread the ruin round. 
 
 The well-inform'd philosopher 
 Rejoices with a wholesome fear. 
 
 And hopes, in spite of pain; 
 If winter bellow from the north, 
 Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, 
 
 And Nature laughs again. 
 
 What if thine heaven be overcast ? 
 The dark appearance will not last; 
 
 Expect a brighter sky. 
 The god, that strings the silver bow, 
 Awakes sometimes the Muses too, 
 
 And lays his arrows by. 
 
 If hindrances obstruct thy way. 
 Thy magnanimity display, 
 
 And let thy strength be seen ; 
 But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail. 
 With more than a propitious gale, 
 
 Take half thy canvas in. 
 
 ODE XII. TO MECJJNA8. 
 
 DiHE Hannibal, the Roman dread, 
 
 Nimiantian wars, which raged so long. 
 
 And seas with Punic slaughter red. 
 Suit not the softer lyric song ; 
 
 Nor savage centaurs, mad with wine ; 
 
 Nor Earth's enormous rebel brood. 
 Who shook with fear the Powers divine, 
 
 Till by Alcides' arms subdued. 
 
 Better, Mecaenas, thou in prose. 
 
 Shalt Citsar's glorious battles tell ; 
 With what bold heat tlie victor glows, 
 
 What captive kings his triumphs swell. 
 
 Thy mistress all my Muse employs; 
 
 Licinia's voice, her sprightly turns, 
 The fire that sparkles in her eyes, 
 
 And in her faithful bosom burns. 
 
 When she adorns Diana's day. 
 
 And all the beauteous choirs advance, 
 
 With sweetest airs, divinely gay, 
 
 She shines, distinguish'd in the dance ! 
 
 Not all Arabia's spicy fields 
 
 Can with Licinia's breath compare ; 
 
 Nor India's self a treasure yields. 
 
 To purchase one bright flowing hair: 
 
 When she with bending neck complies 
 To meet the lover's eager kiss, 
 
 With gentle cruelty denies. 
 
 Or snatches first the fragrant bliss. 
 
 ODE XIV. TO POSTCMCS. 
 
 Swift fly the rolling years, my friend! 
 Nor can your anxious prayers extend 
 
 The fleeting joys of youth ; 
 The trembling hand, the wrinkled cheek. 
 Too plainly life's decay bespeak. 
 
 With sad but silent truth. 
 
 What though your daily offerings rise 
 In fragrant clouds of sacrifice 
 
 To Jove's immortal seat ; 
 You cannot fly death's cold embrace, 
 Where peasants — chiefs of kingly race 
 
 An equal welcome meet. 
 
 In vain, from battle fields afar, 
 You gently dream of raging war. 
 
 Secure in peace and wealth : 
 In vain you shun the stormy wave, 
 The scorching breeze, that others brave, 
 
 Profuse of vigorous health. 
 
 Though zealous friends your portals throng, 
 They cannot still your life prolong 
 
 By one short lingering hour ; 
 Whate'er our plans, whate'er our state, 
 We mortals own one common fate, 
 
 One stern, unbending power. 
 
 When your parch'd lips shall faintly press 
 On your fond wife their last caress. 
 
 And farewell murmurs breathe, 
 Your wandering eyes shall feebly rove. 
 O'er each loved wood, and well-train'd grove. 
 
 To seek a funeral wreath. 
 2P 
 
470 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 The purple vineyard's luscious stores, 
 Secured by trebly bolted doors, 
 
 Excite, in vain, your care ; 
 Soon shall the rich and sparkling hoard 
 Flow largely o'er the festive board 
 
 Of your unsparing heir. 
 
 ODE XT. 
 
 Gleamtno on Baiee's golden shore. 
 Yon marble domes their sunny wings expand; 
 And glittering villas crown the yellow strand ; 
 
 But, ah! its wealthy harvests wave no more. 
 The faithful ploughshare quits the encumber'd 
 land. 
 
 Mark yon broad lakes their glittering bosoms 
 spread. 
 Wide, as the Lucrine wave, their waters sheen ; 
 And lo ! the solitary plane is seen. 
 Spreading its broad and fruitless boughs of 
 green. 
 Were erst above the maple's social head, 
 Laden with grapes, the tendrils wont to twine; 
 And thou, thy purple clusters shed 
 
 Oh ! Italy's beloved vine ! 
 How rich the balm Favonius breathes, 
 From banks with rose, and spicy myrtle set! 
 How fair his fragrant blossoms wreathes 
 Of the dark-eyed violet. 
 But, ah ! the sons of joy forget, 
 (Who the fierce splendours of the summer sky, 
 In the green depth of laurel-groves defy;) 
 
 How autumn's ripening hand was wont to 
 pour 
 The orchard fruits from every golden tree, 
 And o'er the ruddy fallows smiled to see • 
 
 The olive drop its fat and mellow shower. 
 How stern old Cato's shaggy brows would bend ; 
 How darkly glare our founder's angry look; 
 For ill could they the conscript fathers brook 
 To see yon marble porticos extend 
 Wooing the North his breezy shades to lend 
 
 From many a mountain nook. 
 The green turf was their humble bed, 
 
 Their costliest canopy the wild-wood tree; 
 While its rich breast the marble quarry spread, 
 And high the temple rear'd its stately head 
 In honour of the deity. 
 
 Book III. 
 
 ODE I. PARAPHRASED. 
 
 Hence, ye profane ! I hate you all ; 
 Both the great vulgar, and the small. 
 To virgin minds, which yet their native white- 
 ness hold. 
 Nor yet discoloured with the love of gold, 
 
 That jaundice of the soul, 
 (Which makes it look so gilded and so foul,) 
 To you, ye very few, these truths I tell; 
 The Muse inspires my song ; hark, and observe 
 it well. 
 We look on men, and wonder at such odds 
 'Twixt things that were the same by birth; 
 We look on kings, as giants of the earth. 
 These giants are but pigmies to the gods. 
 
 The humblest bush and proudest oak 
 Are but of equal proof against the thunder-stroke. 
 Beauty and strength, and wit, and wealth, and 
 power. 
 
 Have their short flourishing hour; 
 
 And love to see themselves, and smile, 
 And joy in their pre-eminence awhile : 
 
 Ev'n so in the same land. 
 Poor weeds, rich corn, gay flowers, together stand ; 
 Alas ! death mows down all with an impartial 
 
 hand : 
 And all ye men, whom greatness does so please, 
 
 Ye feast. I fear, like Damocles : 
 
 If ye your eyes could upwards move, 
 (But ye, I fear, think notliing is above,) 
 Ye would perceive by what a little thread 
 
 The sword still hangs over your head : 
 
 No tide of wine would drown your cares; 
 No mirth or music over-noise your fears : 
 The fear of death would you so watchful keep, 
 As not 't admit the image of it. Sleep. 
 Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, 
 And yet so humble too, as not to scorn 
 
 The meanest country cottages : 
 
 His poppy grows among the corn. 
 
 The halcyon Sleep will never build his nest 
 
 In any stormy breast. 
 
 'Tis not enouirh that he does find 
 
 Clouds and darkness in their mind ; 
 
 Darkness but half his work will do: 
 
 'Tis not enough ; he must find quiet too. 
 The man, who in all wishes he does make, 
 
 Does only Nature's counsel take. 
 That wise and happy man will never fear 
 
 The evil aspects of the year; 
 Nor tremble, tliousih two comets should appear; 
 He does not look in almanacs, to see 
 
 Whether he fortunate shall be : 
 Let Mars and Saturn in the heavens conjoin, 
 And what they please against the world de- 
 sign. 
 
 So Jupiter within him shine. 
 If of your pleasures and desires no end be found, 
 God to your cares and fears will set no bound. 
 
 What would content you? who can tell? 
 Ye fear so much to lose what ye have got, 
 
 As if ye liked it well : 
 Ye strive for more, as if ye liked it not. 
 
 Go, level hills, and fill up seas. 
 Spare nought that may your wanton fancy please: 
 But, trust me, when you have done all this, 
 Mucli will be missing still, and much will be 
 amiss. 
 
 ODE II. TO HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 How bless'd is he who for his country dies, 
 Since death pursues the coward as he flies! 
 The youth in vain would fly from fate's attack, 
 With trembling knees and terror at his back ; 
 Though fear should lend him pinions like the 
 
 wind. 
 Yet swifter fate will seize him from behind. 
 Virtue repvUsed, yet knows not to repine. 
 But shall with unattaiuted honour shine; 
 Nor stoops to take the staflj nor lays it down. 
 Just as the rabble please to smile or frown. 
 
HORACE. 
 
 471 
 
 Virtue, to crown her favourites, loves to try 
 Some new untrodden passa,u;e to the sky; 
 Where Jove a seat among the gods will give 
 To those who die for meriting to live. 
 
 Next, faithful silence hath a sure reward ; 
 Within our breast be every secret barr'd ! 
 He who betrays liis friend, shall never be 
 Under one roof, or in one ship, with me; 
 For who with traitors would his safety trust. 
 Lest, with the wicked. Heaven involve the jnsti 
 And though tVie villain "scape awhile, he feels 
 Slow vetigeance, like a bloodhound at his heels. 
 
 ODE VI. TO THE ROMANS. 
 
 Those ills your ancestors have done, 
 Romans, are now become your own ; 
 And they will cost you dear, 
 Unless you soon repair 
 The falling temples which the gods provoke. 
 And statues sullied yet with sacrilegious smoke. 
 Propitious Heaven, that raised your fathers high, 
 For humble, grateful piety, 
 (As it rewarded their respect) 
 Hath sharply punish'd your neglect. 
 All empires on the gods depend, 
 Begun by their command, at their command they 
 
 end. 
 Let Crassus' ghost and Labienns tell 
 How twice by Jove's revenge our legions fell. 
 
 And with insulting pride. 
 Shining in Roman spoils, the Parthian victors ride. 
 The Scythian and Egyptian scum 
 
 Had almost ruiu'd Rome, 
 While our seditions took their part, 
 Fill'd each Egyptian sail, and wingd each Scy- 
 thian dart. 
 First, these flagitious times 
 (Pregnant with unknown crimes) 
 Conspire to violate the nuptial bed, 
 From which polluted head 
 Infectious streams of crowding sins began. 
 And through the spurious breed and guilty nation 
 ran. 
 Behold a fair and melting maid 
 Bound 'prentice to a common trade; 
 Ionian artists at a miglity price 
 Instruct her in the mysteries of vice. 
 What nets to spread, where subtle baits to lay. 
 And with an early hand they form the temperd 
 clay. 
 'Tis not the spawn of such as these 
 That dy'd with Punic blood the conquer'd seas, 
 
 And quash'd the stern iEacides ; 
 Made the proud Asian monarch feel 
 How weak his gold was 'gainst Europe's steel ; 
 
 Forc'd e'en dire Hannibal to yield, 
 And won the long disputed world at Zama's fatal 
 field. 
 But soldiers of a rustic mould. 
 Rough, hardy, season'd, manly, bold ; 
 Either they dug the stubborn ground, 
 Or through hewn woods their weighty strokes 
 did sound ; 
 And after the declining sun 
 Had chang'd the shadows, and their task was 
 done, 
 
 Home with their weary team they took tlieir way, 
 And drown'd in friendly bowls the labour of the 
 day. 
 Time sensibly all things impairs; 
 Our fathers have been worse than theirs; 
 And we than ours; next age will see 
 A race more profligate than we 
 (Witli all the pains we take) have skill enough 
 to be. 
 
 ODE IX. HORACE AND LTDIA. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Whilst I was fond, and yon were kind, 
 Nor any dearer youth, reclined 
 On your soft bosom, sought to rest, 
 Phraates was not half so bless'd. 
 
 LTDIA. 
 
 Whilst you adored no other face. 
 Nor loved me in the second place, 
 My happy celebrated fame 
 Outshone e'en Ilia's envied flame. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Me Chloe now possesses whole. 
 Her voice and lyre command my soul; 
 Nor would I death itself decline, 
 Could her life ransom'd be with mine. 
 
 LYDIA. 
 
 For me the lovely Calais burns. 
 And warmth for warmth my heart returns. 
 Twice would I life with joy resign. 
 Could his be ransom'd once with mine. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 What if sweet'ltTVB', whose bands we broke, 
 Again should tame us to the yoke ; 
 Should banish'd Chloe cease to reign, 
 And Lydia her lost power regain 1 
 
 LTDIA. 
 
 Though Hesper be less fair than he, 
 Thou wilder than the raging sea. 
 Lighter than down ; yet gladly I 
 With thee would live, with thee would die. 
 
 ODE XIII. TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. 
 
 Ye waves, that gushing fall with purest stream, 
 Bandusian fount! to whom the products sweet 
 Of richest wines belong. 
 And fairest flowers of spring; 
 To thee a chosen victim will I slay, 
 A kid, who glowing in lascivious youth, 
 Just blooms with Ijudding horn. 
 And, in vain thouglit elate. 
 Yet destines future war: but, ah! too soon 
 His reeking blood with crimson shall enrich 
 Thy pure translucent flood, 
 And tinge thy crystal clear. 
 Thy sweet recess the sun in mid-day hour 
 Can ne'er invade, thy streams the labour'd ox 
 Refresh with cooling draught, 
 And glad the wand'ring herds. 
 Thy name shall shine, with endless honours graced. 
 While on my shell I sing, the nodding oak, 
 That o'er thy cavern deep 
 Waves his embowering head. 
 
472 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 ODE XVI.' — 'TO MEC^JfAS. 
 
 "The lone Rray tower on Argo's mountain-shore, 
 The faithful watch dog at the midnight door." 
 Safe in their guard impiisond love had slept, 
 Her baffled suitors youthful Danae wept. 
 But with rich bribes the laughing gods betray'd 
 The yielding guardian, and the enamour'd maid. 
 Through armed satellites, and walls of stone 
 Gold wings its flight, resistless though alone. 
 
 Ah! who the wiles of womankind hath tried? 
 By gold, the priest, the blameless augur died. 
 Mark Philip's march! the obedient cities fall, 
 Ope the wide gates, and yields the embattled 
 
 wall. 
 To gold, each petty tyrant sank a prey, 
 King after king confessed its powerful sway, 
 On wisdom's patriot voice the siren hung. 
 And stay'd the thunders of the Athenian tongue, 
 The war-worn veteran oft his trophies sold, 
 And venal navies own'd the power of gold. 
 Enlarging wealth increasing wishes share, 
 The gods have curs'd the miser's hoard with 
 
 care ; 
 To modest worth are choicest blessings sent, 
 Heaven loves the humble virtues of content. 
 Far from the rich thy poet loves to dwell, 
 And share the silence of the hermit's cell. 
 The wild brook babbling down the mountain's 
 
 side, 
 The chesnut copse that spreads its leafy pride, 
 The garden plot that asks but little room. 
 The ripening corn field, and the orchard's bloom, 
 These simple pleasures, trust me, are unknown 
 To the rich palace, or the jeweli'd throne ; 
 The wealthy lords of Afric's wide domain 
 Would spurn my lowly roof and bounded plain. 
 
 Cold are the Sabine hills! hives not for me 
 Its hoarded nectar the Calabrian bee. 
 Here no rich vines their amber clusters rain, 
 Not mine tlie fleece that decks Gallicia's plain. 
 Yet ■want, for once, avoids a poet's door. 
 Content and grateful, can I ask for more 1 
 But should thy bard seek ampler means to live, 
 Patron and friend! thy liberal hand would give. 
 
 'What if increasing wealth withholds its shower, 
 If the rich widow guards her jealous dower; 
 Then wiser learn the effect is still the same, 
 From humbler wishes, and contracted aim. 
 More wealthy thou, than if thy lands could join 
 All Phrygians harvests to the Lydian mine ; 
 Not want alone surrounds the opening door. 
 For pride and avarice are ever poor ; 
 Delusive hope, and wild desire combined. 
 Feed with vain thoughts the hunger of the 
 
 mind. 
 But bless'd is he to whom indulgent Heaven 
 Man's happiest state, enough, not more, has 
 
 given. 
 
 ODE XVIII. ■TO FAUNUS. 
 
 Faunus, who lov'st to chase the light-foot nymphs, 
 Propitious guard rny fields and sunny farm, 
 
 And nurse with kindly care 
 
 The promise of my flock. 
 
 So to thy power a kid shall yearly bleed, 
 And the full bowl to genial 'Venus flow ; 
 And on thy rustic shrine 
 Rich odours incense breathe : 
 So through the vale the wanton herds shall bound, 
 When thy December comes, and on the green 
 The steer in traces loose 
 With the free village sport : 
 No more the lamb shall fly the insidious wolf, 
 The woods shall shed their leaves, and the glad 
 hind 
 The ground, where once he dug, 
 Shall beat in sprightly dance. 
 
 ODE XXIX. TO MECEJfAS. 
 
 Paraphrased. 
 Descended of an ancient line, 
 
 That long the Tuscan sceptre sway'd, 
 Make haste to meet the generous wine, 
 
 Whose piercing is for thee delay'd : 
 
 The rosy wreath is made ; 
 And artful hands prepare 
 
 The fragrant Syrian oil, that shall perfume thy hair. 
 When the wine sparkles from afar, 
 
 And the well-natur'd friend cries, come away; 
 Make haste and leave thy business and thy care, 
 
 No mortal interest can be worth thy stay. 
 Leave, for a while, thy costly country seat; 
 And. to be great indeed, forget 
 The nauseous pleasures of the great. 
 
 Make haste and come : 
 Come and forsake thy cloying store ; 
 Thy turret that surveys, from high 
 
 The smoke, and wealth, and noise of Rome, 
 And all the busy pageantry 
 That wise men scorn, and fools adore. 
 Come, give thy soul a loose, and taste tlie plea- 
 sures of the poor. 
 Sometimes 'tis grateful for the rich to try 
 A short vicissitude, and fit of poverty : 
 
 A savoury dish, a homely treat. 
 
 Where all is plain, wliere all is neat, 
 Without the stately spacious room, 
 The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom, 
 
 Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the great. 
 The sun is in the Lion mounted high ; 
 
 The Syrian star barks from afar. 
 And with his sultry breath infects the sky; 
 The ground below is parch'd, the heavens above 
 us fry. 
 
 The shepherd drives his fainting flock 
 
 Beneath the covert of a rock, 
 And seeks refreshing rivulets nigh: 
 The sy Ivans to their shades retire, 
 Those very shades and streams new shades and 
 
 streams require. 
 And want a cooling breeze of wind to fan the 
 raging fire. 
 
 Thou, what befits the new Lord Mayor ; 
 
 And what the city factions dare. 
 
 And what the Gallic arms will do, 
 
 And what the quiver-bearing foe, 
 
 Art anxiously inquisitive to know : 
 But God has wisely hid from human sight 
 
 The dark decrees of future fate, 
 
HORACE. 
 
 473 
 
 And sown their seeds in deptlis of ni<;ht. 
 He langlis at all the fridily turns of state, 
 Where mortals search too soon, and fear too 
 late. 
 
 Enjoy the present smiling hour, 
 
 And put it out of Fortune's power; 
 
 The tide of business, like the runnins; stream, 
 Is sometimes hi^h and .sometimes low, 
 A quiet ebb or a tempestuous flow, 
 
 And always in extreme. 
 
 Now with a noiseless gentle course 
 
 It keeps within the middle bed ; 
 
 Anon it lifts aloft its head. 
 And bears down all before it with impetuous 
 force ; 
 
 And trunks of trees come rolling down, 
 
 Sheep and their folds togetlier drown: 
 Both house and homestead into seas are borne. 
 And rocks are from their old foundations torn, 
 And woods, made thin with winds, their scat- 
 ter'd honours mourn. 
 
 Happy the man, and happy he alone, 
 
 He, who can call to-day his own : 
 
 He who secure within, can say. 
 
 To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day. 
 
 Be fair or foul, or rain or shine. 
 
 The joys I have possess'd, in spite of fate, are 
 
 mine. 
 Not Heaven itself upon the past has power. 
 But what has been, has been, and I have had 
 
 my hour. 
 
 Fortune, that, with malicious joy, 
 
 Does man, her slave, oppress, 
 Proud of her office to destroy. 
 
 Is seldom pleased to bless : 
 Still various, and inconstant still, 
 But with an inclination to be ill. 
 Promotes, degrades, delights in strife. 
 And makes a lottery of life. 
 
 I can enjoy her while she is kind; 
 
 But when she dances in the wind. 
 And shakes her wings, and will not stay, 
 I puff the prostitute away ; 
 
 The little or the much she gave, is quietly re- 
 sign'd : , 
 
 Content with poverty my soul I arm, 
 And Virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. 
 
 What is 't to me. 
 Who never sail in her unfaithful sea, 
 If storms arise, and clouds grow black; 
 If the mast split, and threaten wreck 7 
 Then let the greedy merchant fear 
 
 For his ill-gotten gain, 
 And pray to gods that will not hear 
 While the debating winds and billows bear 
 
 His wealth unto the main. 
 For me, secure from Fortune'^lows, 
 Secure of what I cannot lose. 
 In my small pinnace I can sail, 
 
 Contemning all the blustering roar; 
 And running with a merry gale, 
 With friendly stars my safety seek 
 Within some little winding creek, 
 
 And see the storm ashore. 
 60 
 
 Book IV. 
 
 ODE IV. TIIK PnAISF.S OF DUDSUS. 
 
 As the wing'd minister of thund'ring Jove 
 
 To whom he gave his dread fid bolts to bear. 
 Faithful assistant of his master's love, 
 
 King of the wand'ring nations of the air. 
 When balmy breezes fann'd the vernal sky. 
 
 On doubtful pinions left his parent nest. 
 In slight essays his growing fonre to try. 
 
 While inborn courage fired his generous breast; 
 Then, darting with impetuous fury down. 
 
 The flocks he slau;jhter"d, an unpractised foe; 
 Now his ripe valour to perfection grown. 
 
 The scaly snake and crested dragon know ; 
 Or, as a lion's yoinhful progeny, 
 
 Wean'd from his savaLre dam and milky food, 
 The gazing kid beholds with fearful eye, 
 
 Doora'd first to stain his tender fangs in blood: 
 Such Drusus, young in arms, his foes beheld. 
 
 The Alpine Rhn?ti, long unmatch'd in light: 
 So were their hearts with abject terror quell'd. 
 
 So sunk their haughty spirit at the sight. 
 Tamed by a boy, the fierce barbarians find 
 
 How guardian prudence guides the youthful 
 flame ; 
 And how great Cfpsar's fond paternal mind 
 
 Each generous Nero forms to early fame ; 
 A valiant son springs from a valiant sire: 
 
 Their race by mettle sprightly coursers prove; 
 Nor can the warlike eagle's active fire 
 
 Degenerate to form the timorous dove. 
 But education can the genius raise. 
 
 And wise instructions native virtue aid ; 
 Nobility without them is disgrace. 
 
 And honour is by vice to shame betray"d. 
 Let red Metaurus. stain'd with Punic blood. 
 
 Let mighty Asdrubal subdued, confess 
 How much of empire and of fame is owed 
 
 By thee, O Rome, to the Neronian race. 
 Of this be witness that auspicious day 
 
 Which, after a long, black, tempestuous night. 
 First smiled on Latium witli a milder lay. 
 
 And cheer'd our drooping hearts with dawn- 
 ing light. 
 Since the dire African with wastefid ire 
 
 Rode o'er the ravaged towns of Italy ; 
 As through the pine trees flies the raging fire. 
 
 Or Eurus o'er the vex'd Sicilian sea. 
 From this bright era, from this prosperous field, 
 
 The Roman Glory dates her rising power; 
 From hence 'twas given her conquering sword 
 to wield. 
 
 Raise her fallen gods, and ruin'd shrines re- 
 store. 
 Thus Hannibal at length despairing spoke : 
 
 "Like stags, to ravenous wolves an easy prey, 
 Our feeble arms a valiant foe provoke. 
 
 Whom to elude and 'scape were victory : 
 "A dauntless nation, tliat from Trojan fires. 
 
 Hostile Ansonia, to thy destined shore 
 Her gods, her infant sons, and aged sires, 
 
 Through angry seas and adverse tempests bore: 
 2p2 
 
474 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 "As on high Al^dws the sturdy oak, 
 
 Whose spreading boughs the axe's sharpness 
 feel, 
 Improves by loss, and thriving with the stroke, 
 
 Draws health and vigour from the wounding 
 steel. 
 "Not Hydra sprouting from her mansrled head 
 
 So tired the baffled force of Hercules; 
 Nor Thebes, nor Colchis, such a monster bred, 
 
 PrcOTant of ills, and famed for prodigies. 
 " Plunge her in ocean, like the morninsr sun. 
 
 Brighter she rises from the dept'is below: 
 To earth with unavailing ruin thro^vn, 
 
 Recruits her strength, and foils the wond'ring foe. 
 " No more of victory the joyful fame 
 
 Shall from my camp to haughty Carthage fly; 
 Lost, lost, are all the glories of her name! 
 
 With Asdrubal her hopes and fortune die!" 
 What shall the Clandian valour not perform 
 
 Which power divine guards with propitious 
 care ; 
 Which wisdotn steers through all the dangerous 
 storm. 
 
 Through all the rocks and shoals of doubtful war 1 
 
 ODE Vir. TO TORQ.tJATUS. 
 
 The snow, dissolved, no more is seen; 
 The fields and woods, behold, are green; 
 The clianging year renews the plain ; 
 The rivers know their banks again ; 
 The sprightly Nymph and naked Grace 
 The mazy dance together trace : 
 The changing year's successive plan 
 Proclaims mortality to man. 
 Rough winter's blasts to spring give way; 
 Spring yields to summer's sovereign ray; 
 Then summer sinks in autumn's reign; 
 And winter chills the world again. 
 Her losses soon the moon supplies; 
 But wretched man, w^hen once he lies 
 Where Priam and his sons are laid, 
 Is nought but ashes and a shade. 
 Wlio knows if Jove, who counts our score, 
 Will rouse us in a morning more? 
 What with your friend you nobly share, 
 At least you rescue from your heir. 
 Not you, Torquatns, boast of Rome, 
 When Minos once has fix'd your doom, 
 Or eloquence, or splendid birth. 
 Or virtue, shall replace on earth. 
 Hippolytns, unjustly slain, 
 Diana calls to life in vain; 
 Nor can the might of Theseus rend 
 The chains of hell that hold his friend. 
 
 OPE IX. TO LOLLIUS. 
 
 The poet endeavours, by his verses, to rescue Lollius' 
 
 name from oblivion. 
 
 While with the Grecian bards I vie. 
 
 And raptured tune the social string, 
 
 Think not the song shall ever die. 
 
 Which with no vulgar art I sing. 
 
 Though born where Aufid rolls his sounding 
 
 stream, 
 In lands far distant from poetic fame. 
 
 What though the Muse her Homer thrones 
 
 High above all th' immortal choir, 
 Nor Pindar's rapture she disowns, 
 Nor hides the plaintive Cfpan lyre? 
 Alcapus strikes the tyrant's soul with d-read, 
 Nor yet is grave Stesichorus unread. 
 
 Whatever old Anacreon sung, 
 
 (However tender was his lay,) 
 In spite of time is ever young, 
 
 Nor Sappho's ainorous flames decay; 
 Her living songs preserve their charming art. 
 Her love still breathes the passions of her heart. 
 
 Helen was not the only fair 
 
 By an unhappy passion fired. 
 Who the lewd ringlets of the hair 
 Of an adulterous beau admired; 
 Court arts, gold lace, and equipage have charms 
 To tempt weak woman to a stranger's arms. 
 
 Nor first from Teucer's vengeful bow 
 The feather'd death unerriiig flew, 
 Nor was tlie Greek the single foe 
 Whose rage ill-fated Ilion knew; 
 Greece had with heroes fill'd th' embattled plain, 
 Worthy the Muse in her sublimest strain. 
 
 Nor Hector first transported heard 
 
 With fierce delight the war's alarms, 
 Nor brave Dei'phobus appear'd 
 Amid the tented field in arms. 
 With glorious ardour prodigal of life. 
 To guard a darling son and faithful wife. 
 
 Before great Agamemnon reign'd, 
 
 Reign'd kings as great as he, and brave, 
 
 Whose huge ambition's now contain'd 
 
 In the small compass of a grave : 
 
 In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown. 
 
 No bard had they to make all time their own.* 
 
 In earth if it forgotten lies, 
 
 What is the valour of the brave ? 
 What difference, when the coward dies, 
 And sinks in silence to his grave? 
 Nor, Lollius, will I not thy praise proclaim, 
 But from oblivion vindicate thy fame. 
 Nor shall its livid power conceal 
 
 Thy toils — how glorious to the state! 
 How constant to the public weal 
 
 Through all the doubtful turns of fate ! 
 Thy steady soul, by long experience found 
 Erect, alike when fortune smiled or frown'd. 
 
 Had envious silence left unsung 
 
 The child from Mars and Ilia sprung. 
 
 How had we known the hero's fame, 
 
 From whom the Roman empire camel 
 
 The poet's favour, voire, and lays, 
 
 Could -Eacus from darkness raise, 
 
 Snatch'd from the Stygian gulfs of hell. 
 
 Among the blissful isles to dwell. 
 
 The Muse forbids the brave to die. 
 
 The Muse enthrones him in the sky; 
 
 Alcides, thus, in heaven is placed. 
 
 And shares with .love the immortal feast; 
 
 Thus the twin-stars have power to save 
 
 The shatter'd vessel from the wave. 
 
 And vine-crown'd Bacchus with success 
 
 His jovial votaries can bless. — From Ode VIII. 
 
HORACE. 
 
 475 
 
 Villains, in public rapine hold, 
 
 Lollius, tlie just aven<,'pr, dread, 
 Who never by tlie ebarrns of gold, 
 Shining sedncer ! was inisled ; 
 Beyond tliy year such virtue shall extend. 
 And death alone thy consulate shall end. 
 Perpetual magistrate is he, 
 
 Who keeps strict justice full in sight; 
 With scorn rejects th' offender's fee, 
 
 Nor weighs convenience against riglit; 
 Who bids the crowd at awful distance gaze, 
 And virtue's arms victoriously displays. 
 Not he, of wealt'.i immense possess'il 
 
 Tasteless who piles liis massy gold. 
 Among the number of the bless'd 
 
 Should have his glorious name enroll'd; 
 He better claims the tilorious name who knows 
 With wisdom to enjoy what Heaven bestows: 
 Who knows the wrongs of want to bear. 
 
 Even in its lowest, last extreme ; 
 Yet can with conscious virtue fear, 
 
 Far worse than death, a deed of shame; 
 Undaunted, for his country or his friend 
 To sacrifice his life — oh glorious end ! 
 
 EPODE II. 
 
 How happy in his low degree. 
 
 How rich, in humble poverty, is he, 
 Who leads a quiet country life ; 
 Discharg'd of business, void of strife, 
 
 And from the griping scrivener free! 
 Thus, ere the seeds of vice were sown, 
 
 Liv'd men in better ages born. 
 Who plough'd, with oxen of their own. 
 
 Their small paternal field of corn. 
 Nor trumpets summon him to war. 
 
 Nor drums disturb his mornint'; sleep, 
 Nor knows he merchants' gainful care, 
 
 Nor fears the dangers of the deep. 
 The clamours of contentious law. 
 
 And court and state he wisely shuns. 
 Nor brib'd with hopes, nor dar'd with awe, 
 
 To servile salutations runs; 
 But either to the clasping vine 
 
 Does the supporting poplar wed, 
 Or with his pruning hook disjoin 
 
 Unbcaritig branches from their head, 
 
 And grafts more happy in their stead ; 
 Or climbing to a hilly steep, 
 
 He views his buds in vales afar. 
 Or shears his ovcrburden'd sheep. 
 
 Or mead for cooling drink prepares 
 
 Of virgin honey in the jars, 
 Or, in the now declining year. 
 
 When beauteous Autunm rears his head, 
 He joys to pull the ripen'd pear. 
 
 And clust'ring grajies with purple spread. 
 Sometimes beneath an ancient oak. 
 
 Or on the matted grass he lies: 
 No God of Sleep he need invoke ; 
 
 The stream, that o'er tlie pebble flies. 
 
 With gentle slumber crowns his eyes. 
 
 The wind, that whistles through the sprays. 
 
 Maintains tlie concert of the song: 
 And hidden birds with native lays, 
 
 The golden sleep prolong. 
 But when the blast of winter blows, 
 
 And lioary frost invests the year. 
 Into the naked woods he goes, 
 
 And seeks the tusky boar to rear, 
 
 With well-mouth'd hounds and yiointed spear! 
 Or spreads his subtle nets from sight, 
 
 Witli twiid<ling glasses, to betray 
 Tlie larks that in the meshes light. 
 
 Or makes the fearful bear his prey. 
 Amidst his harmless, easy joys, 
 
 No anxious care invades his health, 
 Nor love his peace of mind destroys, 
 
 Nor wicked avarice of wealth. 
 But, if a chaste and pleasing wife, 
 To ease the business of his life. 
 Divides with him his household care, 
 Such as the Sabine matrons were. 
 Such as the sv\ ift Apiilian's bride. 
 
 Sunburnt and swarthy tlioiigh she be. 
 Will fire for winter nights provide. 
 
 And — without noise — will oversee 
 
 His children and his family: 
 And order all things till lie come, 
 Sweaty and overlabour'd home ; 
 If she in pens his flocks will fold. 
 
 And then produce her dairy store 
 With wine to drive away the cold, 
 
 And unbought dainties for the poor; 
 Not oysters of the Lucrine lake 
 
 My sober appetite would wish. 
 
 Nor turbot. or the foreign fish 
 That rolling tempests overtake. 
 
 And hither waft the costly dish. 
 Not heathpoult, or the rarer bird. 
 
 Which Phasis or Ionia yields 
 More pleasing morsels would afford 
 
 Than the fat olives of my fields; 
 Than shards or mallows for the pot. 
 
 That keep the loosened body sound, 
 Or than the lamb, that falls by lot 
 
 To the just guardian of my ground. 
 Amidst these feasts of happy swains. 
 
 The jolly shepherd smiles to see 
 His flock returning from the plains; 
 
 The farmer is as pleas'd as he, 
 To view his oxen sweating stnoke, 
 Bear on their necks the loosen'tl yoke : 
 
 To look upon his menial crew, 
 That sit around his cheerful hearth. 
 
 And bodies spent in toil renew 
 With wholesome food and country mirth. 
 
 This Alphius said within himself; 
 Rpsolv'd to leave the wicked town, 
 And live retir'd upon his own, 
 He call'd his money in : 
 But the prevailing love of pelf, 
 Soon split him on the former shelf,— 
 He put it out again. 
 
476 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 FROM THE SATIRES. 
 Book I. 
 
 FROM SATIRE I. AVARICE AND DISCONTENT. 
 
 Mec^nas, what's tbe cause, that no man lives 
 Contented with the lot which reason gives, 
 Or chance presents ; but all with envy view 
 The schemes that others variously pursue. 
 Happy the merchant, the old soldier cries ; 
 The merchant, beaten with tempestuous skies, 
 Happy the soldier; one half hour to thee 
 Gives speedy death or glorious victory. 
 The lawyer, knock'd up early from his rest 
 By restless clients, calls the peasant bless'd ; 
 The peasant, when his labours ill succeed. 
 Envies the mouth which only talk does feed. 
 'Tis not (I think you'll say) that I want store 
 Of instances, if here I add no more ; 
 They are enough to reach at least a mile 
 Beyond long Orator Fabius his style. 
 But, hold, you whom no fortune e'er endears, 
 Gentlemen, mal-contents, and mutineers, 
 Whom bounteous Jove so often cruel call. 
 Behold, Joves now resolvd to please you all. 
 Thou, soldier, be a merchant ; merchant, thou 
 A soldier be ; and lawyer, to the plough. 
 Change all your stations straight; why do you 
 
 stay 1 — 
 The devil a man will change, now when he 
 
 may. 
 Were I in General Jove's abused case, 
 By Jove, I'd cudgel this rebellious race: 
 But he's too good. Be all then as you were, 
 However, make the best of what you are. 
 And in that state be cheerful and rejoice, 
 Which cither was your fate or was your choice. 
 No; they must labour yet, and sweat, and toil, 
 And very miserable be awhile; 
 But "tis with a design only to gain 
 What may their age with plenteous ease main- 
 tain. 
 The prudent pismire does this lesson teach, 
 And industry to lazy mankind preach : 
 The little drudge does trot about and sweat. 
 Nor does he straight devour all he can get, 
 But in his temp'rate mouth carries it home, 
 A stock for winter, which he knows must come; 
 And when the rolling world to creatures here 
 Turns up the deform'd wrong side of the year, 
 And shuts him in with storms, and cold, and 
 
 wet. 
 He cheerfully does his past labours eat. 
 And weighing justly a mortal ant's condition, 
 Divides his life "twixt labour and fruition. 
 Thee neither heat, nor storms, nor wet, nor cold, 
 From thy unnatural diligence can withhold : 
 To th' Indies thou wouldst run, rather than see 
 Another, though a friend, richer than thee. 
 Fond man ! what good or beauty can be found 
 In heaps of treasure buried under ground? 
 Which rather than diniiiiish'd e'er to see. 
 Thou wouldst thyself, too, buried with them be. 
 And what's the diffrence? Is it not quite as bad 
 Never to use, as never to have had? 
 In thy vast barns millions of quarters store; 
 Thy belly, for all that, will hold no more 
 
 Than mine does. Ev'ry baker makes much 
 
 bread ; 
 What then? he's with no more than others fed. 
 But pleasant 'tis to take from a great store. 
 What, man ! though you're resolv'd to take no 
 
 more 
 Tlian I do from a small one? If your will 
 Be but a pitcher or a pot to fill. 
 To some great river for it must you go, 
 When a clear spring just at your feet does flow? 
 Give me the spring which does to human use 
 Safe, easy, and untroubled stores produce : 
 He who scorns these, and needs will drink at 
 
 Nile 
 Must run the danger of the crocodile, 
 And of the rapid stream itself, which may 
 At unawares bear him, perhaps, away. 
 In a full flood Tantalus stands, his skin 
 Wash'd o'er in vain, for ever dry within; 
 He catches at the stream with greedy lips. 
 From his touch'd mouth the wanton torrent 
 
 slips. 
 You laugh, now, and expand your careful brow ; 
 'Tis finely said, but what's all this to you ? 
 Change but the name, this falile is thy story; 
 Thou in a flood of useless wealth dost glory. 
 Which thou canst only touch, but never taste; 
 Th" abundance still, and still the want does last. 
 The treasures of the gods thou wouldst not spare, 
 But when they're made thy own, they sacred 
 
 are. 
 And must be kept with rev'rence, as if thou 
 No other use of precious gold di<lst know, 
 But that of curious pictures, to delight, 
 With the fair stamp, thy virtuoso sight. 
 The only true and genuine use is this. 
 To buy the things which Nature cannot miss 
 Without discomfort ; oil, and vital bread. 
 And wine, by which the life of Life is fed. 
 And all those few things else by which we live ; 
 All that remains is giv'n for thee to give. 
 If cares and troubles, envy, grief, and fear, 
 The bitter fruits be which fair Riches bear, 
 If a new poverty grov/ out of store. 
 The plain old way, ye gods! let me be poor. 
 
 FROM SATIRE III. ALL CRIMES NOT TO BE 
 
 RANKED AND PUNISHED ALIKE. 
 
 Who say that crimes are sins alike. 
 
 At common sense and manners strike: 
 
 And e'en utility despise. 
 
 Whence equity and law arise. 
 
 When creatures first, at Nature's birth, 
 
 Dumb and unseemly crawl'd on earth: 
 
 For acorns and for beds of leaves. 
 
 They strove with fists, and then with staves : 
 
 Next use with iron arms supplied, 
 
 And wars were fought, and warriors died : 
 
 Then speech was found, then language rose. 
 
 And peaceful words succeeded blows. 
 
 Now towns were built, and laws were framed. 
 
 That punish"d villany, or shamed ; 
 
 Preserving all the goods of life. 
 
 The person, property, and wife. 
 
 Inquire of ages past the cause, 
 
 The fear of crimes invented laws: 
 
HORACE. 
 
 477 
 
 Not simple Nature taught the skill. 
 To draw the line 'twixt good and ill ; 
 'Twixt certain virtues, certain sins, 
 Whence merit ends, and crime begins. 
 Nor reason, sure can say that he 
 Must just as great a villain he, 
 Who idly breaks his neighbour's boimds, 
 As he, who steals a thousand pounds. 
 
 FROM SATIRE IV. HORACE'S ACCOUNT OF HIS 
 
 FATHER AND HI-MSELF. 
 
 The best of fathers, on my youthful breast 
 The detestation of a vice impress'd 
 By strong examples. Would he have me live 
 Content with what his industry could give. 
 In frugal, sparing sort, "Behold, my son. 
 Young Albius there, how wretchedly undone! 
 Yet no mean lesson is the spendthrifts fate 
 To caution youth from squandering their estate." 
 To fright me from the harlot's vagrant bed, 
 "Behold Scetanius, and his ruin dread ;" 
 That I might ne'er pursue the wedded dame, 
 "A lawful Venus will indulge you;- flame. 
 My son, by poor Trebonius be advised ; 
 Sure 'tis no pleasant tale to be surprised." 
 
 "Twixt right and wrong the learned may 
 
 decide, 
 With wise distinctions may your conduct guide ; 
 Be mine the common wisdom, that inspires 
 The frugal manners of our ancient sires. 
 And, while your mouth may yet a tutor claim, 
 To guard your virtue, and preserve your fame, 
 But soon as time confirms, with stronger tone. 
 Your strength and mind, your conduct be your 
 
 own." 
 Thus did he form my youth with lenient hand; 
 When he for virtue urged the soft command, 
 Pointing some awful senator to view, 
 "His grave example constantly pursue." 
 Would he dissuade nie; "Can you doubt," he 
 
 cries, 
 "That equal ruin and dishonour rise 
 From such an action, when that scoundrel's name 
 Is branded with the flagrant marks of shame V 
 A neighbour's funeral, with dire aff"right, 
 Checks the sick man's intemperate appetite ; 
 So is the shame of others oft impress'd 
 With wholesome terrors on the youthful breast. 
 
 FROM SATIRE TI. TO MECEXAS, WITH A FUR- 
 THER ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER AND HIMSELF. 
 
 Nor yet to chance my happiness I owe ; 
 Friendship like yours it had not to bestow. 
 First, my best Virgil, then my Varius, told 
 Among my friends what character I hold ; 
 When introduced, in few and faltering words 
 (Such as an infant modesty affords) 
 I did not tell you my descent was great, 
 Or that I wander'd roimd my country seat 
 On a proud steed in richer pastures bred ; 
 But what I really was, I frankly said. 
 
 Short was your answer, in your usual strain ; 
 I take my leave, nor wail on you again, 
 
 Till, nine months past, engaged and bid to hold 
 A place among your nearer friends enroll'd. 
 An honour this, methiidis, of nobler kind. 
 That innocent of heart and pure of mind, 
 Though with no titled birth, I gain'd his love, 
 Whose judgment can discern, whose choice ap- 
 prove. 
 
 If some few venial faults deform my soul, 
 (Like a fair face when spotted with a mole,) 
 If none with avarice justly brand my fame 
 With sordidness, or deeds too vile to name: 
 If pure ami innocent: if dear (forgive 
 These little praises) to my friends I live. 
 My father was the cause, who, though maintain'd 
 By a lean farm but poorly, yet ilisdaiu'd 
 The country .schoolmaster, to whose low care 
 The mighty captain sent his high-born heir, 
 With satchel, copy book, and pelf to pay 
 The wretched teacher on th' appointed day. 
 
 To Rome by this bold father was I brought. 
 To learn those arts which well-born yoiuh are 
 
 taught ; 
 So dress'd and so attended, you would swear 
 I was some senator's expensive heir; 
 Himself my guardian, of unbleinish'd truth, 
 Among my tutors would attend my youth. 
 And thus preserv'd my chastity of miiul, 
 (That prime of virtue in its highest kind,) 
 Not only pure from guilt, but even the shame 
 That might with vile suspicion hurt luy fame: 
 Nor fear'd to be reproach'd, although my fate 
 Should fix my fortune in some meaner state, 
 From which some trivial perquisites arise. 
 Or make me, like himself, collector of excise. 
 
 For this my heart, far from complaining, pays 
 A larger debt of gratitude and praise; 
 Nor, while my senses hold, shall I repent 
 Of such a father, nor with {)ride resent. 
 As many ilo, th' involuntary disgrace 
 Not to be born of an illustrious race. 
 But not with theirs my sentiments agree 
 Or language ; for if Nature should decree 
 That we from any stated point might live 
 Our former years, and to our choice should give 
 The sires, to whom we wished to be allied, 
 Let others choose to gratify their pride ; 
 Wliile I, contented with my own, resign 
 The tilled honours of an ancient line. 
 
 FROM SATIRE X. ADVICE TO AUTHORS. 
 
 Would you a reader's just esteem engage. 
 Correct with frequent care the blotted page ; 
 Nor strive the wonder of the crowd to raise, 
 But the few better juilges learn to please. 
 Let Plotius, Varius, and Meca nas deign 
 With Virgil, Valgius, to ajiprove my strain ; 
 Let good Octavius even endure nty lays; 
 Let Fuscus read, and either Viscus praise : 
 Let Pollio and Messala be my own, 
 Atul Furnius lor a critic's candour known ; 
 Among my learned friends are many more. 
 Whose names I pass in niotlest silence o'er; 
 These I can wisli to smile; enjoy their praise, 
 Hope to delight, and grieve if 1 displease. 
 
478 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Book II. 
 
 FROM SATIRE I. LCCILIUS; AND HORACE'S DE- 
 SIRE TO WRITE LIKE HIM. 
 
 H. Tell me, Trebatius, are not all mankind 
 To diflerent pleasures, ditlierent whims inclined'? 
 Millonius dances when his head grows light, 
 And the dim lamp shines double to his sight. 
 The twin-born brothers in their sports divide ; 
 Pollux loves boxing; Castor joys to ride. 
 Indulge me then in this my sole delight, 
 Like great and good Luciiius, let me write. 
 
 Behold him frankly to his book impart 
 As to a friend, the secrets of his heart : 
 To write was all his aim ; too heedless bard, 
 And well or ill, unworthy his regard. 
 Hence the old man stands open to your view. 
 Though with a careless hand the piece he drew. 
 
 His steps I follow in pursuit of fame, 
 Whether Lucania or Apulia claim 
 The honour of my birth ; for on the lands, 
 By Samnites once possess'd, Venusium stands, 
 A forward barrier, as old tales relate, 
 To stop the course of war, and guard the state. 
 
 Let this digression, as it may, succeed — 
 No honest man shall by my satire bleed; 
 It guards me like a sword, and safe it lies 
 Within the sheath, till villains round me rise. 
 
 Dread king and father of the mortal race, 
 Behold me, harmless bard, how fond of peace! 
 And may all kinds of mischief-making steel 
 In rust, eternal rust, thy vengeance feel ! 
 But who provokes me, or attacks my fame, 
 "Better not touch me, friend,"' — I loud exclaim ; 
 His eyes shall weep the folly of his tongue, 
 By laughing crowds in rueful ballad sung. 
 ******* 
 
 Then, whether age my peaceful hours attend, 
 Or Death his sable pinions round me bend ; 
 Or rich, or poor ; at Rome ; to exile driven ; 
 Whatever lot by powerful Fate is given. 
 Yet write I will. 
 
 T. Oh boy, thy fate is sped. 
 
 And short thy days. Some lord shall strike thee 
 
 dead. 
 With freezing look — 
 
 H. What! in his honest page 
 
 When good Luciiius lash'd a vicious age. 
 From conscious villains tore the mask away. 
 And stripp'd them naked to the glare of day. 
 Were Lselius or his friend, (whose glorious name 
 From conquer"d Carthage deathless rose to fame,) 
 Were they displeased, when villains and their 
 
 crimes 
 Were coverd o'er with infamy and rhymes? 
 The factious demagogue he made his prize. 
 And durst the people tribe by tribe chastise; 
 Yet true to virtue, and to virtue's friends, 
 To them alone with reverence he bends. 
 When Scipio's virtue, and, of milder vein, 
 When Lfplius' wisdom, from the busy scene, 
 And crowd of life, the vulgar and the great, 
 Could with their favourite satirist retreat. 
 Lightly they laugh'd at many an idle jest. 
 Until their frugal feast of herbs was dress'd. 
 
 What though with great Luciiius I disclaim 
 All saucy rivalship of birth or fame, 
 
 Spite of herself even Envy must confess 
 That I the friendship of the great possess, 
 And, if she dare attempt my honest fame, 
 .Shall break her teeth against my solid name. 
 This is my plea; on this I rest my cause.— 
 
 FROM SATIRE III. MADMEN. 
 
 For all are fools or mad, as well as you, 
 At least, if what Stertinius says be true. 
 
 Whom vicious follies, or whom falsehood, blind. 
 Are by the stoics held of inaddening kind. 
 And they, who call you fool, with equal claim 
 May plead an ample title to the name. 
 
 When in a wood we leave the certain way, 
 One error fools us, though we various stray, 
 Some to the left, some turn to t'other side ; 
 So he, who dares thy madness to deride. 
 Though you may frankly own yourself a fool. 
 Behind him trails his mark of ridicule. 
 
 Come all, whose breasts with bad ambition 
 rise 
 Or the pale passion, that for money dies, 
 With luxury, or superstition's gloom, 
 Whateer disease your health of mind consume. 
 Compose your robes; in decent ranks draw near. 
 And, that ye all are mad, with reverence hear. 
 
 If a man fill'd his cabinet with lyres. 
 Whom neither music charms, nor muse inspires; 
 Should he buy lasts and knives, who never made 
 A shoe; or if a wight, who hated trade, 
 The sails and tackle for a vessel bought, 
 Madman or fool he might be justly thought. 
 But, prithee, where's the difference to behold 
 A wretch, who heaps and hides his darling gold; 
 Who knows not how to use the massy store, 
 Yet dreads to violate the sacred ore? 
 
 With a long club, and ever-open eyes. 
 To guard his corn its wretched master lies. 
 Nor dares, though hungry, touch the hoarded 
 
 grain. 
 While bitter herbs his frugal life sustain; 
 If in his cellar lie a thousand flasks 
 (Nay, let them rise to thrice a thousand casks) 
 Of old Falernian, or the Chian vine. 
 Yet if he drink mere vinegar for wine; 
 If, at fourscore, of straw he made his bed, 
 While moths upon his rotting carpet fed. 
 By few, forsooth, a madman he is thought, 
 For half mankind the same disease have caught. 
 
 FROM SATIRE TI. COXTNTRT LIFE. 
 
 I OFTEN wish'd I had a farm, 
 A decent dwelling, snug and warm, 
 A garden, and a spring as pure 
 As crystal, running by my door; 
 Besides a little ancient grove. 
 Where at my leisure I might rove. 
 
 The gracious gods, to crown my bliss. 
 Have granted this, and more than this: 
 I have enough in my possessing, 
 'Tis well : I ask no other blessing, 
 Oh Hermes ! than remote from strife 
 To have and hold them for my life. 
 
 If I was never known to raise 
 My fortune by dishonest ways ; 
 Nor, like the spendthrifts of the times, 
 Shall ever sink it by my crimes : 
 
HORACE. 
 
 479 
 
 If thus I neither pray nor ponder, — 
 Oil ! misrht I have that angle yonder, 
 Which (ii.<proj)Ortioiis now my field, 
 What saiislactioti it would yield! 
 Oh that some hicky chance but threw 
 A pot of silver to my view, 
 As lately to the man, who bought 
 The very land on which he wrought! 
 If I am pleased with my condition. 
 Oh hear, and grant this last petition: 
 Indulgent, let -my cattle batten; 
 Let all things, but my fancy, fatten; 
 And thou continue still to guard, 
 As thou art wont, thy suppliant bard ! 
 • ••••»• 
 
 Wliilst losing, in Rome's busy maze, 
 The calm and sunsliine of my days, 
 How oft, with fervour I repeat 
 "When shall I see my sweet retreat? 
 Oh, when with books of sages deep, 
 Sequester'd ease and gentle sleep, 
 111 soft oblivion, blissful balm. 
 The busy cares of life becalm? 
 Oh, when shall I enrich my veins, 
 Spite of Pythagoras, with beans? 
 Or live luxurious in my cottage 
 On bacon-ham and savoury pottage? 
 joyous nights! delicious feasts! 
 At which the gods might be my guests!" 
 My friends and I regaled, my slaves 
 Enjoy what their rich master leaves. 
 There every guest may drink and fill 
 As much, or little, as he will. 
 Exempted from the bedlam rules 
 Of roaring prodigals and fools. 
 Wliether in merry mood or whim, 
 He fills his bumper to the brim; 
 Or, better j) leased to let it pass. 
 Grows mellow with a moderate glass. 
 
 FROM SATIHE Til. FREEDOM. 
 
 H. Who then is free ? 
 
 D. The wise, who well maintains 
 
 An empire o'er himself: whom neither chains. 
 Nor want, nor death, with slavish fear inspire, 
 Who boldly answers to his warm desire, 
 Who can ambition's vainest gifts despise, 
 Firm in himself, wlio on himself relies, 
 Polish'd and round, who runs his proper course, 
 And breaks misfortune with superior force. 
 
 FROM THE EPISTLES. 
 Book I. 
 
 FROM F.PISTLK I. TO MEC.TIXAS. 
 
 • ••••*• 
 
 You ask, perhaps, what sect, what chief I own ; 
 I'm of all sects, but blindly sworn to none; 
 For as the tempest drives I shape my way. 
 Now active plunge into the world's wide sea; 
 Now Virtue's precepts rigidly defend. 
 Nor to the world — the world to me shall bend: 
 Tlien make some looser moralist iny guide. 
 And to the school less rigid smoothly glide. 
 
 As night seems tedious to th' expecting youth 
 Whose fair one breaks her assignation-truth ; 
 As to a slave appears the lengthen'd day. 
 Who owes his task — for he received liis pay; 
 As, when the guardian mothers too severe. 
 Impatient minors waste their last long year; 
 So sadly slow the time ungrateful flows 
 Which breaks th' important systems I propose; 
 Systems, whose useful precepts might engage 
 Both rich and poor; both infancy and age; 
 But meaner precepts now my life must rule, 
 These, the first rudiments of Wisdom's school. 
 You cannot hope for Lynceus' piercing eyes : 
 But will you then a strengthening salve des- 
 pise? 
 You wish for matchless Glycon's limbs, in vain, 
 Yet why not cure the gout's decrepit pain ? 
 Though of exact perfection you despair. 
 Yet every step to virtue s worth your care. 
 
 Even while you fear to use your present 
 store, 
 Yet glows your bosom with a lust of more? 
 The power of words, and soothing sounds can 
 
 ease 
 The raging pain, and lessen your disease. 
 Is fame your passion ? Wisdom's powerful charm. 
 If thrice read over, shall its force disarm. 
 The slave to envy, anger, wine, or love. 
 The wretch of sloth, its excellence shall prove: 
 Fierceness itself shall hear its rage away. 
 When listening calmly to th' instructive lay. 
 Even in our flight from vice some virtue lies ; 
 And, free from folly, we to wisdom rise. 
 
 Silver to gold, we own, should yield the prize, 
 And gold to virtue; but loud Folly cries, 
 "Ye sons of Rome, let money first be sought; 
 Virtue is only worth a second thought." 
 This maxim echoes through the banker's street. 
 While young and old the pleasing strain repeat : 
 For though you boast a larger fund of sense. 
 Untainted morals, honour, eloquence. 
 Yet want a little of the sum that buys 
 The titled honour, and you ne'er shall rise ; 
 Yet if you want the qualifying right 
 Of such a fortune to be made a knight. 
 You're a plebeian still. Yet children sing. 
 Amid their sports, " Do right, and be a king." 
 
 Be this thy brazen bulwark of defence, 
 Still to preserve thy conscious innocence. 
 Nor e'er turn pale widi guilt. But, prithee, tell, 
 Shall Otho's law the children's song excel ? 
 The sons of ancient Rome first sung the strain 
 That bids the wise, the brave, the virtuous reign. 
 
 My friend, get money; get a large estate, 
 By honest means ; but get, at any rale. 
 That you widi knights and senators may sit, 
 And view the weeping scenes that Pupius writ. 
 But is he not a friend of nobler kind 
 Who wisely fashions, and informs thy mind. 
 To answer, with a soul erect and brave. 
 To Fortune's pride, and scorn to be her slave? 
 
 But should the pei>ple ask me, while I choose 
 The public converse, wherefore I refuse 
 To join die public judgment, and approve, 
 Or fly whatever they dislike, or love ; 
 
480 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Mine be the answer prudent reynard made 
 To the sick lion — "Truly, I'm afraid, . 
 When I behold the steps, that to thy den 
 Look forward all, but none return agen." 
 
 FHO>r EPISTLE ir. 
 DANGER OF PROCHASTIN ATIOX. 
 
 Begix ; be bold ; and venture to be wise ; 
 He who defers the work from day to day. 
 Does on a river's bank expecting stay, 
 'Till the whole stream thatstopp'd him, shall be 
 
 gone, 
 That runs, and, as it runs, for ever will run on. 
 
 FROM EPISTLE III. TO A PLAGIARIST. 
 
 Let Celsus be admonish'd, o'er and o'er, 
 To search the treasures of his native store. 
 Nor touch what Phoebus consecrates to fame, 
 Lest, when the birds their various plumage claim, 
 Stripp'd of his stolen pride, the crow forlorn 
 Shall stand ridiculous, — the public scorn ! — 
 
 FROM EPISTLE T. WI?fE. 
 
 Sat, what are Fortune's gifts, if I'm denied 
 Their cheerful use ? for nearly are allied 
 The madman, and the fool, whose sordid care 
 Makes himself poor, to enrich a worthless heir. 
 Give me to drink, and, crown'd with flowers, 
 
 despise 
 The grave disgrace of being thought unwise. 
 
 What cannot wine perform? It brings to light 
 The secret soul; it bids the coward fight; 
 Gives being to our hopes, and from our hearts 
 Drives out dull sorrow, and inspires new arts. 
 Is there a wretch, whom bumpers have not taught 
 A flow of words, and loftiness of thought? 
 Even in th' oppressive grasp of poverty 
 It can enlarge, and bid the soul be free. 
 
 FROM EPISTLE VI. VIRTUE OR WEALTH? 
 
 Would you not wish to cure th' acuter pains. 
 That rack your tortured side, or vex your reins? 
 Would you, and who would not, with pleasure live? 
 If Virtue can alone the blessing give, 
 With ardent spirit her alone pursue. 
 And with contempt all other pleasures view. 
 Yet if you think that virtue's but a name ; 
 That groves are groves, nor from religion claim 
 A sacred awe ; sail to the distant coast. 
 Nor let the rich Bithynian trade be lost. 
 A thousand talents be the rounded sttm 
 You first design'd ; then raise a second plumb; 
 A third successive be your earnest care. 
 And add a fourth to make the mass a square; 
 For gold, the sovereign queen of all below. 
 Friend, honour, birth, and beauty can bestow ; 
 The goddess of persuasion forms a train. 
 And Venus decks the well-bemonied swain. 
 
 FROM EPISTLE VII. CALAHRIAIS' HOSPITALITY. 
 
 " These pears are excellent, then, prithee, feed." — 
 "I've eftten quite enough.'' — "Well, you indeed 
 Shall take some home — as many as you please. 
 For children love such little gifts as these." 
 "I thank you, sir, as if they all were mine" — 
 "Well, if you leave, you leave them for the 
 swine." 
 
 THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL. 
 
 Into a wicker cask where corn was kept. 
 Perchance of meagre corse, a field-mouse crept; 
 But when she fiU'd her paunch, and sleek'd her 
 
 hide. 
 How to get out again, in vain she tried. 
 A weasel, who beheld her thus distress'd. 
 In friendly sort the luckless mouse address'd : 
 " Would you escape, you must be lean and thin ; 
 Then try the cranny where you first got in." 
 
 EPISTLE Till. TO CELSUS ALBIN OVANUS. 
 
 COMPLAINING OF ILL HEALTH. 
 
 To Celsus, Muse, my warmest wishes bear, 
 And if he kindly ask you how I fare. 
 Say, though I threaten many a fair design, 
 Nor happiness, nor wisdom, yet are mine. 
 Not that the driving hail my vineyards beat; 
 Not that my olives are destroy'd with heat; 
 Not that my cattle pine in distant plains- 
 More in my mind than body lie my pains. 
 Reading I hate, and with unwilling ear 
 The voice of comfort, or of health I hear; 
 Friends or physicians I with pain endure. 
 Who strive this languor of my soul to cure. 
 Whate'er may hurt me, I with joy pursue ; 
 Whate'er may do me good, with horror view. 
 Inconstant as the wind, I various rove; 
 At Tibur, Rome; at Rome, I Tibur love. 
 
 Ask how he does ; what happy arts support 
 His prince's favour, nor oflend the court ; 
 If all be well, say first, that we rejoice. 
 And then, remember, with a gentle voice 
 Instil this precept on his listening ear, 
 " As you your fortune, we shall Celsus bear." 
 
 EPISTLE X. TO FUSCUS ARISTUS. 
 
 Health from the lover of the country, me, 
 Health to the lover of the city, thee. 
 A difference in our souls this only proves ; 
 In all things else, we pair like married doves. 
 But the warm nest and crowded dove-house 
 
 thou 
 Dost like : I loosely fly from bough to bough, 
 And rivers driidc, and all the shining day 
 L^pon fair trees or mossy rocks I play ; 
 In fine, I live and reign, when I retire 
 From all that you equal with heaven admire ; 
 Like one at last from the priest's service fled. 
 Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread. 
 Would I a house for hapj)iness erect. 
 Nature alone should be the architect ; 
 She'd build it more convenient than great. 
 And doubtless in the country choose her seat: 
 Is there a place doth better helps supply 
 Against the wounds of winter's cruelty? 
 Is there an aid that gentlior does assuage 
 The mad celestial dog's, or lion's rage? 
 Is it not there that sleep (and only there) 
 Nor noise without, nor cares within does fear? 
 Does art through pipes a purer water bring 
 Than that which Nature strains into a spring? 
 Can all your tap'stries, or your pictures, show 
 More beauties than in herbs and flowers do 
 
 grow? 
 
HORACE. 
 
 481 
 
 Fountains and trees onr wearied pride do please, 
 Ev'n ill the midst of ^nlded palaces; 
 And in your towns that prospect gives delight 
 Which opens round the country to our sight. 
 Men to the good from which they rashly Hy, 
 Return at last; and their wild luxury 
 Does but in vain with those true joys contend, 
 Which Nature did to mankind recommend. 
 The man who changes gold for burnish'd brass, 
 Or small right gems for larger ones of glass. 
 Is not at length more certain to be made 
 Ridiculous, and wretched by the trade, 
 Than he who sells a solid good to buy 
 The painted goods of pride and vanity. 
 If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose, 
 Which 'tis but pain to keep, yet grief to lose ; 
 For, when we place ev'n trifles in the heart, 
 With trifles, too, unwillingly we part. 
 An humble roof, plain bed, and homely board. 
 More clear untainted pleasures do aflbrd 
 Than all the tumult of vain greatness brings 
 To kings, or to the favourites of kings. 
 The horned deer by Nature arm'd so w^ell, 
 Did with the horse in common pasture dwell ; 
 And when they fought, the field it always 
 
 won ; 
 Till the ambitious horse begg'd help of man. 
 And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign 
 Bravely alone, as lord of all the plain. 
 But never after could he the rider get 
 From oft" his back, or from his mouth the bit. 
 So they, who poverty too much do fear, 
 T' avoid that weight, a greater burden boar; 
 That they might power above their equals have, 
 To cruel masters they themselves enslave. 
 For gold, their liberty exchang'd we see. 
 That fairest flower which crowns humanity. 
 And all this mischief does upon them light, 
 Only, because tliey know not how, aright. 
 That great, but secret, happiness to prize, 
 That's laid up in a little, for the wise : 
 That is the best and easiest estate 
 Which to a man sits close, but not too straight; 
 'Tis like a shoe, it pinches and it burns. 
 Too narrow ; and too large, it overturns. 
 My dearest friend ! stop thy tlesires at last. 
 And cheerfully enjoy the wealth thou hast : 
 And, if me seeking still for more you see. 
 Chide and reproach, despise and laugli at me. 
 Money was made, not to command our will. 
 But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil: 
 Shame ! woe to us, if we our wealth obey : 
 The horse doth with the horseman run away. 
 
 FROM EPISTLE XVI. THE GOOD. 
 
 False praise can charm, unreal shame control — 
 Whom, but a vicious or a sickly soul ? 
 Who then is good ? — Who carefully observes 
 The senate's wise decrees, nor ever swerves 
 From the known rules of justice and the laws: 
 Whose bail secures, whose oath decides a cause. — 
 Yet his own house, his neighbours, through his 
 
 art 
 Behold an inward baseness in his heart. 
 Suppose a slave should say, " I never steal ; 
 I never ran away"' — -'Nor do you feel 
 61 
 
 The flagrant lash.'' — "No human blood I shed'" — 
 " Nor on the cross the ravening crows have fed." — 
 
 Your honest man, on whom with awful praise 
 The forum and the courts of justice gaze, 
 If e'er he made a public sacrifice. 
 Dread Janus, Phcebus, clear and loud he cries; 
 But when his pray'r in earnest is preferr'd, 
 Scarce moves his lips, afraid of being heard: 
 "Beauteous Laverna, my petition hear; 
 Let me with truth and sanctity appear: 
 Oh! give me to deceive, and with a veil 
 Of darkness and of night my crimes conceal." 
 
 Behold the miser bending down to earth 
 For a poor farthing, which the boys in mirth 
 Fix'd to the ground ; and shall the caititf dare 
 In honest freedom with a slave compare? 
 
 Whoever wishes, is with fear possess'd ; 
 And he, who holds that passion in his breast 
 Is in my sense a slave ; hath left the post 
 Where Virtue placed him, and his arms hath 
 lost. 
 
 The good, the wise, like Bacchus in the play. 
 Dare, to the king of Thebes, undaunted say, 
 " What can thy power? Thy thieatenings I dis- 
 dain.'' 
 
 King. Ill take away thy goods. 
 
 Bac. Perhaps you mean 
 
 My cattle, money, moveables, or land. 
 Well, take them all. 
 
 K. But, slave, if I command, 
 
 A cruel jailor shall thy freedom seize. 
 
 B. A god shall set me free whene'er I please."* 
 — Deatli is that god the poet here intends, 
 That utmost bound, where human sorrow ends. 
 
 Book IL 
 
 FHOM EPISTLKS I, II. POETS. 
 
 Now the light people bend to other aims ; 
 A lust of scribbling every breast inflames; 
 Our youth, our senators, with bays are crown'd. 
 And rhymes eternal at our feasts go round. 
 Even I, who verse and all its works deny, 
 Can faithless Parthia's lying sons outlie ; 
 And. ere the rising sun displays his light, 
 I call for tablets, papers, pens, and — write. 
 
 A pilot only dares a vessel steer; 
 A doubtful drug unlicensed doctors fear; 
 Musicians are to sounds alone confined, 
 And each mechanic hath his trade assigned ; 
 But every desperate blockhead dares to write ; 
 Verse is the trade of every living wight. 
 
 And yet this wandering frenzy of the brain 
 Hath many a gentle virtue in its train. 
 No cares of wealth a poet's heart control; 
 Verse is the only passion of his soul. 
 He laughs at losses, flight of slaves, or fires ; 
 No wicked scheme his honest breast inspires 
 To hurt his pupil, or his friend betray. 
 Brown bread an<l roots his appetite allay; 
 And though imfit for war's tumultuous trade, 
 In peace his gentle talents are display 'd, 
 
 ♦ The whole passage is almost an exact translation 
 from a scene in the Bacchantes of Euripides. 
 
482 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 If you allow that things of trivial weight 
 May yet support the grandeur of a state. 
 
 He forms the infant's tongue to lirmer sound, 
 Nor sutfers vile obscenity to wound 
 His tender ears. Then with the words of truth 
 Corrects the passions, and the pride of youth. 
 Th" illustrious dead, who fill his sacred page, 
 Sliine forth examples to each rising age; 
 The languid liour of poverty he cheers, 
 And the sick wretch his voice of comfort hears. 
 
 Did not the muse inspire the poet's lays, 
 How could our youthful choir their voices raise 
 In prayer harmonious, while the gods attend. 
 And gracious bid the fruitful shower descend ; 
 Avert their plagues, dispel each hostile fear. 
 And with glad harvests crown the wealthy year? 
 Thus can the sound of all-inelodious lays 
 Th' oflended powers of heaven and hell ap- 
 pease. 
 Our ancient swains, of vigorous, frugal kind, 
 At harvest-home used to unbend the mind 
 With festal sports ; those sports, that bade them 
 
 bear, 
 With cheerful hopes, the labours of the year. 
 Their wives and children shared their hours of 
 
 mirth, 
 Who shared their toils; when to the goddess 
 
 Earth 
 Grateful they sacrificed a teeming swine, 
 And pour'd the milky bowl at Sylvan 's shrine. 
 Then to the genius of their fleeting hours. 
 Mindful of life's short date, they otier'd wine and 
 
 flowers. 
 Here, in alternate verse, with rustic jest 
 The clowns their awkward raillery express'd ; 
 And as the year brought round the jovial day, 
 Freely they sported, innocently gay. 
 Till cruel wit was turn'd to open rage, 
 And dared the noblest families engage. 
 When some, who by its tooth envenom'd bled, 
 Complain'd aloud, and others struck with dread, 
 Though yet untouchd, as in a public cause, 
 Implor'd the just protection of the laws. 
 Which from injurious libels wisely guard 
 Our neighbour's fame; and now the prudent 
 
 bard. 
 Whom the just terrors of the lash restrain. 
 To pleasure and instruction turns his vein. 
 When conquer'd Greece brought in her captive 
 
 arts 
 She triumph'd o'er her savage conqueror's hearts ; 
 Taught our rough ver^e its numbers to refine. 
 And our rude style witli elegance to shine. 
 
 Bad poets ever are a standing jest, 
 But they rejoice, and, in their folly bless'd, 
 Admire themselves; nay, though you silent sit, 
 They bless themselves in wonder at their wit. 
 But he who studies masterly to frame 
 A finish'd piece, and build an honest fame. 
 Acts to himself the friendly critic's part. 
 And proves his genius by the rules of art. 
 Boldly blots out whatever seems obscure. 
 Or lightly mean, unworthy to procure 
 Immortal honour, though the words give way 
 With warm reluctance, and by force obey ; 
 
 Though yet enshrined within his desk they stand, 
 And claim a sanction fron"i-his parent hand. 
 
 As from the treasure of a latent mine. 
 Long darken'd words he shall with art refine; 
 Bring into light, to dignify his page, 
 The nervous language of a former age. 
 Used by the Catos, and Cethegus old, 
 Thougli now deform'd with dust, and cover'd 
 o'er with mould. 
 
 New words he shall endenizen, which use 
 Shall authorize, and currently produce; 
 Then, brightly smooth, and yet sublimely strong, 
 Like a pure river, through his flowing song 
 Shall pour the riches of his fancy wide, 
 And bless his Latium with a vocal tide; 
 Prune the luxuriant phrase; the rude refine, 
 Or blot the languid, and unsinew'd line. 
 Yet hard he labours for this seeming ease; 
 As art, not nature, makes our dancers please. 
 A stupid scribbler let me rather seem. 
 While of my faults with dear delight I deem, 
 Or not perceive, than sing no mortal strain, 
 And bear this toil, this torture of the brain. 
 
 At Argos lived a citizen, well known, 
 Who long imagined that he heard the tone 
 Of deep tragedians on an empty stage, 
 Anil sat applauding in extatic rage: 
 In other points a person, who maintain'd 
 A due decorum, and a life unstain'd, 
 A worthy neighbour, and a friend sincere. 
 Kind to his wife, nor to his slaves severe. 
 Nor prone to madness, though the felon's fork 
 Defaced the signet of a bottle cork ;* 
 And wise to shun (well knowing which was 
 
 which) 
 The rock high pendant, and the yawning ditch. 
 He, when his friends, at much expense and pains, 
 Had amply purged with hellebore his brains, 
 Came to himself — "'Ah! cruel friends!"' he cried, 
 ■•Is this to save me? Better far have died. 
 Than thus be robb'd of pleasure so refined, 
 The dear delusion of a raptur'd mind." 
 
 OTHER VICES BESIDES COVETOUSy ESS. 
 
 You are not covetous : be satisfied. 
 But are you tainted with no vice beside? 
 From vain ambition, dread of death's decree, 
 And fell resentment, is thy bosom free? 
 Say, can you laugh indignant at the schemes 
 Of magic terrors, visionary dreams. 
 Portentous wonders, witching imps of hell. 
 The nightly goblin, and enchanting spell? 
 Can you recount with gratitude and mirth 
 The day revolved that gave thy being birth, 
 Indulge the failings of thy friends, and grow 
 ^lore mild and virtuous, as thy seasons flow ? 
 
 FROM THE ART OF POETRY". 
 
 New words, and lately made, shall credit claim. 
 If from a Grecian source they gently stream; 
 For Virgil, sure, and Varius may receive 
 That kind indulgence, which the Romans give 
 
 • The Romans generally sealed a full bottle, to prevent 
 their slaves from stealing the wine. 
 
HORACE. 
 
 483 
 
 To Plautus and Cipcilius: or sliall I 
 Be envied, if my little fund supply 
 Its friia;iil wealth of words, since bards, who sung 
 In ancient days, enrich'd their native tongue 
 With large increase? An undisputed power 
 Of coining money from the rugged ore, 
 Nor less of coining words, is still confess'd, 
 If with a legal, public stamp iinpress'd. 
 
 As when the forest, with the bending year, 
 First sheds the leaves which earliest appear, 
 So an old age of words maturely dies. 
 Others new-born in youth and vigour rise. 
 
 We and our noblest works to fate niust yield; 
 Even Caesar's mole, which royal pride might 
 
 build. 
 Where Neptune far into the land extends, 
 And from the raging north our fleet defends ; 
 That barren marsh, whose cultivated plain 
 Now gives the neighbouring towns its various 
 
 grain ; 
 Tiber, who taught a better current, yields 
 To Caesar's power, nor deluges our fields: 
 All these must perish, and shall words presume 
 To hold their honours, and immortal bloom? 
 Many shall rise, that now forgotten lie; 
 Others, in present credit, soon shall die, 
 If custom will, whose arbitrary sway, 
 
 Words, and the forms of language, must obey. 
 
 » • » • » « » 
 
 Your style should an important difference make 
 When heroes, gods, or awful sages speak; 
 When florid youth, whom gay desires inflame ; 
 A busy servant, or a wealthy dame; 
 A merchant, wandering with incessant toil, 
 Or he, who cultivates the verdant soil; 
 But if in foreign realms yon fix your scene, 
 Their genius, customs, dialects maintain. 
 
 Or follow fame, or in th' invented tale 
 Let seeming, well-united truth prevail: 
 If Homer's great Achilles tread the stage, 
 Intrepid, fierce, of unforgiving rage, 
 Like Homers hero, let him spurn all laws, 
 And by the sword alone assert his cause. 
 With untamed fury let Medea glow. 
 And Ino's tears in ceaseless anguish flow. 
 From realm to realm her griefs let lo bear. 
 And sad Orestes rave in deep despair. 
 But if you venture on an tmlried theme, 
 And form a persoii yet unknown to fame, 
 From his first entiance to the closing scene, 
 Let him one equal character maintain. 
 
 'Tis hard a new-form'd fabli^ to express, 
 And make it seem your own. With more success 
 You may from Homer take the tale of Troy, 
 Than on an untried plot your strength employ. 
 Yet would you make a common theme your 
 
 own. 
 Dwell not on incidents already known ; 
 Nor word for word translate with painful care, 
 Nor be confined in such a narrow si)!iere, 
 From whence (while yf)U should only imitate) 
 Shame and the rules forbiil you to retreat. 
 
 Begin your work with modest grace and plain, 
 Nor like the bard of everlasting strain, 
 "I sing the glorious war and Priam's fate" — 
 How will the boaster hold this yawning rate? 
 
 The mountains labour'd with prodigious throes, 
 And, lo ! a mouse riiliculous arose. 
 Far better he, who ne'er attempts in vain, 
 Opening his poem in this humble strain; 
 Muse, sing the man who, after Troy subdued, 
 Maimers and towns of various nations viewd ; 
 He does not lavish at a blaze his fire, 
 Sudden to glare, and in a smoke expire; 
 But rouses from a cloud of smoke to light, 
 And pours his specious miracles to sight; 
 Antiphates his hideous feast devours, 
 Charybdis barks, and Polyphenms roars. 
 
 He would not, like our modern poet, date 
 His hero's wanderings from his uncle's fate; 
 Nor sing ill-fated Ilium's various woes, 
 From Helen's birth, from whom the war arose; 
 But to the grand event he speeds his course, 
 And bears his readers with resistless force 
 Into the midst of things, while every line 
 Opens, by just degrees, his whole design. 
 Artful he knows each circumstance to leave 
 Which will not grace and ornament receive: 
 Then truth and fiction with such skill he blends, 
 That equal he begins, proceeds, and ends. 
 
 Mine and the j)ublic judgment are the same; 
 Then hear what I, and what your audience claim. 
 If you wovdd keep us till the curtain fall, 
 And the last chorus for a plaudit call, 
 The manners must your strictest care engage, 
 The levities of youth and strength of age. 
 The child, who now with firmer footing walks. 
 And with unfaltering, well-form'd accents talks, 
 Loves childish sports; with causeless anger burns, 
 And idly pleased with every moment turns. 
 
 The youth, whose will no froward tutor bounds, 
 Joys in the sunny field, his horse and hounds ; 
 Yielding, like wax, th' impressive folly bears; 
 Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares ; 
 Profuse and vain ; with every passion warm'd. 
 And swift to leave what late his fancy charm'd. 
 
 With strength improved, the manly spirit 
 bends 
 To difterent aims, in search of wealth and friends; 
 Bold and ambitious in pursuit of fame. 
 And wisely cautious in the doubtful scheme. 
 
 A thousand ills the aged world surround. 
 Anxious in search of wealth, and when 'tis found, 
 Fearfid to use what they with fear possess, 
 While doubt and drea<l their faculties depress. 
 Fond of delay, they trust in hope no more, 
 Listless, and fearfid of th' approaching hour ; 
 Morose, comj)laining, and with tedious praise 
 Talking the manners of their youthful days; 
 Severe to censure ; earnest to advise. 
 And with old saws the present age chastise. 
 
 The blessings flowing in with life's full tide 
 Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide; 
 Then let not youth or infancy engage 
 To play the parts of manhood or of age ; 
 For where the proper characters prevail. 
 We dwell with pleasure on the well-wrought 
 tale. 
 
 The business of the drama must appear 
 In action or description. What we hear. 
 With weaker passion will affect the heart, 
 Than when the faithful eye beholds the part. 
 
484 
 
 TIBULLUS. 
 
 But yet let nothing on the stage be brought, 
 Which better should behind the scenes be 
 
 wrought ; 
 Nor force tli' unwilling audience to behold 
 Wliat may with grace and eloquence be told. 
 Let not Medea, with vinnatural rage. 
 Slaughter her mangled infants on the stage; 
 Nor Atreus his nefarious feast prepare, 
 Nor Cadmus roll a snake, nor Procne wing the 
 
 air ; 
 For while upon such monstrous scenes we gaze, 
 They shock our faith, our indignation raise. 
 
 Make the Greek bards your study and delight, 
 Read them by day, and meditate by night. — 
 
 Thespis, inventor of the tragic art, 
 Carried his vagrant players in a cart: 
 High o'er the crowd the mimic tribe appear'd, 
 And play'd and sung, with lees of wine be- 
 
 smear'd. 
 Then iEschylus a decent vizard used ; 
 Built a low stage ; the flowing robe diffused. 
 In language more sublime his actors rage, 
 And in the graceful buskin tread the stage. 
 And now the ancient comedy appear"d, 
 Nor without pleasure and applause was heard ; 
 But soon its freedom rising to excess. 
 The laws were forced its boldness to suppress, 
 And, when no longer licensed to defame. 
 It sunk to silence with contempt and shame. 
 
 Good sense, the fountain of the muse's art, 
 Let the strong page of Socrates impart, 
 And if the mind with clear conceptions glow, 
 The willing words in just expression flow. 
 
 The poet, who with nice discernment knows 
 What to his country and his friends he owes; 
 How various nature warms tlie human breast. 
 To love the parent, brother, friend or guest ; 
 What the great offices of judges are, 
 Of senators, of generals sent to war ; 
 He surely knows, with nice, well-judging art, 
 The strokes peculiar to each different part. 
 
 Keep Nature's great original in view, 
 And thence the living images pursue ; 
 For when the sentiments and diction please, 
 And all the characters are wrought with ease. 
 Your play, though void of beauty, force and art. 
 More strongly shall delight and warm the heart, 
 Than where a lifeless pomp of verse appears, 
 And with sonorous trifles charms our ears. 
 
 'Tis long disputed, whether poets claim 
 From art or nature their best right to fame ; 
 But art, if not enrich'd by nature's vein. 
 And a rude genius, of uncultured strain. 
 Are useless both ; but when in friendship join'd, 
 A mutual succour in each other find. 
 
 A youth who hopes th' Olympic prize to gain. 
 All arts must try, and every toil sustain ; 
 Th' extremes of heat and cold must often prove. 
 And shun the weakening joys of wine and 
 
 love. 
 Who sings the Pythic song, first learn "d to raise 
 Each note distinct, and a stern master please ; 
 But now — "Since I can write the true sublime, 
 Curse catch the hindmost!" cries the man of 
 
 rhyme. 
 "What! in a science own myself a fool. 
 Because, forsooth, I learn'd it not by rule ?" 
 
 TIBULLUS. 
 
 [Bom about 62,— Died 18, B. C] 
 
 Albitjs Tibullus was a Roman knight, and 
 a friend and associate of Horace, Propertius, and 
 Ovid. He served, when young, under Brutus 
 and Cassius ; was present with them at Philippi, 
 and, afterwards, on the overthrow of their righte- 
 ous cause, retired to his country seat at Pedum, 
 between which and Rome, except when called 
 into the field by his illustrious friend and patron 
 Messala Corvinus, he continued to divide his 
 days. 
 
 The following portrait of him has been left to 
 us by Horace in one of his Epistles : — 
 
 Albius ! in whom my satires find 
 
 A critic, most sincere and kind, 
 
 What dost thou now on Pedan plains'? 
 
 Write verse, outvying Cassius' strains ■? 
 
 Steal, silent, through the healthful wood, 
 
 With thoughts that fit the wise and goodi 
 
 Thou art not body without mind; 
 
 The gods to thee a form assign'd, 
 
 But form, with sense and worth combin'd ; 
 
 Have given thee wealth, with art to know 
 
 How best to \ise what they bestow. 
 
 Then what could fondest nurse — what more — 
 
 For her dear foster-child — implore, 
 
 Of wit and eloquence possest, 
 
 In health, grace, fame, and station blest, 
 
 A hospitable hoard, with friends. 
 
 And means sufficient for his ends'! 
 
 Book I. Epistle IV. 
 
 Tibullus is believed to have died at the age of 
 forty-four or forty-five, the year after Virgil's death, 
 and about eighteen years before the Christian era. 
 
TIBULLUS. 
 
 485 
 
 FROM THE ELEGIES. 
 Book I. 
 
 FROM ELEGT I. TO DELIA. 
 
 Let others heap of wealth a sliining store, 
 And, much possessing, labour still for more ; 
 Let them disquieted with dire alarms 
 Aspire to win a dang'rous fame in arms; 
 Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest, 
 Humbly secure and indolently blest; 
 Warm'd by the blaze of my own cheerful hearth 
 rU waste the wintry hours in social mirth; 
 In summer pleas'd, attend the harvest toils. 
 In autumn, press the vineyard's purple spoils, 
 And oft to Delia in my bosom bear 
 Some kid or lamb which wants its mother's care : 
 With her I'll celebrate each gladsome day 
 When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay; 
 With her new milk on Pales' altar pour. 
 And deck, with ripen'd fruits, Pomona's bower. 
 At night how soothing would it be to hear, 
 .Safe in her arms, the tempest howling near; 
 Or, while the wintry clouds their deluge pour. 
 Slumber, assisted by the beating shower ! 
 Ah ! how much happier than the fool who braves. 
 In search of wealth, the black tempestuous 
 
 waves ! 
 Wliile I, contented with my little store. 
 In tedious voyage seek no distant shore ; 
 But idly lolling on some shady seat. 
 Near cooling fountains, shun the Dog-star's heat: 
 For what reward so rich could Fortune give 
 That I by absence shoiUd my Delia grieve? 
 Let great Messala shine in martial toils. 
 And grace his palace with triumphal spoils. 
 Me beauty holds in strong though gentle chains. 
 Far from tumultuous war and dusty plains. 
 With thee, my love ! to pass my tranquil days 
 How would I slight ambition's painful praise ! 
 How would I joy with thee, my love ! to yoke 
 The ox, and feed my solitary flock ! 
 On thy soft breast might I but lean my head. 
 How downy would I think the woodland bed ! 
 Hard were his heart who thee, my fair ! could 
 
 leave 
 For all the honours prosp'rous war can give. 
 Though through the vanquish'd east he spread 
 
 his fame, 
 And Parthian tyrants tremble at his name, 
 Though bright in arms, while hosts around him 
 
 bleed. 
 With martial pride he prest the foaming steed. 
 No {)omps like these my humble vows require; 
 With thee I'll live, and in thy arms expire. 
 Thee, may my closing eyes in death behold ! 
 Thee may my falt'ring hand yet strive to hold! 
 Then, Delia! then thy heart will melt in woe, 
 Then, o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow ; 
 Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind. 
 Nor dost thou think it weakness to be kind. 
 But ah! fair mourner! I conjure thee, spare 
 Thy heaving breasts and loose dishevell'd hair; 
 Woimd not thy form, lest on th' Elysian coast 
 Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghost. 
 
 But now, nor death nor parting should employ 
 Our sprightly thoughts, or damp our bridal joy : 
 
 We'll live, my Delia! and from life remove 
 All care, all business, but delightful love. 
 Old age in vain those pleasures would retrieve 
 Which youth alone can taste, alone can give: 
 Then let us snatch the moment to be blest ; 
 This hour is Love's — be Fortune's all the rest. 
 
 FIIOM ELEGT III. THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 How blest the man in Saturn's golden days. 
 Ere distant climes were join'd by lengthen'd ways. 
 Secure the pines upon the mountains grew. 
 Nor bounding barks o'er ocean's billows flew ; 
 Then every clime a wild abundance bore. 
 And man liv'd happy on his native shore; 
 Then had no steer submitted to the yoke ; 
 Then had no steed to feel the bit been broke ; 
 No house had gates, (blest times !) and, in th-e 
 
 grounds 
 No scanty landmarks parcell'd out the botinds; 
 From every oak redundant honey ran. 
 And ewes spontaneous bore their milk to man ; 
 No deathful arms were forg'd, no war was wag'd. 
 No rapine plumler'd, no ambition rag'd. 
 How chang'd alas ! Now cruel Jove commands ; 
 Gold fires the soul, and falchions arm our hands; 
 Each day the main unnumber'd lives destroys. 
 And slaughter, daily, o'er her myriads joys. 
 Yet spare me, Jove ; I ne'er disown'd thy sway; 
 I ne'er was perjur'd, — spare me, Jove, I pray. 
 But, if the Sisters have pronounc'd my doom, 
 Be this inscrib'd upon my humble tomb: 
 "Following Messala over earth and wave, 
 Here rests Tibullus, in his early grave." 
 
 FROM ELEGT X. WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 Who was the first that forg'd the deadly blade? 
 Of rugged steel his savage soul was made ; 
 Then slaughter rag'd, then war his banners 
 
 rear'd. 
 And shorter ways to dreadful death appear'd. 
 Yet wherefore blame him ? We're ourselves to 
 
 blame ; 
 Who turn'd on man, arms meant for savage game. 
 Death-dealing battles were unknown of old. 
 Death-dealing battles took their rise from gold. 
 When beachen bowls on oaken tables stood. 
 When temperate acorns were our father's food, 
 The swain slept peaceful, with his flocks around; 
 No trench was open'd, and no fortress frown'd. 
 
 had I lived in gentle days like these, 
 To love devoted and to home-felt ease! 
 But now I'm dragg'd to war; perhaps my foe 
 E'en now prepares the inevitable blow. 
 
 Come then, paternal gods, whose help I've 
 
 known 
 F»om birth to manhood, still protect your own ; 
 Nor blush, my gods, though carv'd of ancient 
 
 wood, — 
 So carv'd in our forefathers' time ye stood ; 
 And, though in no proud temples ye were prais'd. 
 Nor foreign incense on your altars blazd ; 
 Yet white-robed Faith coniliicted every swain. 
 Yet meek-eyed Piety seren'd the plain. 
 White clustering grapes or wheat-wreaths round 
 
 your hair, 
 Appeas'd your anger and engaged your care, 
 2q2 
 
486 
 
 TIBULLUS, 
 
 Or dulcet cakes himself the farmer paid, 
 
 When crown'd his wishes by your powerful aid ; 
 
 While his fair daugliter brou^^ht with her from 
 
 home, 
 The luscious offering of a honey-comb ; 
 If now you'll aid me in the hour of need. 
 Your care I'll recompense — a boar shall bleed. 
 
 • »»•»* 
 
 In a thatch'd cottage happier by far, 
 Who never hears of arms, of gold or war; 
 His chaste embrace a numerous offspring crown 
 He courts not Fortune's smile nor dreads her 
 
 frown ; 
 While lenient baths at home his wife prepares, 
 He, and his sons, attend their fleecy cares ; 
 As old, as poor, as peaceful may I be, 
 So guard my flocks, and such an off'spring see ; 
 Meantime may Peace descend and bless our 
 
 plains ; 
 Soft Peace to plough, with oxen, taught the 
 
 swains ; 
 Peace nurs'd the orchard, and matur'd the vine. 
 And, first, gay laughing press'd the ruddy wine; 
 The father quaff'd, deep quaff''d his joyous 
 
 friends ; 
 Yet to the son a well-stored vault descends. 
 
 Book in. 
 
 fhom elegt II. 
 Attd when, a slender shade, I shall aspire 
 From smouldering embers and the funeral fire, 
 May sad Nenpra to my pile repair, 
 With tears (how precious!) and unbraided hair, 
 Mix'd with a mother's sighs her sorrows pour, 
 And one a husband, one a child deplore ; 
 With words of fond regret anol broken sigh 
 Please the poor shade that hovering lingers nigh. 
 With pious rites my cherish'd bones adorn, 
 (The last sad remnant of the man they mourn,) 
 Nor spare my thirsting ashes to enshrine. 
 With purest milk bedew'd and purple wine; 
 And dry the shower by soft affection shed, 
 Or ere they place them in their marble bed. 
 In that sad house may every fragrance stored. 
 That warm Assyria's perfumed meads afford, 
 And grief, from memory's tearful fount that flows. 
 Soothe my charm'd spirit, and my bones compose. 
 
 BooJi IV. 
 
 SULPICIA. 
 
 Mars! on thy calends, fair Sulpicia see, 
 Deck'd in her gay habiliments for t'lee. 
 Come — Venus will forgive: descend, if wise : 
 To view her beauties leave thyself the skies. 
 But oh, beware! lest, gazing on her charms, 
 Fierce as thou art, thou meanly drop thine arms. 
 For, from her eyes, when gods are Cupid's aim. 
 He lights two lamps that burn with keenest 
 
 flame. 
 Whate'er she does, where'er her steps she moves, 
 There Grace attends, and every act improves. 
 Graceful her locks, in loose disorder spread; 
 Graceful the smoother braid that binds her head. 
 
 Whether rich Tyrian robes her charms invest, 
 Or all in snowy white the nymph is drest, 
 All, all she graces, still supremely fair, 
 Sti'l charms spectators with a fond despair. 
 A thousand dresses thus Vertumnus wears, 
 And beauteous equally in each appears. 
 
 SULPICIA OX CERINTHUS 60IJTG TO THE CHASE. 
 
 Whether, fierce boars, in flowery meads ye stray, 
 Or haunt the shady mountain's devious way. 
 Whet not your teeth against my dear one's 
 
 charms. 
 But oh, let faithful Love restore him to my arms. 
 What madness 'tis the trackless wilds to beat. 
 And wound with pointed thorns thy tender feet: 
 Oh! why to savage beast thy charms oppose? 
 With toils and bloodhounds why their haunts 
 
 enclose*? 
 Yet, yet with thee, Cerinthus, miirht I rove, 
 Thy nets I'd trail through every mountain grove, 
 Would track the bounding stags through tainted 
 
 grounds, . 
 
 Beat up their covers and unchain thy hounds. 
 But most to spread our artful toils I'd joy. 
 For, while we watch'd them, I could clasp my 
 
 boy! 
 0, without me, ne'er taste the joys of love, 
 But a chaste hunter in my absence prove ; 
 And 0, may boars the wanton fair destroy, 
 Who would Cerinthus to her arms decoy! 
 Yet, yet I dread! — Be sports thy father's care; 
 But thou, all love ! to these fond arms repair ! 
 
 TO SULPICIA. 
 
 "Never shall woman's smile have power 
 To win me from those gentle charms !" — 
 
 Thus swore I in that happy hour 
 
 When Love first gave them to my arms. 
 
 And still alone thou cliarm'st my sight — 
 
 Still, tliongh our city proudly shine 
 With forms and faces fair and bright, 
 
 I see none fair or bright but thine. 
 Would thou wert fair for only me 
 
 And could'st no heart but mine allure! — 
 To all men else unpleasing be. 
 
 So shall I feel my prize secure. 
 Oh love like mine ne'er w^aiits the zest 
 
 Of others' envy, others" praise; 
 But, in its silence safely blest, 
 
 Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. 
 Charm of my life! by whose sweet power 
 
 All cares are hush'd, all ills subdued — 
 My li-;ht, in even the darkest hour. 
 
 My crowd in deepest solitude ! 
 No; not though Heaven itself sent down 
 
 Some maid of more than heavenly charms, 
 With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, 
 
 Would I for her forsake those charms. 
 
 *,* This and the two preceding poems have 
 been considered by some as the compositions of 
 another writer. Dissenius, however, contends 
 for Tibullus, and supposes them to have been 
 written by him, under the assumed characters of 
 Cerinthus and Sulpicia. 
 
PROPERTIUS. 
 
 [Born 52,— Died II, B.C.] 
 
 Of Sextus Aiirelius Propertius we only know 
 that he was the son of a Roman knight, and a 
 native of Umbria; that he early relinquished 
 forensic for poetical pursnits; acquired the favour 
 
 Virgil, Ovid, and Bassus. — Considered as a writer 
 of amorous elegy, Propertius must be ranked 
 below TibuUus, having little or none of that un- 
 studied ease and elegance which we so much 
 
 of Mecajnas; and was on terms of intimacy with | admire in tlie latter. 
 
 FROM THE ELEGIES. 
 Book II. 
 rnoM KLEfiY r. 
 Yet would the tyrant Love but let me raise 
 My feeble voice, to sound the victor's praise, 
 To paint the hero's toil, the ranks of war. 
 The laureird triumph, and the sculptur'd car ; 
 No giant race, no tumult of the skies. 
 No mountain-structures in my verse should rise, 
 Nor tale of Thebes, nor Ilium should there be, 
 Nor how the Persian trod the indignant sea ; 
 Not Marius' Cimbrian wreaths would I relate, 
 Nor lofty Carthage struggling with her fate. 
 Here should Augustus great in arms appear. 
 And thou, Mecaenas, be my second care ; 
 Here Mutina from flames and famine free, 
 And there the ensanguin'd war of Sicily, 
 And scepterd Alexandria's captive sliore, 
 And sad Philippi, red with Roman gore : 
 Then, while the vaulted skies loud los rend. 
 In golden chains should loaded monarchs bend, 
 And hoary Nile with pensive aspect seem 
 To mourn the glories of his seven-fold stream, 
 While prows, that late in fierce encounter met, 
 Move through the sacred way, and vainly threat. 
 Thee, too, the Muse should consecrate to fame, 
 And with her garlands weave thy ever-faithful 
 name. 
 But nor Callimachus' enervate strain 
 May tell of Jove, and Phlcgra's blasted plain; 
 Nor I with unaccustom'd vigour trace 
 Back to its source divine the Julian race — 
 Sailors, to tell of winds and seas delight. 
 The shepherd of the flock, the soldier of the fight, 
 A milder warfare I in verse display ; 
 Each in his proper art should waste the day : 
 Nor thou my gentle calling disapprove. 
 To ilie is glorious in the bed of love. 
 
 Happy the youth, and not unknown to fame, 
 Whose heart has never felt a second flame. 
 Oh might that envied happiness be mine! 
 To Cynthia all my wishes I'd confine ; 
 Or if, alas! it be my fate to try 
 Another love, the quicker let me die: 
 But she the mistress of my faithful breast, 
 Has oft the charms of constancy confest. 
 Condemns her fickle sex's fond mistake. 
 And hates the tale of Troy for Helen's sake. 
 
 Me from myself the soft enchantress stole; 
 Ah ! let her ever my desires control, 
 Or if I fall the victim of her scorn. 
 From her loved door may my pale corse be borne. 
 The power of herbs can other harms remove, 
 And find a cure for every ill but love. 
 The Lemnian's hurt Machaon could repair, 
 Heal the slow chief, and send again to war; 
 To Chiron Phoenix owed his long-lost sight, 
 And Phcebus' son recalled Androgeon to the light. 
 Here arts are vain, e'en magic here must fail. 
 The powerful mixture, and the midnight spell; 
 The hand that can my captive heart release. 
 And to this bosom give its wonted peace, 
 May the long thirst of Tantalus allay. 
 Or drive the infernal vulture from his prey. 
 For ills unseen, what remedy is found? 
 Or who can probe the undiscover'd woimd ? 
 The bed avails not, nor the leech's care. 
 Nor changing skies can hurt, nor sultry air. 
 'Tis liard ih' elusive symptoms to explore ; 
 To-day the lover walks, to-morrow is no more ; 
 A train of mourning friends attend his pall. 
 And wonder at the sudden funeral. 
 
 When then, the Fates that breath they gave, 
 shall claim. 
 And the short marble but preserve a name, 
 A little verse my all that shall remain ; 
 Thy passing courser's slacken'd course restrain ; 
 (Thou envied honour of thy poet's days. 
 Of all our youth the ambition and the praise!) 
 Then to my quiet urn awhile draw near, 
 And say, while in that place you drop the tear, 
 Love and the fair were of his youth the pride; 
 He liv'd while she was kind, and when she 
 frown'd, he died. 
 
 Book II. 
 
 ELECT IX. THE EFFIOT OP LOVE. 
 
 Hap he not hands of rare device, whoe'er 
 
 First painted Love in figure of a boy? 
 He saw what thoughtless beings lovers ■were. 
 
 Who blessings lose, whilst lightest cares employ. 
 Nor added he those airy wings in vain, 
 
 And bade through human hearts the godhead 
 fly; 
 For we are tost upon a wavering main ; 
 
 Our gale, inconstant, veers around the sky. 
 
 487 
 
488 
 
 OVID. 
 
 Nor, without cause, he grasps those barbed darts, 
 
 The Cretan quiver o'er his shoukler cast ; 
 Ere we suspect a foe, he strikes our liearts ; 
 
 And those inflicted wounds for ever last. 
 In me are fixd those arrows, — in my breast; 
 
 But, sure, his wings are shorn, the boy remains; 
 For never takes he flight, nor knows he rest; 
 
 Still, still I feel him warring through my veins. 
 In these scorch'd vitals dost thou joy to dwell? 
 
 Oh shame ! to others let thine arrows flee ; 
 Let veins, untouch'd, with all thy venom swell ; 
 
 Not me thou torturest, but the shade of me. 
 Destroy me; — who shall then describe the fair? 
 
 This my light Muse to thee high glory brings; 
 When the nymphs' tapering fingers, flowing hair. 
 
 And eyes of jet, and gliding feet, she sings. 
 
 Book III. 
 
 FROM ELEGY III. 
 
 Long as of youth the joyous hours remain, 
 
 Me may Castalia's sweet recess detain. 
 
 Fast by the umbrageous vale luU'd to repose. 
 
 Where Aganippe warbles as it flows ; 
 
 Or rousetl by sprightly sounds from out the trance, 
 
 I'd in the ring knit hands, and join the Muses' 
 
 dance. 
 Give me to send the laughing bowl around. 
 My soul in Bacchus' pleasing fetters bound ; 
 Let on this head unfading flowers reside, 
 There bloom the vernal rose's earliest pride; 
 And when, our flames commission'd to destroy, 
 Age steps tvvixt Love and me, and intercepts 
 
 the joy ; 
 When my changed head these locks no more 
 
 shall know, 
 And all its jetty honours turn to snow ; 
 Then let me rightly speak of Nature's ways ; 
 To Providence, to Him my thoughts I'd raise 
 
 Who taught this vast machine its steadfast laws, 
 That first, eternal, universal cause ; 
 Search to what regions yonder star retires, 
 That monthly waning hides her paly fires. 
 And whence, anew revived, with silver light, 
 Relumes her crescent-orb to cheer the dreary 
 
 night : 
 How rising winds the face of ocean sweep. 
 Where lie the eternal fountains of the deep. 
 And whence the cloudy magazines maintain 
 Their wintry war, or pour the autumnal rain. 
 How flames perhaps, with dire confusion hurl'd, 
 Shall sitik this beauteous fabric of the world; 
 What colours paint the vivid arch of Jove ; 
 What wondrous force the solid earth can move. 
 When Pindus' self approaching ruin dreads, 
 Shakes all his pines, and bows his hundred heads ; 
 Why does yon orb, so exquisitely bright, 
 Obscure his radiance in a short-lived night; 
 Whence the Seven-Sisters' congregated fires, 
 And what Bootes' lazy waggon tires ; 
 How the rude surge its sandy bounds control ; 
 Who measured out the year, and bade the sea- 
 sons roll. 
 If realms beneath those fabled torments know, 
 Pangs without respite, fires that ever glow. 
 Earth's monster brood stretch'd on their iron bed, 
 The hissing terrors round Alecto's head. 
 Scarce to nine acres Tityus' bulk confined. 
 The triple dog thai scares the shadowy kind, 
 All angry heaven inflicts, or hell can feel. 
 The pendant rock, Ixion's whirling wheel, 
 Famine at feasts, or thirst amid the stream ; 
 Or are our fears the enthusiasts' empty dream, 
 And all the scenes that hurt the grave's repose 
 But pictured horror and poetic woes 1 
 These soft inglorious joys my hours engage ; 
 Be love my youth's pursuit, and science crown 
 my age. 
 
 OVID. 
 
 [Bom 43, B. C.,— Died 16, A. D.] 
 
 PuBLius OviDius Naso was born of an ho- i 
 nourable family at Sulmo, a town in the territory 
 of the Peligni, in Italy. He was educated at 
 Rome and Athens, under the best masters ; ac- 
 quired some reputation by his eloquence at the 
 bar; and served a campaign under Marcus Varro, 
 in Asia. His earliest inclinations had been 
 always for poetry;* but this was a luxury which 
 he was scarcely at liberty to indulge, until after 
 the deaths of his father and elder brother, from 
 the latter of whom he inherited an ample fortune. 
 
 * To deter him from it, his father was in the habit of 
 declaiming on the unprofitableness of the study, and ge- 
 neral poverty of its professors — 
 
 Saepe Pater dixit, "Studium quid inutile tentasl 
 
 Msonides nuUas ipse reliquit opes." — Trist. L. iv. 
 
 After many years spent at Rome — in the en- 
 joyment of some of its best society, and in the 
 practice of most of its worst vices — he by some 
 unascertained accident or offence, drew down on 
 himself the displeasure of the emperor, and was 
 banished to Tomi, a town of Pontus, on the 
 Euxine sea, where, notwithstanding his own 
 pathetic epistles, and the unceasing intercession 
 of his friends, he was doomed to linger out his 
 days. — He died in the eighth year of his exile ; 
 in the fifty-ninth of his age; and in the sixteenth 
 of the Christian era. Ovid had three wives; he 
 was divorced from the two first, but seems to 
 have entertained something like tenderness for 
 the third. 
 
 Dryden, who has translated considerable por- 
 
OVID. 
 
 489 
 
 tions of his works, thus speaks of him as a poet — 
 "If the imitation of nature," says lie, "be the 
 business of a poet, I know no author who can 
 justly be compared with Ovid, especially in the 
 description of the passions: and, to prove this, I 
 shall need no other judges than the generality 
 of his readers: for all passions being inborn with 
 us, we are almost equally judges when we are 
 concerned in the representation of them. Now, 
 I will appeal to any man, who has read this 
 poet, whether he finds not the natural emotion 
 of the same passion in himself, which the poet 
 describes in his feigned persons'? His thoughts, 
 which are the pictures and results of those pas- 
 sions, are generally such as naturally arise from 
 those disorderly motions of our spirits. Yet not 
 to speak too partially in his behalf, I will confess, 
 that the copiousness of his wit was such that he 
 often wrote too pointedly for his subject, and 
 made his persons speak more eloquently than 
 the violence of their passion would admit; so that 
 he is frequently witty out of season ; leaving the 
 imitation of nature, and the cooler dictates of 
 his judgment, for the false applause of fancy. 
 
 Yet he seems to have found out this imperfection 
 in his riper age; for why else should he coniplain 
 that his Metamorphoses were left unfinished'? 
 Nothing sure can be added to the wit of that 
 poem, or of the rest; but many things ought to 
 have been retrenched, which I suppose would 
 have been the business of his age, if his misfor- 
 tunes had not come too fast on him. But take 
 him uncorrected as he is transmitted to us, and 
 it must be acUnowledged that Seneca's cen- 
 sure will stand good against him: 'He never 
 knew how to give over, when he had done well :' 
 but continually varying the same sense a him- 
 dred ways, and taking up in another place what 
 he had more than enough inculcated before, 
 he sometimes cloys his readers instead of satis- 
 fying them. This then is the alloy of Ovid's 
 writing, which is sufficiently recompensed by 
 his other excellences; nay, this very fault is not 
 without its beauties; for the most severe censor 
 cannot but be pleased with the prodigality of 
 his wit, though, at the same time, he could have 
 wished that the master of it had been a better 
 manager." 
 
 FROM THE METAMORPHOSES. 
 Book I. 
 
 CREATION OF THE WOULD. 
 
 Of bodies changed to various forms I sing: 
 Ye gods, from whom these miracles did spring, 
 Inspire my numbers with celestial heat. 
 Till I my long laborious work complete; 
 And add perpetual tenor to my rhymes. 
 Deduced from Nature's birth to Cassar's times. 
 
 Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball. 
 And heaven's high canopy that covers all, 
 One was the face of Nature ; if a face : 
 Rather a rude and indigested mass : 
 A lifeless lump, unfashion'd and unframed, 
 Of jarring seeds, and justly Chaos named. 
 No sun was liglited up the world to view, 
 No moon did yet her blunted horns renew. 
 Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky. 
 Nor poised, did on her own foundations lie. 
 Nor seas about the shores their arms had thrown ; 
 But earth, and air, and water were in one. 
 Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable, 
 And water's dark abyss unnavigable. 
 No certain form on any was im{)ress"d ; 
 All were confused, and each disturb'd the rest. 
 For hot and cold were in one body fix'd. 
 And soil with hard, and light with heavy, 
 mix'd. 
 
 But God, or Nature, while they thus contend. 
 To these intestine discords put an end. 
 Then earth from air, and seas from earth, were 
 
 driven, 
 And grosser air sunk from ethereal heaven. 
 Thus disembroild, they take their proper place; 
 The next of kin contiguously embrace; 
 And foes are sunder'd by a larger space. 
 62 
 
 The force of fire ascended first on high, 
 And took its dwelling in the vaulted sky: 
 Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire, 
 Whose atoms from inactive earth retire; 
 Earth sinks beneath, and draws a mmierous throng 
 Of ponderous, thick, unwieldly, seeds along. 
 About her coasts unruly waters roar. 
 And, rising on a ridge, insult the shore. 
 Thus when the god, whatever god was he. 
 Had form'd the whole, and made the parts agree. 
 That no unequal portions might be found, 
 He moulded earth into a spacious round : 
 Then, with a breath, he gave the winds to blow, 
 And bade the congregated waters flow. 
 He adds the running springs, and standing lakes ; 
 And bounding banks for winding rivers makes. 
 Some parts in earth are swallow"d up, the most 
 In atnple oceans disembogued, are lost. 
 He shades the woods, the valleys he restrains 
 With rocky mountains, and extends the plains. 
 And as five zones the ethereal regions bind, 
 Five, correspondent, are to earth assign'd : 
 The sun, with rays directly darting down, 
 Fires all beneath, and IVies the middle zone; 
 The two beneath the distant poles complain 
 Of endless winter, and perpetual rain. 
 Betwixt the extremes, two happier climates hold 
 The temper that partakes of hot and cold. 
 The fields of liquid air, enclosing all. 
 Surround the compass of this earthly ball : 
 The lighter parts lie next the fires above. 
 The grosser near the watery surface move : 
 Thick clouds are spread, and storms engender 
 
 there, 
 And thunder's voice, which wretched mortals 
 
 fear, 
 And winds, that on tlieir wings cold winter bear. 
 
490 
 
 OVID. 
 
 Nor were those blusf ring brethren left at large, 
 On seas and shores their fm-y to discharge: 
 Bound as they are, and circumscribed in place. 
 They rend the world, resistless, where they 
 
 pass, 
 And mighty marks of mischief leave behind; 
 Such is the rage of their tempestuous kind. 
 First Eurus to the rising morn is sent 
 (The regions of the bahny continent,) 
 And eastern realms, where, early, Persians run 
 To greet the bless'd appearance of the sun. 
 Westward, the wanton Zephyr wings his flight, 
 Pleased with the remnants of departing light. 
 Fierce Boreas, with his offspring, issues forth 
 To invade the frozen wagon of the north; 
 While frowning Auster seeks the southern sphere. 
 And rots, with endless rain, the unwholesome 
 
 year. 
 High o'er the clouds, and empty realms of wind. 
 The god a clearer space for heaven design"d ; 
 Where fields of light, and liquid ether flow, 
 Purged from the ponderous dregs of earth below. 
 Scarce had the power distinguish'd these, when 
 
 straight 
 The stars, no longer overleid with weight, 
 Exert their heads from underneath the mass, 
 And upward shoot, and kindle as they pass. 
 And with diffusive light adorn their heavenly 
 
 place. 
 Then, every void of nature to supply. 
 With forms of gods he fills the vacant sky; 
 New herds of beasts he sends the plains to 
 
 share ; 
 New colonies of birds to people air; 
 And to their oozy beds the finny fish repair. 
 
 A creature of a more exalted kind 
 Was wanting yet, and tlien was Man design'd : 
 Conscious of thought, of moie capacious breast, 
 For empire formVl, and fit to rule the rest: 
 Whether with particles of heavenly fire 
 The God of nature did his soul inspire, 
 Or earth, but new divided from the sky. 
 And pliant, still retained the ethereal energy. 
 Which wise Prometheus temper'd into paste. 
 And, mix'd with living streams, the godlike 
 
 image cast. 
 Thus, while the mute creation downward bend 
 Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend, 
 Man looks aloft, and with erected eyes 
 Beholds his own hereditary skies. 
 From such rude principles our form began. 
 And earth was metamorphosed into man. 
 
 GOLDEX AGE. 
 
 The golden age was first, when man,j^etnew, 
 No rule but uncorrupted reason knew, 
 And, with a native bent, did good pursue. 
 Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear, 
 His words were simple, and his soul sincere; 
 Needless was written law, where none oppress'd ; 
 The law of man was written on his breast: 
 No suppliant crowds before the judge appear"d. 
 No court erected yet, nor cause was heard, 
 But all was safe: for conscience was their guard. 
 The mountain trees in distant prospect please, 
 Ere yet the pine descended to the seas ; 
 
 Ere sails were spread new oceans to explore, 
 And happy mortals, unconcern'd for more. 
 Confined their wishes to their native shore. 
 No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor 
 
 mound. 
 Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound, 
 Nor swords were forged ; but, void of care and 
 
 crime, 
 The soft creation slept away their time. 
 The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough. 
 And unprovoked, did fruitful stores allow : 
 Content with food which Nature freely bred, 
 On wildings and on strawberries they fed; 
 Cornels and brambleberries gave the rest, 
 And falling acorns furnished out a feast. 
 The flowers unsown, in fields and meadows 
 
 reign'd ; 
 And western winds immortal spring maintain'd. 
 In following years the bearded corn ensued 
 From earth unask'd, nor was that earth renew'd. 
 From veins of valleys milk and nectar broke. 
 And honey sweating through the pores of oak. 
 
 SILVER AGE. 
 
 But when good Saturn, banish'd from above, 
 Was driven to hell, the world was under Jove. 
 Succeeding times a silver age behold, 
 Excelling brass, but more excelled by gold. 
 Then summer, autumn, winter, did appear, 
 And spring was but a season of the year ; 
 The sun his annual course obliquely made. 
 Good days contracted, and enlarged the bad. 
 Then air with sultiy heats began to glow. 
 The wings of winds were clogg'd with ice and 
 
 snow^ ; 
 And shivering mortals into houses driven. 
 Sought shelter from the inclemency of heaven. 
 Those houses, then, were caves or homely sheds. 
 With twining osiers fenced, and moss their beds. 
 Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke, 
 And oxen laboured first beneath the yoke. 
 
 BRAZEII^ AGE. 
 
 To this came next in course the brazen age; 
 A warlike ofl'spring, prompt to bloody rage, 
 Not impious yet. 
 
 IHOX AGE. 
 
 Hard steel succeeded then. 
 And stubborn as the metal were the men. 
 Truth, modesty, and shame, the world forsook ; 
 Fraud, avarice, and force, their places took. 
 Then sails were spread to every wind that blew. 
 Raw were the sailors and the depths were new; 
 Trees, rudely hoUow'd, did the waves sustain. 
 Ere ships in triumph ploughVl the watery plain. 
 
 Then landmarks limited to each his right; 
 For all before was common as the light. 
 Nor was the ground alone required to bear 
 Her annual income to the crooked share, 
 But greedy mortals rummaging her store, 
 Diggd from her entrails first the precious ore 
 (Which next to hell the prudent gods had laid,) 
 And that alluring ill to sight display'd. 
 Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold. 
 Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold : 
 
OVID. 
 
 491 
 
 And douljle death did wretclied inaii invade, 
 
 By steel assaulted, and l)y gold betriiyed. 
 
 Now (brandisli'd weapons glittciiug in their 
 
 hands) 
 Mankind is broken loose froiri moral bands: 
 No rights of hospitality remain ; 
 The guest, by him who harboiird him, is slain; 
 The son-in-law pursues the father's life; 
 The wife her husband murders, he the wife; 
 I'he stepdame poiscm for the son prepares; 
 The son inquires into his father's years; 
 Faith flies, and piety in exile mourns; 
 And Justice, here oppress'd, to heaven returns. 
 
 THE DKLUGE. 
 
 Alheadt had Jove toss'd the flaming brand. 
 And roH'd the tliunder in his spacious hand; 
 Preparing to discharge on seas and land : 
 But stopp'd, for fear, thus violently driven. 
 The sparks should catch his axle-tfee of heaven. 
 Remenib'ring, in the Fates, a time, wlien fire 
 Should to the battlements of heaven aspire. 
 And all his blazing worlds above should burn. 
 And all the inferior globe to cinders turn. 
 His dire artillery thus ilismiss'd, he bent 
 His thoughts to some securer punishment: 
 Concludes to pour a wat'ry deluge down ; 
 And, what he durst not burn, resolves to drown. 
 
 The Northern breatli, that freezes floods, he 
 binds ; 
 With all the race of cloud-dispelling winds: 
 The South he loos'il, who niglit and horror brings; 
 And fogs are shaken from his flaggy wings. 
 From his divided beard two streams he pours; 
 His head and rheumy eyes distil in showers. 
 The skies, from pole to pole, with peals resound : 
 And showers enlarg'd come pouring on the 
 
 ground. 
 Then clad in colours of a various ilye, 
 Junonian Iris breeds a new supply 
 To feed the clouds: impetuous rain descends; 
 The bearded corn beneath the burthen bends: 
 Defrauded clowns deplore their perish'd grain; 
 And the long lalwurs of the year are vain. 
 
 Nor from his patrimonial heaven alone 
 Is Jove content to pour his vengeance down: 
 Aid from his brother of the seas he craves, 
 To help luMi with auxiliary waves. 
 The wat'ry tyrant calls his brooks and floods. 
 Who roll from mossy caves, their moist abodes ; 
 And with jjerpetual urns his palace fill: 
 To whom, in brief, he thus imparts his will. 
 
 Small exhortation needs; your powers employ: 
 And this bad world (so Jove requires) destroy. 
 Let loose the reins to all your wat'ry store : 
 Bear down the dams, and open every iloor. 
 
 The floods, by nature enemies to land. 
 And proudly swelling with their now command. 
 Remove the living stones that stopp'd their way. 
 And, gushing from their source, augment the sea. 
 Then, with his mace, their monarch struck the 
 
 ground : 
 With inward trembling earth receiv'd the wound; 
 And rising streams a reaily passage found. 
 The expanded waters gather on the plain. 
 They float the fields, and overtop the grain; 
 
 Then rushing onwards, with a swecpy sway, 
 Bear flocks, and folds, and lab ring hinds away. 
 Nor sale their dwellings were ; for, sapp d by 
 
 floods. 
 Their houses fell upon tlicir liousehold gods. 
 The solid jjiles, too strongly built to fall, 
 High o'er their heads behold a wat'ry wall. 
 Now seas and earth were in confusion lost; 
 A world of waters, and without a coast. 
 
 One climbs a clifl"; one in his boat is borne, 
 And ploughs above, where late he sow'd his corn. 
 Others o'er chimney tops and turrets row. 
 And drop their anchors on the meads below: 
 Or downward driven, they bruise the tender vine, 
 Or toss'd aloft, are knock'd against a pine. 
 And where of late the kids had cro])p"d the 
 
 grass. 
 The monsters of the deep now take their place. 
 Insidting Nereids on the cities ride. 
 And wondering dolphins o'er the palace glide. 
 On leaves, and masts of mighty oaks, they 
 
 browse ; 
 And their broad fins entangle in the boughs. 
 The frighted wolf now swims among the sheep; 
 The yellow lion wanders in the deej) : 
 His rapid force no longer helps the boar : 
 The stag swims faster than he ran before. 
 The fowls, long beating on their wings in vain, 
 Despair of land, and drop into the main. 
 Now hills and vales no more distinction know, 
 And levell'd nature lies oppress'd below. 
 The most of mortals perish in the flood, 
 The small remainder dies for want of Ibod. 
 A mountain of stupendous height there stands 
 Betwixt the Athenian and Ba'otian lands. 
 The bound of fruitful fiekls, while fields they 
 
 were. 
 But then a field of waters did appear: 
 Parnassus is its name ; whose forky rise 
 Mounts through the clouds, and mates the lofty 
 
 skies. 
 High on the summit of this dubious clitf, 
 Deucalion, wafted, moor'd his little skifl". 
 He with his wife were only left behind 
 Of perish'd man; they two were human kind. 
 The,Mountain-nymphs and Thenns they adore, 
 And from her oracles relief imi)lore. 
 The most upright of mortal men was he; 
 The most sincere and holy woman, she. 
 
 When Jupiter, surveying earth from high, 
 Beheld it in a lake of water lie, 
 That, where so many millions lately liv'd. 
 But two, the best of either sex, surviv'd. 
 He loos'd the northern wind; fierce Boreas flies 
 To putf away the clouds, and purge the skies: 
 Serenely, while he blows, the vapours driven 
 Discover heaven to earth, and earth to heaven. 
 The billows fall, while Neptune lays his mace 
 On the rough sea, and smooths its furrow'd face. 
 Already Triton, at his call, appears 
 Above the waves; a Tyrian robe he wears; 
 And in his hand a crooked trumpet bears. 
 The sovereign bids him peaceful sounds inspire, 
 And give the waves the signal to retire. 
 The waters, listening to the trumpet's roar, 
 Obey the summons, and forsake the shore. 
 
495 
 
 OVID. 
 
 A thin circniiifeicnce of land appears; 
 And Eartli, but not at once, her visage rears, 
 And peeps u\ion the seas from upper grounds : 
 The streams, but just contain'd within their 
 
 bounds, 
 By slow degrees into their channels crawl; 
 And earth increases as the waters fall. 
 In longer time the tops of trees appear, 
 Which mud on their dishonour'd branches bear. 
 
 At length the world was all restor'd to view, 
 But desolate, and of a sickly hue: 
 Nature beheld herself, and stood aghast, 
 A dismal desert, and a silent waste. 
 
 TRANSFORMATION OF DAPHNE INTO A LAUREL. 
 
 The first and fairest of his loves was she 
 Whom not blind Fortune, but the dire decree 
 Of angry Cupid forced him to desire; 
 Daphne her name, and Penens was her sire. 
 Swell'd with the pride that new success attends, 
 He sees the stripling, while his bow he bends, 
 And thus insults him: "Thou lascivious boy, 
 Are arms like these for children to employ? 
 Know, such achievements are my proper claim, 
 Due to my vigour and unerring aim ; 
 Resistless are my shafts, and Python late, 
 In such a feather'd death has found his fate. 
 Take up thy torch (and lay my weapons by,) 
 With that the feeble souls of lovers fry." 
 To whom the son of Venus thus replied: 
 "PhcEbus, thy shafts are suie on all beside, 
 But mine on Phcebus; mine the fame shall be 
 Of all thy conquests, when I conquer thee.'" 
 
 He said, and soaring, swiftly wingd his flight, 
 Nor stopp'd, but on Parnassus' airy height. 
 Two diflerent shafts he from his quiver draws, 
 One to repel desire, and one to cause. 
 One sliaft is pointed with refulgent gold. 
 To bribe the love and make the lover bold; 
 One blunt, and tipp'd with lead, whose base allay 
 Provokes disdain, and drives desire away. 
 The blunted bolt against the nymph he dress'd, 
 But with the sharp transfix'd Apollo's breast. 
 
 The enamour'd deity pursues the chase; 
 The scornful damsel shuns his loathd embrace: 
 In hunting beasts of prey her youth employs, 
 And Phoebe rivals in her rural joys : 
 With naked neck she goes, and shoulders bare, 
 And with a fillet binds her flowing hair. 
 By many suitors sought, she mocks their pains, 
 And still her vow'd virginity maintains. 
 On wilds and woods she fixes her desire; 
 Nor knows what youth and kindly love inspire. 
 Her father chides her oft: "Thou owest," says he, 
 "A husband to thyself, a son to me." 
 She, like a crime, abhors the nuptial bed ; 
 She glows with blushes, and she hangs her head: 
 Then, casting round his neck her tender arms, 
 Soothes him with blandishments and filial 
 
 charms. 
 "Give me, my lord," she said, "to live and die 
 A spotless maid, without the marriage tie; 
 'Tis but a small request; I beg no more 
 Than what Diana's father gave before." 
 The good old sire was soften'd to consent; 
 But said her wish would prove her punishment; 
 
 For so much youth and so much beauty join'd, 
 0p])0sed the state which her desires design'd. 
 
 The god of light, aspiring to her bed, 
 Hopes what he seeks, with flattering fancies 
 
 fed, 
 And is, by his own oracles, misled. 
 And as in empty fields the stubble burns, 
 Or nightly travellers, when day returns. 
 Their useless torches on dry hedges throw, 
 That catch the flames, and kindle all the row, 
 So burns the god, consuming in desire, 
 And feeding in his breast a fruitless fire : 
 Her well-tCnn'd neck he view'd (her neck was 
 
 bare,) 
 And on her shoulders her dishevell'd hair : 
 "O were it comb'd," said he, "with what a grace 
 Would every waving curl become her face !" 
 He view'd her eyes, like heavenly lamps that 
 
 shone, 
 He view'd her lips, too sweet to view alone. 
 Swift as the wind the damsel fled away, 
 Nor did for these alluring speeches stay. 
 "Stay, nymph," he cried, "I follow, not a foe. 
 Thus from the lion trips the trembling doe; 
 Thus from the wolf the frighten'd lamb removes, 
 And from pursuing falcons fearful doves : 
 Thou shunn'st a god, and shunn'st a god that 
 
 loves. 
 Ah, lest some thorn should pierce thy tender foot. 
 Or thou shouldst fall in flying my jTursuit! 
 To sharp uneven ways thy steps decline ; 
 Abate thy speed, and I will bate of mine. 
 Yet think from whom thou dost so rashly fly; 
 Nor basely born, nor shepherd's swain am I. 
 Perhaps thou know'st not my superior state ; 
 And from that ignorance proceeds thy hate. 
 Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos, obey; 
 These hands the Patareian sceptre sway: 
 The king of gods begot me : what shall be, 
 Or is, or ever was, in fate, I see : 
 Mine is the invention of the charming lyre : 
 Sweet notes, and heavenly numbers, I inspire: 
 Sure is my bow, unerring is my dart; 
 But ah! more deadly his who pierc'd my heart. 
 Metlicine is mine; what herbs and simples grow 
 In fields and forests, all their powers I know, 
 And am the great physician call'd below. 
 Alas! that fields and forests can afl'ord 
 No remedies to heal their love-sick lord: 
 To cure the pains of love no plant avails; 
 And his own physic the physician fails." 
 
 She heard not half, so furiously she flies; 
 And on her ear the imperfect accent dies. 
 Fear gave her wings; and, as she fled, the wind 
 Increasing, spread her flowing hair behind. 
 As when the impatient greyhound, slipp'd from 
 
 far, 
 Bounds o'er the glebe, to course the fearful hare, 
 She in her speed does all her safety lay; 
 And he with double speed pursues the prey; 
 O'erruns her at the sitting turn, and licks 
 His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix : 
 She scapes, and for the neighb'ring covert strives, 
 And, gaining shelter, doubts if yet she lives. 
 If little things with great we may compare, 
 Such was the god, and such the flying fair; 
 
OVID. 
 
 493 
 
 She, urg'd by fear, her feet did swiftly move, 
 But he more swiftly, who was urged by love. 
 He gathers ground upon her in the ohase ; 
 Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace; 
 And just is fastening on the wishd embrace. 
 I'he nytnph grew pale, and, in a mortal fright, 
 Spent with the labour of so long a flight. 
 And now despairing, cast a mournful look 
 Ui)on the streams of Iter paternal brook: 
 '•O help," she cried, "in this extrernest need! 
 If water-gods are deities indeed; 
 Gape earth, and this unhappy wretch entomb ; 
 Or change that form, whence aH my sorrows 
 
 come." 
 Scarce had she finished, when her feet she found 
 Bi'uiunb'd with cold, and fasten'd to the ground ; 
 A filmy rind about her body grows; 
 Her liair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs : 
 The nymph is all into a laurel gone ; 
 I'he smoothness of her skin remains alone. 
 Yet Phoebus loves her still, and, casting round 
 Her bole his arms, some little warmth he found. 
 'J'he tree still panted in the unfinish'd part, 
 Not wholly vegetive, and heaved her heart. 
 He fixVl his lips upon the trembling rind; 
 It swerved aside, and his embrace declined : 
 To whom the god, "Because thou canst not be 
 My mistress, I espouse thee for my tree : 
 Be thou the prize of honour and renown; 
 The deathless poet, and the poem, crown: 
 Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn, 
 And, after poets, be by victors worn : 
 Thou shalt returning Caesar's triumph grace, 
 ^Vhen pomps shall in a long procession pass; 
 Wreath'd on the post before his palace wait, 
 And be the sacred guardian of the gate : 
 Secure from thunder, and imharm'd by Jove ; 
 Unfading as the immortal powers above: 
 And as the locks of Phoebus are unshorn. 
 So shall perpetual green thy boughs adorn." 
 The grateful tree was pleased with what he 
 
 said. 
 And shook the shady honours of her head. 
 
 10 TRANSFORMED INTO A COW. 
 
 On leaves of trees and bitter herbs she fed : 
 Heaven' was her canopy; bare earth her bed: 
 So hardly lodged: — and to digest her food, 
 She drank from troubled streams, defiled witli 
 
 mud. 
 Her woeful story fain she would have told. 
 With hands upheld ; but had no hands to hold. 
 Her head to her ungentle keeper bow'd. 
 She strove to speak ; she spoke not, but she low'd : 
 Ari'righted with the noise, she look'd aroimd. 
 And seem'd to inquire the author of the sound. 
 
 Once on the banks where often she had play'd 
 (Her father's banks) she came, and there survey'd 
 Her alter'd visage, and her branching head; 
 And, starting, from herself she would have fled. 
 HtM- fellow-nymphs, familiar to her eyes, 
 Beheld, but knew her not in this disguise; 
 E'en Inachus himself was ignorant. 
 And in his daughter did his daughter want. 
 She followed where her fellows went, as she 
 Were still a partner of the company : 
 
 They stroke her neck; the gentle heifer stands. 
 And her neck offers to their stroking hands. 
 Her father gave her grass; the grass she took. 
 And lickd his palms, and cast a piteous look, 
 And in the language of her eyes she spoke. 
 She would have told her name, and ask'd relief, 
 But, wanting words, in tears she tells her grief; 
 Which, with her foot she makes him understand ; 
 And prints the name of lo in the sand. 
 
 "Ah wretched me!" her mournful father cried ; 
 "She with a sigh to wretched me replied." 
 About her milk-white neck his arms he threw, 
 And wept 
 
 Book VIII. 
 
 STORY OF BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 Then Lelex rose, an old experienced man. 
 And thus, with sober gravity, began : 
 "Heaven's piower is infinite: earth, air, and sea. 
 The manufactur'd mass, the making power obey : 
 By proof to clear your doubt ; in Phrygian ground 
 Two neighbouring trees, with walls encompass'd 
 
 round. 
 Stand on a moderate rise, with wonder shown, 
 One a hard oak, a softer linden one : 
 I saw the place, and them, by Pittheus sent 
 To Phrygian realms, my grandsire's government. 
 Not far from thence is seen a lake, the haunt 
 Of coots, and of the fishing cormorant: 
 Here Jove with Hermes came; but in disguise 
 Of mortal men conceal'd their deities ; 
 One laid aside his thunder, one liis rod. 
 And many toilsome steps together trod: 
 For harbour at a thousand doors they knock'd; 
 Not one of all the tliousand but was lock'd. 
 At last a hospitable house they found, 
 A homely shed; the roof, not far from ground. 
 Was thatch'd, with reeds and straw together 
 
 bound. 
 There Baucis and Philemon lived, and there 
 Had lived long married, and a hap{)y pair: 
 Now old in love, though little was their store, 
 Inured to want, their poverty they bore. 
 Nor aim'd at wealth, professing to be poor. 
 For master or for servant here to call 
 Were all alike, where ordy two were all. 
 Command was none, where equal love was paid, 
 Or rather both commanded, both obey'd. 
 
 "From lofty roofs the gods repulsed before, 
 Now stooping, enter'd through the little door : 
 Tlio man (their hearty welcome first express'd) 
 A common settle drew for either guest, 
 Inviting each hrs weary limbs to rest. 
 But ere they sat, officious Baucis lays 
 Two cushions stuff d with straw, the scat to raise; 
 Coarse, but the best she had; then rakes the load 
 Of ashes from the hearth, and spreads abroad 
 The living coals; and, lest they should expire. 
 With leaves and bark she feeds her infant tire. 
 It smokes; and then with trembling breath she 
 
 blows. 
 Till in a cheerful blaze the flames arose. 
 With brushwood and with chips she strengthens 
 
 these. 
 And adds at last the boughs of rotten trees. 
 2 R 
 
494 
 
 OVID. 
 
 The fire thus form'd, she sets the kettle on 
 (Like bnrnish'd gold the little seether slione;) 
 IS'ext took the colcvvorts 'which lior husband got 
 Froni his own ground (a small, well-vvater'd 
 
 spot ;) 
 She stripp'd the stalks of all their leaves; the best 
 She cidl'd, and them with handy care she dress'd. 
 High o'er the hearth a chine of bacon hung; 
 Good old Philemon seized it with a prong, 
 And from the sooty rafter drew it down, 
 Then cut a slice, but scare enough for one; 
 Yet a large portion of a little store, 
 Which for their sakes alone he wish'd were more. 
 This in the pot he plunged without delay, 
 To tame the flesh, and drain the salt away. 
 The lime between, before the tire they sat. 
 And shortened the delay by pleasing chat. 
 
 '•A beam there was, on which a beechen pail 
 Hung by the handle, on a driven nail: 
 This filld witli water, gently warmed, they set 
 Before their guests; in this they bathed their feet. 
 And after with clean towels dried their sweat. 
 This done, the host produced the genial bed, 
 Sallow the feet, the borders, and the sted. 
 Which with no costly coverlet they spread, 
 But coarse old garments; yet such robes as these 
 They laid alone at feasts on holydays. 
 Tlie good old housewife, tucking up her gown 
 The table sets; the invited gods lie down. 
 The trivet-table of a foot was lame, 
 A blot which prudent Baucis overcame, 
 Who thrust beneath the limping leg a sherd ; 
 So was the mended board exactly rear'd : 
 Then rubb'd it o'er with newly-gatlier'd mint, 
 A wholesome herb, that breathed a grateful scent. 
 Pallas began the feast, where first was seen 
 The party-colour'd olive, black and green : 
 Autumnal cornels next in order serv'd. 
 In lees of w^ine well pickled and preserved. 
 A garden salad was the third supply, 
 Of endive, radishes, and succory : 
 Then curds and cream, the flower of country fare, 
 And new-laid eggs, which Baucis" busy care 
 Turn'd by a gentle fire, and roasted rare. 
 All these in earthenware v/ere served to board, 
 And, next in place, an earthen pitcher stored 
 With liquor of the best the cottage could afford. 
 This was the table's ornament and pride. 
 With figures wrought: like pages at his side 
 Stood beechen bowls ; and these were shining 
 
 clean, 
 '\'^arnish'd with wax without, and lined witljin. 
 By this the boiling kettle had prepared. 
 And to the table sent the smoking lard ; 
 On which with eager appetite they dine, 
 A sav'ry bit, that serv'd to relish wine ; 
 The wine itself was suiting to the rest. 
 Still w^orking in the must, and lately press'd. 
 The second course succeeds like that before, 
 Plums, apples, nuts; and of their wintry store 
 Dry figs, and grapes, and wrinkled dates were set 
 In canisters, to enlarge the little treat: 
 All these a milk white honey-comb surround. 
 Which in the midst a country banquet crown'd : 
 But the kind hosts their entertainment grace 
 With hearty wek-ome, and an open face : 
 
 In all they did, you might discern with ease 
 A willing mind, and a desire to please. 
 
 '•Meanwhile the beechen bowls w^ent round, 
 and still, 
 Tliough often emptied, were observed to fill: 
 Fiil'd vithout hands, and, of their own accord, 
 Ran without feet, and danced about the board. 
 Devotion seiz'd the pair, to see the feast 
 With wine, and of no conmion grape, increased ; 
 And up they held their hands, and fell to pray'r, 
 Excusing, as they coidd, their country fare. 
 
 "One goose they had ('twas all they could 
 allow,) 
 A wakeful sentry, and on duty now, 
 Whom to the gods for sacrifice they vow : 
 Her with malicious zeal the couple view'd; 
 She ran for life, and limping they pursued : 
 Full well the fowl perceived their bad intent, 
 And would not make her master's compliment; 
 But persecuted, to the powers she flies. 
 And close between the legs of Jove she lies: 
 He with a gracious ear the suppliant heard. 
 And saved her life; then what he was declared, 
 And own'd the god. 'The neighbourhood," said he, 
 'Shall justly peribli for impiety: 
 You stand alone exempted : but obey 
 With speed, and follow where we lead the way: 
 Leave these accursed, and to the mountain's 
 
 height 
 Ascend, nor once look backward in your flight.' 
 
 "They haste, and what their tardy feet denied, 
 The trusty stafi' (their better leg) supplied. 
 An arrow's flight they wanted to the top, 
 And there secure, but spent with travel, stop ; 
 They turn their now no more forbidden eyes; 
 Lost in a lake the floated level lies : 
 A watery desert covers all the plains. 
 Their cot alone, as in an isle, remains. 
 Wondering, with weeping eyes, while they de- 
 plore 
 Their neighbours' fate, and country now no more; 
 Their little shed, scarce large enough for two. 
 Seems, from the ground increased, in height and 
 
 bulk to grow. 
 A stately temple shoots within the skies. 
 The crotches of their cot in columns rise; 
 The pavement polish'd marble they behold. 
 The gates with sculpture graced, the spires and 
 tiles of gold. 
 
 "Then thus the sire of gods, with looks serene : 
 'Speak thy desire, thou only just of men; 
 And thou, O woman, only wortliy foimd 
 To be with such a man in marriage bound.' 
 
 "Awhile they whisper; then, to Jove address'd, 
 Philemon thus prefers their joint request: 
 'We crave to serve before your sacred shrine, 
 And offer at your altar rites divine: 
 And since not any action of our life 
 Has been polluted with domestic strife. 
 We beg one hour of death, that neither she 
 With M idow's tears may live to bury me. 
 Nor weeping I, with witlier'd arms, may bear 
 My breathless Baucis to the sepulchre. 
 The godheads sign their suit. They run their 
 
 race. 
 In the same tenor, all the appointed space : 
 
OVID. 
 
 495 
 
 Then, when their hour was come, while they 
 
 relate 
 These past adventures at the temple gate, 
 Old Baucis is by old Philemon seen 
 Sprouting with sudden leaves of sprightly green : 
 Old Baucis look'd where old Philemon stood. 
 And saw his lengthon'd arms a sprouting wood : 
 New roots their fasten'd feet begin to bind. 
 Their bodies stiffen in a rising rind: 
 Then, ere the bark above their shoulders grew, 
 They give and take at once their last adieu. 
 'At once farewell, faithful sj)Ouse,' they said; 
 At once the encroaching rinds tlieir closing lips 
 
 invade. 
 E'en yet, an ancient Tyanipan shows 
 A spreading oak, that ru>ar a linden grows; 
 The neighbourhood confirm the prodigy. 
 Grave men, not vain of tongue, or like to lie. 
 I saw myself the garlands on their boughs. 
 And tablets himg for gifts of granted vows; 
 And otTering fresher up, with pious prayer, 
 'The good,' said I, 'are God's jjeculiar care, 
 And such as honour Heaven, shall heavenly 
 
 honour share.' " 
 
 Book X. 
 
 PYGMALION AND HIS STATUE. 
 
 Pygmalion, loathing their lascivious life,* 
 Abhorr'd all womankind, l>ut most a wife ; 
 So single chose to live, and shunn'd to wed, 
 Well pleased to want a consort of his bed ; 
 Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill. 
 In sculpture exercised his happy skill, 
 And carved in ivory such a maid, so fair, 
 As Nature could not with his art compare. 
 Were she to work ; but, in her own defence, 
 Must take her pattern here, and copy hence. 
 Pleased with his idol, he commends, admires, 
 Adores, and last, the thing adored desires: 
 A very virgin in her face was seen. 
 And had she moved, a living maid had been : 
 One would have thought she could have slirr'd, 
 
 but strove 
 With modesty, and was ashamed to move : 
 Art hid with art, so well i)erform"d the cheat, 
 It caught the carver witli his own deceit: 
 He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore. 
 And still the more he knows it, loves the more. 
 
 The feast of Venus came, a solemn day. 
 To which the Cy[)riots due devotion pay; 
 With gilded horns the milkwhito heifers led, 
 Slaughter'd before the sacred altars bled. 
 
 Pygmalion otTering, first approach'd the shrine. 
 And then \\ith_ prayers implored the powers 
 
 divine: 
 Almighty gotls, if alf wo mortals want, 
 If all we can require, be yours to grant, 
 Make this fair statue mine, he would have said, 
 But changed his words for shame, and only pray'd, 
 '■Give me the likeness of my ivory maid." 
 
 The golden goddess, preseiit at the [irayer. 
 Well knew he meant ih' iiianimaled fair, 
 
 ♦ The life of the Cyprian women. 
 
 And gave the sign of granting his desire; 
 For thrice in cheerful llames ascends the fire. 
 The youth, returning to his mistress, hies. 
 And, im|)udent in hope, with ardent eyes. 
 And beating breast, by the dear statue lies. 
 He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss. 
 And looks, and tliinks they redden at the kiss ; 
 He thought them warm bt^fore, nor longer stays. 
 But next his hand on the hard substance lays; 
 Hard as it was, beginning to relent. 
 It seem'd the block beneath his fingers bent: 
 He felt again — his fingers made a print — 
 'Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the 
 
 dint: 
 The pleasing task he fails not to renew ; 
 Soft, and more soft, at every touch it grew; 
 Like pliant wax, when chafing hands reduce 
 The former mass to form, and frame for use. 
 He woidd believe, but yet is still in pain, 
 And tries his argument of sense again, 
 Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein: 
 Convinced, o'erjoyed, his studied thanks and 
 
 praise. 
 To her who made the miracle, he pays: 
 Then lips to lips he join'd; now freed from fear, 
 He found the savour of the kiss sincere. 
 At this the waken'd image oped lier eyes. 
 And view'd at once the light and lover with 
 
 surprise. 
 The goddess, present at the match slie made, 
 So bless'd the bed, such fruitfulness convey'd. 
 That ere ten months had sharpen'd either horn. 
 To crown their bliss, a lovely boy was born : 
 Paphos his name, who, grown to manhood, 
 
 wall'd 
 The city Paphos, from the founder call'd. 
 
 Book XI. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF SLEEP. 
 
 • •*•••• 
 
 Deep in a cavern dwells the drowsy god. 
 Whose gloomy mansion, nor the rising sun, 
 Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsotne noon : 
 But lazy vapours round the region fly. 
 Perpetual twiliglit, and a doubtful sky; 
 No crowing cock does there his wings display, 
 Nor with his horny bill provoke the day. 
 Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese, 
 Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace, 
 Nor beast of nature, nor the taine are nigh. 
 Nor trees with tempests rock'd, nor human cry, 
 But safe repose, without an air of breath. 
 Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death. 
 
 An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow 
 Arising upwards from the rock below, 
 The palace moats, and o'er the pebbles creeps, 
 And with soft Ujinnnirs calls the coming sleeps. 
 Around its entry nodding poppies grow, 
 And all cool simples that swect rest bestow; 
 Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains, 
 And, i)assing, slieds it on the >ilent plains. 
 No door there was, the unguarded house to keep, 
 On creaking hinges tiirn'd, to break his sleep. 
 
 But in the gloomy court was raised a bed, 
 SluflT'd with black plumes, and on an ebon "sted; 
 
496 
 
 OVID. 
 
 Black was the covering too, where lay the god, 
 
 And slept supine, his limbs display'd abroad; 
 
 About his head fantastic visions fly, 
 
 Which various images of things supply, 
 
 And mock their forms, the leaves on trees not 
 
 more, 
 Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the 
 
 shore. 
 The virgin entering bright, indulged the day 
 To the brown cave, and brush'd the dreams 
 
 away ; 
 The god, disturb'd with this new glare of light. 
 Cast sudden on his face, imseal'd his sight. 
 And raised his tardy head, which sunk again. 
 And, sinking, on his bosom knock'd his chin; 
 At length shook off himself, and ask'd the dame 
 (And asking yawn'd) for what intent she came. 
 
 Book XII. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF FAME. 
 
 Full in the midst of this created space. 
 Between heaven, earth, and skies, there stands a 
 
 place. 
 Confining on all three, with triple bound. 
 Whence all things, though remote, are view'd 
 
 around, 
 And thither bring their undulating sound. 
 The palace of loud Fame, her seat of power, 
 Placed on the summit of a lofty tower ; 
 A thousand winding entries, long and wide 
 Receive, of fresh reports, a flowing tide. 
 A thousand crannies in the vifalls are made. 
 Nor gate, nor bars, exclude the busy trade: 
 'Tis built of brass, the better to difl'use 
 The spreading sounds, and multiply the news; 
 Where echoes in repeated echoes play; 
 A mart for ever full, and open night and day. 
 Nor silence is within, nor voice express, 
 But a deaf noise of sounds, that never cease; 
 Confused, and chiding, like the hollow roar 
 Of tides receding from the insvilted shore; 
 Or like the broken thunder heard from far. 
 When Jove to distance drives the rolling war. 
 The courts are fiU'd with a tumultuous din 
 Of crowds, or issuing forth, or entering in; 
 A thoroughfare of news, where some devise 
 Things never heard, some mingle truth with lies; 
 The troubled air with empty sounds they beat. 
 Intent to hear, and eager to repeat; 
 Error sits brooding there, with added train 
 Of vain credulity, and joys as vain : 
 Suspicion, with sedition join'd, are near, 
 And rumours raised, and murmurs mix'd, and 
 
 panic fear. 
 Fame sits aloft, and sees the subject ground. 
 And seas about, and skies above; inquiring all 
 
 around. 
 
 Book XV. 
 
 PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHT. 
 
 Oh mortals, from your fellows' blood abstain, 
 Nor taint your bodies with a food profane : 
 While corn and pulse by nature are bestowed. 
 And planted orchards bend their willing load; 
 
 While labour'd gardens wholesome herbs produce, 
 
 And teeming vines afford their generous juice ; 
 
 Nor tardier fruits of cruder kind are lost. 
 
 But tamed with fire, or mellowd by the frost; 
 
 While kine to pails distended udders bring. 
 
 And bees their honey redolent of spring ; 
 
 While earth not only can your needs supply. 
 
 But, lavish of her store, provides for luxury; 
 
 A guiltless feast administers with ease. 
 
 And without blood is prodigal to please. 
 
 Wild beasts their maws with their slain brethren 
 
 fill; 
 And yet not all, for some refuse to kill ; 
 Sheep, goats, and oxen, and the nobler steed, 
 On bro'wse, and corn, and flowery meadows feed. 
 Bears, tigers, wolves, the lion's angry brood. 
 Whom Heaven indued with principles of blood, 
 He wisely sunder'd from the rest, to yell 
 In forests, and in lonely caves to dwell ; 
 Where stronger beasts oppress the weak by might, 
 And all in prey and purple feasts delight. 
 « » « . » * * * 
 
 111 habits gather by unseen degrees. 
 As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas. 
 The sow, with her broad snout, for rooting up 
 The intrusted seed, was judged to spoil the crop, 
 And intercept the sweating farmer's hope: 
 The covetous churl, of unforgiving kind. 
 The offender to the bloody priest resigned : 
 Her hunger was no plea : for that she died. 
 The goat came next in order to be tried : 
 The goat had cropp'd the tendrils of the vine: 
 In vengeance laity and clergy join, 
 Where one had lost his profit, one his wine. 
 Here was at least some shadow of offence ; 
 The sheep was sacrificed on no pretence, 
 But meek and unresisting innocence. 
 A patient, useful creature, born to bear 
 The warm and woolly fleece, that clothed her 
 
 murderer; 
 And daily to give down the milk she bred, 
 A tribute for the grass on which she fed. 
 Living, both food and raiment she supplies, 
 And is of least advantage when she dies. 
 
 How did the toiling ox his death deserve, 
 A downright simple drudge, and born to serve? 
 Oh tyrant! with what justice canst thou hope 
 The promise of the year, a plenteous crop ; 
 When thou destroy'st thy labouring steer, who 
 
 tiU'd 
 And plough'd, with pains, thy else ungrateful field ? 
 From his yet reeking neck, to draw the yoke. 
 That neck with which the surly clods he broke; 
 And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman, 
 Who finish'd autumn, and the spring began. 
 
 Why thus affrighted at an empty name, 
 A dream of darkness, and fictitious flame 1 
 Vain themes of wit, which but in poems pass. 
 And fables of a world that never was? 
 What feels the body when the soul expires, 
 By time corrupted, or consumed by fires ? 
 Nor dies the spirit, but new life repeats 
 In other forms, and only changes seats. 
 
 E'en I, who these mysterious truths declare, 
 Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war; 
 
OVID. 
 
 497 
 
 My name anci lineage I remember well, 
 And how in fight by Sparta"s king 1 fell. 
 In Argive Jiino"s fane I late beheld 
 My buckler hung on high, and own'd my former 
 shield. _ 
 
 Then death, so call'd, is but old maTOr dress'd 
 In some new figure, and a varied vest: 
 Tiuis all things are but alter'd, nothing dies; 
 And here and there the unbodied spirit flies, 
 By time, or force, or sickness dispossess'd, 
 And lodges, M'here it lights, in man or beast; 
 Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find, 
 And actuates those according to their kind ; 
 From tenement to tenement is toss'd. 
 The soul is still the same, the figure only lost: 
 And, as the soften'd wax new seals receives. 
 This face assumes, and that impression leaves; 
 Now caird by one, now by another name ; 
 The form is only changed, the wax is still the 
 
 same. 
 Thus death, so call'd, can but the form deface; 
 The immortal soul flies out in empty space. 
 To seek her fortune in some other place. 
 
 Then let not piety be put to flight. 
 To please the taste of glutton appetite; 
 But suffer inmate souls secure to dwell. 
 Lest from their seats your parents you expel; 
 With rabid hunger feed upon your kind. 
 Or IVom a beast dislodge a brother's mind. 
 
 And since, like Typhis parting from the shore, 
 In ample seas I sail, and depths untried before, 
 This let me farther add, that Nature knows 
 No steailfast station, but or ebbs or flows: 
 Ever in motion ; she destroys her old, 
 And casts new figures in another mould. 
 E'en times are in perpetual flux, and run. 
 Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on; 
 For time, no more than streams, is at a stay; 
 The flying hour is ever on her way : 
 And as the fountain still supplies her store, 
 The wave behind impels the wave before : 
 Thus in successive course the minutes run, 
 And urge their predecessor minutes on. 
 Still moving, ever new: for former things 
 Are set aside, like abdicated kings; 
 And every moment alters what is done. 
 And innovates some act, till then unknown. 
 
 Perceiv'st thou not the i)rocess of the year, 
 How the four seasons in four forms appear. 
 Resembling human life in every shape they 
 
 wear? 
 Spring, first, like infancy, shoots out her head, 
 With milky juice requiring to be fed : 
 Helpless, though fresh, and wanting to be led. 
 The green stem grows in stature, and in size. 
 But only feeds with hope the farmer's eyes; 
 Then laughs the childish year with flow'rets 
 
 crown'd, 
 And lavislily perfumes the fields around. 
 But no substantial nourishment receives; 
 Infirm the stalks, unsolid are the leaves. 
 
 Proceeding onward whence the year began. 
 The summer grows adult, and ripens into man. 
 This season, as in men, is most replete 
 With kindly moisture, and prolific heat. 
 63 
 
 Autumn succeeds, a sober tepid age. 
 Not froze with fear, nor boiling into rage ; 
 More than mature, and tending to decay. 
 When our brown locks rejiine to mix with odious 
 gray. 
 Last, winter creeps along with tardy pace; 
 Sour is his front, and furrowed is his face: 
 His scalp, if not dislionour'd quite of hair, 
 The ragged fleece is thin ; and thin is worse than 
 bare. 
 E'en our own bodies daily change receive. 
 Some part of what was theirs before, they leave; 
 Nor are to-day what yesterday they were ; 
 Nor the whole same to-morrow will appear. 
 Time was when we were sow'd, and just 
 began 
 To show the promise of a future man: 
 Then Nature's hand (fermented as it was) 
 Moulded to shape the soft coagidated mass; 
 And when the little man was fully form'd, 
 The breathless embryo with a spirit warm'd. 
 But when the mother's throes begin to come, 
 The creature, pent within the narrow room. 
 Breaks his blind prison, pushing to repair 
 His stifled breath, and draw the living air; 
 Cast on the margin of the world he lies, 
 A helpless babe, but by instinct he cries. 
 He next essays to walk, but downward press'd, 
 On four feet imitates his brother beast: 
 By slow degrees lie gathers from the ground 
 His legs, and to the rolling chair is bound ; 
 Then walks alone ; a horseman now become, 
 He rides a stick, and travels round the room. 
 In time he vaunts among his youthful peers ; 
 Strong boned, and strung with nerves, in pride 
 
 of years. 
 He runs with mettle his first merry stage, 
 Maintains the next, abated of his rage, 
 But manages his strength, and spares his age. 
 Heavy the third, and stiff", he sinks apace, 
 And though 'tis downhill all, he creeps along the 
 
 race. 
 Now sapless on the verge of death he stands, 
 Contemplating his former feet and hands; 
 And, Milolike, his slackened sinews sees. 
 And wither'd arms, once fit to cope with Her- 
 cules, 
 Unable now to shake, much less to tear, the 
 trees. 
 Nor those, which elements we call, abide, 
 Nor to this figure, nor to that, are tied ; 
 For this eternal world was said, of old, 
 But four prolific principles to hold, 
 Four dilferent bodies ; two to heaven ascend, 
 And other two down to the centre tend : 
 Fire first with wings expanded mounts on 
 
 high. 
 Pure, void of weight, and dwells in upper sky; 
 Then Air, because imclogg'd in empty space, 
 Flies after Fire, and claims the second place: 
 But weighty Water, as her nature guides. 
 Lies on the lap of earth ; and mother earth sub- 
 sides. 
 All things are mix'd of these, which all con- 
 tain. 
 And into these are all resolved again : 
 2r 2 
 
498 
 
 OVID. 
 
 Earth rarifies to dew; expanded more, 
 The subtle dew in air begins to soar; 
 Spreads, as she flies, and weary of her name 
 Extenuates still, and changes into flame; 
 Thus having by degrees perfection won, 
 Restless they soon untwist the web they spun, 
 And fire begins to lose lier radiant hue, 
 ]Mix"d with gross air, and air descends to dew; 
 And dew condensing, does her form forego. 
 And sinks a heavy lump of earth below. 
 
 Thus are their figures never at a stand, 
 But changed by Nature's innovating hand; 
 All things are alter'd, nothing is destroyed. 
 The shifted scene for some new show employ'd. 
 
 Then, to be born is to begin to be 
 Some other thing we were not formerly: 
 And what we call to die, is not to appear, 
 Or be the thing that formerly we were. 
 Those very elements, which we partake 
 Alive, when dead, some other bodies make: 
 Translated grow, have sense, or can discourse; 
 But Death on deathless substance have no force. 
 
 The face of places, and their forms decay; 
 And that is solid earth that once was sea : 
 Seas in their turn retreating from the shore. 
 Make solid land, what ocean was before ; 
 And far from strands are shells of fishes found. 
 And rusty anchors fix'd on mountain ground: 
 And what were fields before, now wash'd and 
 
 worn 
 By falling fioods from high, to valleys turn. 
 And crumbling still descend to level lands; 
 And lakes, and trembling bogs, are barren sands; 
 And the parch'd desert floats in streams unknown, 
 Wondering to drink of waters not her own. 
 
 A race of men there are, as fame has told, 
 Who shivering sutfer Hyperborean cold. 
 Till nine times bathing in Minerva's lake. 
 Soft feathers, to defend their naked sides, they 
 
 take. 
 'Tis said, the Scythian wives (believe .who will) 
 Transform 'd themselves to birds by magic skill; 
 Smear'd over with an oil of wondrous might, 
 That adds new pinions to their airy flight. 
 
 But this by sure experiment we know. 
 That living creatures from corruption grow: 
 Hide in a hollow pit a slaughter'd steer. 
 Bees from his putrid bowels will appear; 
 Who, like their parents, haunt the fields, and bring 
 Their honey harvest home, and hope another 
 
 spring. 
 The warlike steed is multiplied, we find. 
 To wasps, and hornets of the warrior kind. 
 Cut from a crab his crooked claws, and hide 
 The rest in earth, a scorpion thence will glide. 
 And shoot his sting; bis tail in circles toss'd. 
 Refers the limbs his backward father lost. 
 And worms, that stretch on leaves their filmy loom. 
 Crawl from their bags, and butterflies become. 
 E'en slime begets the frog's loquacious race: 
 Short of their feet at first, in little space 
 With arms, and legs endued, long leaps they take. 
 Raised on their hinder part, and swim the lake. 
 And waves repel; for nature gives their kind. 
 To that intent, a length of legs behind. 
 
 The cubs of bears a living lump appear, 
 When whelp'd, and no determined figure wear. 
 Their mother licks them into shape, and gives 
 As much of form, as she herself receives. 
 The grubs from their sexangular abode 
 Crawl oulRintinish'd, like the maggot's brood: 
 Trunks without limbs; till time at leisure brings. 
 The thighs they wanted, and their tardy wings. 
 
 The bird, that draws the car of Juno, vain 
 Of her crown'd head, and of her starry train ; 
 And he that bears the artillery of Jove, 
 The strong-pounced eagle, and the billing dove ; 
 And all the feather'd kind, who could suppose 
 (But that for sight, the surest sense, he knows) 
 They from the included yolk, not ambient white, 
 arose 1 
 There are, who think the marrow of a man. 
 Which in the spine, while he was living, ran. 
 When dead, the pith corrupted will become 
 A snake, and hiss within the hollow tomb. 
 All these receive their birth from other 
 things ; 
 Cut from himself the phoenix only springs: 
 Self-born, begotten by the parent flame 
 In which he burn'd, another and the same ; 
 Who not by corn, or herbs his life sustains. 
 But the sweet essence of amomum drains ; 
 And watches the rich gums Arabia bears, 
 While yet in tender dew they drop their tears. 
 He, (his five centuries of life fulfiU'd,) 
 His nest on oaken boughs begins to build. 
 Or trembling tops of palm ; and first he draws 
 The plan with his broad bill, and crooked 
 
 claws. 
 Nature's artificers; on this the pile 
 Is form'd, and rises round, then with the spoil 
 Of cassia, cinnamon, and stems of nard, 
 (For softness strew'd beneath,) his funeral bed 
 
 is rear'd : 
 Funeral and bridal both ; and all around 
 The borders with corruptless myrrh are crown'd. 
 On this incumbent, till ethereal flame 
 First catches, then consumes the costly frame: 
 Consumes him too, as on the pile he lies; 
 He lived on odours, and in odours dies. 
 
 An infant phoenix from the former springs. 
 His father's heir, and from his tender wings 
 Shakes ofl" his parent dust, his method he pur- 
 sues, 
 And the same lease of life on the same terms 
 
 renews. 
 When grown to manhood he begins his reign, 
 And with stiff" pinions can his flight sustain; 
 He lightens of its load the tree that bore 
 His father's royal sepulchre before, 
 And his own cradle: this with pious care 
 Placed on his back, he cuts the buxom air. 
 Seeks the sun's city, and his sacred church. 
 And decently lays down his burden in the porch. 
 • *•*«•* 
 
 111 customs by degrees to habits rise, 
 111 habits soon become exalted vice : 
 What more advance can mortals make in sin. 
 So near perfection, who with blood begin? 
 Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knife, 
 Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life ; 
 
OVID. 
 
 499 
 
 Deaf to the liarinless kid, that, ere he dies, 
 All iiicihod to procure thy mercy tries, 
 And imitates in vain thy children's cries? 
 Where will he stop, who feeds with household 
 
 bread, 
 Then eats the poultry which before he fed? 
 Let plough thy steers, that when they lose their 
 
 breath, 
 To nature, not to thee, they may impute their 
 
 death. 
 Let goats for food their loaded udders lend. 
 And sheep from winter cold thy sides defend; 
 But neither springes, nets, nor snares emplo)'. 
 And be no more ingenious to destroy. 
 Free as in air, let birds on earth remain, 
 Nor let insidious glue their wings constrain ; 
 Nor opening hounds the trembling stags aflVight, 
 Nor purple feathers intercept his flight: 
 Nor hooks conceafd in baits for fish prepare, 
 Nor lines to heave them twinkling up in air. 
 
 Take not away the life you cannot give ; 
 For all things have an equal rigtit to live : 
 Kill noxious creatures, where 'tis sin to save; 
 This only just prerogative we have : 
 But nourish life with vegetable food, 
 And shun the sacrilegious taste of blood. 
 
 STORY OF LUCRETIA. 
 Meantime the tardy siege's long delay 
 Rounil Ardea's bulwarks wear their hours away; 
 And while within their foes beleaguerd lie. 
 All in the camp is sport and revelry. 
 There, wliile his friends partake the monarch's 
 
 wine, 
 Thus spoke the youngest of the royal line : 
 "In this dull war, while Ardea yet detains 
 Our trophies destined for the Roman fanes. 
 Think ye our wives a mutual feeling share. 
 And still are faithful, and partake our care?" 
 Each on his own the meed of praise bestows; 
 Wine fires the tongue, with love the bosom glows. 
 "The prize of virtue," Collatinus cried, 
 " Wortls can bestow not; be their actions tried ! 
 Mount, and the city seek while night remains"' — 
 They mount, and to the city turn their reins. 
 First, as they came the royal domes before. 
 No porter watch'd the unregarded door; 
 Her heated brows with rosy wreaths entwined 
 Sportive o'er wine youi'g Tarquin's bride they 
 
 find. 
 Not so Lucretia, where her conch beside 
 The wools soft thread her slender fingers guide; 
 By the small taper's low and I'rugal light 
 Her busy maidens toil the livelong night. 
 "Haste ye;' her gentle accents thus she pour'd, 
 '•The scarf these hands have woven for their 
 
 lord, 
 And tell, for you, far more than I, are told. 
 How wears the siege, how long will Ardea hold. 
 Fall, hated city! — why this long delay? 
 Why from my bosom tear its lord away? 
 Ah, may he soon return, and calm the fear 
 His thoughtless valour ever causes here! 
 Grief chills my breast, and terror Jims my sight. 
 When fancy paints an image of the fight.' 
 
 Tears check'd her voice ; she loosed her half-spun 
 
 thread, 
 Droop'd on her breast, and hid her languid head. 
 How well her tears become her as tliey roll! 
 How pure her cheek, how worthy of her soul! 
 "Fear not," her husband cried; then uj) she 
 
 sprung. 
 And on his neck — how sweet a burden! — hung. 
 
 Meanwhile in Tarquin glows a guilty flame. 
 And love unhallow'd kindles in his frame; 
 Her snow-vvhito skin, and locks of tangled gold. 
 Her glowing cheek, which love's chaste passion 
 
 told ; 
 Her form, which borrow'd no false grace from art; 
 Her voice, her tear, her smile, subdue his heart; 
 Her look of purity awakes new fires. 
 And Hope's decay but strengthens his desires. 
 
 When the shrill cock foretold approaching day, 
 Back to the camp the youths pursued their way. 
 Fresh was the form Remembrance pictured there, 
 And Fancy dwelt, though absent, on the fair. 
 Thus on her neck her careless locks reclined. 
 Thus the soft wool her slender hands entwined; 
 Such was her look, and thus her accents flow'd, 
 So beain'd her eye, her lip of coral glow'd. 
 
 Lo! while he spoke, he press'd his guilty speed, 
 And girt his sword, and vaulted on his steed ; 
 And as the sun assumed his western state 
 He gain'd Collatia's brazen-bolted gate. 
 There, as her friend, her foe Lucretia meets. 
 And her lord's kinsman with fit welcome greets. 
 Ah! little then her innocence can see 
 How great an enemy that guest shall be ! 
 
 • ••*••• 
 
 The morning rose — her locks are scatter'd wild, 
 Like some pale mother mourning for her child. 
 Then from the camp her messengers require 
 With sorrowing haste her husband and her sire. 
 They haste away, and whence these sighs of woe, 
 And why such garb of sadness seek to know. 
 Then burst the tear, then shame's hot blushes 
 
 dyed 
 The matron cheek she strove in vain to hide. 
 Still utterance fail'd her, and with eager fear 
 Her sire and husband dread, yet wish to hear. 
 Thrice from her lip the unwilliiig murmur broke, 
 Her eye still linger'd downward while she spoke: 
 "This loo,'' she cried, "to Tarquin shall we 
 
 owe? 
 From mine own lips mine own dishonour know." 
 Then what she could she told, the guilty rest 
 Her crimson'd cheek and glistening eye confess'd. 
 Vain from her sire the voice of solace flows, 
 Vain the free pardon which her lord bestows: 
 She pluck'd a tlagger from her robe, and cried — 
 "I to myself all pardon have denied!" 
 Then at her father's feet she fell ; the knife 
 Drank to its haft the current of her life ; 
 And e'en in death with modest care she tries 
 To fall v\-ilh limbs composed in honourable guise. 
 Lo! on her corpse her sire and husband lie. 
 Mourning their loss in grief's mute agony. 
 Not so with Brutus: kindling at the view, 
 The blood-stain'd dagger from her breast he 
 
 drew. 
 
500 
 
 OVID. 
 
 Grasp'd the red steel yet dropping with her gore, 
 And thus his threatening oath of vengeance 
 
 swore : — 
 "Here, by tliy blood, thine injured blood, I vow. 
 By thy pure shade which hovers oer me now, 
 No incomplete revenge, while thus I wake 
 From tny feign'd trance, on Tarquin's race to 
 
 take/' 
 How grateful this, her dying signs declare; 
 She roird her sightless eye, and shook her clotted 
 
 hair. 
 Borne to the tomb, the immortal matron lies, 
 While tears and envy crown her obsequies. 
 Brutus her wound, no speechless mouth, displays. 
 And tells the prince's crime, and adds her praise. 
 Kings are no more — the race of Tarquin fly. 
 And Consuls, yearly named, their place supply. 
 
 THE EPISTLE OF DIDO TO ^NEAS. 
 
 .^NEAS, the son of Venus and Anchises, having, 
 at the destruction of Troy, saved his fatlier and 
 son from the flames, puts to sea with twenty sail 
 of ships; and after a long struggle with tempests, 
 is at length cast on the Libyan shore, where 
 Queen Dido is occupied in building the city of 
 Carthage. — She entertains the hero with great 
 hospitality, which is succeeded by a more tender 
 attachment; till Mercury, admonishing ^Eneas 
 to depart in quest of Italy, a kingdom promised 
 to him by the gods, he readily proinises to obey 
 hiin. — Dido soon perceives his design ; and having 
 exhausted all other means to arrest his intended 
 voyage, at last in despair writes to him as follows. 
 
 So, on Meander's banks, when death is nigh. 
 The mournful swan sings her own elegy. 
 Not that I hope (for oh, that hope were vain !) 
 By words your lost aflection to regain : 
 But having lost whate'er was worth my care, 
 Why should I fear to lose a dying prayer"? 
 'Tis then resolved poor Dido must be left. 
 Of life, of honour, and of love bereft! 
 While you, with loosen'd sails, and vows, prepare 
 To seek a land that flics the searcher's care. 
 Nor can my rising towers your flight restrain. 
 Nor my new empire, otferd you in vain. 
 Built walls you shun, unbuilt you seek; that land 
 Is yet to conquer ; but you this command. 
 Suppose you landed where your wish design'd, 
 Think what reception foreigners would find. 
 What people is so voi;l of common sense, 
 To vote succession from a native prince? 
 Yet there new sceptres and new loves you seek; 
 New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break. 
 When will your towers the height of Carthage 
 
 know ? 
 Or ■when your eyes discern such crowds below? 
 If such a town and subjects you could see. 
 Still you would want a wife who loved like me. 
 For, oh, I burn, like fires with incense bright; 
 Not holy tapers flame with purer light; 
 ^neas is my thoughts" perpetual theme : 
 Their daily longing, and their nightly dream. 
 Yet he's ungrateful and obdurate still; 
 Fool that I am, to place my heart so ill ! 
 
 Myself I cannot to myself restore : 
 Still I complain, and still I love him more. 
 Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart, 
 And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart. 
 I rave: nor canst thou Venus' offspring be. 
 Love's mother could not bear a son like thee. 
 From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb, 
 Or from some cruel tigress thou art come. 
 Or, on rotigh seas, from their foundation torn, 
 Got by the winds, and in a tempest born : 
 Like that which now thy trembling sailors fear: 
 Like that, whose rage should still detain thee 
 
 here. 
 Behold how high the foamy billows ride! 
 The winds and waves are on the juster side. 
 To winter weather and a stormy sea 
 I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee. 
 Death thou deservest from Heaven's avenging 
 
 laws; 
 But I'ln unwilling to become the cause. 
 To shun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate, 
 'Tis a dear purchase, and a costly hate. 
 Stay but a little, till the teinpest cease. 
 And the loud winds are lulld into a peace. 
 May all thy rage, like theirs, inconstant prove! 
 And so it will, if there be power in love. 
 Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain? 
 So often wreck'd, how darest thou tempt the main ? 
 Which, were it smooth, were every vs'ave asleep, 
 Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep. 
 In that abyss the gods their vengeance store, 
 For broken vows of those who falsely swore. 
 Their winged storms on sea-born Venus wait, 
 To vindicate the justice of her state. 
 Thus, I to thee the means of safety show, 
 And, lost myself, would still preserve my foe. 
 False as thou art, I not thy death design : 
 Oh rather live, to be the cause of mine! 
 Should some avenging storm thy vessel tear, 
 (But Heaven forbid my words should omen bear!) 
 Then, in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly. 
 And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye. 
 With threatning looks, think thou behold'st me 
 
 stare. 
 Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair ; 
 Then should fork'd lightning and red thunder fall ; 
 What couldst thou say, but I deserved them all? 
 Lest this should happen, make not haste away; 
 To shun the danger will be worth thy stay. 
 Have pity on thy son, if not on me : 
 My death alone is guilt enough for thee. 
 What has his youth, what have thy gods, deserved, 
 To sink in seas, who were from fires preserved? 
 But neither gods nor parent didst thou bear; 
 (Smooth stories all, to please a woman's ear;) 
 False was the tale of thy romantic life ; 
 Nor yet am I thy first deluded wife. 
 Left to pursiiing foes Creusa stay'd. 
 By thee, base man, forsaken and betray'd. 
 This, when thou told'st me, struck my tender 
 
 heart, 
 That such requital follow'd such desert. 
 Nor doubt I 'out the gods, for crimes like these, 
 Seven winters kept thee wand'ring on tlie seas. 
 Thy starved companions, cast ashore, I fed, 
 Thyself admitted to my crown and bed. 
 
OVID. 
 
 501 
 
 To harbour strangers, succour the distress'd, 
 Was kind enough; but oh, too kind the rest! 
 Oh chastity and violated fame, 
 Kxact your dues to my dead husband's name! 
 By deatli redeem my reputation lost ; 
 And to his arms restore my guilty ghost. 
 Close by my palace, in a gloomy grove, 
 Is raised a chapel to my nmrder"d love ; 
 There, wreathed with boughs and wool, his statue 
 
 stands. 
 The pious moiutment of artful hands: 
 Last night, methought he cali'd me from the dome. 
 And thrice, with hollow voice, cried, '-Dido, 
 
 come." 
 She comes; thy wife thy lawful summons hears; 
 But comes more slowly, clogg'd with conscious 
 
 fears. 
 Forgive the wrong I olfer'd to thy bed. 
 Strong were his charms, who my weak faith 
 
 misled. 
 His goddess mother, and his aged sire, 
 Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire. 
 Oh such he was, and is, that were he true, 
 Without a blush I might his love pursue. 
 But cruel stars my birthday did attend : 
 And, as my fortune open'd, it must end. 
 My plighted lord was at the altar slain. 
 Whose wealth was made my bloody brother's 
 
 gain : 
 Friendless, and followed by the murd'rer's hate. 
 To foreign countries I removed my fate ; 
 And here, a suppliant, from the natives' hands, 
 I bought the ground on which my city stands; 
 With all the coast that stretches to the sea; 
 E'en to the friendly port that shelter'd thee: 
 Then raised these walls, which mount into the air, 
 At once my neighbours' wonder, and their fear. 
 For now tliey arm ; and round me leagues are 
 
 made. 
 My scarce establish'd empire to invade. 
 To man my new-built walls I nmst prepare, 
 A helpless woman, and unskill'd in war. 
 Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend, 
 And for my person would my crown defend : 
 Whose jarring votes in one complaint agree, 
 That each unjustly is disdain'd for thee. 
 To proud larbas give me up a prey — 
 (For that must follow if thou goest away:) 
 Or to my husband's murderer leave my life; 
 That to the husband he may add the wife. 
 Go then ; since no complaints can move thy mind : 
 Go, j)erjur'd man, but leave thy gods behind. 
 Touch not those gods by whom thou art forsworn; 
 Who will in impious hands no more be borne : 
 Thy sacrilegious worship they disdain. 
 And rather would the Grecian fires sustain. 
 Some god, thou say'st, thy voyage does command ; 
 Would the same god had barrd thee from my 
 
 land! 
 
 The same, I doubt not, thy departure steers, 
 Who kept thee out at sea so many years; 
 Where thy long labours were a price so great, 
 As thou to purchase Troy would not rejieat. 
 But Tiber now thou seek'st, to be, at best. 
 When there arrived, a poor precarious guest. 
 Yet it deludes thy search: perhaps it will 
 To thy old age lie undiscoverd still. 
 A ready crown and wealth in dower I bring, 
 And without conquering, here thou art a king. 
 Here thou to Carthage may transfer thy Troy; 
 Here young Ascanius may his arms employ; 
 And, while we live secure in soft repose. 
 Bring many laurels home from conquer'd foes. 
 By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee stay; 
 By all the gods, comjjanions of thy way. 
 So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive. 
 Live still, and with no future fortune strive: 
 So may thy youthful son old age attain. 
 And thy dead father's bones in peace remain; 
 As thou hast pity on unhappy me. 
 Who know no crime, but too much love of thee. 
 I am not born from fierce Achilles' line, 
 Nor did my parents against Troy combine: 
 To be thy wife, if I unworthy prove. 
 By some inferior name admit my love. 
 To be secured of still possessiiig thee. 
 What would I do, and what would I not be! 
 Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons know. 
 When free from tempests passengers may go. 
 But now with northern blasts the billows roar, 
 And drive the floating seaweed to the shore. 
 Leave to my care the time to sail away; 
 When safe, I will not suffer thee to stay. 
 Tliy weary men would be with ease content; 
 Their sails are tatterd, and their masts are spent. 
 If by no merit I thy mind can move, 
 What thou deniest my merit, give my love. 
 Stay, till 1 learn my loss to undergo; 
 And give me time to struggle with my woe. 
 If not: know this, I will not sutler long, 
 My life's too loathsome, and my love too strong. 
 Death holds my pen, and dictates wlrat I say, 
 While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay. 
 My tears flow down ; the sharp edge cuts their 
 
 flood, 
 And drinks my sorrows, that must drink my blood. 
 How well thy gift does with my fate agree! 
 My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee. 
 To no new wounds my bosom I display: 
 The sword but enters where love nuide the way. 
 But thou, dear sister, and yet dearer friend, 
 Shalt my cold ashes to their urn attend. 
 Sicdueus' wife, let not the marble boast, 
 I lost that title when my fame I lost. 
 This short inscrijjtion only let it bear : 
 "Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here. 
 The cause of death, and sword by which she died 
 iEneas gave; the rest her arm supplied." 
 
MANILIUS. 
 
 [The age of Augustus.! 
 
 So little is known of this poet, that the critics 
 have not yet been able to determine even his 
 real name, some calling him Manilius, others 
 Manlins, and others again varying it to Mallius. 
 Equal doubt also prevails as to the country which 
 gave him birth ; and all that we can aver with 
 any degree of certainty respecting him, is that he 
 wrote in the age of Augustus. This, indeed, 
 seems evident from several passages of his 
 work, — more especially from his dedication of it 
 to that monarch, and from his allusions in it to 
 Tiberius's retirement at Rhodes. 
 
 The title of his poem is "Astronomicon," though 
 it might, with greater propriety, have been en- 
 titled Astrologicon ; but the distinction between 
 astronomy and astrology was unknown in that 
 day. With all its faults, however, it is a work 
 
 of considerable merit. The physical part of it is 
 luminous, and its philosophy often sublime. He 
 adopts the Ptolemaic hypothesis, that the earth 
 is immoveably suspended in the centre of the 
 universe ; but his general notions of the nature 
 and position of the stars are consistent with as- 
 tronomical science ; and he supposes, with the 
 Pythagoreans, that the phenomenon of the Milky 
 Way is but the undistinguished lustre of unnum- 
 bered stars — a conjecture which the modern 
 telescope has confirmed. 
 
 The system of Manilius is interwoven with 
 the stellar fatality of the Stoics, and contains, 
 likewise, a complete scheme of ancient astro- 
 logy. — The "Astronomicon" was discovered in a 
 German monastery, during the fifteenth century, 
 by the learned Poggio Bracciolini. 
 
 CONNEXION OF THE UNIVERSE. 
 Nature instinct with mind, my theme shall be, 
 And God infused in sky, and earth, and sea: 
 Tempering the mighty mass ■with equal laws, 
 Alternate harmony creation draws : 
 A reason deep-instilled within it moves: 
 Through all its parts one ruling spirit roves: 
 Round the vast orb its irrigations roll. 
 The world the animal, and God the soul. 
 Unless the mass, of kindred parts combined, 
 Were moved beneath a master's ruling mind, 
 Unless an all-foreseeing wisdom reign'd. 
 And the vast sum of things in order chain'd, 
 Earth from its airy seat would start away, 
 And planets, reeling in their orbits, stray: 
 No more the darkness of alternate night 
 Would now avoid, and now pursue the light ; 
 Showers nourish earth : winds ether ; seas with 
 
 rain 
 Fill the swoln clouds; nor rivers feed the main; 
 Nor from the deep perennial fountains glide ; 
 Nor this great whole, with equal parts allied, 
 From its just parent each proportion know, 
 That stars might ever shine, and waters flow. 
 And through their course the heavenly bodies fly. 
 Nor from their balanced orbit swim on high ; 
 Not changed by motion, but sustained, they roll. 
 And ordered worlds pursue the leading sovd. 
 
 This God, tliis ruling instinct, from on high 
 Rules earthly beings by the starry sky. 
 Though far removed by interval immense. 
 He makes the stars be felt: their orbs dispense 
 The death and life of all that live or die ; 
 Each mind's peculiar bent, and quality. 
 
 Let me this truth by sure example prove: 
 The heavens control the fields : bestow, remove 
 502 
 
 Earth's varying fruits: the rolling ocean sway; 
 Heave on the land, or snatch the waves away — 
 For lo! the seas, that in their rage rebel, 
 Now moved beneath the lunar planet swell. 
 Or foam with swift reflux ; now ductile roll. 
 Following the sun, that yearly turns the pole. 
 So animals, that deep the waters range, 
 In shelly dungeons shut, their bodies change 
 With motions of the moon : so Luna ! thou 
 ReveaFst thy forehead by thy brother's brow ; 
 By his resum'st thy shining visage, bright 
 Or dim, as his clear aspect lends thee light: 
 And by another star thy star ascends to sight. 
 So beasts of earth, and reptiles mute below^. 
 Unconscious of themselves, nor skilfd to know 
 What secret lavk' their charm'd existence bind. 
 Are still uncall'd to heaven, their parent mind; 
 By guiding instinct lift their soul on high. 
 And keep the seasons of the stars and sky. 
 At the full moon their bodies cleanse : declare 
 The coming storm, and the serener air. 
 
 Who then shall doubt, that man's allied to 
 heav'n ; 
 When Nature that transcendant tongue has giv'n, 
 That genius, grasping all creation's round ; 
 That mind, whose wing not Nature's self can 
 
 bound : 
 When the descended God his spirit pours ; 
 Dwells in his creatures, and himself explores ? 
 
 ON FATE. 
 Not in each age Camilli, Decii, rise, 
 Nor conqueror over death, a Cato dies. 
 Not yet extirpated is glory's root : 
 But Fate still blasts the blossoms as they shoot. 
 
SENECA. — PERSIUS. 
 
 503 
 
 Not shorten'd is tlie poor man's mortal date ; 
 Nor wealth can bribe the death foredoom'd by 
 
 Fate : 
 Fortune from sceptres proud extorts the doom 
 That turns the regal pomp to funeral gloom, 
 Builds np the prince's pyre, and digs his tomb. 
 What might is this! what majesty of sway ! 
 When princes tremble, and when kings obey ! 
 
 See virtue wretched; guilt successful rise; 
 Prudence deceive ; and rashness win the prize. 
 
 Nor Fortune bids the effect the cause succeed, 
 Nor yields success to the deserving deed ; 
 But wanders, undistinguishing and blmd, 
 Light and capricious as the veering wind. 
 
 Some ruling power our wills and natures 
 draws, 
 That binds creation by peculiar laws ; 
 That from itself, when dawns our natal day, 
 Assigns our years, and Fortune's chequer'd 
 sway. — 
 
 LUCIUS ANN^US SENECA. 
 
 [Bora 7, B. C.,— Died 65, A. D.] 
 
 FROM THE THYESTES. 
 
 Climb at court, for me, that will. 
 Tottering Favour's pinnacle. 
 All I seek is to lie still. 
 Withdrawn to some secret nest, 
 In calm leisure let me rest; 
 And, far oif the public stage, 
 Pass away my silent age. 
 
 Thus, when noiseless and unknown, 
 I have lived out all my span, 
 Let me die, without a groan, 
 An old honest countryman. 
 Who, exposed to others' eyes, 
 Into his own heart ne'er pries, 
 Death's to him a strange surprise. 
 
 PERSIUS. 
 
 [Bom 32,— Died 62, A. D.] 
 
 AuLus Persitjs FtACCUS was a Roman knight, ] He is said to have been distinguished by the 
 and born at Volaterra in Etruria. He cultivated beauty of his person, the purity of his morals, 
 rhetoric and philosophy at Rome, and was a j and the exemplary tenor of his life. The style of 
 fellow student with Lucan, under Cornutus the his Satires is condensed and strong, though some- 
 Stoic, to whom lie has addressed his fifth Satire, times obscure. — He died at the early age of thirty. 
 
 FROM THE SATIRES. 
 
 FROM SATIRE lit. THE PRECEPTOR'S REMOX- 
 
 strajtce; or birth and FORTfjJE no APOLOGT 
 
 FOR IDLENESS AND VICE. 
 
 While with occasion thus you madly play, 
 Your best of life, imheeded, leaks away. 
 And scorn flows in apace: the ill-baked ware, 
 Rung by tlie potter, will its flaws declare; 
 Thus — but you yet are moist and yielding clay: 
 Call for some plastic hand without delay ; 
 Nor cease the labour, till the wheel produce 
 A vessel nicely form'd, and fit for use. 
 
 But why these pains? my father, thanks to fate. 
 Left me a fair, if not a large, estate : 
 
 A salt unsullied on my table shines,* 
 And due oblations, in their little shrines. 
 My household gods receive ; my hearth is pure, 
 And all my means of life confirtn'd, and sure: 
 What need I more?" nay, nothing; ('tis replied.) 
 — And well it fits you, to dilate with pride. 
 Because, (the thousandth in descent,) you trace 
 Your blood, immix'd, from some high Tuscan race; 
 And, when the knights troop by the censor's chair, 
 In annual pomp, salute a kinsman there '. 
 
 • The salt-cellar, or, as our old writers more simply 
 termed it, the salt, formed a distinguished feature in the 
 garniture of the Roman tables. It was regarded as a 
 kind of heir-loom, and descended from father to son. 
 
504 
 
 PERSIUS. 
 
 Hence! — with these trappings, to the rabble, 
 
 swell! 
 Me, they deceive not; for I know you well, 
 Within, without. — And blush you not to see, 
 Loose Nattn"s life and yours so well agree? 
 — But Natta's is not life: the sleep of sin 
 Has seiz'd his powers, and palsied all within ; 
 Huge cawls of fat envelope every part, 
 And torpor weighs on his insensate heart. — 
 Absolv'd from blame by ignorance so gross, 
 He neither sees, nor comprehends his loss; 
 Content in guilt's profound abyss to drop, 
 Nor, struggling, send one bubble to the top. 
 Dread iSire of Gods ! when lust's envenom'd 
 stings 
 Stir the fierce natures of tyrannic kings ; 
 When storms of rage within their bosoms roll. 
 And call, in thunder, for thy just control, 
 O, then relax the bolt, suspend the blow ; 
 And thus, and thus alone, thy vengeance show, 
 In all her charms, set Virtue in their eye. 
 And let them see their loss, despair, and — die ! 
 
 Say could the wretch severer tortures feel, 
 Closed in the brazen bull? — Could the bright steel 
 That, while the board with regal pomp was 
 
 sjjread, 
 Gleam'd o'er the guest, suspended by a thread. 
 Worse pangs inflict, than he endures, who cries, 
 (As, on the rack of conscious guilt, he lies,) 
 In mental agony, " Alas ! I fall, 
 Down, down the unfathom'd steep, without re- 
 call !" 
 And withers at the heart, and dares not show 
 His bosom wife, the secret of his woe! 
 
 Mount, hapless youth, on Contemplation's wings. 
 And mark the causes and the end of things ; — 
 Learn what we are, and for what purpose born, 
 What station here 'tis given us to adorn; 
 How best to blend security with ease. 
 And win our way through life's tempestuous seas; 
 What bounds the love of property requires. 
 And what to wish, with unreproved desires; 
 How far the genuine use of wealth extends ; 
 And the just claims of country, kindred, friends; 
 What Heaven would have us be; and where our 
 
 stand, 
 In this Gheat Wholk, is fix'd by High Command. 
 
 FROM satihe it. 
 This satire is founded on the first Alcibiades 
 of Plato, and many of the expressions are closely 
 copied from that celebrated dialogue. It naturally 
 arranges itself under three heads; the first of 
 which treats of the preposterous ambition of those 
 who aspired to take the lead in state affairs, be- 
 fore they had learned the first principles of civil 
 government. The second division turns on the 
 general neglect of self-examination, enforcing, at 
 the same time, the necessity of moral purity, from 
 the impossibility of escaping detection ; and of 
 restraining all wanton propensity to exaggerate 
 the foibles of others, from its tendency to provoke 
 severe recrimination on our own vices. The 
 conclusion, or third part, reverts to the subject 
 with which the satire opens, and arraigns, in 
 
 terms of indignant severity, the profligacy of the 
 young nobility, and their sottish vanity in resting 
 their claims to approbation on the judgment of a 
 worthless rabble. 
 
 What! you, my Alcibiades, aspire 
 To sway the state ! — (Sujjpose that bearded sire 
 Whom helmock from a thankless world remov'd, 
 Thus to address the stripling that he loved.) — 
 On what apt talents for a charge so high, 
 Ward of great Pericles, do you rely? 
 Forecast on others by gray hairs conferred, 
 Haply, with you, anticipates the beard ; 
 And prompts you, prescient of the public weal. 
 Now to disclose your thoughts, and now conceal! 
 Hence, when the rabble form some daring plan. 
 And factious murmurs spread from man to man, 
 Mute and attentive you can bid them stand, 
 By the majestic wafture of your hand! 
 
 Rash youth ! relying on a specious skin. 
 While all is dark deformity within. 
 Check the fond thought; nor, like the peacock, 
 
 proud. 
 Spread your gay plumage to the applauding 
 
 crowd 
 Before your hour arrive : — ah, rather drain 
 Whole isles of hellebore, to cool your brain! 
 ******* 
 
 How few, alas! their proper faults explore! 
 While, on his loaded back, who walks before. 
 Each eye is flx'.d ; — you touch a stranger's arm. 
 And ask him, if he knows Vectidus" farm? 
 "Whose?" he replies. That rich old chuff's, 
 
 whose ground 
 Would tire a hawk to wheel it fairly round. 
 
 "0, ho! that wretch, on whose devoted head, 
 III stars and angry gods their rage have shed! 
 Who, on high festivals, when all is glee. 
 And the lose yoke hangs idly on the tree. 
 As, from the jar, he scrapes the incrusted clay. 
 Groans o'er the revels of so dear a day; 
 Champs on a coated onion dipt in brine ; 
 And, while his hungry hinds exulting dine 
 On barley-broth, sucks up, with thrifty care, 
 The inothery dregs of his pall'd vinegar!" 
 
 But, if " Tou bask you in the sunny ray. 
 And doze the careless hours of youth away. 
 There are, who at such gross delights will spurn. 
 And spit their venom on your life, in turn; 
 Expose, with eager hate, your low desires. 
 Your secret passions, and unhallow'd fires. — 
 "Why, while the beard is nurs'd widi every art, 
 Those anxious pains to bear the shameful part? 
 In vain: should five athletic knaves essay. 
 To pluck, with ceaseless care, the weeds away. 
 Still the rank fern, congenial to the soil. 
 Would spread luxuriant, and defeat their toil!'' 
 
 Misled by rage, our bodies we expose. 
 And while we give, forget to ward, the blows ; 
 This, this is life! and thus our faults are shown, 
 By mutual spleen: we know — and we are 
 
 known. 
 But your defects elude inquiring eyes! — 
 Beneath the groin the ulcerous evil lies. 
 Impervious to the view; and o'er the wound. 
 The broad eflulgence of the zone is bound ! 
 
PERSIUS. 
 
 505 
 
 But can you, thus, the inward pang restrain. 
 Thus, cheat the sense of laiif^uor and of pain? 
 
 "But if the people call me wise and just. 
 Sure, I may take the general voice on trust!"— 
 
 No: — If you tremble at the sight of gold ; 
 Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontroli'd; 
 Or, bent on outrage, at tlie midnight liour, 
 Girt with a ruffian band, the forum scour; 
 Then, wretch ! in vain the voice of praise you 
 
 liear. 
 And driidc the vulgar shout with greedy ear. 
 
 Hence, with your spurious claims! rejudgc your 
 cause, 
 And fling the rabble back their vile applause: 
 To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair, 
 And blush to find — how poor a stock is there ! 
 
 from: satire v. — to A:yxjEus cornutus. 
 
 Yes, best of friends ! 'tis now my pride to own. 
 How much that "breast" is fi.ird witli you alone ! 
 Ring then — for, to your practised ear, the sound 
 Will show the solid, and where guile is found 
 Beneath the varnish'd tongue. For this, in fine, 
 I dared to wish an hundred voices mine ; 
 Proud to declare, how closely twined you dwell — 
 How deeply flx"d in my heart's inmost cell. 
 And paint, in words, — ah, could they paint the 
 
 whole ! — 
 The ineffable sensations of my soul. 
 
 When first 1 laid the purple by — and free,* 
 Yet trembling at my new-felt liberty. 
 Approach 'd the hearth, and on the Lares hung 
 The bulla, from my willing neck unstrung; 
 When gay associates, sporting at my side, 
 And the white boss, display'd with conscious 
 
 pride. 
 Gave me, uncheck'd, the haunts of vice to trace. 
 And throw my wandering eyes on every face; 
 When life's perplexing maze before me lay. 
 And error, heedless of the better way. 
 To straggling paths, far from the route of truth, 
 Woo'd, with blind confidence, my timorous youth, 
 1 fled to you, Cornutus, pleas'd to rest 
 My hopes and fears on your Socratic breast ; 
 Nor did you, gentle sage, the charge decline: 
 Then, dexterous to beguile, your steady line 
 Reclaim'd, I know not by what winning force, 
 My morals, warp'd from virtue's straighter course. 
 While reason, pressd incumbent on my soul. 
 That struggled to receive the strong control, 
 And took, like wax, subdued by plastic skill. 
 The form your hand impos'd — and bears it still! 
 
 Can I forget, how many a summer's day. 
 Spent in your converse, stole, unmark'd, away? 
 
 ♦ The sons of the nobility, and of tlie privileged citi- 
 zens, wore the loga prcetexta (a gown richly bordered 
 wilh pur|)le,)till they reached the age of seventeen, when 
 they exchanged it for the toga virilis, or manly gown, 
 and entered into a slate of comparative independence 
 and liberty. 
 
 Or how, while listening, with increas'd delight, 
 I snateh'd from feasts, the earlier hours of night? 
 — One time (lor to your bosom still 1 grev\-) 
 One time of ?tudy, and of rest, we knew; 
 One frugal board, where, every care resigned, 
 An hour of blameless mirth relax'd the mind. 
 
 And sure our lives, which thus accordant move, 
 (Indulge me here, Cornutus,) clearly prove. 
 That both are subject to the self-same law. 
 And from one horoscope their fortunes draw: 
 And wlietlier destiny's unerring doom, 
 In equal Liljra, pois'd our days to come; 
 Or friendship's holy hour our fates cond)in'd, 
 And to the twins, a sacred charge, assign'd ; 
 Or Jove, benignant, broke the gloomy spell 
 By angry Saturn wove ; — I know not well — 
 But sure some star there is, whose bland control, 
 Subdues, to yours, the temper of my soul ! 
 
 Countless the various s[)ecies of mankind, 
 Countless the shades which separate mind from 
 
 mind ; 
 No general object of desire is known ; 
 Each has his will, and each pursues his own. 
 With Latian w'ares, one roams the eastern main, 
 To purchase spice, and cummin's blanching grain; 
 Another, gorg'd with dainties, swill'd with wine, 
 Fattens in sloth, and snores out life supine; 
 This loves the Campus; tliat destructive play; 
 And those, in wanton dalliance, melt away : — 
 But when the knotty gout their strength has broke. 
 And their dry joints crack like some wither'd oak. 
 Then they look back, confounded and aghast 
 On the gross days in fogs and darkness past; 
 With late regret the waste of life deplore : 
 No purpose gain'd, and time, alas! no more. 
 
 But you, my friend, whom nobler views delight, 
 To pallid vigils give the studious night; 
 Cleanse youthful breasts from every noxious 
 
 weed. 
 And sow the tilth with Cleanthean seed. — * 
 There seek, ye young, ye old, (secure to find,) 
 That certain end, which stays the wavering 
 
 mind ; — 
 Stores, which endure, when other means decay. 
 Through life s last stage, a sad and cheerless way! 
 
 "Right: and to-morrow this shall be our care." 
 Alas! to-morrow, like to-day, will fare. 
 
 "What! is one day, forsooth, so great a boon?" 
 But when it comes, (and come it will too soon,) 
 Rollect, that yesterday's to-morrow's o'er. — 
 'J'hus one "to-morrow!" one "to-morrow!" more, 
 Have seen long years before them fade away; 
 And still ajjpear no nearer than to-day!-^ 
 
 So while the wheels on ditferent axles roll, 
 In vain, (though govern'd by the seif-.saine pole,) 
 The hiiiilmost to o'ertake the foremost tries; 
 Fast as the one pursues, the other flics ! 
 
 ♦ i. e. with Stoic philosophy. Cleanihes was one of 
 the most distinguished fidlowcrs of Zeno, ihe founder 
 of the school. 
 
 as 
 
LUCAN. 
 
 [Born 39— Died 66, A. D.] 
 
 Marcus Anw;eus Lucanus was the son of 
 Marcus Anntrus Mela, a Roman knight, and of 
 Caia Acilia, a daugliter of the orator Acilius Lu- 
 canus. He was born at Corduba, in Spain, but 
 was brought, when an infant, to Rome, and there 
 educated under the most distinguished masters 
 of the day. He was early introduced at court, 
 and partly through his own merits, and partly, in 
 all probability, through the interest of his uncle 
 Seneca, rose to the office of qnestor, and gained 
 admission into the college of Augurs, even before 
 he had attained the age requisite for tliose offices. 
 But the tide of court favour soon turned. Having 
 ventured to dispute with his master, Nero, the 
 prize of poetry, he was proliibited from pleading 
 at the bar, or reciting verses in public; and 
 being afterwards implicated in Piso's conspiracy, 
 he received judgment of death, with the privi- 
 lege of himself selecting the mode of it. He chose 
 to have the arteries of his arms and legs opened in 
 
 a warm bath; and having taken a calm farewell 
 of his friends, expired, repeating, from the Phar- 
 salia, some verses descriptive of his own fate.* 
 
 It has been said that Lucan, in order to screen 
 himself, had, when detected, endeavoured to 
 throw the guilt upon his mother Acilia ; but, as 
 such conduct is no less at variance with the tenor 
 of his life, than the manner of his death, and, as 
 none of the many fragments of his life, which yet 
 exist, have ever mentioned it, we may fairly 
 doubt the truth of the relation. 
 
 Lucan died in his twenty-seventh year, leaving 
 his poem unfinished, which was revised and 
 published by his wife PoUa Argentaria, a lady 
 praised by Statins for her accomplishments and 
 ingenuous manners. 
 
 * Elton quotes some lines from the third hook, as the 
 passage recited on the occasion; others incline towards 
 a passage in the ninth book: but see Howe's i/«co7i, book 
 iii.— 995,— and book ix.— 1378. 
 
 FROM LUCAN'S PHARSALIA. 
 Book I. 
 
 RUIN OCCASIOXEI) BT THE CIVIL WARS IJf ITALT. 
 
 Emathian plains with slaughter cover'd o'er, 
 And rage unknown to civil wars before, 
 Establish'd violence, and lawless might, 
 Avow'd and hallow'd by the name of right; 
 A race renovnid, the world's victorious lords, 
 Turn'd on themselves with their own hostile 
 
 swords ; 
 Piles against piles oppos'd in impious fight. 
 And eagles against eagles bending flight; 
 Of blood by friends, by kindred, parents, spilt. 
 One common horror and promiscuous guilt, 
 A shatter'd world in wild disorder tost. 
 Leagues, laws, and empire in confusion lost ; 
 Of all the woes which civil discords bring, 
 And Rome o'ercome by Roman arms, I sing. 
 What blind, detested madness could aflbrd 
 Such horrid license to the murd'ring sword ? 
 Say, Romans, whence so dire a fury rose. 
 To glut with Latian blood your barb'rous foes? 
 Could you in wars like these provqke your fate? 
 Wars, where no triumphs on the victor wait! 
 While Babylon's proud spires yet rise so high. 
 And, rich in Roman spoils, invade the sky; 
 While yet no vengeance is to Crassus paid, 
 But unatoned repines the wand'ring sliade! 
 What tracts of land, what realms unknown before, 
 What seas wide stretching to the distant shore. 
 What crowns, what empires might that blood 
 
 have gain'd. 
 With which Emathia's fatal fields were stain'd ! 
 5(16 
 
 Where Seres in their silken woods reside. 
 Where swift Araxes rolls his rapid tide : 
 Where'er (if such a nation can be found) 
 Nile's secret fountain, springing, cleaves the 
 
 ground ; 
 Where southern suns with double ardour rise, 
 Flame o'er the land, and scorch the mid-day 
 
 skies; 
 Where winter's hand the Scythian seas constrains, 
 And binds the frozen floods in crystal chains; 
 Where'er the shady night and day-spring come, 
 All had submitted to the yoke of Rome. 
 
 Oh Rome ! if slaughter be thy only care, 
 If such thy fond desire of impious war ; 
 Turn from thyself, at least, the destin'd wound, 
 Till thou art mistress of the world around. 
 And none to conquer but thyself be found. 
 Thy foes as yet a juster war afl'ord. 
 And barb'rous blood remains to glut thy sword. 
 But see! her hands on her own vitals seize, 
 And no destruction but her own can please. 
 Behold her fields unknowing of the plough! . 
 Behold her palaces and towers laid low ! 
 See where o'erthrown the massy coluinn lies, 
 While weeds obscene above the cornice rise. 
 Here gaping wide, half-ruin'd walls remain. 
 There mouldering pillars nodding roots sustain 
 The landscai^e once in various beauty spread. 
 With yellow harvests and the flowery mead. 
 Displays a wild uncultivated face, 
 Which bushy brakes and brambles vile disgrace: 
 No human footstep prints th' imtrodden green, 
 No cheerful maid nor villager is seen. 
 
LUCAN. 
 
 5()7 
 
 Ev'n in her cities famous once and great, 
 Where thousands thousands throng'd tiie noisy 
 
 street, 
 No sound is heard of human voices now, 
 But whistling winds thro' empty dwellings hlow ; 
 While passing strangers wonder, if they spy 
 One single melancholy face go by. 
 
 POMPKY AND CjESAR. 
 
 The sword is now the umpire to decide, 
 And part what friendship knew not to divide. 
 'Twas hard, an empire of so vast a size. 
 Could not for two ambitious minds suffice; 
 The peopled earth, and wide extended main. 
 Could furnish room for only one to reign. 
 When dying Julia first forsook the light,* 
 And Hymen's tapers sunk in endless night. 
 The tender ties of kindred-love were torn. 
 Forgotten all, and buried in her urn. 
 Oh! if her death had haply been delay'd. 
 How might the daughter and the wife persuade! 
 Like the famed Sabine dames, she had been seen 
 To stay the meeting war, and stand between: 
 On either hand had woo'd them to accord, 
 Sooth'd her fierce father, and her furious lord. 
 To join in peace, and sheathe the ruthless sword. 
 But this the fatal sisters' doom denied ; 
 The friends were sever'd, when the matron 
 
 died. 
 The rival leaders mortal war proclaim, 
 Rage fires their souls with jealousy of fame, 
 And emulation fans the rising flame. 
 
 Thee, Pompey,t thy past deeds by turns infest. 
 And jealous glory burns within thy breast; 
 Thy fam"d piratic laurel seems to fade. 
 Beneath successful Caesar's rising shade ; 
 His Gallic wreaths thou view'st with anxious 
 
 eyest 
 Above thy naval crowns triumphant rise. 
 Thee, Caesar, thy long labours past incite, 
 Thy use of war, and custom of the fight; 
 While bold ambition prompts thee in the race, 
 And bids thy courage scorn a second place. 
 Superior power, fierce faction's dearest care, 
 One could not brook, and one disdain'd to share. 
 Justly to name the better cause were hard. 
 While greatest names for either side declar'd : 
 Victorious Caesar by the gods was crown'd, 
 The vanquish'd party was by Cato own'd. 
 Nor came the rivals equal to the field ; 
 One to increasing years began to yield, 
 Old Age came creeping in the peaceful gown. 
 And civil functions weigli'd the soldier down; 
 Disused to arms, he turn'd him to the laws. 
 And pleas'd himself with popular applause; 
 With gifts, an<l lib'ral bounty sought for fame. 
 And loved to hear the vulgar shout his name ; 
 In his own theatre rejoic'd to sit. 
 Amidst the noisy praises of the pit. 
 
 * Julia was the daughter of Julius Ctesar, and married 
 to Ponipey. 
 
 ■(■ Pompey had triumphed over several nations, and 
 especially over the Cilician pirates, whom, though pos- 
 sessed of vast fleets, and masters of the seas, he com- 
 pelled to surrender in forty days. 
 
 X Cssar had subdued Gaul. 
 
 Careless of future ills that might betide. 
 No aid he sought to prop his failing sitle, 
 But on his former fortune much relied. 
 Still scem'd he to possess, and fill his place; 
 But stood the shadow of what once he was ; 
 So in the field with Ceres' bounty spread, 
 Uprears some ancient oak his rev'rend head ; 
 Chaplets and sacred gifts his boughs adorn. 
 And spoils of war by mighty heroes worn. 
 But the first vigour of his root now gone. 
 He stands dependent on his weight alone ; 
 All bare his naked branches are display'd, 
 And with his leafless trunk he forms a shade: 
 Yet though the winds his ruin daily threat, 
 As every blast would heave him from his seat; 
 Though thousand fairer trees the field supplies, 
 That rich in youthful verdure round him rise; 
 Fix'd in his ancient state lie yields to none, 
 And wears the honours of tlie grove alone. 
 But Ca-sar's greatness, and his strength, was more 
 Than past renown and antiquated power ; 
 'Twas not the fame of what he once had been, 
 Or tales in old records and annals seen; 
 But 'twas a valour, restless, unconfin'd. 
 Which no success could sate, nor limits bind ; 
 'Twas shame, a soldier's shame untaught to yield, 
 That blush'd for nothing but an ill-fought field ; 
 Fierce in his hopes he was, nor knew to stay. 
 Where vengeance or ambition led the way ; 
 Still y)rodigal of war whene'er withstood. 
 Nor spared to stain the guilty sword with blood; 
 Urging advantage he improved all odds. 
 And made the most of fortune and the gods; 
 Pleas'd to o'erturn whate'er witliheld his prize, 
 And saw the ruin with rejoicing eyes. 
 Such while earth trembles, and heaven thunders 
 
 loud. 
 Darts the swift lightning from the rending cloud ; 
 Fierce through the day it breaks, and in its flight 
 The dreadful blast confounds the gazer's sight; 
 Resistless in its course delights to rove. 
 And cleaves the temples of its master Jove : 
 Alike where'er it passes or returns. 
 With equal rage the fell destroyer burns; 
 Then with a whirl full in its strength retires. 
 And re-collects the force of all its scatter'd fires. 
 Motives like these the leading chiefs inspir'd; 
 But other thoughts the meaner vulgar fir'd 
 Those fatal seeds luxuriant vices sow, 
 Which ever lay a mighty people low. 
 To Rome the vanquish'd earth her tribute paid. 
 And deadly treasures to her view display'd: 
 Then truth and simple manners left the place, 
 While Riot rear'd her lewd, dishonest face; 
 Virtue to full prosperity gave way, 
 And fled from rapine, and the lust of prey. 
 On every side proud palaces arise. 
 And lavish gold each common use supplies. 
 Their fathers' frugal tables stand abhorr'd, 
 And Asia now and Afric are explor'd 
 For high-pric'd ilainties, and the citron board. 
 In silken robes the minion men appear. 
 Which maids and youthful brides should blush 
 
 to wear. 
 That age by honest poverty adorn'd. 
 Which brought the manly Romans forth, is scorn'd ; 
 
508 
 
 LUC AN. 
 
 Wherever aught pernicious does abound. 
 
 For luxury all lands are ransack'd round, 
 
 And dear-bought deaths the sinking state confound. 
 
 The Curii's and Gamilli's little field, 
 
 To vast extended territories yield ; 
 
 And foreign tenants reap the harvest now, 
 
 Where once the great dictator held his plough. 
 
 Rome, ever fond of war, was tired with ease ; 
 E'en liberty had lost the power to please : 
 Hence rage and wrath their ready minds invade. 
 And want could every wickedness persuade : 
 Hence impious power was first esteem'd a good, 
 Worth being fought with arms, and bought with 
 
 blood : 
 With glory, tyrants did their country awe, 
 And violence prescrib'd the? rule to law. 
 Hence pliant servile voices were constrain'd, 
 And force in popular assemblies reign'd ; 
 Consuls and tribunes with opposing might, 
 Join'd to confound and overturn the right : 
 Hence shameful magistrates were made for gold. 
 And a base people by themselves were sold : 
 Hence slaughter in the venal field returns. 
 And Rome her yearly competition mourns : 
 Hence debt unthrifty, careless to repay. 
 And usury still watching for its day : 
 Hence perjuries in every wrangling court; 
 And war, tne needy bankrupt's last resort. 
 
 CjEsar passing the rcbicok. 
 
 Now Caesar, onward bent, with winged haste 
 The summits of the frozen Alps had past; 
 Now near the banks of Rubicon he stood ; 
 When lo! as he survey'd the narrow flood, 
 Amidst the dusky horrors of the night, 
 A wond'rous Vision stood confest to sight. 
 Her awful head Rome's reverend image rear'd. 
 Trembling and sad the matron form appear'd : 
 A towery crown her hoary temples bound, 
 And her torn tresses rudely hung around : 
 Her naked arms uplifted ere she spoke. 
 Then groaning, thus the mournful silence broke. 
 " Presumptuous Men ! oh whither do you run ! 
 Oh whither bear ye these mine ensigns on ! 
 If friends to right, if citizens of Rome, 
 Here to your utmost barrier are you come."* 
 She said : ajid sunk within the closing shade ; 
 Astonishment and dread the chief invade, 
 Stitl' rose his starting hair ; he stood dismay'd 
 And on the bank his slackening steps were stay'd. 
 " O Thou," (at length he cried) " whose hand con- 
 trols 
 The forky fire, and rattling thunder rolls ; 
 Who, from thy capitol's exalted height, 
 Dost o'er the wide-spread city cast thy sight ! 
 Ye Phrygian gods, who guard the Julian line,| 
 Ye mysteries of Romulus divine ! 
 Thou Jove ! to whom from young Ascanius came 
 Thine Alban temple, and thy Latial name : 
 
 •The Rubicon divided Cisalpine Gaul from Italy, and 
 was the eastern limit of Ccesar-s province. 
 
 t Cajsar pretended to be descended from liilus or As- 
 canius, the sou of jEueas; and the gods he invokes are 
 the household gods which he brought from Troy. 
 
 And Thou, immortal sacred Vestal Flame ! 
 
 But chief, oh ! chiefly Thou, majestic Rome, 
 
 ?vly first, my great Divinity, to whom 
 
 Thy still successful CaBsar, am I come ; 
 
 Nor do thou fear the sword's destructive rage, 
 
 With thee my arms no impious war shall wage; 
 
 On him thy hate, on him thy curse bestow 
 
 Who would persuade thee Ccesar is thy foe ; 
 
 And, since to thee I consecrate my toil. 
 
 Oh favour thou my cause, and on thy soldier smile." 
 
 He said; and straight, impatient of delay, 
 
 Across the swelling flood pursued his way. 
 
 While with hot skies the fervent summer glows, 
 
 'J"he Rubicon an humble river flows; 
 
 Through lowly vales he cuts his winding way, 
 
 And rolls his ruddy waters to the sea. 
 
 His bank on either side a limit stands, 
 
 Between the Gallic and Ausonian lands. 
 
 But stronger now the wintry torrent grows, 
 
 For wetting winds had thawed the Alpine snows, 
 
 And Cynthia, rising with a blunted beam 
 
 In the third circle, drove her watery team, 
 
 A signal sure to raise the swelling stream. 
 
 For this, to stem the rapid water's course. 
 
 First plunged amidst the flood the bolder horse; 
 
 With strength opposed against the stream they 
 
 lead. 
 While to the smoother ford the foot with ease suc- 
 ceed. 
 The Leader now had pass'd the torrent o'er, 
 And reach'd fair Italy's forbidden shore ; 
 Then rearing on the hostile bank his head, 
 " Here, farewell, Peace and injured Laws" (he said.) 
 '• Since faith is broke and leagues are set aside, 
 Henceforth thou. Goddess Fortune, art my guide ; 
 Let fate and war the great event decide." 
 
 THE DRUIDS. 
 
 You too, ye bards ! whom sacred raptures fire, 
 Who chaunt your heroes to your country's lyre ; 
 Who consecrate, in your immortal strain. 
 Brave patriot souls in righteous battle slain; 
 Securely now the tuneful talk renew. 
 And noblest themes in deathless songs pursue. 
 The Druids now, while arms are heard no more, 
 Old mysteries and barb'rous rites restore: 
 A tribe who singular religion love, 
 And haunt the lonely coverts of the grove. 
 To these, and these of all mankind alone. 
 The gods are sure reveal'd, or sure unknown. 
 If dying mortals' dooms they sing aright. 
 No ghosts descend to dwell in dreadful night: 
 No parting souls to grisly Pluto go. 
 Nor si-ek the dreary silent shades below : 
 But forth they fly immortal in their kind. 
 And other bodies in new worlds they find. 
 Thus life for ever runs its endless race. 
 And like a line, death but divides the space, 
 A stop which can but for a moment last, 
 A point between the future and the past. 
 Thrice happy they beneath their northern skies, 
 Who that worst fear, the fear of death, despise ; 
 Hence they no cares for this frail being feel, 
 But rush undaunted on the pointed steel; 
 
LUCAN. 
 
 Provoke approaching fate, and bravely scorn 
 To spare that life which must so soon return.* 
 
 Book II. 
 
 CATC AND MARTfA. 
 
 Now 'gan the sun to Hft his d.iwning light, 
 Before him fled the colder shades of iiiij;ht; 
 When lo ! the sounding doors are heard to turn, 
 Chaste Martia comes from dead Hortensius' urn, 
 Once to a better husband's happier bed. 
 With bridal rites, a virgin was she led. 
 When every debt of love and duty paid, 
 And thrice a parent by Lucina made; 
 The teeming matron, at her lord's command. 
 To glad Hortensius gave her plighted hand ; 
 With a fair stock his barren house to grace. 
 And mingle by the mother's side the race. 
 At length this husband in his ashes laid, 
 And every rite of due religion jiaid, 
 Forth from his monument the mournful dame, 
 With beaten breasts, and locks dishcvell'd came; 
 Then with a pale, dejected, rueful look, 
 Thus pleasing, to her former lord she spoke."}" 
 
 " While nature yet with vigour fed my veins. 
 And made me eciual to a mother's pains. 
 To thee obedient, 1 thy house forsook, 
 And to my arms another husband took ; 
 My powers at length with genial labours worn. 
 Weary to thee, and wasted I return. 
 At length a barren wedlock let me prove. 
 Give me the name, without the joys of love ; 
 No more to be abandon'd, let me come. 
 That Cato's wife may live upon my tomb. 
 Nor ask I now thy happiness to share, 
 I seek thy days of toil, thy nights of care : 
 Give me, with thee, to meet my country's foe. 
 Thy weary marches and thy camps to know; 
 Nor let posterity with shame record, 
 Corneliat foUow'd, Martia left, her lord." 
 
 She said. The hero's maidy heart was moved, 
 And the chaste matron's virtuous suit approved, 
 And though the times far diii'rmg Ihouglits de- 
 mand, 
 Though war dissents from hymen's holy band; 
 In plain unsolemn wise his faith he plights, 
 And calls the gods to view tjie lonely rites. 
 No genial bed, with rich embroidery graced, 
 On iv'ry steps in lofty state was placed. 
 But, as she was, in funeral attire, 
 With all the sadness sorrow could inspire. 
 With eyes dejected, with a joyless face, 
 Siie met her husband's, like a son's embrace. 
 No Sabine mirth provokes the bridegroom's ears, 
 Nor sprightly wit the glad ar^sembly cheijrs. 
 No friends, nor ev'n tiieirt;hildien, grace the feast, 
 Brutus attends, their only nuptial guest: 
 
 ♦Swiftly the soul of British flame 
 
 Animates some kindred frame. 
 
 Swiftly to light and liie triumphant flics, 
 
 Again exults in martial ecstasies. 
 
 Again for freedom fights, again for freedom dies. 
 
 Mason's Caractacus. 
 t See this story in Plutarch. 
 t The wife of Pompey. 
 
 He stands a witness of the silent rite. 
 
 And sees the melancholy pair unite. 
 
 Nor he, the chief bis sacred visage cheer'd, 
 
 Nor smoothed his matted locks, or horrid beard ; 
 
 Nor dcign'd his heart one thought of joy to know, 
 
 But met his Martia with the same stern brow. 
 
 (For when he saw the fatal factions arm. 
 
 The coming war, and Rome's impending harm ; 
 
 Regardless quite of ev'ry other care. 
 
 Unshorn he left his loose neglected hair; 
 
 Rude hung the hoary honours of his head. 
 
 And a foul growth his mournful cheeks o'erspread. 
 
 No stings of private hate his peace infest, 
 
 Nor partial favour grew upon his breast; 
 
 But safe from prejudice, he kept his mind 
 
 Free, and at leisure to lament mankind.) 
 
 Nor could his former love's returning fire. 
 
 The warmth of one connubial wish inspire, 
 
 But strongly he withstood the just desire. 
 
 These were the stricter manners of the man, 
 
 And tills the stubborn course in which they ran; 
 
 The golden mean unchanging to jiursue, 
 
 Constant to keep the purposed end in view ; 
 
 Religiously to follow nature's laws, 
 
 And die with pleasure in his country's cause, 
 
 'J"o think he was not for himself design'd, 
 
 But born to be of use to all mankind. 
 
 To hirn 'twas feasting, hunger to repress ; 
 
 And home-spun garments were his costly dress: 
 
 No marble pillars rear'd his roof on high, 
 
 'Twas warm, and kept him from the winter sky. 
 
 He .-iought no end of marriage, but increase, 
 
 Nor vvish'd a pleasure, but his country's peace: 
 
 That took U|i all the tend'rest parts of life, 
 
 His country was his children and his wife. 
 
 From justice' righteous lore he never swerved, 
 
 But rigidly his hoi.esty preserved. 
 
 On uiiivoraal good his thoughts were bent, 
 
 Nor knew what gain, or self-atlcction meant ; 
 
 And while his benefits the public share, 
 
 Calo was always last in Cato's care. 
 
 c.usAn. 
 Rome, the contending parties' noblest prize, 
 To every wish but Cajsar's ndglit suffice 
 But he with empire fired and vast desires, 
 To all. and nothing less tlian all, aspires; 
 He reckons not th(^ past, while aught remain'd 
 Great to be done, or mighty to be gain'd. 
 
 Book IV. 
 
 FItlE.vnLT IMEETIXG BETWEEX THE SOLDIETIS OF 
 THE TWO CAMPS. 
 
 Neah ncighb'ring now the cam[)S intrenched are 
 
 seen. 
 With scarce a narrow interval between. 
 
 Sooti as their eyes o'ershoot the middle space, 
 From either hosts, sires, sons, and brothers trace 
 'J'he well-known features of some kindred face. 
 Then first their hearts with tenderness were struck. 
 First with remor.ie for civil rage they shook ; 
 Stilf'ning with horror cold, and dire amaze, 
 Awhile in silent interviews they gaze : 
 
 2s 2 
 
610 
 
 LUCAN. 
 
 Anon with speechless signs their swords salute, 
 While thoughts conflicting keep their masters 
 
 mute. 
 At length, disdaining still to be represt, 
 Prevailing passion rose in every breast, 
 And the vain rules of guilty war traiisgress'd. 
 As at a signal, both their trenches quit, 
 And spreading arms in close embraces knit: 
 Now friendship runs o'er all her ancient claims, 
 Guest and companion are their only names ; 
 Old neighbourhood they fondly call to mind, 
 And how their boyish years in leagues were 
 
 join'd. 
 With grief each other mutually they know. 
 And find a friend in every Roman foe. 
 Their falling tears their steely arms bedew. 
 While interrupting sighs each kiss pursue ; 
 And though their hands are yet unstain'd l)y guilt. 
 They tremble for the blood they might have spilt. 
 But speak, unhappy Roman I speak thy pain. 
 Say lor what woes thy streaming eyes complain 1 
 Why dost thou groan 1 Why beat thy sounding 
 
 breast ] 
 Why is this wild, fantastic grief exprest ? 
 Is it, that yet thy country claims thy care? 
 Dost thou the crimes of war unwilling share 1 
 Ah ! whither art thou by thy fears butray'd ! 
 How canst thou dread that power thyself hast 
 
 made ! 
 Do Cffisar's trumpets call thee 1 Scorn the sound. 
 Does he bid, march ? Dare thou to keep thy 
 
 ground. 
 So rage and slaughter shall to justice yield. 
 And fierce Erinnys quit the fatal field : 
 CiEsar in peace a private state shall know, 
 And Pompey be no longer cali'd his foe. 
 
 Appear, thou heavenly Concord ! blest appear ! 
 And shed thy better influences here. 
 Thou who the warring elements dost bind, 
 Life of the world, and safety of mankind, 
 Infuse thy sov'reign balm, and heal the wrathful 
 
 mind. 
 But if the same dire fury rages yet. 
 Too well they know what foes their swords shall 
 
 meet ; 
 No blind pretence of ignorance remains. 
 The blood they shed must flow from Roman 
 
 veins. 
 Oh! fatal truce! the brand of guilty Rome ! 
 From thee worse wars and redder slaughters come. 
 See ! with what free and unsuspecting love, 
 From camp to camp the jocund warriors rove; 
 Each to his turfy table bids his guest. 
 And Bacchus crowns the hospitable feast. 
 The grassy fires refulgent lend their li^ht, 
 While conversation sleepless wastes the night: 
 Of early feats of arms, by turns they tell, 
 Of fortunes that in various fields befell. 
 With wull-becoming pride their deeds relate. 
 And now agree, and friendly now debate: 
 At length their inauspicious hands are join'd, 
 And sacred leagues with faith renew'd they bind. 
 But oh ! what worse could cruel fate afford ! 
 The furies smiled upon the cursed accord. 
 And dyed with deeper stains the Roman sword. 
 
 Alf AUMT PERISHING WITH THIHST, 
 
 " There are few passages," says Mr. Alison in 
 his Essay on Taste, " more sublime than Lucan's 
 description of one of Pompey's armies blocked up 
 by Ca>sar in a j)art of the country where there was 
 no water, and where the soldiers were perishing 
 with thirst. After describing, very minutely, the 
 fruitless attempts to obtain relief, he proceeds in the 
 following nervous and beautiful lines, of which the 
 last circumstance is too striking to require any 
 comment." 
 
 Oh happy those to whom the barbarous Kings* 
 Left the envenom'd floods and tainted springs I 
 Caesar, be kind, and every bane prepare, 
 M^hich Cretan rocks, or Libyan Serpents bear: 
 The Romans to thy poisonous streams shall fly. 
 And conscious of the danger drink and die. 
 With secret fl imes their withering entrails burn. 
 And fiery breathings from the lungs return; 
 The shrinking veins contract their purple flood. 
 And urge, laborious, on the beating blood; 
 The heaving sighs through straiter passes blow; 
 And scorch the painful palate as they go; 
 The parch'd rough tongue night's humid vapour 
 
 draws. 
 And restless rolls withiu the clammy jaws; 
 With gaping mouths they wait the falling rain, 
 And want those floods that lately swept the plain. 
 Vainly to heaven they turn their longing eyes, 
 And fix them on the dry relentless skies. 
 Not here by sandy Afric are they curst, 
 Not Cancer's sultry line inflames their thirst ; 
 But to enhance their pain, they view below 
 Where lakes stand full, and plenteous rivers flow; 
 Between two streamsj^ expires the panting host. 
 And sinks, amidst a land of waters, lost. — 
 
 Thus prest by pinching want's unequal weight 
 The vanquish'd Leaders yield to adverse Fate: 
 Rejecting arms, they seek, at length relief 
 And sue, submissive, to the hostile chief. 
 
 Book V. 
 
 C/ESAR, UlTEASr AT THE DELAY OF MARK ANTONY, 
 LEAVES HIS CAMP BY NIGHT, AND VENTURES 
 OVER A TEMPESTUOUS SEA, IN A SMALL BARK, 
 TO HASTEN HIS MARCH. 
 
 At length the lucky chief, who oft had found 
 What vast success his rasher darings crown'd ; 
 Who saw how much the fav'ring gods had done. 
 Nor would be wanting, when they urged him on; 
 Fierce, and impatient of the tedious stay. 
 Resolves by night to prove the doubtful way : 
 Bold in a single skill' he means to go. 
 And tempt those seas that navies dare not plough. 
 'Twas now the time when cares and labours 
 cease. 
 And e'en the rage of arms was hush'd to peace : 
 
 *Jugurtha. Mithridates and Juba, when tliey were 
 vanquished by the Romans, are said to have poisoned 
 the waters as they fled. 
 
 t The Sicoris and the Iberus. 
 
LUCAN. 
 
 511 
 
 Snatch'd from their guilt and toil, the wretched 
 
 lay, 
 And slept tlie sounder for tlie painful day. 
 Through the still cainp the inghl's lliird hour re- 
 sounds. 
 And warns tlie second watches to their rounds ; 
 When through the horrors of tlie murky shade. 
 Secret the careful warrior's footsteps tread. 
 His train, unknowing, slept within his tent, 
 And fortune only followed where he went. 
 With silent anger he perceiv'd, around, 
 The sleepy sentinels bestrew tlie ground: 
 Yet, unreproving, now, he pass'd them o'er. 
 And sought with eager haste the winding shore. 
 There through the gloom, his searching eyes ex- 
 
 plor'd. 
 Where to the mouhl'ring rock a bark was moor'd. 
 The mighty master of this little boat, 
 Securely slept within a neighb'riiig cot: 
 No massy beams support his humble hall, 
 But reeds and marshy rushes wove the wall ; 
 Old shatter'd planking for a roof was spread. 
 And eoverd in from rain the needy shed. 
 Thrice on the feeble door the warrior stroolc, 
 Beneath the blow tlie trembling dwelling shook. 
 What wretch forlorn (the poor Amyclas cries) 
 Driven by the raging seas, and stormy skies. 
 To my poor lowly roof for shelter flies 1 
 He spoke ; and hasty left his homely bed. 
 With oozy flags and with'ring sea-weed spread. 
 Then from the hearth the 'smoking matcli he 
 
 takes. 
 And in the tow the drowsy fire awakes ; 
 Dry leaves, and chips, for fuel, he supplies. 
 Till kindlii:g sparks, and glitt'ring flames arise. 
 Oh happy poverty! thou greatest good, 
 Bestow'd by Heaven, but seldom understood ! 
 Here nor the cruel spoiler seeks his prey, 
 Nor ruthless armies take their dreadful way: 
 Security thy narrow limits keeps. 
 Safe are thy cottages, and sound thy sleeps. 
 Behold ! ye dangerous dwellings of the great. 
 Where gods, and godlike princes choose their 
 
 seat; 
 See in what peace the poor Amyclas lies. 
 Nor starts, though Caesar's call commands to 
 
 rise. 
 Wliat terrors had you felt that call to hear? 
 How had your towers and ramparts shook with 
 
 fear, 
 And trembled, as the inighty man drew near! 
 The door unbarr'd : Expect (the leader said) 
 Beyond thy hopes, or wishes, to be paid ; 
 If in tliis instant hour thou waft ine o'er. 
 With sj>ee(!y haste, to yon Hesperian shore. 
 No more shall want thy weary hand constrain. 
 To work thy bark upon the boisl'rous main: 
 Henceforth good days and plenty shall beiide ; 
 The gods and 1, will for thy age provide. 
 A glorious change attends thy low estate. 
 Sudden and mi:;lity riches round thee wait; 
 Be wise, and use the lucky hour of fate. 
 
 Thus he; and though in humble vestments 
 dress'd, 
 ^\)\le of himself, his words his power express'd. 
 And Ctesar in his bounty stood confess'd. 
 
 To him the weary pilot thus replies: 
 A thousand omens threaten from the skies; 
 A thousand boding signs my soul affright, 
 And warn me not to tempt the seas by night. 
 In clouds the setting sun obscur'd his head, 
 Nor painted o'er the ruddy west with red : 
 Now north, now south, he shot his parting beams, 
 And tipp'd the sullen black with gdlden gleams: 
 Pale shone his middle orb with faintish rays, 
 And sufier'd mortal eyes at ease to gaze. 
 Nor rose the silver queen of night serene, 
 Suidne and dull her bhmted horns were seen. 
 With foggy stains, and cloudy blots between. 
 Dreadful awhile she shone all fiery red. 
 Then sicken'd into pale, and hid her drooping 
 
 head. 
 Nor less I fear from that hoarse hollow roar, 
 In leafy groves, and on the sounding shore. 
 In various turns the doubtful doli)hins play, 
 And thwart, and run across, and mix tlieir way. 
 The cormorants the wairy deep forsalce. 
 And soaring herons avoid the plashy lake; 
 While, waddling on the margin of the main, 
 The crows bewets her, and prevents the rain. 
 Howe'er, if some great enterprise demand, 
 Behold, I profler thee my willing hand : 
 My vent'rous bark the troubled deep shall try. 
 To thy wish'd port her plunging prow shall ply. 
 Unless the seas resolve to beat us by. 
 
 He spoke; and spread his canvass to the wind, 
 Unmoor'd his boat, and left the shore behind. 
 Swift flew the nimble keel ; and as they past. 
 Long trails of light the shooting meteors cast; 
 E'en the fix'd fires above in motion seem. 
 Shake through the blast, and dart a rpuv'ring 
 
 beam ; 
 Black horrors on the gloomy ocean brood, 
 Anil in long ridges rolls the threat'ning flood; 
 While loud and louder murmuring winds arise, 
 And growl from every quarter of the skies. 
 When thus the trembling master, pale with fear, 
 Beholds what wrath the dreadful gods prepare; 
 My art is at a loss ; the various tide 
 Beats my unstable bark on every siile : 
 From the northwest the setting current swells. 
 While southern storms the driving rack foretells. 
 Howe'er it be, our purpos'd way is lost, 
 Nor can one relic of our wreck be tost 
 By winds, like these, on fair Hesperia's coast. 
 Our only means of safety is to yield, 
 And measure back with haste the foamy field; 
 To give our unsuccessful labour o'er. 
 And reach, while yet we may, the neighb'ring 
 shore. 
 But Cffisar, still superior to distress, 
 Fearless, and confulent of sure success, 
 Thus to the pilot loud — The seas despise, 
 .And the vain threat'ning of the noisy skies. 
 Though gods deny thee yon Ausonian strand ; 
 Yet, go, I charge thee, go at my command. 
 Thy ignorance alone can cause thy fears. 
 Thou know'st not what a freight thy vessel bears; 
 Thou know'st not I am he, to wliotn 'tis given 
 Never to want the care of watchful heaven. 
 Obedient fortune waits my humble thrall, 
 And always ready comes before I call. 
 
512 
 
 LUCAN. 
 
 Let winds, and seas, loud wars at freedom wage, 
 And waste upon thenisclves their empty rage; 
 A stronger, niiglitier dcrnion is tliy friend, 
 Thou, and thy bark, on Ca-sar's fate depend. 
 Thou stand 'st aniaz'd to view this dreadful scene ; 
 And wonder'st what the gods and fortune mean! 
 But artfully their bounties thus they raise, 
 Antl from my dangers arrogate new praise; 
 Amidst the i'ears of death they bid me live, 
 And still enhance what they are sure to give. 
 Then leave yon shore behind with all thy haste. 
 Nor shall this idle fury longer last. 
 Thy keel, auspicious, shall the storm appease, 
 Sliall glide triumphant o"er the calmer seas. 
 And reach Brnndusiiim's safer port with ease. 
 Nor can the gods ordain another now, 
 'Tis what I want, and what they must bestow. 
 
 Thus while in vaunting words the leader spoke. 
 Full on his bark the thundring tempest struck; 
 Off rips the rending canvass from the mast, 
 And whirling flits before the driving blast; 
 In every joint the groaning alder sounds, 
 And gapes wide-opening wiih a thousand wounds. 
 Now, rising all at once, and unconfin'd. 
 From every quarter roars the rushing wind : 
 First from the wide Atlantic ocean's bed, 
 Tempestuous Corus rears his dreadful head; 
 Th" obedient deep his potent breath controls. 
 And, mountain-high, the foamy flood he rolls. 
 Him the North-East, ehcount'ring fierce, defied, 
 And back rebuffeted the yielding tide. 
 The curling surges loud conflicting meet. 
 Dash their proud heads, and bellow as they beat; 
 While piercing Boreas, from the Scythian strand. 
 Ploughs up the waves, and scoops the lowest sand. 
 Nor Eurus then, I ween, was left to dwell, 
 Nor showery Notus in th' .^olian cell; 
 But each from every side, his power to boast, 
 Rang'd his proud forces ;o defend his coast. 
 Equal in might, alike they strive in vain. 
 While in the midst the seas unniov'd remain: 
 In lesser wars they yield to stormy heaven, 
 And captive waves to other deeps are driven; 
 The Tyrrhen billows dash .lEgean shores. 
 And Adria in the mix'd Ionian roars. 
 How then must earth the swelling ocean dread. 
 When floods ran higher than each mountain's 
 
 head ! 
 So when avenging Jove long time had hurl'd. 
 And tired his thunders on a hardened world : 
 New wrath, the god, new punishment display'd. 
 And caird his wat'ry brother to his aid: 
 Otfending earth to Neptune's lot he join'd. 
 And bade his floods no longer stand confin'd ; 
 At once the surges o'er the nations rise. 
 And seas are only bounded by the skies. 
 Such now tlie spreading deluge had been seen, 
 Had iiot th" almighty ruler stood between ; 
 Proud waves the cloud-compelling sire obey'd, 
 Confess'd his liand suppressing, and were stay'd. 
 
 Nor was that gloom the common shade of niglit. 
 The friendly darkness, that relieves the light ; 
 But fearfid, black, and horrible to tell, 
 A murky vapour breath'd from yawning hell: 
 So thick the mingling seas and clouds were hung. 
 Scarce could the struggling lightning gleam along. 
 
 Through nature's frame the dire convulsion 
 
 strook. 
 Heaven groan'd, the lab'ring pole and axis shook: 
 Uproar, and chaos old, prevaifd again. 
 And broke the sacred elemental chain: 
 Black fiends, unhallow'd, sought the blest abodes, 
 Profan'd the day, and mingled with the gods. 
 One only hope, when every other faii'd, 
 With Ciesar, and with nature's self, prevail'd; 
 The storm that sought their ruin, prov'd them 
 
 strong. 
 Nor could they fall, who stood that shock so long. 
 High as Leucadia's less'ning clifls arise. 
 On the tall billow's top the vessel flies; 
 While the pale master, from the surge's brow, 
 With giddy eyes surveys the depth below. 
 When straight the gaping main at once divides. 
 On naked sands the rushing bark subsides, 
 And the low liquid vale the topmast hides. 
 The trembling shipman, all distraught with fear. 
 Forgets his course, and knows not how to steer; 
 No more the useless rudder gxiides the prow. 
 To meet the rolling swell, or shun the blow. 
 
 At length the universal wreck appear'd. 
 To Cffisar's self, e'en worthy to be fear'd. 
 Why all these pains, this toil of fate, (he cries,) 
 This labour of the seas, and earth, and skies'? 
 All nature, and the gods at once alarm'd, 
 Against my little boat and me are arm'd. 
 If, oh ye powers divine! your will decrees 
 The glory of my death to these rude seas; 
 If warm, and in the fighting field to die, 
 If that, my first of wishes, you deny; 
 My soul no longer at her lot repines. 
 But yields to what your providence assigns. 
 Though immature I end my glorious days. 
 Cut short my conquest, and prevent new praise; 
 My life, already, stands the noblest theme, 
 To fill long annals of recording fame. 
 Far northern nations own me for their lord. 
 And envious factions crouch beneath my sword; 
 Inferior Pompey yields to me at home. 
 And only fills a second place in Rome. 
 My country has my high behests obey'd, 
 And at my feet her laws obedient laid ; 
 All sovreignty, all honours are my own, 
 Consul, dictator, I am all alone. 
 But thou, my only goddess, and my friend. 
 Thou, on whom all my secret prayers attend. 
 Conceal, oh Fortune ! this inglorious end. 
 Let none on earth, let none beside thee, know 
 I.sunk thus poorly to the shades below. 
 Dispose, ye gods! my carcass as yom please, 
 Deep let it drown beneath these raging seas; 
 I ask no urn my ashes to infold, 
 Nor marble monuments, nor shrines of gold; 
 Let but the world, unknowing of my doom, 
 Expect me still, and think I am to come; 
 So shall my name with terror still be heard. 
 And my return in every nation fear'd. 
 
 He spoke, and sudden, wondrous to behold, 
 High on a tenth huge wave his bark was roU'd ; 
 Nor sunk again, alternate, as before. 
 But rushing, lodgd, and fix'd upon the shore. 
 Rome, and his fortune were at once restor'd. 
 And earth again receiv'd liim for her lord. 
 
LUCAN. 
 
 513 
 
 PAHTING OF POMPET AXI) COJINKLIA. 
 
 While tlius united Ctrsar's arms ai)pear, 
 And fortune draws the great decision near; 
 Sad Ponipey"s soul uneasy tliouglits infest, 
 And his Cornelia jjains his anxious breast. 
 To distant Lesbos fain he won hi remove, 
 Far from the war, the partner of his love. 
 Oh, who can speak, what numbers can reveal 
 The tenderness, wliich pious lovers feel? 
 Who can their secret pangs and sorrows tell. 
 With all the crowd of cares that in their bosoms 
 
 dwell? 
 See what new passions now the hero knows. 
 Now first he doubts success, and fears his foes ; 
 Rome, and the world he hazards in the strife, 
 And gives up all to fortune, but his wife. 
 Oft he jirepares to speak, but knows not how, 
 Knows they must part, but cannot bid her go; 
 Defers the killing news with fond delay. 
 And ling'ring, puts off fate from day to day. 
 The fleeting shades began to leave the sky. 
 And slumber soft forsook the drooping eye : 
 When, with fond arms, the fair Cornelia prest 
 Her lord, reluctant, to her snowy breast: 
 Wond'ring, she found he shunn'd her just em- 
 brace. 
 And felt warm tears upon his manly face. 
 Heart-wounded with the sudden woe she griev'd, 
 And scarce the weeping warrior yet believ'd. 
 When, with a groan, thus he. My truest wife, 
 To say how much I love thee more than life, 
 Poorly expresses what my heart would show, 
 Since life, alas! is grown my burden now. 
 That long, too long delay'd, that dreadful doom. 
 That cruel parting hour at length is come. 
 Fierce, haughty, and collected in his mi-jht. 
 Advancing Ctesar calls me to the fight. 
 Haste then, my gentle love, from war retreat; 
 The Lesbian isle attends thy peaceful seat: 
 Nor seek, oh! seek not to increase my cares. 
 Seek not to change my purpose with thy prayers: 
 Myself, in vain, the fruitless suit have trietl, 
 And my own pleading heart has been denied. 
 Think not, that distance will increase thy fear: 
 Ruin, if ruin coines, will soon be near. 
 Too soon the fatal news shall reach thine ear. — 
 Meantime be hid, be safe from every fear; 
 While kings and nations in destruction share, 
 Shun thou the crush of my impending fate, 
 Nor let it fall on thee with all its weight. 
 Then if the gods my overthrow ordain, 
 And the fierce victor chase me o'er the plain, 
 Thou shall be left me still, my better part. 
 To soothe my cares, and heal my broken heart; 
 Thy open arms I shall be sure to meet. 
 And fly with pleasure to the dear retreat. 
 
 Stimn'd arid as;onish"d at the deadly stroke, 
 All sense, at first, the matron sad forsook. 
 Motion, and life, and speech at length returns, 
 And thus in words of heaviest woe she mourns: 
 No, Pompey! 'tis not that iny lord is dead, 
 'Tis not the hand of fate has robb"d my bed; 
 But like some base plebeian I am curs'd, 
 And by my cruel husband stand divorc"d. 
 But Ca;sar bids us part! thy father comes! 
 And we must yield to what the tyrant dooms! 
 65 
 
 Ls thy Cornelia's faith so poorly known. 
 
 That thou should'st think her .'•afer whilst alone? 
 
 Are not our loves, our lives, our fortunes one? 
 
 Canst thou, iidnmian, drive me from thy siile. 
 
 And l)id my single head the coming storm abide? 
 
 Do I not read thy purpose in thy eye? 
 
 Dost thou not hope, and wish, e'en now to die? 
 
 And can I then be safe? Yet death is free, 
 
 That last relief is not denied to me; 
 
 Though banish'd by thy harsh command I go. 
 
 Yet I will join thee in the realms below. 
 
 Thou bidst me with the pangs of absence strive. 
 
 And, till I hear thy certain loss, survive. 
 
 My vow'd obedience, what it can, shall bear ; 
 
 But, oh! my heart's a woman, and I fear. 
 
 If the good gods, indulgent to my prayer. 
 
 Should make the laws of Rome, and thee, their 
 
 care ; 
 In distant climes I may prolong my woe. 
 And be the last thy victory to know. 
 On some bleak rock, that frowns upon the deep, 
 A constant watch thy weeping wife shall keep; 
 There from each sail misfortune shall I guess. 
 And dread the bark that brings me thy success. 
 But if th' o'er-ruling powers thy cause forsake, 
 Grant me this only last request I make; 
 When thou slialr be of troops, and friends bereft, 
 And wretched (light is all thy safety left; 
 Oh! follow not the dictates of thy heart, 
 But choose a refuge in some distant part. 
 Where'er thine inauspicious bark shall steer, 
 Thy sad Cornelia's fatal shore forbear. 
 Since Csesar will be sure to seek thee there. 
 
 So saying, with a groan the inatron fled, 
 And, wild with sorrow, left her holy bed; 
 She sees all ling'ring, all delays are vain. 
 And rushes headlong to possess the pain; 
 Nor will the hurry of her griefs afford 
 One last embrace from her forsaken lord. 
 Alas, how cruel was their fate! — for two, 
 Whose lives had lasted long, and been so true, 
 To lose the pleasure of one last adieu! 
 In all the woeful days that cross'd their bliss. 
 Sure never hour was known so sad as this! 
 
 Low on the ground the fainting dame is laid; 
 Her train, ofiicious, hasten to her aid : 
 Then gently rearing, with a careful hand. 
 Support her, slow-descending o'er the strand. 
 There, while with eager arms she grasp'd the 
 
 shore. 
 Scarcely the mourner to the bark they bore. 
 Not half this grief of heart, these pangs, she knew, 
 When from her native Italy she flew: 
 Louely,»and comfortless, she takes her flight. 
 Sad seems the day, and long the sleepless night. 
 In vain her maids the downy couch provide, 
 She wants the tender partner of her side. 
 When weary oft in heaviness she lies. 
 And dozy slumber steals upon her eyes; 
 Fain, with fond arms, her lord she would have 
 
 prest, 
 But weeps to find the pillow at her breast. 
 Thouyli raging in her veins a fever burns. 
 Painful she lies, and restless oft she turns, 
 She shuns his sacred side with awful fear. 
 And would not be convinc'd he is not there. 
 
514 
 
 LUCAN. 
 
 But, oh! too soon the want shall be supplied, 
 The gods too cruelly for that provide : 
 Again, the circling hours bring back her lord, 
 And Ponipey shall be fatally restor'd.* 
 
 Book VII. 
 
 irCAX MOUHXING OVKR THE LOST IIBEBTIES OF 
 ROME. 
 
 Lo ! Liberty, long wearied by our crimes, 
 Forsakes us for some better, barb'rous climes ; 
 Beyond tha Rhine, and Tanais she flies, 
 To snowy mountains, and to frozen skies; 
 While Rome, who long pursued that chiefest 
 
 good. 
 O'er fields of slaughter, and through seas of blood. 
 In slavery, her abject state shall mourn. 
 Nor dare to hope the goddess will return. 
 Why were we ever free'? Oh why has Heaven 
 A sliort-liv'd transitory blessing given ? 
 
 Can there be gods, wlio rale yon azure sky? 
 Can they behold Emathia from on high. 
 And yet forbear to bid their lightnings fly? 
 Is it the business of a thund"ring Jove, 
 To rive tlie rocks, and blast the guiltless grove? 
 While Cassius holds the balance ia his stead, 
 And wreaks due vengeance on the tyrants head. 
 The sun ran back from Atreus' monstrous feast, 
 And his fair beams in murky clouds suppress'd; 
 Why shines he now? why loids his golden light 
 To these worse parricides, this more accursed 
 
 sight ? 
 But Chance guides all; the gods their task forego. 
 And Providence no longer reigns below. 
 
 THE GENERAL COSrLAGRATION.f 
 
 Know too, proud conqueror, thy wrath in vain 
 Strews with unburied carcasses the plain. 
 What is it to thy malice, if they burn. 
 Rot in the field, or moulder in the urn ? 
 The forms of matter all, dissolving die. 
 And lost in Nature's blending bosom lie. 
 Though now thy cruelty denies a grave. 
 These and the worhl, one common lot shall 
 
 have ; 
 One last appointed flame, by fate's decree. 
 Shall waste yon azure heavens, this earth, and 
 
 sea; 
 Shall knead the dead up in one mingled mass. 
 Where stars and they shall undistinguish'd pass. 
 And though thou scorn their fellowship, yet 
 
 know, 
 Hiuh as thy own can soar, these souls shall go; 
 Or find, perhaps, a better jilace below. 
 
 * Speaking of Cornelia, in another part of the Phar- 
 salia, our poet says : — 
 
 So was she lov'd, so winnin? was her grace, 
 
 Such lowly sweetness dwelt upon her face ; 
 
 In such humility her life she led, 
 
 E'en while her lord was Rome's commanding head, 
 
 As if his fortune were already fled. — Book viii. — 201. 
 
 + Had Lucan ever conversed with St. Peter at Kome, 
 or seen that epistle of his, wherein he speaks, on this 
 subject! 
 
 Book VIII. 
 
 rOTHINUS INSTIGATING PTOLEMY TO DESTROY 
 rOMPEY. 
 
 To strictest justice many ills belong. 
 
 And honesty is often in the wrong: 
 
 Chiefly when stubborn rules her zealots push. 
 
 To favour those whom Fortune means to crush. 
 
 But thou, oh royal Ptolemy! be wise; 
 
 Change with the gods, and fly whom Fortune 
 
 flies. 
 Not earth, from yon high heavens which we 
 
 admire. 
 Not from the wat'ry element the fire. 
 Are scver'd by distinction half so wide, 
 As int'rest and integrity divide. 
 The mighty power of kings no more prevails. 
 When Justice comes with her deciding scales. 
 Freedom for all things, and a lawless sword, 
 Alone support an arbitrary lord. 
 He that is cruel must be bold in ills. 
 And find his safety from the blood he spills. 
 For piety, and virtue's starving rules. 
 To mean retirements let them lead their fools: 
 There, may tlie}^ still ingloriously be good; 
 None can be safe in courts, who blush at blood. 
 Nor do we turn, unpitying, from distress; 
 We fly not Pompey's woes, but seek success. 
 The prudent on the prosperous still attends. 
 And none but fools choose wretches for their 
 
 friends. 
 
 Book IX. 
 
 CATO'S PRAISE OF POMPEY. 
 
 Meantime the shores, the seas, and skies 
 around. 
 With mournful cries for Pompey's death resound. 
 A rare example have their sorrow^s shown. 
 Yet in no age beside, nor people known, 
 How falling power did with compassion meet, 
 And crowds deplor'd the ruins of the great. 
 
 But oh ! not all the sorrows of the crowd 
 That spoke tlieir free impatient thoughts aloud, 
 That tax'cl the gods, as authors of their woe. 
 And charg'd them with neglect of things below, 
 Not all the marks of the wild people's love. 
 The hero's soul, like Cato's praise, could move: 
 Few were his words, but from an honest heart. 
 Where faction and where favour had no part, 
 But truth made up for passion and for art. 
 
 " We've lost a Roman citizen, (he said,) 
 One of the noblest of that name is dead; 
 Who, though not equal to our fathers found. 
 Nor by their strictest rules of justice bound, 
 Yet from his faults this benefit we draw. 
 He, for his country's good, transgress'd her law, 
 'J'o keep a bold, licentious age in awe. 
 Rome held her freedom still, though he was 
 
 great; 
 He sway'd the senate, but they rul'd the state. 
 When crowds were willing to have worn his 
 
 chain. 
 He chose his private station to retain. 
 That all might free, and equal all remain. 
 War's boundless power he never sought to use, 
 Nor ask'd, but what the people might refuse : 
 
LUCAN. 
 
 515 
 
 Much he possess'd, and wealthy was his store, 
 
 Yet still he gatherd but to give the more, 
 
 And Rome, while he was rich, could ne'er be 
 
 poor. 
 He drew the sword, but knew its rage to charm. 
 And lov'd peace best, when ho was Ibrc'd to arm ; 
 Unmov"d with all the glittering pomp of power, 
 He took with joy, but laid it down with more: 
 His chaster household, and his frugal board, 
 Nor lewdness did, nor luxury atfortl. 
 E'en in the highest fortunes of their lord. 
 His noble name, his country's honour grown, 
 Was venerably round the nations known. 
 And as Rome's fairest light and brightest glory 
 
 shone. 
 When betwixt Marius and fierce Sylla tost, 
 The commonwealth her ancient freedom lost. 
 Some shadow yet was left, some show of power ; 
 Now e'en the name with Pompey is no more : 
 Senate and people all at once are gone, 
 Nor need the tyrant blush to mount the throne. 
 Oh happy Pompey ! happy in thy fate, 
 Ha])py by falling with the falling state. 
 Thy death a benefit the gods did grant, 
 Tliou might'st have liv'd those Pharian swords 
 
 to want. 
 Freedom, at least, thou didst by dying gain." 
 
 CATO ly THE DESETITS OF AFRICA. 
 
 Now near approaching to the burning zone, 
 To warmer, calmer skies they journey'd on. 
 The slackning storms the neighb'ring sun confess, 
 The heat strikes fiercer, and the winds grow less. 
 Whilst parching thirst and fainting sweats in- 
 crease. 
 As forward on tlie weary way they went. 
 Panting with drought, and all with labour spent. 
 Amidst the desert, desolate and dry. 
 One chanc'd a little trickling spring to spy : 
 Proud of the prize, he drain'd the scanty store, 
 And in his helmet to the chieftain bore. 
 Around, in crowds, the thirsty legions stood. 
 Their throats and clammy jaws with dust be- 
 
 strew'd. 
 And all with wishful eyes the liquid treasure 
 
 view'd. 
 Around the leader cast his careful look. 
 Sternly, the tempting envied gift he took. 
 Held it, and thus the giver fierce bespoke: 
 '■And thiuk'st thou then that I want virtue most! 
 Am I the meanest of this Roman host! 
 Am I the first soft coward that complains! 
 That shrinks, unequal to these glorious pains! 
 Am T in ease and infamy the first! 
 Rather be thou, base as thou art, accurs'd. 
 Thou that dar'st drink, when all beside thee 
 
 thirst." 
 He said; and ^vrathful stretching forth his hand, 
 Pour'd out the jirecious draught iq)on the sand. 
 Well did the water thus for all provide. 
 Envied by none, while thus to all denied, 
 A little thus the gen'ral want supplied. 
 
 Now to the sacred temple they draw near, 
 Whose only altars Liliyan lauds revere ; 
 There, but imlike the Jove by Rome ador'd, 
 A form uncouth, stands heaven's almighty Lord. 
 
 No regal ensigns grace his potent hand, 
 
 Nor shakes he there the lightning's flaming 
 
 brand ; 
 But, ruder to behold, a horned ram 
 Belies the god, and Amnion is his name. 
 There though he reigns, unrivall'd and alone, 
 O'er the rich neighbours of the torrid zone ; 
 Though swarthy Ethiops are to him conlin'd. 
 With Araby the blest, and wealthy Ind ; 
 Yet no ])rou(l domes are rais'd, no gems are seen. 
 To blaze uijon his shrines with costly sheen; 
 Blit plain and poor, and unprofan'd he stood, 
 Such as, to whom our great forefathers bow'd : 
 A god of pious times, and days of old. 
 That keeps his temple safe I'rom Roman gold. 
 Here, and here only, through wide Libya's space. 
 Tall trees the land and verdant herbage grace; 
 Here the loose sands by plenteous springs are 
 
 boimd. 
 Knit to a mass, and moulded into ground : 
 Here smiling nature wears a fertile dress. 
 And all things here the present god confess. 
 Before the temple's entrance, at the gate, 
 Attending crowds of eastern pilgrims wait: 
 These from the horned god expect relief: 
 But all give way belbre the Latian chief. 
 His host, (as crowds are superstitious still) 
 Curious of fate, of future good and ill. 
 And fond to prove prophetic Ammon's skill. 
 Entreat their leader to the god would go. 
 And froni his oracle Rome's fortunes know; 
 But Labienus chief the thought approv'd. 
 And thus the common suit to Cato mov'd. 
 
 "Chance, and the fortune of the way, he said. 
 Have brought Jove's sacred counsels to our aid : 
 This greatest of the gods, this mighty chief. 
 In each distress shall be a sure relief; 
 Shall point the distant dangers from afar, 
 And teach the future fortunes of the war. 
 I'o thee, O Cato! pious! wise! and just! 
 Their dark decrees the cautious gods shall trust; 
 To thee their fore-determined will shall tell: 
 Their will has been thy law, and thou hast kept 
 
 it well. 
 Fate bids thee now the noble thought improve; 
 Fate brings thee here, to meet and talk with Jove. 
 Inquire betimes, what various chance shall come 
 To impious Ca'sar, and thy native Rome ; 
 Try to avert, at least thy country's doom. 
 Ask if these arms our freedom shall restore: 
 Or else, if laws and right shall be no more. 
 Be thy great breast with sacred knowledge 
 
 fraught. 
 To lead us in the wand'ring maze of thought: 
 Thou, that to Virtue ever wert inclin'd. 
 Learn what it is, how certainly defin'd, 
 And leave some perfect ride to guide mankind." 
 
 Full of the god that dwelt within his breast, 
 The hero thus his secret mind express'd. 
 And inborn truths reveal'd ; truths which might 
 
 well 
 Become e'en oracles themselves to tell. 
 "What, Laljienus! would thy fond desire 
 Of horned Jove's prophetic shriiie inquire, 
 Whether to seek in arms a glorious doom, 
 Or basely live, and see a king in Rome 1 
 
516 
 
 SILIUS-ITALICUS. 
 
 If life be nothing more than death's delay, 
 
 If impious force can honest minds dismay, 
 
 Or probity may Fortune's frown disdain, 
 
 If well to mean is all that Virtue can. 
 
 And right, dependent on itself alone, 
 
 Gains no addition from success — 'tis known : 
 
 Fix'd ill my heart these constant truths I bear. 
 
 And Ammon cannot write them deeper there. 
 
 Our souls allied to God, within them feel 
 
 The secret dictates of the Almighty will; 
 
 This is his voice, — be this our oracle. 
 
 When first his breath the seeds of life instill'd, ♦ 
 
 All that we ought to know was then reveal'd. 
 
 Nor can we think the omnipresent Mind 
 
 Has truth to Libya's desert sands confined. 
 
 There known to few, obscured and lost to lie. — 
 
 Is there a temple of the Deity 
 
 Except earth, sea, and air, yon azure pole. 
 
 And chief, his holiest shrine, the virtuous soul ! 
 
 Where'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move, 
 
 This wide, this boundless universe, is Jove. 
 
 Let abject minds, which doubt because they fear, 
 
 With pious awe to juggling priests repair; 
 
 I credit not what lying prophets tell — 
 
 Death is the only certain oracle." 
 
 Foremost on foot he treads the burning sand. 
 Bearing his arras in his own patient hand ; 
 Scorning another's weary neck to press, 
 Or in a lazy chariot loll at ease : 
 Sparing of sleep, still for the rest he wakes. 
 And at the fountain last his thirst he slakes ; 
 Whene'er by chance some living stream is found. 
 He stands and sees the cooling draughts go round. 
 Stays till the last and meanest drudge be past, 
 And till his slaves have drunk, disdains to taste. 
 If true good men deserve immortal fame. 
 If Virtue, though distrest, be still the same; 
 Whate'er our Fathers greatly dared to do, 
 Whate'er they bravely bore, and wisely knew. 
 Their virtues all are his, and all their praise his due. 
 Whoe'er, with battles fortunately fought. 
 Whoe'er, with Roman blood, such honours brought ] 
 This triumph, this, on Libya's utmost bound, 
 With death and desolation compass'd round 
 To all thy glories, Pompey, I prefer. 
 Thy trophies, and thy third triumphal car. 
 To Marius' mighty name and great Jugurthine 
 
 war. — 
 His country's Father here, O Rome, behold. 
 Worthy thy temples, priests, and shrines of gold ! 
 If e'er thou break thy lordly Master's chain. 
 If Liberty be e'er restored again, 
 
 Him shalt thou place in thy divine abodes. 
 Swear by his holy name and rank him with thy 
 gods. 
 
 Book X. 
 
 ALEXAXDEU THE GREAT. 
 
 Here the vain youth, who made the world his prize, 
 
 That prosperous robber, Alexander lies : 
 
 When pitying death, at length, had freed mankind, 
 
 To sacred rest his bones were here consign'd : 
 
 His bones, that better had been toss'd and hurl'd, 
 
 With just contempt, around the injured world. 
 
 But Fortune spared the dead ; and partial Fate, 
 
 For ages, fix'd his Pharian empire's date.* 
 
 If e'er our long-lost liberty return. 
 
 That carcass is reserved for public scorn : 
 
 Now, it remains a monument confest, 
 
 How one proud man could lord it o'er the rest 
 
 To Macedon, a corner of the earth. 
 
 The vast ambitious spoiler owed his birth ; 
 
 There, soon, he scorn'd his father's humbler reign, 
 
 And view'd his vanquish'd Athens with disdain. 
 
 Driven headlong on, by fate's resistless force. 
 
 Through Asia's realms he took his dreadful course ; 
 
 His ruthless sword laid human nature waste. 
 
 And desolation follow'd where he pass'd. 
 
 Red Ganges blush'd, and famed Euphrates' flood, 
 
 With Persian this, and that with Indian blood. 
 
 Such is the bolt which angry Jove employs. 
 
 When, undistinguishing, his wrath destroys: 
 
 Such to mankind, portentous meteors rise. 
 
 Trouble the gazing earth, and blast the skies. 
 
 Nor flame, nor flood, his restless rage withstand, 
 
 Nor Syrts unfaithful, nor the Libyan sand: 
 
 O'er waves unknown he meditates his way, 
 
 And seeks the boundless empire of the sea ; 
 
 E'en to the utmost west he would have gone, 
 
 Where Tethys' lap receives the setting sun ; 
 
 Around each pole his circuit would have made, 
 
 And drunk from secret Nile's remotest head. 
 
 When nature's hand his wild ambition stay'd ; 
 
 With him, that power his pride had loved so well, 
 
 His monstrous, universal empire, fell : 
 
 No heir, no just successor left behind. 
 
 Eternal wars he to his friends assign'd. 
 
 To tear the world, and scramble for mankind.-|' 
 
 * From the first Ptolemy who succeeded Alexander, to 
 the worthless prince, who murdered Pompey, about two 
 hundred and eighty years. 
 
 tOur Milton entertained a like reverence for "great 
 conquerors." — See Par. Lost, xi. 691, ice, and Far. Reg. 
 ill. 71, &c. 
 
 SILIUS-ITALICUS. 
 
 [Born about 21— Died about 99, A. D.] 
 
 Caius Silius-Italicus is supposed to have been Nero was assasinated, and afterwards acquired much 
 of a noble family, and born either at Italica in Spain, j honour as pro-consul in Asia, under Vespasian. In 
 or at Corfiniura in Italy, which, according to Strabo, j the decline of lite, he retired into Campania, and, 
 had the name of Italica given to it during the Social ■ being afliicted with an incurable disease, put an end 
 War. He rose to the consulate the same year that 1 to his own life, by abstaining from all sustenance. 
 
SILIUS-ITALICUS. 
 
 517 
 
 FROM THE PUNIC WAR. 
 
 PASSAGE OF HANNIBAL OVER THE ALPS. 
 
 Beyond the Pyrenean's lofty bound, 
 
 Tlirough blackening forests, sliagg'd with pine 
 
 around. 
 The Carthaginian pass'd ; and fierce explored 
 The Volcan champaign with his wasting sword. 
 Then trod the threatening banks with hastening 
 
 force, 
 Where Rhone, high-swelling, rolls its sweeping 
 
 course. 
 From Alpine heights, and steep rocks capp'd 
 
 with snow. 
 Gushes the Rhone, wiiere Gaul is stretch'd below. 
 Cleaves with a mighty surge the foaming plain. 
 And with broad torrent rushes in the main. 
 Swollen Arar mingles slow its lingering tide, 
 That, silent gliding, scarcely seems to glide: 
 Caught in the headlong whirlpool, breaks away, 
 Snatch'd through the plains, and starting from 
 
 delay; 
 Plunged in the deep the hurried stream is tost, 
 And in the greater flood its name is lost. 
 Alert the troops its bridgeless current brave, 
 With head and neck uprais'd above the wave, 
 Secure their steely swords, or firm divide. 
 With sinewy arms, the strong and boisterous tide. 
 The war steed, bound on rafts, the river treads ; 
 Nor the vast elephant, retarding, dreads 
 To tempt the ford ; while scattered earth they 
 
 throw 
 O'er the tied planks that hide the stream below. 
 Loosed from the banks the grailual cord extends. 
 And on the flood the unconscious beast descends. 
 As the troop'd quadrupeds, down sliding slow, 
 Launch'd on the stream, that, quivering, dasli'd 
 
 below, 
 Beneath the incumbent weight, with starting tide. 
 The rapid Rhone pour'd back on every side: 
 Toss'd its white eddies oer the frothy strand, 
 And, sullen, murmur'd on its chafing sand. 
 Now stretch'd the onward host their long array. 
 Through the Trioastine plains; and wound their 
 
 way 
 O'er smooth ascents, and where Vocontia yields 
 The level champaign of her verdant fields. 
 Athwart their easy march Druentia spread 
 The devastation of its torrent bed : 
 Turbid with stones and trunks of trees, descends 
 The Alpine stream: the ashen forests rends; 
 Rolls mountain fragments, crumbling to the shock. 
 And beats with raving surge the channel'd rock. 
 Of nameless de[)th, its ever-changing bed 
 Betrays the fording warriors' faithless tread ; 
 The broad and flat pontoon is launch'd in vain. 
 High swells the flood with deluges of rain ; 
 Snatch'd with his arms, the staggering soldier 
 
 slides, 
 And mangled bodies toss in gulfy tides. 
 But now, the o'erhanging Alps, in prospect near, 
 Ertace remember'd toils in future fear. 
 While with eternal frost, with hailstones piled. 
 The ice of ages grasps those summits wild. 
 Stiffening with snow, the mountain soars in air. 
 And fronts the rising sun, unmelted by the glare. 
 
 As the Tartarean gulf, beneath the ground, 
 Yawns to the gloomy lake in hell's profound; 
 So high earth's heaving mass the air invades. 
 And shrouds the heaven with intercepting shades. 
 No spring, no summer, strews its glories here. 
 Lone winter dwells upon these summits drear. 
 And guards his mansion round the endless year. 
 Mustering from far, around his grisly form 
 Black rains, and hail-storm showers, and clouds 
 
 of storm. 
 Here in their wrathful kingdom whirlwinds roam, 
 And the blasts struggle in their Alpine home. 
 The upward sight a swimming darkness shrouds, 
 And the high crags recede into the clouds. 
 First Hercules those untried heights explored, 
 And midst theaerial hills adventurous soar'd ; 
 The gods beheld him cleave through many a 
 
 cloud, 
 While sinking rocks beneath his footsteps bow'd, 
 And, striving, leave the vanquish'd steeps below, 
 Where never foot had touch'd the eternal snow. 
 Did Taurus, piled on Athos, pierce tire skies, 
 And Mimas, heav'd on Rhodope, arise, 
 H;emus its steepy mass on Othrys roll, 
 And Pelion, rear'd on Ossa, shade the pole, 
 Mountain on mountain would in vain be hurl'd, 
 And lessening shrink beside the Alpine world. 
 A lingering, holy dread, the soldier bound. 
 His step hung doubtful, as on sacred ground : 
 It seem'd that Nature's self the access denied, 
 That their invading arms the gods defied. 
 But no rude Alp, no terror of the scene, 
 Mov'd Hannibal, (►ndaunted and serene: 
 Indignant sadness only chang'd his brow, 
 As with exhorting words he quicken'd now 
 Their languid hopes and hearts: "What shame 
 
 were ours. 
 Tired with the favour of the heavenly powers. 
 Sick of our long success, those glorious bays 
 That crown'd the labour of our well-fought days ; 
 To turn our recreant backs on mountain snows. 
 And slothful yield, where only rocks are foes'? 
 Oh ! now, my friends, e'en now, believe, ye climb 
 Despotic Roine's proud walls, and tread, sublime. 
 The capitol of Jove! thus, thus, we gain 
 The prize of toil, and Tiber owns our chain." 
 
 He spoke : nor they delay'd : the troops he drew 
 Up the steep hills, their promis'd spoil in view : 
 Transgress'd the Herculean road, and first made 
 
 known 
 Tracts yet untrodden, and a path their own ; 
 When inaccessible the desert rose. 
 He burst a passage through forbidden snows. 
 He first the opposing ridge ascending tried, 
 And bade the unconquerable clifl" subside ; 
 Cheer'd on the lingering troops, and, beckoning 
 
 high, 
 Stood on the crag, and shouted from the sky. 
 Oft when the slippery path belied the tread. 
 And concrete frost the whitening clifl" bespread, 
 Tlirough the reluctant ice his arm explored 
 The upward track, that open'd to his sword. 
 Oft the thawed surface from the footsteps shrank, 
 Suck'd in the absorbing gulf the warriors sank; 
 Or from high ridge the mass of rushing snow 
 In humid ruia whelm'd the ranks below, 
 2T 
 
518 
 
 STATIUS. 
 
 On dusky wings the west wind swept the heaven, 
 Full in their face the snowy whirls were driven ; 
 Now from their empty grasp tlie arms are torn, 
 And sudden on the howling whirlwind borne ; 
 Snatch'd on the blast, the wrested weapons fly, 
 And wheel in airy eddies round the sky — 
 When, striving o'er th' ascent, the height they 
 
 gain. 
 With planted foot, increasing toils remain : 
 Yet other heights their upward view surprise. 
 And opening mountains upon mountains rise. 
 No joy results from breathless efforts past. 
 The plains are won, yet still the mountains 
 
 last; 
 Repeated summits fright their aching eyes, 
 While one white heap of frost in circling prospect 
 
 lies. 
 Thus in mid sea the mariner explores, 
 With fruitless longing, the receded shores : 
 When no fresh wind, with spirit-stirring gale, 
 Bends the tall mast, or fills the flagging sail ; 
 O'er boundless deeps his eyes exhausted rove, 
 And rest, relieved, upon the skies above. 
 
 O'er jagged heights, and icy fragments rude. 
 Thus climb they, midst the mountain solitude. 
 And from the rocky summits, haggard show 
 Their half-wild visage, clotted thick with snow — 
 Continual drizzlings of the drifting air 
 Scar their rough cheeks, and stiffen in their hair. 
 Now, pour'd from craggy dens, a headlong force. 
 The Alpine hordes hang threat'ning on their 
 
 course ; 
 Track the known thickets, beat the mountain snow. 
 Bound o'er tlie steeps, and, hovering, hem the foe. 
 Here chang'd the scene ; the snows were crim- 
 
 son'd o'er. 
 The hard ice trickled to the tepid gore ; 
 With pawing hoof the courser delv'd the ground. 
 And rigid frost his clinging fetlock bound ; 
 Nor yet his slippery fall the peril ends. 
 The fracturing ice the bony socket rends. 
 Twelve times they measur'd the long light of day. 
 And nights bleak gloom, and urged through 
 
 wounds their way ; 
 Till on the topmost ridge their camp was flung. 
 High o'er the steepy crags, in airy distance, hung. 
 
 STATIUS. 
 
 r^om about the middle, to the end of the first century.] 
 
 PuBLius Papinius Statius was the son of 
 Papinius Statius, (a writer of some eminence in 
 his day,) and born at Naples. He became so 
 popular as a poet, or rather as a rehearser, that 
 all Rome, according to Juvenal, would flock to 
 hear him. 
 
 When Statius fix'd a morning to recite 
 His Thebaid to tlie town, with what delight 
 
 They flock'd to hear! with what fond rapture hung 
 On the sweet strains, made sweeter by his tongue '. 
 
 Gifford. 
 Besides the Thebaid, (in the composition and 
 revision of which he is said to have spent twelve 
 years,) Statius composed several minor pieces, 
 under the title of Sylvse, and left a fragment at 
 his death, entitled tire Achilleid. 
 
 FROM THE THEBAID. 
 
 Book VI. 
 
 Third in the labours of the disc came on, 
 With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon ; 
 Artful and strong, he pois'd the well known 
 
 weight. 
 By Phlegyas warn'd, and fir'd by Mnestheus' 
 
 fate. 
 That to avoid, and this to emulate. 
 His vigorous arm he tried before he flung, 
 Brac'd all his nerves, and every sinew strung; 
 Then, with a tempest's whirl, and wary eye. 
 Pursued his cast, and hurl'd the orb on high: 
 The orb on high, tenacious of its course. 
 True to the mighty arm that gave it force, 
 Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see 
 Its ancient lord secure of victory. 
 The theatre's green height and woody wall 
 Tremble, ere it precipitates its fall ; 
 
 The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving 
 
 ground. 
 While vales, and woods, and echoing hills re- 
 bound. 
 As when from j52tna's smoking summit broke. 
 The eyeless Cyclops heav'd the craggy rock ; 
 Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar, 
 And parting surges round the vessel roar; 
 'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm, 
 And scarce Ulysses scap'd his giant arm. 
 A tiger's pride the victor bore away. 
 With native spots and artful labour gay; 
 A shining border round the margin roU'd, 
 And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold. 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 How have I wrong'd thee. Sleep, thou gentlest 
 
 power 
 Of heaven ! that I alone, at night's dread hour, 
 
MARTIAL. 
 
 519 
 
 Still from thy soft embraces am repress'd, 
 Nor drink oblivion on thy balmy breast? 
 Now every field and every ilock is thine, 
 And seeming slumbers bend tlie mountain pine ; 
 Hush'd is die tempests howl, the torrent's 
 
 roar, 
 And the smooth wave lies pillow'd on the shore. 
 Seven times the moon returns; yet pale and 
 
 weak, 
 Distemper sits upon my faded cheek : 
 The emerging stars, from ^tna"s mount that rise, 
 And Venus' fires have re-illumed the skies; 
 Still, past my plaints, Aurora's chariot flew ; 
 Her shaken lash dropped cold the pitying dew. 
 Can I endure? not if to me were given 
 The eyes of Argus, sentinel of heaven ; 
 
 Those thousand eyes, that watch alternate kept. 
 
 Nor all o"er all his body waked or slept. 
 
 Ah me ! yet now, beneath night's lengthening 
 
 shade. 
 Some youth's twin'd arms enfold the twining 
 
 maid ; 
 Willing he wakes, while midnight hours roll on, 
 And scorns thee. Sleep ! and waves thee to be 
 
 gone. 
 Come, then, from them ! oh leave their bed for 
 
 mine ; 
 I bid thee not with all thy plumes incline 
 On my bow'd lids; this kindest boon beseems 
 The happy crowd, that share thy softest dreams ; 
 Let thy wand's tip but touch my closing eye, 
 Or, lightly hovering, skim, and pass me by. 
 
 MARTIAL. 
 
 [Bom about 40,— Died about 105, A. D.] 
 
 Marcus ViiERius Martialis was a native 
 of Bilbilis (now Arragon) in Spain. He migrated 
 to Rome when very young, and was destined for 
 the bar ; but his inclinations leading him to poetry, 
 he soon acquired a high reputation by his satiric 
 epigrams.* He was patronized by Silius-Italicus 
 
 * The example of Martial has associated the idea of a 
 sting or point with the epigram, which implied originally 
 nothing more than a short and simple inscription. 
 
 and the younger Pliny, received the rank of knight- 
 hood from the emperor Domitian, and acquired 
 a considerable estate by his marriage with a lady 
 of the name of Marcel la. 
 
 For the general character of Martial's writ- 
 ings, though not, perhaps, of his life, we may 
 refer to the following line in one of his own epi- 
 grams : — 
 
 " Lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba est." 
 
 TO CATO. 
 
 Why dost thou come, great censor of the age. 
 To see the loose diversions of the stage? 
 With awful coiuiienance, and brow severe. 
 What, in the name of goodness, dost thou here? 
 See the mix'd crowd ! how giddy, lewd, and vain ! 
 Didst thou come in but to go out again? 
 
 TO DECIANUS. 
 That you, like Thrasea, or like Cato, great. 
 Pursue their ma.\ims, but decline their fate; 
 Nor rashly aim the dagger at yuur heart; 
 More to my wish you act a Roman's part. 
 I like not him, who fame by death retrieves; 
 Give me the man who merits praise, and lives. 
 
 ARRL\ AND P^TUS. 
 
 When Arria from her wounded side 
 To Pffitus gave the reeking steel, 
 
 "I feel not what I've done,"' she cried, 
 " What Psetus is to do, I feel." 
 
 ^ TO JULIUS. 
 
 Thou, whom (if faith or honour recommends 
 A friend) I rank amongst my dearest friends, 
 Remember, that you're verging on threescore; 
 Few days of life remain, if any more. 
 Defer not what no future time insures, 
 And only what is past, consider yours. 
 Successive cares and troubles for you stay; 
 Pleasure not so; it quickly glides away. 
 Then seize it fast; embrace it ere it flies; 
 Oft in the embrace it vanishes, it dies. 
 "I'll live to-morrow'' — (so the fool will say,) — 
 To-morrow is too late ; then live to-day. 
 
 RUFUS. 
 
 Let Rufus weep, rejoice, stand, sit, or walk, 
 Still he can nothing but of Najvia talk : 
 Lot him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute, 
 Still he must speak of Ntuvia, or be mute. 
 He wrote his father, ending with this line, 
 " 1 am, my lovely Naevia, only thine." 
 
520 
 
 MARTIAL. 
 
 TO CATULLA. 
 
 Thou fairest girl of all I see! 
 
 So fair, yet so debas'd ! 
 Ah! would that aught could render thee 
 
 Less beauteous, or more chaste. 
 
 ON ANTONIUS,— A GOOD MAN. 
 
 Is strength elate, in fame and conscience clear, 
 
 Antonius numbers now his eightieth year ; 
 
 Joys o'er the past, and sees, without a sigh. 
 
 The inevitable step of fate draw nigh. 
 
 No memory of dark days, but pleasant all,-^ 
 
 Not one but willingly he would recall. 
 
 Thus is life's stage prolong'd ; thus he, blest man! 
 
 Lives twice, who can enjoy life's former span. 
 
 THE PARASITE. 
 
 When from the bath, or hot, or cold, you come, 
 The kind Menogenes attends you home ; 
 When at the courts you ply the healthy ball, 
 He picks it up adroitly, should it fall: 
 Though wash'd, though dress'd, he follows where 
 
 it flies. 
 Recovers and returns the dusty prize, 
 And overwhelms you with civilities. 
 Call for your towel ; and, though more defil'd 
 Than the foul linen of a sickly child. 
 He'll swear 'tis whiter than the driven snow; — 
 Comb your lank hair across your wrinkled brow. 
 And with a tone of extasy he'll swear 
 " Achilles had not such a head of hair !"' 
 Himself will bring the vomit to your hand. 
 And wipe the drops that on your forehead stand ; 
 Praise and admire you, till, fatigued, you say, — 
 Do, my good friend, do dine with me to-day ! 
 
 GENEROSITY TO FRIENDS. 
 
 Thieves may break locks, and with your cash 
 
 retire : 
 Your ancient seat may be consumed by fire : 
 Debtors refuse to pay you what they owe : 
 Or your ungrateful field the seed you sow ; 
 You may be plundered by a jilting whore : 
 Your ships may sink at sea with all their store : 
 Who gives to friends, so much from fate secures : 
 That is the only wealth for ever yours. 
 
 TO QUINCTILIAN. 
 
 WoxDER not, sir, (you who instruct the town 
 In the true wisdom of the sacred gown,) 
 That I make haste to live, and cannot hold 
 Patiently out, till I grow rich and old. 
 Life for delays and doubts no time does give, 
 None ever yet made haste enough to live. 
 Let him defer it when preposterous care 
 Omits himself, and reaches to his heir; 
 Who does his father's bounded stores despise, 
 And whom his own, too, never can suffice : 
 My himible thoughts no glittering roofs require. 
 Or rooms that shine with aught but constant fire ; 
 
 I will content the avarice of my sight 
 With the fair gildings of reflected light: 
 Pleasures abroad the sport of Nature yields, 
 Her living fountains and her smiling fields ; 
 And then at home, what pleasure is't to see 
 A little, cleanly, cheerful family ! 
 Which, if a chaste wife crown, no less in her 
 Than fortune, I the golden mean prefer: 
 Too noble, nor too wise, she should not be, 
 No, nor too rich, too fair, too fond of me. 
 Thus let my life slide silently away. 
 With sleep all night, and quiet all the day. 
 
 TO FRONTO. 
 
 Well then, sir, you shall know how far extend 
 The prayers and hopes of your poetic friend; 
 He does not palaces nor manors crave, 
 Would be no lord, but less a lord would have : 
 The ground he holds, if he his own can call. 
 He quarrels not with heaven, because 'tis small : 
 Let gay and toilsome greatness others please, 
 He loves of homely littleness the ease: 
 Can any man in gilded rooms attend. 
 And his dear hours in humble visits spend, 
 When in the fresh and beauteous fields he may 
 With various healthful pleasures fill the day? 
 If there be man, ye gods! I ought to hate, 
 Dependence and attendance be his fate; 
 Still let him busy be, and in a crowd. 
 And very much a slave, and very proud : 
 Thus he, perhaps, powerful and rich 
 
 grow; 
 No matter, ye gods! that I'll allow ; 
 But let him peace and freedom never see ; 
 Let him not love this life, who loves not me. 
 
 may 
 
 TO MAXIMUS. 
 
 Would you be free? 'Tis your chief wish, you 
 
 say: 
 Come on; 111 show thee, friend! the certain 
 
 way. — 
 If to no feasts abroad thou lov'st to go, 
 Whilst bounteous God does bread at home be- 
 stow; 
 If thou the goodness of thy clothes dost prize, 
 By thine own use, and not by others' eyes; 
 If, only safe from weathers, thou canst dwell 
 In a small house, but a convenient shell ; 
 If thou, without a sigh, or golden wish, 
 Canst look upon thy beechen bowl and dish;^ 
 If, in thy mind such power and greatness be. 
 The Persian king's a slave compared with thee. 
 
 TO JULIUS MARTIALIS. 
 If, my dear Martial, fate allow'd 
 A safe retreat from folly's crowd; 
 If, far from care and busy strife. 
 Together we could lead our life. 
 True happiness we would not rate 
 By frequent visits to the great ; 
 Nor hear the wrangling lawyer bawl, 
 Nor range proud statues round our hall. 
 
JUVENAL. 
 
 621 
 
 Our chairs should take us to the play ; 
 The walks, the baths, should wile the day; 
 The field, the porch, the tennis-court, 
 And study iuterchangeil with sport. 
 Rut how unlike our real fate, 
 To this imaginary state! 
 We live not for ourselves — Alas! 
 Youth's joyous suns neglected pass, 
 Change into night, and never more 
 Return to bless us as before. 
 Oh! who that held enjoyment's power 
 Would waste in pain one precious hour? 
 
 TO POSTUMUS. 
 To-morrow you will live, you always cry : — 
 In what far country does this morrow lie, 
 That "tis so mighty long ere it arrive ? 
 Beyond the Indies does this morrow live? 
 'Tis so far fetch'd, this morrow, that I fear 
 'T\\ ill be both very old, and very dear. 
 To-morrow I will live, the fool does say : 
 To-day itself 's too late : — the wise liv'd yesterday. 
 
 ON THE MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS. 
 Fill high the bowl with sparkling wine! 
 
 Cool the bright draught with summer-snow! 
 
 Amidst my locks let odours flow! 
 Around my temples roses twine! 
 See yon proud emblem of decay. 
 
 Yon lordly pile that braves the sky! 
 It bids us live our little day. 
 
 Teaching that gods themselves may die. 
 
 TO AVITUS. 
 
 Me, who have liv'd so long among the great. 
 You wonder to hear talk of a retreat ; 
 And a retreat so distant, as may show 
 No thoughts of a return, when once I go. 
 Give me a country, how remote soe'er, 
 Where happiness a moderate rate does bear, 
 Where poverty itself in plenty flows. 
 And all the solid use of riches knows. 
 
 The ground about the house maintains it, there, 
 The house maintains the ground about it, here. 
 Here even hunger's dear, and a full board 
 Devours the vital substance of its lord, — 
 The land itself does there the feast bestow, 
 The land itself must here to market go. 
 'J'hree or four suits one winter here does waste, 
 One suit does there three or four winters last. 
 Here, every frugal man must oft be cold. 
 And little, lukewarm fires are to you sold. 
 There, fire's an element as cheap and free, 
 Almost, as any of the other three. 
 Stay you then here, and live among the great, 
 Attend their sports, and at their tables eat. 
 When all the bounties here of men you score. 
 The place's bounty, there, shall give me more. 
 
 TO JULIUS MARTIALIS. 
 
 What constitutes true bliss below, 
 
 A few plain rules, my friend, shall show : — 
 
 A competence, not earn'd with toil, 
 
 But left; a not ungrateful soil ; 
 
 No strife; no law; a mind sedate; 
 
 A constant fire within one's grate ; 
 
 Strength unimpair'd ; a healthful frame; 
 
 Friends equal both in years and fame; 
 
 A plentiful, though simple boartl, 
 
 With wholesomes, but not dainties, stor'd ; 
 
 Eves of sobriety, yet gladness; 
 
 And nights, though chaste, unmix'd with sadness, 
 
 With sleep to shorten night's dark sway; 
 
 Then, grateful for each coming tlay, 
 
 Enjoy the present as the past, 
 
 Nor wish, nor tremble at, the last. 
 
 ON AN ODD FELLOW. 
 
 Ix all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, 
 Thou art such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow, 
 Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about 
 
 thee. 
 There is no living with thee or without thee. 
 
 JUVENAL: 
 
 [Born about 40,— Died aljout 120, A. D.] 
 
 Decimcs Juxitis JcvEXALis was the son or 
 foster-son of a rich freedman, and born at Aqui- 
 nimi in Campania. He received an excellent 
 education, studied eloquence and law, but after- 
 wards abandoned tliem for the more congenial 
 pursuits of poetry. Having inflicted some satirical 
 strokes on the player Paris, a favourite of Domi- 
 tian, he is said to have been banished by that 
 emperor into Egypt, with a military command — 
 a mildness of punishment one could have hardly 
 expected from so unscrupulous a tyrant. On the 
 accession of Nerva, he returned to Rome and 
 66 
 
 concluded his days there at an advanced age, in 
 the reign of Adrian. — The characteristics of Ju- 
 venal are energy, passion, and indignation ; his 
 aim was to alarm the vicious, and, if possible, to 
 exterminate that vice which had, as it were, ac- 
 quired a legal establishment in Rome. It is to 
 be lamented, however, that his moral reflections, 
 sublime and profound as many of them are, should 
 be frequently intermixed with pictures of pollu- 
 tion, which no pure mind can contemplate witli- 
 
 ! out disgust, or even losing some portion of its 
 
 I innocent simplicity. 
 
 2t2 
 
522 
 
 JUVENAL. 
 
 FROM THE SATIRES. 
 
 fhom satire iv. — domitian and the turbot. 
 
 It chancVl, tliat where the fane of Venus stands, 
 Rear'd on Ancona's coast by Gra?cian hands, 
 A turbot, \vaiiderin<; from the Illyrian main, 
 Find the wide bosom of the bursting seine. 
 The mighty draught the astonish'd boatman eyes, 
 And to the pontitf "s table dooms the prize : 
 For who woLikl dare to sell it? who to buy? 
 When the coast swarm'd with many a practis'd 
 
 spy, 
 
 Mad-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled 
 From C;Fsar"s ponds, ingrate ! where long it fed, 
 And thus recaptur'd, claim'd to be restor'd 
 To the dominion of its ancient lord ! . . . . 
 
 The wondering crowd, that gathered to survey 
 Tlie enormous fish, and barr'd the fisher's way. 
 Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold! — 
 Murmuring, the excluded senators behold 
 The envied dainty enter: — On the man 
 To great Domitian press'd, and thus began : 
 "This, for a private table far too great, 
 Accept, and sumptuously your genius treat: 
 Haste to unload your stomach, and devour 
 A turbot, destined to this happy hour. 
 I sought him not; — he mark'd the toils I set, 
 And rubh'd. a willing victim, to the net.' 
 Was flattery e'er so rank ? yet he grows vain, 
 And his crest rises at the fulsome strain. 
 When to divine a mortal power we raise, 
 He looks for no hyj^erboles in praise. 
 But when was joy unmix'd? no pot is found 
 Capacious as the turbot's ample round : 
 In this distress he calls the chiefs of state, 
 (At once the objects of his scorn and hate,) 
 And, after much de1;ate, this question put — 
 " How say ye. Fathers ! shall the fish be cut ?"' 
 " O, far be that disgrace,'' Montanus cries ; 
 " No, let a pot be form'd, of amplest size, 
 Within whose slender sides the fish, dread sire. 
 May spread his vast circumference entire! 
 Bring, bring the temper'd clay, and let it feel 
 The quick gyrations of the plastic wheel : — 
 But, Ctesar, thus forewarn'd, make no campaign. 
 Unless your potters follow in your train !" — 
 Montanus ended ; all approv'd the plan. 
 And all the speech, so worthy of the man ! 
 Versed in the old court luxury, he knew 
 The feasts of Nero and his midnight crew ; 
 Where, oft, when potent draughts liad fir'd the 
 
 brain, 
 The jaded taste was spurr'd to gorge again. — 
 And, in my time, none understood so well 
 The science of good eating: he could tell, 
 At the first relish, if his oysters fed 
 On the Rutupian or the Lucrine bed ; 
 And, from a crab's or lobster's colour, name 
 The country, nay, the district, whence it came. 
 
 Here closed the solemn farce. The Fathers rise, 
 And each, submissive, from the presence hies : — 
 Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in 
 
 sport, 
 Had dragg'd, astonish'd, to the Alban court ; 
 As if the stern Cicambri were in arms, 
 Or furious Catti threaten'd new alarms; 
 
 As if ill news by flying posts had come. 
 
 And gathering Nations sought the fall of Rome! 
 
 And oh ! that ever in such idle sjiort 
 
 Had liv'd the lord of that obsequious court; 
 
 Nor worse employ'd in savage scenes of blood. 
 
 That robbd the city of the brave and good — 
 
 While high-born cowards saw their brothers" 
 
 doom, 
 And vengeance slumber'd o'er the Lamiantomb. 
 But when he dar'd assail a vulgar tread. 
 Up rose the people, and the tyrant bled.* 
 
 FROM SATIRE V. FREaUENT MORTIFICATIONS 
 
 TO WHICH THE POOR ARE EXPOSED AT THE 
 TABLES OF THE RICH. 
 
 Does Virro ever pledge you ? ever sip 
 The liquor touch'd by your unhallowd lip? 
 Or is there one of all your tribe so free. 
 So desperate as to say, "Sir,. drink to me?'' 
 O, there is much that never can be spoke 
 By a poor client in a threadbare cloak. 
 
 But should some god, or man of godlike soul. 
 The malice of your niggard fate control. 
 And bless you with a knight's estate ; how dear 
 Would you be then ! how wondrous great appear 
 From nothing ! Virro, so reserved of late. 
 Grows quite familiar: "Brother, send your plate: 
 Dear brother Trebius ! you were wont to say 
 You liked this trail, I think — oblige me pray !''-^ 
 O Riches ! — this dear Brother is your own ; 
 To you this friendship, this respect, is shown. 
 
 FROM SATIRE Til. THE POET. 
 
 But he, the bard of every age and clime, 
 Of genius fruitful and of soul sublime; 
 Who from the glowing mint of fancy pours 
 No spurious metal, fused from common ores, 
 But gold to matchless purity refin'd, 
 And stamp'd with all the godhead in his mind; 
 He, whom I feel, but want the power to paint, 
 Springs from a soul impatient of restraint, 
 And free from every care ; a soul that loves 
 The Muses' haunts, clear founts and shady groves. 
 Never, no, never, did he wildly rave, 
 And shake his thyrsus in the Aonian cave. 
 Whom poverty kept sober, and the cries 
 Of a lean stomach, clamorous for supplies: 
 No ; the wine circled briskly through their veins. 
 When Horace pour'd his dithyrambic strains! — 
 What room for fancy, say, unless the mind. 
 And all iis thoughts, to poetry resigned, 
 Be hurried, with resistless force along,- 
 By the two kindred powers of Wine and Song! 
 ! 'tis the exclusive business of a breast 
 Impetuous, uncontroll'd, — not one distrest 
 With household cares, to view the bright abodes. 
 The steeds, the chariots, and the forms of Gods: 
 
 ♦ Of this illustrious family was .aSlius Lamia, wliom 
 Domitian, after liaving tirst robbed him of his wife, put 
 to death. 
 
 " Princes may pick their suffering nobles out, 
 And, one by one, condemn them to tlie block ; 
 Uul when they once grow formidable to 
 Their clowns and cobblers, ware then '." 
 
 Beaumont 4* Fletcher. 
 
JUVENAL. 
 
 523 
 
 And the fierce Fury, as her snakes she shook, 
 And vvither'd the Rutnlian with a look! 
 Those snakes, liad Virgil no Mieoenas found, 
 H;kI (hopp (I, ill listless length, upon the ground. 
 And the still slumbering trinnp groan'd with no 
 
 mortal sound.* 
 Yet we expect, froin Lappa's tragic rage. 
 Such scenes as graced, of old, the Athenian stage : 
 'Jliough he, poor man, froin hand to mouth be fed, 
 And driven to pawn his furniture for bread ! 
 
 FROM SATIHE Vllt. ANCESTRY. 
 
 "Your ancient house!" No more. I cannot see 
 The wondrous tnerits of a pedigree: 
 No, Ponticus; — nor of a proud display 
 Of smoky ancestors, in wa.\. or clay ; 
 jEmilius, moimted on his car sublime, 
 Curius, half wasted by the teeth of time, 
 Corvinus, dwimlled to a shapeless bust. 
 And liigh-born Galba, crumbling into dust. 
 
 What boots it, on the lineal tree to trace, 
 Through many a branch, the founders of our race, 
 Time-honour'd chiefs; if, in their sight, we give 
 A loose to vice, and like low villains live 1 
 Say, what avails it, that, on eitlier hand. 
 The stern Numantii, an illustrious band. 
 Frown from the walls, if their degenerate race 
 Waste the long night at dice, before their face 1 
 If, staggering to a drowsy bed, they creep 
 At that prime hour when, starting from their 
 
 sleep. 
 Their sires the signal of the fight unfurl'd. 
 And drew their legions forth, and won the world? 
 
 Say, why should Fabius, of th" Herculean name. 
 To the GREAT ALTAR, vaiuit Ilis lineal claim. 
 If, softer than Euganean lambs, the youth 
 His wanton limbs with .^Etna's pumice smooth. 
 And shame his rough-hewn sires } if greedy, vain, 
 If a vile trathcker in secret bane. 
 He blast his wretched kindred with a bust 
 For public vengeance to — reduce to dust! 
 
 Fond man! though all the heroes of your line 
 Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine. 
 In proud display ; yet take this truth from me — 
 Virtue alone is true nobilitt. 
 Set Cossus, Drusus, Paulus, then in view, 
 The bright example of their lives pursue ; 
 Let them precede the statues of your race. 
 And these, when consul, of your rods take place. 
 
 give me inborn vv'orth ! Dare to be just. 
 Firm to your word, and faithful to your trust; 
 These praises hear, at least deserve to h<'ar, 
 I grant your claim, and recognise the peer. 
 Hail! from whatever stock you draw your birth, 
 The son of Cossus or the son of Earth, 
 All hail ! in you exulting Rome espies 
 Her guardian Power, her great Palladium rise ; 
 And shouts like Egypt, when her priests have 
 
 found 
 A new Osiris, for the old one drown'd. 
 
 But shall we call those noble, who disgrace 
 Their lineage, proud of an illustrious race? 
 Vain thought ! 
 
 * The above allusions are to some fine passages in the 
 lid, Vllth, and Xlllh books of Vitgil. 
 
 " Away, away! ye slaves of hiuriblest birth, 
 Ye dregs of Rome, ye nothings of the earth. 
 Whose fathers who sliall toll ! my ancient line 
 Descends from Cecrops." Man of blood divine! 
 Live, and enjoy the secret sweets which spring 
 In breasts aflincd to so remote a king ! — 
 Yet know, amid these "dregs," low grandeur's 
 
 scorn. 
 Will those be found whom arts and arms adorn : 
 Some, skill'd to plead a noble blockheads cause, 
 And solve the dark enigmas of die laws; 
 Some, who the Tigris' hostile baidcs explore, 
 And plant our eagles on Balavia's shore: 
 While thou, in mean, inglorious [jleasure lost, 
 With "Cecrops! Cecrops!" all thou hast to boast, 
 Art a full brother to the cross-way stone. 
 Which clowns have chipp'd the head of Hermes 
 
 on : 
 For 'tis no bar to kindred, that thy block 
 Is form'd of flesh and blood, and theirs of rock. 
 Of beasts, great son of Troy, who vaunts the 
 
 breed. 
 Unless renown'd for courage, strength or speed? 
 'Tis thus we praise the horse, who mocks our 
 
 eyes, 
 While, to the goal, with lightning's speed he flies! 
 Whom many a well-earn"d palm and trophy 
 
 grace, 
 And the Cirque hails, unrivall'd in the race ! 
 
 Yes, he is noble, spring from whom he will. 
 Whose footsteps in the dust are foremost still : 
 While Hirpines stock are to the market led, 
 If victory perch but rarely on their head. 
 For no respect to pedigree is paid, 
 No honour to a sire's illustrious shade. 
 Flung cheaply off", they drag the cumbrous wain. 
 With shoulders bare, and bleeding from the 
 
 chain ; 
 Or take, with some blind ass in concert found. 
 At Nepo's mill, their everlasting round. 
 That Rome may, therefore, you, not yours, ad- 
 mire. 
 By virtuous actions, first to praise aspire ; 
 Seek not to shine by Ijorrow'd light alone, 
 But with your father's glories blend your own. 
 This to tlie youth, whom Rumour brands as 
 
 vain 
 And swelling — full of his Neroiiian strain; 
 Perhaps with trudi ; — for rarely shall we find 
 A sense of modesty in that proud kind. — 
 But were my Ponticus content to raise 
 His honours thus, on a forefather's praise. 
 Worthless the while — 'twould tinge ray cheeks 
 
 with shame — 
 'Tis dangerous building on another's fame. 
 Lest die substructure fail, and, on the ground. 
 Your baseless pile be hurrd,in fraginents, round.-- 
 Streteh'd on the plain, the vines weak tendrils try 
 To clasp the elm they drop from ; — fail, and die ! 
 Be brave, be just: — and when your country's 
 laws 
 Call you to witness in a dubious cause. 
 Though Phalaris plant his bull before your eye. 
 And, frowning, dictate to your lips tlie lie, 
 Think it a crime no tears can e'er eflJ'ace, 
 To purchase safety with compliance base, 
 
r^" 
 
 524 
 
 JUVENAL. 
 
 At lionour's cost, a feverish span extend, 
 And SACiiiFicK fou life, life's only end. 
 Life! 'tis not life — who merits death, is dead :— 
 Though Gauran oysters for his feasts be spread, 
 Thougli his limbs drip with exquisite perfume, 
 And the late rose around his temples bloom! 
 
 FHOM SATIRE IX. THE SWIFT APPROACH OF AGE. 
 
 Swift down the patliway of declining years. 
 As on we journey through this vale of tears. 
 Youth wastes away, and withers like a flower, 
 The lovely phantom of a fleeting hour : 
 "iVIid the light sallies of the mantling soul, 
 The smiles of beauty, and the social bowl, 
 Liaudible, the foot of chilly age 
 Steals on our joys, and drives us from the stage. 
 
 FROM SATIRE X.' THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 
 
 In every clime, from Ganges' distant stream, 
 To Gades. gilded by the \vestern beam. 
 Few, from the clouds of mental error free, 
 Li its true light or good or evil see. 
 For what, with reason, do we seek or shun?* 
 What plan, how happily soe'er begun, 
 But, finishd, we our own success lament. 
 And rue the pains, so fatally misspent? — 
 To headlong ruin see whole houses driven, 
 Curs'd with their prayers by too indulgent 
 heaven ! 
 
 Bewildered thus, by folly or by fate. 
 We beg pernicious gifts in every state, 
 la peace, in war. A full and rapid flow 
 Of elotjuence, lays many a speaker low : 
 E'en strt'ngtli itself is fatal ; Milo tries 
 His wondrous arms, and — in the trial dies! 
 
 But Avarice wider spreads her deadly snare, 
 And hoards amass'd with too successful care; 
 Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise, 
 ^^^3r-o er the dolphin, towers the whale in size. -, 
 For this, in other times, at Nero's word, 
 The ruffian bands unsheath'd the murderous 
 
 sword, 
 Rush'd to the swelling coffers of the great, 
 Chased Lateranus from his lordly seat, 
 Besieg'd too wealthy Seneca's wide walls. 
 And closed, terrific, round Longir.us' halls: 
 While sweetly in their cocklofts slept the poor. 
 And heard no soldier thundering at their door. 
 
 The traveller, freighted with a little wealth. 
 Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth: 
 E'en then he fears the bludgeon and the blade, 
 And starts and trembles at a rush's shade : 
 While, void of care, the beggar trips along, 
 And, in the spoiler's presence, trolls his song. 
 
 The first great wish that all with rapture own, 
 The general cry to every temple known, 
 Is gold, gold, gold ! — -'and let, all gracious powers. 
 The largest chest the forum boasts, be ours !" 
 Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip : 
 Dread then the draught, when, mantling at j'our 
 lip, 
 
 ' We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Htg often our own liarnis, which the wise Powers 
 Dyny us for our good ; so find we profit 
 By losing of our prayers. — Shakespeare. 
 
 The goblet sparkles, radiant from the miae, 
 And the broad gold reflects the ruby wine. 
 
 And do we now admire the stories told 
 Of the two sages, so renown'd of old. 
 How this for ever laiigh'd, whene'er he stept 
 Beyond the threshold ; that for ever ^vept? 
 But all can laugh ; the wonder yet appears, 
 Wliat fount supplied the eternal stream of tears! 
 
 Democritus, at every step he took. 
 His sides with unextinguished laughter shook; 
 He laugh'd alouil to see the vulgar fears, 
 Laughd at their joys, and sometimes at their tears. 
 Secure the while, he moek'd at Fortune's frovi^n. 
 And when she threaten'd, bade her liang or 
 drown ! 
 
 What wrought the Crassi's, — what the Pompeys' 
 
 doom. 
 And his who bow'd the stubborn neck of Rome? 
 What but the wild, the unbounded wish to rise, 
 Heard, in malignant kindness, by the skies ! 
 Few kings, few tyrants, find a bloodless end. 
 Or to the grave, without a wound, descend. 
 
 The child, with whom a trusty slave, is sent, 
 Charg'd with his little scrip, has scarcely spent 
 His mite at school, ere all his bosom glows 
 With the fond hope he never more foregoes, 
 To reach Demosthenes" or Tully's name, 
 Rival of both in eloquence and fame ! — 
 Yet by this eloquence, alas ! expired 
 Each orator, so envied, so admired! 
 Yet by the rapid and resistless sway 
 Of torrent genius, each was swept away. 
 Genius, for that, the baneful potion sped. 
 And lost, from this, the hands and gory head: 
 While meaner pleaders unmolested stood. 
 Nor stain'd the rostrum with their wretched 
 blood. 
 
 . The spoils of war; the trunk in triumph placed 
 With all the trophies of the battle graced, 
 Crush'd helms, and batter'd shields, and stream- 
 ers borne 
 From vanquish'd fleets, and beams from chariots 
 
 torn ; 
 And arcs of triumph, where the captive foe 
 Bends, in mute anguish, o'er the pomp below; 
 Are blessings which the slaves of glories rate 
 Beyond a mortal's hope, a mortal's fate ! 
 Fired with the love of these, w-hat countless 
 
 swarms. 
 Barbarians, Romans, Greeks, have rush'd to arms. 
 All danger sliglited, and all toil defied. 
 And madly conquer'd, or as madly diedl 
 So much the raging thirst of fame exceeds 
 The generous warmth which prompts to worthy 
 
 deeds, 
 That none confess fair Virtue's genuine power. 
 Or woo her to their breast, without a dower. 
 Yet has diis wild desire in other days, 
 This boundless avarice of a few for praise, 
 This frantic rage for names to grace a tomb. 
 Involved whole countries in one general doom. 
 Vain rage ! the roots of the wild fig-tree rise. 
 Strike througli the marble, and their memory 
 dies ! 
 
JUVENAL. 
 
 525 
 
 For like their mouldering tenants, tombs decay, 
 And with the dust they hide, are swept away — 
 
 Proiiuce the urn that Hannibal contains, 
 And weigh the mighty dust that yet remains: 
 And is this all! Yet this was once the bold. 
 The asijiring chief, whom Afric could not hold. 
 Though stretch'd in breadth, from where the 
 
 Atlantic roars. 
 To distant Nihis, and his sunburnt shores. 
 In length, from Carthage to the burning zone, 
 Where other Moors and elephants are known. 
 — Spain conquer'd, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds: 
 Nature opi)Os"d her everlasting mounds. 
 Her Aljjs and snows; o'er these with torrent force 
 He pours, and reads through rocks his dreadful 
 
 course. 
 Already at his feet Italia lies ; — 
 Yet thundering on, " Think nothing done," he 
 
 cries, 
 "Till Rome, proud Rome, beneath my fury falls, 
 And Afric's standards float along her walls!" 
 Big words! — but view his figure! view his face! 
 O for some master hand the lines to trace. 
 As through the Etrurian swamps, by floods in- 
 
 creast. 
 The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast! 
 
 But what ensued 1 Illusive Glory, say : 
 Subdued on Zania's memorable day, 
 He flies in exile to a petty state 
 With headlong haste ; and at a despot's gate 
 Sits, mighty suppliant! of his life in doubt, 
 Till'the Bythynian's morning nap be out. 
 
 Nor swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines 
 
 luirl'd, 
 Shall quell the man whose frown alarm'd the 
 
 world. 
 The vengeance due to Cannae's fatal field. 
 And floods of human gore, a ring shall yield. 
 Fly, madman, fly, at toil and danger mock, 
 Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock, 
 To please the rhetoricians, and become 
 A DECLAMATION — for the boys of Rome ! 
 
 One world the ambitious youth of Pella found 
 Too small; and toss'd his feverish limbs around, 
 And gasp'd for breath, as if immured the while 
 In Gyara^, or Seripho's rocky isle : 
 But entering Babylon, found ample room 
 Within the narrow limits of a tomb! 
 Death the great teacher. Death alone proclaims 
 The true dimensions of our puny frames. — 
 The daring tales, in Grecian story found. 
 Were once believed: — of Athos sailed around. 
 Of fleets, that bridges o'er the waves supplied. 
 Of chariots, rolling on the steadfast tide. 
 Of lakes exhausted, and of rivers quailed 
 By countless nations, at a morning's draught, 
 And all that Sostratus so wildly sings, 
 Besotted poet, of the king of kings! 
 
 But how returned he? say; — this soul of fire. 
 This proud barbarian, whose impatient ire 
 Chastised the v\inds that disobeyed his nod 
 With strijies ne'er sntfereil by the ^Eolian god — 
 But how returned he? say ; — his navy lost, 
 In a small bark he fled the hostile coast. 
 And, urged by terror, drove his labouring prore 
 Through floating carcasses, and floods of gore. 
 
 So Xerxes sped ; so speed the conquering race ; 
 They catch at glory, and they clasp disgrace. 
 
 But say, shall man, depriv'd all power of choice, 
 Ne'er raise to heaven the supplicating voice? 
 Not so; but to the gods his fortune trust: 
 Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just. 
 What best may [jrofit or delight they know, 
 And real good for fancied bliss bestow: 
 With eyes of pity they our frailties scan ; 
 More dear to them, than to himself, is man. 
 By blind desire, by heaillong passion driven. 
 For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven; 
 Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know 
 If heirs, or wife, will bring us weal or woe. 
 
 But — (for 'tis good our humble hope to prove) 
 That thoti mayst still ask something from above; 
 Thy pious otl'erings to the temple bear. 
 And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer: 
 "O Thou, who know'st the wants of human kind. 
 Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind; 
 A soul prepar'd to meet the frowns of Fate, 
 And look undaunted on a future state ; 
 That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear 
 Existence nobly, with its weight of care: 
 That anger and desire alike restrains. 
 And counts AlciiLes' toils and cruel pains, 
 Superior far to banquets, wanton nights. 
 And all the Assyrian monarch's soft delights!'' 
 
 Here bound at length thy wishes. I but teach 
 What blessings man, by his own powers, may 
 
 reach. 
 The path to Peace is Virtue. We should see, 
 If wise, Fortune, nought divine in thee: 
 But we have deified a name alone, 
 And fix'd in heaven thy visionary throne! 
 
 *^,* I should have given longer extracts from 
 this noble satire — (a satire which Bishop Burnet 
 even recommends to the clergy of his diocese)^ 
 but for the admirable paraphrase of it by Dr. 
 Johnson, which must be so well known to all 
 English readers. 
 
 FIIOM SATIRE XI. KNOW THYSELF.* 
 
 Heaven sent us "know thyself!" — Be this 
 
 imprest, 
 In living characters, upon thy breast, 
 And still resolv'd; whether a wife thou choose, 
 Or to the SACRED senate point thy views. — 
 Or seek'st thou rather, in some doubtful cause, 
 To vindicate thy country's injured laws? 
 Knock at thy bosom, play the censor's part, 
 And note, with caution, what aiul who thou art. 
 An orator of force and skill profound. 
 Or a mere Matho, emptiness and sound ! 
 Yes, KNOW thyself: in great concerns and small, 
 Be this thy care, for this, my friend, is all : 
 Nor, when thy jiurse will scarce a gudgeon buy, 
 With foiul intemperance, for turbots sigh. 
 
 * rNnel IEATTON.— mis ma.xim was inscribed in 
 gold letters over the portico of the temple at Delphi. 
 Hence, perhaps, Ihe notion in after times, that it was im- 
 mediately derived from heaven — no improbable conjec- 
 ture, if we consider that it is Ihe foinidation of all know- 
 ledge, and little favuiiralile to that overweeniiif; self-love, 
 which the wisest of the heathens cheiisbed amidst all 
 their professions of humility. 
 
526 
 
 JUVENAL. 
 
 IJfriTATIOJiT TO PEnSICUS, WITH A PTCTUHE OF 
 THE POETS OWN DOMESTIC ECONOMT. 
 
 ExouoH : to-day my Persicus shall see 
 Wliether my precepts with my life agree; 
 Whether, with feign'd austerity, I prize 
 The spare repast, a glutton in disguise ! 
 Bawl for coarse pottage, that iny friends may hear, 
 But whisper "turtle!'" in my servant's ear. 
 For since, by promise, you are now my guest, 
 Know, I invite you to no sumptuous feast, 
 But to such simple fare, as long, long since, 
 The good Evander gave the Trojan prince.* 
 Come then, my friend, you will not, svire, despise 
 The food, that pleas'd an offspring of the skies ; 
 Come, and, while fancy brings past times to view, 
 I'll think myself the king, the hero you. 
 
 Take now your bill of fare : my simple board 
 Is with no dainties from the market stor'd, 
 But dishes, all my own. From Tibur's stock, 
 A kid shall come, the fattest of the flock, 
 With more of milk than blood ; and pullets drest 
 With new-laid eggs, yet tepid from the nest. 
 And sperage wild, which, from the mountain's 
 
 side. 
 My housemaid left her spindle to provide ; 
 And grapes long kept, yet pulpy still, and fair, 
 And the rich Signian, and the Syrian pear; 
 And apples, that, in flavour and in smell, 
 The boasted Picene equal or excel ; 
 Nor need you fear, my friend, their liberal use, 
 For age has mellow'd and improv'd their juice. 
 
 How homely this ! and yet this homely fare 
 A senator would once have counted rare ; 
 When the good Curius thought it no disgrace 
 O'er a few sticks a little pot to place. 
 With herbs by his small garden-plot supplied — 
 Food which the squalid wretch would now deride, 
 Who digs in fetters, and, with fond regret, 
 The tavern's savoury dish remembers yet. 
 
 To me for ever be the guest unknown. 
 Who, measuring my expenses by his own. 
 Remarks the dift'erence with a scornful leer. 
 And slights my humble house and homely cheer. 
 Look not to me for ivory; I have none: 
 My chess-board and my men are all of bone ; 
 Nay, my knife-handles ; yet, my friend, for this, 
 My pullets neither cut nor taste amiss. 
 
 I boast no artist, tutor'd in the school 
 Of learned Trypherus, to carve by rule :t 
 My simple lad, w'hose highest eflbrts rise 
 To broil a steak, in the plain country guise. 
 Knows no such art; humbly content to serve, 
 And bring the dishes which he cannot kerve. 
 Another lad (for I have two to-day) 
 Clad, like the first, in home-spun russet gray. 
 Shall fill our earthen bowls : no Phrygian he. 
 No pamperd attribute of luxury, 
 But a rude rustic ; — when you want him, speak. 
 And speak in Latin, for he knows no Greek. 
 Both go alike, with close-cropp'd hair, undrest, 
 But spruced to-day in honour of my guest ; 
 
 * See Virgil's ^veid, viii. 
 
 + The skilful carviiis; of dishes was a matter of so much 
 importance at Rome, that it was taught by professors of 
 the science. 
 
 And both were born on my estate, and one 
 Is my rough shepherd's, one my neatherd's son. 
 Poor youth! he mourns, with many an artless 
 
 tear, 
 His long, long absence from his mother dear ; 
 Sighs for his little cottage, and would fain 
 Meet his old playfellows, the goats, again. 
 Though humble be his birth, ingenuous grace 
 Beams from his eye, and flushes in his face; 
 Charming suffusion ! that would well become 
 The youthful offspring of the chiefs of Rome. — 
 He, Persicus, shall fill us wine, that grew 
 Where first the breath of life the stripling drew. 
 On Tibur's hills: dear hills, that, many a day, 
 Witness'd the transports of his infant play. 
 
 But you, perhaps, expect a wanton throng 
 Of Gaditanian girls, with dance and song. 
 To kindle loose desire ; girls that now bound 
 Aloft, with active grace, now, on the ground 
 Quivering alight, while peals of praise go round. — 
 Such vicious fancies are too great for me : 
 Let him the wanton dance, unblushing, see. 
 And hear the immodest terms, which, in the 
 
 stews. 
 The veriest strumpet would disdain to use ; 
 Whose drunken spawlings roll, tumultuous, o'er 
 The proud expansion of a marble floor : 
 For there the world a large allowance make. 
 And spare the folly for the fortune's sake. — 
 Dice and adultery, witli a small estate. 
 Are damning crimes, but venial with a great; 
 Venial? nay, graceful: witty, gallant, brave. 
 And such wild tricks "as gentlemen should 
 
 have." 
 My feast, to-day, shall other joys afford : — 
 Hush'd, as we sit around the frugal board. 
 Great Homer shall his deep-toned thunder roll, 
 And mighty Maro elevate the soul ; 
 Maro, who, warm'd with all the poet's fire, 
 Disputes the palm of victory with his sire. 
 Come then, my friend, an hour of pleasure spare. 
 And quit awhile your business and your care ; 
 The day is all our own.* — 
 
 FROM SATIRE XIII. ADVANTAGES OF WISDOM 
 
 AND EXPERIENCE. EXTREME WICKEDNDSS OF 
 
 THE AGE. 
 
 Wisdom, I know, contains a sovereign charm, 
 To vanquish Fortune, or at least disarm : 
 Blest they who walk by her unerring rule! — 
 Nor those unblest, who, tutor'd in life's school, 
 Have learn'd of old experience to submit. 
 And lightly bear the yoke they cannot quit. 
 
 What day so sacred, which no guilt profanes. 
 No secret fraud, no open rapine, stains? 
 What hour, in which no dark assassins prowl. 
 Nor point the sword for hire, nor drug the bowl ? 
 
 ♦ In a similar spirit, our Milton addresses his friend, 
 Henry Lawrence : — 
 
 What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, 
 Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
 To hear the lute well touch'd, or anful voice 
 Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air'? 
 He, who of those delights can judge, and spare 
 To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 
 
JUVENAL. 
 
 527 
 
 The good, alas, ahk few! "The valued file," 
 Less than the gates of Thebes, tlie mouths of 
 
 Nile! 
 For now an age is come, that teeins with crimes, 
 Beyond all precedent of former times ; 
 An age so bad, that Nature cannot frame 
 A metal base enough to give it name. 
 
 ATHEISTS AND SCEPTICS. 
 
 TiiEKE are, who think that chance is all in all. 
 That 1)0 First Cause directs the eternal ball; 
 But that brute Nature, in her blind career, 
 Varies the seasons, and brings round the year : 
 These rush to every shrine with equal ease, 
 And, owning none, swear by what Power they 
 
 please. 
 Others believe, and but believe, a God, 
 And think that punishment may follow fraud; 
 Yet they forswear, and, reasoning on the deed, 
 Thus reconcile their actions with their creed : 
 "Let Isis storm, if to revenge inclin'd. 
 And, with her angry sistrum, strike me blind,* 
 So, with my eyes, she ravish not my ore. 
 But let me keep the pledge that I forswore. 
 Are putrid sores, catarrhs that seldom kill. 
 And crippled limbs, forsooth, so great an ill? 
 LadaSjf if not stark mad, would change, no doubt, 
 His flying feet for riches and the gout ; 
 For what do those procure him ? Mere renown. 
 And the starv'd honour of an olive crown. 
 
 "But grant the wrath of Heaven be great; "tis 
 
 slow, 
 And days, and months, and years i^recede the 
 
 blow. 
 If then to punish alt, the gods decree. 
 When, in their vengeance, will they come to me? 
 But I, perhaps, their anger may appease — 
 For they are wont to pardon faults like these: 
 At worst, theres hope; since every age and clime 
 See different fates attend the self-same crime; 
 Some made by villainy, and some undone. 
 And this ascend a scaffold, that a throne." 
 
 REVEXGE. 
 
 "Reve:»of. — THET SAT — and I believe their 
 
 words, 
 A pleasure, sweeter far than life affords." 
 Who sat? the fo-jls, whose passions, prone to ire, 
 At SLIGHTEST causes, or, at none, take fiiie ; 
 Whose boiling breasts, at every turn, o'erflow 
 With rancorous gall: Cluysippus said not so; 
 Nor Tliales, to our frailties clement still. 
 Nor that old man, by sweet Hymettns' hill, 
 Who drank the poison with unrulHed soul. 
 And, dying, from his foes withheld the bowl. 
 Divine Philosophy! by whose pure light 
 We first distinguish, then pursue, the right, 
 Thy povver the breast from every error frees, 
 And weeds out all its vices by degrees : — 
 
 Illumin'd by thy beam, Revenge we find 
 The abject pleasure of an abject mind. 
 And hence so ilear to poor, weak womankind.* 
 But why are those, Calviims, thought to scape 
 Unpunish'd, whom, in every fearful shape. 
 Guilt still alarms, and conscience, ne'er asleep, 
 Wounds with incessant strokes, " not loud, but 
 
 deep," 
 While the vexd mind, her own tormentor, j)]ies 
 A scorpion scourge, unmark d by human eyes. 
 Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign, 
 Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain 
 He feels, who night and day, devoid of rest, 
 Carries his own accuser in his breast. 
 A Spartan once the oracle besought 
 To solve a scru.ple which j)erplexd his thought, 
 And plainly tell him, if he might forswear 
 A jiurse, of old, confided to his care. 
 Incens'd, the priestess answer'd — "Waverer, no! 
 Nor shalt thou, for the doubt, unpunish'd go.'" — 
 With that he hasten'd to restore the trust; 
 But fear alone, not virtue, made him just: 
 Hence he soon proved the oracle divine, 
 And all the answer worthy of the shrine; 
 For plagues pursued his race without delay, 
 And swept them from the earth, like dust, away. 
 By such dire sufferings did the wretch atone 
 The crime of meditated fraud alone ! 
 For, in the eye of Heaven, a wicked deed 
 Devised, is done :t — what, then, if we proceed? 
 Perpetual fears the offender's peace destroy, 
 And rob the social hour of all its joy: 
 Feverish and parchd, he chews, with many a 
 
 pause. 
 The tasteless food that swells beneath his jaws : 
 Spits out the produce of the Albanian hill, 
 Mellow'd by age ; — you bring him mellower still. 
 And lo, such wrinkles on his brow appear, 
 As if you brought Falernian vinegar ! 
 
 These, these are they, who tremble and turn pale. 
 At the first mutterings of the hollow gale! 
 Who sink with terror at the transient glare 
 Of meteors glancing through the turbid air ! 
 Oh, 'tis not chance, they cry: this hideous crash 
 Is not the war of winds; nor this dread flash 
 The encounter of dark clouds; but blasting fire, 
 Charged with the wrath of heaven's insulted sire ! 
 That dreaded peal, innoxious, dies away; 
 Shuddering, they wait the next with more dismay, 
 As if the short reprieve were only sent 
 To add new horrors to their punishment. 
 Yet more; when the first symptoms of disease, 
 When feverish heats their restless members seize, 
 They think the plague by wrath divine bestow'd, 
 And feel in every pang the avenging god. 
 Rack'd at the thought, in hopeless grief they lie, 
 And dare not tempt the mercy of the sky : 
 
 ♦ There is a propriety in attribiitins; the infliction of 
 thiri punishment to an l\!ryptian deity, hlhidness hehig a 
 disease more freqiieiu in that country than elsewhere. 
 
 t A ceh'hrated riiiuier of antiquity. Such were his ve- 
 locity and lightness of foot, (says some uucient writer,) 
 that he left no trace of his steps in the dust behind him. 
 
 * Whatever may have been the belief of pagan times, 
 on this subject, there is no one, I am sure, who will ven- 
 ture on such an assertion in the nineteenth century. 
 Neither abject-mindedness, nor love of revenue, (except 
 in eastern harems,) but proneness to mercy, and forget- 
 fulness of injury, are the true characteristics of civilized 
 woman. 
 
 t The tale is taken from Herodotus, Erato 86. 
 
528 
 
 JUVENAL. 
 
 For what can such expect, what victim slay, 
 
 Tliat is not worthier far to live than they?— 
 
 With what a rapid chanpre of fancy roll 
 
 The varying passions of the guilty soul ! 
 
 Bold to otTerid, they scarce commit the offence, 
 
 Ere the mind labours with an innate sense 
 
 Of right and wrong; — not long, for Nature still, 
 
 Incapable of change, and fix"d in ill. 
 
 Recurs to her old habits ; — never yet 
 
 Could sinner to his sin a period set. 
 
 When did the flush of modest blood inflame 
 
 The cheek, once harden"d to a sense of shame ? 
 
 Or ^vhen the offender, since the birth of time. 
 
 Retire, contented with a single crime ?* 
 
 FROM SATIRE XIT. TKAIX UP A CHILD IX THE 
 
 WAY HE SHOULD GO. 
 
 Yes, there are faults, Fuscinus, that disgrace 
 The noblest qualities of birth and place ; 
 Which, like infectious blood, transmitted, run 
 In one eternal stream from sire to son. 
 
 If, in destructive play, the senior waste 
 His joyous nights, the child, with kindred taste, 
 Repeats in miniature tlie darling vice, 
 Shakes the small box, and cogs the little dice. 
 
 Nor does that infant fairer hopes inspire. 
 Who, train'd by the gray epicure, his sire, 
 Has learn'd to pickle mushrooms, and, like him. 
 To souse the beccaficos, till they swim ! 
 For take him thus to 'early luxury bred. 
 Ere twice four springs have blossom"d o'er his 
 
 head, 
 And let ten thousand teachers, hoar with age, 
 Inculcate temperance from the stoic page ; 
 His wish will ever be in state to dine, 
 Aud keep his kitchen's honour from decline! 
 
 So Nature prompts; drawn by her secret tie, 
 We view a parent's deeds with reverent eye. 
 With fatal haste, alas! the example take. 
 And love the sin for the dear sinner's sake. 
 One youth, perhaps, form'd of superior clay. 
 And warm'd by Titan with a purer ray. 
 May dare to slight proximity of blood. 
 And, in despite of Nature, to be good : 
 One youth — the rest the beaten pathway tread. 
 And blindly follow where their fathers led. 
 fatal guides! this reason should suffice. 
 To win you from the slippery route of vice. 
 This powerful reason ; lest your sons pursue 
 The guilty track, thus plainly mark'd by you ! 
 For youth is facile, and its yielding will 
 Receives with fatal ease the imprint of ill : 
 Hence Catilines in every clime abound ; 
 But.where are Cato and his nephew found? 
 
 Swift from the roof where youth, Fuscinus, 
 dwell. 
 Immodest sights, immodest sounds, expel ; 
 The place is sacred : Far, far hence, remove. 
 Ye venal votaries of illicit love ! 
 
 * Heathenism could offer no sufficient inducement to 
 repentance, and tlierefore, the mind once engaged in sin, 
 was for ever enslaved to it. — Juvenal, tliough uninflu- 
 enced by the faith of Christianity, had been clearly, 
 though unconsciously, benefited by its precepts and ex- 
 amples. 
 
 Ye dangerous knaves, who pander to be fed, 
 And sell yourselves to infamy for bread. 
 Reverence to children, as to Hkaten, is due : 
 When you ■would, then, some darling sin pursue. 
 Think that your infant offspring eyes the deed. 
 And let the thought abate your guilty speed : 
 Back from the headlong steep your steps entice, 
 And check you, tottering on the verge of vice. 
 yet reflect ! for should he e"er provoke, 
 In riper age the law's avenging stroke, 
 (Since not alone in person and in face. 
 But e'en in morals he will prove his race. 
 And, while example acts with fatal force. 
 Side, nay, outstrip you, in the vicious course) 
 Vex'd, you will rave and storm : perhaps prepare. 
 Should threatening fail, to name another heir! 
 — Audacious! with what front do you aspire 
 To exercise the license of a sire. 
 When all with rising indignation view 
 The youth in turpitude surpass'd by you? 
 
 Is there a guest expected ? all is haste. 
 All hurry in the house, from first to last. 
 "Sweep the dry cobwebs down !"" the master cries, 
 Whips ill his hand, and fury in his eyes — 
 "Let not a spot the clouded columns stain ; 
 Scour you the figur'd silver, you the plain!" 
 
 0, inconsistent wretch ! is all this coil, 
 Lest the front hall or gallery, daub'd with soil, 
 (Which yet a little sand removes,) offend 
 The prying eye of some indifferent friend? 
 And do you stir not, that your son may see 
 The house from moral filth, from vices free ? 
 
 True, you have given a citizen to Rome ; 
 And she shall thank you, if the youth become. 
 By your o'er-ruling care, or soon, or late, 
 A useful member of the parent state : 
 For all depends on you; the stamp he'll take 
 From the strong impress which at first you make ; 
 And prove, as vice or virtue was your aim. 
 His country's glory, or his country's shame. 
 
 But youth, so prone to follow other ills. 
 And driven to avarice, against their wills, 
 For this grave vice assuming "Virtue's guise, 
 Seems Virtue's self to undiscerning eyes. 
 The miser, hence, a frugal man they name. 
 And hence they follow with their whole acclaim. 
 The griping wretch, who strictlier guards his 
 
 store. 
 Than if the Hesperian dragon kept the door. 
 Add that the vulgar, still a slave to gold. 
 The worthy, in the wealthy man behold; 
 And, reasoning from the fortune he has made. 
 Hail him a perfect master of his trade ! 
 And true, indeed, it is — such masters raise 
 Immense estates; no matter by what ways; 
 But raise they do, with brows in sweat still dyed. 
 With forge still glowing, and with sledge still 
 
 plied. 
 The father, by the love of wealth possest. 
 Convinced — the covetous alone are blest. 
 And that, nor past, nor present times, e'er knew 
 A poor man happy, — bids his son pursue 
 The paths they take, the courses they affect, 
 And follow, at the heels, this thriving sect. 
 
JUVENAL. 
 
 529 
 
 But wliy this dire avidity of gain? 
 
 This mass collected witli such toil and pain? 
 
 Since 'tis the veriest madness to live poor, 
 
 And die with bags and cotFers running o'er. 
 
 Besiiles, ■while thus the streams of allluence roll, 
 
 They nurse the eternal dropsy of the soul. 
 
 For thirst of wealth still grows with wealtli in- 
 
 creast. 
 And they desire it less, who have it least. 
 
 None sin by rule : none heed the charge precise, 
 Thus, and no further, mat te step in vice ; 
 But leap the bounds prescribed, and with free 
 
 pace, 
 Scour far and wide the interdicted space ; 
 So when you tell the youth that fools alone 
 Regard a friend's distresses as their own. 
 You bid the willing hearer riches raise. 
 By I'raud, by rapine, by the worst of ways ; 
 Riches, whose love is on your soul imprest, 
 Deep as their country's on the Decii's breast. 
 But mark the end ! the fire, deriv'd at first 
 From a small sparkle, by your folly nurs'd, 
 Blown to a flame, on all around it preys. 
 And wraps you in the universal blaze. — 
 So the young lion rent, with hideous roar. 
 His keeper's trembling limbs, and drank his gore. 
 
 See every harbour throng'd, and every bay, 
 And half iiiankinil upon the watery way! 
 For, where he hears the attractive voice of gain. 
 The merchant hurries, and defies the main. — 
 Nor will he only range the Libyan shore, 
 But, passing Caipe, other worlds explore; 
 And all for what? O glorious end ! to come, 
 His toils o'erpast, with purse rei^lenishd, liome. 
 And, with a traveller's privilege, vent his boasts 
 Of unknown monsters seen on unknown coasts. 
 
 What varyino^ forms in madness may we trace ! 
 Safe in his lov'd Electra's fond embrace, 
 Orestes sees the avenging Furies rise. 
 And flash their bloody torches in his eyes ; 
 While Ajax strikes an ox, and, at the blow. 
 Hears Agamemnon or Ulysses low : 
 And scarcely he, (though haj)ly he forbear. 
 Like these, his keeper and his clothes to tear) 
 Is just as mad, who, to the water's brim 
 Loads his frail bark — a plank twi.vt death and 
 
 him ! 
 When all this risk is but to swell liis store 
 With a few coins, a few gold pieces more. 
 
 Wealth by such dangers earn'd, such anxious 
 
 pain. 
 Requires more care to keep it than to gain: 
 Whate'er my miseries, make me not, kind Fate, 
 The sleepless Argus of a vast estate ! 
 The slaves of Licinus, a numerous band. 
 Watch through the night, with buckets in their 
 
 hand. 
 While their rich master trembling lies, afraid 
 Lest fire his ivory, amber, gold, invade. 
 The naked Cynic mocks such restless cares. 
 His earthen tub no conflagration fears ; 
 If crack'd, to-morrow he procures a new. 
 Or coarsely soldering, makes the old one do. 
 67 
 
 Even Philip's son, when in his little cell. 
 Content, he saw the mighty master dwell; 
 Own'd, with a sigh, that he who nought desired, 
 Was hapiiier far than he who worlds r(!quirc(l, 
 And whose ambition certain dangers brought, 
 Vast and unbounded as the object sought. 
 Fortune, advanced to heaven by fools alone. 
 Would lose, were wisdom ours, her shadowy 
 
 throne. 
 "What call I, then, enough?"' What will aflbrd 
 A decent habit, and a frugal board ; 
 What E])icurus' little garilen bore. 
 And Socrates sufficient thought before : 
 These squared by Nature's rules their blameless 
 
 life — 
 Nature and wisdom never are at strife. 
 
 FROM SATIRE XV. THE OEIGIN OF CIVIL SOCrETT. 
 
 Nature, who gave us tears, by that alone 
 Proclaims she made the feeling heart our own; 
 And 'tis her noblest boon: — This bids us fly 
 To wipe the drops from sorrowing friendship's 
 
 eye, 
 Sorrowing ourselves ; to wail the prisoner's state. 
 And sympathize in the wrong'd orphan's fate, 
 Compell'd his treacherous guardian to accuse, 
 While many a shower his blooming cheek be- 
 dews. 
 And, through his scatter'd tresses wet with 
 
 tears, 
 A doubtful face, or boy's or girl's, appears. 
 As Nature bids, we sigh when some bright maid 
 Is, ere her spousals, to the pyre convey'd ; 
 Some babe, by fate's inexorable doom, 
 Just shown on earth, and hurried to the tomb. 
 For who, that to the sanctity aspires, 
 Which Ceres for her mystic torch requires. 
 Feels not another's woes? This marks our birth, 
 The great distinction from the beasts of earth ! 
 And, therefore, — gifted with superior powers. 
 And capable of things divine, — 'tis ours 
 To learn and practise every useful art. 
 And from high heaven deduce that better part. 
 That moral sense, denied to creatures prone, 
 And downward bent, and found with Man aloiie ! 
 For He, who gave this vast machine to roll. 
 Breathed life in them, in us a reasoning soul; 
 That kindred feelings might our state improve. 
 And mutual wants conduct to mutual love ; 
 Woo to one spot the scatter'd hordes of men 
 From their old forest and paternal den ; 
 Raise the fair dome, extend the social line, 
 And to our mansion those of others join. 
 Join, too, our I'aith, our confidence, to theirs, 
 And sleep, relying on the general cares :^ 
 In war, that each to each support might lend. 
 When wounded, succour, and when fall'n, de- 
 fend ; 
 At the same trumpet's clangour rush to arms. 
 By the same walls be shelter'd from alarms. 
 Near the saine tower the Ibe's incursions wait. 
 And trust their safety to one common gate. 
 — But serpents now more links of concord bind; 
 The cruel leopard spares the spotted kind ; 
 No lion spills a weaker lion's gore. 
 No boar expires beneath a stronger boar ; 
 2U 
 
530 
 
 CLAUDIAN. 
 
 Ill leagues of friendship tigers roam the plain, 
 And bears with bears perpetual peace maintain. 
 While Man, alas! Ilesh'd in the tlreadfnl trade. 
 Forges without remorse the murderous blade, 
 
 On that dire anvil, where primeval skill, 
 As yet untaught a brother's blood to spill, 
 Wrought only what meek Nature would allow. 
 Goads for the ox, and coulters for the plough. 
 
 CLAUDIAN. 
 
 [Born about 365, A. D.] 
 
 Claudius Claudianus is believed to have 
 been born at Alexandria, in Egypt. Ho came 
 to Rome in the reign of Theodosius the Great, 
 and by his talents and accomplishments quickly 
 gained admission into the first society of that 
 mighty metropolis. From the inscription on a 
 marble pedestal dug up near Trajan's forum, in 
 1493, it appears that he was a military tribune 
 and state secretary under Arcadius and Hono- 
 rius, and stood so high in their favour as to have 
 had a statue erected to his honour by those 
 
 princes. By the good offices of the Princess Se- 
 rena, the daughter of Theodosius and wife of his 
 favourite hero, Stilicho, the Goth, Claudian was 
 married to an African lady of distinction and 
 fortune. 
 
 Though deficient in judgment and taste, Clau- 
 dian was undoubtedly a man of genius; he has 
 a gay fancy, shows occasionally a command of 
 agreeable imagery, and, had he lived in earlier 
 and better times, would, in all probability, have 
 proved a greater and more pleasing poet. 
 
 THE PHCENIX. 
 
 Betond the Ind and Orient blooms a wood 
 Wash'd by the verge of ocean's farthest flood: 
 On the green grove the coursers of the sun 
 First snorting breathe, or on their race they run : 
 There first his golden scourge the dew-drops 
 
 flings 
 "When to the pearly car the portal rings: 
 Whence Day looks blushing forth ; and wan- 
 faced Night 
 Shrinks from the whirling wheels that blaze with 
 
 light ; 
 Feels the warm breath upon her visage blow. 
 And, gathering up her robe, is seen to vanish 
 slow. 
 Here, far too blest, the solar bird sublime 
 Dwells, safe-enbosom'd in the burning clime : 
 His lonely reign, imtouch'd by birds that fly, 
 Or beasts that creep in frail mortality: 
 Free from the human world's contagious breath, 
 A bird, like heavenly beings, charmd from death. 
 W^ith stars endures the creature's vivid day ; 
 His frame renew'd sees ages waste away. 
 No ripening dainties sate his hungering bill ; 
 Nor with slaked thirst he tastes the gushing 
 
 rill: 
 Nourish'd with sunbeams and the ocean spray. 
 He sips aerial food, and drinks the day. 
 Keen from his eyes the secret splendours break : 
 A fiery glory reddens round his beak; 
 His crested head a sun-like diadem rears, 
 Whose plume's red light the parted darkness 
 clears : 
 
 His legs are ting'd with crimson's Tyrian dye, 
 His sweeping wings before the breezes fly; 
 Cerulean colours paint their feather'd fold, 
 Blue as a flower, and rich with sprinkled gold. 
 From no seed quicken'd. no conception's fire, 
 Son to himself, and of himself the sire: 
 His life- worn body vegetates in death : 
 Alternate funerals teem with vital breath. 
 When thousand summers have their circuit 
 
 wound. 
 Winters rush'd by, and springs absolved their 
 
 round ; 
 Restoring to the culture-loving swain 
 The foliage strew'd by autumn on the plain; 
 Weigh'd down by years, the Phcenix feels at 
 
 length 
 The numerous lustres pressing on his strength: 
 So the tall pine-tree, rock'd by many a gale. 
 Stoops from the Scythian mountains to the vale: 
 Drawn by its headlong weight, still downward 
 
 bends, 
 And tottering to a fall, in air impends : 
 Bow'd by strong whirlwinds, riven with eating 
 
 rains, 
 Hollow'd with cankering age, it topples on the 
 
 plains. 
 Now droop the flamy splendours of his beak : 
 His star of sight frozen, languid, glazed, and 
 
 weak : 
 As when the moon is wrapt in misty shades. 
 And with her doubtful crescent glimmering fades. 
 Those wings, that soaring clear'd the clouds of 
 
 air. 
 Scarce from the dust their lifted plumage bear. 
 
CLA.UDIAN. 
 
 531 
 
 Tlien, conscious of his age expir'd, he rears 
 The teeming nest of his reviving years ; 
 From mountains, basking in the sunny blaze, 
 Culls the parch'tl grasses, and the arid sprays ; 
 Heaps Saba's leaves and cinnamon's perfume, 
 And weaves in one his cradle and his tomb. 
 On this he brooding sits; salutes the sun; 
 And shrill implores, while faint his moments 
 
 run: 
 And asks with suppliant song the quickening 
 
 flame, 
 Whose vital strength may renovate his frame. 
 Phccbus discerns his foster-child from far, 
 Consoles the pious bird, and stays his car. 
 " Oh thou ! whose age the death-pile shall con- 
 sume ; 
 Whose birth from that illusive grave shall bloom ; 
 Whose expiration yields reviving breath ; 
 Whose youth still blossoms from the dust of 
 
 death ; 
 Receive new birth; thy bloodless frame resign; 
 And rise transform'd with shape more bright 
 
 than thine. " 
 He spoke : and, from his bending neck, in air 
 Shook one bright ringlet of his golden hair; 
 And smote the bird, that gaspd in faint desire, 
 With vital brightness of infusing fire. 
 The willing bird in conllagration dies. 
 Parts to return, and setting hastes to rise. 
 The fragrant jjile, beneath heaven's darted rays. 
 Smokes, and the aged bird consumes within the 
 
 blaze. 
 The Moon her shining heifers checks on high. 
 And moveless hang the axles of the sky. 
 Nature with terror views the teeming pyre 
 Lest her eternal bird be lost in fire ; 
 And warns the faithful flames to yield again 
 The glory of the world, the bird of deathless 
 
 strain. 
 Through the strewn parts a rolling vapour glows : 
 Warm through the veins the blood relapsing flows : 
 The ashes, panting into life, are stirr'd. 
 And plumage clothes the embers of the bird. 
 The sire springs forth, regenerate in the flame. 
 Himself the son: another, and the same. 
 The fire with slender bound "ry waves between 
 The life which is, and that which late has 
 
 been. 
 Straight joys the bird to consecrate the pile, 
 And bear the father-ashes to the Nile. 
 Depositing, on Egypt's Pharian earth. 
 The spicy heap that warm'd him into birth. 
 Swift to the foreign hemisphere he glides, 
 Bearing the dust which twisted herbage hides : 
 Innumerable birds his flight attend ; 
 Or, as he flies, their balanc'd wings suspend : 
 From tracks of air a feather"d army springs. 
 And throng his passage with a cloud of wings. 
 Of all their thousands none advance before. 
 But, as their guide, the fragrant king adore. 
 Him e'en the thunder-clasping eagle spares ; 
 Awed into peace, the hawk his prey forbears. 
 So where the Tigris chafes his yellow sands, 
 The Parthian marshals his barbaric bands: 
 Glorying in rich array, antl many a gem, 
 He binds his brow with regal diadem : 
 
 His foaming courser champs the bit of gold; 
 The purple stains his garment's trailing fold; 
 Assyrian needles flower the broider'd vest; 
 Proud o'er the slavish troops he lifts his haughty 
 
 crest. 
 A solar city, famed for placid rite 
 Through Egypt's borders, hails the Power of light. 
 On hundred columns propt the fane reclines, 
 Hewn from the Theban mountain's granite 
 
 mines : 
 Thither the bird is borne, as fame has told ; 
 There lays the father-dust which herbs infold; 
 Bends on the visage of the. sun his gaze. 
 And in the flame his spicy burthen lays; 
 There in the solar altars hallowing fire 
 The relics of himself, and seeds of life, expire. 
 With clouds of myrrh the glimmering temple 
 
 breathes. 
 And heavenly smoke the curling altar wreathes. 
 Far as Pelusium's lakes, the human sense 
 Is thrill'd with fumes of Indie frankincense: 
 In vapour of salubrious fragrance drown'd. 
 Men bless the mist that wraps their spirits round : 
 The sable tribes, where Nile's branch'd waters 
 
 flow, 
 Feel gales more sweet than nectar round them 
 
 blow. 
 Heir of thyself! still ever blessed be! 
 What snaps our mortal thread is strength to 
 
 thee. 
 Thy being springs from ashes and from fires ; 
 And life in thee survives, while age expires. 
 Whate'er has been thou saw'st; and ages fly 
 For ever rolling to thy conscious eye. 
 Thou knowst when ocean heav'd its bursting 
 
 flood. 
 And floating rocks beneath the waters stood : 
 Thou know'st what year along th' ethereal way. 
 Saw Phaeton in blazing error stray : 
 But thee Destruction claims not as her own : 
 Earth is a grave, but thou survivest alone : 
 The Fates in vain would spin thy mortal hour ; 
 For thou art harmless, and defiest their power. 
 
 THE OLD MAN OF VERONA. 
 
 Happy the man who his whole time doth bound 
 Within th' enclosure of his little ground : 
 Happy the man whom the same humble place 
 (Th' hereditary cottage of his race) 
 From his first rising infancy has known, 
 And by degrees sees gently bending down, 
 With natural propension to that earth 
 Which both preserv'd his life and gave him 
 
 birth. 
 Him no false distant lights, by Fortune set, 
 Could ever into foolish wand'rings get; 
 He never dangers either saw or fear'd ; 
 The dreadful storms at sea he never heard : 
 He never heard the shrill alarms of war, 
 Or the worse noises of the lawyer's bar : 
 No change of Consuls marks to him the year, 
 The change of seasons is his calendar: 
 The cold and heat winter and summer shows, 
 Autumn by fruits, and spring by flow'rs, he 
 
 knows: 
 
535 
 
 AUSONIUS. 
 
 He measures time by landmarks, and has found 
 
 For the whole day the dial of his ground: 
 
 A neighb'ring wood, born with himself, he sees, 
 
 And loves his old contemporary trees; 
 
 He's only heard of near Verona's name. 
 
 And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame ; 
 
 Does with a like concernment notice take 
 
 Of the Red Sea, and of Benacus' lake. 
 
 Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys, 
 
 And sees a long posterity of boys. 
 
 About the spacious world let others roam. 
 
 The voyage, life, is longest made at home. 
 
 AUSONIUS. 
 
 [Born in the early part, died about the close, of the fourth century.] 
 
 Decimus Magnus Ausonius was the son of 
 Julius Ausonius, an eminent physician of Gaul. 
 He was born at Burdigala, (now Bourdeaux) and 
 at the age of thirty filled the chair of rhetorical 
 professor in that city. He was afterwards ap- 
 pointed by Valentinian preceptor to his son 
 
 Gratian, and attended that emperor in his Ger- 
 man campaigns. Under Gratian he was raised 
 to the consular dignity, and, after his death, re- 
 tired into his own country, where he ended his 
 days. By his wife, Attusia Lucana Sabina, he 
 left two sons. 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 'Twas spring; the morn return'd in saffron veil, 
 And breathed a nipping coolness in the gale. 
 A keener air had harbinger'd the dawn. 
 That drove her coursers o'er the eastern lawn. 
 The breezy cool allured my feet to stray, 
 And thus anticipate the fervid day. 
 Through the broad walks I trod the garden 
 
 bowers, 
 And roam'd, refresh'd against the noontide hours. 
 I saw the hoary dew's congealing drops 
 Bend the tall grass and vegetable tops ; 
 On the broad leaves play'd bright the trembling 
 
 gems. 
 And airy waters bow'd the laden stems. 
 There Pastan roses blush'd before my view, 
 Bedrop'd with early mornings freshening dew ; 
 The sprinkled pearls on every rose-bush lay, 
 Anon to melt before the beams of day. 
 'Twere doubtful, if the blossoms of the rose 
 Had robb'd the morning, or the morning those — 
 In dew, in tint, the same, the star and flower. 
 For both confess the queen of beauty's power. 
 Perchance their sweets the same : but this more 
 
 nigh 
 Exhales its breath ; and that embalms the sky: 
 Of flower and star the goddess is the same, 
 And both she tinged with hues of roseate flame. 
 I saw a moment's interval olivide 
 The rose that blossom'd, from the rose that 
 
 died. 
 This, with the cap of tufted moss look'd green; 
 That, tipp'd with reddening purple peep'd be- 
 tween : 
 One rear'd its obelisk with opening swell, 
 The bud unsheathed its crimson pinnacle ; i 
 
 Another, gathering every purfled fold, 
 Its foliage multiplied ; its blooms unroll'd ; 
 The teeming chives shot forth ; the petals spread, 
 The bow-pot's glory rear'd its smiling head : 
 While this, that ere the passing moment flew, 
 Flam'd forth one blaze of scarlet on the view; 
 Now shook from withering stalk the waste per- 
 fume. 
 Its verdure stript, and pale its faded bloom. 
 I marvell'd at the spoiling flight of time. 
 That roses thus grew old in earliest prime. 
 E'en while I speak, the crimson leaves drop 
 
 round. 
 And a red brightness veils the blushing ground. 
 These forms, these births, these changes, bloom, 
 
 decay. 
 Appear and vanish, in the self-same day. 
 The flower's brief grace, oh Nature ! moves my 
 
 sighs. 
 Thy gifts, just shown, are ravishd from our eyes. 
 One day, the rose's age; and while it blows 
 In dawn of youth, it withers to its close. 
 The rose the glittering sun beheld, at morn. 
 Spread to the light its blossoms newly born, 
 When in his round he looks from evening skies. 
 Already droops in age, and fades, and dies. 
 Yet blest, that, soon to fade, the numerous flower 
 Succeeds herself, and still prolongs her hour. 
 Oh virgins! roses euU, while yet ye may: 
 So bloom your hours, and so shall haste away. 
 
 ON A SHIPWRECKED FRIEND. 
 
 If, mouldering far o'er distant seas. 
 The un buried corse is doomed to lie, 
 
 Yet may some pious rites appease 
 The spirit sadly wandering by. 
 
AVIENUS. 
 
 533 
 
 Call'd by a friend's or brother's voice, 
 
 And honour'd with an riiipty pile, 
 Yet may tlie weary ghost njoice, 
 
 And grace our orgies with a smile. 
 Though to the funeral urn denied, 
 
 Thus shall his ashes rest in peace ; 
 "And every sad complaint siiliside, 
 
 And every mournful murmur cease." 
 
 VENUS ANADYOMENE. 
 
 This is Apelles' work. See Venus rise ! 
 Sprung from t!u> se i, to cajitivate the skies. 
 See with ht!r tupi^r finger how she presses 
 Th(; liiiny dew-drops from her humid tresses; 
 This let her two celestial Rivals see. 
 And they shall say — " Venus, we yield to thee.' 
 
 AVIENUS. 
 
 [Flourished 380, A. D.] 
 
 Of Kufus Festtjs Atienus we know little I and was the author of some Apolo^es, dedi- 
 more than that he translated Aratus and Diony- cated to Theodosius the elder, the father of Ho- 
 sius Periegetes, paraphrased the decads of Livy, j norius. 
 
 THE OAK AND THE REED. 
 From mountain summits, by the roots uptorn, 
 Down rush'd an oak, on madding whirlwind 
 
 borne ; 
 A stream, that wound beneath its swelling course, 
 Receiv'd, and, hurrying, snatch'd with eddying 
 
 force. 
 Impell'd from bank to bank, the ponderous freiglit 
 No\v on a bed of reeds reposd its weight ; 
 And, clinging to a tiuf that edged the flood, 
 Admired, how firm the watery bulrush stood: 
 That his vast trunk should topple from its height, 
 And the slim stem resist the tempest's might. 
 The reed with slender whisperings bland replies, 
 "In this my weakness, know, my safety lies. 
 Thou scorn 'st the storm and buffetest the blast, 
 And thy whole strength to earth is prostrate cast ; 
 I, soft and slow, the rising gusts delay. 
 And, provident, give eVery gale its way. 
 The blast, that smites thy gnarled strength, but 
 
 plies 
 With my light motions, dallies, sports, and. dies." 
 Brunt not events, these whisper'd warnings say, 
 Stern Fortune's threats shall soften from delay. 
 
 My mind maintains its peace ; from feverish 
 
 dread 
 Secure, and fear of crimes, that sloth has bred. 
 Others let toilsome camps or curule chairs 
 Invite, and joys which vain ambition shares. 
 May I, my lot among the people thrown. 
 The badge of rank unsought tor and unknown, 
 Live to myself, and call my time mine own. 
 
 ON A QUIET LIFE. 
 Small fields are mine ; a small and guiltless rent ; 
 In both I prize the quiet of content. 
 
 COUNTRY RETIREMENT. 
 
 Safe-roof'd my cottage ; swelling rich with 
 
 wine 
 Hangs from the twisted elm my cluster'd vine. 
 Boughs glow with cherries, apples bend my 
 
 wood ; 
 And the crush'd olive foams with juicy flood. 
 Where my light beds the scattering rivulet drink, 
 My simple pot-herbs flourish on the brink ; 
 And poppies smiling wave the rosy head, 
 That yield no opiate to a restless bed. 
 If for the birds I weave the limed snare. 
 Or for the startlish deer the net prepare, 
 Or with a slender thread the fish delude, 
 No other wiles disturb these woodlJhds rude. 
 Go now, and barter life's calm stealing days 
 For pompous suppers, that with lu.xury blaze: 
 Pray Heaven ! for me the lot may thus be cast, 
 And future time glide peaceful as the past. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 SIMILE OF THE MOON AND STARS IN GLORY TO 
 THE BRIGHTNESS AND NUMBER OF THE TRO- 
 JAN FIRES. 
 
 'il{ S'oT 'cv, K. T. X. See page 17 of this volume. 
 Some friendly critics having complained of the editor 
 for his omission of old Chapman's Version of this beauti- 
 ful simile, in his tormer edition of the Ancient Poets, it 
 is added in the present. 
 
 As when, about the silver Moon, 
 
 the air is free from winde, 
 And stars shine cleare, to whose sweet beams 
 
 high prospects and the brows 
 Of all steepe hills and pinnacles 
 
 thrust up themselves for shows. 
 And even the lowly valleys joy 
 
 to glitter in their sight ; 
 When the unmeasured Firmament 
 
 bursts to-disclose her light, 
 And all the signs in heaven are seene, 
 
 that glad the Shepherd's heart, 
 So many fires disclosed their beames, &c. 
 
 GRECIAN FIRE SIGNALS. 
 
 FROM THE AGAMEMSON OF .ESCHTLUS. 
 
 See page 64 of tliis volume. 
 The original description, as given by ^Kschylus, being 
 in Greek Iambics, it has been objected (and perhaps 
 justly) against the editor of tliis volume, that he should 
 have rendered it in the Octosyllabic measure. He. there- 
 fore, subjoins the following two blank-verse translations 
 of the same. 
 
 "H0a((rros, 'iSris, k. t. X. 
 Clttemnestra, having announced to the Cho- 
 rus, that Troy had fallen on the preceding night, 
 is asked by them what messenger had so quickly 
 brought her the intelligence, to which she replies 
 that it was Vulcan, from Mount Ida. 
 'Twas Vulcan ; sending forth the blazing light 
 From Ida's grove, and thence along the way 
 Hither the estafette of fire ran quick: 
 Fire kindled fire, and beacon spoke to beacon, 
 Ida to Lemnos, and the Herinasan ridge ; 
 Next Athos, craggy mountain, Jove's own steep, 
 Took the great torch held out by Vulcan's isle. 
 Standing sublime, the seas to overcast, 
 Shone the great strength of the transmitted lamp ; 
 And the bright heraldry of burning pines 
 Shone with a light all golden like the sun 
 Rising at midnight on Macistus' watch-tower ; 
 Nor did Macistus not bestir him soon, 
 Oppress'd with sleep, regardless of his watch; 
 But kindled fires, and sent the beacon-blaze 
 To distance far beyond Euripus' flood, 
 534 
 
 To watchmen mounted on Messapian hills; 
 
 They answer'd blazing, and pass'd on the news, 
 
 The gray heath burning on the mountain top. 
 
 And now the fiery, unobscured lamp. 
 
 At distance far shot o'er Asopus' plain ; 
 
 And up the steep soft rising, like the moon. 
 
 Stood spangling bright upon CithEeron's hill. 
 
 There rose, to give it conduct on the road, 
 
 Another meeting fire; nor did the watch 
 
 Sleep at the coming of the stranger light. 
 
 But burnt a greater blaze than those before : 
 
 Thence o'er the lake Gorgopis stoop'd the light, 
 
 And to the mount of ^giplancton came. 
 
 And bade the watch shine forth, nor scant the blaze. 
 
 They burning high with might unquenchable, 
 
 Send up the waving beard of fire aloft. 
 
 Mighty and huge, so as to cast its blaze 
 
 Beyond the glaring promontory steep 
 
 Athwart the gulf Saronic all on fire ; 
 
 Thence stoop'd the light, and reach'd our neighbour 
 
 watch-tower, 
 Arachne's summit ; and from thence, derived 
 Here to the Atridfe's palace, comes this light 
 From the long lineage of the Idaean tire. 
 
 Another translation of the same. 
 
 Vulcas^ — from Ida sending his clear blaze; 
 
 Then beacon hitherward did beacon speed 
 
 From that flame-signal. Ida to the steep 
 
 Of Mercury's loved Lemnos. From the isle 
 
 Jove's height of Athos did in turn receive 
 
 The third great tale of light. The vigorous glare, 
 
 Joy's harbinger, arose to ^im the deep. 
 
 Sending its golden beams, e'en as a sun. 
 
 Up to Macistus'. watch-towers. Nothing loth 
 
 Did he, nor basely overcome by sleep 
 
 Perforin his herald part. Afar the light 
 
 Burst on Euripus' stream its beaconed news, 
 
 Telling the watchers on Messapion high. 
 
 They blazed in turn, and sent the tidings on. 
 
 Kindling with ruddy flame the heather gray. 
 
 Thence, naught obscured, went up the mighty glow, 
 
 And, like the smiling moon, Asopus' plain 
 
 O'erleaped, and on Cithsron's head awoke 
 
 Another pile of telegraphic fire. 
 
 Nor did the watchmen there with niggard hand 
 
 Deny the torch which beamed most bright of all. 
 
 Athwart the lake Gorgopis shot the ray. 
 
 Stirring the guards on ./Egiplancton's hill, 
 
 Lest it should fail to shine the appointed blaze 
 
 Kindled, with generous zeal, they sent aloft 
 
 The mighty beard of flame, that streamed so high 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 535 
 
 To pass beyond the towering heights that guard 
 The gulf Saronic. Thence it shot — it reached 
 Arachne's chff, the station next our town, 
 Down darting tliencc to the Atrides' roof — 
 Child of that fire which dawned on Ida's hill. 
 
 THE DHNG EAGLE. 
 
 A FRAGMENT FROM "THE MTRMIDONs" OF iES- 
 CHTLUS. 
 
 ' flf S' carl nvdiov, k. t. X. 
 
 Ay eagle once — so Libyan legends say — 
 Struck to the heart, on earth expiring lay. 
 And, gazing on the shaft that wing'd the blow. 
 Thus spoke — " whilst others' ills from others flow, 
 To my own plumes, alas ! my fate I owe." 
 
 The same paraphrnnccL 
 HEART-STn-ucK, nor more in air elate. 
 
 How sad the wounded Eagle's moan. 
 When, in the shaft that wing'd his fate, 
 
 He saw a feather of his own.* 
 
 THE TRAVELLER AND THE STATUE 
 OF OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 A PARAPHRASE FROM POSIDIPPUS. 
 
 [Omitted at page 232 of this volume.] 
 Traveller. 
 Sat, Image, by what sculptor's hand 
 In breathuig marble here you stand ! 
 
 Opportunily. 
 By him whose art, to thousands known, 
 Bids Jove and Pallas live in stone : 
 But, seldom seen by human eyes, 
 I claim the kindred of the skies; 
 By few I'm found, though great my fame, 
 And Opportunity's my name. 
 
 Traveller. 
 Say, — if the cause you may reveal, — 
 Why thus supported on a wheel 1 
 
 * Both Waller and Byron have imitated these lines of 
 ^schylus. 
 
 Lines addressed by Waller to a Ladtj singing a song of his 
 own composing. 
 Chloris, yourself you so excel, 
 
 AVlu-n you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, 
 That like a Spirit, with the spell 
 
 Of my own teaching I am caught. 
 That Kagle's fate and mine are one, 
 
 Which, on the shaft that made him die. 
 Espied a feather of his own. 
 Wherewith he wont to soar so high. 
 
 Lines, by Lord Byron, on Henry Kirke White, ivho died nt 
 Cambridge^ in October, 160G, through over-extrtion in pur- 
 suit of his studies. 
 
 Unhappy White ! 
 
 'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow. 
 And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low: 
 So the struck eagle, sli'etcli'd upon the plain. 
 No more through rolling clouds to soar aguiu, 
 View'd his own feather on the fatal dart. 
 And wing'd the shaft, that <|uivcr'd in his heart; 
 Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
 He nursed the pinion which inipeli'd the steel ; 
 AV'hilst the same plumage that had warm'd his nest, 
 Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. 
 
 Opportunity. 
 The wheel my rapid course implies, 
 Like that, with constant speed it flies. 
 
 Traveller. 
 Wings on your feet ? 
 
 Opportunity. 
 
 I'm apt to soar — 
 Neglected, I return no more. 
 
 Traveller. 
 But why, behind, deprived of hair T 
 
 Opportunity, 
 Escaped, that none may seize me there. 
 Traveller. 
 Your locks, unbound, conceal your eyes 1 
 
 Opportunity. 
 Because I chiefly court disguise. 
 
 Traveller. 
 Why coupled with that solemn fair, 
 Of downcast mien and mournful air 1 
 
 Opportunity. 
 Repentance, she (the stone replies,) 
 My substitute, behind me flies, 
 Observe, and her you'll ever see 
 Pursue the wretch deprived of me ; 
 By her corrected, mortals mourn 
 For what they've done, and what forborne. 
 Ask me no more, for while you stay, 
 I vanish unperceived away. 
 
 A GUILTY CONSCIENCE. 
 
 FROM LUCRETIUS, BOOK V. 
 
 The following translation, having been only in part 
 printed at page 418 of this volume, is here given entire. 
 
 And oh ! how deep our shuddering spirits feel 
 A dread of Heaven tlirough every member steal, 
 When the strong lightning strikes the blasted 
 
 ground. 
 And thunder rolls the murmuring clouds around. 
 Sliake not the nations] And the monarch's nod, 
 Bows it not low before the present God, 
 I^pst for foul deeds or haughty words, be sent 
 His hurried hour of awful punishment? 
 So when the rushing storm has burst its chain, 
 And sweeps in lawless fury o'er the main. 
 Bearing some conqueror's fleet to realms afar 
 With Ills brave troops and all the pomp of war, 
 Does' he not then in eager terror crave 
 Peace from the wind, and pardon from the wave? 
 Does he not then confi'ss the God he dreads? 
 In vain ! — the teuipcst darkens o'er their heads, 
 The scatter'd wrecks are wliirl'd and dash'd around. 
 And unavailing prayers from dying hosts resound. 
 Some secret force o'erturns the bravest plan. 
 The pride, the glory, and the strength of .Man I 
 Laughs him to scorn, with all his power display 'd, 
 And tramples on the work itself has made. 
 
536 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 So when wide earthquakes rock the crazy ball, 
 And tottering cities threat a double fall, 
 Man's empty boldness well may pass away. 
 And mortal things despise their own decay ; 
 The power and presence of the Godhead know, 
 And see the hand that governs all below. 
 
 FROM THE SECOND JENEID OF VIRGIL. 
 
 Henry, Earl of Surrey, having been the first introducer 
 of heroic blank-verse into English Poetry, the following 
 specimens from his translations of Virgil are here given. 
 Had not the active life of tliat high-minded and accom- 
 plished young nobleman been cut short by the jealousy 
 of that sensual tyrant, Henry VIII., it is probable that he 
 would have completed his design of translating the whole 
 jEneid. 
 
 They whisted all, with fixed face attent. 
 When Prince ^Eneas from the royal seat 
 Thus gan to speak. O Queen, it is thy will 
 I should renew a woe unspeakable : 
 How that the Greeks did spoil and overthrow 
 The Phrygian wealth and wailful realm of Troy ; 
 Those ruthful things that I myself beheld, 
 And whereof no small part fell to my share, 
 Which, to express, who could refrain from tears ? 
 What Myrmidon 1 or yet what Dolopesi 
 What stern Ulysses's waged Soldier 1 
 And lo ! moist Night now from the welkin falls, 
 And Stars declining counsel us to rest. 
 But since so great is thy delight to hear 
 Of our mishaps and Troye's last decay; 
 Though to record the same my mind abhors. 
 And plaint eschews, yet thus will I begin. 
 
 The Greek Chieftains, all irked with the war 
 Wherein they wasted had so many years, 
 And oft repulsed by fatal destiny, 
 A huge horse made, high raised like a hill. 
 By the divine science of Minerva. 
 There stands in sight an Isle, hight Tenedon, 
 Kich and of fame, while Priam's kingdom stood ; 
 Now but a bay, and road, unsure for ships. 
 Hither ihem secretly the Greeks withdrew, 
 Shrouding themselves under the desert shore. 
 And, weening we they had been fled and gone, 
 And with that wind had fet the land of Greece, 
 Troy discharged her long-continued dole. 
 The gates cast up, we issued otit to play. 
 The Grecian camp desirous to behold, 
 The places void, and the forsaken coasts. 
 ' Here Pyrrhus' band ; there fierce Achilles pight ; 
 Here rode their ships; there did their battles join.' 
 Astonied some the scatheful gift beheld, 
 Behight by vow unto the chaste Minerve ; 
 All wondering at the hugeness of the horse. 
 
 The People cried with sundry greeing shouts 
 
 To bring the horse to Pallas' temple blive, 
 
 In hope thereby the Goddess to appease. 
 
 We cleft the walls and closures of the Town ; 
 
 Whereto all help ; and unterset the feet 
 
 With sliding rolls, and bound his neck with ropes. 
 
 This fatal gin thus overclamb our walls, 
 
 Stuft with arm'd men ; about the which there ran 
 
 Children and Maids, that holy carols sang ; 
 
 THE 
 
 And well were they, whose hands might touch the 
 
 cords. 
 With threatening cheer, thus slided through our 
 
 town 
 The subtle Tree, to Pallas' temple-ward, 
 O native Land ! Ilion ! and of the gods 
 The mansion-place ! warlike walls of Troy ! 
 Four times it stopt in th' entry of our gate; 
 Four times their harness clatter'd in the womb, 
 But we go on, unsound of memory. 
 And blinded eke by rage persever still. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 FROM .EJfEID IV. 
 
 Forthwith Fame flieth through the great Libyan 
 
 towns ; 
 A mischief Fame, there is none else so swift ; 
 That moving grows, and flitting gathers force. 
 First small for dread, soon after climbs the skies; 
 Stayeth on earth and hides her head in clouds; 
 Speedy of foot, of wing likewise as swift, 
 A monster huge, and dreadful to descrive. 
 In every plume, that on her body sticks, 
 (A thing indeed much marvellous to hear,) 
 As many waker eyes lurk underneath. 
 So many mouths to speak, and listening ears. 
 By night she flies amid the cloudy sky 
 Shrieking, by the dark shadow of the earth, 
 Ne doth decline to the sweet sleep her eyes. 
 By day she sits to mark on the house-top. 
 Or turrets high ; and the great town afTrays ; 
 Mindful of ill and lies, as blazing truth. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 The following Reflection on Ode 10, Book ii., of this 
 Poel. sliould have appeared in a note, at the foot of the 
 first column of page 4(39, in this volume. 
 
 A-VD is this all 1 Can Reason do no more 
 Tiian bid me shun the deep and dread the shore] 
 Sweet Moralist! afloat on Life's rough sea. 
 The Christian has an art unknown to thee. 
 Hp holds no parley with unmanly fears ; 
 Where Duty bids, he confidently steers. 
 Faces a thousand dangers at her call. 
 And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. 
 
 SILIUS ITALICUS. 
 
 The following passages ought to have appeared at the 
 bonom of the second column of page 516, in the biogra- 
 phical notice of ihis Poet. 
 
 The latinity of Silius is elegant and pure, and his 
 versification smooth, but so studiously modelled on 
 that of Virgil, as to have obtained for him the ap- 
 pellation of " Virgil's Ape." The subject of his 
 chief Poem is, the second Punic War, as related in 
 the third Decade of Livy, and including the prin- 
 cipal events of that War, from the Siege of Sa- 
 guntuin down to the defeat of Hannibal and the 
 conquest of Carthage. For further particulars con- 
 cerning this poet, see Phny's Epistles, L. III., 
 Epist. 7. 
 
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